We headed down there. It was pretty and my heart was swelling. Rachel's internal organs seemed inflated too. I could feel her tremble beside me and she kept talking about the fracas and the way I'd put my guy down. This grated. I had biffed the man but I was proud of the way I'd sidestepped all the trouble. I'd been feeling like Gandhi. But Rachel was all lit up by my fistwork. This depressed me but I decided, charitably, that nice girls like her didn't see much of that stuff so her reaction was bound to be disproportionate.
We sat on the lip of the river side by side. The sky grew pinker and Rachel's blood cooled. I found myself extremely happy. I was a chump that way. She might have been gauche but she appeared to like me. I wanted to kiss her. The thought that she might want me to was erotic prize enough.
My mouth dried and I grew nervous but I talked on. She was silent and started glancing at me in that wonderful way that says the first kiss is expected, dreaded and desired.
It could have gone on like that for hours but in the end something in her she had her own version of the Reluctant me simply pull her slowly towards me. I did my sensitive, hilariously virginal, puckering-up thing, she just did that grave, pretty-girl, head-tilting thing. My heart surged. Like almost everybody else, in a life littered with the undead memory of a hundred first kisses, I still hadn't got over them. First kisses still made life worth all the boring bits of the going to the toilet, getting headaches and having your hair cut.
There was a girl I knew from Century Street. She dumped me just after the first time she kissed me. `What could be better than that?' she said. `When will we ever improve on that?' I didn't like to admit it but she was right.
Rachel kissed me and it was beautiful by the river. By the cadence of her breathing and the way she brandished her nicegirl breasts at me, I thought it had been something for her, too. It was a fresh enough night but I was airless with joy.
It started to rain. Happily we made our way through the car park back towards my Wreck. As we passed the concourse, we saw the cops clearing up from the last of the incident. People were being put in the back of paddywagons, just Us and peacefolk alike. I saw Ghinthoss vaguely remonstrating with some of the rozzers for the benefit of the camera crews but most of them were in tight on the people being arrested. The poet had a dissatisfied air. I guessed he was thinking that it might have been pretty good television if he'd been arrested like that. A spell in chokey might have been a great boon. It had worked a treat for Oscar Wilde. Maybe ducking into the chicks' pisser hadn't been such a good idea, after all.
We were moving on when someone called Rachel's name. We turned round to see one of the boys from her group being loaded into the back of one of the police vans. His face was covered with blood but he looked more horrified to see her and me together than by his own injuries. He called her name again and then disappeared into the van.
Rachel was for walking on but I stopped. `Wasn't that one of your friends?'
`Yeah,' she replied vaguely.
`Aren't you going to do anything?'
`Like what?'
'I don't know. He didn't look very happy. Aren't you worried about him? He's your friend.!
She pouted. `Well, he's kind of like my boyfriend.!
'What?'
'It's been over for ages. I just haven't told him yet.'
`What?'
`It's hard.'
`How long have you been together?'
She pouted again, she set out a foot in front of her. She twisted her heel from side to side and looked at it truculently. Suddenly, this kind of stunt had ceased to be engaging.
`How long?'
`Two years.'
`Fuck me.'
She tried to smile. `It's no big deal.'
`It didn't look like he agreed with you.'
`That's not my fault.'
I stared dumbly at her. She was the prettiest girl I'd ever talked to and there was a gentleness in her that made me want to put my head in her lap and weep, but why was she behaving like this? Amidst the noise and bustle of the cops and the complaints of the various protesters, she stood staring silently back at me. Amidst all the bullshit, she looked more attractive than anyone had a right to look. I thought about her bleeding boyfriend. I recognized that face he'd pulled as he'd been taken away. I thought about Sarah. I didn't have whatever it took to be able to do what she wanted. As I looked at her I wished I had but I knew I didn't. When I passed twenty-six years of age I had decided to fight the selfishness of lust. I had decided that because I knew that the finest fuck in history wasn't worth twelve seconds of someone else's unhappiness.
'I can see some of your friends over there,' I said.'Maybe you should join them.'
Oh, her face could harden quickly. She looked behind her. 'Is that what you want?'
'I think it would be best, don't you?'
She smiled without warmth.'A quick snog enough for you, then?'
So much for that first-kiss magic.
'You were too old anyway. I'm only twenty-one,' she said.
I tried to smile.
'What age are you anyway?' she asked sharply.
'Fifty-seven.'
'You look it.'
'I hope your boyfriend's OK,' I said, as gently as I could.
She walked away. After a couple of paces, she stopped and turned to face me.'You know, Jake, you're a real sanctimonious arsehole.' She walked away.
Why was it, every time I met someone these days, they ended up calling me names?
I lit a cigarette and wandered towards my car. In two days I had walked away from two attractive, interesting and interested women. I must have been getting old.
'Jackson.'
I stopped and turned round reluctantly. I'd expected some more grief from Rachel. Imagine my rapture when I found myself confronted by the delightful Aoirghe. Of course, I thought, she was bound to be there. She'd even mentioned it the night before.
