In Pieces (33 page)

Another hour and they'd be at Euston. Amazing, the train was on time for once.

He was looking forward to London, as ever. Not just returning to the metropolis where he'd lived a decade, but also to seeing Si. Even though he got on with all the lads at United and the city was good for a night out, it wasn't really the same.

Thinking of Si reminded him; today they were having lunch with Si's new girlfriend. Well, not so new, it seemed. Just that Si had been keeping her to himself for the best part of a year. But it was obviously starting to get quite serious as he'd insisted Jimmy get the early train to be in time for lunch. The plan was to meet at The Feathers for a swift one, before going off to a restaurant or something. She sounded a bit fancy, this girl, in banking or something equally brainy. Jimmy wasn't sure if he'd like her. Well, it was only a lunch. Then he'd spend the rest of the day with Si on his own. And maybe meet up with Ricky and his band for a jam while he was down.

The train entered a tunnel and, without a view to stare at, Jimmy picked up
The Mirror
, his favourite paper at the moment. Of course, as he'd protested to the lads at United who'd ribbed him about it, this had nothing to do with the fact that
Mirror
readers had voted him player of the month—the new season was only a few matches old, but he was already having a ball.

The front-page headlines were all about Government sleaze and the Opposition being twenty points ahead in the opinion polls. Boring. The election was still eight months away, but there was little else in the news. Politics really turned him off. He turned to the back page in search of football news. If he was lucky, there might even be a mention for United's new star striker, Jimmy Sweeny.

~

It had taken over an hour, and the Sleeper had used three little tapes telling his story. He realised that if ever anyone played the tapes, only one person would listen sympathetically; to the rest he'd be simply a terrorist.

The Sleeper had almost finished, and suddenly noticed that the effort of concentration and recollection had drained him completely. Exhausted, he clicked on the machine and spoke softly towards it. ‘This is more or less it. I'll have to go soon. Still no sign that they're on to me. Sometimes, to be honest, I half-wish they were. I woke up this morning realising that this is it… I'm about to do something so important that the rest of my life and many other people's lives will never be the same again. I guess some people may be killed. And for that I'm sorry, especially if they're just innocent passers-by. But… How did my ma put it? Oh yes… You can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs.

‘I was really shitting myself first thing this morning, though. I had some breakfast, cornflakes as usual, with Greta. Michael had gone off much earlier. She was a bit distant, but that might be my fault for not paying her enough attention in the last few days. What with Ginger and all, I've been a bit distracted. We didn't say much over breakfast until Greta said something really odd.

‘“Baa, I've never asked you… But are you religious?”

‘“No, not really. I mean my ma brought me up to be a good Catholic of course… You know, I went to mass until I left home, more or less every Sunday. But not since then.”

‘“Oh”

‘“Why?”

‘“Well, I was thinking I might go to mass this morning. D'you want to come?”

‘I was surprised, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised I wanted to go to mass with Greta. It seemed right somehow. Not just to go with her. But also because of what I was about to do.

‘So we went round the corner to the Catholic church, which had a ten thirty mass. There were a surprising number of people. A lot of old 'uns but also some younger types. I wondered why they weren't at work. The priest was also quite young. The reading was a passage I knew backwards from when I was small. But until now I'd never understood it. It was about walking through the valley of death. Then we sang a hymn about Amazing Grace, and I remembered the story about the lighthouse keeper's daughter and I kind of imagined Greta as Grace Darling rescuing me from the storm. It was such a beautiful piece of music that I felt tears coming and I had to stop singing in case Greta noticed.

‘The rest of the mass was more or less normal. I thought my ma would have been pleased to know I was in church.

‘When it was time to take communion I waited until right at the end. I wasn't sure if I should. I remembered that you weren't meant to if you'd eaten less than an hour before. I glanced at my watch but couldn't remember if we'd finished breakfast before or after ten o'clock. Then I thought I hadn't been to confession for over two years. Wasn't it a mortal sin to take communion without having confessed? And if I did confess I'd have to lie to the priest anyway… I couldn't possibly tell him I'd been sleeping with a married woman.

