This Irish House (16 page)

“Hello,” she said breathlessly, “this is Kate Nolan.”

A slight pause. “Hello, Kate. How are you?”

She found her balance. “A bit confused.”

“How so?”

“Dylan McCarthy told me it was due to your intervention that my son was released from Long Kesh.”

“Yes.”

“You could have called me. I left several messages.”

“We didn't leave each other on the best of terms. I thought it best if the news came from Mr. McCarthy.”

“How is it possible that he was released?”

“I culled a few favors.”

“I appreciate it, but why?”

She heard the release of his breath over the phone.

“I don't see prison as a cure for what ails Kevin. Where he is will be much better for him.”

Kate's anger broke through. “Kevin is my son, Mr. Anderson. While I am grateful to you for bothering with him, you've placed him in a facility I know nothing about. I deeply resent that kind of high-handedness.”

“Would you prefer that he be in prison?”

“Of course, not. What I prefer is that he be in a program of my choice, not yours.”

“He's not a child, Kate.”

“No,” she snapped. “But neither is he an adult. I'm his mother and I know nothing about Tranquility House. How did you find this place and why am I not even allowed to visit?”

He ignored her first questions. “Kevin will be able to have visitors.”

“When?”

“In three weeks.”

Three
weeks.
Three
weeks
until
she
could
see
her
son,
touch
him,
learn
the
state
of
his
mind.
“That's a long time.”

“Kate.” She could hear the exasperation in his voice. “Why aren't you asking the important questions?”

“Such as?”

“Such as, how did Kevin arrive at this point and how can you be sure he doesn't fall back into it again?”

Was the man mad? Did he really know so little about the Irish, about children. “I don't know those things. Neither does any mother in the North of Ireland.”

“I don't understand.”

“Would you like to?”

“Yes.”

“Then come with me, tomorrow. I'll show you what it's really like for us to live here.”

“Do you think I don't know that?”

“Yes, Mr. Anderson, that's exactly what I do think.”

“You won't shock me, Kate. I've seen parts of this planet that turned my stomach and that doesn't happen easily.”

She was irrationally annoyed at his persistent use of her Christian name. Kate no longer wanted to be on a first-name basis with Neil Anderson. “You'll see a bit more if you agree to come with me, only this time it won't be a third world country. This time it will be your own, Mr. Anderson.” She deliberately used his last name. “This time it will be red-haired, fair-skinned children who are the victims. Somehow, even though it shouldn't, that makes it harder to accept.”

“Where and when do you want me?”

She gave him directions to the park.

“I'll be there at four o'clock tomorrow.”

Minutes later, she was still staring at the phone, wondering what could possibly have come over her. The last thing she wanted was to spend the afternoon with Neil Anderson.

D
eirdre stuffed her notes into her book bag, hoisted it to her shoulder and headed toward the exit door of her political science class. She'd seen Peter Clarke staring at her and deliberately waited until he'd filed out of the room. He'd approached her a few times since their meeting at the White Swan. She'd been pleasant but remote. He should have understood that she wasn't interested.

She wasn't doing particularly well in political science. She wanted nothing to do with government, history or politics. Those were national matters, not global ones. Deirdre was interested in numbers and science, in the large picture, the one in which all of mankind participated. Nationalism, petty boundary squabbles, haggling over territory and battle strategies held no appeal for her. Political science was a requirement, like composition and mastering an EU language. Nothing else would have coerced her into taking such a class if she had had a choice in the matter.

“Hello, Deirdre.”

She froze.

Peter Clarke stepped in front of her. “We've an hour before medieval history. Would you like to go for a bite to eat?”

She shook her head. “I can't.”

“Why not?”

“I'm meeting someone.”

One eyebrow rose skeptically. “May I join you?”

“No.” She'd said it too quickly. Now he would know there was no one. She wasn't sorry. He was too persistent. Anyone paying attention would know to leave her alone.

He grinned a brilliant, white-toothed grin that would have melted a normal eighteen-year-old girl's heart. But Deirdre wasn't normal. She'd been shaped by circumstance and the concept of letting anyone in left her wary if not jaded.

“Have I done something to offend you?”

She blushed and shifted the bag to her other shoulder. “No, of course not. We don't know each other well enough for that.

Without asking, he lifted the strap from her shoulder and effortlessly swung it over his. “We can fix that.”

“No, we can't.”

“Why not?”

Deirdre flipped her hair back over her shoulder and shoved her hands into the pockets of her denims. “I don't mean to be rude, Peter, but—”

“You remembered my name.”

She stared at him. “We've had two classes together since the beginning of the term.”

“Do you know everyone's name in your classes?”

“Generally, no. But I know everyone who is in
both
classes.”

