This Human Season Page 9

  They took him to one of the first cubicles in the visiting block. Waiting there was a thin middle-aged man in a suit and tie, with unkempt hair. O’Malley stepped forwards and Dunn saw the vertebrae of his back roll with relief. He tucked his hair behind his ears. The lawyer rose with joy.

  ‘Goo-od morning Kevin!’

  Jaws stepped in, hands up. ‘Right that’s it, visit off! Not allowed to discuss the weather!’ He indicated the back door with his arm outstretched. Dunn watched O’Malley, his mouth blown wide with incomprehension then it closed around what he already knew; closed tight around what he’d always known.

  Jaws called out ‘Lads!’ to the officers up at the main desk and two of them came down and took each of O’Malley’s arms.

  The lawyer said, ‘I don’t know what that does for you. Does it make you feel like the big man?’

  ‘I am the big man,’ said Jaws.

  The lawyer gave him a look of loathing, then gathered his papers, put his briefcase under his arm and slid out of the cubicle. He pushed past Dunn, his shoes resounding on the floor all the way out.

  * * *

  Back at the visits detail room, Jaws told the remaining officers the story.

  ‘“Not allowed to talk about the weather,” I says, and that’s it, out.’

  ‘He’s a bloody character,’ said a ruddy-faced man whose laugh became a bronchial spasm.

  ‘The book of the Maze according to Jaws, Chapter One,’ said another. Dunn looked at his watch. He had another five or six hours to go before he’d be home. It suddenly occurred to him that Angie fancied her boss. The way she talked about him. Always with that girlish laughter, always with a new nickname for him, a pet name. It would suit her all right, his long hours away from home, her working late.

  They hadn’t had sex in a little while. Maybe she didn’t want him any more. He was worrying about things he’d never worried about before, when he was in the army.

  Chapter 13

  Thought you were clever when you lit the fuse,

  Tore down the House of Commons in your brand new shoes . . .

  Top of the Pops was on the TV and the kids were jumping from the settee on to the floor, along to The Jam. Liam had the boomerang his dad had brought back from Australia off the sideboard and was using it as guitar, a drumstick, a microphone, shouting,

  . . . left me standing like a guilty schoolboy!

  When Kathleen came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands, her sister Eileen was taking her coat off and sitting down. ‘Is it Paddy Reilly you’re apeing, Liam?’

  Kathleen went over to the TV and turned the sound down and before she could say her piece both Aine and Liam were lying before the TV with their heads propped on their elbows.

  ‘It’s not over yet.’

  ‘After this you’ve to go up and get ready for bed so I can talk to your auntie.’

  ‘It’s too early.’

  ‘We’ve a right to some grown-up time.’

  ‘It’s too early.’

  ‘I’m that hungry Mummy.’

  ‘How about a cup of tea?’

  ‘Just yous get yourselves up there! You can do some reading. See that, it’s all done now. Number one! No one’ll remember any of that rubbish in the years to come. The time you took moaning you could have been watching. Go on with yous. And do your teeth.’

  Eileen was her older sister, a large woman with fading red hair, the woman her husband Sean called ‘fat arse’. She came round when he was out. She had four children herself.

  ‘Shall we wet the tea?’ said Kathleen, using their mother’s expression. Eileen got up to go to the kitchen with her. She surveyed Kathleen’s kitchen with short-sighted squinting exaggeration, going up close to the notes taped on the fridge door and inspecting them, then opening cupboards and looking in.

  ‘Is it a biscuit you’re after?’

  ‘Have you not got a drop?’

  ‘Now how could I keep a drop in the house with himself about?’

  ‘How is the Chief of Staff?’

  ‘It’s with him going putting ideas into Liam’s head that I’ll be all the time on the bus to Long Kesh. Hold on a minute there now. What am I saying. I do have a bottle, I found it in our Sean’s things. Mary brought it back for him when she went to Gran Canaria with Auntie Maureen, it’s a cherry brandy. I hid it up. I called her on Sunday and she said we could have it.’

  ‘Bless her, how is she?’

