Ahoy for Joy (16 page)

Anna was still sitting motionless on the settee in a daze of lost thoughts, her eyes reddened with tears, commanded by an anguished heart, when she heard the tyres of Cees' car grating on the gravel drive outside. Her senses suddenly restored, she jumped up urgently, patting her swollen face and trying to regain something of her usual composure. This was not in order to conceal anything from her husband, but so that she could quickly reassure him that there was not
actually
anything wrong. The children were all fine, that would be his first concern. She too was fine in herself. She would be able to explain to him the reason for her condition, but she would need sufficient equanimity to do so, otherwise he would be frantic with fear if she could hardly speak through tearful distress.

She met Cees at the door, quickly mollifying him with assurances, hugging him and holding him close while whispering in his ear;

“It's alright. Everything is fine. Every
one
is fine, she emphasised. I just got some bad news from long ago and it is upsetting, but it's nothing more than that.”

Cees pushed her gently away as soon as he felt able, clutching her firmly on the upper arms and focusing his eyes on hers. Anna felt reassurance in this. He was her friend as well as her husband and lover and she trusted him to be there for her. She would tell him everything now. Michael had never been a secret, he just hadn't been relevant to their lives together, but now he was, at least a little.

She led him to the lounge where she had been sitting for some time. Cees sat beside her, placing the laptop on the coffee table, seemingly unaware of the message it held. Anna recounted her story. She started from the beginning; the meeting in Morecambe, the letters and poems, her invitation to visit and finally her assumption that when the letters stopped he had just got bored or found someone else. Now she had discovered why.

“You know how fickle things are when you're that age,” she reminded Cees, “I just presumed he lost interest and it was time to move on.”

Perhaps Cees may have felt a little pang of jealousy. Perhaps he may have considered that if Michael had lived, he may never have met Anna. Perhaps they may never have married and the wonderful life they enjoyed, may never have been. If he did feel any of this, he didn't show it.

“I did love him though,” she ventured. She paused to gauge her husband's reaction, but he just looked intently at her. She had considered not saying it, certainly not using those exact words, but she had denied Michael all those years ago and was not in any mood to do so again. If it caused a few waves, then so be it. She could reassure Cees later. She couldn't do anything about Michael.

Cees smiled encouragingly and Anna bit her lip once more, pouting a feigned smile in return.

“Well is there anything more on the internet about this young man?” he said at last, the rational scientist in him coming to the fore.

He lifted the laptop from the table and awoke it from its sleep. Once again the cooling fans whirred to life as he scrolled through the results, running through page after page. “You would think there would be some report of the incident itself,” he commented as he speed read quickly through, “but I can't find anything. Still, these events really pre-date the internet, so they probably only put snippets of information on line.” Then he scrolled back once again to the beginning to check further the most relevant results.

“There are a few Michael Coglans around,” he commented at last, “one or two in the States with some sort of Irish connection, nothing much more relating to Belfast though. He paused a little. “Here's one though,” he said opening up the page, “something about schools in Ireland.” He read through a little, muttering the occasional phrase;
agreement reached that English literature curriculum…
His voice trailed off. …
now to include modern Irish historical content.
“Ah no,” he tutted, “that's from 2002. Too recent.”

Cees scrolled further. “OK, here's another. Some political thing, not sure. Something about the
Good Friday Agreement
. I think that is the peace initiative they agreed, but that is also too recent, just a few years back. What did he do for a living?”

“He was a
school boy
,” retorted Anna, showing the first emotion that wasn't conciliatory since Cees had arrived home.

“I'm sorry Anna. I'm just trying to help.”

“Oh, I don't know, what's the point,” said Anna softly. “I know now, that's all. I'm glad I know and it is upsetting, it is painful, but maybe it would be better left alone.”

“Well it's up to you, but Anna,” he paused a little, gripping her once more on the arms and smiling softly as he looked deeply into her reddened eyes, “though you've been crying half the afternoon by the looks of it. Your blouse is soaked through.”

