Turbulent Priests Part 4

*You're from Wrathlin Island originally, aren't you?'

*Sure.'

*I thought maybe you could tell me something about it.'

*Something?'

*I've been given this grant to write a book. It means living in a wee cottage on Wrathlin for a couple of months. Kind of like a retreat. Far from the madding crowd, as Oliver Hardy might have said. I'm just wondering what it's like.'

He smirked. I smirked. *Have you ever been to Barbados?'

*Nope.'

*Good. It's nothing like that.' He rubbed his hands together, then held them up to his face and scratched at a heavy stubble. *Ah, now,' he said, *how do you describe Wrathlin? I suppose it's a pleasant little spot for a day out during the summer. When're you going, next summer?'

I shrugged. *Sooner. A couple of months.'

He tutted. *Coldy, coldy, coldy.'

*Bad timing? We go as soon as the baby's fully fit.'

Mark looked surprised. *Oh, aye. I forgot Patricia was due. What'd youse have?'

*She had a wee boy.'

*Congrats. Everything okay?'

*Yeah. Great.'

*You don't look very excited.'

*It takes a lot to get me excited.'

Mark looked a little closer at me. *You all right, mate?'

*Fine.'

*You're sure?'

*I'm fine.'

*My wife thinks you have a drink problem.'

I stood up. *I don't have a drink problem, Mark. I have a hangover problem. It's a subtle but important difference.'

He looked a little bashful. *Sorry, Dan, I didn't mean to . . .'

*Never worry. Tell me about Wrathlin.'

*Okay. Like I say, nice for a day trip when the sun's out and sea's calm. That's about a week every year. Rest of the time it's . . . well . . . a hole. Wind. Rain. Snow. Hail. Thunder. Lightning. Then you have your breakfast. Ach, maybe that's not fair. It's not so bad if you're keen on the island life a it's basic, it's primitive, its att.i.tudes, its morals belong to the last century.'

*But it has electricity.'

*Yes, of course it has, Dan. It's not that bad. It's very insular, but then you'd expect that with, what, a population of about eight hundred it must be down to now. During the winter you can't even see the mainland much. Isolated is the word. It's a poor place. Not much work, and what there is is invariably seasonal.'

*Fairly religious, would you say?'

*Has its moments. For three hundred years it's been something of a refuge for Catholics from all along the north-west coast. Those that could afford to fled to England or France or down South to escape persecution. Those that couldn't ended up on Wrathlin. Most of them never left again. We're crocheted. They're close-knit.'

*You left it, though.'

*Aye. That's the problem with Wrathlin. It's not big enough to support a secondary school, so most of the teenagers get shunted off to schools on the mainland, they have their eyes opened a bit, and they don't want to go back. Population's dropping every year, I hear.'

*Your folks still out there?'

*Aye.'

*You ever go back?'

Mark shook his head. *I should. Just never seem to get round to it. You know how it is.'

*Aye. I know.'

*You thinking of taking Patricia out there as well, then?'

*Yeah. And the baby.'

*You think that's wise?'

*You think it's not?'

*I wouldn't go that far. But Patricia . . . well, Patricia's a bit of a city girl, isn't she?'

*Yeah. I suppose she is.'

*Wrathlin's no city, Dan. You know they're still waiting for Gone with the Wind to arrive?'

I gave him the raised palms. *Well, I've agreed to go. I'll jump the Patricia hurdle when I come to it.'

*And when'll that be?'

*In about half an hour.'

*Oh dear.'

*Aye. I know.'

There is a splinter group of the Ulster Volunteer Force called the Red Hand Commando. Sometimes it is referred to as the Barmy Wing of the UVF.

While the rest of the Province was celebrating peace it was planning murder. While I was lightly grilling Mark Gale about Wrathlin it was sending two gunmen into the Royal Victoria Hospital's maternity wing to murder a Republican activist.

