The New Collected Short Stories (21 page)

Eamonn remained sceptical, and it wasn’t until Maggie arrived back from Dublin with a new dress she wanted everyone to see her in that he finally surrendered and agreed to accompany her to
the party. ‘But we won’t stay for more than an hour, and that’s my final word on the subject,’ he warned her.

When they left the house on the night of the party, Eamonn checked that every window was locked and every door was bolted before he set the alarm. He then drove slowly around
the perimeter of his land, warning all the guards to be especially careful and to call him on his mobile if they spotted anything suspicious – and he meant anything.

Maggie, who was checking her hair in the car mirror, told him that if he took much longer there wouldn’t be any party left to go to.

When they walked into the ballroom of the Queen’s Arms half an hour later, Billy Gibson seemed genuinely pleased to see them, which only made Eamonn feel even more suspicious.

‘I don’t think you’ve met my successor,’ said the Chief, before introducing Eamonn and Maggie to Jim Hogan. ‘But I’m sure you know of his
reputation.’

Eamonn knew of his reputation only too well, and wanted to return home immediately, but someone pressed a pint of Guinness into his hand, and a young constable asked Maggie for a dance.

While she was dancing, Eamonn looked around the room to see if there was anyone he knew. Far too many, he concluded, and couldn’t wait for an hour to pass so he could go home. But then his
eyes rested on Mick Burke, a local pickpocket who was serving behind the bar. Eamonn was surprised that, with Mick’s record, they had let him past the front door. But at least he had found
someone he could have a quiet chat to.

When the band stopped playing, Maggie joined the queue for food and filled a plate with salmon and new potatoes. She took the offering across to Eamonn, who for a few minutes looked almost as if
he was enjoying himself. After a second helping he started swapping stories with one or two members of the Garda, who appeared to be hanging on his every word.

But the moment Eamonn heard eleven chime on the ballroom clock, he suddenly wanted to escape. ‘Even Cinderella didn’t leave the ball before twelve,’ Maggie told him. ‘And
in any case, it would be rude to leave just as the Chief’s about to deliver his farewell speech.’

The toastmaster banged his gavel and called for order. A warm round of applause greeted Billy Gibson as he stepped forward to take his place in front of the microphone. He rested his speech on
the lectern and smiled down at the assembled gathering.

‘My friends,’ he began, ‘ – not to mention one or two sparring partners.’ He raised his glass in the direction of Eamonn, delighted to see he was still among them.
‘It is with a heavy heart that I appear before you tonight, aware of how much I am indebted to all of you.’ He paused. ‘And I mean
all
of you.’ Cheers and catcalls
followed these remarks, and Maggie was delighted to see that Eamonn was joining in the laughter.

‘Now, I well remember when I first joined the force. That was when things were really tough.’ More cheers followed, and louder catcalls from the young. The noise died down eventually
when the Chief resumed his speech, no one wishing to deny him the opportunity of reminiscing at his own farewell party.

Eamonn was still sober enough to notice the young constable entering the room, an anxious look on his face. He made his way quickly towards the stage, and although he evidently didn’t feel
able to interrupt Billy’s speech, he carried out Mr Hogan’s instructions and placed a note in the middle of the lectern.

Eamonn began to fumble for his mobile, but he couldn’t find it in any of his pockets. He could have sworn he’d had it with him when he arrived.

‘When I hand in my badge at midnight . . .’ Billy said, glancing down at his speech to see the note in front of him. He paused and adjusted his glasses, as if trying to take in the
significance of the message, then frowned and looked back up at his guests. ‘I must apologise, my friends, but it seems that there’s been an incident on the border that requires my
personal attention. I have no choice but to leave immediately, and ask that all ranking officers join me outside. I hope our guests will continue to enjoy the party, and be assured we’ll
return just as soon as we’ve sorted the little problem out.’

Only one person reached the front door before the Chief, and he was driving out of the carpark before even Maggie realised he’d left the room. However, the Chief, siren blaring, still
managed to overtake Eamonn some two miles from the border.

‘Shall I have him stopped for speeding?’ asked the Chief ’s driver.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Billy Gibson. ‘What’s the point of this whole performance if the principal actor is unable to make an entrance?’

