Chapter 11: Children of the Revolution 4th March 1996
Kathy sat for another half hour, the merciless waves of tears hammering out and down her face until they ceased with a few sniffs. Deirdre stayed with her the whole time, holding her hand and drying her eyes and when the sniffles stopped, she made them another cup of tea. For two more hours they sat and talked, interrupted by the occasional doctor or nurse who came by to check on James. They spoke of their younger days, happier times of playing with friends and being carefree, the starkest of contrasts to the situation they found themselves in.
"I'm sorry to you as well". Kathy suddenly changed the topic back.
"For what?" Deirdre asked.
"The financial burden I've left you with… I've not sent money for…".
"Ye do realise he's yer son don't ye?" Deirdre, almost sniggering, replied.
"What do you mean?"
Kathy looked at her sister as if she were speaking another language.
"James has been making money for himself, so he has".
"He has a job?"
"Not… exactly". Deirdre smiled. "He gives betting tips to Joe McCool and the two of them… well James wins enough to sustain himself ye know".
"Maybe I haven't been such a failure after all…". Kathy's lips edged up into the vague form of a smile.
"Of course ye haven't!" Deirdre reached for her sister's hands again. "They own a horse of their own now as well. It won on Saturday, so it did".
The pieces of Kathy's heart, that were spread around the room, suddenly began to reform and travel back to her body. Hearing of her son's ability to look after himself and make his own way, utilising his best assets, set off the homing beacon of pride in her chest.
"A racehorse?" She checked.
"Aye, a racehorse. One of the girls rode it too".
"Without trying to sound cheesy… that's my boy!"
The sister's laughed merrily at Kathy's statement, for a moment the thought of James fighting for his life a couple of metres away dissolved and just their amusement filled their minds. He was certainly the son of Kathy Maguire alright.
"He's got his girlfriend as well".
"Oh?" The somewhat shocked Kathy stated. "I wasn't sure he was into girls you know Deirdre. I always thought he might be… ye know… not that I have a problem with that!"
"I think everyone did to be honest. Although Mary wasn't that surprised in the end".
"Mary? Mary Quinn?"
"Aye. Gerry wasn't either now when I think of it… but James did say Joe and Sarah thought he was a wee gay fella too".
"I'm sorry. I don't… I don't follow".
"Erin…Mary and Gerry's daughter… she's James's girlfriend".
She remembered the blonde girl from her brief visit to Derry in November, who'd shouted out in the street thinking Kathy was trying to kidnap them when she'd seen Michelle and James. She was a cute little thing from the brief time she'd clapped eyes on her, and it warmed her to know that he'd found love. What scared her was where he'd found it. She'd not missed the angered looks that Mary Quinn sent her way the morning she borrowed her phone. Back then, she couldn't understand why there was so much hostility, even if she had left James behind in Ireland. But knowing their family and knowing where James rested his heart, the mist of the exchange cleared, and she understood. Mary would have taken him in and cared for him, so her anger that morning wasn't from what Kathy had done to him but what she hadn't done for him.
"I stand no hope then…". Kathy sighed.
"With Mary?" Deirdre raised an eyebrow as she sipped her tea. "You'll have to talk to her yerself Kathy, but if ye show the sincerity ye have done with me then I think the two of you's can work it out".
"I… I don't know if I'm ready. And there's…".
"There's what Kathy?"
"I… I left in a hurry and the business…".
Despite everything with James, Kathy still had to think of her livelihood. She could leave her employee to run things for a day or two but a permanent absence with no plan around it… it would ruin her.
"Go back to London this afternoon Kathy".
"What?" She answered incredulously to her sister. "I can't leave him now".
"I'm not going to judge ye for getting yerself in order love. The girls went to school today because they thought he'd want them to go on. The same would apply to you".
It took further persuasion from Deirdre, but Kathy arranged a flight back to London whilst she was still at the hospital. She arranged a taxi too but had concerns about leaving, owing to the vast amounts of press that were gathering outside the hospital. When Erin had left on the school bus earlier that morning, there was only a reporter from the Derry Journal scuttling around, easy enough to avoid. But half the world's press seemed to be at the scene when they took a look from the window of the room. Not wanting to be identified as his mother for the time being, Kathy asked if there was a rear entrance, but Deirdre came up with a better idea, smuggling her out of the hospital dressed in a nurse's uniform. It was an odd but ultimately necessary end to the sister's brief reunion, but with Kathy safely in the taxi and promising to return at the weekend, Deirdre took a sigh of relief, darting back indoors to avoid the press herself.
It was just after two o'clock when Mary and Joe turned up at the hospital. Uncle Colm was looking after little Anna again for them, with Gerry and Sarah both at work. They saw the gaggle of reporters filming their news stories but were able to walk by unrecognised. Derry hadn't opened its mouth too far yet then…
They met Deirdre outside James's room, who was preparing to go back home herself, getting a lift from one of her colleagues who'd finished their shift.
