Field of Blood (27 page)

and his eyes were puffed and staring strangely. By morning Baby Sean was finally

asleep, curled in the centre of their bed.

Goss was in the kitchen, boiling a kettle, looking for tea bags, managing a welcoming smile for Roisin. Prentice drowsed in his hallway chair. Goss greeted

Roisin as if there was nothing odd in a woman coming into her kitchen and finding a detective with a shoulder holster worn over his sleeveless sweater rummaging for a teapot. He didn't bother to ask her how she had slept. One thing

he had found since he'd come to Palace Barracks was that the woman was the strength of the pair. Whatever happened down the road at Castlereagh with her

man, when it came to the home then it was with Roisin McAnally that the minders had to score. Goss reckoned there were never two equals in a marriage,

there was one on the top and one on the bottom, and in this family it was Roisin

who ruled. If he and Prentice missed with her, then they

were scratching ... and she had walls around her that would take some battering.

She moved around him in the kitchen as if he were an obstruction. With Goss awake and Prentice sleeping it was pretty obvious how they'd spent their night.

Staggered duties of sleep and guard. She'd get used to it, she'd have to get used

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to it, and get used to the pistols worn against their chests, and to the personal radio that was clamped in Prentice's hands.

She had made a small effort to face the day. She wore a smear of lipstick, and she'd combed her hair back to the elastic band. McAnally had made no effort.

Not that his cropped hair needed combing and brushing, but the fact that he hadn't washed was clear from the last evening's newsprint stains on his fingers and the sleep in his eyes. Goss sat with them at the kitchen table for toast and tea, and could smell McAnally. Goss's girl, the girl he was to marry, the girl who

worked in the Northern Bank, she was a stickler for personal cleanliness. Goss's

girl would have said that Andy Goss should pack it in, and get himself something

half decent, something where he didn't touch dirt like this. That was another problem, Goss's girl, that was a problem that wouldn't get sorted that morning.

Roisin didn't acknowledge Goss at the table. Goss did not exist. She didn't pass

him the toast, nor the butter, nor the jam. She let him pour his own tea, his own

milk.

There was a key in the door. Roisin listened. Goss listened. They heard Prentice's

voice, and Rennie's, a murmured confidential conversation out in the hall.

Àre we going out this morning?'

`Where?'

Roisin looked at McAnally as if he were an idiot.

`Shopping, for me, for the kids, for the kitchen.'

`Not with me, you're not.' McAnally shovelled toast into his mouth.

`Why not?

'Because I'm out.'

`Where are you?'

McAnally didn't reply. He reached for more toast.

If it hadn't been so bloody important Goss could have had a big belly laugh. Gingy

McAnally wasn't up to telling his Missus that he'd be off to Castlereagh for the morning to do a bit more touting. Gingy hadn't the bottle to chat the Missus with

the happy news that he was spilling through the morning on some more of his mates, and stitching them up for Tens and Twenties.

`So, when you're out, what do I do?'

McAnally poured himself tea.

Rennie came in.

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**Goss caught Young Gerard, held him struggling as he tried to get to his father,

to defend his mother.

McAnally and his wife clutched for each other. They were both weeping. Their arms were around each other, and the tears were wet on their faces. McAnally buried his kisses in Roisin's shaking, sobbing head.

Goss said to Young Gerard, `Let's make a cup of tea for your Ma, laddie.'

The watch mender in Monaghan died that evening in the cellar below his

workshop.

He was working on a booby trap when a boot kicked in the glass of the cellar's high window, when the petrol streamed down over his work bench, when the match was thrown.

The watch mender in Monaghan had never heard the name of Sean Pius

McAnally.

11

Because Baby Sean's growing teeth ached in his gums the small child tossed and

cried through the night, even when Roisin cuddled his body against her. Coming

down the stairs Roisin was withdrawn inside herself and pale‐skinned and red-eyed, and McAnally had snapped that he didn't have to shave every bloody day

and his eyes were puffed and staring strangely. By morning Baby Sean was finally

asleep, curled in the centre of their bed.

Goss was in the kitchen, boiling a kettle, looking for tea bags, managing a welcoming smile for Roisin. Prentice drowsed in his hallway chair. Goss greeted

Roisin as if there was nothing odd in a woman coming into her kitchen and finding a detective with a shoulder holster worn over his sleeveless sweater rummaging for a teapot. He didn't bother to ask her how she had slept. One thing

he had found since he'd come to Palace Barracks was that the woman was the strength of the pair. Whatever happened down the road at Castlereagh with her

man, when it came to the home then it was with Roisin McAnally that the minders had to score. Goss reckoned there were never two equals in a marriage,

there was one on the top and one on the bottom, and in this family it was Roisin

who ruled. If he and Prentice missed with her, then they

were scratching ... and she had walls around her that would take some battering.

She moved around him in the kitchen as if he were an obstruction. With Goss awake and Prentice sleeping it was pretty obvious how they'd spent their night.

Staggered duties of sleep and guard. She'd get used to it, she'd have to get used

146

to it, and get used to the pistols worn against their chests, and to the personal radio that was clamped in Prentice's hands.

She had made a small effort to face the day. She wore a smear of lipstick, and she'd combed her hair back to the elastic band. McAnally had made no effort.

Not that his cropped hair needed combing and brushing, but the fact that he hadn't washed was clear from the last evening's newsprint stains on his fingers and the sleep in his eyes. Goss sat with them at the kitchen table for toast and tea, and could smell McAnally. Goss's girl, the girl he was to marry, the girl who

worked in the Northern Bank, she was a stickler for personal cleanliness. Goss's

girl would have said that Andy Goss should pack it in, and get himself something

half decent, something where he didn't touch dirt like this. That was another problem, Goss's girl, that was a problem that wouldn't get sorted that morning.

