Chapter 3: Unleashed
After three years, Antony Scanlon was finally free. He'd done the crime alright, even if he'd denied it in court, he was still to this very day proud of beating up the bastard who started talking to his girl. Nobody moved in on Antony Scanlon's girl, the wound on his face that generated his nickname was proof of it, originating from a prior incident where a lad tried to make a move on his girl. That lad needed a wheelchair to get about now.
Walking back through the streets of Derry, Antony allowed himself to reminisce of the times spent around the city. Passing the corner where he won his first fist fight as an eight-year-old, battering another lad into submission to prove his dominance. Then by Dennis's wee shop where he made his first successful drug deal to an old fat bloke in a Jaguar. Every street seemed to have some connection to where he'd made his mark in the past, asserting himself over those weaker than him. In Belfast he was a smaller fish in a bigger pond but back home in Derry, Antony was the shark in the Foyle fish tank.
In prison, he fell somewhere between the two. He was by no means the toughest criminal, or the most well-connected, but he was certainly someone not to mess with. Prison life also opened up a new mindset for him, a level of political intelligence to add to the violent lifestyle he fashioned. He knew what needed to be done now to get the Ireland that he wanted and the first thing he would do after spending some time with his family, would be plan. Plan the next move, a plan to end the suffering of the good Irish people and move on from the generations of hardship. He knew likeminded individuals now, and from his time inside he built a considerable network of contacts in anticipation for his release. The letters from his family were a constant support too. At no point did the Scanlon family give up on their Antony.
He was excited to see his brothers again. Danny and Bryan were both younger than him and still of school age. Both possessed characteristics in line with Antony. Danny may not have been as violent as Antony, but he was cunning like his older brother, with an eye for finding the right opportunity. Brian might have been the youngest, but Antony considered him perhaps the fiercest of all of them. Brian loved a fight and from the letters he received from his mother, Antony learned of at least two exclusions from school for Brian because of his scrapping with other lads. They would both be useful allies in the future.
Walking up towards the family home, Antony's mother already waited by the front door for him and she was in tears as he travelled into her arms.
"Ach ma, it's good to be home".
"Ant…Antony…". She blubbered. "Oh love I've missed ye so much".
"I know ma… I know".
Staying wrapped around his mother for a couple of minutes, Antony relaxed in an embrace discarded long ago. It had been years since he hugged his poor mother and the pair of them held every intention of not being the first to want to pull away from each other. Danny and Brian were soon out behind her and joined in the family hug. They were over the moon to have their brother back from jail. Though they could communicate via letters, it was nothing compared to having him right there in the flesh.
"So good to be back lads.". He stifled the tears to address his brothers.
"We've missed ye Ant". Brian sniffled.
"I know. But you've got me, so you have. I'm sorry I couldn't have picked a better day to come back".
The 13th February marked the six-year anniversary since the death of their father. Joseph Scanlon was a notorious petty thief and troublemaker, and despite always looking after his family, his reputation was of a man of ill repute. On the night of 13th February 1990, Joseph planned to execute one of his lightning burglaries on the house of a local politician. He never made it to the house. They never found out what happened or who perpetrated it, but the following morning his bullet ridden corpse was found in woodland nearby. The bullets were matched to those of the British Soldiers but there was no investigation carried out by any party. His death was simply swept under the carpet. Justice never got served.
"Aye Ant, Danny's got a girl ye know". Brian piped up, elbowing Danny in the side.
"Have ye Danny?" Antony asked. "Never thought I'd see the day…"
"Fuck off". A defensive Danny replied.
"What about yer lass Ant? Ye seeing her later?" His mother enquired with him.
"Aye Ma. But why don't we go inside, I want to hear about this girl that's got wee Danny locked up here".
Antony Scanlon stepped foot in a house he hadn't seen for three years and immediately relaxed. He was home and with a different future ahead of him. But still a violent one.
Pulling up outside the stables, Joe and James beamed with pride when they spotted their horse in the field off to the left of the entrance. The chestnut galloped around effortlessly, with the same free-spirited approach often attributed to Orla. He was a giant horse, far bigger than the other two horses he shared the field with. He looked every bit the mount that one hundred years earlier may have been used in a Cavalry regiment.
"Smells fuckin' awful". Michelle broke their gazing as she got out the car. "Eugh fucking hell".
"It's a farm Michelle". Erin retorted. "They don't smell like The Body Shop ye know".
