Marie shot to her feet and extended her hand towards her daughter. “Come on, Ellen, it’s time to go.”
Ellen spun towards the sound of her mother’s voice, frowning in protest. “No, Mummy!”
“No arguing,” Marie said. “Come on.”
“Wait,” Fegan said as he stood up.
Marie turned to face him. “Tell McGinty he can go fuck himself. They couldn’t scare me away back then, and they won’t do it now.” The hardness in her face dissolved as her eyes glistened. “How can you do that? How can you hold my daughter’s hand one minute, and deliver McGinty’s threats the next?”
“You don’t understand,” he said.
“Don’t I? I thought it was pretty clear.” She turned to where Ellen lingered by the Palm House. “Ellen, get over here now.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Fegan said. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I won’t let McGinty hurt you. Or Ellen. If he sends anyone I’ll take care of them.”
Ellen came over, dragging her heels, pouting. Marie took her hand. “We’ve been managing for five years now,” she said. “We don’t need your protection.”
“Maybe not, but I want to help you anyway.”
Marie bared her teeth. “Why? Why do you care? If you’re his errand boy, why don’t you go and see what other odd jobs need doing? Go and collect some protection money for him, or rob a post office, or hijack some cigarettes. Why waste your time with a traitor to the cause like me?”
A hundred reasons flashed in Fegan’s mind; some he dared not speak, more he dared not think. He looked down at the little girl hugging her mother’s thigh. “Because Ellen held my hand,” he said.
Marie sighed and covered her eyes. “Christ, this place. Sometimes I think there’s a future here for me, and for Ellen. Then I remember men like McGinty are still running things. I should’ve gone years ago when I had the chance.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Fegan said again.
“So you said.” She uncovered her eyes and allowed him a hint of a smile.
“If anyone comes around, phone me.”
“What’s your mobile number?”
“I don’t . . . I’ll buy one. Tomorrow morning.”
She gave an exasperated laugh. “Jesus, who doesn’t have a mobile phone?”
“I don’t,” Fegan said.
“Me neither,” Ellen said. “Mummy won’t get me one.”
Marie looked down at her daughter. “You’re five, Ellen. Who are you going to phone?”
Ellen gave it some thought. “Santa,” she said.
Marie reached into her bag and produced a pen. She took Fegan’s hand, holding it as she wrote on his palm. Her skin was soft and warm. “Call me when you get your phone,” she said. “I can’t promise I’ll answer, but you never know.”
“Thank you,” Fegan said. He smiled at Ellen. “You practise jumping. Next time I might jump higher than you.”
“No, you won’t,” Ellen said as her mother led her away.
Fegan watched them until they were lost among the trees. The chill that had been creeping along his limbs finally reached his center, and his temples buzzed. He felt them watching, waiting for him.
He turned to see the black-haired woman, the baby in her arms, nodding her head towards two of the followers. The Loyalists, the Ulster Freedom Fighters, were pointing to the trees over at the Botanic Avenue entrance. Their stares flitted between Fegan and the shadows under the branches.
“What?” Fegan asked. He walked over to them and searched for whatever they were looking at. He saw nothing but the students wandering in and out of the park, their plastic bags full of beer and cider ready to start their evening’s drinking in the sun and fresh air.
The two UFF boys slowly lowered their tattooed arms. Whatever they wanted Fegan to see was gone.
20
“He didn’t see me,” Campbell said. He held the phone between his shoulder and his ear while he ate cold beans from a tin. He had slipped out of the park and back to his flat as soon as Fegan started peering in his direction. It was only a few minutes’ walk from Botanic Gardens to his flat on University Street, just off Botanic Avenue.
“Have you reported back to McGinty yet?” the handler asked.
“No, I’ll do that next.”
“What’ll you tell him?”
“The truth. I don’t think Fegan told her to get out. She argued with him for a minute, but they looked like they parted on friendly terms. Didn’t look much like a threat to me.”
Campbell put the tin on the windowsill and lifted a glass of milk. He took a cool swallow as he watched the students wander along the street below. Some swigged from beer cans as they walked, probably on their way to one of the student haunts like The Bot or Lavery’s. They’d wander back in the early hours of the morning, gangs of them singing and shouting, no concern for the people who needed their sleep.
