Love My Enemy (4 page)

After that Tasha couldn't help staring at Gary. Every
time he threw her a nod or a wink she smiled back. She
had known right away it wasn't just his blue eyes and
golden curls that attracted her. There was something
more, something on the inside. Zee had called Gary a
loner but Zee was wrong. Gary was just like her –
lonely
– which was quite different. Well, she could help him,
she could be there for him.

Every time someone passed round a can, Tasha took a
swig. She smoked till she felt sick. Later when they
moved away from the bonfire it seemed the most natural
thing in the world to link arms with Ruby and the rest of
them, and sway through the backstreets together.

The backstreets. They were dark and exciting, like
something out of the Dickens novels she studied at
school. She tried not to stare at the tiny red-bricked
houses with net curtains in the windows. The streets
were barely wide enough for two cars to pass by. Red,
white and blue bunting was strung between the houses
like Victorian washing lines. Everywhere red, white and
blue. Even the kerbstones were freshly painted in the
colours of the Union Jack. Each individual house was
flying a flag, the Union Jack or the flag of Ulster – a
red cross on a white background with a clenched fist in
the middle.

At the end of some streets huge murals were painted
onto gable walls. King Billy astride a white horse
seemed to be the favourite, riding high in detailed
paintings of ancient battle scenes. And slogans
everywhere.

No Surrender.

1690.

No Pope here.

Tasha had seen it on news programmes, of course, but
it hadn't looked like this. It had been safe then, something
happening hundreds of miles away. But this was here,
now, above her, around her, plastered on every surface, so
real it practically leapt off the wall, every figure poised to
kill, every slogan screaming. Sirens wailed throughout
the night as fire engines raced to douse bonfires and
policemen took charge of street drunks.

Tasha had never felt so excited or so anxious. She
kept Gary constantly in sight, worried that if she got lost
in this city, she might never get back home. When they
stopped to buy chips – real chips in real newspaper – she
knew she had never tasted anything so meltingly
delicious. The salt made the inside of her cheeks tingle
and the warm grease filled up her stomach in a way that
Redbales' low-fat oven chips never did. If only Gary
would pay her a little more attention this would be the
best night of her entire life.

At last he did. They all linked arms, three rows of
six people – but Gary sought her out specially. He
linked arms with her in the middle of the first row and
they marched hard, tramping home through the backstreets,
singing at the very top of their voices. Tasha's
spirits soared even higher. She was wonderfully,
deliriously happy and the verse they were singing was
easy to pick up.

It is old but it is beautiful, and its colours they are
fine

It was worn in Derry, Aughrim, Enniskillen and
the Boyne.

My father wore it as a youth in bygone days of
yore

And on the Twelfth I love to wear the sash my
father wore!

It was a great tune and they fairly belted it out, yelling
the word sash in the final line. Everyone laughed except
Gary. His face was stern.

'What's wrong?' she whispered.

'They all think it's a joke,' he said tersely, 'just a song
and a night out but they're wrong. They should sing the
Sash with pride.'

'Have you got a sash?' she asked because she didn't
know what else to say.

'Of course. My father wore it when he was young and
his father before him and his father before him. And
I'll
be wearing it tomorrow.'

'Cool.'

Gary grinned. 'You're all right, you know.'

He put his arm around her shoulder and they started
singing again, this time at the top of their voices,
clapping their hands and stamping their feet. Once or
twice an upstairs window opened. Whatever the resident
said was drowned out by a torrent of laughter and abuse.
Tasha, glowing with excitement, shouted as loudly as
any of them. She had never had so much fun.

Gradually, the crowd dwindled. Ruby said goodnight
and disappeared into one of the backstreet houses. In the
early hours, Tasha and Gary peeled off too.

'Looks like you're making your own way home,
Des,' shouted Gary over his shoulder.

Tasha giggled. 'He doesn't look chuffed. Was he
expecting to walk home with you?'

'Yeah, Des lives in our street too. Right next door to
the token Taigs.'

'The O'Keefes.' Tasha was beginning to understand
street politics.

They were too tired to talk much but she snuggled up
against Gary, tucked in beneath his shoulder. She had
never done that before, not with any boy, and it felt like
the most romantic thing in the world.

Gary held onto her when they reached her gate. His
hands ran up and down her back, over her buttocks,
around the hem of her short tight skirt and over the tops
of her thighs. Tasha kissed him wildly.