`I warn you,Aoirghe, I'm not in the mood,' I advised wearily.
`I thought you were.' She glanced back to where I could see Rachel and her friends. `What's wrong?' she asked. `You fail to score again?'
`I'm too tired for this.'
I walked away from her. It was a pointless gesture since she followed me.
`I saw you attack Gerry, you fascist. That was a mistake. These peace girls don't like that macho bullshit.'
I stopped. 'I'm a fascist?! What were you all there for? You're the people with all the ordnance.You were looking for trouble.'
She snorted scornfully. `Those middle-class shitheads wanted to have their pathetic little protest. We just thought we should have one as well.'
`All they were doing was asking for peace.'
She snorted again.
`Don't you want peace?' I asked.
`Not on their terms,' she replied.
'On what terms, then?'
'On our own terms.'
I laughed. `That's a constructive position. Your folks must really dote on you.'
`We'll win in the end.'
I opened the Wreck door. `Change the record, please.'
`Fuck you.'
I smiled happily. `Tell me, Aoirghe, do dogs bark when you're around them? Is there a reflection when you look in the mirror? Do you have an inexplicable aversion to garlic?'
`You're a big laugh,' she spat angrily.
I got into the Wreck. I would have turned the ignition but if the Wreck did its stuff as usual then it might not have been the valedictory gesture I'd planned.
`How did it go with your slaphead Shakespeare last night?' I asked politely.
Jealous?'
I had told her I wasn't in the mood but I'm not sure that was an excuse for what I went on to say. `Aoirghe, I wouldn't fuck you if I had a bag of dicks.'
I started the car. It started first time. The old diesel engine drowned her reply. The Wreck had its moments. I blew a kiss and drove off.
Childish, I admitted, but fun, definitely enjoyable. I switched on my Wreck-radio, caught the words `two
suspect devices', and switched it off again. I drove on, musicless. As I turned up Bedford Street, I decided to sing to myself.
A large BMW came skidding off a side-street at about fortyfive miles an hour. The driver struggled to keep all the wheels on the ground but the big car went into a spin. I braked hard and skidded up the pavement, just missing the pillars of a theatre. The BMW spun round towards me and I thought I would die. It hit the kerb hard and lost most of its velocity, shunting into my passenger side almost gently.
I gasped for breath. These things always came from nowhere and always made me want to piss myself. I took a moment to get my breath back and regain control of my wildly shaking limbs. I could see the driver of the BMW struggling angrily with his door. Looked like he wanted to sort me out. That was just what I needed to calm down. I jumped out of the Wreck and sped towards him. I dragged the driver's door open and the driver menaced me with his fists.
`Roche!' I exclaimed, aghast.
`Who the fuck are you?' the child asked. He looked at me closely.'Oh, it's you, the graduate. Didn't clock you in the suit. Good fucking driving, pal.'
`Whaddyamean, good driving? You nearly killed me.'
`I had the right of way.'
'You're a twelve-year-old criminal driving a stolen car. Don't fucking patronize me.'
He laughed delightedly.
`Are you hurt?' I asked.
`Nah, I always wear a seatbelt.'
`How civic of you.'
`What?' he asked warningly.
`Nothing.'
He looked up and down the street. A few passers-by had stopped to watch us, and the traffic was pulling round us gingerly.
`The filth'll be here in a minute. Gimme a lift,' he requested airily.
I looked back at the Wreck dubiously.
'Don't worry,' he said. `Old bangers like that can survive anything.'
`Hey, lay off my mean, my car. At least it's paid for.'
He climbed into the passenger seat and proceeded to direct me out of the little tangle on the pavement with his erstwhile joyride, commenting all the while on the deficiencies of my driving and my vehicle.
`So you steal cars?'
'I borrow them'
`It's illegal.'
'Really? I didn't know that. I better stop doing it now Thanks.'
`Have you done it before?F
'What do you think?'
'Judging by your driving, it's hard to say. Why did you do it?'
'I fancied a spin,' he answered blithely.
`What if that had been a doctor's car or something? What if some medic got an emergency call and he'd come out to find his motor swiped?'
Roche turned his grubby face towards me triumphantly.'I'd have given him a lift,' he said gleefully. 'He'd have got there quicker.'
I had to laugh. `That's for sure. You were doing some knots coming round that corner.'
'Well, why hang around?'
I looked at him in the seat beside inc. He was so stunted that the seatbelt swamped him. Mathematically, I could have been this kid's father. It was a horrible thought.'I hate to think what you'll be like when your balls have dropped.'
'Worry about your own balls, pal'
I'd crossed Bradbury Place before I realized that I was heading towards home. That was not a good idea. I definitely didn't want Dick Turpin there to know where I lived.
'Where am I taking you, kid?'
'Just drive'
'I'm taking you home. Where do you live?'
'You promise you're not going to try and snog me at the garden gate?'
'Ah, fuck, not that again.'
He told me, with relatively good grace, where he lived. I turned right down Sandy Row and headed for Beechmount. I should have known. Upper Falls gamin, he was typical.
