Rainbow's End (39 page)

After leaving the note for their mother they had lit out – though not for Liverpool or the British army. They had intended to stay away from home for a few days in order to blackmail their mother into having Maggie back. Life without Maggie, they had quickly realised, would not be the sort of life they enjoyed.

‘Mammy will make us look after the kids, so she will,’ Garvan had said indignantly. ‘We’ve got to put a stop to this, Shay, before we get into real trouble.’

‘Oh, Maggie will be back,’ Seamus had said easily. ‘You know Mammy.’

But Garvan had not agreed. ‘She’ll get some other girl,’ he said. ‘And Maggie knows us, she understands our ways. We’ve got to get her to get Maggie back.’

So they had written the note and off they’d gone into the countryside no more than ten miles from Dublin, and they lived very well there, what was more. It was summery weather, the orchards were full of fruit and the fields full of potatoes. They stole eggs from the hens, dug up spuds by night and roasted them over a fire, and generally had a grand old time of it. It might have gone on for ever if it had not been for the tinkers and the weather.

For the first few days the weather had been lovely and Seamus and Garvan had found themselves a spot in an ancient barn full of old hay where they were perfectly happy to snuggle down at night and from where they raided the surrounding farmlands. There was a decent little stream near enough for them to have water and by boxing the fox in one of the nearby orchards they were able to gather enough fruit to sell, so that they always had the odd penny in their pockets.

‘Won’t last,’ Seamus told his twin but Garvan couldn’t have cared less. He was enjoying himself and that was what mainly mattered.

The tinkers hadn’t seemed a threat at first. The kids had played with Garvan and Seamus and the older people had welcomed them to muck around by the river and sit by their fire, but that was when they thought the twins had a home of their own. The very night that they met the tinkers the rain started. Fine, soft Irish rain – the sort that can go on for hours and hours – in fact Seamus thought that it had rained for twelve hours. It hadn’t mattered to Garvan and Seamus, snuggling down in the dry hay, but the following day they found that their rights to the barn were going to be disputed. A large gang of tinkers moved in during the day and by evening, when Garvan and Seamus, thoroughly fed-up, sought shelter, stones were thrown by the gypsies now firmly ensconced in the barn.

‘We’ll kip down under a hedge,’ Garvan said crossly. ‘We’ll be all right there – ‘twill be fine again in the mornin’.

But it was not and by the time evening fell Seamus had managed to persuade his twin that they had been away long enough and the correct thing for them to do – indeed, the only thing if they weren’t to die of pneumonia – was to go back to Dublin and tackle Mammy.

And then, of course, on the very morning when they had intended to set out for Dublin again, the sun came out. Garvan wanted to change his mind and stay, but Seamus for once was firm. ‘No, Garv,’ he said, ‘We agreed to go home, so we did, and so home we’re goin’. If we stay away much longer there’ll be no persuadin’ Mammy – she’ll have got someone else to replace Maggie, so she will. Don’t you understand? What’s more, if Mammy goes to the authorities we’re goin’ to be in real trouble. They’ll search the Army for us. Heaven knows what could happen.’

So Garvan had agreed to go back and now they were in Dublin, walking along the busy street. But at least we’re doing the right thing now, Seamus thought contentedly, following along behind. Very soon now they’d be back home and able to speak to Mammy and persuade her to do what they wanted.

Seamus was just considering catching Garvan up for a bit of a crack when they plunged into the market. Fascinated as he always was by the stalls, Seamus slowed a little more, peering at the various goods on display. Glancing up presently, he saw Garvan plodding along ahead as determinedly as ever so he began to hurry, his eyes fixed on his twin. He heard a shout, although he didn’t hear what was said above the hubbub of the market, but he saw his twin turn his head and heard the squeal of brakes and a terrible crash. He glanced into the roadway. A horse and cart were pulled to one side and an ancient motor bus had also stopped, the driver jumping down and gesticulating wildly. Seamus saw Garvan dive into the road and followed him.

Garvan turned and looked at him, white-faced. ‘Sure an’ someone’s been killed,’ he said. ‘Went under the wheels of the bus. Did ye see that?’

