The Wolf at the Door (16 page)

She exacted payment from him when she discovered that she could have no more children and insisted on returning to nursing—a kind of victory, as it turned out, for she did well over the years, and was a nursing sister when her husband suffered a pulmonary embolism one night, was rushed to hospital, and pronounced dead on arrival.

Daniel, a bright boy, was accepted at Leeds University at seventeen, and, by the time he was twenty, he was halfway through his final year, studying business and financial planning. He took those subjects not because they were the greatest things in life but because he seemed to have a talent for it. In actuality, having served in the OTC at school, he was attracted to the idea of joining the army and entering Sandhurst, for the weapons training he’d undergone in OTC appealed to him. But, once again, his father had said no. And then his father had died.

There was a good turnout at Lawnswood Cemetery, where they had the funeral, a few teachers from the school and old pupils. Through the forest of umbrellas, as people paused outside the entrance to the crematorium, he noticed a stranger standing on the edge of the crowd, about thirty years old from the look of him, with a handsome, rugged face. He wore a raincoat and tweed cap, and he looked like he was waiting for someone, and then Daniel’s mother rushed to him, flung her arms around his neck, and hugged him fiercely. Daniel hesitated, then approached.

She turned, crying, “Oh, what a blessing this is. My nephew, Liam Coogan, come to pay his respects all the way from Crossmaglen.”

He was smiling as he took Daniel’s hand in a strong grip. “A bad day for it with the rain, but grand to see my only aunt after all these years, and to meet you, Daniel.” He gave Daniel a strong hug. “To be honest, I didn’t make a special trip. Your mother phoned mine with the news, and me on the ferry from Belfast to Heysham en route to London. Lucky I called home. They gave me the sad news, so I’ve diverted, as you can see.”

“You’ll stay the night with us,” Eileen said.

“God bless you, I can’t even come with you for the wake. I’m delayed already for important business in London, so I must be away. It was just that, as I was over by chance, maybe it was a sign from God that I came to you in your hour of need.”

“And bless you for a kind deed.” She kissed him, and turned to Daniel. “Take the car and see your cousin to the railway station.”

“Now, that would be wonderful,” Liam said. “There’s an express to London in forty-five minutes.”

“Then let’s get going,” Daniel said, and led him to the car.

 

 

 

As he was driving,
Daniel started to speak. “There’s something I want to get straight,” he said. “All these years when we never saw you, never had any contact—that wasn’t us, my mother and me. It was my father and his obsessive hatred of Catholics.”

“Daniel, don’t we all know that at Crossmaglen? God help us, but the old bugger must have really loved her to marry her in the first place.”

“He was an overbearing bully who liked his own way, but I never doubted his love for her and hers for him.”

“He never allowed you to be christened, I heard.”

“That’s right.”

“Jesus, I’ve got a bloody Prod for a cousin. Your mother did keep in contact over the years. Writes regularly to my mother, always telling her not to write back, but she made telephone calls.”

“Maybe they can get together now,” Daniel said. “My mother could visit in Crossmaglen.”

Liam was still smiling but different now. “You wouldn’t want to do that. Crossmaglen is IRA to the hilt, Daniel. It’s what the army calls bandit country. It’d be a bad idea to come back to Ulster at this stage of the Troubles.” He changed tack. “I heard some of the guests talking, and you were mentioned. Only a few more months to your graduation, and you only twenty. Business and financial planning. Well, that’s useful.”

“What about you?”

“I went to Queen’s in Belfast. Economics, politics. I taught for a while.”

“And now?”

“This and that, wheeling and dealing.” They drove into the car park at the main railway station. “You have to turn your hand to anything you can in Belfast these days.” He took out a wallet and produced a business card. It said “Liam Coogan, Finance & Business Consultant.” “You can get me at that number anytime. It’s an answering service.”

For some reason, Daniel felt emotional. “If I’m ever over there, I will. It was kind of you to do that for my mother.”

“You and she are family, Daniel, and that’s the most important thing in the world.”

He was out and gone, hurrying through the crowd, and Daniel switched on the ignition and drove away.

 

 

 

In 1981,
with a first-class honors degree under his belt, it seemed natural to proceed to an MBA, and when he checked a list of suitable universities Queen’s at Belfast jumped out at him. He was, after all, a half Ulsterman, though not born there. But there were roots, and perhaps it was time he sought them out.

His mother, recently appointed a matron, was slightly dubious. “Some terrible things happen over there,” she said. “God knows, it’s the country of my birth, but I’m happy to be out of it, and that’s the truth.”

“Well, let me see for myself,” Daniel told her. “I’ll get in touch with your nephew and see what he thinks.”

It was three months since his father’s funeral, and he had never tried to call the number on the card his cousin had given him. As Liam had said, it was an answering service, but it took his message, and Liam called back an hour later.

“It’s grand to hear from you, and congratulations on your first-class honors.”

“How did you know that?”

“Your mother talking to mine. They’re at it all the time since your dad passed away. So what are you going to do? She was saying if it hadn’t been for your dad, you’d have tried for Sandhurst and the army.”

“Yes, I enjoyed my time with the OTC at school, but that’s all in the past. I’m thinking of coming to Queen’s and doing an MBA. What do you think?”

There was a long pause, then Liam said, “Jesus, Daniel, with your academic success you could take your pick of universities where life would be a lot less stressful. I’m not knocking Queen’s, it’s a damn good university, but Belfast is still a war zone, and you’re English.”

“No, I’m not, I’m half Irish,” Daniel said.

“You’re English every time you open your gob,” Liam said. “And that won’t go down well with a lot of people.”

“So you’re telling me not to come over?”

