Live to Tell (8 page)

“What pub?”

Jurgen looked at me in horror. “Tell them. If there is anything you know, you must tell them.”

“Aidan asked me not to,” I tried to whisper to him, but it was too late. They all stared at me.

“It was nothing, we went there for a drink and these men, they wanted money from us. We didn’t have any. That was all. Some kind of fight broke out; it was nothing to do with us and we left.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. When was this?”

“Ages ago. New Year’s Eve. Aidan didn’t know any of them. They were asking everybody.”

“Would you recognise them again?”

“No. I don’t know, maybe. But Aidan wouldn’t want me to. He would be too afraid.”

I thought about us running from that pub. I was laughing and he was in despair. He must have known the risks and I was too stupid to even listen to him. How could the men get away with it? Openly, in a London pub! And what about me? Would I be next? I flopped forward and sat with my head in my hands, too shocked to say anything else.

“Were you there with them,” the thickset policeman asked Jurgen.

He shook his head. “I didn’t live here then,” he said.

Probably thinking “thank God,” I thought. He must think we are a right pair. I knew it was my fault. I made him go. I shoved the man, and now this had happened. “Pigs,” I cried out loud.

“I’d like you to look at some photographs. See if you can pick him out. Would you do that for me?”

I nodded mutely, thinking, if I see him I’ll have to leave the area. I won’t be safe. I felt as if I had the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The next morning, after a miserable night, I was awakened by Jurgen, who was knocking on my bedroom door. I peered out to find him brandishing a piece of paper.

“We have a post communication,” he said.

“Oh,” I replied, trying to engage my sleep addled brain, “a telegram.”

He must have been in the bathroom when it came, because all he wore was a towel around his waist. As he had worn nothing at all, when we discovered Aidan, the morning before, I was getting quite used to his bare torso.

“It says, “arriving today”. I don’t understand.”

I took the sheet from him and scrutinised it. It was signed Gabriel Monahan. “It must be Aidan’s dad,” I said. “Do you think he wants to stay here?”

He shrugged and heaved a sigh. “Another day with no college.”

“I know. I’m going to get into trouble if I carry on like this.”

“We had better clean. I have bleach.”

By noon, when the doorbell sounded we had cleaned the place, within an inch of its life, and tidied ourselves up. I put on a plain navy dress with padded shoulders and a large cream floppy bow at the neck. Jurgen wore a tan coloured sweater over his jeans.

I opened the door to find a short portly man, wearing a three piece suit with a gold watch chain, and a rather bird like woman standing beside him. She looked very old fashioned to me, in a tweed jacket with a velvet collar and a hat.

She sniffed and the man glared at me. “Can we come in,” he asked. Our son is Aidan Monahan.”

Jurgen stepped forward and shook their hands. “We did not know two people would come. Will you be staying here?”

“No. We’re booked into the Ladbroke Hotel in St John’s Wood,” the man said, stepping forward. “But we wanted to come here first before checking in. What has happened to Aidan? Do you know? We got a garbled version from the police.”

They took it in turns to glare at me as I went through the rigmarole again of denying all knowledge of what had befallen their son and tried to prepare them for the state of his injuries. I felt emotional but tried to contain it. Jurgen said again, how popular he was. When I told them what the policeman had said about the IRA, I thought the man was going to hit me. He went red in the face and clenched his fists.

“My son is not involved with the Irish Republican Army,” he spluttered.

“We know that,” Jurgen interjected, “He is a nice boy, but they say it does not matter. They can attack anyone they do not like. I am sorry. I know it is madness, but this is the truth. He was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time, as you say.”

Out of duty, we took them to the hospital but did not go in with them. “They can get a taxi back to their hotel,” I said quietly to Jurgen when they walked off. “Ungrateful pigs. Didn’t even thank us. Come on, let’s go home.”

Fortunately, none of the photographs that the police showed me looked like the collectors in the pub, and this lifted some of the gloom away. After college each day I visited Aidan in hospital. I tried to re-assure him, but conversation was difficult, conducted in whispers. He had become paranoid and was sure that his assailants would finish him off, given half a chance.

This had an effect on me. I was afraid to be out in the dark, and used buses for even short journeys. It was costing me a fortune. The policeman had asked me to be on the look-out for the men in the pub and I found myself scrutinising every face. I must have looked a bit deranged. People I looked at stared back warily at me.

By visiting the hospital every night, I maintained a distance from Jurgen who went out every evening, but he no longer brought girls back and I did not know if he still saw Emma. I went early to my own room each night, afraid that, alone together, our newly found closeness would become even more intimate. I was usually in bed before he came home. I felt very lonely and sometimes lay awake for hours in the dark. The piece of floor between our rooms that Aidan had alluded to when Aunt Jess made her visit, drew me like a magnet but I was determined not to cross it, even though I wanted the solace I knew he could provide.

