Chapter 9: The Heart of a Lion 3rd March 1996
At some point during the torturous night, Erin drifted off to sleep at the table, slouched down with her head buried into her shoulder. It wasn't comfortable, her neck would be killing her when she woke up, but it was nothing in comparison to what James's body must have felt. Deirdre had already been by once, but finding them all so peacefully sleeping, she decided to delay the news for an hour. After their fraught rush to get over to him and then not being able to see the lad, she knew from experience how exhausted they would be, their minds having gone into overdrive for hours.
She returned and opened the door to the room, the noise rousing all three occupants from their various slumbers. Despite all being fast asleep a second earlier, they were immediately wide awake and searching her expressions for any sign of James's condition. Deidre's eyes carried dark bags underneath, the stress and strain of her own exhaustion from the night showing. Barring an hour or so where she waited for him in surgery, falling asleep on a chair with her gown still carrying his blood, Deirdre had been awake and tending to him. She'd changed now, into some spare clothes she kept in her work locker, casual and not like she would be if she were working.
"Is he?" Gerry, the only one capable of plucking up the courage, asked.
"He's alive. By some miracle of the Lord, he's alive…".
With that, Deirdre finally let go of her emotions and tears poured out of her. She sat down at the spare seat in front of Mary and Gerry and cried her heart out for her nephew. Mary's hands soon came around hers to comfort her and as thankful as she was for it, it made scant difference to Deirdre. She'd spent the last two years toughening the boy up, being as harsh to him as anyone else would, but she was his mother in all but name and it hurt her as much as it would if it was Michelle lying there.
Erin, who's breath stopped when Deidre entered the room, exhaled loudly and ran into her father's open arms. Gerry had been a rock for them all, standing tall whilst they all crumbled around him. He too was crumbling but he did not allow the emotions to consume him because everything would be far bleaker without a beacon of strength. He could have easily taken himself away to a corner and cried his eyes out for the young fella that one day, he wanted to give his daughter's hand to.
"I… erm…". Deirdre choked out some words, fumbling in her pocket for something. "It's a… erm… list of all his injuries…".
Deirdre cracked apart again, barely getting the end of her sentence away before retreating back into a wailing watery world of pain. The paper sat in her hand for a second as Mary and Erin both looked to Gerry to take it and read it, knowing they could not themselves. Taking a deep breath, he took the paper from Deirdre's hand and unfurled it, eyes immediately widening at what was listed. How was James alive…
Taking his time, Gerry carefully read them out.
Broken nose…
Orbital fractures to both eyes…
Severe bruising to the jaw…
Badly cut lip…
Fracture of the left Ulna…
Broken left Radius…
Six broken ribs…
Fracture of the right Tibia…
Fracture of the right Ulna…
Puncture wound of the right side; glass removed during surgery…
Blood clot in the lungs…
The list was already harrowing enough, and every word ripped into all of them in the room. Gerry felt like a butcher, feeling every word carving its way through the consciences of those he cared for around him. But it was the final injury that, even with all of his strength, he couldn't find the words to put it to them. He had to though.
"Too early to tell but high potential for brain damage… placed onto life support".
The whimper that neither parent wished for Erin to ever produce again reared its ugly head and Mary and Deirdre gave off cries akin to those of wounded animals too. The first tear dropped from Gerry's eye and nestled right on the words he'd read out to them moments before. Life support was the last chance saloon for a human being and James had ordered his whisky, drank it and was heading for the exit door.
"They… they've said…" Deirdre tried to speak but was losing to herself and a look at Erin, the beautiful young Erin melting in her mother's arms, only made it worse.
"They've said to call a priest".
That was the damning statement that throughout the ages, signified imminent death. In the last chance saloon… waiting for his last rites… everything about James's condition spoke of life coming to an end. The doctors were writing him off, not through cruelty or a lack of belief in the lad, but from scientific fact and experience. As Deirdre had told them the moment they walked into the room, the good Lord extended a miracle to the wee English fella to allow him to live through the night. They couldn't count on him to do so again.
"I… I know". Deirdre started up for a second time. "I know there was the letter an'… ye know… but I've got to ring Kathy… I can't not…".
"I know". Mary squeezed her hand. "He is her wain after all".