‘By this time, everyone had gone up and the priest was about to turn back to the altar with the salver and chalice. But suddenly I had a burning urge to receive the bread and wine and rushed out of the pew.

‘Greta had already been up and back and was praying. I don't think she really noticed my haste.

‘I walked quickly up to the priest, who waited for me to reach him, a slightly curious look on his face. Almost inviting me to confess. My heart was thumping and I bit my lip as I put out my hands… I couldn't remember if it was left over right or right over left. So at the last minute I put my hands behind my back and stuck out my neck and tongue. The priest placed the small white disc on my tongue and I swallowed it whole. Then I sipped from the cold metallic-tasting cup. The wine felt warm like blood and the sensation made my stomach churn.

‘I walked back to my seat and joined Greta on my knees. I felt something immense surge up within me, out of focus, impossible to grasp… More than emotion… More like pure power. I clamped my eyes shut and tried to pray. But my mind just flickered like a TV after the video's finished.

‘When I opened my eyes everyone was leaving the church. Greta and I stood up, smoothed down our clothes and, without a word, we walked home.

‘I feel stronger now. More prepared. In a few hours I'll have done what I have to do. Everything's ready in my sports bag. I've just got to pick it up from the garage, and take it there…. Carefully, mind… They warned us in training these things were sometimes a bit unstable… But it should be okay. After that it should be easy. No problems. Just leave it where I've been told to and then… Well, then the end of the cease-fire I suppose, and one day they'll recognise me as a hero.

‘With a bit of luck I'll be watching it all on the news tonight with Greta curled up beside me. Michael's away for a few days abroad, so once the kids are in bed we can make love. Tomorrow, again… And maybe I'll take her somewhere special to eat? There's an expensive Thai restaurant round the corner she often talks about. We've never been. I'll use some of the money they've given me for France to spoil her. I've got to make the most of the time that we have left together. She's the only woman I've ever loved… Like a lover that is…

‘Right. I guess that's it. Time to go.' The Sleeper clicked off the dictaphone.

~

The big summer which Si had yearned for had finally arrived—so late, in fact, that it was more of an Indian summer. The heavens were indigo and so high and clear.

Si thought that if only his eyesight was strong enough he would be able to see beyond the atmosphere, the stratosphere and all the other limiting spheres and find a bit of meaning. But, he lamented, his eyesight was still deeply mortal and not up to it.

The books on mysticism and Buddhism, which his mother had sent him, had stimulated him and increased his knowledge and awareness of his own insignificance and ignorance. What they hadn't done was to provide any sort of answer. Despite this he revelled in the heat of sunny London. Life seemed extraordinarily good.

He walked up the Haymarket with Jimmy. It was busy, and shoppers heading to or from Piccadilly crowded the pavement. Tourists sweated heavily as they trailed after bullying guides. A young Japanese girl waved a raised umbrella threateningly above her head as she berated her bovine charges.

Si wondered if the tourists were enjoying themselves. The poor things had paid a fortune, quite possibly several years' savings—after all, most Japanese tourists were ordinary working people. And what did they get? A week of following an umbrella and being herded around by snappily dressed young guides determined to wring out every last yen in commission and tips. Some holiday.

Si could picture Mary's parents being herded around on some stultifying middle-class tour of Greece or Egypt, all perspiring complaints about the hotel plumbing and the prices of fake artefacts. Compassion overwhelmed him.

But he couldn't see Mary herself putting up with such abuse—not his little Mary. Pity the poor guide who took her on. With a smile, he thought they'd probably end up paying commission and tips
to her. But, he reflected, feeling slightly guilty, her independent-mindedness was one of her most attractive characteristics, and it wasn't that she was avaricious, just careful with money.

