August 2004
Catherine fed Eamonn the last bit of oatmeal before she carried him into the living room. Sean was sleeping in his bouncy chair, thankfully. From the window, she caught a glimpse of sunlight trying to break free from the somber Belfast sky.
"Any news on the funeral?" she asked Darragh.
"Aye," he answered, handing her the newspaper as he made his way into the kitchen. "Made the front page."
Setting Eamonn down to play with his toys, Catherine sat on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her. She stared blankly at the photos the Irish Times ran on the funeral of Eddie Rylie. It was a three photo spread, showing Eddie's wife, Bernadette, and their four children walking closely behind the coffin that was swathed with the Tri-Color. Hundreds of mourners had gathered on the Falls Road to honor the man. Eddie and Bernie had been close friends of Catherine's parents. He had also once belonged to the same IRA unit as Patrick.
Catherine rolled her lower lip between her thumb and index finger as she quickly read the article. Her heart filled with sorrow for Bernie and the children, as she was currently living out Catherine's worst nightmare. When Eddie had opened his front door one Sunday morning to purchase a newspaper and smokes, two masked UFV men shot him dead.
Catherine and Darragh had of course gone to the wake, but they didn't stay long as Jimmy and Fiona had shown up not long after.
Not wanting to be anywhere near Jimmy, Catherine had opted to stay home during the funeral, sending Darragh by himself to pay respects. She didn't catch much trouble from anyone as she had her hands tied with Eamonn, Sean, and Liam's daughter, Erin.
She did feel terrible for having missed the funeral services. She had gone to St. Dominic's with one of Eddie's daughters, and Bernie—a skilled seamstress—had made countless garments for her over the years. In an attempt to make up for it, Catherine decided she'd bring a heaping dish of coddle, and some flowers to the family's home in Ballymurphy.
Darragh came back into the living room holding two mugs of tea. He set one down on the coffee table for her and she thanked him.
"He was a good man. My Da always spoke very fondly of him."
"None better," he agreed.
Darragh had the privilege of working with Eddie several times on operations before he had been sent to Maghaberry. He could feel the stress radiating off Catherine as she read the grim details about the shooting. Thought it had been quite a while since the last time the UFV attacked Darragh on the Shankill, there was always that nagging fear in them both that he would be next.
As the phone rang and he answered, Catherine's stomach dropped. He didn't say anything other than "aye," and "dead on," before hanging up.
"I have to be away now," he said, jumping to his feet.
"Do you know when you'll be back?"
Darragh shook his head.
Even when she was in the IRA, Catherine never asked Darragh questions about his work. Now that she was out, she most definitely didn't ask questions nor could he share information voluntary like he once had.
The separation from that life had Catherine feeling as though they were in two different worlds. They had built their relationship on the foundation of the Republican Army. They could open up to one another and get the heavy weights off their chest. Now, she saw that Darragh was suffering in silence. Unable to turn to the woman he loves when all he needed was for her to reassure him that he was still decent at heart. She did her best to remind him of that, but it did very little when he couldn't speak of what was troubling him exactly.
What upset Catherine most, was that she was sharing her lover with a cause that no longer made sense to her. A cause that could lead them to more trouble and grief than they could ever imagine.
Darragh loved Catherine. He loved her deeply. But he loved Ireland more and vowed to fight the forces of poverty and oppression that would weigh heavy on their children, just as it did on them.
She followed him into the kitchen, an unsmiling expression on her face.
As Darragh opened the back door, he looked over his shoulder and forced out a laugh. "Cheer up, gorgeous. There's no law against you smiling!"
She smiled weakly. "At least not yet, anyway."
By mid-afternoon, Catherine had the boys strapped into their car-seats and she drove from Andersontown to Ballymurphy. Her first stop was to the Rylie house, where she dropped off food and offered her deepest condolences. Then, she traveled farther north, stopping at Liam and Shauna's, and then finally her parent's.
Catherine figured her mom had been watching out the window for her, because the moment she parked, Olivia came running outside.
As she unbuckled a babbling Eamonn, she couldn't shake the storming anxiety in her gut. The air was thick and heavy, with a strong unease blowing in the wind. Catherine ignored it, chalking it up to nothing more than the heavy presence of PSNI officers and soldiers.
