Born & Bred (28 page)

He never had much time with him, though; Fr. Brennan saw to that. It was like he didn’t want Fr. Reilly and Danny to ever be alone, preferring instead that he spend his time with O’Leary and learn about hard work. Fr. Brennan said it was better for Danny’s soul—and the parish ledger.

But when they did have time, Fr. Reilly had asked what on earth made Danny and Deirdre do what they did? He was trying to understand it from a sociological point of view. Why in the church, naked and dancing like pagans? Why there? Was it a symbolic statement?

He always wanted to be the type of priest that young people could feel comfortable talking to. He wouldn’t be judgemental like Fr. Brennan and his uncle. He wanted to be more like St. Francis—only with troubled young people whom he’d shelter and nourish until they were healed enough to go out and face the world again.

But Danny wouldn’t tell him and just shrugged, acting like he knew the world was full of lies and that he didn’t want to be a part of it again after all the lies that he was told as a child, and all—that he was tired of just being set up for disappointment.

Fr. Reilly had tried to tell him about the real truth of Love, but Danny didn’t want to know. Why would he? He had never experienced any love from anybody other than Deirdre and she had let him down, too.

If only he could find a way to get her to show a little bit of faith in Danny now—it could make all the difference.

*

“Good night, Father. Himself is sound asleep above.”

Dinny O’Leary was standing in the open doorway. He didn’t smoke in the house since the night Fr. Brennan thought the house was on fire and set off the fire extinguisher.

“Ah, Dinny. Are you well?”

“Father, after all I have been through, just being alive is well enough for me.”

“You have great faith, Dinny.”

Dinny looked at his face for a moment and could probably see the grey pall of doubt. “You know, Father, when I was in the trenches, we all believed in God. Even the other side; they believed in the same God as us but we went on killing each other until they told us to stop.

“And every night, when the fighting died down, every last man made some type of a deal with God—that they would never doubt him again if they were spared.

“And then when they all came home they forgot about it all, even their promises. Not all of them, mind you, but enough of them.”

“And you kept yours?”

“Of course I did. God kept his promise and I must, too.”

*

The Driller sat smoking and avoiding his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He didn’t like the look of himself anymore. He had become fidgety and nervous, always looking around like at any moment somebody might step forward and end him. He was supposed to be lying low but instead he had been doing the opposite.

He knew they’d hear about it and he knew that he’d get hauled in one day, but he also knew they couldn’t touch him. He was sending most of the money back to Derry and they needed him for now. The Dublin crowd might threaten to tell the Derry crowd where the money had come from, but he could rat on them, too. It was all fine and fucking dandy for the old timers to go on about all the support they used to get from friendly houses. These days they were few and far between. And there was never enough money going around. Robbing banks had become much harder—they had called the fucking army out. They hadn’t called them out when the Paras were running wild in the Bogside but they called them out to protect their money. Fuck them all. That’s why guys like him were freelancing right in front of everybody.

As long as he sent the money back, they didn’t care where it came from.

The cops were no better, here nor there. They were just there to make the people feel secure, and, if you were smart and kept a low profile, they left you alone.

But he hadn’t and now someone from the Dublin Command had asked to see him. He got the message just before they buried Anto’s dog. Only they didn’t tell him who it was. They only told him the pub and the time and the day. He’d wait there to be contacted.

He’d been waiting for over an hour but he knew why. They were sending him a message—even before they got there. So he watched the crowd through the mirror. He hadn’t been there before and he had no idea who was who. The four guys in corner where probably Special Branch but they didn’t seem interested in him. They were busy pretending not to be watching the two guys in the corner. The Driller had heard their accents and knew they were from Belfast and were on their way to London. It didn’t really concern any of them—unless they came back.

“So?” A ruddy-faced man asked from just behind him. The Driller hadn’t even heard him come in, but he had heard about him and he had heard that he should be afraid of him.

