Friend or Foe (15 page)

Emer felt a bullet whistling past her ear as she sprinted for the corner of Halston Street. It had taken all of her nerve to escape from the British soldiers after they stopped her and found the report she was bringing to rebel headquarters. She had run down Cuckoo Lane, zigzagging to put the soldiers off their aim, but
the volley of shots they unleashed had been terrifyingly loud, and some of the ricocheting bullets had hit the cobblestones near her feet.

She ducked low now, still zigzagging, and ignored her pounding chest as she tried desperately to up her speed. The corner was just ahead, yet it seemed to take forever to reach it. Another deafening series of shots rang out just as Emer reached the junction.

She flinched, half expecting the pain of a bullet in the back, then suddenly she was safely round the corner. She saw Halston Street Church on her left and ran in through the entrance gates. Still moving at speed, Emer almost collided with an old lady who was coming out. She quickly apologised, then swung open the porch door and entered the church proper. It was darker in here, and the air smelt of incense and wax from the candles that were burning at a small side altar.

At this hour of the afternoon there was nobody else in the church. Emer moved quickly up the aisle, seeking a hiding place. Her best hope was that the soldiers would continue down Halston Street and eventually conclude that they had lost her in one of the side streets. But equally they might follow her into the church, deciding that its open door made it a likely destination.

Emer scanned the church, her mind racing. There was a door at the side of the altar – maybe it would lead to another part of the building where she could hide. But if she went in there, she might run into a sacristan or one of the priests. She looked
around frantically, knowing that if the soldiers followed her into the church, they would be here soon. She saw a row of confession boxes, and acting on instinct, she ran to the furthest one, quickly pulled open the door and entered the darkened interior.

She fell to her knees, keeping her head below the grille on the door that allowed a small amount of light into the gloom of the confessional. No sooner had she settled herself than she heard the sound of the porch door closing.
Someone else was here
. Emer held her breath as she listened to their heavy footsteps. She knew at once that they weren’t made by the shoes of the elderly women and men who frequented churches on sunny afternoons.
Army boots
, thought Emer.

She kept absolutely still as the steps drew nearer. Barely daring to breathe, Emer listened as the person went past her. Suddenly the footsteps stopped. Was he looking around the church now, scanning it for hiding places? And if so, were the confessionals an obvious place to search? Just then Emer heard the sound of the porch door closing again and another set of footsteps.

‘No sign of her, Corp,’ said this second man. ‘Must have scarpered down a side street.’

‘Damn her!’

Emer recognised with dread the voice of the scary corporal who had questioned her and found the note.

‘Bad luck to swear in church, Corp,’ said the second man.

‘Don’t talk rubbish!’

‘Sorry, I just–’

‘And she mightn’t have scarpered at all. She could be in this building.’

‘Is she really worth finding, Corp? She’s only a runner, and we took her message. And Alf’s still bleeding. Should we not just leave it and get him to a medic?’

Emer prayed that the corporal would follow the other soldier’s suggestion. There was a pause, then the first man spoke: ‘Little Shinner bitch, I’d like to lay my hands on her! But yeah, better look after Alf.’

The two men quickly walked off, and Emer allowed herself to breathe out. After a moment she heard the porch door closing, and she felt a flood of relief. This had been the most frightening experience of her life, but she felt exhilarated at having come through it. Not that she was in the clear yet. She still had to risk getting to the GPO so that she could deliver verbally the message from the Volunteers at North King Street. Luckily her curiosity had got the better of her earlier, and she had read the note before the patrol had intercepted her. She could still pass on the report and explain that the British now knew its contents.

She remained kneeling in the confession box, giving the soldiers plenty of time to be on their way. Gradually her breathing returned to normal, and she told herself that it was time to move on. Gathering her courage, she left the church, stepped out again into the bright sunlight and continued with her mission.

‘Two policemen have been shot dead!’

Jack felt as though an icy hand had clutched his heart. He wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. His sisters had finally managed to get home from the races at Fairyhouse, and Maureen was pale-faced as she led the others into the kitchen to deliver this awful news.

‘Oh my God!’ said Ma.

‘Have … have they said who they are?’ asked Jack. His fear must have shown on his face, because Maureen reached out and squeezed his arm.

‘Da’s not one of them.’

Jack felt enormously relieved, though of course it was dreadful that any policeman should be shot dead.

‘Who were they?’ asked Ma.

‘One was called James O’Brien. The other was a Michael Lahiff – he was on duty at Stephen’s Green.’

‘I don’t know either of them,’ said Ma. ‘But it’s cold-blooded murder, shooting unarmed men.’

‘There’s another rumour that the rebels captured a policeman at the GPO and they’re holding him prisoner,’ said Sheila.

‘Rumours are flying all over the place,’ added Mary. ‘They’re saying the DMP are being ordered off the streets before any more get shot.’

‘Proper order,’ said Ma.

