The Bogside Boys Page 6

  Celine was forty-six. Her parents had never fully approved of her moving to this troubled town. They hadn’t been able to make it over for the funeral. Peter had never been the man they wanted. They’d wanted a doctor from Auteuil, a lawyer from Neuilly, a captain of industry from the 16th Arrondissement, not a barber from Derry. They never visited. Not for the birth of the boys back in ’51 and not for her husband’s funeral.

  Celine placed the letter back into the envelope and back onto the bedside table. The red-orange light of sunrise was leaking in through a chink in the curtains. She was so used to waking first, seeing him there asleep beside her. His pillow was fresh, unused. The clothes in his closet were neat from where she’d put them away herself. There were no shoes strewn across the bedroom floor, and there were no shirts or ties hanging off the chair at the end of the bed. The room was clean, horribly clean. Silence had replaced the noise of life in the house.

  The house was still quiet an hour later as Celine sat at the kitchen table with her sister. It was a pleasure to speak in French. The boys had been fluent once and could be again, but it was a long time since she’d spoken to them in her language. It felt like home.

  Melissa ate dinner in silence, concentrating on chewing her food. What was the worst that could happen if they knew about Mick? What law said that she couldn’t be with him? Jenny was talking about school, her mother and father’s faces a picture of rapt concentration. Melissa put down her fork, watching her sister’s mouth moving until she realized she was talking to her. Melissa shook her head and asked Jenny to repeat the question, something about a neighbor of theirs. Melissa was short, almost dismissive with her, but then immediately apologized. Her father’s glare was like the rays of the sun through a magnifying glass. She felt it burning through her. The mood was suddenly different now.

  Melissa smiled at him and apologized to Jenny again. Reg began to talk about something else, one of those anecdotes from work he always told. They all laughed, as much from the familiarity of his facial expressions as he told the stories they’d heard before as anything else. As much from the love they felt for him.

  Dinner ended. Melissa volunteered to do the dishes with her mother. What she’d seen was like an open wound inside her. The crushing need to tell someone bobbed to the surface of her mind. She looked across at her mother. Could she trust her not to tell her father? What chance did her relationship with Mick have if she could never tell her parents?

  Melissa’s mother, Carol, had been engaged by the time she was her age. Melissa knew what she was thinking. She was a local busybody, in the nicest possible way. “So, a lot of my friends ask me about you, and why you don’t have a boyfriend, a beautiful young girl like yourself.” She reached through suds and into the murk of the water in the basin, fishing out knives, forks, and spoons.

  Melissa had been deflecting this one for a while. It didn’t seem to matter what she said; her mother kept asking. It seemed so trivial now. What did it matter if she were going out with a Catholic boy from the Bogside when people were being shot down in the streets? Really, what did it matter?

  “Well, I have been seeing someone for a while now.”

  Carol smiled to herself, only looking at the cutlery she was washing. “Thank you for admitting that at last. I’ve had my suspicions for a while.”

  “You have?” Melissa stopped, put the plates down on the sideboard. “How?”

  “A mother notices these things. You think I don’t know you?”

  Melissa smiled and nodded her head. Melissa tried to gauge how much she knew from the smile on her mother’s face, the light in her eyes. She wished she knew everything. She wished everyone did. Melissa peeked into the living room, to make sure her father wasn’t listening. “Does Da know anything?”

  Melissa’s mother shook her head, still smiling. “No, love, men don’t notice things like that. You’ve been so happy, even happier than usual. There’s a look in your eyes. It’s hard to explain, I just knew.”

  Melissa leaned back against the counter. The dark of night had descended outside. There was nothing else to do but tell her. “It’s funny that,” Melissa said and turned around, picking up the plates again. She picked up a kitchen towel to dry them, but they were already dry. She could feel the weight of her mother’s stare, the expectation. There was no avoiding this now. “I’ve been seeing him for a while. His name’s Michael.” The name was neutral, not giving too much away, perhaps she could avoid the details, leave them for another time.

  Carol held her gloved hands out flat to the sides. “And? Where did you meet this Michael?”

  Melissa smiled, as much to herself as outwardly. The memories of that day were a warm, safe place. “I met him on the street, believe it or not.” Her mother was fascinated. “I was walking down by the Guildhall, doing some shopping and he came up to me. I’d dropped my wallet, and he brought it back to me. It’s pretty silly.”

  “It’s not silly at all,” Carol said. “You know when your father first saw me he tripped me up in the restaurant to get my attention.”

  “I know, you told me, how he got past that is beyond me.”

  “With a lot of charms, but enough about us. What about Michael? Where is he from? Is he a local boy? Does he go to college with you?”

  “No, he doesn’t go to college, not yet, anyway. He wants to study engineering, but he’s still saving his money.”