"Where's Kathy?" Mary asked.
"Gone back to London". Deirdre replied.
"Again!". Mary seethed. "That woman has no s-".
"I sent her Mary".
"You did what now?"
"I sent her back…". Deirdre began to explain. "She's got the business to look after and she'd left it in a right state, so he had".
"But he's her wain!" Joe protested.
"Aye Joe but ye know how it is. Even in the best-case scenario, he won't be wakin' for another week at least. She's coming back at the weekend".
"So she saw him then?" Mary questioned
"Aye. She...". Deidre stopped to wipe a lone tear from her eye. "… she was proper broken like. I've never seen our Kathy cry like that in… years".
The shield Mary built to protect herself from any of Kathy's usual malice was being breached by this sudden turn in character. She still had a lot to say about the letter, but Deirdre's sincere retelling of the event would be no lie, she was not a spiteful woman and they'd been friends long enough to know when the other was being serious. Perhaps there is good in Kathy after all…
"What about James?" Joe spoke up for the second time.
"I spoke to the doctor twenty minutes ago. They're sending him for scans on his brain in the next hour, to try and determine what the damage might be. He's not getting any worse at least…".
"Hope then". He huffed slightly in return.
"Aye Joe, that… well… all we can do is hope".
Deirdre found herself wiping away at further tears, Mary rubbing her arm in a gesture of friendship and care that she adored.
"I told her about James and yer Erin. She was worried that ye wou-".
"Kathy has done nothing good for that boy Deirdre". Mary stopped her. "But if she's serious about making amends then I'll have to accept that".
Mary and Joe said their goodbyes to Deirdre, who was able to dodge the press outside herself by leaving via the staff car park. It would be well known by now that James lived with her and she wasn't ready to face the media vultures yet. There was a television in the room that James was being kept in and whilst he was taken for scans of his brain, they turned it on and soon discovered the source of some of the press interest. James was being spoken about by the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, John Major, whilst he was in Hong Kong.
"Why the hell is Major talking about James!" Joe was furious.
"You know how it is da, now this has happened they'll use him as justification for the soldiers, so they will".
"And where were the soldiers Saturday night then? Hmm?"
"I know Da!" Mary snapped. "I'm not saying I agree with it. That's just the way it is".
Joe turned the tv up to hear the PM.
The events of the last forty-eight hours in Northern Ireland are disturbing and though I am sure that the Royal Ulster Constabulary will conduct a thorough investigation, it is a concern that an unprovoked attack such as this has taken place in Derry.
"What is that prick doing!" Joe shouted again. "It's not up to him to make a comment like that!"
"Easy Da!" Mary cautioned.
Joe continued to grumble about the PM bringing up the incident with James for another ten minutes, Mary occasionally interjecting with her own thoughts. She could see both sides of the argument. A comment like the one he'd made to the press wasn't necessary and James was now being converted into a political weapon. But she knew as well as the PM did that the attack on him was undermining the overall effort for peace. England wasn't looking for trouble when it came to James being in Derry, it was an act of Irish aggression that damaged the want for peace.
Actions spoke louder than words.
"O'Neill, Derry Journal".
"Hello".
The voice on the other end of the phone was distorted, an attempt to hide the true identity of the caller.
"Who is this?"
"There will be four girls getting off a school bus outside the Altnagelvin in the next hour. They have answers about James Maguire".
"Answers?". O'Neill asked.
"Small blonde, Clare Devlin. Tall, probably eating sweets, Orla McCool. Dark haired, Michelle Mallon, his cousin. And the other blonde, Erin Quinn, James Maguire's girlfriend".
"And who is this?... hello?... hello?"
The phone went dead on O'Neill, but he was soon getting the word out to the reporter on the ground about the four girls…
The girls toughed it through the day at school. The lunchtime vigil for James was touching, almost everyone at the school lighting a candle and praying for the wee English fella. They never saw Moira O'Keefe or her couple of friends, but they didn't expect it with her strong hatred of James. To their credit, none of them had to leave any of the lessons they were in and they all tried their best in each one. The learning became a distraction tool, especially for Erin, who could lose herself in the world of study to combat the constant thoughts of her boyfriend's suffering.
Mr Flanagan took their French lesson again and towards the end of it he went to the back of the room and got the four together. He informed them that he'd arranged for the bus driver to take them straight to the hospital at the end of the bus run so that they could see James. Another brilliant act from their History teacher which they thanked him for. He'd set the rest of the class homework, but he'd been hesitant to give the girls the same work. Instead, he gave them a choice. If they didn't wish to complete, then there would be no detention at the end of it or they could work on it as a team and hand in one piece between the four of them. They took option two, Erin in fact insisting on it as another welcome distraction whilst they battled on without James by their side. He was the best at French of all of them and they wanted to do him justice by completing the homework to the best standard they could without his input.
