Eden Burning (16 page)

If Michael McGuckin had chosen to walk up the Crumlin Road instead of down the hill he might have ended up like Bertie
O’Hare whom Rose had stumbled over on her way to the Fast Shop to buy a loaf of bread, a month earlier. Bertie lay on the corner of Brompton Park and the Crumlin Road, with his legs splayed out, his back against the wall of the bookies, eyes staring straight ahead, his body unmoving. He looked for the world as if he was in bed for the night and was only missing a candlewick bedspread to cover him. It was nine o’clock in the evening, five degrees above zero, the wind dropping rain which threatened to turn to snow or hail. Bertie with both hands on the ground, the top three buttons of his checked lumberjack shirt open, jeans soaking wet, a striped tie around his waist holding up his jeans instead of a belt, his brown boots laced with white tennis shoe laces.

“What’s the matter?” Rose bent down to kneel on the ground beside him.

“I’m OK.”

“Shouldn’t you be going home? It’s really cold. You’re not dressed for this weather.”

Bertie looked into Rose’s eyes. His face cracked red, his moustache covered in raindrops, dark hair matted across empty blue husks of eyes.

“They got me, you see. That’s what’s wrong with me.” Bertie said in a soft, calm, matter of fact voice.

“Who got you?”

“I don’t know. They’re still out there. They didn’t catch them. They’ll never catch them. They’re clever.”

“When?”

“What month are we in now?”

“December.”

“Which year?”

“1971”.

“I think it was this year. It was summer. It wasn’t last year
was it?” Bertie looked at Rose as if she would know the answer. Rose gently asked him.

“What happened?”

“They picked me up in a black taxi. I thought it was an Ardoyne taxi. They took me to a house. I don’t know where. There was music playing downstairs. I heard voices. I could smell cigarette smoke. There were two of them. One of them smoked a cigar while the other drilled a hole in my head with a Black and Decker. The one who had been smoking threw the half smoked cigar on the ground, lifted a pistol from a tool box, pointed the gun into the hole in my head and shot. He shot twice. I passed out. They left me for dead. I opened my eyes and there was no-one in the room. It was pitch black. I saw a door. I crawled out of that place, pulled myself downstairs, onto the road outside. They told me in the hospital that they didn’t know how I did it. I couldn’t tell you how but I dragged myself out of that place. A car stopped. I didn’t know if it was them.

I remembered thinking, “It’s them. They’ve come back to finish me off.” I heard the car door open. A woman screamed and kept screaming. I wanted to scream too. I couldn’t. I hadn’t the energy. I lay there face down on the wet tarmac with the car headlights on me. The man lifted me onto the back seat of his car. He was gentle with me. His hands were warm and soft. He said, “You’ll be fine. Hang in there. Don’t give up now. Don’t go to sleep.” The woman sat in the front seat. She kept crying and shouting, “Oh my God, look at the blood.” She looked over her shoulder at me and then covered her face with her hands, shouting “He’s going to die. He’s not going to live.” She had long blonde hair. She was wearing a black and white checked coat, I remember that. It was black and white. It was black and white. I’m sure it was black and white. The man said to her,
“Stop crying. Don’t cry. It’s not helping him. You’re frightening him.” I remember her perfume, like freesia. It was so soft and sweet. I didn’t remember anything after that, until I wakened in the hospital bed with a tube down my throat. The doctor told me, “You’re a lucky man.” That’s me, Mr Lucky. Do I look lucky to you?”

Rose wiped his face with a tissue. “You survived. There are many who don’t. Where do you live?”

“Etna Drive.”

“Let me take you home.” Rose took Bertie by the elbow and helped him to his feet.

“Put your arm around my shoulder.” Rose held onto Bertie’s arm, staggering down Brompton Park, towards Etna Drive. The orange lights looked cosy behind drawn curtains. The rain fell heavily bouncing off Bertie’s brown boots and soaking into Rose’s coat. The drops then turned into soft sleety snow, settling on Bertie’s eyebrows and Rose’s hair like confetti.

No, life wasn’t predictable enough in 1972 to give sound advice to Michael.

So Tom said, “God Bless you Michael. Safe home.” He patted him on the shoulder and watched him walk down Crumlin Road. Michael’s hands were in his pockets, his head turned down facing the ground, trying to avoid the broken glass. Tom stood at the gate watching Michael in silence, the way you might watch a ship sail out of Belfast Lough.

