Belfast Girls Read online

  John shrugged. He was forced to acknowledge, in spite of all his instincts, that what Sheila was saying was right. As quickly as he could, he tied the various articles of clothing to each other, stretching out his jeans to get the length of both legs, making sure that each knot was firm and secure, working each one, tugging and pulling until he was convinced that nothing would come asunder. Sheila tossed over her jacket, then her sundress, and watched him adding them to the rope, concentrating on not looking at her.

  He leaned forward over the edge of the path, and called down.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Barney,” said a quivering little voice.

  “Well, Barney, I’m going to lower a rope to you, and I want you to take hold of it carefully. Don’t just grab or you might end up dislodging some more soil. When you’re sure you’ve got a good grip, let me know and Sheila and me will pull you up, okay?”

  Barney nodded. Then, realising that there was too little light by now for anyone to see the movement, he managed to call in a voice made shaky by tears, “Okay!”

  John leant carefully over the edge of the path, dangling the home made rope at arm’s length.

  It was still too short.

  “I’ll have to go down,” he said. He was measuring the distance with his eye as he spoke. There was another warning sign just beside them. The post was firmly concreted into the ground.

  “Sheila. I’m going to tie the end of the rope round this post but I need you to hold it as firmly as you can, just for backup. Brace your feet against the post and hang on, see? I’ll climb down and let’s just hope I can reach far enough.”

  Sheila took the end of the rope, which a short while ago had been her white jacket. She set her teeth grimly. Her biggest fear was that John’s own movements as he made his way down to Barney might send the earth slipping again and dislodge the little boy from his precarious perch.

  John moved forward cautiously, sliding over the edge face first, moving on his stomach. It seemed the method least likely to displace more ground.

  Sheila watched anxiously. Most of her mind was concentrated on holding the improvised rope tight. One part of her, however, couldn’t help noticing the beauty of John’s slim, muscular body, naked except for his boxers and wishing wistfully that he hadn’t got quite such rigid ideas.

  She could see over the edge of the path. John was nearly down as far as the little boy, Barney, now. He was holding his end of the rope by one hand and with the other stretching down as far as he could reach.

  “Barney.” John spoke quietly, gently. Above all, he was concerned not to stampede the child into any sudden movements which might dislodge the whin bush from the edge of the hill. “Barney, I want you to keep as still as possible and see if you can quite slowly and carefully reach your hand out to me.”

  “Okay.”

  Barney gulped. Moving slowly, just as John had instructed him, he stretched out his right arm. A moment later, John had him in a firm clasp round his wrist.

  Then came the worst time.

  John needed to retreat as carefully as possible up the side of the hill. He wasn’t convinced that he could do this, pulling the boy with him, without ending up by starting another landslide. And if he did, what would become of them? It might have been better to let Sheila come down, he thought, for then he could have pulled her and the boy to safety. But he knew Sheila would never have the strength to pull them both up.

  “I want you to be very brave, now, Barney,” he said, “and let go of the whin bush. Then I’ll be able to pull you up to me.”

  For a moment he was afraid Barney would be too frightened to obey. He could see the boy’s eyes large with fear, looking at him. Then, with a shuddering sigh, Barney let go of the bush and John began carefully to pull him across the short distance until he could grasp him more firmly round the shoulders, and then round the waist. For the first time, John let himself think there might really be a chance of bringing the child to safety.

  “Sheila!” he called. “I’m going to tie Barney to the rope. Do you think you could manage to pull him up if I push from this end?”

  Sheila wasn’t at all sure that she could, but she braced her legs even more firmly against the post and said only, “Go ahead.”

  Pulling and pushing, with earth sliding around them on both sides, they hauled Barney over the edge and onto the path. Sheila gathered the child into her arms and sank to the ground, holding him tightly. John, less concerned now about caution, came scrambling after him. As he gained the security of the cliff path, a rumble to their left signalled the start of yet another landslide, coming from much further up the high cliff on their other side.

  They watched with white faces as the rocks and earth swept past them, carrying all before them and snatching the whin bush to which Barney had been clinging so recently, uprooting it and hurling it far over the cliff.

  It was another ten minutes before the rescue helicopter turned up.

  Chapter Twelve

  John’s first concern, to Sheila’s annoyance, was to get her respectably covered up again as soon as possible.