‘Ah, God,’ Seamus said, for he could see that whoever it was under the bus was dead – that was for sure. ‘What happened then, Garvan?’

‘Don’t know – a girl – she shouted somethin’ – I thought – Oh my God . . .’ He stared at the still figure. ‘Shay, it’s . . . it’s our Maggie.’

Liam stood on the deck of the ferry which plied between Liverpool and Dublin and watched the green land getting closer and felt the tears come to his eyes. All around him other Irish people with tear-filled eyes were straining towards land, as he was. Gripping the rail he felt quite ashamed of his own emotion, for wouldn’t anyone have thought he had been away fourteen years instead of fourteen days, but he reminded himself that it was the first time he had ever been away from home, let alone across the water.

And Liverpool had been so different! In his own mind he had imagined it as being just like Dublin, though he had supposed that it must be slightly smaller, for wasn’t Dublin a capital city? But when the ferry had drawn up alongside the landing stage, with the Liver Birds high in the sky above, he had been amazed and astonished by the whole place – the size of the buildings and particularly the height of them. They towered to the skies, so they did, and the docks were thronged with people, horses, carts and vehicles of every description.

Later, of course, he realised that the war was partly responsible for the crowds, for most of the people who filled the quayside were soldiers, coming and going about their business. And since he had come here to find soldiers he supposed, ruefully, that he had obviously come to the right place. But first things first. He walked up from the Pier Head, crossed the road and turned to the left, finding himself in Great Howard Street. He paid for a bed in a doss house, then went straight to the recruiting offices and talked to the friendly sergeant there, explaining that the twins were under age but had come to Liverpool hoping to join the Army. The sergeant had done his best, but he had been unable to bring the twins to mind. Boys by the dozen had been in and out of the recruiting office, for if they joined up at least they were sure of three square meals a day, and many of them were, of course, under age, though if they looked seventeen or so and sturdy the sergeant signed them on. Liam hastily explained that the twins did not look sixteen – probably did not look fifteen – but even so the sergeant said it was often difficult for him and his staff to judge. However, although he was sure he had not signed up Seamus and Garvan, he promised to ask around amongst his colleagues, for it wasn’t every day that identical twins walked into an army recruiting office.

Unable to do anything else for the time being Liam had gone back to the doss house, which he had chosen because it was cheap and conveniently close to the docks. Afterwards he realised that if he had searched for a year he probably couldn’t have found a worse place to stay. His fellow lodgers were the scum of the seven seas, so far as he could make out. They swore, they drank and several times fights broke out. Liam decided that he would have to find somewhere a little more suitable if he were forced to stay here long.

The next day he went back to the recruiting office and much to his joy the sergeant told him that twins, and fairly young ones too, had been recruited by one of the other sergeants. The boys had joined either as drummers or buglers, he wasn’t sure which, and had been sent off for training to a camp on the South Downs. He did not think, on reflection, that such boys would be sent to France but whether or not they went abroad, Mammy wanted them home, so home they must come. Liam went to the station, bought a ticket and began the day-long journey to get to the camp.

It took him a further two days to discover that the young lads, although definitely twins, were not Seamus and Garvan, and by then he was beginning to run a little short of money. What was more, he was also starting to realise that everyone at the training camp was expecting him to join up – and he wished he could do so. The fellers were having a terrific time, so they were. Spirits were high, the war would soon be over and because of his wretched brothers he had had a taste of what he was missing. Companionship, adventure and a glamorous uniform, as well as the admiration which surrounded the military. Still, Maggie was waiting, as was his good job with the Post Office, so the Army would have to manage without him.

Since his journey had been unsuccessful, Liam hitch-hiked back to Liverpool – which took him another three days – and set about his search once more, though with less enthusiasm. He was now sure that Maggie had been right; she knew the twins better than anyone and she had said they wouldn’t cross the water and join the Army. He had been a fool to come and was a worse fool to stay, because he suspected in his heart that the twins were still in Ireland. So he used the remainder of his money to have a decent night’s sleep in the Old Fort Hotel on Bath Street and the next evening caught the ferry home. Pointless to brood on his failure, he told himself as it slid into the brown waters of the Liffey and headed for the quays. Maggie had been right, bless her, and now here he was, about to step ashore once more on his native soil.

