Robert Wilson - Eureka Street - A Novel of Ireland Like No Other

'Nah, she dumped him.'

`Poor old Jake,' laughed Septic, 'he's always been more dumped upon than dumping.'

Deasely had been silent. He spoke now with some authority. 'I know what's wrong with him.' Furtively, he fished in his inside pocket. He pulled out a copy of the Belfast News Letter free sheet, a soundly Protestant newspaper that had been printing soundly Protestant news for two hundred and fifty years. He passed it to Chuckie.'Read that'

Chuckle read the headline:

SECRETARY OF STATE MAKES STATEMENT ON OTG

Yesterday the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, Ronald Moncur, voiced his concerns about the possible emergence of a new terrorist force in Northern Ireland.

'We have no definite information about who this new group might be or what the letters OTG even stand for.The police and the security forces are treat ing the matter with utmost seriousness. It could all be a harmless prank but we will monitor the situation. Anyone with information about this matter should telephone the confidential telephone number and assist the police with their enquiries.'

`What's this got to do with Jake?' asked Chuckie, mystified.

`What do you mean?' asked Deasely. He looked at the paper. `No, no,' he said impatiently. `Underneath. Read that.'

Chuckie read:

Republican agitators have accused the RUC of conducting a campaign of police brutality against a South Belfast man. The accusations concern Jake Jackson, a 29-year-old debt counsellor and Roman Catholic. Allegedly, Mr Jackson was seriously assaulted earlier this month by a number of uniformed but off-duty police officers who broke into his home in the early hours of the morning. Sources claimed that Mr Jackson's injuries were serious and that he is currently too frightened to talk to the press.

Security spokesman for the just Us party said:

`This is a typical breach of human rights by the parliamentary forces of the British Crown. The Catholic community has historically been subjected to just these kinds of abuses. Just Us has been accused of being the political wing of the IRA. With this incident we can see again that the Royal Ulster Constabulary is merely a semi-legal group of Loyalist vigilantes.This young man is obviously too disturbed to come forward. Just Us extends its protection to Mr Jackson.'

The RUC said last night that they were aware of no such incident and had received no complaints from any member of the public. Despite this, Amnesty International have said that they will be setting up an investigation. Mr Jackson was last night unavailable for comment.

'Shit,' said Chuckie. He passed the paper round to the intrigued others.

Jake came back from the bathroom. 'I hate that,' he announced.

'What?' said Chuckie nervously.

'Ungrammatical toilet signs. Male and Female Toilets, it says in there'

The others were still reading the newspaper.

'So?' Chuckie persisted.

'Male and Female Toilets? Should we expect that one type is taller and hairier than the other?'

The waitress came and slapped some cutlery down on their table. Jake glanced at her with helpless admiration. Chuckie tried to think of something to say.

But Septic Ted read too quickly. 'Hey,' he said, 'can I have your autograph?'

Chuckie blushed.

'What are you talking about?'Jake snapped.

Septic Ted passed the paper over to Jake. Jake glanced at the story and his jaw tightened. The waitress looked on with new interest and even craned her head to try to read the paper.

'Thank you; said Chuckie,'that'll be fine.'

She moved off sulkily.

'You're famous, man,' said Septic.

'It's not funny,' said Jake.

'Is this because Chuckie dried up.

Jake looked at him unkindly.'Aoirghe?'

'Yes.'

'What do you think?'

There was an uncomfortable pause. Septic smiled. 'Look at the waitresses,' he said.

They all looked round towards the till. They could see that their waitress was telling the other girls about Jake. She had a copy of the News Letter and they were all reading the offending story. Jake groaned.

`Don't knock it,' said Septic. `You might score some freedomfighting pussy.'

`Give it a rest, Septic,' chided Chuckie.

`Who's Aoirghe?' asked Slat.

Chuckie gulped. `She's Max's flatmate. Jake and she met through me' He glanced at Jake's black-hat features. `They didn't really hit it off.'

`So what has she got to do with this story?' asked Deasely.

Chuckie smiled eyelessly. `It's a long story,' he said. He started telling them about it.

Two minutes in, the waitress arrived at their table with the food they had ordered. She delivered their meals in two trips. Second time around, she inclined her head and gave them a muttered and insincere, `Enjoy your meal.' Then something strange happened. She bent close to Jake and looked intently, piercingly into his face. Chuckie leant closer to hear what she would say. To his amazement he heard her say his name. `Chuckie Lurgan,' she said. `Chuckie Lurgan.' Then, satisfied, replete, she walked away.

`Did that girl just say my name?' he asked Jake.

They all laughed.

`No, she Jake said something that sounded like Chuckie Ar La.

`What?

`It's Irish for `our day will come'. It's a nationalist rallying cry.'

`Chuckie Ar La?'

`Yeah, Tiocfaidh ar La. It's the slogan of the just Us party.!

Chuckle's friends looked at each other.

'We never told you, Chuckie, but that's the funny thing about your name, what with you being a Protestant and all.'

`Your name sounds like a supremacist republican slogan.'

`Yeah, it's like a Jewish guy being called Deutschland iiberAlles'

`It's a laugh.'

They stopped.

He looked at them unhappily. `Let's eat,' he said.

The rest of the meal had passed mostly without incident. Jake had been mutinous and the supernumerary political attentions of the grumpy waitress did not assist his mood. Tick had astoundingly come back to the cafe with a bunch of flowers for Chuckle. There had been a big fuss on the door as the manager had tried to refuse him entry and then Chuckie had to do some very imaginative talking when the boys asked him why Tick had brought him flowers. He told them several things, which did not include the fact that he had given Tick eight hundred pounds earlier.

The next day Chuckie had a big lunch meeting. He'd slipped off to London a couple of weeks before to try to find out if he could hide his ill-gotten money in Cayman Island funny banks or discreet Swiss drug-dealer accounts. He had met a fancy financial adviser who had recommended Luke Findlater to him. Findlater was some kind of posh money man who helped companies expand, contract, upsize and downsize. Chuckie, Protestant Belfast, had imagined that he was just some guy who sacked working-class people but his adviser told him that he had other skills.

Amazingly, said the adviser, Findlater lived in Northern Ireland. He still worked all over the financial world but he chose to live in the wilds of Ulster. Chuckie considered being offended by the man's surprise at this decision. He told Chuckie he would get Findlater on his case when Chuckie returned to Belfast. Chuckie paid the man twelve hundred pounds for telling him that someone else would do the work.

As he prepared to meet this man, Chuckie was nervous. Englishmen always made him feel below-stairs. Most of the Englishmen he had met had been working-class Northerners with berets and automatic weapons but, like many people, he still clung to a notion of Englishness based on Kenneth More in old war movies.

It sounded as though Findlater was a representative of this breed. Chuckie's adviser had told him that Findlater was an aristocrat, a baronet's son or something like that. Chuckie put on his suit and unwrapped a new shirt. With an imperfect understanding of the old-school-tie business, he even put on the orange and blue striped tie of Fane Street School for Methodist Boys.