Fallon pulled on his jacket awkwardly, “You heard Dormer, didn’t you? A little Mick out of his league, who should have stayed back home in the bogs.”
“He was wrong, wasn’t he?”
“Where I come from, he wouldn’t have lasted a day/ Fallon said dispassionately. “What time is it?”
She glanced at her watch. “Five-thirty.”
“Good.” He stood up and reached for his trench coat. “Evening Mass at Holy Name starts at six and finishes around seven. You take me there – now.”
She helped him on with the trench coat. “That boat,” she said. “The one you were supposed to leave on from Hull? I heard the name. Donner and Rupert were talking. You could still go.”
“Without a passport?”
He turned, trying to belt his coat, awkwardly because of his wounded arm, and she did it for him.
“Money talks,” she said. “And you’ve got plenty in that envelope.”
She stood very close, her hands around his waist, looking up at him. Fallon said calmly, “And you’d like to come with me, I suppose?”
She shook her head. “You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s too late for me to change now. It was too late the day I started. It’s you I’m thinking of. You’re the only man I’ve ever known who gave me more than a quick tumble and the back of his hand.”
Fallon stared at her somberly for a long moment and then said quietly, “Bring the child.”
He walked to the door. Jenny picked up her daughter, wrapped her in a blanket and followed. When she went out-side, he was standing, hands in pockets, staring up into the rain where brent geese passed overhead in a V formation.
He said quietly, “They’re free and I’m not, Jenny. Can you understand that?”
When he took his right hand out of his pocket, blood dripped from the fingers. She said, “You need a doctor.”
“I need Dandy Jack Meehan and no one else,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here.” And he turned and led the way back along the track to the car.
15
The Wrath of God
Meehan was feeling pleased with himself, in spite of his broken nose, as he and Bonati walked past the town hall. Pleased and excited. His Homburg was set at a jaunty angle, the collar of his double-breasted melton overcoat was turned up against the wind, and he carried a canvas hold all containing the bomb in his right hand.
“I know one thing,” he said to Bonati as they crossed the road. “I’d like to know where our Billy is right now. I’ll have the backside off him for this when I see him.”
“You know what it’s like for these young lads when they get with a bird, Mr.. Meehan,” Bonati said soothingly. “He’ll turn up.”
“Bloody little tarts,” Meehan said in disgust “All that lad ever thinks of is his cock-end.”
He turned the corner into Rockingham Street and received his first shock when he heard the organ playing at Holy Name and voices raised in song.
He dodged into a doorway out of the rain and said to Bonati, “What in the hell goes on here? Evening Mass starts at six. I only make it ten to.”
“Search me, Mr., Meehan.”
They crossed the street, heads down in a flurry of rain, and paused at the notice board. Bonati peered up, reading it aloud. “Evening Mass, six o’clock, Saturdays, five-thirty.”
Meehan swore softly. “A bloody good job we were early. Come on, let’s get inside.”
It was cold in the church and damp and the smell of the candles was very distinctive. There were only a dozen people
in the congregation. Father da Costa was up at the altar pray-ing and on the other side of the green baize curtain, Meehan could see Anna da Costa’s head as she played the organ.
He and Bonati sat down at one side, partially hidden by a pillar, and he put the canvas hold all between his feet. It was really quite pleasant sitting there in the half-darkness, Meehan decided, with the candles flickering and the organ playing. The four acolytes in their scarlet cassocks and white cottas reminded him nostalgically of his youth. Strangest thing of all, he found that he could remember some of the responses.