The dejection in Mary's voice hid the anger that she felt towards Kathy Maguire. Forgiveness was a distant thought; the way Kathy used James whenever it suited her own ambitions and desires was despicable. But the fact remained that she was his birth mother, it wasn't anything they could change, even if Deirdre and Mary had done more to mother him in two years than Kathy managed in the previous fifteen or so. She had to know.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
Joe slept poorly that night. Returning home with Orla, who slept in with her mother like a child over half of her age would, he lay in bed thinking about the poor Englishman. He'd not gotten close enough to see the wounds that were inflicted on him but understanding enough from Martin's explanation of how they found him and Erin's reaction to seeing him, he knew they were horrific. The tremendous amount of guilt that Joe felt would remain unspoken; he couldn't bring himself to voice the ghosts of his own past. He'd never really been a full resistance member, but he'd protested enough in his younger days, despite his young family to look out for. That guilt didn't even take into account the night he assaulted a cop who'd pulled him over, punching the young fella in the face and knocking him clean out. They'd never identified Joe, the fella never reporting him and therefore the cops never caught up to him and the Joe of 1972 didn't possess the guts to hand himself in. Nearly a quarter of a century later and another young English fella, that wasn't really English at all but for the accent, became a casualty of Irish aggression. That stuck with Joe all night.
When he did wake up around seven that morning, he knew within minutes what he would do. Explaining himself to Orla and Sarah, he also confided in Colm, who'd stayed the night on a spare mattress at Sarah's urgings. Colm would be looking after Baby Anna; the baby didn't need to go to the hospital and be scared by it and Colm was happy to help. She'd at least sleep soundly when he began to talk.
They were out to the car by half past and on their way to the hospital. In between telling the others and getting to the car, Joe telephoned the Mallon household and spoke to Martin, who was about to leave the house himself along with Michelle. They'd made the call to Clare to tell her about James when they got back the prior night, the diminutive blonde breaking into sobbing on the other end of the line at the news. Martin would be picking Clare up on the way and they would all be meeting at the entrance before going to find out the latest. They were operating on the basis that no news was good news, but no news may have also been because no one could find the words to say he was dead.
A short while later and they were all together, Michelle and Clare crying when they saw each other but Orla remained defiant. Joe recognised the same spirit in her that he saw from her riding horses and in Gerry the night before. Orla was being the rock for the group where James normally would be, showing a previously hidden level of maturity that none of them knew she held. They walked in together, Michelle leading the way with Orla and Clare, the adults behind them all talking away about what had happened. Stopping at the side room where the others were sat, Joe stepped forward and wrapped the door with his knuckles.
Deirdre opened the door, Joe noting the fresh tears around her eyes and looked into the room to find the same look from Mary. Erin was between her parents, clinging to Gerry and Joe had never seen such distress from his granddaughter. For a brief moment he wondered whether they were too late, and the young Englishman was already gone but Gerry mouthed 'alive' to Joe when he searched for an answer, to the patriarch's relief.
"The wains are here. I think we need to give them some time". Joe addressed them.
Nodding their agreement, Mary and Gerry moved away from Erin who stood up to await her friends, as the adults all filtered out of the room. Michelle, Clare and Orla waited for them to leave before rushing in and immediately forming a huddle, crying and sobbing into each other's shoulders, Orla again being the only one to stand firm. She rubbed Erin's back, trying to sooth her cousin who'd still not regained any of her usual colour.
"Why?" Clare pondered through tears.
"I… I don't know Clare… I don't know". Michelle concluded grimly.
For five minutes they stood and just cried in their huddle but none of them could shake the cold feeling of the missing piece. The jigsaw that completed their friendship group always contained four pieces up until two years prior and though it had taken them a while to realise it, it needed a fifth piece. James was their fifth piece, the final piece but now he wasn't there, and the puzzle lay incomplete, not showing the true picture. A friendship puzzle that Michelle thought she'd destroyed herself from her own actions that Friday and when they pulled away, it was those decisions she addressed first.
"I… I fucked up…". She started, to the inquisitive looks of the others. "… Danny… he stood me up. He was never in love with me… it was all some sort of… pr-prank".
