Born & Bred (15 page)

**

“And you must be Martin,” an old whiskey-red face beamed at him from the door of the inner office; a mustier place with a large wooden desk and fine old leather chairs, dense with years of pipe smoke. “Come in, come in.” He ushered Martin inside and softly closed the door, muting the world outside. He sat behind his desk and deliberately composed himself. “Well now. Has Mrs. Boyle given you any indication as to why she wanted me to see you?”

“Not really,” Martin was unsure and didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“I see. Well! Let me get straight to the point, then. As you know, my client does not have long and she has asked me to apprise you of her wishes for her estate, after she has passed.”

Martin sat as straight as he could and held his hands in his lap.

“The house and its contents will pass to her grandson, Daniel, with a monthly provision for her son, Jeremiah, and his wife, Jacinta, to maintain things until Daniel comes of age.”

“I see.” Martin wanted to sound like he knew why any of this concerned him.

“However, Mrs. Boyle has some reservations about their financial acumen and has appointed you as . . . a form of guardian.”

“I see, but I’m not sure I understand.”

“Yes. It is a bit unorthodox but what Mrs. Boyle has requested is that you oversee the family and keep me informed of any problems that might arise. I realize,” he paused as if he was studying Martin’s perplexed face, “that this might put you in an awkward position but Mrs. Boyle expressed a particular confidence in you and felt that you would be the best possible influence on Danny’s life.”

“But what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, the house is paid for, so we have monthly allowances for utilities and other household expenses. Mrs. Boyle, however, has concerns that these monies might be misappropriated and feels that having a reliable pair of eyes on the situation would benefit everyone, particularly your nephew, Daniel.”

“But what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to tell his parents how to live their lives?”

“Not at all,” Davies laughed as if to put him at ease. It was all very unorthodox but Davies understood: Jeremiah Boyle was a disgrace to his name and that wife of his . . .

The law wasn’t flexible enough but he had ways of getting around it. Jeremiah didn’t have the wit to object. And besides, the Bishop was onside with it all. Mrs. Boyle had made provisions for the Church too, as well as certain political interests.

Despite rumors to the contrary Mrs. Boyle still had money. She had given far too much to the “Cause” but Bart had invested wisely and there was enough for them all, as long as it wasn’t squandered. “What Mrs. Boyle was hoping is that you could keep an eye on the situation, and, if any problems arise, report back to me.”

**

“So you want me to spy on them for you?”

“It is not about what I want, young man. Mrs. Boyle wants to appoint you as Daniel’s legal guardian until he comes of age. It is just a matter of ensuring that his best interests are being maintained.”

“But I don’t know anything about this stuff.”

Davies smiled like he was trying to explain something to a child. “I can assure you, young man, that you appear to be more than capable. Mrs. Boyle spoke at some length about your qualities. And besides, if problems were to arise, I am here to deal with them.”

“Well, I would do anything for Danny—and Granny Boyle—but I don’t want to be spying on my sister, or anything.”

“It is not a matter of spying on anybody. You would just be making sure that everybody is doing what they should be doing for the sake of your nephew, until he is old enough to take care of his own affairs. It is what is best—for all concerned.”

Martin signed some papers and left, feeling like a Judas as he walked through the rain. He didn’t need this right now. He had just started studying at Bolton Street and the pressures of life were beginning to pile up in front of him, obscuring his view.

But he had to be there for Danny: the poor little bollocks was going to need all the help he could get.

Besides, it was only for a few years and then he would be gone. After he graduated he would be off in America and be rid of them all. Dublin was far too Dublin for the likes of him.

**

Fr. Brennan had suggested that Fr. Reilly take on the task of visiting the old and infirm of the parish. “It is the closest we can get to stepping into the footsteps of the Fisherman.”

He made it sound like he was doing the young curate a favor. That it would free him up to go fly-fishing with the Bishop again was but a happy coincidence.

Not that Fr. Reilly agreed, but he accepted it—as penance for his ill-advised sermon. He was, however, trepidatious when he realized that Nora Boyle was on his list.