When Eamonn brought his car to a halt at the edge of his property a few minutes later, he found it encircled by thick blue-and-white tape proclaiming ‘DANGER. DO NOT ENTER.’

He jumped out of his car and ran over to the Chief, who was receiving a briefing from a group of officers.

‘What the hell is going on?’ demanded Eamonn.

‘Ah, Eamonn, I’m so glad you were able to make it. I was just about to call you, in case you were still at the party. It seems that about an hour ago an IRA patrol was spotted on
your land.’

‘Actually, that hasn’t been confirmed,’ said a young officer, who was listening intently to someone on a hand-phone. ‘There’s conflicting intelligence coming out of
Ballyroney suggesting that they may have been loyalist paramilitaries.’

‘Well, whoever they are, my first interest must be the protection of lives and property, and to that end I’ve sent in the bomb squad to make sure it will be safe for you and Maggie
to return to your home.’

‘That’s bollocks, Billy Gibson, and you know it,’ said Eamonn. ‘I’m ordering you off my land before I instruct my men to forcibly remove you.’

‘Well, it’s not quite as easy as that,’ said the Chief. ‘You see, I’ve just had a message from the bomb squad that they’ve already broken into your house.
You’ll be relieved to know they found no one on the premises, but they were most concerned to come across an unidentifiable package in the conservatory, and a similar one in the
garage.’

‘But they’re nothing more than . . .’

‘Nothing more than what?’ asked the Chief innocently.

‘How did your people manage to get past my guards?’ demanded Eamonn. ‘They had orders to throw you off if you put so much as a toe on my land.’

‘Now there’s the thing, Eamonn. They must have wandered off your property for a moment without realising it, and because of the imminent danger to their lives I felt it necessary to
take them all into custody. For their own protection, you understand.’

‘I’ll bet you don’t even have a search warrant to enter my property.’

‘I don’t need one,’ said the Chief, ‘if I’m of the opinion that someone’s life is in danger.’

‘Well, now you know that no one’s life is in danger, and never was in the first place, you can get off my property and back to your party.’

‘There’s my next problem, Eamonn. You see, we’ve just had another call, this time from an anonymous informant, to warn us that he has placed a bomb in the garage and another in
the conservatory, and that they’ll be detonated just before midnight. The moment I was informed of this threat, I realised that it was my duty to check the safety manual to find out what the
correct procedure is in circumstances such as these.’ The Chief removed a thick green booklet from an inside pocket, as if it were always with him.

‘You’re bluffing,’ said O’Flynn. ‘You don’t have the authority to . . .’

‘Ah, here’s what I was after,’ said the Chief, after he had flicked over a few pages. Eamonn looked down to see a paragraph underlined in red ink.

‘Let me read you the exact words, Eamonn, so that you’ll fully comprehend the terrible dilemma I’m facing. “
If an officer above the rank of Major or Chief Inspector
believes that the lives of civilians may be at risk at the scene of a suspected terrorist attack, and he has a qualified member of the bomb squad present, he must first clear the area of all
civilians and, having achieved this, if he deems it appropriate, carry out an isolated explosion
.” Couldn’t be clearer,’ said the Chief. ‘Now, are you able to let me
know what’s in those boxes, Eamonn? If not, I must assume the worst, and proceed according to the book.’

‘If you harm my property in any way, Billy Gibson, let me warn you that I’ll sue you for every penny you’re worth.’

‘You’re worrying unnecessarily, Eamonn. Let me reassure you that there’s page after page in the manual concerning compensation for innocent victims. We would naturally feel it
our obligation to rebuild your lovely home, brick by brick, recreating a conservatory Maggie would be proud of and a garage large enough to house all your cars. However, if we were to spend that
amount of taxpayers’ money, we would have to ensure that the house was built on one side of the border or the other, so that an unhappy incident such as this one could never happen
again.’

‘You’ll never get away with it,’ said Eamonn, as a heavily-built man appeared by the Chief’s side, carrying a plunger.

‘You’ll remember Mr Hogan, of course. I introduced you at my farewell party.’

