Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1) Read online

  No. That was the Brits. These are your people.

  “I promised her ma we’d not hurt her, Mick,” Paddy warned.

  “Did you now? Then she’d better give me what I want. Come on, Nora. It’s like you said: we’re all on the same team.”

  “Robbie Grady,” she whispered.

  “Robbie Grady?” Paddy exclaimed. “Isn’t he the one you suspected of being a grasser, Mick?”

  “Aye.”

  “He’s not an informer,” Nora cried out. “He’s just the same as us—wantin’ to get out of here.”

  “He’d be of better use fighting the English instead of trying to poison our lads,” Mick said. He gave a nod to the man standing at the back door. “Take Tim and Seamus. Bring Grady here.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Nora said, “Please, just let him be. Don’t kill him. I swear it, I’ll talk to him . . . We’ll both leave it alone.”

  O’Connor ignored her. “Take her back home,” he said to Paddy. “And see if young Eamon is around. Tell him it’s time to pick up his father’s torch.”

  “Don’t talk to my brother!” Nora yelled as the hood was forced back over her head. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “We just want a friendly chat, nothing to mess your head about,” Mick said. He lifted up the hood so she could see his face. “But if we catch you again, I might not be so nice. Y’hear?” His voice was calm, but his eyes glinted with the threat.

  Nora nodded, her lips pressed together. She wouldn’t show she was afraid. She was as tough as any of them’uns.

  “Good girl.” He winked at her, then lowered the hood.

  She sat in silence on the drive home. Maybe that wasn’t even where they were headed. What if Mick had given Paddy orders to shoot her and dump her body in the Lagan? She suppressed a whimper. Paddy sat beside her, breathing loudly and grunting whenever he shifted position. Finally, he lifted the hood off her head.

  “We’re here,” he said. The familiar length of her street stretched out in front of them through the van window.

  “You’re not going to kill me,” she said. If she said it out loud, maybe it would be more likely to be true.

  Paddy raised an eyebrow. “Nah. But I don’t know what Mick’ll do with yer man Grady. Or with you if he finds out you haven’t learned your lesson.” He slid the door open. “Stay here, I’ll not be a minute,” he said to the driver.

  “Nora!”

  Nora peered around Paddy, who was climbing out of the van. Eamon was running toward her, his thick red curls lit up by the streetlights. “Are you all right?” he said, reaching out a hand to help her. “Did they hurt you?”

  “Eamon,” Paddy said with a nod.

  “I’m okay,” Nora said.

  Eamon rounded on Paddy. “What’s this about?”

  “Steady on, lad,” Paddy said. “Let’s all go inside.”

  “You’ll not be coming into my house after treating my sister like that,” Eamon said, standing firmly on the footpath.

  “Oh, I will. Mick O’Connor wants me to have a word with you,” Paddy answered.

  “Is that Nora?” Mrs. O’Reilly called from the door. “Is she all right?”

  “I’m grand, Ma,” Nora called. Lights went on in the houses next door. “It’s all right, Eamon, he can come in,” she said, keeping her head down and stalking into the house. She allowed her mother to lead her to the kitchen table and inspect her face for injuries. Nora turned away. Her mother smelled like a distillery.

  Eamon faced Paddy, who had followed them into the house. “You think you’re a big man, lifting teenage girls, do you?”

  “Simmer down, Eamon. She’s all right. Mick could’a done worse. She herself said she’s been selling drugs up at the school.”

  “That’s a lie, so it is,” Eamon said, getting closer.

  “It’s true,” Nora said. “I’m sorry, Eamon.”

  He gaped at her, his mouth parted as though in the middle of a word. After a long, horrible pause, he said, “We’ll talk about this later.” He jerked his head toward Paddy. “You said you wanted a word. Get on with it, then.”

  “Aye. Mick wants to know when you’ll be joining up. Says it’s time you followed in your father’s footsteps.”

  “Is that what Mick wants? Me to follow in old Jimmy’s footsteps? Does his offer include a bullet in the head?”

  “It was the Prods who shot him, not us. You well know that.”