He indicated at her clothing, damp and sticking to her body in places. She looked down at her herself and smiled back at him, taking on the role of the child in the relationship. He was right. The tears had cooled and her clothing now stuck uncomfortably to her body
. Oh goodness, what must I look like
, she thought suddenly, patting her reddened face and pushing the hair that had fallen forward, backwards so she could see him properly. She mustered another smile.

“It does sound like you have some unfinished business though. Maybe you should try and find out a little more, contact his relatives or something.”

“His relatives are all dead,” snapped Anna, “didn't you read; his Mother and Father were both killed at the same time.”

Cees paused, taken aback a little but not accustomed to backing down from any situation at the first sign of difficulty. “Well, there must be somebody.” He hesitated, only briefly, collecting his thoughts and mentally evaluating what he was about to say. He quickly read the article again himself. “If you do want to find out some more, I guess we could contact the newspaper that this article is from;
The Belfast Telegraph
. Journalists hoard information like autumn squirrels hoard nuts only, especially with historic stuff like this, they're usually delighted to share what they have. If you want, I can send out an email to this newspaper tomorrow. If anyone has any further details, I guess it would probably be them.”

He paused looking lovingly at her. The institution of marriage is successful for many reasons. One of these is the ability of the partners to provide an infrastructure of support in crises that their spouse would never be able to muster themselves.

“Ok?”

“Ok,” she replied

It was late the following afternoon when Cees remembered his undertaking. The Belfast Telegraph was easy enough to find, the availability of contact being among the most important requirements for the operation of a successful newspaper anywhere in the world. Cees sent a simple email, without much in the way of facts, just referencing the article he and Anna had read the previous day and asking if, despite the passage of time, they had perhaps any further information about Michael Coglan.

The following morning there was an email in his in box:

After lunch that day, Cees was just about to go down to the laboratory to check progress on a short experiment he and some others had been carrying out over the last few days when the phone rang. It was Sarah Thompson. She had a strong Belfast accent and talked quickly interspersing her speech with apologies and comments on what she had just said or what she thought Cees might be about to say.

“Oh, Mr…eh, yes, Bowmeester. Thanks so much… thanks so much for getting in touch. Now, I am sure you're busy, well of course you're busy, everybody's busy these days, but I thought I would call and see, well, it's like this you see. The nurse, that's this Bernie O'Callaghan. Well, you know that;
of course
you know that. Well, I can say that she is still very much alive and well and living in Belfast. So, yes, yes that is the good news. That
is indeed
good news.”

There was a short pause and Cees could see her in his mind's eye shuffling papers in the sort of confusion her speech conveyed.

“Well, the thing is this,…er, Mr…Bowmeester. Look, yes, we have tried to talk to her before about Michael Coglan. Well, you see, that is not easy. This lady, well she is retired many years now. No, no, no of course not, yes, she is still, well, how should I say it, well, yes compos mentis as they say, well you know what I mean. Yes, she's fine, but she is quite reclusive. Not on the telephone, well at least we don't have a phone number for her, maybe she has a phone, indeed she may well have a phone, but we can't find a number for her. Maybe she has a mobile. Well, I'm really not sure…”

She sighed, perhaps aware of her digression and took a long inward breath ready for her next prolonged sentence while Cees quickly summarised in his mind what he could understand.

“Well, the point is this. A few years back when this story broke, we did try to interview Miss O'Callaghan, but she really wouldn't say much. Well, that is our job, to find out the facts and she seemed to be the only person who really knew the boy at all well, only she always declined to say anything much other than that she had spent some time talking to him in hospital before he died.”

Cees rather considered that twenty-seven years was more than a few years back but kept listening.

“The point is this, Mr Bowmeester. Well, look here's the point. After I sent you the email earlier, well, I just got in my car and went up there and knocked on her door. She lives quite near the hospital, not far really. I had never met her before, you see, I am quite new to the paper, but well look, she won't talk to us journalists, but well, I mentioned you and your wife and it seems she
would
be quite willing to meet you.

There was a long pause. “Mr Bowmeester, are you still there?”

“Yes, yes,” replied Cees. “Meet us? What in Belfast?” asked Cees, incredulously.

