More smiling faces, cheeks flushed with alcohol; more backslaps and handshakes; the room seeming to spin with unreality, the hubbub of excited, chattering voices rising like a wall. Dougan felt unsteady.
‘Black Bush, is it, Da?’ Clodagh asked.
Dougan grimaced, shook his head to clear it. ‘A wee drop of water, Clodie, that’s all.’
A loud voice boomed in his ear. ‘Water! What they done to you in the Kesh? Sure this isn’t the Hughie we know and love!’
Who the hell was this prat? Who were all these people? He didn’t feel he knew any of them. Even those he thought he recognised had changed beyond measure in the eighteen years he had been away. At least two women, he knew, had been neighbours. Handsome women in their mid-thirties then, who had flirted with him after too much drink in the clubs — now pushing sixty with flabby bodies and fat faces. Young nephews and nieces, whose identities he could only guess at, had been playing hopscotch with Clodagh then, but now had homes and growing families of their own. And despite their welcoming words and cheerful familiarity, he sensed he was as much a stranger to them as each of them was to him. Even Uncle Tommy, already well pissed at the rare opportunity to drink like he used to, clearly had trouble in recognising him.
Dougan sought refuge in a corner and found, in confirmation of his suspicions, that the well-wishers soon drifted away into huddled, laughing groups, their duty done. And, in truth, he found it a blessed relief.
It was then that the man in the black suit, which he wore with a blue V-neck and tie, moved across to his side. Dougan had seen him earlier, standing back, nursing his drink and observing the proceedings in an aloof, detached sort of way. Very much the outsider, as indeed he himself was beginning to feel.
‘Welcome home, Hughie.’
Dougan looked up at the swarthy, bespectacled face. Mid thirties with black wavy hair, strong eyebrows and piercing eyes. A mirror image of himself eighteen years earlier. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Tierney. Kilian Tierney. I know you, but I doubt you remember me.’
Dougan frowned. ‘Killy Tierney. Sure I remember you. A wee tearaway teenager on the barricades.’
Killy grinned. ‘In the good old days. You were my hero, Hughie.’
‘And they didn’t put you away?’
‘I did some time in the Crum. But then I got married and settled down in Andytown. Now I’m a councillor with Sinn Fein.’
Dougan raised an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t waste any time.’
‘It’s important for our people not to feel forgotten or neglected. So if there’s any problems, anything you need, I’m your man.’ He handed over a neatly printed card.
‘That’s not what I meant, Killy. After eighteen years in the Kesh, there’s nothing I can’t handle.’
‘Getting a job might be difficult. There’s rules now about any firm over twelve people employing a proportion of Catholics, but with your record ‘
‘I’m not talking about a job, Killy!’ Dougan hissed. ‘I’ve been making plans. You can make a lot of plans in eighteen years. I need to talk to someone in the movement. Someone who’s connected, someone in authority.’
Killy stared down at his glass, swilled its contents in slow circles as he chose his words carefully. ‘If you mean what I think you “mean, then I suggest you forget it. You’ve done your whack. You’re no longer a young man, so enjoy your retirement.’
Dougan couldn’t believe his ears. He glared around the room. ‘And end up like this lot, you mean? Forget it, I didn’t serve eighteen years for the good of my health. Have you all gone soft while I was away?’
The other man sighed. ‘Things have changed. The movement operates in tight cells nowadays. The big battalions have long gone, as I’m sure you know. Now it’s maybe two or three hundred active lads at most. There’s no room for old-timers.’
Tm the best.’
‘Sure you are, Hughie. But for a start the authorities have got your card marked. You won’t be able to fart without them knowing about it.’
CI know that!’ Dougan snapped back. ‘I told you -1 got plans.’
The smile was sincere, but patronising. ‘And the movement, Hughie, they’d want to be sure of you, too. A lot of the lads have been turned stag by Special Branch after they’ve been inside.’ He saw the anger in the old bomber’s face. ‘Maybe, after a decent period, when you’ve been fully debriefed by the Sweenies, sure you could do a wee spot of lecturing for the up-and-coming. Tell ‘em how it was in the old days.’
Dougan’s explosion of indignation was defused by Clodagh’s timely appearance at his side. Killy took the opportunity to make his excuses and move away.
‘What’s the matter, Da?’
‘They think I’m finished,’ he said hoarsely, holding her hand and seeking comfort in its warmth.
‘They don’t know anything.’
He forced a thin smile. ‘No, of course not. Now, tell me, where’s your man?’
‘You haven’t spotted him?’
‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Over there by the door. Sweet-talking those two tarts from the Divis.’
It was the man with the loud voice who had spoken to him earlier when he asked for water. Jimmy Coyle. A big man with a mouth to match. Thirty-eight and married to a timid wife who’d borne him six children, kept house, and steadfastly ignored the numerous legovers about which he boasted to anyone who would listen. A self-professed Provie hero who in truth the organisation only used when it wanted a cheap thug to add muscle to its ‘compulsory insurance’ schemes.
‘Have you told him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do it now. We have to go soon.’
Clodagh drained her glass to steel herself before she approached the man, took his hand and led him out of the front door to the empty street.
‘Jimmy, I need to speak.’
‘I thought you were ignoring me,’ he chuckled, his voice slurred, his breath reeking of drink. ‘Don’t tell me you’re pregnant, I won’t fall for that one.’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly, of course not. It’s just that I’m going away with Da and Cait for a couple of weeks. Over the border, away from all this. A guesthouse in Sligo. Some peace and quiet for him to adjust.’ She hesitated, forcing herself to go on as he slipped his arm around her waist and pressed himself against her. ‘Look, Jimmy, we’ve hardly had any time together… There’s a pub near the guesthouse that lets rooms. If you could get down there, I could get away. Spend some nights with you…’
She noticed how his chest swelled and the grin spread across his face. There was little doubt he’d take the bait; for months she’d been leading him a dance and now he thought he’d cracked it. ‘I’m sure I could manage that.’
‘Your wife?’
The smirk deepened. ‘I’m a travelling salesman, Clodagh, always on the move. Sure Patty never knows where I am and knows better than to ask. Just give me the address.’
She handed him a scrap of paper. ‘But it must be our secret, Jimmy. If I hear you’ve been bragging, it’s off. Understand?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ he promised mockingly.
Just then they heard the whistle. It was the youth in jeans who had been leaning against the lamppost on the corner. ‘ Clodagh’s head turned in. anticipation, her heart skipping a beat. It was only to be expected and yet she still felt her bile rise as the two grey Land-Rovers rounded the corner at speed. She had no doubt as to their destination.
They pulled up outside, the doors swinging open and the officers of the Royal Ulster Constabulary were out even before the vehicles were fully stopped. Pinched faces beneath their peaked caps, blue flak jackets and Ml carbines.
‘What’s this about?’ she demanded.
The tall, middle-aged sergeant with white hair gave her a quizzical look. ‘Hello, Clodagh. There’s been a tip-off, that’s all.’