  ‘“I’m happy here”, that’s what she tells me on the phone last Sunday. She’s got a voice on her sounds like Princess Anne.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ said Eileen fondly. ‘Get that bottle open will you!’

  ‘And bloody Aine. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Moan, moan, moan all the time. She’s driving me round the bend. Here’s the bottle. I put it under the sink with the cleaning stuff, no one in this house is going to find it in there. Have you seen the ceiling in the front room?’

  ‘Looks nice. The drink. You could use it like a serving hatch for when you’re bedridden. I hear you’re in the Relatives Action Committee. Our Jim gave Sammy McCann a ride back from town today.’

  ‘Am I shite. I’m going to go along and see if I can help out with the protest march or something that’s all.’ She took a small paring knife to the top of the bottle.

  ‘Aye, well, just keep a wee eye on that Liam. He’s been telling our Eammon how he’s in the Fianna Cubs.’

  Kathleen gave a short laugh and poured the cherry brandy into mugs.

  ‘For fuck’s sake. He’s like his father that one.’

  ‘Oh don’t tar him with that brush! The poor wee soul. Slàinte.’

  ‘Slàinte. Fuck me.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘That’s strong.’

  Eileen told her sister how she’d come along on the bus and heard someone ask to stop at the Pound Loney. ‘I said I’m awful glad to hear you say that mister. Remember our mummy once said to that fella in Donegal, it’s not the Pound Loney where we live, it’s Ross Street, all snooty like. We used to go up on to the Shankill playing all the while, back then. You kissed that boy and I told Mummy you’d kissed an Orangie and she gave me a clip round the ear. She used to stand on that front doorstep and watch the Proddies going past the house on a Sunday and say good morning to each and everyone, “They’re off to their place of worship, so they are.” I was thinking of it all as I came along tonight. I could just see your Sean at the top of our street, the great fool, waiting on you. And you going off with him. Who was the bigger fool, then?’

  ‘He bought me a bar of chocolate.’

  ‘For Christ’s sakes, Kathleen.’ They lit cigarettes in unison.

  ‘When I was coming back from St Catherine’s he was standing at the top of our street, handing out leaflets, or was it collecting for something . . .’

  ‘Collecting schoolgirls more like. It broke Daddy’s heart. He thought you’d be going on with school.’

  ‘Mummy was all for the boys though wasn’t she? A proper Irish mother, so she was. “Daddy will you whistle for the boys, help them concentrate on their work,” and him standing at the bottom of the stairs whistling for what was hours. Have a top up.’

  ‘Christ that’s a lovely wee drop. We’re going to finish the bottle that way, Kathleen, go steady. Jesus don’t spill any of it, you silly cow, look you’ve spilt a good mouthful there. Rub it in so it won’t show. Here y’are, use my sleeve. That’s it. It’s already stained. God it’s better than whiskey. I might have to stay the night.’

  ‘Sure you’d be welcome. I’ll put Sean on the couch. He was good looking back then, Sean, he had a look, like, well what did I know, but he dressed like a rocker, you know. He had a look that said kill . . .’ Kathleen put her feet up beside her on the settee. ‘Jesus, what does it feel like to be in love? I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Our poor daddy was all down at the mouth at the wedding.’

  ‘Aye.’ Kathleen blew the smoke into the air in rings. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Your ma
n stands up and gives the speech of his life. “I feel a bit of a prick standing up here,” he says. You should have known then.’

  ‘It was too late then. Christ, I wish I could have a holiday and go to the Canaries or somewhere, drink this with someone else’s fella. I wish I could get away. I’ll be forty next year.’

  ‘You’re looking old.’

  ‘I’ve still got my figure.’

  ‘You ought to be taking up knitting.’

  ‘Will you shut it.’

  ‘You’ll be going through the change next.’ Eileen had her feet up on the couch and Kathleen sat holding the bottle with two hands. She looked up at the ceiling. ‘I say, up there, could you pass us down another bottle if you please?’ Then she poured some more of the red liquid into her own mug and her sister’s.

  ‘You ought to go on a coach trip. Get him to save his earnings.’

  ‘Some chance! Well, I am off on a coach trip anyway.’

  ‘You’re off to the house in the country are you?’