Michelle's stuttering changed the faces of all them and putting her own grief to one side for a moment, Erin was the one to throw her arms around her and comfort her.
"I'm sorry Michelle". She said as she pulled away.
"No, it's me who has to apologise. You's all told me he was trouble and I… I didn't listen because I thought I was in love. Proper. Not just me and me big ol' mouth again. And Erin, I accused ye of all that and I…".
"Michelle…".
"No Erin no, don't be nice to me". She sniffed. "I berated ye for what happened with John-Paul and I fell into the same fuckin' trap. Ye should all be tellin' me to feck off…".
"No! Our friendship…". It was Clare who intervened, taking all of their hands into hers. "… it's stronger than that. A few stupid boys or… girls… aren't going to affect us. This… This is stronger!"
It was at those words that they were thrown back together in a hug and tears flowed once more, Orla too this time, but the tears created a forge of fire as they fell to the ground. The flames of their friendship would burn brighter than any Danny Scanlon or Moira O'Keefe could.
Deirdre led the others to another room down the hallway, taking them past a couple of empty beds in the emergency area. James was no longer on that floor, having been moved into the intensive care unit on the floor above. That was the first thing Deirdre explained to them, having regained some of her composure with Martin back by her side.
"Can we see him?" Gerry asked.
"Aye we can, and I think we should before the wains". She replied.
"I just can't believe it". Sarah sniffled the thought.
"Did ye see anyone?" Joe put the question across to Deirdre and Martin.
"No, nothing". Martin sighed. "I'm not hopeful of anything".
In any other country, with any other attack on someone, there might be hope of finding a witness or someone who heard something. But in Derry, with an Englishman being attacked, ears wouldn't hear like if it was an Irishman or woman. There would be no witnesses if even there were witnesses.
"The cops are coming to interview me, Martin and Michelle shortly". Deirdre informed them. "Given the circumstances they've… waited to give us time".
"They'll do nothin'!" Joe grumbled.
"I know". Deirdre huffed. "But we have to follow the process Joe and ye never know…".
"Some fucking cowardly bastard or bastards did this. Leaving a fella like that!"
"Easy da". Mary put a hand on Joe's shoulder.
Joe simmered down and they all stood there for a moment, a shared sense of pain flowing a remorseless current through them. In all likelihood they knew they would never find out who'd done this to him unless he could wake up and tell them. Gerry filled Joe, Sarah and Martin in with the details of his injuries, reading them out from the slip of paper he'd kept. Gerry would never forget the way Joe winced after every injury was read out, as if the injuries were being inflicted upon him at the same time. The potential for brain damage was the real game changer though. James may never wake up the same lad again and any hope of finding out who the attackers were would be lost. He might not remember them; amnesia wasn't unheard of in people attacked so brutally and it would break them more if that were the case. None of them wanted to imagine the scene of him waking and not knowing who Erin was.
Deirdre went off to call Kathy, going to the staff office to make the call to her sister and break the news of the attack on James. A man walked by with a couple of newspapers in his hand and Joe stopped him to buy one off him, looking for a particular story on the back pages to try and get the spirits up before they went to see the Englishman.
"Here". He placed it down on a table. "Look".
HISTORY AT ENNISKILLEN: MCCOOL BEATS THE BOYS ON DEBUT
A little piece of history for one of our own yesterday as Orla McCool, 16, of Our Lady Immaculate College, stunned the amateur horse racing scene with her win on the 250-1 shot The Wee English Fella in the opening race at Enniskillen.
Riding in her first race as a jockey, McCool showed nerves of steel on the young horse, coming back from adversity early in the race to win by a distance. Settling at the back early on, it was somewhere along the back straight that the horse lost ground and coming out from the notoriously difficult trees section of the course, The Wee English Fella was at least forty lengths behind. But drama ensued at the first fence on the final circuit as half of the field were wiped out by the fall of Buncrana Steel, leaving McCool and her mount fifth and last of those still going. Along the back straight, the race favourite, Lost in Rico, took the lead and The Wee English Fella still had twenty five lengths to find. It wasn't to be for the favourite though as he came down with four fences remaining, leaving McCool the task of steering her mount round as the other remaining runners faded.