Michelle continued to groan and grumble all of the way up to the entrance of the main house. Joe and Orla led the way, Orla bubbling over with excitement and wonder as she took in the sights and smells of the farm. She loved animals and the outdoors and the trip out into the countryside suited her the best of them all. There was so much freedom to be found outside of the city walls and the rigours of everyday life; out in the country she could roam free. She knew how to survive too, picking up plenty of tricks from books and magazines that interviewed experts on how to stay alive in the wild for lengthy periods of time. She loved it.
"Ach morning there Joe!" A voice called out.
Frankie Flanagan appeared from around the side of the house, carrying a clipboard and some binoculars. They weren't twins, but Frankie and Robert were almost identical in appearance. There were a few more grey hairs in the older brother's hair, and he did not wear glasses but that was where the differences ended.
"Morning Frankie! How's things". Joe called back.
"Ach not bad Joe. Didn't know ye were bringing an entourage with ye". Frankie flicked his head in the direction of the kids.
"I got lumped with the girls by my Mary this morning". Joe rolled his eyes, earning an angered look from Erin to his right. "These are my granddaughters, Orla and Erin and over me shoulder there is their friend Michelle".
"Alright". Michelle flicked her head, whilst Erin and Orla opted for small waves.
"And who's the fella?" Frankie pointed at James.
"That Frankie is THE wee English fella". Joe proudly reached out and slapped James on the shoulder, pushing him forward slightly.
"The mysterious co-owner himself". Frankie spoke with a mysterious edge to his voice. "Frank Flanagan son, or Frankie to friends".
"Nice to meet you Frankie. The wee English fella. Or James to friends". He laughed in return.
He offered his hand out to James and James stepped forward further to accept the handshake. Erin held his other hand and found herself moving forward with him to keep the contact. It made for quite the awkward scene to the outside observer.
"Strong hand you've got there James". Frankie commented as they finished the gesture. "You've been workin' on this one haven't ye Joe?"
"Ye know me too well Frankie, too well".
"Aye and yer not the only one who seems to be workin' on him".
Frankie gestured to where James and Erin were holding hands, causing the pair to nervously look into each other eyes and laugh. Erin rested her hand on his chest as they shared their loving gaze and quickly burrowed into his side as his arm came around her. Frankie found it amusing. Michelle not so much.
"For fuck's sake…" Her compliant was barely above a murmur.
"Jealous are we lass?" Frankie, with apparent bat-like senses, addressed her moan.
"No!" She snorted. "He's me cousin and he's a minger".
James had his back to Michelle so he could allow himself an eye-roll, causing further amusement for the trainer as he was compelled to agree. Joe copied James's actions too. Michelle was starting to grind the old man's gears with her moaning. Though he had to thank the Lord that it was her with them and not Gerry, otherwise Joe would have lost it in the car. Southern shite…
Half an hour later, James and Joe were beginning to believe the investment in the horse was a massive mistake. The stable jockey Paul was yet to get the horse over any of the test fences. He would gallop down towards the first one, but the horse would continually either refuse or throw his rider. If the horse didn't want to jump, then it would be of little use to them on the amateur circuit.
"I just don't get it Joe". Frankie admitted. "You've seen him working out in the fields and he's happy as anything but as soon as he gets near to the fences, he doesn't fancy it".
A dismayed Joe bowed his head and huffed. Frankie was a friend and, to pardon the pun, wouldn't flog him a dead horse. Something had to give to make the horse jump.
"Can I have a try?"
Joe shot up from the clump of turf he'd focused on to look incredulously at Orla for her suggestion. He knew she'd ridden a horse, Sarah demanded that Orla have lessons when she wanted them, and Joe stumped up for them at the time. But that was years ago, and controlling a raw young racehorse was different to steering a pony around an enclosure.
"I'm not sure it's safe love". He replied.
"Why not? I reckon I could get him to jump it".
"Huh, ye reckon do ye?" The annoyed Jockey rounded on her from where he stood holding the horse after he dismounted.
"Aye I do!" Orla stood her ground. "Please Granda!"
Instead of giving her an answer, Joe turned his head in the other direction to seek Frankie's counsel on the matter. He was the trainer after all.
"I shouldn't really let her…". He started, eyes flicking over to see Orla's immediate disappointment. "… but I'm out of suggestions".
"YESSSSSSSSSSSS!"