He hadn’t seen her in months and was shocked. She had shrivelled up like a spider, pale and wan with grey stands dangling around her frightened face. The end was fast approaching and Fr. Reilly felt too young and inadequate to meet the old lady’s gaze and had no idea where to begin.

“Are you well, Mrs. Boyle?”

“Of course I’m not well. What kind of a question is that and where’s Father Brennan?”

“Father Brennan is away this week, on parish business, but he made a point of asking me to drop in to see you.”

“Parish business? And what business does the parish have with the trout in Lough Sheelin?”

There was little wrong with the old lady’s mind, nor her ears. But then again she was good friends with the Bishop.

“Well now,” Fr. Reilly smiled boyishly, “It’s not for a curate to pry in such matters. But tell me now, are they doing all they can for you?”

“Who?”

“The doctors.”

“Oh them. They know nothing but giving people pills and bills. I was in perfect health until they got involved.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Boyle. And how is your family? Are they all keeping well?”

“Them? They’re worse than the doctors. Waiting and watching for the day I die. Except Danny, of course. Danny will miss me the most but I don’t want you to say a word to him. I don’t want to be upsetting him before his exams. Please God I will last ‘til then.”

“Is he taking his Inter this year?”

“Of course he is and he is going to get it with flying colors, too. He’s a very smart boy, my Danny. And an angel, too.”

They sat in silence for a while, Fr. Reilly groping in the darkening room for something to say while Granny Boyle made strange little sounds, like she was trying to swallow her bile. She probably thought he was an
amadán
. A total
amadán
.

“Father,” she asked with a sudden urgency that startled the young priest. “You’ll keep an eye on him—after I’m gone?”

“I will of course Mrs. Boyle. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

“And what would you know about what I have to worry about? That’s between me and your Boss.”

For a moment he thought she was referring to the Bishop.

“I’ll be seeing Him soon enough and I’ll have a chance to give Him a piece of my mind.” She seemed content with that.

“Well I hope that I haven’t given you reason to complain.”

“You? What have you got to do with what I have to tell the Lord?”

“Oh! Well, is there anything else I can do for you before you go? Have you had the sacraments?”

“Trust me Father, other than Danny, I’m at peace with life but if you have to have something to do, you can say the rosary with me. That would be a comfort. Hail Mary full of grace . . .”

CHAPTER 8

“So.” Anto opened the door wider and smirked like he was dispelling any doubts he may have had, “You had the good fuckin’ sense to come and see me right away. That’s smart, Boyle. C’mon in and tell me how it went down with the cops.”

He led Danny into his darkened room and sat back into his cold, black leather armchair. It had fallen off the back of a truck somewhere and came to Anto in lieu of an overdue payment.

He turned the stereo down a little—the new album by the Boomtown Rats—and leaned forward to pet the head of his massive black and brown dog. It lay at his feet, softly growling at Danny, but relaxed when Anto spoke again. “That was Scully’s mistake, ya know? He went into hiding and we got a bit nervous. Then we started to hear rumors and we knew we had to do something. It was just business, ya know?”

Danny nodded keeping one eye on the dog. Anto hadn’t told him he could sit so he stood in the middle of the room, like he was in court or something. “I told them nothing,” he blurted out. “I only told them that Scully gave them my name because I owed him some money.”

“And do you think they believed you?”

“I just made out like I was addicted, and all, and that I was confused. Besides, the priest came with me and he told them I was telling the truth.”

“A priest, Boyle?”

“Ya, and a bishop put in a good word, too. The Bishop was a friend of my granny’s.”

“It must be nice to have such connections.” Anto’s eyes glistened in the low light and Danny knew what he was thinking and piled it on. “Ya, they can’t touch me. They’ll have to believe what everybody is saying about me, ya know?”

“That could come in very handy, Boyle.”

“Ya.” But Danny wasn’t so sure. He had to be careful that he didn’t jump from the frying pan into the fires below. “Only I think it would be better if I laid low for a while and didn’t handle stuff. Just in case they are keeping an eye on me.”