'You're so sexy,' he said breathlessly. 'God, you're
gorgeous.'

His lips fell on hers and his tongue, fierce and
slippery, forced her lips apart. She jolted with surprise as
his tongue searched her mouth, backward and forward,
in and out, sliding over her teeth and tongue. She didn't
like it much but at least he wanted to kiss her. In the end
it was Gary who pulled away.

'I'll call you,' he said. 'Soon.'

Gary took a deep breath and sank beneath the water.
Deaf, blind, weightless. He sometimes wondered if
being dead would feel like this and he liked to practise.
Once he had managed one minute, forty-two seconds.
The water should really be cold, of course. Icy cold. His
dad must be so icy cold by now. And the worms . . .

With a cry Gary broke the surface. He lay panting and
the familiar bathroom irritated him. It was all so normal,
so
nice
. Toys in lurid colours were scattered across the
plastic shelf bridging the bath; Gemma's tea-set in
sickly scarlet and yellow, Josh's blue and orange
lifeboat. Its captain with his stupid grin plastered forever
across his face.

In a temper, Gary lifted one leg clear of the water and
kicked the shelf hard. The toys shot off, hit the window,
ricocheted against the wall and fell to the floor. He lay
still for a moment, listening. There was no sound. Why
would there be, he thought bitterly. The rest of them
were still fast asleep. Hadn't they all given up on the
Twelfth except him?

Five minutes later, dressed in his dark suit, he slipped
across the landing to the big chest and eased open the
top drawer. Surprise speared through him; the precious
case had gone. The slim leather case that held the family
sash was nowhere to be seen.

He started searching methodically from left to right
then he tried the next drawer down. By the time he got
to the fourth drawer he knew he wasn't going to find it.
His mother slipped out of her bedroom like a ghost.

'Where's the sash?' he demanded.

'It's not there, Gary.'

'So where is it?'

'It's safe, I promise you.'

'And Grandpa's war medals – what have you done
with them?' he cried.

'They're safe too, don't worry.'

'
Where are they?
'

'Listen to me, Gary. I don't want you to wear them
today.'

'Don't be daft, Mum, it's the Twelfth. I need the
medals, sash, the lot!'

'Your father hadn't marched for twenty years, Gary,
maybe it's time you stopped too.'

He looked at her properly now. She was fully dressed,
wide-awake, her face washed out and grey. She looked
as if she had hardly slept at all.

'
I march
,' he told her grimly, 'and I always will.'

Zee emerged, yawning, from her room and Gemma
followed, fumbling with her dressing gown. Then Josh
came out of the third bedroom and they stood there, the
four of them, lined up on the landing as if they shared some
big family secret. Gary felt his temper slipping again.

'Just gimme the box,' he said. 'It's time I was on
my way.'

'We need to talk,' said his mum.

'Not now!'

'Yes, right now. I've been trying to speak to you for
weeks, Gary, but you're forever diving off. Well, it
won't wait any longer – so you'll listen now.'

He glanced pointedly at his watch. 'Five minutes then.'

'I mean it, son, I don't want you marching today.'

'Why the hell not?'

'Because it's time to move on.'

'Move on? What is this?' He heard himself shout but
he didn't care. 'What are you talking about?'

'Northern Ireland has the chance of peace,' his mother
said. 'You can go to a football match now, Gary, without
hearing bombs and sirens. You can take a girl to the cinema
and know the buses will still be running when the film's
over. You can even go for a job anywhere you want in this
city without being afraid some gunman's going to grab you
on the way.'

'You sound like a politician,' he scoffed.

'The politicians are trying to put things back together!
And you, Gary – you've got to get on with your life. Put
things behind you, get a job, get some money – enjoy
yourself.'

'I can't believe I'm hearing this,' he said angrily. 'Is
that it? Sermon over?'

'It's what's the rest of us are doing,' said Zee in that
infuriating, superior way of hers.

'Bully for you!' he snapped. 'I've wasted enough
time. Give me the medals, Mum. Give me the sash.'

Their eyes locked and his mother shook her head. For
once Gary wavered. Usually he did exactly what he
wanted, took what he wanted, but he wasn't going to
lash out at his own mother. Zee, he could have sworn,
was smirking.