The course commentator couldn't quite believe it and was out of pocket by the end of the day too, having promised the hundreds of people in the crowd a free drink should she make it over the first. McCool, of no distinguished racing background, was delighted.
"That was cracker!" She told me enthusiastically. "I've never had so much fun in my life and I've got friends and family here to see it too!"
When I asked about what had happened on the first circuit, she brushed it off, telling me, "It doesn't matter because in the end I won the race, and my horse is safe and sound, so he is".
The horse, named after co-owner James Maguire, is trained by Frank Flanagan and Flanagan indicated after the race that both horse and rider were stars of the future, adding that they are set to become regular fixtures of the hunt scene in the weeks to come.
Deirdre returned as they all finished reading the newspaper, quickly running her eye over it and basking in the same joy that they all did.
"I've rang Kathy". She announced. "She'll be here tomorrow".
"Can we see him now?" Joe enquired with her.
"Aye".
"What about the wains?" Mary raised the point. "Who's going to be with them?"
"I called Sister Michael and Robert Flanagan earlier before I came to see you's. I've just seen them in the corridor and sent them to the wains".
Contented with Deirdre's quick thinking, the adults left the room they were in and went up the stairs opposite, the intensive care unit being above them and along to the left. They were all thinking about the newspaper and that while Sunday's paper brought the delightful news of Orla's victory, Monday's would inevitably contain the morbidity of James's attack.
The girls, still in their huddle, looked up when the door handle pushed down, and Sister Michael walked into the room. Accompanying her was Mr Flanagan, back to being a teacher and not their family friend Robert as he was the day before.
"Sister". The girls all addressed her.
"Hello Girls. Can we all sit down?"
They complied with her request, each finding a seat and sitting around the table where Mary and Gerry's finished cups of tea still resided. Sister Michael and Mr Flanagan sat on the side of the door where Deirdre had sat earlier, whilst the others took up position where Erin had been with her parents.
"Michelle's mother telephoned both of us to tell us of what's happened". Sister Michael began, taking note of the girls all sat in a line holding hands. "We are sickened by it. I don't think I've ever been so disgusted about anything in my life".
The girls all listened intently, shocked at the genuine side of Sister Michael that was so very rarely seen. Mr Flanagan they knew to be sincere and it was he that spoke next.
"We've spoken briefly and we are prepared to give you girls as much time as you need when it comes to school. But that's secondary, we've come here today to support ye girls".
Their faces lit up, a mix of surprise and gratitude at the sentiments. They never expected anyone from outside of the family to come and support them, not least on a Sunday morning when people would normally have better things to do. But there they were, two authority figures that provided stability, quelling the instability of the last twelve or so hours.
"I'm sorry ye've had to…". Erin apologised to them solemnly. "I'm sorry to take ye from church on a Sunday Sister Michael…".
"Erin…". Sister Michael leant forward, grabbing her hand. "…The church can spare me for the morning so it can. I am the Lord's servant and in his wisdom, he's placed me here by your side".
Those words struck a happy chord with Erin and the tears of joy from them ran down her face as she squeezed the Sister's hand.
"I… I think…" Erin sniffled into a sentence. "I think James would want us to carry on and come to school Sister. As long as yer all happy to?"
She posed the question to the other three girls, but the answer was already known to Erin without having to ask. There was never a question needed if she was happy to. They all agreed too; James would be devasted to wake up and find their lives disrupted by him.
"Together?" Michelle said.
"Aye". Clare smiled.
"Absolutely!" Orla, defiant as ever, agreed.
"Are ye sure girls?" Mr Flanagan stopped them. "We don't expect ye to".
"Erin's right sir". Michelle stated. "He'd be raging if we stopped everything for him, so he would. As long as we stick together, nothing will break us because we have each other".
There was a reason why Sister Michael held the girls in higher regard than any other group under her control at Our Lady Immaculate. The reason lay in Michelle's sentiment. Never in her life had she come across a group so determined and defiant, with such a bond between them. She never admonished them for defying her ruling on the magazine, publishing the controversial story amid Jenny's protests. She enjoyed them doing it, challenging her and showing the fire within. And with Jenny, and Aisling, she'd seen the other side to them, the acceptance of their past mistakes and willingness to change their outlook on people. It took a brave group to admit their faults and address them in the manner they had.