“How’s yourself? Can I get you something?”

The older man might have smiled at him, though it could have been a sneer, too.

“I’ll stay on my own, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure. I was only going to have one more myself.”

“How many have you had?”

“Ah sure, you know yourself?”

“I don’t and that’s why I’m asking. I want to make sure that what I say gets through that thick fucking skull of yours.” He was definitely not smiling now. “Understand?”

The Driller straightened his shoulders and lowered his eyes as the ruddy-faced man continued.

“When we agreed to have you down here we were under the impression that you knew how things worked. So it came as a bit of a surprise to hear your name associated with the murder of some local scum.”

“I was just doing it as a nickser.”

“If you need money you come to us. We can’t have scuts like you coming down here and helping yourselves. We decide what goes on down here. Understand?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I was just trying not to be a burden. You know?”

*

The ruddy-faced man didn’t answer. He raised his pint and nodded to everyone in the mirror. Sometimes, when he was in on his own, when he was off duty, he’d sit and stare into it. Sometimes, after he had had a few, he could almost see the faces of those who had been the “hard men” when he was younger, as young as the Driller. Recently, he had seen Bart Boyle’s face in there a few times.

Bart had been the one who had gotten him out of a few jams when he was young and had done something stupid. “It’s all very well,” Bart would say, “joining up to fight the British but you have to learn along the way. Mistakes make martyrs and we’ve had enough of those. What we need now are men who know how to live to fight another day.”

“Well, I suppose that no real harm was done but we have the fucking Garda Síochána nosing around, wanting to know about that Scully shooting, and I need to give them somebody.

“Not you,” he reached forward to calm the young man’s stiffening arm. “We’ll give them that other little fucker. We can pin everything on him.”

“Well in that case,” the Driller gushed as he relaxed. “You should know that he has someone set up to take the fall for him.”

“We aren’t going to allow that to happen. We want this Flanagan and we’ll get him one way or the other.” He paused to let the Driller digest what he was saying. “But it would be better if we gave him to the Garda in one piece, better for everybody, you know?”

*

The Driller thought about it. It was no skin off his nose what they did with Anto—he’d never really liked him. Only he’d wait until after Danny brought the stuff back from London. He could even get someone to intercept him on the way back. He’d sell the stuff and have enough to go to America and get lost in New York or Boston. There’d be people there who’d look out for him—those that still respected the ones that did their part for Ireland.

“I’ll be more than happy to do whatever needs to be done,” he offered his hand to the ruddy-faced man. They had a deal, for what it was worth but at least it would get the Dublin crowd off his back.

“That’s the problem with all you’se young fuckers. You’d kill your own mothers. Now fuck off until you hear from me.”

*

The ruddy-faced man waited until he had gone before raising his pint toward the part of the mirror where he had last seen Bart. It was the least he could do for him, but he hoped that his grandson understood that it was just this one time. They had a war to finish and couldn’t afford to be getting sidetracked for anyone.

*

Jacinta met Gina at the corner of Henry Street. They were going to spend the rest of the morning in Arnott’s. They had seen all the stuff they wanted in Grafton Street but it was much cheaper on the Northside. Gina didn’t have a lot of money and Jacinta hadn’t told her yet; she’d been able to put away nearly five hundred pounds. It wasn’t hard now that Jerry was earning again but she didn’t let him know about it. There was no point in upsetting him.

If felt so good to be able to make somebody happy. She couldn’t do that with Danny, no matter how hard she tried. He smiled and acted like he was coming around but she could tell; his eyes gave him away. She could see he was terrified and looked out at the world the way he did when he was young and came to the hospital, but Nora told her not to worry about it anymore. She said that as long as Jacinta tried, that’s all that really mattered. Nora also suggested that she try to be more loving with everyone.

And her sisters expected it of her, being the one who was doing so well, and all. Linda and Brenda would throw in what they could but it wouldn’t be much. They were just getting by as it was.