  ‘Wednesday the twelfth. Twenty days time. Half an hour, once a month, that’s all you get.’

  ‘Jim’s sister’s boy, Brian, he’s on his second year on the blanket, God love him. She’s up there every month, lives for them visits. Make sure you’ve got the tobacco. Margaret, she took a camera in.’ Eileen pointed between her legs. ‘Up herself.’

  ‘She’s had eight kids.’

  ‘Aye, but not at the same time. There’s muscles down there. Not that

  I use them. I wouldn’t want to encourage him.’

  ‘Don’t you ever fancy someone else?’

  ‘Ach for fuck’s sake, of course I do, who doesn’t?’ She pointed at the

  Celtic cross on the sideboard. ‘That was Mummy’s. We got it in Derry.’

  ‘She gave it till me before she died, so don’t start with your shite about not getting anything.’

  ‘There was a fella I met one time out in Donegal, he could have been my husband, Francis O’Hare. He wanted to court me, so he did. Well last summer, when we goes back there, I ran into that fella’s sister, working in the bar. I says to her, did she know a man by the name of O’Hare, Francis, and she says that’s my brother and he lives just down from here. Married ten years ago, with the three children. Rory and James and the oldest is a girl, name of Eileen. Well I says to her, give him my regards. What name shall I say, she asks, and I say, Eileen.’

  ‘You’ve told me that tale a hundred times. Och well, they’re all nice before you marry them. It’s the kids it’s for, marriage, the same way Christmas is.’

  ‘Mind you, if you lost one of the kids and you’d ever so much as looked at another fella you’d be broken up wouldn’t you? Remember poor Mrs Toner? Sitting in St Peters, holding that wee lad of hers, shot dead. In her arms. Like a rag doll. I’ll never forget that. Poor woman. And you’re so busy you’re shouting at them or you’re telling them off for being out of sight for ten minutes or you’re staring at them and they’re saying, “What’s wrong with you, why are you looking at me like that for?”’

  Kathleen passed her sister a cigarette. ‘Have one of mine.’

  ‘I’ve got my own.’

  ‘Have one of mine.’

  Kathleen raised herself and went to get another pack of cigarettes from the kitchen. She took one from on top of the cupboards and she laughed. Then she laughed again. She came back into the sitting room, smiling.

  ‘There was this soldier when we were up in Ardoyne. He used to come in every morning for his cup of tea. Frank. He was the quiet type but he did say a couple of things to me I’ll never forget.’

  ‘Unlike your Sean.’

  ‘He used to say, we’re here to do a job. You can be a soldier and save lives, he used to say. They were all sleeping in that wee back garden. I made them cooked breakfasts. We used to have a sing song with them in the evenings. One day he’s having his cup of tea and I’m at the sink and he says, Mrs Moran, do you ever wear your hair down?’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I had to get the lunch on. It was about nine o’clock. Sean was working up at Rathcoole, for that tool company, he had to go off at six in the morning. I think I smelt the way things were going with the Brits. I used to say to that Frank, you’ll feel different when you get shot at. We used to joke about it, you know, you did joke with them then didn’t you. One day he’s sitting at the table with his tea and he says to me, I’ve had an erection since you walked into this kitchen.’

  Eileen put her mug down. ‘Jesus. Jesus. Did he?’

  ‘No wonder they’re after calling you Frank, I thought.’

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘Sometimes it’s hard to remember what it’s like to be young.’

  He had stood behind her at the sink and put his hands on her to turn her around. Then, he’d put his hands behind her head, his fingers in her hair and he’d kissed her, his lips taking over. His eyes were closed, but hers were open. He was nineteen. She’d put her arms around his back, a hand on either shoulder blade, and pulled him to her.

  Chapter 14

  There was a commotion in the block. Dunn could see the backs of two officers shuffling sideways as if they had a dead body between them.

  ‘Go easy there. Easy, you’re going too fast.’

  ‘Careful! I don’t want it all over me for fucks sake.’

  ‘Back, back, steady man, go steady there, let’s get it in the medic’s office in one piece.’ Shandy looked over his shoulder. ‘All right, Johnno. PO’s looking for you.’