Olivia grabbed Sean's car seat and Catherine didn't fight Eamonn as he begged to be set down. He wobbled a bit on his newfound legs, then darted straight into Patrick's open arms. The proud grandfather wrapped his twin in his arms before sweeping Eamonn off his feet and smothering him with kisses.
Before heading into the house, Patrick kissed Catherine's cheek.
"Is this not the most precious wee boy you've ever seen?" Olivia gushed. Sitting on the floor with Sean, she tickled his tummy. He kicked his legs and squealed, loving every second of attention he was getting from his grandma.
Catherine shook her head, spreading out a blanket and toys for Eamonn. "You only say he's precious because you're not the one up at three in the morning when he's screamin' his wee head off."
Patrick sat Eamonn on the blanket, who wanted nothing to do with the toys Catherine set out for him. Instead, he wandered over to his brother. Olivia melted when Eamonn got down and mimicked her tickles on Sean.
"Enjoy that while ya can." Patrick gestured to the sight of brotherly love. "Before ya know it, they'll be at each other's throat. Like you three hooligans."
"Aye. But we were the only ones who could mess with each other. Remember what Brien and I did to the Murphy boy who was slaggin' Liam?" Catherine went into the kitchen and started the kettle to brew a pot of tea.
Patrick grunted, following her. "How could I forget? I almost beat down the boy's da in the street because he insinuated I was raisin' a brood of criminals like me'self."
"Well, …we're not exactly upstandin' citizens, Da."
Blowing a steady stream of smoke from his nostrils, Patrick curled his finger around his cigarette as he pointed at Catherine. "Youse turned out to be damn good kids. No drug or drinkin' problems. All finished school. Not gonna lie, we were all worried about you there for a minute, but thankfully you pulled your head outta your arse just in time."
"Appreciate the honesty there."
When the kettle began to whistle, Catherine poured the boiling water into the teapot and plopped three bags in. She brought it over to the table, taking a seat. As she poured tea for herself and Patrick, the mood shifted as she brought up the reason for her visit.
"I heard back from the embassy in the United States. They've denied me a visa."
Patrick's heart broke for Catherine. He felt awful for helping her prepare to leave Belfast with the boys behind Darragh's back, but he knew it was in her best interest to be away from the violence.
Darragh had put his foot down, insistent that he wouldn't leave the cause. So that left Catherine no other choice than to contact Chibs in Charming and get the ball rolling for her impending arrival. Though, all of her plans were now on hold.
"Jesus. Did they give you a reason why? You haven't been arrested for anything in two bloody years."
"To them, that doesn't matter. According to MI5, I'm still a suspected terrorist, even though I haven't been involved with the Ra in quite a while. All it took was that one arrest—Liam explained that all of the counter-terror divisions in the States now have my fingerprints and arrest record. Ever since what happened there in 2001, they've cracked down. I'm never gettin' in that country…legally, that is."
Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you thought about patching your shite up with Jimmy so maybe he'll get ya a set of forged documents?"
Catherine shook her head. Never in a million years would she go to him for help. Not when he was part of the reason why she wanted to leave. She'd rather have every tooth pulled from her head with pliers than speak to him again.
"I could fight it, but I don't have the money nor do I want Darragh to know. So, I guess my only option would be the Republic. As far south as bloody possible. Limerick, maybe Tralee."
Patrick intended to respond to Catherine but was interrupted.
First, they heard the unmistakable blast followed by the rattle of windows. It startled both Eamonn and Sean. Her eldest son bolted to her, tears of alarm flooding his cheeks. Sweeping him up into her arms, Catherine held his head against her chest and rubbed his back as she walked into the living room.
Olivia cradled Sean, turning on the television, and Patrick headed outside to see the commotion.
Within minutes, the penetrating sirens of the police and fire vehicles came screaming down the road. Standing in the doorway, Catherine nudged Patrick in the side and pointed towards the plume of black smoke rising in the sky.
"Must've happened at the courthouse or Musgrave station. Those are the only things worth targeting in that direction."
"This is bloody madness," Olivia choked. "I thought the days of this shite were over."