  Mrs. O’Reilly’s face went slack, and she stifled a sob. Nora wrapped her hands around her mother’s. “Shhh, Ma, don’t worry. Eamon’s no fool.” Then she turned to Paddy. “Can’t youse see we’ve been through enough? Now fuck off and leave us alone.”

  “Watch your language, Nora. I can handle this,” Eamon said without looking at her. “You’ve done enough to ‘help’ today.”

  His words punched her in the gut. She looked down at her hands, intertwined with her mother’s, so no one would see her cheeks burn. She’d rather face Mick O’Connor again than hear the disappointment in her brother’s voice.

  “We could use a smart lad like you, Eamon,” Paddy said.

  “Aye, I’m smart enough to stay out of it. I won’t do it. I’ve a family to take care of.”

  “And what about your Irish family?”

  Eamon leaned in. “Listen, I want the Brits out as much as you do. You think I’m not serving my country just because I don’t pick up a gun? I’m one of the few lads on this street with a job. And I’m trying to keep this family together. If more of us would do the same, then maybe we’d all be in a better place.”

  Paddy shook his head. “You think we’ll ever get ahead with the Brits in charge? These lads you speak of don’t have jobs because the fuckin’ Brits keep all the jobs for their Proddy pals while they shove us God-fearing folk onto shoddy estates like this one. There’s only one thing the Brits understand: force. They’ve done it in the South and we’ll do it here in the North. If you think we’ll be in ‘a better place’ before then, you’re away in the head.”

  “Aye. Well, it’s time for you to go, Paddy. And leave my sister alone, y’hear? She’s my responsibility now.”

  “You mind that,” Paddy said, giving Nora one last significant look before he slipped back out into the night.

  No one said a word until the van had driven off. It was Nora who broke the silence.

  “Eamon . . . ,” she started. She felt wretched—worse even than she’d felt in the warehouse.

  “Not tonight,” he said. “Go on up to bed. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  Wordlessly, Nora released her mother’s hands and walked up the stairs to her ruined bedroom.

  Chapter Two

  A rough knock on the bedroom door woke Nora the next morning. She groaned and turned over. A lecture was coming, and she wanted none of it.

  “Up you get,” Eamon said as he came into the room. “I’ve brought you a cuppa.”

  “Go away,” Nora moaned.

  “Not likely. C’mon. Sit up. It’s time we had ourselves a wee chat.”

  She rolled over and squinted at him with one eye. He was indeed holding a cup of tea, as well as a plate of chocolate biscuits. She hauled herself up to a sitting position. “Biscuits for breakfast?”

  “Aye. Thought you might need it after yesterday.”

  She bit into one, then washed it down with a gulp of tea. “You’re not ragin’?”

  “I was,” Eamon said, taking his own biscuit. “Last night. But I was more ascared than anything, y’know? If something had happened to you . . .”

  “I was fine,” she protested. “I can handle them shites.”

  Eamon’s expression darkened. “They’re desperate men, Nora, and more dangerous than you think. Now tell me, what’s this about you selling drugs? Are you popping them, too?”

  Nora plucked at the thin bedspread. “I’m not. It was just a wee lark to see if I could make some extra money. You work too hard. And Ma not at all,” she added bitterly.

 
; “Ach, you know Ma’s not been the same since Da was killed. She’s not strong like you, Nora. But what were you thinking?”

  “Robbie told me it would just be a couple of times, that I’d make enough for us to move to Manchester, or to Dublin with Aunt Margaret.”

  “Robbie Grady? That useless tout? Is your head cut? All he wanted was to make you his mule. Soon enough, you’d have found yourself owing him. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “I didn’t think . . . ,” Nora said, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Aye. You didn’t. Are you so desperate to get out of here that you’d risk going to juvie, or worse, pissing off the Provos?”

  “I knew it was dangerous; I’m not stupid. But I thought it would be some quick cash, no harm done. They’re going to buy drugs from someone, might as well be me.”