Suddenly it all made sense. 'This is
your
idea, Zee,
isn't it? You put Mum up to this.'

'I did not!'

'I bet you did. After last night, I wouldn't put anything
past you.'

'I never!'

'What happened last night?' asked their mother
quickly.

'Nothing,' said Zee but she went blood red.

Gary wagged his finger at her, just managing to keep
his temper. 'She was only hanging off the arm of a
Fenian, Mum. That's all!'

'Liar!'

'I thought you went to the fire with Tasha.'

'I did, Mum. Conor just happened to be there.'

'That had better be true,' shouted Gary. ''Cos if I find
out different . . . '

'You'll what?' sneered Zee. 'Get a life, Gary. Why do
you
want
to hang around with those sad little pals of
yours? Why d'you
want
to get dressed up today and
march round like a clockwork bloody penguin?'

Something snapped inside him. He flew at her, gripped
her shoulders, shook her hard. 'Have you forgotten our
dad completely?'

'Stop it!' shouted their mother. The twins squealed
and fled behind her.

But Zee wouldn't squeal, no matter how hard he
shook her. She just stared at him, contempt pouring from
her eyes.

'Go on,' she goaded. 'Hit me! I bet hitting girls is just
your style . . . big man that you are.'

'Hit you?' He gripped her even harder and had the
satisfaction of seeing her flinch. 'If I ever find you with
O'Keefe again, I'll kill the both of you and that's a
promise,
Fenian lover
!' He shook her till her hair flew like
a rag doll's. 'You're a Prod and you'd better remember it!'

'Gary – leave her be this minute!' Their mother was
prising his fingers off her.

Gary flung Zee back against the wall, then he charged
downstairs and out of the house. Empty-handed.

Zee slid down the wall, clutching the tops of her arms.
In films it seemed melodramatic when people slid down
walls but she understood why they did it now. The wall
felt so solid, one firm contact when everything else was
reeling.

'Zee. . . Zee . . . are you all right?' asked her mother
anxiously.

'Yeah . . . yeah, I am.'

'Let me see.'

Gary's fingermarks stood out like bunting against her
skin.

'Cold water for bruising,' said her mum mechanically
but she didn't move and her hand shuddered up to her
mouth. Zee's eyes filled with tears that didn't fall, like
gutters blocked in a rainstorm. The twins stood staring
at her, holding hands tightly.

'Josh, fetch me a sponge soaked in cold water, there's
a love.'

Josh ran to the bathroom and came back with a
sponge dripping all over the carpet. Gemma fetched a
towel, then disappeared again and returned with one of
her dolls.'

'You can cuddle my Barbie,' she offered. 'Or me.'

She leapt into Zee's lap, hugging her fiercely. The
tears spilt out then and fell down Zee's face. Her mum
went on sponging carefully.

'It's brandy people need when they have a shock,'
said Josh. 'Do you remember after Daddy died? I never
got any that time.'

'And you'll get none now! Away and put the kettle on
– sweet tea does the trick just the same. I'll make us all
a cuppa tea with lots of sugar. Then you two can go
outside and play in the sun.'

Zee expected the Spanish inquisition from her mum,
but after they had drunk the tea, she was sent back to bed
to rest. She didn't think she would sleep but she did, and
when she woke, the room was stifling. The sun shot like
a laser through the window and dust particles danced in
the beam between the two coombs of the ceiling.
Outside Zee heard the little fountain piddling away. She
wondered if Tasha had got safely home last night. What
had happened between her and Gary?
She stared at the white flecks in the lilac wallpaper.

She and her mum had put it up together, six months after
Dad died. Zee had wanted to re-decorate the whole
house but her mum hadn't the energy for decorating and,
anyway, Gary wanted everything kept just the same.
Except the living room of course.

They had to get decorators in to do the living room.
She remembered the whirr of the steam cleaner and how
Gary had stuck his fingers in his ears to block out the
sound. They had put up pale green paper which Zee
liked but Gary would not even go into the room for eight
whole days.

'You look brighter,' said her mum when she went
downstairs. 'More tea?'

'If you promise not to poison it with sugar again.'

'Sit down. How's your headache?'

'Still there. Gary's probably given me concussion.'

'Maybe I should call the doctor.'

'Or the police.' Zee didn't really mean it but she
wanted to say it anyway.