'You know where Beechmount is?' he asked me casually.
'Yeah'
'I knew you were a Taig.'
'Good for you.'
He fingered the cuff of my suit. 'Not at work today? How come?'
'I had to go to funeral,' I muttered. Roche's mockery might just have sent me over the edge.
We were on the Grosvenor Road now. He told me to pull over. I did. It was simpler that way. I pulled up under a streetlight. He pointed over towards the edge of the housing estate.
'Look,' he said.
I looked. In the growing darkness, the streets were lit up but not illuminating. It was a West Belfast housing estate. I'd seen them before.'Very nice,' I said.'I'm sure it's lovely in the moonlight!
He tutted irritably.
`Look at the wall,' he hissed.
I looked at the wall. There were some graffiti there. Fuck all Prods. IRA are God and even a few OTGs. I looked closer at the OTGs. They were shakily, dyslexically written, the work of a child and not a gifted one. Once or twice it was misspelt, OGT, GTO, TGO.
`You got a couple wrong,' I told him.
`What are spelling police?'
I laughed and drove on.
`What's your obsession with this OTG thing?'
`What?'
`Why did you write that?'
`I wanted to.'
`Why?'
Out of the corner of my eye I could see his ratty little face adopt an appearance of mystery and importance.
`I saw a guy writing it a couple of weeks ago.'
I was interested now
`Just one guy on foot. I saw him writing opposite the Orange lodge on Clifton Street. When he finished I followed him. He went into the New Lodge and wrote it up on a wall near the Just Us advice centre. Looked like he didn't like Protestants or Catholics. The lights are green, dickhead.!
I lurched and stalled, cursing the brat. After a while, the Wreck chugged into life and we drove on.
'Then what?' I asked him.
`I followed him for an hour or two. He just wandered round the town stopping to write on walls every now and then. Opposite churches, political headquarters, even a police station at one point.'
`Didn't he get caught?'
`Nah, he was pretty cute that way. It was dark and he was a nice mover.
`What did he look like?'
`I don't know. About your age. Walked very quiet. Dark clothes. Jacket and trousers. Like a suit. I nearly thought he was a priest for a while!
'Why?'
'Well, his gear was dead black and I could just make out a bit of white at his neck.'
'You'd make a good cop,' I said.
`Fuck you.'
'Thanks.'
I turned right into Beechmount. Beechmount looked like Beechmount always unprosperous. Little terraced houses with little terraced people standing on the doorsteps. Some kids ran about the pavement as they always did and some broken glass lay around as was habitual. The walls were painted with a variety of crude scenes depicting how much nicer Catholics were than Protestants and a series of inventive tableaux in which large numbers of British soldiers were maimed and killed.
These were the Belfast mean streets, the internationally famous and dreaded West Side Jungle. It was no big deal. The scorbutic children and big mamas were stock stuff. You could see worse in any city. Even as nearby as Dublin and London you could find more dramatic poverty, more profound deracination.You mightn't come across the same quality of Armalites but everything else would look much the same.
There was a species of suffering here that was supposed to be different. A crucial disenfranchisement, a particular oppression. These people, we were told, weren't living in the country they wanted to be living in. I'd been in lots of poor places and I'd never found anyone there who thought that that was the place for them.
I came from a place just like this. It was old hat. Dead news. I wasn't buying any of the bullshit.
'Over there' Roche pointed to the dirtiest house I've ever seen.
I pulled up. A group of short-haired tracksuited youths looked over briefly and then turned away. That was the real joy of the Wreck. It would never be worth stealing.
The kid slipped out of his
seatbelt and opened the door. He glanced at me as though disappointed by something I had failed to do. I lived with it.
`See you around, kid,' I said.
He smiled. `What's your name again?'
`Jake,' I said.
`Well, Jake,' I waited for the insult, `you're all right. See ya.'
He tripped round the car and up the little garden path to the dirty house he lived in. No insult, no graphic profanity. I watched him as the door was answered by a big guy in a dirty T-shirt. He looked over at me suspiciously. He thought about coming across and chatting it out but he didn't have any shoes on. He just scratched his balls, threw his fag butt into the garden and turned into the house with the kid. Young Roche there didn't take after his father in terms of stature but they shared a similar charm.
As I tried to move off I stalled again. I tried starting the engine once or twice but it was useless. The Wreck did this sometimes. If I left it for half a minute, it would wise up and start.
In the silence while I waited I heard the unmistakable noise of shouting from Roche's house. I could have sworn I also heard the sound of blows. I couldn't be sure but I was sure. The big guy had looked like he would. He had looked like he did.
I started the engine and drove away. What could I have done? Sometimes it's just not your problem.
But, all the way back to my house, I felt grim. I should have known that there was someone in the kid's life who was beating the shit out of him regularly. With kids like Roche there was always some big guy in a dirty T-shirt in the background. I didn't know why it bothered me so much. Was it that he reminded me of myself when I was a kid? Hardly. Now that I had arrived on the scene, at least Roche had someone in his life who liked him - or tried to. That was the big difference between us.