The Everlasting Present Chapter Four
At the opposite end of the country, another answered that call. The years had not been kind to him. He had recently been released from prison, bitter and broken by his time served. Years of his life gone! He had such plans, dreams that had gone awry. It had all gone wrong because of her.
She had foiled his plans twice. The first was years ago back when they were both young. A perfect plan. A prep school bombing. The headlines would be splashed around the world making a bold statement that he and his beliefs were not to be trifled with. He wanted to share the glory with her. A bomber herself, she would see the beauty of the plan, her skills put to use to benefit the cause. But it didn't unfold as he envisioned. She had ratted him out, not to the Garda or the RUC, but to the Army who didn't appreciate his initiative. They were making strides in "diplomacy". He wanted his enemies to bleed. A parting of the ways was inevitable.
The woman and her associates had diverted his device. She feigned comradeship while engaging in betrayal. Instead of being hailed as a hero, he was labeled a traitor. He had spent several years in gaol plotting his revenge. Once his freedom was regained, ready to set his plan in motion, she had disappeared. His resentment continued to grow; somehow blaming her for all that had gone wrong. A phone call from Dublin restored his hope.
She was found, living in Miami. A new plan was hatched. A way to restore his worth and honor was discovered. The woman had several bouts of righteous indignation, sticking herself in others' affairs. She had made a string of enemies throughout the region. He would use that to his advantage. He gathered some mates who worked for ideology and cash. A trip across the sea easily accomplished. Actually capturing the bitch was a bit more complicated but in the end she was his. A grand return to Eire was planned. He would step on Irish soil once more with powerful friends and cash to spare. They would listen to him now. His was the voice that would dictate policy. That policy would make them all pay. No "diplomacy", but justice, his justice. He remembered her face as he held the knife, seeing fear there though she tried to disguise it. He was looking forward to drawing out her pain, giving her a small taste of all that had befallen himself.
Unfortunately, his triumph was short lived. Some American spy meddled in the affair, not for a cause, not for rewards of any kind, but for love. It sickened him just to think of it. Such a waste! He was picked up not long after and sent away for a good long while. He had long stretches of isolation waiting for the opportunity to seek his revenge. Word reached him several years ago that the American was dead, blown up, some say by the very woman he had saved, thwarting his plans; bit of poetic justice, perhaps, but little comfort to him now. The woman had not been seen since, presumed dead. He had hoped she met a painful end.
A few months back, he regained his freedom. Very little work came his way, many of his old acquaintances had moved on, living more like pensioners than radicals. He sorely missed the good old days, the days of mayhem and change. He found some solace in the bottle, reminiscing about the past, existing at the margins of the underworld. The call changed all that!
Flynn, a former RIRA associate, now a clerk at the Dublin shop, got in touch. He related the events that had transpired that day. He didn't know the name of the lad whose mother was the topic of discussion but he did know the name of his mate and where they lived. Flynn recognized the face in the photo. Apparently, the reports of her death may have been made hastily. It warranted some investigation, perhaps a trip to Kerry.
Thomas O'Neill was intrigued. She had slipped through his grasp twice. Perhaps the third time was the charm. And she had a son, that could prove to be useful in terms of leverage! O'Neill ended the phone call, happier than he had been in quite some time. He'd make a few calls of his own. He pushed the bottle away. He needed a clear head. He needed to gather intel. He needed to recruit some allies. He needed to formulate a plan. He needed revenge!
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Michael and Fiona sat on the sofa in their usual position. Her body leaned into his as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire, silent but content. The sound of tyres crunching on the gravel announced Charlie's return. Michael quickly moved to the door anxious to greet him, to hear about his travels. As Charlie entered he gave a wave thanking Mr. O'Shea for the ride, then bounded inside, carrying a small pastry box.
"Glad to have you home. It was a little too quiet around here without you." Michael patted Charlie on the shoulder, taking his small bag, and indicating he should join Fi.
He presented her with the requested crumble. She took the precious box, inhaling deeply, the aroma already permeating the room. "We'll enjoy this treat a bit later. So, how did it go?" Fiona asked.
"I talked to you twelve times by mobile. I don't think there's anything left to tell." Charlie said, feeling that he had already told them everything of note already. Then, he heard Michael clear his throat in an exaggerated manner, staring at him in such a way to let Charlie know that he should provide details. Charlie got the message. He joined her on the sofa and gave a summary of the important parts of the journey. He described the football match in detail. He talked about Dublin, how exciting it was, the masses of shops, the tourists, the size of Croke Park. He prattled on for quite a while. Fiona hung on his every word.
Michael's attention was divided. He listened to Charlie, pleased with the enthusiasm in his voice, his keen observations, and his growing maturity. He watched Fiona's face as she looked at Charlie while he was speaking, her gaze was so full of love, so relieved to have him home again. They knew they were on borrowed time now. While Charlie was off in Dublin, Michael and Fiona had many conversations about the future. They both realized their time with him was waning. He would be off on his own before too long. It was something that they both wanted for him, but when the time came, it would be hard to see him go. He could see Fi's eyes welling up a bit as Charlie continued on. He caught her eye and smiled reassuringly. They would always have each other. Madeline was right. He had picked the right girl.