‘You put a finger on that plunger, Hogan, and I’ll have you facing inquiries for the rest of your working life. And you’ll be able to forget any ideas of becoming Chief
Constable.’

‘Mr O’Flynn makes a fair point, Jim,’ said the Chief, checking his watch, ‘and I certainly wouldn’t want to be responsible for harming your career in any way. But I
see that you don’t take over command for another seven minutes, so it will be my sad duty to carry out this onerous responsibility.’

As the Chief bent down to place his hand on the plunger, Eamonn leapt at his throat. It took three officers to restrain him, while he shouted obscenities at the top of his voice.

The Chief sighed, checked his watch, gripped the handle of the plunger and pressed down slowly.

The explosion could be heard for miles around as the roof of the garage – or was it the conservatory? – flew high into the air. Within moments the buildings were razed to the ground,
leaving nothing in their place but smoke, dust and a pile of rubble.

When the noise had finally died away, the chimes of St Mary’s could be heard striking twelve in the distance. The former Chief of Police considered it the end of a perfect day.

‘You know, Eamonn,’ he said, ‘I do believe that was worth sacrificing my pension for.’

I
FIRST MET
Susie six years ago, and when she called to ask if I would like to join her for a drink, she can’t have been surprised that my
immediate response was a little frosty. After all, my memory of our last meeting wasn’t altogether a happy one.

I had been invited to the Keswicks for dinner, and like all good hostesses, Kathy Keswick considered it nothing less than her duty to pair off any surviving bachelor over the age of thirty with
one of her more eligible girlfriends.

With this in mind, I was disappointed to find that she had placed me next to Mrs Ruby Collier, the wife of a Conservative Member of Parliament who was seated on the left of my hostess at the
other end of the table. Only moments after I had introduced myself she said, ‘You’ve probably read about my husband in the press.’ She then proceeded to tell me that none of her
friends could understand why her husband wasn’t in the Cabinet. I felt unable to offer an opinion on the subject, because until that moment I had never heard of him.

The name-card on the other side of me read ‘Susie’, and the lady in question had the sort of looks that made you wish you were sitting opposite her at a table set for two. Even after
a sideways glance at that long fair hair, blue eyes, captivating smile and slim figure, I would not have been surprised to discover that she was a model. An illusion she was happy to dispel within
minutes.

I introduced myself by explaining that I had been at Cambridge with our host. ‘And how do you know the Keswicks?’ I enquired.

‘I was in the same office as Kathy when we both worked for
Vogue
in New York.’

I remember feeling disappointed that she lived overseas. For how long, I wondered. ‘Where do you work now?’

‘I’m still in New York,’ she replied. ‘I’ve just been made the commissioning editor for
Art Quarterly
.’

‘I renewed my subscription only last week,’ I told her, rather pleased with myself. She smiled, evidently surprised that I’d even heard of the publication.

‘How long are you in London for?’ I asked, glancing at her left hand to check that she wore neither an engagement nor a wedding ring.

‘Only a few days. I flew over for my parents’ wedding anniversary last week, and I was hoping to catch the Lucian Freud exhibition at the Tate before I go back to New York. And what
do you do?’ she asked.

‘I own a small hotel in Jermyn Street,’ I told her.

I would happily have spent the rest of the evening chatting to Susie, and not just because of my passion for art, but my mother had taught me from an early age that however much you like the
person on one side of you, you must be equally attentive to the one sitting on the other side.

I turned back to Mrs Collier, who pounced on me with the words, ‘Have you read the speech my husband made in the Commons yesterday?’

I confessed that I hadn’t, which turned out to be a mistake, because she then delivered the entire offering verbatim.

Once she had completed her monologue on the subject of the Draft Civic Amenities (Landfill) Act, I could see why her husband wasn’t in the Cabinet. In fact, I made a mental note to avoid
him when we retired to the drawing room for coffee.

‘I much look forward to making your husband’s acquaintance after dinner,’ I told her, before turning my attention back to Susie, only to find that she was staring at someone on
the other side of the table. I glanced across to see that the man in question was deep in conversation with Mary Ellen Yarc, an American woman who was seated next to him, and seemed unaware of the
attention he was receiving.