Love My Enemy (10 page)

'Zee's quite right,' said her mother apologetically.
'I'm monopolising you. We'll talk again, Magda.'

'Help yourself to plonk and plenty food. We have
much food.'

'Well done, Mum!' said Zee. 'You were great.'

Sue squeezed her arm. 'So I haven't lost my touch,
then?'

'What touch?'

'Confidence. It happens to us stay at home mums, you
know.'

'You don't
have
to stay at home,' Zee pointed out.
'The twins aren't babies any more and we're all more
settled now – even Gary. You could go out to work if
you wanted to.'

'I know.'

'And you could do with some new gear. . . we all could.
You should see some of Tasha's stuff, it's beaut—' She
broke off in dismay.

'It's okay, love, you've been very patient. I don't
know how I'd have coped without you . . . and I'm not
blind. I do know you'd love some new clothes. As a
matter of fact, I've been thinking about work lately.'

'You never said.'

'That's because I'm still thinking. I wouldn't want
any old job. It would have to be something interesting
that I could fit around the family. Now, fancy a glass of
wine?'

'Me?' Her mother was full of surprises today. 'Yes,
please.'

'Just one, mind,' laughed Sue.

Zee relaxed as the fruity white wine went down. The
introduction she had dreaded was over and there was no
blood on the lawn after all. Her spirits lifted at the sight
of Sue laughing and nattering with the neighbours. Not
a tear threatened. Maybe things really were getting back
to normal.

At the far side of the lawn a football game had got
underway on a patch of rough grass and most of the
neighbourhood kids were involved. She could see Conor
and Josh both mid-field. Gemma sat on the sidelines
tucking into a plate of sticky buns and Des was flaked
out asleep.

On the patio in front of the French windows, Miguel
was about to start playing the piano. Would Tasha really
miss that? Zee scanned the crowd again but however
carefully she looked there was no sign of Tasha or Gary.
Surely Gary would not have slipped indoors uninvited?

Zee's stomach began to churn. Should she do something?
What was going on? Where on earth were they?

Gary sneaked into the house and prowled along the tiled
hall. He peered into the littered kitchen first, then the
lounge. This had a stamp of Miguel about it. There was a
gap by the French doors where his piano must surely
stand, and beside it, tacked to the wall, was a photomontage
of dozens of heavily clad refugees fleeing some
bombed out city. A huge map of south eastern Europe was
pinned to another wall. Somehow Gary understood right
away that Miguel needed to see that map every day.

'Tasha,' he whispered but there was no reply.

At the foot of the stairs he hesitated, one hand on the
newel post. If they caught him upstairs they might get
the police to him. Right then, a piano began tinkling
outside as gently as a fountain. Everyone would be
gathering around the patio now, all eyes on Miguel,
everyone except Tasha and him. Impulsively Gary
skimmed up the stairs.

'Tasha,' he called but again there was no answer.

He reckoned her parents would have the biggest
bedroom. Parents always did unless there were tons of
kids. That would be the room above the big lounge at the
front. The small room above the dining room at the back
of the house would probably be used for storage. That
left three rooms, and the bathroom door was ajar which
narrowed it down to two.

A low murmur drew him to a heavy oak door. What if
it swung open? What if he disturbed a couple doing it?
Nah! It wasn't that kind of party. Gary wiped the sweat
off his face but he kept his weight on one leg, poised to
spring back if he heard footsteps. The voice groaned on,
low and monotonous, rising and dipping endlessly. Gary
almost laughed aloud; it was a racing commentary.

He knocked, then knocked again, harder this time,
and harder still until the dark wooden panel rattled
beneath his fist. Whoever was in there must hear that,
surely. No one answered and the commentary stayed at
exactly the same pitch. Perhaps someone had gone
outside and left the TV on. Perhaps the room was empty
after all. Slowly, quietly, he turned the brass handle and
peered round the edge of the door.

'Get out!' she screamed at him.

'Tasha!' She was standing by the window, one hand
clutching the curtain. 'You
are
in here. Why didn't you
answer me? You had me spooked.'

'
You
were spooked?' she gasped. 'What about me?'

He shut the door behind him and stared around her
bedroom. 'Jeez . . . this all yours?'

'No, I share it with three hundred refugees – they're
all hiding under the bed – what do you think, brain box?'

'I think you're lucky.' He closed the door behind him.
'Dead lucky.'