The intended victim was the big woman in the bed beside Patricia's. They walked in cool as you like during visiting time, baseball caps, denim jackets and jeans, checked the chart at the foot of Patricia's bed, shook their heads, moved up to the next, where the woman was sleeping. Patricia shouted at them. The woman woke up. Woke up and looked into the barrel of the pistol. Not more than five inches from her head. Point-blank. Her mouth dropped open. The trigger was pulled. The gun jammed. Pulled again. Jammed again.

*One for luck, eh?' said the commando, and pulled the trigger a third time.

Nothing. He laughed. *You're one lucky b.i.t.c.h. We'll get you next time. Have a nice day now.' He swiped her with the pistol, slicing open her scalp, then the two of them walked calmly off down the corridor.

When I reached maternity it was cordoned off by the police and army. It took some persuasion and a tantrum to get through.

When I finally reached Patricia she was in tears. Ginger was in her arms. She was rocking him nervously from side to side. He was crying too. There was no sign of the woman from the next bed. It was neatly made and her locker was empty.

*Take us away from here, Dan,' Patricia cried as I put my arm round her. *I hate this f.u.c.king place.'

*It's okay, honey,' I said, *we're going far away, just as soon as we can.'

G.o.d was moving in a mysterious way.

5.

Everything was fine and dandy.

Patricia came home. The baby was doing great. We bundled him up and brought him out into the real world for the first time. The sun showed its face for the first time in weeks. Tony hadn't shown his. I'd cleaned the house. It had taken me eight hours, but I'd managed it. I'd discovered how the vacuum cleaner worked. It was a complicated procedure involving a plug and a socket. I lost three socks and a slipper in the process but I thought it was probably worth the sacrifice when I saw the look on Patricia's face as I led her into the lounge.

*You've cleaned,' she said, awestruck.

I shrugged.

She ran a finger along the arm of the settee. *Really cleaned,' she said.

I shrugged again. I took Ginger from her. *Will I put him in his cot?'

She nodded. Smiled. Kissed me on the cheek. *Let's,' she said.

I carried him upstairs, Patricia on my heels, and entered the blue bedroom. He gurgled happily. I pulled back the blanket and set him gently down in the cot. Then I tucked him loosely in and stood back. He gurgled some more. Patricia gurgled back. I gave a little gurgle too. I surprised myself by not feeling stupid.

*Our whole life is changed now,' I said.

*Are you sorry?'

I shook my head.

*Are you sure?'

*Of course I'm sure.'

*I know it's been very difficult for you, Dan.'

*I know I've been very difficult for you.'

*But . . . you know what I mean.'

*I know what you mean.'

I took her hand. Later I bottle-fed the baby. Patricia put her feet up. She had cabbage leaves in her bra. I didn't ask why. I opened a bottle of wine. I cooked dinner and gave it to her on a tray.

*What's come over you, sweetie?' she asked.

*Nothing. I just love you.'

*I love you too.'

*Aw.'

I told her about Wrathlin.

She thought about it for maybe three minutes, not looking at me, but into her wine gla.s.s, slowly swirling the alcohol. Then she said, *Okay.'

*What do you mean, "Okay"?'

*Okay. Fair enough. All right. I agree.' She squeezed my hand. *What did you expect me to say?'

*I thought you'd tell me to f.u.c.k off.'

*Dan . . .'

*I thought you'd tell me to stick Wrathlin Island up my hole.'

*Dan I . . .'

*I'm extraordinarily happy.'

*Good. So am I.'

We clinked gla.s.ses. *I'm sick of this city,' she said. *That thing the other day scared the s.h.i.te out of me. Maybe we'll stay on Wrathlin for ever.'

*Let's not get ahead of ourselves, kiddo,' I said, stroking her leg. *You don't know what you're letting yourself in for.'

She shook her head. *I'll be with you. I'll be with my baby. That's all that matters.'

*Aw.' I looked into her eyes. *Darlin', it's remote.'