Catherine's nose crinkled as the burning scents began wafting through the air. There wasn't a single doubt in her mind that this hadn't been the reason for Darragh's sudden departure earlier in the day. Her stomach was sick, thinking of all the innocents who had been caught in the crossfire.
With the pad of her thumb, Catherine wiped the tears off Eamonn's cheeks. Recounting the bloody days of her childhood, she was certain that this wasn't the kind of life she wanted her boys to experience. She was extremely fortunate enough to have Chibs, who was willing to set her up in a strange and distant land. Though now, her past mistakes were coming back to bite her in the ass.
She kissed Eamonn on the forehead. "I promise I'll get us out of here."
Stripping from his clothes, Darragh carefully stuffed them into a black garbage bag. One of his recruits was waiting outside the bathroom, where he would take it away to be burned. He didn't want to take the chance of leaving behind any traces of the fertilizer that could have clung to him during transport.
Then he eased into the shower, kicking aside the tub toys left for Eamonn and Sean. Reaching for the bar of soap on the ledge, he methodically began to cleanse himself thoroughly. He shampooed four times, running his fingers through his short black hair.
A small part of him was queasy with angst. He knew Catherine had planned to bring the boys to her parent's house, but he wasn't sure if they ventured anywhere near the river for a walk. On his way back home, he tried calling her to make sure she was safe, and it would go to voicemail. He was kicking himself for not making sure she just stayed home.
Even with his nervousness for Catherine and the boys, that didn't stop Darragh from feeling overall satisfied with how the operation had gone down. There were no deaths or injuries reported so far. Their telephoned warning had given the PSNI just enough time to evacuate the area.
He had started recruiting the young men from Óglaigh na hÉireann to join the True Army and he was impressed with the way they conducted themselves. Darragh wished he could convince Catherine to wear the black beret again—there was no one else he wanted to be his second-in-command. But he couldn't and he was utterly frustrated by the reemergence of her pacifistic bullshit. He thought she had left that all behind in 1996.
Now that her commitment to a unified Ireland was in the wind, Darragh stood firm on his belief that eventually, the peace talks would come to a screeching halt. When that happened, he planned to be in the driver's seat of a new armed, violent republican movement. He was receiving expected resistance from the Irish Kings, who wanted to keep the True Army's operations as low key as possible, but Darragh was more than willing to take his recruits and form their faction.
Shutting off the water, Darragh threw the curtain back and was surprised to see Catherine. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest and her lower back pressed against the sink. The expression on her face told him that she knew what he did.
"I tried callin' you," he said, reaching for the towel and drying himself off.
"A car bomb at the courthouse." She ignored his original statement. "Do you have any idea what kind of heat this will bring us? You better fuckin' pray we don't get raided tonight and your ass isn't hauled in for questioning. What in God name were you thinking?"
Darragh reached around Catherine for a Q-Tip, cleaning the shell of his ears. "I'm thinking you've been spending way too much time with that quack, Gerry Adams."
"That's not funny, Darragh. We have children now; non-violence is the only way we can bring peace to the North." Catherine stepped forward and placed her hands on either side of his face. She wanted to make sure he heard what she had to say next. "You can't be doin' this anymore. This isn't about us; Sean and Eamonn need their da."
Darragh took a heavy sigh. He could tell Eddie Rylie's untimely death had rattled her. For a moment he stopped and thought of the boys. The last thing he ever wanted was to leave them, but he wished Catherine would understand that he fought for them.
Prison had so badly crushed his spirit, there was little in the world that scared him, unlike her.
Pulling her in for a hug, Darragh wrapped his arms tightly around her. He kissed the top of her head, knowing what she needed. "We've got a couple of days off coming up. So, why don't we get out of town for a bit? Say, Donegal?"
"For real this time?" she asked, lifting her head off his chest and eyeing him suspiciously.
The last time they were supposed to go to Donegal, Darragh was forced to cancel at the last minute after one of the men in his unit had been shot by a police officer.
"For real this time." He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose.
Unable to hide her smirk, she held up her pinky finger. "Promise?"
Darragh couldn't help but smile like an idiot. He hooked his pinky finger around hers. "I promise."