  “And…” Carol said, waving her arms. She didn’t suspect anything. “Is he from around here, do I know his mother?”

  “No, you don’t know his mother.” Melissa felt sweat on her palms although it was quite cold in the kitchen. She glanced around again to make sure her father wasn’t listening.

  “He’s from the Bogside; he’s a Catholic.”

  The smile on Carol’s face was still there, but her eyes betrayed it. “Oh.” She turned around, back towards the washing up, processing what her daughter had said. “So I suppose that’s why you were at the march last Sunday?” Melissa didn’t answer. “Melissa,” her mother began. She seemed to be grasping for the right words. “How long have you been seeing this boy?”

  “Six months now.” Melissa was working scenarios in her mind, wondering how much of the truth she could reveal, how much would be too much. “He’s sweet and…”

  “Where do you see him?” his mother interrupted her.

  “Where we can. I go to see him where he works. He comes to visit me at college.”

  “I’m sure Michael is a wonderful young boy, but I think you need to stop seeing him before things go too far.” Her voice was low but in no way calm.

  “Before things go too far?” Melissa’s whisper bit at the side of her throat. Her father still hadn’t heard them. “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “You were with him on the march last Sunday? The march they’re calling ‘Bloody Sunday’? That was him, wasn’t it?” Melissa could feel the tears welling in her eyes. She nodded, afraid to say more. “What if the soldiers had mistaken you for one of the terrorists they shot that day?”

  “They didn’t shoot any terrorists, none that I saw. I only saw them shooting innocent people.”

  Carol brought her hands out of the water and took off her gloves, throwing them down. “You see what being around these people has done to you, already? Are you siding with them over the government? You’re siding with those…. people?”

  “Why do I have to take sides? Why can’t I just see who I want to see?”

  “Melissa, I’m not telling you who you can and can’t see. I’m just telling you that I’m worried about you, that I’m concerned for your safety, for your life.”

  Melissa stopped herself from saying what felt natural to say, afraid of the truth of what had happened, knowing what it would do to her mother. “What do you want me to do from here, then?”

  “I want you to carefully consider what you’re doing. I want you to carefully consider your father’s feelings, how important our culture is to him and how somethi
ng like this could affect him.” Carol walked toward her daughter, was inches from her as she spoke. “We love you, Melissa, so very much. We just want the best for you.”

  “What about what I want?”

  “You think you know what you want right now, but in a few years time, in a few months time you’ll realize that I was right. There are so many handsome boys around here who’d love to take you out.”

  Melissa thought of Michael, how no one had ever made her feel like he did, his eyes, the kindness in his heart. How could she leave him now when he needed her most? She had seen what had happened on the march. Her parents had not. Lying was her only recourse, for now.

  “I know you want the best for me, Ma. I’ll think about what you said. Just give me a little time, and don’t tell Dad, please?”

  “I won’t breathe a word, believe me, it’s better that way.” Carol hugged her daughter. “You know we’ve nothing against Catholics, nothing at all. It’s just you’re making your life so much harder than it needs to be.” She stood back looking at Melissa as she held her at arm’s length. “I wish things were different. I wish the two communities could live together. I wish they’d accept us, that they’d recognize that this is our country too, but they don’t, so we have to look after ourselves.”

  “I know,” Melissa muttered and picked up the plates to finish cleaning up.

  It was two hours later, and Melissa was sitting by her bedroom window, wishing for him, when he came to her. She watched him draw his arm back to throw the stone, opening the window just before he threw it. She raised a finger to her lips and signaled him to go down the street to wait for her. They would have to be especially careful now. She was already fully dressed. Her parents were in bed, the light in their room off. There hadn’t been any more talk about Mick and her mother hadn’t told her father. There wouldn’t have been any hiding the fact if she had. She crept down the stairs to the front door. The night was cold, and her breath plumed white clouds in front of her as she ran out the front gate and down the street. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Mick was waiting for her around the corner, away from the streetlight. It was a cloudy, starless night above. The street was quiet. She could barely see him, standing alone in the dark. She threw her arms around him, surprising him with the force and weight of her kiss.

  “I love you, Mick,” she whispered.

  “I love you, Melissa.”

  “My mother knows about us. She got it out of me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Exactly what we knew she would, that it’s too much for us to be together, that she’s nothing against Catholics but that she doesn’t want my life to be difficult.”

  She was expecting an argument, for him to fight for her like he always had. But he didn’t. He just stared back, not saying any of the things she wanted to hear.

  “I have to talk to you about something.” His voice was low, distant. “This could change things.”

  Melissa held her hand up to her mouth. “What are you on about? Is there someone else?” The words came out as a reflex, instinct. He didn’t even need to answer.

  “Of course not. It’s not that. Are you nuts?” Mick fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes, took out the pack and offered one to Melissa. She shook her head, and he lit one for himself, taking a deep drag.

