Eden Burning (2 page)

For Tom, man was different – thirsting for water like a fish in the sea, trapped in time and space, restless to escape his sentence of movement on the earth, looking for stillness within an incessant burning, twisting desire for life and a fear of death. It was Tom who knew how to find stillness in silence. It was Tom who could feel his thoughts settle like waves swishing onto sand after a storm or slowly rolling like a billiard ball to a halt on a velvet table. It was Tom who had shown Father Anthony what it meant to be a man of peace, patience and forgiveness. It was Tom who had helped Father Anthony to recover a sense of hope and faith in the living.

Yet this same Tom was asking the impossible. “Will you help me? Get me a gun.”

Father Anthony rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and lowered his head, grasping the crucifix around his neck.

“What’s going on Tom? Tell me everything you know.”

Tom sighed with relief.

“On Tuesday Paddy’s killers spotted Rose walking home from school. They were in a black taxi driving along the Crumlin Road, looking for a target. She caught their attention. They had seen her before coming out from Mass.”

Tom removed his glasses and gulped at the air like a fish on a hook. He placed the glasses on the floor beside the kneeler. He laid his head on crossed arms and sniffed tears to the back of his throat.

“She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. They only had to see her to add her to their list.”

“What list?”

“The list of people they plan to murder. That’s what happened to Paddy and Michael. They were on the list.” He raised his head, took a deep in breath and sighed. “I’d rather die than have what happened to Paddy happen to Rose.”

“Tom, Rose isn’t going to be murdered.”

“How do you know? How can you be so sure?”

Tom raised his head and stared into Father Anthony’s eyes. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He wiped it again with the sleeve of his jacket.

“There were three of them in the taxi – Cedric, his brother Peter and his father William. When they saw Rose, Cedric and William joked about her being their next victim. Peter was in the back seat of the taxi. Peter then heard what they were saying – about their plans to kill her.”

“How do you know this?”

“Tonight Peter came to see Rose after Mass, to warn her.”

“I’m confused. Why did he do that? Is he not one of the murderers?”

“I don’t know why.” Tom shook his head. “It seems that he is terrified of his father and brother. Rose said that he didn’t want to be involved in the killings. He wants the murders to stop. He wants out.”

“Are you sure Peter is to be trusted?”

“Rose thinks so. I don’t know what to think.”

Father Anthony pushed open the half door of the Confessional which led onto the side aisle. He turned the knob on the heavy wooden door on the Confessor’s side, gently opening it. Tom slid onto the floor and curled up like a snail, holding his head in his hands.

Father Anthony knelt in the darkness and pulled Tom towards him, holding him in his arms. “Tom, let’s go to the Sacristy. It’s easier to talk there.”

He placed his arm around Tom’s shoulders. They leant against each other as they edged up the side aisle towards the Sacristy door. Once seated and with a cup of tea in his hands, Tom explained.

“This evening Peter gave Rose Molly’s engagement ring. I recognised it immediately. Paddy had it with him the night he was murdered. I saw it with my own eyes. It’s proof that they killed Paddy. They took Molly’s ring. He had it in his trouser pocket that night when he left me.” Tom slurped mouthfuls of hot sweet tea. “What do we do now? I’ve told Rose and Lily to stay indoors and not to open the door to anyone.”

“Shouldn’t we call the Police?” asked Father Anthony.

“How do we know that Cedric and William haven’t got connections with the Police? Can we risk that?”

Tom’s voice was a little stronger. He placed the china teacup firmly on the saucer and rubbed his hand on his sleeve.

“Once we know that Rose is safe we’ll make sure that the Police know who killed Paddy and Michael. Let’s make sure that Rose is safe first. Do you remember the prison guard in the Crumlin Road jail who poisoned Roger Cochrane? You have to be careful who you trust. Wouldn’t you have thought that Roger would be safe enough behind bars? Can you believe that it was a guard who put the arsenic in Roger’s custard?”

Father Anthony got to his feet. He brought his hands to his face and mumbled through his fingers. “I’ll speak with Father Martin.”

