Second Chance at the Belfast Guesthouse by Anne Doughty

Author:Anne Doughty [Doughty, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

The first week of October 1964 was one that people in Northern Ireland would remember for a very long time. The streets of Belfast appeared nightly on television, the cameras angled on burning vehicles, flaring petrol bombs, angry crowds of stone-throwers and heavily armed police. It was not only the residents of the quiet, damp and peaceful Ulster countryside that could not believe their eyes. Millions around the world now watched what the media set before them. For the first time in its brief history, Ulster was international news.

Clare and Andrew viewed the rioting only once, slipping into the back of the small television room and standing behind their solitary guest, who sat glued to the set, newspaper and can of beer abandoned by his chair. Afterwards, they made coffee in silence, took it back to the fire in Headquarters before they felt steady enough to say a word. Unlike the night Andrew brought home the news of the assault upon the Republican Headquarters there was no distress between them. The intervening days had given them time to think through what was happening. Tonight they needed but a short time to reach their conclusions.

‘We’re not pretending it hasn’t happened,’ Clare said firmly. ‘And we’re not pretending it’s not as bad news for us as for everyone else. But we’re not going to depress ourselves by watching what goes on in one small area of a large city. We’ll travel hopefully, as you say, until we see how things go. We won’t give up unless we have to. Is it a deal?’

‘It’s a deal, pardner,’ Andrew said, managing his Wild West accent well enough to make her smile.

They sat silent for a little, Clare thinking how comforting and friendly the flames were on such a miserable wet night. She tried to push out of mind the roaring flames of a burning bus, the crash of breaking glass, the faces distorted with anger, and the violence spilling all around the wet streets of a city where she had spent four years of her life.

‘You still haven’t told me about the latest Grand Plan,’ Andrew said suddenly, looking up from the fire after he’d added small logs to encourage the cheerful blaze.

‘Where was I when I left off?’ she asked, gathering her straying thoughts, determined not to let herself be distracted again by images about which she could do nothing.

‘Comforts Fund, out of Robert’s Waterworks shares,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve got details of pond liners for you in my briefcase.’

She laughed heartily and shook her head.

‘My dear Andrew, you have few vices, and greed is not one of them, but you only ever shift yourself to get money out of me, or rather, out of our budget, when it’s birds, bees, wildflowers, or some poor wee creature threatened with extinction. Did you know that?’

‘Sorry,’ he said, looking sheepish. ‘You do think it’s a good idea, don’t you?’

‘I think it’s a splendid idea,’ she said reassuringly. ‘You could have a whole lake in the rest of the paddock if I could find the money.

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