Martin Edwards - I Remember You

‘Look,’ said Finbar, draining his glass of Johnnie Walker, ‘I don’t come out of this very well.’

‘That’s the story of your life,’ said Harry unsympathetically. ‘You’re twenty years too late for worrying about your image. So tell me about Eileen. The truth, mind — the whole truth and nothing but.’

They were in Harry’s flat, far from the madding crowd of the Liverpool Business Day exhibition. Through the thick lined curtains they could hear the wind wailing down the Mersey: a wild, elemental sound. Harry could easily have believed there wasn’t another living soul within a hundred miles.

Finbar cleared his throat. ‘In the old days, back in Ireland, I knew a feller called Dermot McCray. A big bugger, muscles in his spit. He worked in the building trade, which is no place for Little Lord Fauntleroys. As young fellers we were pals, we’d drink together from time to time. To this day he has a line of dot tattoos I drew on the knuckles of each hand. I was only a lad then — hadn’t mastered the finer points of my craft.

‘At first, Dermot was one for the ladies himself, but he soon hooked up with a girl called Oonagh, a lovely creature with the most marvellous chestnut hair. They got married, she had a child and I didn’t see much of him after that. The last time we met in Dublin he told me he fancied coming over to England and setting up on his own. A few months later, I heard he’d crossed to Liverpool and done just that.’

Finbar paused and scratched his chin. He had the raconteur’s gift of spinning out any story, keeping his listener anxious for the next instalment.

‘The McCrays came back to Dublin from time to time. They kept in close touch with family and friends, but I hardly ever saw them until Sinead and I moved over here. I used to bump into him every now and then in the De Valera.’

‘The Irish club off Solvay Street?’

‘Right. Noted for good beer and bad company. By that time, Dermot had started making money and formed his own company. As you’ve gathered, Eileen was his daughter. He brought Oonagh and her to the De Valera one night and introduced me. Oonagh had put on weight; the dolce vita had got to her and no mistake. But Eileen was a different proposition altogether. Sweet sixteen and with the same chestnut hair her mother had in her prime. From the moment I saw her I was smitten.’

‘A bit young, even by your standards.’

‘Harry, don’t I know it? But there, you never know where Cupid’s dart may land. And Eileen was so perfect. Looked like a virgin and loved like her life depended on it.’ He coughed and became contrite. ‘Sorry. A poor choice of phrase, as things turned out.’

‘You started seeing her?’

‘She’d lately left school and taken a job in a travel agency. I used to tell her she deserved better. Anyway, she managed to sneak off from work two or three times a week. The boss had the hots for her too — he let her get away with murder.’

‘Did Dermot and Oonagh cotton on to what you were up to?’

‘Give me some credit. I’ve had years of experience in covering my tracks. Besides, I didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Dermot. He was a pal from way back and, anyway, it doesn’t pay to antagonise a tough man in the building trade. I didn’t fancy finishing up in a concrete overcoat as part of the foundations of a new supermarket or motorway flyover.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Eileen got herself pregnant, that’s what happened. Ah yes, you’ll say it takes two to tango, but she’d promised me she was on the Pill. She didn’t set out to trap me, that’s for sure. Maybe she simply forgot to take it one night. Ah, all this time and I’d never been caught before!’

‘I take it you didn’t offer to do what people used to call the decent thing?’

‘Harry, there was no future in marriage between Eileen and me. I’ve been through that malarkey once and I’m not for making the same mistake twice. She was a slip of a kid, less than half my age. We were good for each other, but neither of us wanted a lifetime commitment. That left only one solution.’

Finbar pulled a face at the memory. Harry said nothing.

‘I didn’t force the issue. She decided for herself that it was best to have an abortion. Dermot and Oonagh had brought her up to be a good Catholic girl, but Eileen didn’t want to be tied down too young.’

Baz had told the story differently, Harry recalled.

‘Did either of you discuss it with her parents?’

‘No way. We agreed they mustn’t be told. Dermot’s as devout as any man I know and the very idea of abortion would be enough to send him for his shotgun. To tell him I’d put his daughter up the spout would be like autographing a suicide note.’

‘If he’s as devout as all that, there shouldn’t have been any danger of physical violence.’

‘Harry, where have you been the last twenty-five years? Haven’t you seen what people from my part of the world can do in the name of religion? If they can blow bits off the bodies of folk they don’t even know, who never did them a single injury, what chance is there for me if someone like Dermot decides I need to be taught a lesson?’

‘So what happened?’

‘She booked into a private clinic. It was my idea, I let her have a little nest egg of mine.’ Finbar closed his eyes. ‘Anyway, there were problems with the anaesthetic. God knows what went wrong, but she never came round again.’

‘She died in the clinic?’

‘With all the pricey medical expertise at hand,’ said Finbar bitterly. ‘Eileen, who’d never had a day’s illness in her life, who had so much left to look forward to, killed undergoing an operation that was all my fault.’

‘Shit,’ said Harry. ‘What did you tell the McCrays?’

Finbar shifted from foot to foot. ‘Fact is, Harry, I didn’t tell them anything. There was no point. I couldn’t bring her back. They had plenty to grieve about without knowing their daughter had been seduced by a man old enough to be her dad.’

‘And you didn’t relish the prospect of Dermot taking revenge?’

Finbar’s expression was grim. ‘There’s no telling what a bereaved father might do. Specially a hard man like Dermot McCray.’

‘So how did he find out you were Eileen’s boyfriend?’ Harry had already described his brief encounter with McCray at Fenwick Court. ‘From the clinic?’

‘They never knew who I was. I gave her the money, but she made all the arrangements. And not from Baz, either. Eileen told me she’d been talking to him on the bloody air, said she rang him when she was feeling low. Jases, with all those people listening! That sent me into a panic. But she swore she’d never mentioned my name to anyone.’

‘Yet Dermot and Sinead obviously know. They must have found out from someone.’

‘There’s only one explanation. A week or two ago, I was drinking in the De Valera. I’ve not seen Dermot there since Eileen died. Anyway, I’d had one over the eight. Melissa was away visiting some sick relation, so I was on my own. Maybe I got a bit maudlin and the booze began to talk … late in the night I was chatting to this old pal of mine, Liam Keogh. You’ve met him yourself, I introduced you once in the Dock Brief, remember? I started telling him about Eileen, and before I knew what I was saying, I’d spilled the whole bag of beans.’

‘Do you think he would have told Sinead? Or McCray?’

‘More than likely. Not out of devilment, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Still, who am I to talk? Liam’s a decent feller, I should’ve kept my own counsel. After all, I’ve never said a word to anyone else. Except yourself.’

‘It’s time for you to tell the police. Unless you want Dermot to succeed with his next attack.’