'Why don't you come in?' she cried, flinging away
the curtain. 'Make yourself at home, Gary.'

'If you insist.' To cover up his awkwardness he
squatted down and inspected her video. He checked out
her sound system and ran a finger over the racks of CDs.
Now he was here he didn't know what to say.

'Are you casing this house?' she asked suspiciously.

'That's not nice!' He feigned surprise. 'Me a cop's
son too.'

'You? Your father was a policeman?'

'Yeah. Didn't Zee tell you that?'

Tasha shook her head, her blue eyes wide. 'She
doesn't talk about him.'

'That's my sister for you.' Gary felt a chill creeping
over him. 'Know what? I've seen the wee cow more
upset over a dropped ice cream.'

He saw that he had shocked her now and he was more
tongue-tied than ever.

'Why have you come up here?' she demanded shrilly.

'You didn't leave me any choice. Why are you
shaking, Tasha? I'm not gonna hurt you! I just want to
know what's going on. Why have you been avoiding me
lately?'

'I haven't.'

'Not much! How come you're hiding up here when
the rest of the street's partying?'

'Maybe I don't like parties.'

'Tasha . . . what is the problem?'

'You really don't know, do you?' He had never seen
anyone actually wring their hands before but Tasha was
doing it now. 'I don't want to see you again,' she said,
'so please,
please
leave me alone. All these phone
calls . . . it's got to stop, Gary.'

'
Why
don't you want to see me? That's what I want to
know. We were all right together, you and me. How
come you don't you want to see me suddenly?'

'I just don't.'

'Just don't? What kind of answer's that?' Gary could
hear himself shouting. He wished he'd hadn't drunk any
alcohol, then he might be able to think more clearly.
'You can't just walk off and leave me. There has to be a
reason, Tash.'

'The reason is I didn't . . . enjoy. . . that night.'

He felt the colour shooting through his cheeks. For a
moment he couldn't think of a word to say. 'I don't
usually have complaints,' he quipped.

Then, to his horror, she let out a huge sob. He didn't
have the first idea what to do. He tried to put his arm
around her but she shrank angrily away.

'Don't touch me!'

'Why n—? What the hell's wrong?'

'You are! You didn't use a condom,' she shouted.
'Was I not even worth a condom, Gary?'

'Bloody hell, Tash . . . I thought you were on the pill.'

'You didn't ask, you didn't
even
ask me!'

Her words hit him like stones. 'Oh my God . . . are
you . . . ? Tasha, you're not . . . pregnant, are you?'

'Don't worry,
you're
all right.' She spat out the words
as if he was dirt. 'I got the morning after pill – so no –
I'm not pregnant!'

'Thank God.' Relief showered over him but his words
didn't sound right, not even to him. 'Sorry,' he added
quickly. 'Did . . . did you have to go alone to get the
morning after pill?'

'No,' she snapped.

'Who went with you . . . ?' Mortified, he whispered,
'Not your ma, surely?'

'As if!'

'Who then?'

She turned bright red. 'Conor paid for a taxi.'

'Conor?' Gary ran his hand backward through his hair
and tried to make sense of this. '
Conor
? You mean Con
O'Keefe knows
our
business?' Humiliation raked him
like gunfire. 'Why did that Fenian git go with you?'

'Stop shouting, Gary!'

She looked terrified and she had backed right up to
the curtain again. Staring at her, Gary understood at last.

'You're going with
him
,' he declared. 'That's why
you don't want me – you're going with Con O'Keefe!'

Her head bobbed up defiantly. 'So? What if I am?'

'I'll kill him!' swore Gary and he bolted from the
room. 'I'll bloody murder him.'

'Leave him alone! You don't know what you're
doing, Gary!'

Tasha rattled down the stairs behind him, pulling at
his shirt. 'Leave him alone!'

He flicked her off like a wasp and yanked open the
lounge door.

'Miguel!' cried Tasha and her voice had an edge like
a power saw. 'Stop him, please stop him!'

Miguel was closing the French windows on a burst of
applause and as he turned round to them he was smiling
happily. 'So what is this? You have been where?' he asked.

'Please – he's going to kill Conor!'

'Oh?' Miguel looked sceptical but he stayed in front
of the French windows, blocking Gary's way. 'Killing
Conor would ruin the party,' he warned.

Gary took a deep breath. 'I'll take him somewhere
else then.'

'And you are who, young man?'

'Gary,' said Tasha.

'Aaah. Gary of the great phone-bills?'