“You were saying?”

“It wouldn't work.”

“What wouldn't?”

“Us.”

“I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, Deirdre. I just want to spend a bit of time with you.”

“Why bother?”

The smile faded. “To get to know you. Why does anyone bother?”

“Listen to me, Peter. You're probably a very nice person, but you're a Protestant.”

“And?”

“I'm not.”

He looked incredulous. “Are you telling me you can't have a meal with a Protestant? Do you think I'll curdle your food?”

She ignored his question. “Catholics and Protestants aren't friendly, Peter. Don't tell me you haven't noticed.”

“Maybe out on the streets but not here. We're alike here.”

“It's time you did notice. We're not alike at all. Look around you.” She waved her arm to encompass the wave of students passing them by in twos and threes. “We sit in class together. We share meals and study areas. But we don't live together, pray together or recreate together. Only ten percent of our population crosses religious lines to marry and those who do are banned from political life and must accustom themselves to living in fear.”

“I'm sorry about your father, Deirdre.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know about my father?”

“Everyone knows about Patrick Nolan.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“But you haven't forgotten it.”

“It isn't something one forgets.”

He looked down at the ground. “I promise to offer you nothing but tea or a Guinness. Will that do?”

She crossed her arms. “Why me? There must be others who would accept your invitation far more willingly.”

“Thank you. I'm flattered.”

“Don't grow another head or anything. It was just an observation.”

He laughed and looked at the sky and wrinkled his brow as if deep in thought. “I like you. I like what you say when you answer questions in class. You're thoughtful and bright and compassionate. Intelligence appeals to me.”

She stared at him. Whatever she'd expected, it wasn't this shy, sweet, vulnerable disclosure. Imagine a boy, a Protestant boy, saying such a thing to her. She felt herself wavering. It was only one meal. “I'll do it,” she said, “but only this once.”

“Really?” He looked elated. “You're serious?”

“Yes.”

He held out his hand. “Come along then.”

She hesitated. “I've agreed to a snack, Peter. That's all.”

Deirdre could feel his disappointment but she wouldn't be bullied, no matter how nice he was.

They walked side by side, past the Gothic spires, the blue wrought iron gates with their gold posts, the cobblestones and iron gates, across the street to the Stranmillis Road.

“Have you always been like this or is it me?” he asked after they'd walked a block in silence.

“Like what?”

“Suspicious.”

“I've already explained. Your religious persuasion makes me uncomfortable.”

“Have you ever really known a Protestant?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so. There really hasn't been an opportunity or a need.”

He stopped at a small tea shop with striped blue awnings. A cheerful-looking older woman with a broom in her hand waved them inside. “Hello, Peter.” She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “How lovely to see you. There's a table all set by the window if you care to take it. I'll finish up here and be with you in a minute.”

Deirdre settled herself in her seat. “Do you come here often?”

“Aye. I've been coming here since I was a wee lad. This is my grandmother's shop.”

“That's your grandmother?”

“Aye. She's a character. My mum's nothing like her.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Not really. It's just that Gran's such fun. Mum is the serious type.”

“So is mine, but she's lovely just the same.”

Peter nodded. “I've seen her picture. She's something of a celebrity.”

“She's not fond of that part of her job.”

“Tell me about her.”

Deirdre was embarrassed. “There's nothing to tell. She's my mum, that's all.”

“She must have enormous credentials to have the position she has.”

Deirdre frowned. “Mum's actually quite shy, although no one would ever know it. She makes a very good first impression.”

“Like her daughter?”

“I don't think so. Mum is actually a much more compassionate person than I am. She feeds everyone. It doesn't matter who it is. If you come to our door my mother will feed you, even if you're not hungry. She'll send you away with enough food to keep you for a month.”

“Is she a good cook?”

Deirdre closed her eyes briefly and it seemed as if she could smell her mother's pot roast and potatoes. “Wonderful. No one cooks like Mum.”

“Invite me, please.”—

She was saved from answering by Peter's grandmother who bustled over with a pot of tea, a pitcher of milk and a basket of rich brown bread and butter. “Here we are, darlings, just the way Peter likes it.”

“Gran, this is my friend, Deirdre Nolan. Deirdre, meet my grandmother, Mrs. Adrianne Richards.”

“I'm very pleased to meet you, Deirdre. What can I get for you today?”

“Something sweet. What do you recommend?”

Peter spoke first. “There isn't anything like Gran's desserts.”

“I've trifle today and apple cake with vanilla sauce,” his grandmother said.

Peter glanced over at Deirdre. She shrugged her shoulders. “They both sound wonderful.”

He decided for them. “Two apple cakes.”