“Now, why would I do that? The Coogans have never taken kindly to being ordered what to do, and you’re half a Coogan. Let me know when it’s definite, but let me give you a piece of advice: make sure you have a passport with you when you come.”

“But Ulster is part of the United Kingdom. Surely you don’t need a passport when you enter the country?”

“Security is the name of the game here. The police and army have got complete power to stop, search, and question you anytime they choose. It’s useful to have your passport with you as an identity card. Take care—and let me know what you decide.”

“I’m going to come, Liam, that’s a given.”

“Stubborn young bastard, aren’t you? On your own head, be it. Just stay stum when you come, and don’t tell people what you are.”

He started his course
at Queen’s later than usual, at the beginning of November, winter on the horizon. It seemed to rain a lot, although he didn’t let that put him off, venturing downtown with a raincoat and umbrella, obviously sticking to the city center at first. In spite of the bad weather, he found himself enjoying what many people called the most dangerous city in the world. That was a matter of opinion, of course, but it was true that the Europa close to the railway station was the most bombed hotel in the world. He ventured in for a drink one time, and marveled at the extraordinary feats of bravery that had taken place there on the part of bomb-disposal experts.

His room in a hall of residence was a short walk from the university. A great deal of his work was personal research, but there were occasional seminars and lectures, so he did get the chance to sit in with people. There were students from all over the world and from all over England, but, for the majority of them, the accent of Ulster was unmistakable. You couldn’t tell who was Catholic and who Protestant, and yet the war being waged in the streets outside was as much about the religious divide as anything else. Sitting in the common room of the students’ union, or drinking in the bar and observing his fellows, there didn’t seem to be any difference, but there was, and occasionally it surfaced.

After a general seminar one day, he stayed on to discuss something with his professor. Visiting the bar afterwards, he was hailed by two third-year students named Graham and Green who’d also taken part in the seminar. They were local students from Derry, which was all he knew about them except that they didn’t appeal, particularly Green, with his greasy, unkempt hair and shabby jeans. His liking for the drink was also clear. A nasty piece of work, Daniel had decided, and he tried to avoid him.

“Come on, man,” Green said. “You need a drink. What a bloody bore Wilkinson’s seminar was. He gets worse all the time. Get us some beers, why don’t you?”

Daniel joined them with reluctance, returning with three bottles from the bar, determined to be off of there in ten minutes. Green was already edging into drunkenness. “How’s it going, my English friend? Someone said you were from Yorkshire.”

Remembering Liam’s advice, Daniel hadn’t advertised his Ulster roots. “That’s right.”

“Are the girls any good where you come from?”

Daniel shrugged. “The same as they are anywhere, no different.” “Nice girls, are they, decent? Not like those cows over there?” He indicated two girls sitting in the corner, chatting over coffee. They were perhaps eighteen, in denim skirts and jumpers.

“I don’t understand,” Daniel said carefully.

“They’re Fenian sluts,” Green said. “They’d shag anybody.”

Graham nodded seriously. “You’d need a condom there, they’ve probably got the pox.”

“Because they’re Catholics?” Daniel asked.

“It’s a known thing,” Green said. “So watch it.”

“But how do you know I’m not a Catholic?”

Graham said, “Well, you’ve got a Yorkshire accent.” He roared with laughter, then paused. “Here, you’re not, are you?”

“What the hell has it got to do with you what I am?” Daniel turned and went out, angry and thoroughly depressed.

He walked back to the residence hall and discovered a message for him pinned to the bulletin board. It was from Liam, asking him to get in touch, so he did, and waited, and Liam came back to him half an hour later.

“How’s everything?”

Daniel took a deep breath and swallowed his anger. There was no way he could tell Liam what had happened. “Fine, Liam, it’s working out very well.”

“That’s good. Listen, I’ve a surprise for you. My wee sister, Rosaleen, is in town this weekend, staying with friends. She’s a teaching assistant in an infant school. She’s coming home Monday, but she’s free Sunday night, Daniel, and a charmer. She’d love to meet you.”

“And I’d love to meet her. Let’s make it at my residence hall since we’ve never met, that’s the easiest. I’ll give you my verdict.”

 

 

 

And she was a charmer,
young and pretty, with black hair, reminding him totally of the dark Rosaleen of Irish legend. They called his room to tell him he had a visitor, but, as he was going downstairs, he knew it must be her the first time he saw her. She carried an umbrella, for it was raining outside, and wore a dark blue overcoat over a dress and ankle boots, a bag hanging by a strap from her left shoulder.

She smiled as he took her hand and reached up to kiss his cheek. “It’s so grand to meet you, Daniel.”

The only fly in the ointment were Green and Graham, who appeared from the common room at that moment. They looked astounded. “What’s this, Holley, where have you been hiding it?”

Obviously the worse for drink again, and he took her hand. “Come on, Rosaleen, we’ll go down the road and have a bite to eat.”

As they wandered out, behind them Green said, “Rosaleen, did you hear that? She’s a fucking Fenian.”

Daniel started to turn, and she pulled him around. “Never mind them, they’re just Protestant shites that can’t keep their gobs shut.”

She was calmly fierce, so he gave in, offered his arm, and they went down the road together. “Where would you like to go?”

“Oh, fish-and-chips in a café will do me fine, with a cup of tea, and you can tell me all about yourself.”

 

 

 

They spent two hours
enjoying the simple meal and discovering each other. He was extolling the joys of Wharfedale in the West Riding of Yorkshire, she the beauty of the South Armagh countryside, and they vowed to exchange visits. It was ten o’clock when they left. The rain had stopped, but the streets were Sunday-night empty.