The next weekend came and I got up early to read a paper that I needed to study as part of my course work. I was seated at the kitchen table when Jurgen joined me. I looked up anxiously.

“How are you now? I haven’t seen you all week,” he said. “I must go to visit Aidan again. I thought this afternoon. Would you like to come with me?”

I nodded. “I’ve been every day, but he doesn’t seem much better. He must be in a lot of pain. I’m so worried about him. Mentally he seems crushed.”

He looked into my eyes. “What about you? Are you okay now?”

I nodded again. “I’ll survive,” I said.

“And,” he hesitated. “What of your bed gown. Can it be used?”

“No. It’s impossible to get bloodstains out completely. I had to throw it away.”

He sighed and looked dejected. “That is such a waste. It was a beautiful er gown. You looked very beautiful in it. I had not seen it before. Very beautiful! Would you like some toast?”

That night I slept particularly badly. I tossed and turned, thinking about him in the room opposite. I could hear him moving restlessly as well. I wondered what would happen if I knocked on his door, told him I was frightened. I tried in the dark to weigh the pros and cons of sleeping with him but my mind couldn’t deal with it. Eventually I fell asleep and slept in late.

“What do you mean, you have to move out? You can’t leave me here, all on my own. I won’t be able to cope.”

A few days had passed and this evening, Jurgen and I were both at home at the same time.

“I don’t want to. It’s Emma. She wants us to have a flat of our own.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes and looked embarrassed.

“She could move in here. Share with you.” I felt so desperate at his news that anything was better than being left on my own.

He looked down. “Really, it is not so simple, as I said. She does not trust me alone with you. The truth is that she is jealous, I am afraid. And if I don’t do this I may lose her. I do not want that. Every day I have what you call an interrogation, what do we talk about, what do we do? I tell her I hardly see you but she does not believe me. She is afraid we spend too much time alone together at night. I have told her that nothing has happened with you and me but, well, as I said, she does not trust me to be with you.”

“I’m sorry, that I’ve caused you this trouble. If you were my boyfriend I would probably feel the same way. I do understand, really.”

I certainly could understand. It was an unusual circumstance that had forced us into this dangerous situation and knowing how I felt, it seemed reasonable that Emma was worried. I was sure, that if I crossed that patch of carpet to his room, I would not be turned away and guessed that she knew that too. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Please don’t fret about it,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “It’s okay really. Someone at college said they might want to move in. I’ll have a word with them.”

I think he knew I was lying, but it was a good get out clause for both of us. What had happened wasn’t his fault and I could hardly expect him to give up his girl friend for me.

“Is it okay if I move out next Saturday then? I’ll tell her, and then she will be more content. Off my case, as you say.” He gave me a smile and I wanted to give him a hug, but was afraid of what it might lead to.

On Saturday, I planned to stay out of the way but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He packed his possessions into the car, and we sat down for a last cup of coffee together. He was wearing a chunky Aran sweater and looked gorgeous.

“I want to say something,” I said. “I want to say thank you for what you have done here, and what you have been to me. You are the best friend I could have had in these difficult circumstances, and you are the best lover, I never had.”

He looked puzzled, then recognised the pun and smiled at me.

“I don’t, er,” I continued. “I’m not very experienced with men. I don’t often sleep over, or, er, have one night stands.” Not very often, anyway, I thought, remembering my night in West Kensington.

“I noticed,” he said quietly and watched me as I cleared away the mugs.

“Time to go,” I said, trying to sound breezy and stood on tip toe to kiss his cheek. He looked reluctant but I opened the front door and pushed him out, closing it after him.

In the empty apartment I felt gloomy and was hard pressed not to cry. I knew I was going to miss Jurgen and was afraid of being alone. The apartment was at ground level and suddenly seemed very vulnerable. I paced around checking the rooms. The place was quiet and I sat down again at the table wondering what to do with the day. Just one good thing has come out of all this, I thought. I’ve stopped thinking about Joe.

Ten minutes later the door bell rang, giving me a jolt. Nervously I went to open it, scared it might be an unwelcome visitor, but Jurgen stood there again, a bunch of tulips in his hand.

“I got these for you,” he said. “From that shop in Elgin Avenue.”

They were beautiful, orange, purple, and yellow, and I felt overcome.

“No one’s ever bought me flowers before,” I said, biting my lip. “Thank you.”

“May I come in?”

I held the door open for him and he went through to the kitchen again and sat down. Carrying his tulips, I put them in the only vase we had, filled it with water and placing them in the centre of the table, sat down opposite him.

“I must not leave like this, you will be at risk. I will have to tell her. I can’t go. I have decided.”

“No. We lived here without harm for a month before you came. I don’t believe there is a risk. Aidan won’t tell me what happened, but if I’m careful, stick to main roads, daylight, I shall be okay. And the nights get lighter all the time. Honestly, I shall be safe. Really. Anyway, I won’t be on my own for long. He’s coming home.”