  He sat on the path, wrestling grimly with the knots he himself had tightened a few minutes before. No easy task, for the one anxiety previously had been to make them secure enough to take his weight for the descent. He kept his eyes turned stubbornly away from Sheila as he struggled to free, most importantly, her dress and jacket before working on his own T-shirt and jeans and belt.

  Sheila, at first unaware of his preoccupation, spent the time hugging Barney She sat on the grass at the edge of the path with the little boy on her knee and tried to comfort him after his ordeal.

  “Hell!” burst out John suddenly. “I’m never going to get this done in time. I wish we’d never phoned for that helicopter. They’ll be here any minute and you still half naked!”

  Sheila stared at him in amazement. “We’ll still need the helicopter, John,” she pointed out. “Barney’s in no condition to walk back along the path and back to our car, and that would be the nearest place we could take him. It’s probably more than a mile away. Even then, we’d have to drive him to the nearest hospital or police station or something.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” John sounded ashamed of himself for a moment. But a second later his obsession had overtaken him again, and he was once more struggling fiercely with the knots. At last, to his relief, he felt something loosen. Snatching up the white jacket, now smeared with shades of brown and grey, he hurled it at Sheila.

  “At least get that on.”

  Sheila, while annoyed at what seemed to her nonsense, obediently pulled on the jacket. John was still struggling with her green sundress when they heard the nearby whine of the rescue helicopter. In another minute it was hovering above them. With a savage snarl, John dragged his clasp knife from the pocket of his jeans and slashed at the dress. While Sheila stared at him in amazement, he managed to rip the dress free and threw it to her.

  “Quick!”

  “My good dress!” Sheila was angry.

  “Get it on!” John ordered. His face was white and twisted.

  Sheila sensibly saved up her comments for later. She buttoned the dress round her, noting the rips which had spoiled it forever, and put her jacket back.

  John’s mobile was ringing. Pulling himself together, he answered it.

  “Yes, this is the emergency call. We managed to get the boy up to the path but he’ll need to be air-lifted now.”

  The next ten minutes passed swiftly. John struggled back into his clothes. A paramedic descended by rope from the helicopter and checked Barney for injury. Reassured that the child was mainly suffering from cold and shock and bruises, he quickly fastened Barney into the seat at the end of the rope. They watched thankfully as the rope was pulled up and Barney was safely stowed in the helicopter.

  “What about his parents?” Sheila asked.

  “Oh, they know we’re rescuing him,” the paramedic told them cheerfully. He was a small but toug
h looking young man, somewhere in his thirties, with a pleasant, freckled face. “They reported him missing a good while ago, so when we got your phone call, we were able to let them know he’d been found.”

  They should report to the nearest police station and make a statement, he told them. The parents would want to thank them. He took their names, then disappeared in turn into midair, hopping nimbly into the seat when his colleagues, having taken Barney on board, swung the rope down again. The helicopter, with a final wave from its passengers, buzzed busily off into the distance.

  John and Sheila looked at each other.

  And grinned.

  “Well,” John said, “we did it. Got him up before the bush went over the edge.”

  “Yeah,” Sheila agreed. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and in fact as the thought went through her mind, she found to her astonishment that tears were streaming in hot gushes from her eyes.

  “Oh, John!” seemed to be all she could say. “Oh, John!”

  They moved forward simultaneously and were suddenly clinging desperately to each other, as if they could never let go.

  Presently John, detached himself gently. He led Sheila to the grassy inner edge of the path and sat her down beside him, his arm round her shoulder.

  “You were great, sweetheart,” he said into her hair.

  “You were great, John.”

  “Okay, we were both great. Listen, Sheila –”

  John paused. He looked out over the darkened sea.

  “When I graduate this summer, I have a job lined up with the BBC. It won’t be a lot to start with, but enough. I’d like us to get married as soon as my finals are over.”

  Sheila stared at him. She could only see his profile as he still looked away into the distance.

  “But, John!”

  He turned to look at her.

  “I love you, Sheila. I want to marry you!”

  “Oh, John, I love you too, it would be great, but shouldn’t we wait a bit longer –?”

  “I can’t bear it any longer, Sheila! Especially just now, seeing you almost naked, it’s more than I can manage, to keep my hands off you. If I knew it wouldn’t be much longer, maybe I could keep control of myself.” He groaned, stood up suddenly and walked away from her. “It’s more than I can bear, Sheila, and you don’t help, you know, you don’t help!”

