The Boatman's Wife(34)

‘He was unlucky. A Catholic in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ Niamh said. ‘He came across a fake checkpoint. Two UDF men, dressed up as British soldiers. When he stopped the car, they shot him point blank. Then fled across the fields.’

‘What?’ Jesse looked aghast. ‘But why?’

‘No reason why – just because our car had a southern Irish registration plate,’ Niamh said, though the truth was she’d always known deep inside her it had something to do with Daddy’s family. She just couldn’t tell Jesse that.

‘Did they catch the men who did it?’

‘No,’ Niamh said bitterly. ‘The RUC never catch the UDF guys.’

‘But they had British soldiers’ uniforms on?’ Jesse looked so confused. ‘They were posing as soldiers. Randomly shooting civilians. Why didn’t they go after them?’

‘Exactly.’ Niamh heard her own voice, hard and cold.

‘The authorities up north covered it all up,’ Niamh said. ‘We never got justice. Because the RUC, the British army and the UDF are all colluding.’

‘That’s totally insane,’ Jesse said, pulling her close. ‘I’m real sorry, Niamh.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It happened a long time ago. I’ve let it go.’ She was lying. Of course she had never forgiven what had happened. How could she? Instead, she had directed all her grief into hatred. Become part of the situation her father had tried so hard to protect his family from.

But protecting them hadn’t worked, had it? They had got him in the end.

‘Come here,’ Jesse said, his eyes deep with compassion.

Niamh wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him inside her as they began to move together. Rocking gently back and forth, as if they were on western seas, not on the old mattress in her musty shed. She closed her eyes. Imagined herself and Jesse on a little rowing boat, drifting. Each time he pushed inside her, she wanted to bring him up deeper within her, as if they were diving into the deepest blue. She wanted their love-making to take her far, far away from her tragic corner of Ireland and her hidden past.

Afterwards, they clung on to each other, breathless. It felt as if they’d swum the longest distance together. Through riptides and swirling whirlpools, to reach their own little island. As Niamh drifted off to sleep, she let the feeling of such liberation wash over her.



Niamh woke with a start. A bright light was directed right into her face. She put her arms over her eyes to try to stop it, snuggling into the warmth of Jesse’s sleeping body, but felt a hand shaking her shoulder, and a familiar voice hissing in her ear.

‘What the fuck, Niamh?’

‘Go away,’ she murmured, and then suddenly jolted away in alarm. Brendan was here. In the shed, and so was Jesse. Fast asleep on the mattress next to her. He couldn’t wake up.

She reached around to the end of the bed for Jesse’s T-shirt and her jeans, very aware of Brendan’s dark figure standing over her.

‘Come on,’ Brendan hissed as she struggled to get dressed, half-covering her naked body with the sheet while also trying not to disturb Jesse. ‘Move it, will you, Niamh? I’ve seen it all before.’

Niamh tried to ignore his comment, but it hurt all the same. ‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ she whispered.

‘Clearly.’ Brendan’s voice was still sarcastic. ‘I called as usual. Let it ring three times. Nine o’clock.’

‘Fuck, I forgot,’ she said. ‘I was out.’

She detected the disapproval in Brendan’s silence. ‘Come on,’ he said, eventually. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘What if he wakes up?’ Niamh asked, panic fluttering in her chest.

‘You’d better hope he doesn’t, cousin,’ Brendan said, his voice flat and emotionless.

She glanced back at Jesse, but his face was in the shadows. She could hear the steady rhythm of his sleeping breath, at least. Brendan directed the light from his torch at the floorboards, and Niamh dropped down onto her knees, feeling around to find the loose ones. She yanked them back, and then moved away to let Brendan pull out the bag. He handed her the torch, and she led the way out of the shed and into the garden. The grass was damp and cold on her bare feet. The full moon illuminated the garden, the roses silvery and lustrous. She could hear Pixie scratching at the back door.

‘I’ll just let Pixie out, else she’ll wake up Mam barking,’ Niamh said, hopping across the wet grass.

Pixie came barrelling out the door, charging towards Brendan. Once she sniffed and recognised him, she calmed down and trotted off to pee in the bushes.

‘So who’s the fellow, Niamh?’ Brendan asked her, putting the bag on his shoulder.

‘Just a boy,’ Niamh said.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Jesse. He’s American,’ Niamh said, reluctant to reveal any more.

‘Be careful, Niamh,’ Brendan warned her, shifting the weight of the bag to his other shoulder.

‘It’s nothing, a fling,’ she said.

‘I didn’t think you were that sort.’ Brendan eyed her.

‘How’s Deirdre?’ she asked, unable to keep a bitchy note out of her voice.

‘Grand,’ Brendan said evenly. ‘Waiting for me in the car down the lane.’