John Brady - A stone of the heart

Minogue remembered coming home from the hospital. There were neighbours in, tea and cake and whisky. Everything had been taken care of. It was as if he had just been married, Daithi and Iseult were serious and solicitous. Things had changed. There was new china out on the table. There were new bedspreads and sheets and a bottle of Redbreast in the cabinet below. It was only then that Minogue had realised, quite neutrally as he sat in the deck-chair beside the rhubarb, that he had nearly died. He had prepared a list that day which ran to one hundred and eighty-three items:

4. I will not hate my brother Mick for supporting the IRA.

5. I will not cause Kathleen to worry, so I'll accept the transfer out.

12. I will kiss Daithi and Iseult daily, at least once, even in public.

25. I will accompany Kathleen down the pier as often as she requests.

57. I will continue to be a republican in spite of this.

59. I will visit the National Gallery at least once a week and I will see each painting afresh.

114. I will not lean upon the church.

136. I will live in Dublin as long as Kathleen wants to.

147. I will not treat young people as upstarts

160. I will learn to play Ravel's Pavane on the piano.

Minogue lived again.

"They put me on a case. It's a murder investigation."

Herlighy, the psychiatrist, didn't say anything. Minogue resisted saying more. He let the silence last for a minute.

"To see if I'm serviceable, I suppose. To see if I'm the full round of the clock again. I'm to start this afternoon," Minogue added.

"Can you do it, do you feel?" Herlighy asked.

"Yes. I'm not that leery about it really. They've given me a free hand so far as I can make out," Minogue replied.

It was toward the end of the session. Time had passed quickly for Minogue. He was aware of the hidden expectation that he should talk. That went against his habits and it irritated him frequently. Nonetheless he saw the use of being here.

"And the sleep?" Herlighy asked.

"Oh great. The odd time I wake up early but sure that's normal. If I can use that word. I understand it's not in vogue."

Herlighy smiled briefly.

"You deserve a lot of credit for that, Matt, that you're doing so much," Herlighy said slowly.

Minogue laughed to hide his embarrassment and pleasure.

"Ah sure, time and tide, you know."

"Well, I'm sure you know how much resistance there is to getting proper advice as you have done."

"The wife's idea," Minogue rejoined quickly. "She knows what the score is. She had it herself years ago. I used to think that I should have gone to the sessions with her, you know. I think I was too mad though, and I didn't know it. I shouldn't say mad, I suppose. More like I was raging. Wouldn't listen to anyone. Not much help to Kathleen, I expect, no. But… that's done with."

"The first child?" Herlighy said.

"Yes," Minogue said softly.

Minogue and Herlighy were walking slowly around Merrion Square. They had stepped out from the psychiatrist's office at Minogue's request. They kept to the outer route where the paths were closest to the railings. The railings were quite buried by the shrubs and trees. Merrion Square held its Georgian grace to all four sides. As the two men walked slowly along the path, views of the eighteenth-century houses emerged between the trees. Here a row of windows, ivy cossetting railings which formed balconies on some, there a door at once simple and refined.

As usual, Minogue did the leading. He was walking slower today, Herlighy noticed. Minogue had not hesitated to ask for an 'out' day today. On his first visit to Herlighy's office, Minogue had gazed out the long windows onto the square. He had been surprised when Herlighy had simply asked him at the next session:

"Do you want to go out there? There's no need for us to be in here at all."

Minogue had been amused too, but not suspicious.

"You mean it's all right to be out there? I thought you had to be in a room, like going to confession."

"Interesting idea. No. I find it helps," Herlighy had replied.

Herlighy was still puzzled. On the one hand, Minogue seemed bound up, complete and self-assured all these months. Then he was speculative and yearning, even playful sometimes. Must play hell with him, having to work as a cop: 'unsuited' written all over him.

Minogue seemed to be thriving, despite the trauma after the explosion. Had he been faking it? Why did he seek out these sessions then? What did he want to tell? Herlighy still believed in Minogue's need to confess. Guilt was the motor for this, survivor guilt. There was some other story coming through, like a descant, but still faint however. Some old story in Minogue was starting to talk again.

Herlighy often felt nervous with Minogue. He felt that Minogue was ready to confront something soon. Oddly, he also found himself looking forward to their sessions. He had begun hypnosis with Minogue five sessions back. For a cop, Minogue was neither suspicious nor hostile.

"How's your list coming along?" Herlighy asked.

"Great, so it is. Once you get over the first ten or so, you can't stop. I think I could go on to a thousand," Minogue replied.

"Good," Herlighy said.

"I'm working on a few of them actually, bit by bit. Funny, I have the craving for a smoke again," Minogue added.

They walked on in silence.

"Some of them are hard, but I'm doing all right," Minogue murmured.

Herlighy's eyebrows went up, and he slowed the pace so Minogue would notice.

"With the children, like. I'm more… more: I shouldn't say 'physical.' More direct, like. I always wanted to be. You were definitely right about that, I can tell you," Minogue said.

Herlighy noted Minogue's embarrassment. They resumed their walk, under the trees.

Just after eleven o clock, Agnes McGuire arrived unannounced at the door of Minoifue's office. She stood in the threshold. "I'm Agnes McGuire. You were looking for me." Minogue was taken aback. He stood quickly, his mind alive with details. Her accent carried up the ends of words and phrases and it added what southerners mistook for earnestness. A soft hiss on the s, a changing of vowels.

Agnes McGuire had dark red hair and a pale face. Her eyes had red edges to them. The centres were gentian. Thin hands joined in front of a handknit cardigan. In a sense which shocked him, Minogue abruptly decided that Agnes McGuire was somehow used to grieving.

"Will you sit down please, Miss McGuire?"

"Agnes will do," she said.

"And you can call me Matt if you wish. Agnes, I'll be asking you questions which you may find very trying. I don't need to tell you that we want to get to the bottom of this thing as quickly as possible and although part will be painful to you, I trust you believe that it'll be worth something in the end. Every little thing counts."

"Well, do you think it was a madman who did this, Mr Minogue?" said Agnes.

"Because, to be quite frank, I don't think it was at all. That is what bothers me the most, you know," she continued.

Minogue decided to level with her.

"I can tell you that we don't have much to go on right now. It's not one of those things that results in an arrest within a matter of hours. Do you know how much of this kind of thing is done by another member of the family, a relative, a falling out among friends? This young man's background suggests none of that at all. Unfortunately Jarlath's parents are too distraught to recall a thing with any clarity, but, to be honest, I expect they will have little to offer to help find a resolution. If you follow my reasoning, or should I say, my speculation, I'm thinking of what happened as an event in this area, not just geographically, but in this part of Jarlath's life. College, his life here. Does that sound a bit cracked to you, Agnes?"