Mrs. Richards smiled again and her eyes disappeared into the folds of her face. “An inspired choice. It's really the better of the two.”

Deirdre laughed out loud. “You should have told us that in the beginning.”

The woman's eyes twinkled. “But I couldn't have, love. It came to me for the first time when Peter ordered.”

“You're very funny, Mrs. Richards.”

“And you're very quick, a grand and necessary virtue in a woman.”

“Thank you.”

“You're very welcome. I'll be off now to dish up your apple cake.”

Deirdre waited until their hostess disappeared into the kitchen. “She's lovely.”

“She likes you.”

“How do you know?”

“I can always tell when Gran likes someone. She teases them.” He leaned forward. “She's going to be very disappointed if you don't come again.”

“I'll come,” Deirdre assured him, “and I'll bring all my friends. This might become our new favorite haunt.”

He laughed.

“Seriously. Has she always run this shop?”

“Ever since my grandda died. She raised my mother on her own. Mum's an only child. She worked in the shop while growing up. Gran says she resented it. She doesn't come in at all now.”

“What about your father?”

“What about him?”

“Does he come in?”

“Sometimes, when he's not working. Gran always gives him a free meal.”

Mrs. Richards interrupted them carrying two generous, steaming bowls of apple cake, drizzled in thick cream.

Deirdre moaned with delight.

Peter grinned. “I hope your appetite is bigger than you are. It would be a shame to see you take two bites and fill up. Gran would be insulted.”

Deirdre picked up her spoon and scooped an enormous portion into her mouth. “Actions speak louder than words,” she said when the first delicious bite had settled in her stomach.

“Is that a challenge?”

“If you like.”

“All right, then. Would you care to place a small wager?”

“The terms?”

“If you eat one apple cake and a trifle, I'll take you to the cinema tomorrow night.”

“And if I don't?”

“You can pay for the cinema.”

Deirdre thought of her mother. What would Kate say? Suddenly Deirdre was no longer in the mood for sweets. She set down her spoon. “I don't think so, Peter. I'm sorry. I really am. But it's impossible.”

Neil and Kevin sat across from each other in the shabby, but comfortable, sitting room of Tranquility House, a room similar to a thousand others in the working class neighborhoods of Belfast. The boy was silent and very pale. He looked thinner.

Neil wondered if he was eating and if the shock of his circumstances had taken a more serious toll than expected. After all, Kevin wasn't the normal criminal profile. His surroundings, while palatial to some, were most likely an unpleasant adjustment for the son of a famous lawyer.

The sympathetic direction of his thoughts shook him and he recovered immediately. He had a job to do and if Kevin had been innocent of wrongdoing he wouldn't be sitting across from him now. “Your mother is anxious to see you. If all goes well, you should be allowed visitors after two more weeks.”

Kevin's glance, fixed somewhere over Neil's right shoulder, did not waver. He remained silent.

Neil cut to the chase. “Are you frightened?”

The barest flicker of an eyelash, nothing more.

Neil leaned forward. “I don't know the extent of the danger you'll be in, Kevin. For anyone else, I would say the risk is considerable. For you, it may not be. I'm here to make very sure you understand the possibilities.”

“What's your point?”

“There are no guarantees. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Do I have options?”

“One.”

The boy's laugh was bitter. “No, thanks.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“When do I start?”

“We'll wait a while. You're here to heal yourself. This is a chance to think about the life and friends you've chosen. All crime begins and ends with drugs, Kevin. The sessions here will help you with that.”

Kevin waved his arm. “When I'm through with that, what will I do for you?”

“Behave normally. Listen. Avoid attention. Report what you see. That's all.”

“I've never run in those circles. What if they don't accept me?”

“You were in deeply enough to make this a foregone conclusion. It was only a matter of time before you would have found these people yourself.”

“They aren't stupid, you know. Everyone will know where I've been. Everyone will suspect me.”

“I don't think so. You'll be just another boy from the Falls interested in making money without working for it.”

The burning color was back in the boy's cheeks. “You don't know anything about it.”

“Tell me.”

Kevin's lips tightened stubbornly.

Neil shook his head. “You know nothing about it, either, lad.”

“More than you.”

“You won't find what you're looking for. One can only hope, when this is over, that you see the light and point yourself in another direction. Easy money isn't the answer, nor is the dulling of pain or whatever it is you're going through. You've a family and from what I've seen, it's a good one. Not everyone has that. Do them a favor and walk away from this.”

“I would if I could.”

Neil believed him. Unfortunately he needed the boy first. If Kate Nolan's son was the sacrifice for answers to the burgeoning influx of drugs into West Belfast, so be it. He stood. “Hold that thought. I'll be in touch.”