  “What is it then?” Melissa asked after a silence that lasted several seconds.

  Mick let out a pathetic laugh. He felt deflated, his insides torn out. The usual joy he got from being around Melissa, from seeing her beautiful face, wasn’t there. Not tonight, no matter how much he searched for it inside him. But he had still needed to see her, to have her hold him, to try to feel normal again.

  She held him again, and he felt the ice inside begin to melt. He needed this all the time now. He needed her around, and she couldn’t be.

  It took him a few seconds to find the words. They were jagged in his throat, painful to say. “My grandparents in Paris wrote my ma a letter. They want her to come over and help in my grandda’s shop. He’s getting old now and could use a hand. My ma wants to leave, to move the family there.”

  Each word was like a tiny knife, and her tears were almost instantaneous. “She wants you to go with her? You both?”

  “Aye, she wants to get out of Derry, says there’s nothing but trouble here for us now.”

  “I’m here. I’m here for you.”

  “I know. God, I know that, you’re all that I have that’s good in my life, but with us… it’s not the way it should be.” Mick said. “Where do we go from here now that your mother knows about us? What future do we have here? I think we’ve both known this.”

  “It doesn’t matter, none of that matters. I love you.”

  “And I love you. I need you now, more than ever.” He reached into her hair, felt the softness of it against his rough palms.

  “And I want to be there for you, more than anything.” She reached her arms around him again, pulling him tight against her.

  “But you can’t be. You can’t call around and see my family. They’ll say exactly what your parents did. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The opposite sides think exactly the same way.”

  Melissa’s eyes fell, and she took her arms away from him. He took a drag on the cigarette and looked away.

  “If you don’t want me, …” she said, playing for the answer she wanted.

  “You know that’s not it. God, you’re the one thing in my life I’ve no doubts about. You’re the one thing I know I want, but you were wrong when you said that none of the other stuff mattered. It does matter. You know that.”

  “So what did your ma say? When does she want you to go to Paris?”

  “She wants to go soon, very soon, this week if possible.”

  “What? This week?” She felt her heart freeze in her chest.

  Mick threw down the cigarette and put his arms around her again. “She said that there was nothing left for us here, nothing good.”

  “What about your dad’s shop? What about Pat’s job?”

  “We’ll just shut the shop down. That place is haunted for me now. Pat will get work wherever he goes. He can look after himself.”

  “What about you? What will you do?”

  “Something else. Not get shot at in the streets, not walk past burnt out cars and barricades every day. Not see soldiers who murdered my father parading around. I’ll do something else.”

  “What about us? Am I just meant to forget about you now? That’s it then, is it?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “What are you talking about? I live here.”

  His demeanor changed like he’d been infused with a new energy. “ Don’t you see that this is what we needed? It doesn’t matter who you are there. No one cares if you’re Protestant and I’m Catholic. No one cares about loyalists and republicans, the IRA or the UVF. We could be together there with no disapproving looks, no prejudices. Don’t you see? This is our chance to be together, actually together.” His energy was back in his eyes. She fed off it and the feeling of hope it brought to her.

  “What about college? What about my studies?” she said, almost smiling now.

  “You’re studying to be a teacher, why not try teaching English for a while? You could transfer, or else just finish your course. You’ve only fifteen more months, and in the meantime Paris is a beautiful city to visit.” He kissed her. “This isn’t the end of anything. This is just the beginning.”

  “What about my family? Their attitude isn’t going to change, no matter where we are, no matter where we run to.”

  “I think you should give your family a little more credit. I’ve not met them but from the way you talk about them I feel as if I know them. When they see the real me, away from all this, away from this city and the ridiculous conventions we’re all slaves to here, they’ll like me. They’ll accept me at least.”

  “It’s amazing.” Melissa smiled. “After everything you’ve been through, after everything that you’v
e seen, you’re still an optimist, you still see the good in people.”

  “You think that I think that Protestants are bad people? That Catholics are the innocent victims of the Protestants? Maybe I did once before I learned to think for myself. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Melissa Rice. I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

  “I want to be with you. I don’t want anyone else.” They kissed again. “My father will never accept you,” she said, almost looking through him as she spoke. "My dad’s a good man. He loves his family more than anything else in this world. He’s done so much for his community, has dedicated his life to the people around him, but he’ll never accept you. The traditions he was raised on, the stories his parents told him, the beliefs instilled into him through the generations are just too strong. I think he’d disown me rather than bring you into our family.” Her arms were weak around him and fell away. He still held her.

  “My family will accept you, though. I’m sure of it. You’re going to need to think about this. It’s a huge decision.”

  “You’re wrong, Michael. I don’t need to think about it. I’ve been thinking about it every day for the last six months. I choose you.”

  Chapter 8