Walking out of school at the end of the day, they walked by Moira and her group, Michelle flipping Moira the bird and receiving a smirk in return. Clare opted to scowl at the girl too, something which surprised the others. Clare wasn't usually one for confrontation.
"Aye we'll be there soon". Michelle said when they were on the bus, the hospital in the distance.
"We did well today". Clare remarked. "See girls, look what we can achieve when we are together".
"There's still something I don't understand". Orla piped up.
Not this again. For all the good he'd done for them, Mr Flanagan using the expression 'Calling a spade, a spade', was one of his less impressive moments.
"A spade is a spade, why does he need to go on about it?"
"It's a figure of speech Orla". Erin replied.
"I get that but why a spade. I like spades".
"Ye like everything Orla". Michelle commented.
"Ach not everything Michelle". She countered. "I don't like the Spanish".
"What!?" The seemingly offended Clare responded.
"They see hola when they want to say hello. Well, it sounds like Orla, so it does, and they never asked me if I was ok with it, did they?"
The usual round of huffs and puffs ensued from Orla's left field comments, but for the girls, it was a slither of normality that they were able to cling to. The only part of the conversation missing was James's usual sensible solution or practical comment on the matter.
The bus pulled into the hospital and in seconds they were aware of the press. Erin remembered the one reporter she'd manage to avoid that morning, but now there were a sea of cameras and microphones and they were all around the bus in an instant.
"What the fuck!" Michelle shouted as she peered out the window.
"What are they doing!?" Clare fretted.
"Fuckin' journo's, must know who we fuckin' are!"
"They might be here for Orla and her race Michelle". Erin tamely suggested.
"No chance". She replied. "No offence to Orla, but I doubt there'd be fuckin' Germans and shit here".
Michelle's knowledge of other countries had proven poor before and it wasn't Germans but French reporters who she pointed out. A reporter from Le Monde was at the side of the bus along with camera crews and reporters from France 24 and France 2. There were Spanish… Italian… Japanese… American… most of the countries that they could think of now seemed to have a representative there. There were of course reporters and crews from the all the major English channels and the same Derry Journal reporter Erin avoided before too. A few cops were about, trying to keep the masses of press away from the bus and they succeeded for a few moments, allowing the girls to alight from the bus.
Then the journalistic assault began.
What happened to James Maguire?
Are you responsible for his attack?
Miss Devlin… Miss Devlin!
Miss Mallon, do you have anything to say to whoever carried out this attack on your cousin?
Miss McCool, what do you know about the attack?
Miss Quinn, did you do this to him?
Erin was frozen in the sea of cameras, Michelle and Orla trying to force her forward, but the tears were flowing, and the legs were not complying. The cops were too few and far between to hold them back and as soon as she stopped there were cameras in her face, and she didn't know what to do. Michelle swatted a couple away, but they were relentless in the bombardment of questions and pictures. They needed a way out and fast.
But allies were never too far away for the girls.
Frankie Flanagan dispatched Paul down to the hospital that afternoon to show their support for the English lad who, in the short time they'd known him, they had both taken a shine too. He'd arrived behind the school bus and the moment he'd found a spot and paid his parking, he was sprinting over to the girls. One cameraman from England got in far too close and a second later was shoved backwards to the floor by Paul. In the next second his jacket was off and over Erin's head and the girls all looked round to see him pushing them forward.
"Paul!" Orla shouted.
"I've got ye girls, come on".
He drove them on through and into the hospital, the cops forming a line behind them, a few feet away from the main doors, to prevent any journalists getting in. The one thing they didn't prevent however, was Joe striding out into the gap between the cops and the doors.
"OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII". He roared.
The press all turned their attentions and cameras on Joe, the cops dispersing and allowing them right up into his face. Perhaps the cops knew how bad a plan that was and thought they'd watch and laugh, especially at one reporter and her cameraman, who's camera rested an inch or so from Joe's nose.
"You better put that down boy… or you know where it's goin'".
The reporter and her cameraman were from the Netherlands, but they understood Joe well enough to back right off and concede their position. It was better than the alternative. The Derry journal reporter, who'd been the first there, was the one Joe looked for and when he found her, he made it very clear that she would be the only one he would talk to.
"The rest of you's, I ain't answering nothin' ye have to ask".
Joe's reputation amongst the press might not have been the same as it was amongst the jockeys, but he carried an air that seem to guarantee their respect for him without hesitation. It was almost as if they were terrified of him when he ran his eyes over them all.
"May I ask, what relation you are to Mr Maguire?"
"I'm his governess… what does it feckin' matter!"
Within a sentence, Joe had already ensured most major television stations present would be apologising for foul language that night.