The rest of the gang were happy for Orla and they all gave her a pat on the back, even the grumpy Michelle, in the way of encouragement. The jockey appeared to be disgusted by the decision, trying a silent appeal with Frankie but ultimately being rebuked by a shake of the head. After Orla went into the house and changed into the relevant safety gear, she returned outside and allowing her into the field, Paul kept a tight grip of the horse's reins while she mounted up. He decided to hold them instead of offering Orla a leg up, in the hopes she would be unable to even mount the big horse, therefore ending what he saw as a charade. But Orla mounted up without a hitch and the annoyed Paul almost threw the reins at her as he stormed out of the field.
Starting gingerly, Orla simply trotted the horse around for five minutes or so, with Frankie's guidance ringing in her ears. The others stayed silent to allow Orla to concentrate on only the trainer's words, recognising the need to not cause a scene and distract her. Not that it stopped Michelle from making some quiet conversation with the other two.
"Aye I bet yer jealous Erin". She smirked.
"Why?" Erin, hand squeezing James's, shot up an eyebrow.
"Because Orla's getting to ride the wee English fella".
Erin should have seen that coming. James should too. Why didn't they see it coming?
"Honestly!". The couple said in unison.
Michelle giggled to herself, the others turning their attentions back to Orla on the chestnut. She was now getting it into a gallop and with a bit of confidence in the bank from a few minutes riding, she lined him up towards the first fence. Joe was not a very emotional man, but he was a bag of nerves watching his granddaughter charging towards it at speed. He wouldn't live with himself if something happened to her.
Joe didn't need to worry though, for what happened next made every single mouth open wide in amazement, including the pissed off jockey Paul. Guiding the chestnut straight down the middle of the fence, Orla asked him for a huge leap and the horse delivered, launching itself over the fence and landing safely with momentum on the other side. She gave the horse a friendly slap to the neck and shouted in delight, regaining her composure to repeat the feat at the next fence along. No one said a word as she continued on around the little course that ran down the field at the Flanagan farm. At every fence Orla and the horse worked as a team to get to the other side and there was never a danger of her falling off. Paul was the most shocked. He'd spent ages that morning trying to get the big chestnut to jump and then this city girl got aboard and made herself look like the next Richard Dunwoody. HOW!
"She's a natural…". The jockey remarked to Frankie, his voice trailing off.
"Ye never told me she could ride like that Joe". Frankie turned to him.
"She did some lessons a few years back but aye… I'm surprised too".
"I reckon I could make her a star around these parts".
"Ye think so Frankie?" A thrilled Joe quizzed his friend.
"Aye absolutely!"
Before they could discuss Orla's talents any further, she trotted the horse up alongside the edge of the fence to a round of applause from all of them. She was laughing merrily at the applause and was enjoying every minute of it.
"THAT WAS CRACKER!" She bellowed in glee.
"Well done love". Joe congratulated her as she dismounted.
Paul approached from the other side, having let himself into the field to retrieve the horse back from the young McCool's grasp. He gave her a grateful smile, in some ways his own apology for dismissing her earlier, before taking a hold of the reins to steady the horse. As they were all distracted by watching Orla return, none of them saw Michelle scaling the perimeter fence to stand atop it. When they did eventually turn around to see her, she was met with multiple faces of horror, the main worry coming from the jockey.
"Can't be that hard can it?" Michelle smiled.
"Michelle don't!" James forlornly warned her.
He was far too late, and Michelle jumped onto the horses back, the weight landing on the horse causing it to jerk and throw the reins from Paul's grasp. Whilst 'The Wee English Fella' might have responded well to having Orla aboard, the horse didn't approve of having Michelle on top and it began to buck and kick, Paul having to roll to avoid being stood on.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" Michelle screamed.
A second later, with no one able to do anything about it, Michelle was launched up in the air and back over the side of the perimeter fence, her feet narrowly avoiding taking James's head off. A hard landing would cause her real damage but luckily for her, a conveniently placed pile of hay cushioned her fall. She disappeared into it, swallowed up in the thick straw pile with another scream. They all rushed over to the straw, James putting his hand in to try and retrieve his fallen cousin. His heart stopped beating at a thousand miles an hour when the feeling of palms registered in his hand. A few groans later and Michelle extracted herself from the hay, spitting out a couple of pieces that were tangled in her mouth before making a comment.
"And that is why I don't ride wee English fella's".
Erin snorted rather loudly.