They passed the theatre; it was showing a much-praised revival of
The Importance of being Earnest
. Si had wanted to take Mary, but she'd opted for
Evita
at the cinema instead. This had provoked some serious questions, such as how could he really consider spending the rest of his life with a girl whose tastes and values were so out of kilter with his own? As usual, he reached no conclusions. Time would tell, he'd decided. In the event the musical was superb entertainment, and he agreed with Mary that Madonna was brilliant.

Si's musing, partly induced by the unexpected warmth of the day, ended abruptly as a young man called out to them. He'd recognised Jimmy.

‘Hey, Jimmy, how you doing?'

Si watched Jimmy's reaction closely, but his friend just grinned.

‘Good luck at the weekend, mate,' and with a wave the bloke passed on down the street.

Manchester United had made a strong start to the new season, and after his contribution to winning the Double Double, Jimmy was now a regular in the first team. He'd scored four goals in the first five games, which made him United's top scorer so far. The team were playing Aston Villa on Saturday, and Jimmy was odds-on favourite with the bookies to score first.

‘Does that happen often?'

‘No, just every now and again. It started after the Cup Final.'

‘So you really
are
a star now.'

Si hadn't meant to mock and hoped Jimmy wouldn't take it the wrong way, but he didn't seem to mind.

‘Give over,' he laughed and punched Si on the arm. ‘Famous my arse. Just 'cause someone recognises me means nothing.'

But despite this modesty, Jimmy looked pleased at the idea that he was becoming a star. And why shouldn't he? Si realised he was feeling a bit edgy. Putting any negative thoughts firmly behind him, he put his arm round Jimmy's shoulder in a matey fashion and gave him a squeeze.

‘Come on then, superstar, I want you to meet Mary, and if we don't hurry up she'll have left. Star or no star, my girlfriend don't wait for no man.'

After nine months of effort—admittedly, sometimes half-hearted—Si was going to introduce Mary to Jimmy. The plan was to have lunch at Andante, a trendy restaurant in Soho where Si used to take some of his contacts at
The Courier
's expense. It was his first time back since leaving the Diary, and he wondered if it would feel very different to eat there as a man of leisure.

Fortunately, given Andante's prices, Mary had offered to pay. She did that more and more these days, since he'd ceased to have a regular income. Initially, Si had found it a bit difficult, but now any chivalrous misgivings had evaporated. It made sense: Mary earned a big salary; she wanted to eat out,
not him; she wanted to pay; he earned hardly anything now; so let her pay. After all, it was an egalitarian society, wasn't it? This just showed how modern their relationship was.

‘I'm looking forward to meeting her,' said Jimmy. ‘It's about time you introduced me. Especially if it's getting serious. I've never been out with a girl for more than a month.'

Si pretended not to know what Jimmy meant; he didn't want to discuss the future of the romance until Jimmy had met Mary. After all, there was a good chance that they wouldn't get on. Then what? Could he carry on as before, reconciling himself to the fact that his best friend and his girlfriend had to be kept apart? Si realised he was characteristically creating problems which didn't exist and may never arise.

‘How did it go with Ricky last night?'

‘Fantastic. I reckon when I get too old for this football lark, I'll become a rock star.'

‘What, like Julio Iglesias?'

‘I might have known you'd take the piss… Anyway, I suggested to Ricky he come along and join us.'

‘What, today?' Si was slightly horrified. Jimmy plus Mary was a complicated enough sum without adding Ricky.

‘Yeah. Only he's busy for lunch, he said, at a place not far from here in fact. Apparently he's fixing up a gig for the band in a pub just off Oxford Street.'

‘Oh well, another time…' Si breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Yeah, but he might meet us for a coffee later. He's got my mobile number in case.'

Si focused on his inner self—as one of his mother's books had taught him to do in times of stress—and immediately felt calm, despite the lingering prospect of having to deal with the three separate pieces of his life simultaneously. He'd made great strides in the past two months, and his life was much less fragmented, but there was still some way to go before he felt mature enough to deal with a fully integrated, coherent existence. He glanced at his watch. Five to one. Mary had been waiting ten minutes. Better hurry up.