‘So that could explain why Da hasn’t come home,’ suggested Mary, ‘if they’ve all been ordered back to barracks.’

Jack wanted to believe this, but if policemen were being shot and taken prisoner, that could have happened to Da too. ‘I still think I should cycle over to Kilmainham,’ he said. ‘I could be there and back in an hour, and if Da is up to his eyes in the station, then at least we’d know he’s OK.’

‘Nobody leaves this house for Kilmainham!’ said Ma firmly. ‘Da is well able to look after himself. But the city’s gone mad, so he’s probably run off his feet. He’ll be back to us as soon as he can, and that’s an end to it.’

Ma spoke with conviction, but Jack sensed that she was putting on a brave face. Yes, his father was strong and brave and able to look after himself, but what good was that if he was unarmed and someone tried to shoot him? He couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to Da, and he desperately wanted to know if he was safe. He would obey Ma for now, he decided. But if Da hadn’t returned home by tomorrow morning, then he was going to go looking for him.

Emer hid behind the trees and watched as Gerry Quinn’s uncle cracked his whip, then pulled away in his horse and cart from the cottage at the Tolka. Emer stood unmoving until the cart passed out of sight. Satisfied that she hadn’t been seen, she stepped out wearily and made for the doorway of Gerry’s home in the fading evening light.

The darkening sky was a deep shade of blue, but Emer was oblivious to its beauty after a momentous but exhausting day. She had managed to deliver the message to the rebel headquarters at the GPO, but then she had been ordered to stand down as a runner. Emer had tried to argue, but a Volunteer officer had insisted that twelve-year-old girls were not combatants. He said that she was being given a direct military order, the disobeying of which would be mutiny.

Emer had turned away unhappily. She was frustrated that her time as a runner had ended, yet if she were honest, a tiny part of her was also relieved that she wouldn’t have to face the consequences of being caught again. And so she had tramped her way around the chaos of the city centre before eventually heading for the banks of the Tolka, where she waited until she could be sure of talking to Gerry without his uncle being present.

She approached the door now, and she could see that an oil lamp was burning inside the cottage. She had no idea how Gerry would react to what she was going to ask him, and she paused briefly to get up her nerve, then reached out and knocked on the door. After a moment it opened, and she saw the surprise on Gerry’s face.

‘Emer. What are you doing here?’

‘I’m … I’m looking for help.’ She saw that Gerry looked puzzled, and she opened her hands in appeal. ‘I know … I know we aren’t close friends, but I’ve no-one else to turn to.’

‘For what?’

‘Somewhere to stay the night. My Dad’s part of the uprising, and Volunteers’ families might be rounded up. Our home could be raided, so I can’t stay there.’

‘Why didn’t you ask Gladys or Joan?’

‘They live near to our house, so I might be traced to them.’

‘But no-one would think of you staying in a shack like this?’

‘That’s … that’s not what I meant.’

‘But that’s how it is.’

Emer felt uncomfortable. ‘Look, I’m sorry if–’

‘It’s OK,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘You’re right, they won’t think of here. So come in, you can stay.’

‘Thanks, Gerry. I’m really grateful,’ said Emer, stepping in through the doorway and following him into a sparsely furnished kitchen. There was a smell of food, and Emer realised just how hungry she was.

Gerry must have seen her gazing at the pot of food on the stove. ‘Rabbit stew,’ he said. ‘I caught one this morning.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Have you ever had rabbit stew?’

‘No, actually. But it smells delicious.’

‘Are you hungry?’

‘Well … yes, a bit, but I don’t want to–’

‘Sit down. I’ll get you a bowl.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, you’re grand.’

As Gerry organised the food and cutlery, Emer looked at the
battered furnishings and realised that this was the poorest house she had ever been in. And yet Gerry was not just putting her up but also sharing his stew. Emer was touched that someone who had so little would be so generous. She suddenly felt emotional, and she turned away so Gerry wouldn’t notice her becoming teary-eyed.

‘Here you go,’ he said, ladling the stew into a bowl and placing it on the table.

‘Thanks.’ Emer had surreptitiously wiped her eyes, and now she took up a spoon and began eating the food. ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said.

‘Yeah, it’s one of the few things Uncle Pat is good at cooking.’

‘Will it be OK with him that I stay here?’

Gerry shook his head. ‘Better he doesn’t know. You take my bed, and I’ll kip on the bedroom floor on some cushions.’

‘That’s really kind. But will your uncle not come into the room to say goodnight?’

‘No, he never does that.’

Emer resumed eating the stew. She thought that Gerry’s answer was really sad, but before she could think of a response, he continued. ‘He’s gone out drinking now, so he’ll fall into bed when he gets back and sleep it off in the morning.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I seen him do it loads of times. You’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘No point trying then,’ said Gerry with a wry grin. He looked at her curiously. ‘You never said where your ma is staying.’