'It's all because I won't go out with him. He's jealous.'

'So, a crime of passion?'

Miguel was laughing at them. Gary felt like punching
him right on his greasy nose. 'Your stepdaughter's
seeing a Fenian,' he hissed, 'what do you think of that,
eh? A Taig . . . Catholic scum!'

Miguel's good humour crumpled into a snarl and the
next moment his hands fastened like mechanical grabs
on Gary's shoulders. Gary felt himself being hoisted and
shaken out like a dirty dishcloth.

'Catholic, Protestant, Christian, Muslim, what is the
difference?' Miguel demanded. 'Must the whole world
die before we have peace?'

Gary was five foot ten but Miguel pushed him
through the house and propelled him out of the back
door. 'You will not spoil this party. You will not upset
Tasha. You will get off this property or I call the police.'

'Okay, okay!'

Gary spun backwards and fell over on the grass.
When he had picked himself up he turned to Tasha,
ignoring her mad Bosnian stepfather.

'I won't give up,' he warned. 'You'll see.'

Zee stared at Tasha in disbelief. 'Gary thinks what?' she
demanded.

'Well, it wasn't my fault!' Tasha sounded like a guilty
little kid and she blushed all the way from the bottom of
her neck to the top of her forehead. 'Gary leapt to his
own conclusions.'

'You mean you let him leap!'

They were sitting together on the riverbank, seeking
refuge from the hot midday sun in the dappled shade of
the wood.

'There was nothing I could do,' wailed Tasha.

'You could have told him the truth.'

'I did – sort of. That's what got me into trouble. I told
Gary about having to go to the clinic and the moment he
heard Conor's name he went ape.'

'Of course he did! Why on earth did you mention
Conor?'

'Because I didn't want to mention
you
. I was trying to
protect you, Zee.'

'You don't half get yourself in some muddles, Tasha.
How can you be so naive?'

Zee jumped up and walked along the riverbank, hurling
stones into the water. Just for a moment she wanted space.
How could Tasha who had seemed so sophisticated, so
worldly, have put her foot in it this badly?

'I'm so sorry,' Tasha said, coming up behind her,
'really I am, but you never know, maybe it's for the best.'

'How do you work that out?'

'Well, Gary will never guess it's
you
going out with
Conor now and maybe he'll leave me alone too. It might
make life easier for us both.'

'What about Conor?' cried Zee, rounding on her. 'Will
Gary leave Conor alone too? It sounds as if he'd have
killed him yesterday if Miguel hadn't stopped him.'

'Gary's a hot-head – he'll calm down.' Tasha's
pretty pale eyes widened. 'I really don't understand
why people here get so worked up about religion. It's
silly. I thought there wasn't supposed to
be
fighting
any more.'

Zee had a sudden urge to slap Tasha. 'At least
try
and
understand. There may not be as many bullets flying
around these days but you can't stop people remembering.
How do you stop people hating each other if you
can't stop them remembering?'

'Lord knows.' Tasha's eyebrows arched in bewilderment.
'But Zee . . .
we're
still friends . . . aren't we?'

'That depends,' she relied curtly.

'On . . . ?'

'On you keeping your brain switched on in future.'

'I have said sorry!' Tasha flung one jeaned leg over
the other and tossed her head crossly. 'What do you
want me to do, lick your boots?'

Zee relented a little, perhaps she was being too hard.
'I'm just dreading telling Conor,' she said.

'Don't then.'

'Now that really would be irresponsible. Conor has a
right to know if Gary's out to get him. Why don't you
come to the beach barbie next weekend, Tasha? Then we
could tell him together.'

'Er. . . no thanks.'

'But you've hardly been out since that night at the
Co-op.'

Tasha shrugged. 'I haven't wanted to go out.'

'Well . . . maybe it would be better if I told Con alone.'

'Yeah . . . if there's anything else I can do though?'

Zee grinned at her. 'Well . . . you know you said I
could borrow your red silk jacket sometime?'

The beach bonfire had burned low at last and the great
pile of driftwood they had gathered together to feed it
with had dwindled to almost nothing. In contrast, a
pyramid of empty cans had grown like the Eiffel Tower.
The birthday boy, Liam, was plucking hopefully at a
cheap guitar and a crescent of folk still hugged the fire,
singing an occasional lyric when one of his tunes
became half recognisable. Conor, replete with sausages
and cider, was lying fully stretched out on the sand, his
dark head in Zee's lap. She curled her bare toes happily
around sand that was the texture of soft brown sugar, its
cool graininess as soothing as a massage.