“Well, yes,” replied Sarah. “I don't suppose you would be willing to come over here and talk to her. Would you?”

Cees was a little taken aback. A visit to Ireland was not something he had been considering any time soon.

“Well, we just wanted to know a little more about him. I'm not sure it's really that important.” He paused. “OK, look, I'll think about it. Let me talk to my wife.”

Anna was in the kitchen when Cees arrived home that evening. She had been amusing herself cooking rhubarb into a rich paste and had already rolled the pastry out to make a delicious tart with a sour tang that she always claimed was an antidote to summer colds. She heard Cees arrive, but with her hands covered in wet pastry and flour, was rather indisposed to give him his usual welcoming kiss. Cees leant against the jamb of the kitchen door, watching her casually for a moment. He marvelled at how beautiful she looked with her sleeves rolled up, stirring the pot, which emitted a sharp acidic odour into the air, with one hand while cutting the pastry to shape with the other.

Even in her melancholy state she retained a classic beauty and stirred a feeling of love and cherishment in his heart that was as alive today as it had been on their wedding day.
Poor Michael really missed out
, he thought to himself rather irreverently. Still she seemed in better form now. Sure, her news had been a shock, but she had already cheered up quite a bit the previous evening. Although he could see she was thoughtful, she smiled broadly when she saw him as the early evening light shone through the thin mist of flour in the kitchen air.

“Well, this Michael guy. You know, I do think I have something to report,” he began.

Anna looked up earnestly.

“Well, I had written an email to the newspaper as promised and this morning I got a reply from a journalist there. Actually, her email said she was the assistant editor. Apparently Michael became very close to a nurse at the hospital during his last days and reading between the lines a little, she thinks maybe he confided in her in some way. The funny thing is, she is retired and pretty reclusive and won't usually talk to anyone, but she says, she
will
talk to you.”

“Great,” said Anna, “did you get a number? Maybe we can we give her a call.”

Cees smiled. It was a smug smile she knew well. It was a smile that said he knew something that she didn't. Anna looked at him intently unsure whether to join his grin or exercise caution towards the plan she figured was coming. “Well, that's just the point,” he said, “she's not on the phone. Sarah, that's the journalist's name, suggested we go there and meet with her face to face!”

“What!” exclaimed Anna, “In Ireland?”

“Well yes, in Ireland.”

“No way. We can't just go and jump on a plane to Belfast.”

“Well, that's exactly the point, we
can
.” replied Cees. “It's really quite simple. There are direct flights with Easyjet. You just buy a ticket, book a hotel and go. Such is the modern world my darling.” He smiled openly.

“No! What about Esther? When would we go?”

“Esther can stay with your Mum for a few days. If we went on Friday, we could easily be back by Sunday. They can do without me at work for one day.”

“No. I don't want to go raking it all up again. It was a shock, I was upset, grieving I suppose, but really I'm fine now. I don't see what's to be gained.”

Cees looked intently at his wife. “Look, it's up to you of course, but I think you should go. You were obviously very close to this guy. Maybe you just need to go and have a look, see where he lived or whatever. Maybe talk to this woman. Sure, why not. Maybe he mentioned you before he died. I don't know, but you won't rest, not really until you have all this sorted in your head.”

Anna bit her lip in thought once more.

“Besides, we could do with a few days away, just the two of us. And, Ireland, well, I've never been, nor have you, unless you have some more secrets you're not sharing.” Anna smiled. “This'll be good for you. It'll be good for us. You'll see. You see Anna, I'm your husband and I love you very much, even if I was second choice!” He smiled broadly once more as she threw a flour covered tea towel that emitted a white puff when it hit him. They both laughed. He took her in his arms and held her close and as he did, a little tear escaped from her eye and ran down her cheek making a bright narrow track in the film of flour on her skin. “Won't we have to pay top prices on
Easyjet
if we book this late?” she said.

So arrangements were made. The next day, Cees got in touch with Sarah Thompson once more, who seemed delighted with the news. She said she would call with Miss O'Callaghan again and try to agree an exact time for their visit.