Siren by Annemarie Neary

Author:Annemarie Neary
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House

13

There was no way Róisín was going to Dundalk. She wasn’t going to school that week either. Her hand was in agony. Ma tried to make her go to the doctor, but she couldn’t think how to explain what had happened. It started to feel like the world was ending. They said that soon there might be no electricity and people would be living on cold soup and cornflakes. She began to carry Da’s wallet with her everywhere. She wanted to be ready so that if the chance came, she could take it. As it happened, the chance came crawling after her, all the way down Bangalore Street. Uncle, in yet another car.

‘Hop in,’ he said.

She was scared, but she got in anyway. She was wrecked from lack of sleep on account of the finger throbbing all night long, never letting her forget Celia and her burns.

When she was settled in the back of the seat, Uncle turned off the ignition. He spoke to her through the rear-view mirror. She was getting used to that. She couldn’t see his mouth – just his eyes, and they were bloodshot. She was expecting an apology, but she didn’t get one.

‘Forget Dundalk. There’s been a change of plan. We’ve had enough drama with Dolores.’

She wanted to ask what was up with Dolores, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention the name, any more than she’d walk under a ladder. ‘You’ll get your ticket out. Not down South though, nor England either. We’ve too many fish to fry over there.’ He was fumbling away under the passenger seat, and then he pulled out something black.

‘You don’t mind a wee hood, do you? I’ll stop round the corner and you can put it on and get down behind the front seat.’

‘If I’m not going to Dundalk, then –’

‘You got lucky.’

She saw that he wasn’t joking, though that didn’t mean he was telling the truth.

A Saracen came alongside, while a little way ahead a reversing lorry was holding up the traffic.

‘Fucken eejit,’ said Uncle. He kept clicking his ring against the steering wheel in time to the indicator.

And then she remembered what Lonergan had said about Uncle being a head-the-ball. She was learning when to be scared and she was scared now. Of course she wouldn’t be let out of Belfast just like that. A ticket out costs a load of money. Way more than a bullet. She went to open the door, but he’d thought of that already. It’s not like they were in some deserted street, though. There were plenty of other cars around. If she banged on the window. If she yelled her head off.

The Saracen had pulled in ahead of them now. Two soldiers sat at the back with their rifles dipped out into Belfast. She thought she saw a hand waving at her from the darkness inside. Automatically, she waved back – a frantic, childish little wave, as if polishing a pane of glass. Uncle glanced up at the rear-view mirror, and his face changed.

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