“This is for the bride,” she laughed and handed Gina the envelope that she had kept secret between the pages of Nora’s Bible, where no one would look for it. She had confessed to her about it, and about the silverware and the china, but Nora said it was all right. She said that it was better they were put to some use rather than gathering dust in the corner. God knows, she had no use for them anymore.

“There must be a fortune in here.” Gina’s eyes sparkled like when she was a child. She was the youngest, not counting Martin.

“Well, we have to have you looking your best.”

After Jacinta, Gina was the prettiest, but Jacinta didn’t mind anymore and was determined to make sure that her sister’s day was every bit as special as her own.

She had to hand it to Nora Boyle; she had put on a great show, even if it was just for the sake of appearances. She had spared no expense; like Jacinta was her own daughter. Jacinta could see that now.

She never told Jerry, but sometimes, since that day in the church, Nora used to open up to her and sometimes it almost felt like she was trying to explain herself. “We thought differently in those days,” was something she managed to work into almost every conversation, even when Jacinta talked about Danny and what they should do about him. “We did what we thought was best. Only now that everything has changed, our best doesn’t seem to have been good enough.” She almost sounded like she was looking to Jacinta for some type of reassurance but that was ridiculous. Nora Boyle was reaching down from Heaven to help, them unless . . . Jacinta didn’t want to think about that because if Nora didn’t get in, what hope was there for the rest of them? Jacinta almost shivered at the thought but recovered before her sister noticed. “So have you picked your bridesmaids yet?”

Jacinta was far too old to be bothered by such things but she still wanted to know.

“I’m just having one. Bernie, from work, you know?”

“Have you told Linda and Brenda?”

“I did, and they’re still not speaking to me.”

“You know, if you wanted to have more than one, I could get Jerry to fork in a few more quid.”

“But you’re already paying for my dress. I can’t let you do that.” Gina shook her head but her eyes lit up. “Do you really think that you could get Jerry to do that?”

“It’s not a big deal. He’s making good money again and we’re more than willing to help. And I could talk to Linda about helping out. There’s no point in asking Brenda. She’ll agree but she’ll never get around to actually coming up with any money.”

“Jass! Do you really think I can?”

“You can have anything in the world with that pretty face. Have you picked out your lingerie yet?”

“I was going to look at dresses first.”

“You should start with the most important thing. He’s not going to remember you in your wedding dress but he’ll always remember what you wore the first time.”

“Jass!”

“I’m only telling you what I wish I knew when I got married.”

“Is that what it was like with you and Jerry? Did you go somewhere nice and romantic?”

“Not quite, but never mind that now; how would I look in this?” She held a frilly set against her and made a few of the moves that she knew men liked.

“Stop it, Jass.”

“Or this.”

“Stop it, Jass. You’re embarrassing me.”

Gina was probably thinking that she was too old to be considered a woman anymore so Jacinta put the frillies away and composed herself again as Gina gushed to fill the chasm that had opened between them.

“I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean anything by it; it’s just that I’m a bit nervous about it all.”

“About the wedding night?”

“No, we’ve already done that. What makes me nervous is thinking if I’m going to be happy with him. I mean I love him, and all, but I hardly know him.”

“What’s happened?”

“Well, he was all talk about the big fancy wedding that we were going to have, and then, when I asked him if his side might want to help out, do you know what he tells me? He tells me that they want to but his father’s business is doing badly, right now, so they can’t.

“And then when I asked him how we were going to manage after, you know what he said? He said: ‘Don’t worry, we always have a few more irons in the fire.’ I should have told him to take one of them out and stick it up his arse.” Gina broke down and started to cry in the middle of the frillies and the curiosity of the passing shoppers.

“I wouldn’t worry about any of that right now,” Jacinta offered a tissue and steered her sister toward the change rooms. “Lots of people say stupid things before they get married. Especially men. But you still want to get married, don’t you?”