It was bliss going down the gangway on to the quays, even though there was a faint drizzle falling. He’d rather have Dublin in the worst rainstorm in living memory, he told himself, than Liverpool in bright sunshine. Being a soldier wasn’t everything after all. With a high heart he walked along the quays, crossed Grattan Bridge and made for Parliament Street. When the Castle was in front of him he turned and made his way through the back ways into Francis Street and thus home to the buildings. And like a good omen, when he arrived there the rain stopped and a watery sun came out. Two scruffy kids, playing in the courtyard, eyed him curiously as he passed and, on impulse, he stopped and called out to them, ‘Are me brothers back, lads – Seamus and Garvan, I mean?’

‘Aye, I saw dem an hour or two since, so I did,’ one of the kids told him.

Liam, shaking his head sadly at his own folly, waved an acknowledgement and made his way up to the flat. He tried the door – it was locked. Strange. He banged on it, but then of course he remembered that if Mammy was working and the kids all at school . . .

Down the stairs Liam clattered, across the courtyard and back into the road. He’d go to the market, after all it was Maggie he wanted to see most, he might as well go and find her, apologise, give her a hug.

He knew that he had parted from her on very bad terms and he remembered how hurt and angry he had felt that she hadn’t gone home to his mammy when he had explained so clearly how sorry Mammy was and how badly she needed Maggie’s companionship. But now that he was home and willing to admit Maggie had been right, surely they would sort things out. They would make up – he smiled blissfully to himself at the thought of making up – and then they would both go home to the buildings together. They would stop this ridiculous business – he would make his mammy see reason. Rapidly now, in the watery sunshine, Liam made his way through the crowded streets until he reached the market. Most of the stall-holders were known to him, but as he walked along the pavement edge he realised that the stall he wanted – Mrs Collins’s stall – was still packed up, as if for the night. There was a great canvas spread over it and neither Mrs Collins nor Maggie was in sight.

Liam looked consideringly at the stalls around. How odd, there was scarcely anyone that he knew, but a fat and cheerful young boy of about seventeen working on the next stall turned to him and raised his eyebrows. ‘Can I help yiz?’ he said. ‘Were you wantin’ some taters?’

‘Where’s Mrs Collins?’ Liam asked. ‘She’s always here on her stall. Where’s the others?’

The boy stared at him. ‘Have yiz been away?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Liam casually. ‘I’ve been to England, so I have – only just got home. Where’s Mrs Collins then, or Connor?’

‘Why they’re all out at Glasnevin,’ the boy said. ‘Everybody is.’

Liam stared. ‘Glasnevin?’

‘That’s right,’ the youth said, ‘the burial ground.’

Liam’s heart sank – what had happened whilst he’d been away? Someone must have died – thank God he’d asked about the twins!

‘Has there been an accident?’ Liam asked, his heart beating faster. He liked Mrs Collins. ‘What’s happened? Mrs Collins? Connor . . .?’

‘No, no,’ the boy said soothingly. ‘Are yiz a relative of hers?’

‘No, just a friend,’ Liam said hastily. ‘I went to England ’cos me twin brothers was missin’. So I don’t know what’s bin happenin’, you see. Can you tell me?’

‘Well, you might not be after knowing her,’ the boy said doubtfully. ‘’Tis the young woman, you know, the gorl, the one that helps Mrs Collins with the stall. Young Maggie.’

Liam’s heart stood still. ‘Maggie McVeigh?’ he faltered.

‘That’s right, Maggie McVeigh,’ the boy said. ‘Killed, she was, run over by a bus. They’re buryin’ her today. Nice gorl. Sad, real sad. And only young, so she was.’

Liam stared. He could feel cold shock creeping over him. ‘A-and you’re tellin’ me Maggie’s
dead
?’

The boy nodded uneasily, avoiding Liam’s shocked gaze. ‘She was run over, so she was,’ he repeated. ‘By a bus. I’m sorry, man. Is there anything . . .?’

But Liam had turned away. Sick at heart, he stumbled back the way he had come. He told himself, as he went, that it was all nonsense, Maggie could not possibly be dead. He would find someone else, someone older, more sensible. He would soon discover how this horrible rumour had come about.