“Don’t be long. I have to get back to Lily and Rose.” Tom sat with his hands joined on his lap. His breathing had returned to normal, the clamminess on his hands had gone. He
felt momentarily calm now that he had taken some action, no matter how small. He took a deep breath and tried to allow the fledging peace within him to grow.

• • •

Father Anthony couldn’t believe the difference that twelve hours had made to his sense of well-being. Only that morning he had been meditating in his cell, experiencing the deepest peace and tranquillity of his life, naively believing that he would never again give in to temptation. He truly believed this morning that he had an epiphany during his meditation that returned him to a state of innocence, wiping clean his fifteen year old sin. This same state of grace would now enable him to be eternally faithful to his vocation. Yet here he was, standing in front of Father Martin making plans to be party to a murder.

Father Anthony watched Father Martin scratch his head and then rest his joined hands on top of his stomach, sticking the thumbs through the cord twisted around his waist.

“Shouldn’t we inform the Rector?”

Father Anthony vigorously shook his head.

“He’s not here. Remember he’s giving a retreat at Mount Argus.”

“I still think that we need to talk to him. He needs to know.”

Father Anthony’s right eye twitched slightly.

“We haven’t time to waste tracking down the Rector. What do you think Christ would do? Slouch in a chair and think about the best protocol to follow?”

“I don’t think he would look for a gun – do you?” Father Martin’s face was slightly twisted as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What about your sermon on Christmas Day about the meaning of the “powerlessness” of Christ and how we were meant to imitate it? How come you’ve changed
your mind?” Father Martin crossed his legs at the ankles and moved his toes up and down in his sandals. He removed his hands from his waist and tapped the leather arms of the chair as though to hurry a response from Father Anthony.

Father Anthony jumped to his feet, rubbed both hands through his curly dark hair and responded in a strained but powerful whisper.

“Rose’s death isn’t going to bring peace to Northern Ireland. If it was as simple as the powerless dying creating a change of heart in the killers, we would have had peace years ago. We don’t need another murder on our doorstep. Christ had a mission to fulfil. What’s Rose’s mission in life? Do you know? I would like her to live and find that out.”

Father Martin shook his head. “I still see an inconsistency in what you are saying, but I can see that there’s no stopping you. Let me show you how the gun works.” Father Martin pulled himself heavily from the armchair. “It’s only ever been used for rabbits.”

Father Anthony took the rifle out of Father Martin’s hands.

“Here are the bullets.” Father Martin handed him six bullets about an inch and a half long.

“How do I use it?”

Father Martin shook his head and took the gun from Father Anthony, clicking a cartridge into place and then emptying it again.

“I’ll aim for the legs.”

“Let’s hope he’s not too skinny. A rabbit is an easier target than skinny legs.”

“Pray that we don’t need to use it at all.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll explain to Tom what we’ll do. Will you do the evening Mass tomorrow for me? I’ll take guard outside.”

“That goes without saying.”

Father Anthony kept his eyes on the sandaled feet of Father Martin and walked behind him towards the oak door. Before Father Martin could turn the doorknob, the door shuddered under the pressure of two strong blows. Father Martin glanced nervously at Father Anthony. He turned the doorknob and pulled the door towards him, revealing the smiling face of the Rector.

“You’re the very two I am looking for.”

The Rector strode purposefully into the room and standing with his back to the crackling fire warmed his hands.

“I’ve had an interesting chat with Tom…”

“What happened to the Retreat at Mount Argus?” Father Anthony interrupted, hiding the gun behind his back.

“Let’s just say I heard a voice whisper to me in the darkness that I needed to be here. Curious don’t you think? Now, what do we do about Cedric?”

Father Anthony and Father Martin exchanged nervous glances. The Rector smiled.

“Father Anthony, take that ridiculous gun from behind your back and put it on the chair where we can all see it. Father Martin, I want to talk to you alone, this minute. Father Anthony you can keep an eye on the gun until we return. Although I don’t think it’s going anywhere do you?”

Father Anthony flushed red and dropped the gun on the floor, then retrieved it carefully and placed it on the leather chair.

chapter 1

Friday 31st December 1971

C
edric looked at his reflection in the darkened window of the Black Beetle pub. He combed his fringe off his forehead, pulled a few strands forward, slipped the comb into his back pocket and looked at his watch.