Her mother poured the tea. 'I don't know what to do
with him, Zee. Maybe counselling's what he needs but
he won't hear of it.'

'What he needs,' said Zee angrily, 'is someone his
own size to sort him out.'

'Someone like Conor?' she asked.

'What?'

'Zee, be careful. Don't you go making things worse.'

'Me? How could I do that?'

'By going out with Conor. By winding Gary up.'

Zee spluttered on the tea. 'So this is
my
fault, is it?'

'Of course not. But why
were
you with Conor last
night? How did you expect Gary to react? You were
supposed to be with Tasha.'

'I told you, we just bumped into Conor.' She did not
see any point in telling her mum that Tasha had
practically swooned into Gary's arms, then deserted her.
'Gary and Des started giving Conor a hard time, so they
did. I just suggested he went home before there was a
fight. We walked back together – that's all.'

'Honestly?'

'Yes!'

Her mother sighed. 'The lad must be a bit of an eejit,
anyway, going to the bonfire – I've never heard the like.
For a moment I thought you and he had something
going. That's a relief, anyway.'

'You're a right hypocrite!' Zee banged down her mug,
spilling tea on the table. 'Some peacemaker
you
are. You
want Catholics and Protestants to live together – aye –
as long as we don't actually speak to each other!'

'That's not true. Hazel Grove's a mixed area and I get
on with
all
my neighbours. I'm just saying we need to
make allowances for Gary.'

'Allowances? It was
your
idea to stop him marching,
Mum.'

'I know.'

'Well he took it out on me!'

'I'm sorry, Zee.'

'He'll go to the Field, you know, even if he doesn't
march.'

'We have to be patient. Don't push him, Zee.'

'Patient? He gets away with knocking me about and
I
get the row?' Zee jumped up, furious. ' I'm outa here!'

'Come back! What about your headache?'

'You're only making it worse!'

She strode straight past the twins, across the road into
the wood and down to the river. Her head thumped. She
was supposed to be meeting Conor for a picnic in less
than an hour. Lying back against the bank, she wished
she could think straight. She didn't know what to do.

Eventually she scrambled up the bank again and
walked through the wood, emerging opposite the
O'Keefes'. In the next house, nosy Mrs Gordon shrank
back behind her nets. Zee waved at her enthusiastically
as she marched up to Conor's front door.

'Hi,' he greeted her. 'You're early.'

'Can I come in?'

'Of course. We'd better go into the front room. It's
like a zoo through the back.'

Zee could hear it. There were eight O'Keefe boys and
Conor was the oldest. No wonder his mother always
looked worn out. The noise rose, they all seemed to be
shouting at once. The smallest one, Diarmaid, burst into
the hall crying.

'I want my mum!'

'You know she's out,' Conor told him. 'What's wrong?'

'Sean hit me so he did! Just 'cos I wouldn't give him
my car.'

Conor scowled at Diarmaid in exasperation and Zee
could imagine how embarrassed she would feel in the
same circumstances. 'It's okay,' she told him, grinning.
'You'd better go and sort them out.'

'Go through,' he told her, 'I'll be back as soon as I've
read the riot act.'

Zee had only been in one other Catholic house before.
That belonged to the MacGuinesses who were the only
other Catholics in the street. They had a sauna and a
wide-screen television and Mrs Gordon said they made
their money smuggling guns.

Waiting in the front room, she scrutinised the glass
ornaments on top of the sideboard. There were only jugs
and vases. She had expected to see shrines of the Sacred
Heart, and great crucifixes on the walls with Jesus
hanging off them, dripping blood. She had heard, too,
that Catholic houses always smelt of saturated fat
because they ate unhealthy diets, but this room was
bright and airy and the smell of honeysuckle wafted in
through the window.

'Looking for something?' asked Conor.

Zee jumped. 'I was just—'

'Curious . . . I know. . . like me last night.' He smiled
and her stomach went jittery all over again. 'Cuppa?'

'No fear,' she said. 'I've had enough tea today.'

'Is there a problem?' He was studying her and in
daylight his eyes were the colour of caramel.

'Conor, I-I've changed my mind about going out
today. I'm sorry.'

She saw a big shutter come slamming down behind
his eyes. He was upset. 'It doesn't matter, Zee – no
sweat,' he said.

'You don't understand.'