'I like your friends,' she whispered to Conor.

'They like you too.'

She dropped her voice lower still. 'You know, I've
never been alone with this many Catholics before.'

Conor barked with laughter and she thumped his
shoulder playfully. 'I just meant I never thought I'd feel
this safe with them.'

'They're going to sacrifice you on that fire at
midnight, did I not mention it?'

'It's just as well Tasha isn't here,' said Zee, 'or
I
might
have sacrificed her.'

Conor's chocolatey eyes gleamed in a smile. 'Don't
you worry about Gary, he's no big deal.'

'You're amazing – d'you know that?' Zee had told him
on the bus about Tasha's gaffe. She thought he might have
slagged Tasha off, or even got paranoid, but no, Conor
had just shrugged. Perhaps they were both right and she
had over-reacted after all. Still, Zee couldn't imagine
many blokes taking Gary's threats lightly. That made
Conor special. That and his soft brown eyes. She bent
down and kissed him on the lips. His eyes pulled her in
like magnets, and she lingered there, kissing him gently.

'Fancy a walk?' he asked hoarsely.

She got up, shaking the sand out of Tasha's silk jacket
and they wandered along the curve of silvered sand with
the skelf of a new moon high above and waves frothing
up the beach. Conor put his arm around her shoulders
and she held his waist.

'Tide's coming in,' he murmured.

'Tides always seems so pointless to me, Con, those
big waves pounding up the shore then going back out to
sea. Doing nothing, going nowhere – and using all that
energy to do it. I'd hate to be a wave.'

He laughed. 'You crease me up, Zee Proctor, do you
know that?'

'Why?'

'You're always so busy working everything out, so . . .
purposeful.'

Zee sighed. She had been hoping for something a bit
more romantic than 'purposeful'.

It might have been the sigh but she liked to think it
was telepathy that made Conor stop just then. He put
his arms around her and in the moonlight they became
one of several couples entwined along the sands at
Helen's Bay.

They might have kissed for two minutes or for ten,
Zee didn't know. Conor stroked her face, held her head
tenderly between his hands, raked his fingers lovingly
through her hair.

'Trust me,' he murmured and he took her hand. They
crossed the beach to the sand-dunes where tall marram
grass provided shelter and he pulled her gently down
beside him. 'Okay?'

'Okay.' She let him unbutton her blouse and nuzzle
between her breasts. She let him unhook her bra.

'You've got fantastic nipples,' he murmured.

'Have you – um – seen a lot of nipples then?'

He shook his head and ran his finger in little circles
around her breast. With his tongue he licked the dark
aureola until she trembled, then he sucked her nipple
softly. It made her whole body tingle, every nerve
seemed to come alive, electrifying her until she felt she
must be sparkling like a chandelier.

Her heart was banging but not with fear this time. It
was something much more complicated than fear. She
fumbled clumsily with Conor's shirt, ran her hands up
and down his back, filled them with his warm, firm
flesh, gulped in the soft saltiness of his skin.

It was amazing but somehow her own senses had
suddenly come alive. How could touch and smell have
stayed hidden for so long, how could Conor waken so
suddenly these feelings . . . this lust?

When she felt his hand in her jeans she slipped her
own hand inside his and nervously, carefully, explored.
She'd heard it called all sorts of names before. Dick,
cock, prick. Vulgar names that never hinted at any
intimacy and never ever suggested love.

'Okay?' he whispered again.

She nodded because she didn't trust her voice.

'The things they teach in these Protestant schools,' he
teased. They lay there, holding each other and kissing
tenderly as waves thumped up the beach and the stars
shone down.

'Zee,' he murmured, 'I've got a condom in my pocket.'

Her heart missed a beat. She felt, suddenly, out of her
depth, so she played for time. 'Where did you get that?'
she asked him.

'Someone gave the birthday boy dozens.'

'So he shared them out? Very egalitarian . . . very
laddish.'

She heard him hesitate. 'Well, Zee?'

'I . . . do you mind if we don't . . . not yet?'

Conor groaned and rolled away from her. It felt as if
an iron door had come rattling down between them.

'I really am sorry,' she whispered.

'Then why not . . . ?'

'I'm not ready, not yet. Can you understand?'