“Five, four, three, two and we have … one.”

A bomb exploded in the distance.

“Yes … that’s what we want … on time.”

Cedric smiled at William and reached over to clink his glass.

“Come on Peter, cheer up, it may never happen! Happy New Year!”

Everyone else in the Black Beetle was standing on their feet, arms around one another singing and swaying in the smoke. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot …”

William smoothed a single long strand of dark hair over his bald head and leant forward to clink Cedric’s glass a second time. “I hope the fuckers roast in Hell. On second thoughts, Hell is too good for them. Cheers. Happy New Year son.”

A second bomb rumbled in the distance.

“Crumlin Road; Ardoyne if Sammy P is on time.”

Peter wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand before reaching for the salt and vinegar crisps in the middle of the table. The crisps rasped against the roof of his mouth. He choked and coughed. His stomach was doing circles like a twin tub washing machine on a fast spin.

“Looks like Sammy P has done a good job. I like a man who knows the importance of being on time.” Cedric gave a thumbs up to William, and pulled out the comb from his back pocket and slowly combed the fringe once more off his forehead. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and listened. A woman screeched at the front door – like a turkey getting its neck wrung, or someone descending at speed on a fairground big dipper. He couldn’t work out whether she was enjoying herself or whether she was in pain. Without opening his eyes he decided that she was enjoying herself. He tapped his feet on the carpeted floor. It was soothing. For a moment the contact of his foot against the soft carpet was rhythmic and gentle like a heartbeat. He inhaled the cigarette and cigar smoke like incense in a church and began to count.

“Five, four, three, two, one …We have blast off!”

There was a third thump. This one was sharper, longer, lasting more than a second. WHOOOOMP.

“Well done Sammy P!”

Peter stood up, rubbing his salty hands on his jeans. He looked towards the door.

“Shouldn’t we go home? Mum’s alone.”

William reached for his jacket hanging on the back of a chair. “Cedric?”

“It’s not often that we’re first out of here.” Cedric waved at Jenny behind the bar. She blew a kiss at him. She was wearing a red polo neck jumper and jeans, with her hair curling onto her shoulders. There was a crown of artificial white daisies on top.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” Cedric pushed his way through the crowd towards Jenny.

• • •

On the Crumlin Road, Rose surfaced from deep sleep, opening her eyes in the darkness of the bedroom. It took a few seconds for her to realise that the noise was coming from downstairs. She tried to work out what was happening. There was an insistent banging on the front door. Her heart started to race. She instinctively tried to slow it down by breathing deeply but her body felt paralysed under the blankets. It was as much as she could do to turn her head slowly to the right and squint at the alarm clock beside her. Light from the full moon fell onto a rectangle on the worn green carpet and the objects in the room emerged as recognisable shapes. The white faced clock showed five minutes to midnight. Her heart beat even more quickly although she wouldn’t have thought that possible, her breathing quickened and she moved, jumping out of bed and searching the bedroom for something warm to throw on top of her pyjamas. She spotted her favourite purple coat with its fluffy lamb’s wool sleeves hanging on the back of bedroom door and ran towards it, pulling it over the pink brushed cotton pyjamas.

She recognised the voice now which was attached to the pounding of the door. It had to be Matt.

“Get out of bed. It’s the British Army.”

Rose fumbled with the buttons on her coat, threw open the bedroom door and ran down the first flight of stairs in bare feet, jumping two steps at a time.

“Tom, Lily, waken up.” She thumped on the bedroom door to her left. She heard the light tread of Lily’s slippers behind the closed door. “I’ll find out what’s happening,” Rose shouted as she ran along the landing towards the last flight of stairs. She
gripped the top of the bannister, took a deep breath, then let the bannister go and forced herself to jump two and even three steps at a time, before reaching the bottom and sprinting towards the front door. A soldier hammered urgently on the glass window.

“Wake up! There’s not much time.”

Rose lifted the metal bar from its catches and placed it against the wall on her left, turning the lock and swinging the door open.