The warmth of the fire finally reached Charlie and he took off his jacket setting it beside him. Charlie's t-shirt was unveiled. It read the "IRA: Undefeated Army". Fiona turned pale, a sharp intake of breath followed. She looked at the shirt, she looked at Michael, she looked back at Charlie. An awkward silence descended upon the room.
Michael broke the silence, a forced smile on his face. "And where did you find that?"
"Like it?" Charlie spun around, modeling it from all sides. "Sinn Fein Bookstore." Both adults were speechless for a moment. "Felt like quite the rebel in there." Charlie chuckled a bit before continuing, "It's packed with all sorts of shirts, books about the IRA, The Troubles, 1916, and the like. Sketchy clerk in there, too. Looked scary enough to actually have been in the Army! Luckily, nothing blew up!" He seemed to find his own comment humorous. Fi, however, did not even crack a smile.
"Sinn Fein Bookstore. Of course." Michael continued his strained smiling. "Honey, isn't that nice. He visited the Sinn Fein shop."
The use of the word "honey" snapped Fiona out of her daze. It was always their distress call. Fiona realized Michael was concerned that her reaction would give Charlie pause. His warning was received and heeded. She brushed her worry aside, her mind brought back to the present. "You must be starving! Can I fix you some eggs and toast, maybe a rasher or two?" Fiona moved toward the kitchen. Charlie watched her go, a little puzzled by her reaction.
"Why don't you get yourself unpacked? I bet your food will be ready by then." Michael kept the forced smile on his face. Charlie nodded, grabbed his rucksack, and headed toward his room.
"The Sinn Fein Bookstore? What the hell was he doing there? I thought he was going for a football match." She paused, and then turned to Michael, fury in her eyes. "This is your fault!"
"He bought a t-shirt, Fi." Michael kept his voice low. "He didn't join the IRA. Relax!" He tried to calm her down, somewhat unsuccessfully. It was difficult having an argument in hushed voices.
"You told me Dublin wouldn't be a problem. Now he has THAT shirt! Not a good idea, Michael. I'd rather not remind others of this family's former associations!" Fiona's eyes were filled with fire.
"I understand. This is a delicate situation..." Michael's thoughts were interrupted as Charlie re-emerged, hungry, as usual.
Both Michael and Fiona put on their artificial smiles. Fi set the plate in front of him. She ignored the offending garment and concentrated on ignoring Michael instead. "So, Charlie, tell me more about Dublin. Did you by any chance go by Brown Thomas? They have the best shoe department." Michael rolled his eyes, realizing he was in for a long night.
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The four boys huddled around the table focused on a set of papers. An animated debate was brewing as Fi walked in. Charlie looked up briefly at her entry, while Donal shouted out, " 'Lo, Mrs. O." Then, they proceeded to return to their work, their voices becoming louder, talking over one another, each in an effort to make his own point.
Fiona began sorting her purchases from the market. She made several sideways glances toward the table, wondering what was causing all the fuss. Her curiosity was growing especially as she heard snippets of their conversation. She wanted a closer look without appearing to be intruding. An easy solution was found: food. These growing lads were always hungry these days. They could clear out her larder quite easily, and often did just that. Today, they seemed too focused on their task. She gathered a few things, placed them on a tray, a platter of carrots, a package of crisps, four blueberry yogurts, and four waters. Then, she brought it to the table believing they would descend upon it like a pack of wolves and she could get a better view of their papers. Surprisingly, some words of thanks were muttered but little movement, Donal grabbing a few carrots to munch on.
"School project?" Fiona asked trying to catch a glimpse of the work.
"Master Hanlon challenged the class to come up with a plan to demolish the old linen works building using our physics and chemistry knowledge." Charlie explained. "We are to be cost effective and use safety as our priority."
"I say we just nuke it. Then, we're done and have time for some gaming." Donal was laughing as he spoke but his interest in the project was clearly diminishing.
The other three had a more sensible solution, they were beginning to come to consensus. Fiona looked at their materials list and calculations. "What you're proposing could work but you'd wind up with a larger debris field than is really practical." She stared at the diagram for quite a bit while the boys stared at her. She reached for a pencil and paper, writing a list of other potential useful components. "If I were you boys, I'd look into some of these. Less explosive potential, more implosion types of reactions, bringing a building down more vertically, reducing the refuse." Donal stopped eating while he, Gerry, and Liam exchanged glances. Charlie looked puzzled. Fiona stared at the blueprint of the mill for a long time without speaking, finally adding, "You chose a good load bearing wall to set the charge but I'd move it about a meter to the left." She faced the boys and noted their odd expressions.
Four pairs of eyes were fixed on her. No one moved. "How do you know all that?" Donal asked the question on everyone's minds.
Fiona immediately realized that she might have overplayed her hand. "I worked on a construction site in my younger days. Picked up a few tips." She smiled uncomfortably as they boys continued to stare. "Right then. I'll let you get back to work. Anyone want tea?" She moved away from the table quickly immersing herself in kitchen duties.
No one spoke for a while, nor did they return to work immediately. All four had the same thought. Their minds returned to that implausible photo they saw while in Dublin. Charlie was the last to move, as thoughts raced through his mind. Perhaps his friends weren't the eejits he supposed. Perhaps it was time to do some research of his own.