'Yeah.' A moment later he rolled back to her.
'Actually, no, I don't understand at all. I know we're
supposed to, us blokes, but I don't. I thought you were
enjoying it.'

'I was. That doesn't mean I want to go all the way.'

'That's the bit I don't understand.
Why
don't you?'

Zee groped for an explanation. How could she
explain it? She hardly understood herself. 'It's different
for girls,' she said lamely.

'How?'

'Sex is just an adventure for guys, Con.'

'No it isn't!' His forehead dived into a frown.
'Well . . . maybe it is, but so what?'

'It's different for us. It's a really big deal. You go
inside us, sort of . . . take us over.'

'Take you over?' His face brightened. 'You could go
on top, I wouldn't mind.'

'That's not the point! You go
inside
us – like an
invasion – it's risky for us . . . don't you see?'

'I'm trying to . . . '

'It's just the way we're made – different. It means
girls have got to be really dead sure they want to.'

'I thought you were sure, Zee.'

'About you . . . I am. But not about the physical stuff –
not yet. Anyway, there's more between us than that, isn't
there?'

'You know there is,' he said.

'Then wait till I'm ready.' She kissed him again.
'Tonight's been brilliant for me, you know.'

Conor cleared his throat. 'Any idea . . . when you . . .
might want to?'

'No,' she laughed. 'But you'll be the first to hear
when I do.'

'I should hope so.'

'And Con . . . I can't be worrying every time we go for
a walk together. Know what I'm saying?'

'No pressure, right?' He sighed heavily. 'You're a
hard woman, Zee.'

'Come on, we'd better not miss the last bus.'

He grabbed her hand, keeping her there for a moment
longer. 'One more thing,' he said.

'What's that?'

He put his arms around her one more time. 'Zara
Proctor,' he said, 'I love you.'

The party continued on the bus. Noisy groups were
clustered on the top deck determined to enjoy every last
minute of their Saturday night. They sang and shouted
good naturedly and passed around cans of beer, making
bawdy comments to groups of girls who flirted back. A
ghetto blaster drowned out most of the conversation
and four people shared a messy Chinese meal, rice
flying off their plastic forks at every bend in the road.
Zee would have been scared if she had been there with
Tasha, game for every bloke on the bus. But safe with
Conor, she felt fine.

At Hazel Grove they got off and walked the short
distance home. The perfume of roses, sharper somehow
in the darkness, floated up from the neat front gardens.
Only a few lights were still on.

'They'll all be up by nine o'clock,' moaned Zee, 'in
church by eleven and lunch at one. Then they'll spend
the afternoon washing their cars. It's all so predictable
round here – sometimes I want to explode!'

Conor laughed at her. 'Most folk like a bit of routine,
you know.'

'Not me. A trip to the supermarket the highlight of the
week? No thanks.'

Just then they came over the hill, within sight of the
O'Keefes' house and they both stopped dead.

'No!' Panic fizzed through Zee's stomach, waves of it
radiating out until her arms and legs were trembling too.

She remembered that feeling, that awful, uncontrollable
shaking. It had happened to her once before; the night
they killed her father.

'My God!' said Conor. 'Is that unpredictable enough
for you?' But he was shocked too. He pulled her into the
shadows and held her until her tremors stopped.

'It's Gary's work,' she whispered. 'What's he thinking
of?'

Conor gave her a gentle push. 'Go home,' he
whispered. 'Go by Tasha's in case anyone's watching.'

'What will
you
do?' she choked.

'Conor!' shouted an urgent voice. 'Get you in here!'

It was his father calling and all their lights were
switched off.

'Not much I can do,' Con said bitterly. 'I'll have to go
in. Will you be all right?'

'It's
you
I'm worried about.'

Zee pulled the collar of Tasha's jacket up around her
ears and walked quickly on. Someone was watching her,
she could feel it. Feel their eyes, hard as nails, hammering
into her back.

She couldn't help looking up. Impulsively, unable to
stop herself, she glanced in at the Gordons. Upstairs, the
bathroom curtain slid back into place. But not before she
had seen the pale glimmer of Des's face staring down at
her. Zee gasped and hurried towards Tasha's. If she had
seen Des Gordon, then Des had certainly seen her.

The graffiti was everywhere; red like blood, a spray
can judging by the edges, all over the garden wall and on
the footpath outside too.

FENIANS OUT!
CON O'KEEFE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
GET OUT OR BE BURNED OUT.
ULSTER
IS OURS.