"I'm not here to discuss how I know the boy. What I want to know, is what gives you the right to go and harass a group of young girls like that!"
"The Derry Journal offices have received information that suggests the girls may know what happened to Mr Maguire…".
"Right! And ye just believe that do ye!?"
"It was merely a follow up…".
"Have you any idea what those girls are going through?! Those girls, two of them are my granddaughters and the other two are their best friends. They only know the pain this is causing them, and you bastards are causing them more!"
"Your language…".
"Don't you dare!" Joe shouted back at her. "My granddaughter Erin, James is her fella and I'm having to watch her cry every day for that lad because he can't hold her hand or support her and she can do nothing for him! She's helpless in there and what do ye do… stick cameras in her face. Yer all no better than rapists!"
There were a few shocked breaths let out at Joe's comment, but he held firm during the brief silence where the reporter tried to recover herself.
"That is a very strong statement to make, Mr?"
"I'm not wrong though, am I?" His eyes narrowed on her, refusing to name himself. "Yer taking advantage of four vulnerable teenage girls, the only reason yer not in jail is because ye have a badge on yer shirt!"
"We have a job to report the news…".
"Well done Polly Poirot! But to pray upon the girls like that, no… ye don't. And I'm telling ye all, if I find ye doin that to them again then there'll be trouble!"
The cops gave Joe a look of silent warning at his threat but didn't get involved. He couldn't see what they were thinking but, in their heads, they were all in agreement with him about the press behaviour.
"And I have something to say to John Major as well!" Joe continued.
"Is that regarding his statement from Hong Kong earlier today?". The reporter questioned.
"Aye that's right! Major, ye great tool, keep your nose out of this! I don't want that boy being used as a political football by you or anyone for that matter! Our family doesn't need you hurlin' his name about to justify anything ye want. We just want James happy and healthy again".
"I'm sure we would all agree that is paramount above all, Mr?" She tried for his name again, a more genuine question from the woman within rather than the reporter.
"Joe McCool". He answered it this time. "But whoever did this to him doesn't, do they?"
"Do you have any inkling who that might be Mr McCool?"
"Jesus! Look around ye!" He threw his arm in the air dramatically. "Decades of hatred have done this! Sure, the hatred might wear a different name tag each time but it's still the same message under every attack. This country has spent years fighting for an idea that has to go around a table. It's taken me years to realise that but that is how it has to be! We've tried violence and now look where it's got us. James might not have Ireland listed on his passport and his accent might be from the other side of the sea, but he's a better man than most Irishmen could ever dream to be and I'm proud to have him looking after my granddaughter, so I am! He's no soldier or politician, he's just a boy and how many more boys is it going to take to for people to realise this has to end!"
Joe's speech shook the reporters and for another half a minute they all scribbled notes in silence, no pictures taken or anything else. He was done by then too and before anything else could be asked of him, he was back inside, and the cops were moving the journalists away once more. Joe felt raw, and instead of going straight back to see his family, he went to the men's toilets and cried his eyes out. It was the first time since his Marie died that he'd wept so profusely but the sheer gravity of his own words came back to hit him. His own guilt resurfaced too. His views towards England were always acceptable to him, and most of Derry, but seeing what the hatred of England could do to an innocent lad like James, Joe's heart ached just liked Erin's.
Watching Joe McCool's speech with one of his new associates, a certain man of a certain cloth felt the power of the emotion through the screen. Exactly what he wanted.
"What do we do about him?"
"Relax Mr Scanlon". The man replied. "I remember Joe McCool. He was almost one of us back in the day ye know".
He remembered Joe well. They weren't close friends by any means but through friends of friends they knew each other. He remembered Joe running away, avoiding the cops on Bloody Sunday and his subsequent softening when it came to the cause. He put aside his wish for an Ireland free of British influence and instead chose his family.
"We need to plan to finish Maguire then". The Scanlon replied.
"What did I say!?" The man snapped back. "No body. This was the statement we needed, and that boy will never be the same again. Let the Brit fucker suffer for the rest of his life".
"But…".
"No buts Scanlon! Ye might have yer own agenda but yer part of something bigger now. Unless… of course… yer having misgivings".
The man reached for his side, for the pistol in its holster, but the Scanlon stopped him needing to reach for it, assuring him of loyalty.
"Never. I want those Brits out of Ireland!"
"Good". The man moved his hand back. "Will the other two be joining us shortly?"
"Aye". The Scanlon confirmed.
"Then the lessons will begin. Think of this as… a summer camp". The man grinned.
"Like church camp?"
"In a way Scanlon… in a way. But the only bible you'll be reading here is the one that tells ye how to make a bomb".
The two of them laughed at the man's statement. The attack on James suited both sides and now they would be getting the lessons they craved to deal with the British menace. The man got the resources he needed. Everyone was happy. For now…
"Welcome to the revolution boy".