The silence was broken by the low whirr from a police armoured car crawling slowly up Crumlin Road, its front windows covered with wire, metal flaps like eyelids protecting the driver. Two Browning machine guns protruded through the side windows. Michael paused before crossing Herbert Street. Maybe a sniper would take a pot-shot at the jeep. Everything seemed quiet for now. Tom continued to watch. He saw him
stop and then start to walk again. He watched until Michael eventually disappeared into the darkness.

Michael’s heart quickened its beat and fluttered like a moth around a flame as he neared Flax Street. Anyone seeing him would know that he was a Catholic leaving Ardoyne. He stepped up his pace, pulled his blue woollen scarf around his neck and tucked his hands back into the pockets of his coat. He walked past the Mill, where Paddy used to work, increasing his pace. His right foot was sore. He had twisted it playing bowls. He wanted to go faster. The road was quiet. He needed a cigarette. He knew that he was walking too slowly and yet he stopped, took a cigarette from the packet in his pocket, flicked open the lighter with his thumb. His hand shook. He steadied it with his left hand, taking a quick puff to make sure it was lit. He fumbled the cigarette packet and lighter back into his coat pocket. It was exactly then that he saw the headlights of a car in the distance. It was maybe half a mile away and moving towards him. Was it an Ardoyne taxi? It moved slowly, only doing twenty miles an hour. He watched it turn left into a side street, do a three point turn and halt as though going to turn right and re-join the Crumlin Road. Why was it doing that? He had to keep walking. He took a deep puff from his cigarette and exhaled slowly. His breath quickened.

William waited until Michael was a few hundred feet in front of them. Fifty feet past the junction Michael thought that he was going to be okay. He took a deeper breath and tried to exhale slowly. He took another deep breath. He counted to seven breathing in. Mary had learnt that from her yoga teacher. She told him if he was ever stressed to breathe out really slowly. The taxi was stationery in the side street. Maybe they had lost their way and needed to turn onto the Antrim Road. That was more than likely what was happening.

William put his foot on the accelerator and turned right from the side street onto the Crumlin Road. The wheels skidded on the icy tarmac, hitting the pavement and mounting it slightly, a few feet behind Michael. He slammed on the breaks. The taxi shuddered to a halt. Cedric jumped out from the front passenger seat with a rifle, leaving the door open. Michael dropped his cigarette on the ground, hands by his side, he looked at Cedric who lifted the rifle high into the air behind him and swung it like a golf club, hitting Michael with the butt, whacking him in the stomach. Michael bent double, letting out a low gurgling cry. Michael could hear and feel the air exiting his body with a continuous and slow hissing noise. He couldn’t breathe in. Cedric lifted the rifle a second time high into the air and brought it down with his full weight, smashing it onto Michael’s back. Michael fell on the ground and Cedric kicked him in the neck. As he lay writhing on the pavement, Peter opened the back door of the taxi.

Cedric bent down and pulled Michael from the pavement, hoisting him onto the back seat. Michael’s upper body lay for a minute across Peter’s knees.

“Go. Go. Get out of here!” Cedric yelled. William put his foot to the floor, shouting as he stabbed the accelerator. “You stupid Fenian bastard! Not your lucky night.”

Michael moaned from the floor of the taxi as Peter pushed him gently from his knees. Only Michael’s head was visible if someone looked inside. An army Saracen accelerated up the Crumlin Road towards Ardoyne. William dropped his speed to thirty miles an hour. The Saracen tank passed. Michael looked up at Peter. Peter immediately turned his head, looking out of the window into the darkness as the taxi passed Crumlin Road jail. Michael tugged at Peter’s jeans. Peter turned to see Michael propped up against the back door; his arms by his side, knees bent allowing his feet to rest on the floor of the taxi. Peter saw
Michael’s green eyes, his thick black eyebrows, the scattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose, his wide mouth. Michael stared into Peter’s eyes, now holding onto Peter’s knee with his hand. Peter’s felt the warmth of Michael’s blood, throbbing in his hand against his leg. Michael whispered as the siren of an ambulance rushing to the Mater hospital blared as it passed.

“Save me. I know you can save me. Don’t let them kill me.” He tugged again at Peter’s jeans. “Save me. You can do it.”

Peter turned sharply to look out of the window again, into the blackness where an occasional street light flooded the taxi with light.