So that's why a couple of minutes later when Erin asked her and Mr Flanagan to go with them to see James, she had no qualms about doing so. Walking up the stairs she found the time to congratulate Orla too, informed by Mr Flanagan of her victory, she was proud of the often-unguided student who'd been steered on the right path and consequently steered herself to a victory. Standing in the private room in the intensive care unit, monitors beeping and blaring away, it took a lot for the Sister herself not to cry. He was not the shy boy that first stalked the corridors of the school in need of the toilet or the more confident, loved-up young man that she'd seen since the turn of the year. He was a mess of tubes and wires, bandages and plaster. The girls were all crying and shaking again on seeing him, but she couldn't blame them. Mr Flanagan himself swallowed hard to avoid choking up. He'd seen the lad shouting and cheering for Orla just under twenty-four hours earlier and now he appeared to be on his deathbed. It was heart-breaking.
"My English Rose…". Erin sniffed back the tears, stroking his hair and not touching any other part of him out of the fear of causing more pain. "… we just forgot he was amongst thorns…".
"Not thorns". Sister Michael spoke up from across the room. "No Erin… Derry was the only thorn he was amongst, and it is full of pricks".
Under any other circumstances they would laugh at the comment, but Erin latched onto the poetic undertone to her words. Sister Michael was wiser than any of them could dream to be and her statement was true. Derry was the great big thorn around the beautiful rose, but the rose was yet to step right on the heart of the thorn, so it despatched it's pricks to do the bidding instead. And its sharpest pricks did the most damage, the rose now laying trampled and flattened.
But whilst he might have been the rose, he was something else too.
His blood may have been Irish, but his accent and his manners were English.
He had one thing from England that Ireland couldn't muster.
The heart of a lion. The English Lion.
And though they couldn't hear it beneath the noise of the machines, the lion still roared.
"Boys!" Mrs Scanlon shouted up the stairs.
"Yes Ma". Her youngest Brian replied.
"Are ye getting out of bed today or what!"
"Soon ma!" He called back.
It was nearly midday and she still hadn't managed to rouse two of her three sons. Antony was already out and about, off to meet up with his Maria no doubt, but Danny and Brian were both being incredibly lazy. It was a regular theme on Sunday's. The boys didn't go to church and she didn't force them, but they didn't do anything else either which irritated her greatly.
Whilst Brian might not have moved, Danny joined his mother downstairs a minute later, fully dressed and picking up his shoes from where he'd left them.
"Off out are ya Danny?"
"Aye ma. A certain someone is expecting me". He grinned, rather more mischievously than she liked.
"Don't do that!" She rebuked in return.
"Ach sorry Mammy". He smiled, knowing what she meant.
"Ye know that Mallon girl turned up here last night. Proper dressed up she was…".
Danny froze for a second, thanking the Lord that his luck held, and his mother had her back turned so she couldn't see the expression on his face.
"And?"
"I let her down gently. I'm still not happy about this Danny. No matter what happened at school with her and…".
"It was for the greater good Ma". He interrupted.
"Well, I don't agree. And yer father would say the same if he were here!"
"It's done ma ok. I'm moving on".
"And what about the wee lass Michelle hmm?"
"I'm sure she'll forget me in time…". He mumbled.
"What was that?" Mrs Scanlon didn't quite catch what he was saying.
"I said I've got to go now ma".
With that, Danny exited the house, slamming the front door shut behind him. She could hear Brian finally getting out of bed upstairs too and got the orange juice out, his preferred drink over any hot one. It was about to strike midday, so she turned up the radio, which had played quietly throughout her conversation with Danny. The midday news bulletin would be on and she'd missed the one at eleven as she was hanging the washing out.
Sickening violence returned to the streets of Derry last night. A young Englishman, James Maguire, is fighting for his life in hospital after an unprovoked assault. Details are still filtering through and whilst no official statement has been given by the Police, it appears he was attacked in an alleyway a few streets from his home. Further updates will follow throughout the day and we will soon have a reporter on site at the Altnagelvin to give bring us up to speed with the latest…
Mrs Scanlon was one of a number of people hearing that news.
But only one would have a smile on his face.
A certain man, of a certain cloth, beamed from ear to ear.
They had delivered.