  ‘Open the door for us, Dunn,’ shouted Campbell, red-faced as they came up against the door of the medic’s room. They were moving the water urn.

  ‘Electrics don’t work in here,’ said Frig from the mess door. ‘No toast or tea.’ He waved a piece of limp bread.

  ‘This is my office,’ said the medic lamely as the door slammed against the wall.

  Bolton called over to Dunn. He was in his doorway in full uniform, his forehead looked polished.

  ‘Step in here a moment Mr Dunn would you? Adjudications today. We’ll only be doing them one more time this year. Soon be December. The season of goodwill. It’s always a tricky time. Now you’re just the kind of man I want on the block at the present.’ He squinted across at the large calendar on his corkboard then smiled at Dunn.

  ‘“Adjudications” Sir? I’m not familiar.’

  Perching on his desk, Bolton explained the formality that removed normal prison privileges from protesting prisoners once every two weeks. Staff were required to go to every cell and order every prisoner to wash, shave, go to work and wear prison uniform at which point the prisoner replied either no or fuck off or both. Adjudication reports and charge sheets needed to be filled in. Then the PO informed the deputy governor who designated an assistant governor to come down to the block and go into every cell, read the charge and ask the prisoner if he had anything to say. Again, it was either no or fuck off or both.

  ‘It’s really a waste of time, but there we go, the rules are there to protect us.’ He nodded towards the wing. ‘Are you getting used to the smell, Mr Dunn?’

  ‘Yes, I am. My girlfriend’s not, though.’

  ‘It’s bloody obnoxious, truly it is. Oh by the way, Dunn, I need your phone number and address for the files, scribble it down while you’re here will you?’ He handed him a small black notebook with a blank page. Dunn felt in his pocket for a pen then took one from Bolton’s desk and leant forward to write.

  Campbell appeared in the doorway. Bolton went on where he’d left off. ‘The prisoner is then awarded loss of remission, loss of pay, loss of all privileges such as letters and visits . . . what other privileges are there?’ His tongue, large, beige and square appeared as he considered. The strip lighting above him was reflected across the lenses of his glasses. ‘Letters, visits, ah yes, reading materials, none of that, there are some other things too. Can’t recall.’

  ‘Furniture . . .’ offered Dunn, putting the pen d
own.

  ‘They broke what they got given,’ Campbell put in. ‘Their choice. Just like the windows.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Bolton, looking wistful. ‘Well that’s just the place we’re at. Normally, I don’t think a light or a bed or a window would be considered a privilege.’ He put the notebook inside a drawer, then went to get his jacket that was hanging on a peg on the wall. It was warm in his office; there were heaters under both windows. The windows had the same concrete bars as all the others, but with green and beige striped curtains at either side.

  ‘I’m going to begin adjudications Sir, just to let you know. Thought Mr Dunn could join us.’

  ‘All right Campbell. I’ll walk down with you this morning.’

  ‘It’s not normal procedure, Sir, I usually manage the business on my own.’

  ‘Well, today I’m coming with you.’ Bolton took off his glasses. Campbell looked injured, turned on his heel. The three of them headed off to the C and D wings. Campbell’s shoes had been customized, as had many of the officers’, with a small plate of steel in the sole. They made the sound of a snare drum.

  Frig was waiting for them by the grille, the peak of his cap down like a visor as ever.

  They stopped outside the first cell on their right. Bolton put two fingertips in Frig’s way to stay him.

  ‘This fella in here, 2111 Lavery, Mickey, he was in with the old man but I’ve had him put on his own for a while as he’s a bit loopy. Might have to put him into another block. He went off the protest a couple of weeks ago; called for me to come down, at six in the morning, in tears. Then he came back last week, out of the blue. There was a lot of cheering on the wing, they like that you see.’ He indicated that Frig proceed. ‘He’s not a well man,’ he added in low, quiet tones as if they were going into a nocturnal habitat in a zoo.

  Campbell spoke. ‘Prisoner 2111 Lavery, you are to comply with prison rules and regulations which require you to wash, to shave, to wear the prison uniform, to work . . .’