  “That’s one of the daftest things I’ve ever heard,” Eamon said, his voice rising. He jumped up from the bed and paced the small room. “We don’t need the money that bad. I’ve a job, remember? And I’ve got enough to worry about without you causing trouble.”

  “Now you sound just like Ma,” Nora spat back.

  “Ach, you’ll do my head in, so you will. You know Ma needs us to be strong for her. Do you want to end up like her, at the bottom of a bottle or a jar of pills every night?”

  “No, o’course not. I told you I wasn’t takin’ any of them.”

  “You gotta give me your word you’ll leave it, Nora. I’m serious. Them lads in the Provos, they’re not much for second chances.”

  “That’s what Mick said.”

  “Oh, aye? Well, you’d better pay attention.”

  Nora didn’t respond. Eamon stopped pacing and sat down beside her on the bed. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve been saving as much as I can. I figure in a year I’ll have enough to move us to Dublin. We can get away from all this.”

  “D’you think Ma will leave?”

  “Aye, if we do.”

  “I wish we could leave today,” Nora said, fidgeting with the bedcovers. “Does that make me a traitor?”

  “No. It means you have some sense in your head.”

  She leaned against his shoulder. “How come you don’t want to fight, Eamon? Is it because of Da?”

  “Partly. I dunno. I hate the Brits, I do. You should see how some of the lads at the factory talk to me, just because I’m Catholic. But we’ve been fighting this war for eight hundred bloody years. What’s done is done. We can’t change the past. We’ll have a free and united Ireland someday, I’m sure of it. But if we tear each other apart, what’s the point of it all?”

  “Don’t let Mick O’Connor catch you speaking like that.”

  He shrugged. “What can they do to me? They can’t force me to sign up, so they can’t. As long as we keep out of trouble, they’ll have no reason to trouble us.”

  “Do you really want to leave?”

  “Aye. Belfast is my home. But it’s not normal, livin’ like this. Wouldn’t you like to go shopping or to the cinema without being afeared you’ll be blown up? Go down the pub without looking over your shoulder for RUC thugs?”

  “Aye, I would. That’s why I did it.”

  “We’ll figure out another way. I can take on more shifts at the factory. College can wait. But you stay out of it, y’hear?”

  Nora nodded. Eamon reached into his pocket and pulled out a closed fist. “I’ve something for you,” he said. He opened his hand and poured a cluster of polished wooden beads the color of coffee into her palm.

  “Rosary beads? But I already—”

  “You’re still using those crap plastic ones we got as kids. These ones are better. Thought you might take them more seriously.”

  Nora flushed but accepted them. She rolled the smooth beads between her fingers and inspected the tiny Jesus dangling from the end. “I will. I swear it.”

  After Eamon left for work, Nora crept into the hallway and peeked into her mother’s room. She was still asleep, an empty bottle of booze on the nightstand. Nora closed the door quietly and returned to her own room. Paddy’s friend had emptied her drawers onto the floor and turned over her nightstand, all of which she’d set to rights before going to bed. But he hadn’t been terribly thorough. It was only out of sheer laziness on her part that the wee bottle of pills in her nightstand hadn’t been hidden with the rest.

  She grabbed hold of the bed frame and dragged it into the middle of her room. Then she snatched up a butter knife from her dresser and pried up one of the floorboards. Old, shoddy houses like this one had loads of hiding places. She felt around for the string she’d tied to one of the slats between floors. Even if someone pulled up the board, they’d be hard-pressed to notice the string unless they knew where to find it. Tied to the end of the string was a cloth bag the size of a loaf of bread. She set it on the floor and opened it up. Inside were a dozen wee packets of white powder. It was all still there.

  This was what Robbie Grady had really wanted her to sell. He’d unloaded the stash on her to get a little distance from the game, but he’d referred her to all of his former clients. Of course, Grady had threatened her with disembowelment and all sorts of horrible things if she turned on him. But the rewards had seemed to outweigh the risks. Her half of the profits from selling this lot would have amounted to £600.

  But who had grassed on her? The only deal she’d made so far was with Peadar Hobson. It couldn’t have been Peadar—everyone knew he was always high or plastered, just like his whole family. If he had grassed on her, his supply would dry up.