“You’re right, Boyle. They’ll be watching you so we’d better let them see you’re clean. At least for a while.”

That was the glimmer Danny had hoped for. He had pleaded his case on the way over from the Garda station, pleading into the empty darkness and despair. He hadn’t pleaded with God. He told himself that he didn’t need His help but, deep down inside, he just didn’t feel worthy.

His father always told him that was why they taught them about Original Sin. “They get ya right from the start, like you have something wrong that only they can fix. Then they have you hooked. You’ve got to spend the rest of your life bowing and scraping to them and all their cronies. They’re as bad as the feckin’ drug dealers.”

But everything his father told him was just a load of shite. His father was as lost as he was. Everybody was. That’s why they made all that stuff up. There was no God and there was no Devil. There was just the luck of the draw.

If there was a God, he wouldn’t have taken his mother away. He was only a feckin’ child, for Christ’s sake. What could he have done to ever deserve something like that? If God was the decent, loving . . . whatever, he would have stepped in but he didn’t, leaving Danny to fend for himself.

Anto nodded like he understood and took off his sunglasses. Danny could almost feel his eyes searching deep inside him. Anto always wore his dark glasses when he was out, even at night. He always wore a suit, too, and fine leather shoes. He didn’t look like a drug dealer at all. He looked more like a businessman—or a pop star.

“Trust, Boyle. That’s what’s most important. We just need to know that we can trust you.”

Danny lowered his eyes again and decided. It was all very well for the priests and the Guards to talk about right and wrong, and law, but their hands were covered in blood, too. They had all done what they had to do, and, when it was done—when the bodies were burned or buried—sanctified the cause with God and country. Just like what his grandfather had done—putting bullets in men’s heads for the cause.

He would have to shake hands with the Devil and take whatever salvation Anto was offering. He would be smart about it, though. He’d play along with the Bishop and the priest for as long as he needed their help. He would be the “prodigal returned” and when things cooled down he would find a way to get out from under it all.

He’d even tell everybody that he was going to go back to school and redo his Leaving exam. He’d tell them that he was going to get a few “honors” and go on to university, just like Deirdre. That way he could get a degree and a good job, and like his grandfather, he would never speak about the days when darkness was the only light. “So? Do you trust me?”

“Well,” Anto paused like he was considering it. “Like I said, you did the right thing in coming to see me before any nasty shit got spread around. I like honesty, and I like to be able to trust.”

He patted the dog’s head again. It rose on its haunches with its red tongue hanging to one side, its big brown eyes turned in devotion to its master.

“Are we cool then?” Danny asked in hope.

“Okay, Boyle. We’re cool. But remember we might have to call on you for a favor, now and then. Nothing too heavy. We might just need you to do a few pickups for us. After things have cooled down, of course.”

He rose and led Danny to the door with the dog following behind. “Go home, Boyle, and stay out of trouble until you hear from us. And Boyle, you did the right thing.”

*

Nora Boyle whispered into the darkness around the small altar to the side.

She pleaded with the mother of God to intercede on behalf of her Danny who had fallen from the Grace of God and would now have to walk the world until the darkness took him.

Her very own grandson had outgrown those sunny days when God smiled down through the clouds; days when sins were so small and could easily be cleansed, days when Danny trusted in those who were there for him. But he had turned away from all of that. He had turned his back on God, despite all that she had tried to teach him.

But
, she reminded himself,
it wasn’t all her fault.
Things had started to fall apart when she died.

Though her funeral was a grand sight to see and she loved every minute of it.

The church was packed and everyone wore their finest. Even Fr. Brennan was moved to generosity with incense and brand new candles. It was the least that he could do for her—she had been generous enough in her will.

Her heart ached a little for Danny, sitting in the front row, alongside his parents, surrounded by priests and nuns naturally attired for the presence of death. The nuns clucked over him and patted his cheeks while the priests shook hands with his father before they all sat down, only to rise again to make way for the Bishop and his entourage who arrived just before it all began.