Roisin didn't acknowledge Goss at the table. Goss did not exist. She didn't pass

him the toast, nor the butter, nor the jam. She let him pour his own tea, his own

milk.

There was a key in the door. Roisin listened. Goss listened. They heard Prentice's

voice, and Rennie's, a murmured confidential conversation out in the hall.

Àre we going out this morning?'

`Where?'

Roisin looked at McAnally as if he were an idiot.

`Shopping, for me, for the kids, for the kitchen.'

`Not with me, you're not.' McAnally shovelled toast into his mouth.

`Why not?

'Because I'm out.'

`Where are you?'

McAnally didn't reply. He reached for more toast.

If it hadn't been so bloody important Goss could have had a big belly laugh. Gingy

McAnally wasn't up to telling his Missus that he'd be off to Castlereagh for the morning to do a bit more touting. Gingy hadn't the bottle to chat the Missus with

the happy news that he was spilling through the morning on some more of his mates, and stitching them up for Tens and Twenties.

`So, when you're out, what do I do?'

McAnally poured himself tea.

Rennie came in.

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**Rennie was like a big bloody bouncing ball. If he was aware of the cut in the atmosphere of the kitchen he gave no sign of it.

`Come on, Gingy ... Start of the working day. Jump to it, lad.'

That was rich, Goss thought, because he knew from the file that Sean Pius McAnally had never held down a job in his life. Urban guerrilla on the dole, freedom fighter on Supplementary benefit.

`Morning, Mrs McAnally, settling nicely I hope . . . Come on, Gingy, shift yourself, we've got a mountain today.'

Goss had to hand it to Rennie. The old cut‐throat knew what he was at. Jollying

the reptile along was the name of the game, with cheerful, bruising authority. He

saw the glance that Roisin gave Rennie. Prentice was well out of it, Prentice was

clever to have his head down.

McAnally stood. There was a moment of indecision and then he bent quickly and

kissed Roisin on the forehead, and her face seemed to say that if she had known

what he was about to do then she would have ducked her face away.

Prentice went with McAnally and Rennie, out through the front door. Rennie led,

and Prentice was behind McAnally and close to him.

Goss was watching Roisin. She gazed after them, and then at the slammed front

door. He saw the sneer on her face. Now she stood up and walked to the back window.

Goss saw the slimness of her hips, the outline of her shoulder blades.

Ìt'll get better, Mrs McAnally. There are only two bad bits. This is one of the bad

bits, trying to find your balance after what's happened to you. The other bit is when your husband goes into court.'

He couldn't see what sight, out of the window, held her attention.

`There's two bad bits, and a whole lot of good things. Look at it this way ... if Sean had gone to the Kesh for life then you and the kids are wrecked for ever.

You're not wrecked now, far from it. You're in good shape and you're in honest

hands.'

He saw that he had reached her, that at least she listened to him. Her head jolted

back. He fancied her mouth was set in derision.

`The kids have a chance now. The kids have a chance to do something decent with their lives. It's the worst thing with what goes on here that the kids are stained for the rest of their lives with what their parents have done. You don't believe you're in honest hands? We're going to show you that you're wrong.'

She turned to face him. There was a snap of a short smile on her face, and then

she looked away.

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Ì'll be getting the kids up, making the beds.'

She went past him. He heard her tripping up the stairs.

`Tell him you want to play that draughts game.'

Ì don't know how to play the game.'

Ì'm not caring whether you know how. Tell him to teach you.'

Roisin was at the front bedroom window. She could see the woman from the next house but one and the woman from the house beyond that. They had their

overcoats on and there was a push chair and a wheeled shopping basket.

`Gerard, you learn to play the game from him, you be sweet to him.'

Ì hate the shit peeler.'

When he was very small she would have ear clipped him for swearing, when he

was three or four years old. She didn't any longer. She barely noticed his obscenities.

`Gerard, if I didn't want you to play the game with him then I wouldn't be asking

you. Do as I say, Gerard.'

Ì have to?

'You have to.'

Roisin went down the stairs half the flight behind Gerard. Baby Sean was still asleep, Little Patty was in her bed and turning the pages of a picture book. Roisin

heard Gerard shyly ask Goss to show him the draughts game. She heard the detective's surprised and pleased reply. Oh, he'd like that, would the detective.

He'd like to show the boy how to play a game like draughts. The living room door

was open. Goss would be able to see the front door, would be able to watch it even though he was teaching her boy to play the game of draughts. Bloody good

kid, that Gerard. Good because he did what he was told without a bloody inquest

of explanations.

It was in the night that she had decided what she would do. When she was sleepless, when Gingy had been on his back and moaning his worries, when Baby

Sean had been fretting on his teeth, when she had remembered the television.

The kitchen door was locked, and no key. With care she moved the saucepans off

the draining board. She climbed easily onto the draining board. Away in the living

room she heard the clatter of the draught pieces, and Goss's laughter. She eased

the window open.

She dropped out through the window. She pushed the window shut behind her.

There was a cold, wet wind catching at her sweater. She couldn't have put on a

coat, too bulky for the narrow kitchen window. She had to pass the window doors of the living room. She couldn't help herself, she peered for a moment into

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the lit room and saw Gerard on his knees, and Goss leaning forward from his chair

and the draughts board on the carpet. She scurried past the windows. Her teeth

were chattering.