  She wrapped the bags back up, made sure the string was secure, and hammered down the floorboard with the blunt end of the knife. Then she pushed her bed back against the wall and sat down on it, drawing her knees up to her chest. She hadn’t told Eamon about giving away Robbie Grady. She hadn’t told him how scared she still was. Robbie’d be coming after her now, for sure. Unless the Provos got to him first.

  She shook her head and went downstairs to make another cup of tea. After a few minutes, her mother stirred upstairs.

  “Be a luv and go fetch some bread from Donagh, will ye?” her mother asked as she came into the kitchen, pulling her dressing gown closed.

  Nora hesitated. What if Robbie was just around the corner, waiting to plug her? “I’m not dressed, Ma,” she protested.

  “Then get dressed. Come on, now. And mind you don’t get anything with sultanas.”

  Nora trudged back upstairs and pulled on jeans and a jumper. Donagh came round every Saturday morning, selling buns and loaves out of the back of his van. Nora’s favorites were the wee hot cross buns, but her Ma hated sultanas with a passion, so they never bought them.

  She stumbled as she made her way out of the house and approached the van. “Morning, Donagh, what’s the craic?” she said.

  “Can’t complain, Nora. How’s yer mum?”

  “She’s grand, so she is. Sent me to get a couple loaves. The usual.”

  “Aye. Here y’are.” He handed her a couple of bags, and she gave him a note. When he handed back her change, he glanced around before leaning in and saying, “Mind yourself, now. The lads were active last night.”

  “Oh, aye?” She tried to hide the quaver in her voice and made a deal of stuffing the change into her pocket.

  “Found Robbie Grady’s body by Saint Dom’s, just outside the gate. What are they thinking, dumping a body by a school? Thank God it’s the weekend.”

  Nora stared at the bread in her hands, sure Donagh could hear her heart thrashing around in her rib cage. “Ta,” she squeaked out before turning on her heel.

  “Right, then. Give your mother and Eamon my best,” Donagh called after her.

  Nora ran back down the road, the loaves swinging in her hands. She darted into the house and pushed the door closed, then double-checked the locks. Her mother was rattling around in the kitchen, but Nora didn’t move. She just leaned against the door, breathing heavily. Robbie Grady was dead.

  That could’a been me.
But the Provos wouldn’t have shot her, not for a first offense, not given who her da had been. Would they? Robbie’d been given loads of warnings, so she’d heard. And now she’d not have to worry about him coming after her. She felt repulsed . . . and relieved.

  On Monday morning Nora walked to school with a couple of friends. She tried to nod and laugh in all the right places as they nattered on, but her mind was fixated on the bags of cocaine stuffed deep into her rucksack. She’d decided there was no point in dumping it, not when she could still make a fair sale of it. Then her family wouldn’t have to wait to leave town. She’d sent a message to Ernie Farrell, saying she’d sell him the lot at half price. He’d been Robbie Grady’s only competition in this part of town. There was no way he would say no. Then it would be out of her hands.

  At the lunch break she waited in the stacks at the library, just as she’d promised to do in her message. The Irish-history section, which was always empty. She read the titles with interest while she waited. Her school, like many others, preferred to focus on European and world history. Irish history was too controversial, too close to home. But Eamon’s love for it had rubbed off. He was always throwing obscure bits of history into their conversations or telling her about great battles and chieftains who’d lived hundreds of years ago. She’d soaked it all in—a sparkling vision of Ireland that was a sharp contrast to her own bleak reality.

  Nora waited the entire lunch hour, but Ernie never came. Had he even been to school that day? She hadn’t seen him. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he’d chickened out after hearing about Robbie.

  She left the library and headed back to class. She was late enough that the hallways were empty. Then she heard heavy footsteps behind her. She glanced back and stopped dead in her tracks. Paddy Sullivan was standing in the hallway, grinning at her.

  “Hiya, Nora,” he said.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Ach, don’t be like that, Nora. We’ve some more questions for you.” He jerked his head toward the front door.