Peter heard Michael crying softly on the floor still holding onto his jeans.

“You’re not going to save me are you?” Michael wept, his head now bent over his chest. He dropped his hand from Peter’s leg and joined his hands together. Peter felt the coldness of the icy air touching his leg where Michael’s hand had been keeping it warm.

When the taxi stopped at the Black Beetle, Cedric told Peter, “Get him out.”

Peter opened the right hand door of the taxi. Michael tightened his grip again on Peter’s trousers as Peter slid over to the right hand side of the car and jumped out.

“He’s yours.”

“Peter, where do you think you’re going?” Cedric took two steps after Peter. Peter stopped and stared straight ahead.

“Get the wedding ring off him. You know what to do now you fuckin coward. Do it!” Cedric pulled at Peter’s jacket. Peter turned to face him. Cedric lifted his hand and brought it across Peter’s face. There was a moment of stillness and silence before Peter walked towards the car, bent down and reached in for Michael.

chapter 5

Tuesday 4th January 1972

M
ichael had been dead seventeen hours when Rose walked the last few yards home from school, on Tuesday 4th January. Her leather schoolbag hung heavily on her right shoulder. The schoolbag slipped. She pulled it back into place. Curly red haired Clara from the year above was walking in front, talking and laughing with her best friend Mary. Matt and Eddie were part of the army patrol on Rose’s right, walking alongside the jeep. Max was inside the jeep. Rose kept her eyes on Clara and Mary as she moved closer to Matt – so close that her arm brushed against his. Her hand briefly touched his warm green woollen glove. No-one saw the white envelope pass from Matt’s hand to Rose’s as her long black hair swung from left to right with each step. She never looked at Matt as she passed Sean Graham’s betting shop on the corner of Brompton Park where three men stood leaning against the graffiti covered wall, smoking, with their backs to the black taxi. Clara turned to wave at Rose.

“Bye Rose – see you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Rose watched Clara turn into the Fast Shop on the corner as Mary continued walking down Brompton Park. Rose gave Matt a quick look. He looked at her with his head slightly down, smiling. She noticed the curve of his shoulders, dark hair under the beret, light blue eyes with long lashes. He walked slowly. She saw the solidness of his legs, heard the crunch of his boots, treading the earth with what seemed like the strength of a giant. She felt in his eyes his energy connected with hers and for an instant there was the sense of tension, gravity, a pressure drawing them together. Even if they couldn’t touch she felt as though the edges of her being were mingled with his. The setting sun seemed to bounce towards sunset. Everything felt right. Everything felt as though it was exactly as it should be. She felt like a balloon at the point of bursting. She had never felt so intensely happy before. Matt looked at her again out of the corner of his eyes and it was as though he was reading her mind. She knew he felt the same. The jeep slowed to a halt. She had to keep walking, looking ahead as Matt jumped into the back of the jeep which then did a U-turn, heading back up the Crumlin Road with a screech of tyres. Rose turned to look as the jeep drove up past the shops, past Macdonalds fruit and vegetables, past the bakery. It felt as though Matt was an elastic band stretching away from her with infinite elasticity which would never snap. She fingered the letter in her pocket. What did he have to say to her? She couldn’t wait to read it, alone, in her bedroom.

William sat in the back seat of the taxi as Cedric drove. Peter was in the passenger seat. Cedric turned to William,

“That’s her isn’t it? Isn’t that the bitch we’ve seen coming out of the church after Mass?”

“That’s her alright. I remember the hair. Get a closer look at her face.”

Peter looked left as they drew level with Rose. She was looking straight ahead, walking with a determined step. She was singing. Not that he could hear the words but her lips were moving in slow motion and she was smiling. The wind tossed her hair over her face. She brushed it back with a sweep of her hand, hitching the satchel back into place. She looked to the right as though she knew they were looking at her. Peter stared into her eyes. She smiled at him as Cedric dropped his speed to twenty miles an hour. For Peter, it seemed as though time slowed down. It was as if the taxi was idling at four miles an hour – at walking speed. He saw her long thick black eyelashes, fine eyebrows, high cheekbones. His heart didn’t thump but was strangely still. Rose continued smiling at him as the car overtook her, moving past Kerrera Street, picking up speed as it reached the Mater Hospital. Peter caught the last few words of a conversation Cedric and William were having,