  “John, I’m sorry.” It was a miserable little whisper.

  “Oh, I know you don’t do it on purpose, but you don’t understand. I want you so much, but I don’t want to spoil everything. I don’t believe in sleeping around. Sex is for marriage, right? I’ve always believed that. Sheila. It’s as much as I can do not to grab you right now. The only answer is to get married as soon as we can, don’t you see?”

  “Okay, John.”

  Sheila stood up, and put her hand gently on his arm.

  “I do love you, John. I want us to get married. But what about my degree?”

  “Can’t you go on with it even if we get married? I don’t see why not.”

  Sheila considered, then her face broke into a wide beam.

  “Yes, why not? As long as we don’t start a family straight away, why not? Yes, John, let’s get married this summer!”

  John seized her in his arms and swung her round. An ear-splitting wild west “Yippee!” broke from his lips, sparking off a fit of the giggles from Sheila.

  “Darling, darling, we’re going to be so happy!”

  He bent his head to kiss her once, briefly, then, taking her hand, led her back along the cliff path in the direction of the car.

  Sheila, following him happily, nevertheless felt confusion rising up inside her. Was she happier than she’d ever been in her life or was she worried – frightened?

  She had no clear idea.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was the night when he was beaten up that Phil slept with Davy for the first time.

  She had known for years that Davy used illegal drugs, but it had come as a bit of a shock to learn, not long after they had started going out together again, that he was trading in them.

  Just on a small scale, Davy assured her. Really only for friends. And, okay, it gave him a bit of an income, but so what? He was the one running the risks, surely it was only fair if he made something on it? Not much, just enough to be reasonable. The drug barons were exploiting ordinary people who just wanted a bit of pleasure, a bit of relaxation. Just because the law was against them, people had to go to criminals for what they wanted. Davy, he argued virtuously, was saving them from that.

  Phil knew perfectly well that Davy was fooling himself, but she had no idea how dangerously until one Spring evening.

  They were walking along Malone Road on their way back from the Botanic Inn, when the car squealed to a stop beside them and two men, hooded and dressed in black, jumped out and seized Davy in a vicious grip. She had hardly had time to cry out before they bundled him into the car and with a violent U-turn roared off up the road.

  In spite of her horror, Phil kept her head. It was important to make a mental note of the car’s number. She tried desperately to do this, meanwhile hauling her mobile phone out of its carry case and calling the emergency services.

  “Police!” she shouted into the phone. “A kidnapping. Two men in a car. They grabbed my boyfriend!”

  It was hard, battling with extreme shock, for Phil to make herself clear. She gave the location in response to questions, tried to give the car number accurately, gave her own name. Then she crawled round to the nearest police station, her knees weak with terror, hardly able to walk, and sat there for what seemed hours, drinking weak coffee from a machine, giving a formal statement, and shivering uncontrollably as she waited for news, and wondered desperately what the news would be.

  Too often, a snatch like this was followed by the discovery of a body, or of the victim beaten, kneecapped and dumped.

  She heard at last. A police car had located Davy. The hoods dumped him from the car, bloody and bruised, on the outskirts of town. He crawled to the edge of a main road where he was visible in the street lights, then he passed out.

  “Lucky he wasn’t shot,” said the fat, middle-aged sergeant cheerfully, passing the information on to Phil some time after he had received it. “They’re taking him to the Royal for stitches and a check over. Could have been a kneecapping, if not worse, when these boyos get hold of you.”

  Phil took a taxi to the hospital.

  They kept her waiting there in a bare, unhappy room with other friends and relations of the night’s accident victims and would tell her nothing.

  Phil could not bear to leave. She had been wounded to the heart by the thought of Davy, beaten and bloody, after the attack. She sat, mute and numb, for hours, waiting for him to be released, both unable and unwilling to talk. No-one bothered her except to offer occasional cups of tea. In another room, Davy received the medical help he needed.

  At last he came. He pushed open the door, saw Phil, and came straight over. Putting his arms round her, he said in an unexpectedly shaken voice “Poor Phil!” He hugged her tightly. Phil hugged him back wordlessly.

  “Are we going, now?” she asked when she could speak.

  “I'll just get a taxi organised,” Davy said.

  “I'll come with you.” Phil couldn't bear to be left alone any longer.

  They walked to the car park where Davy had asked the taxi to pick them up and got in. They sat close together in silence.

  They drove round the outskirts of the city to avoid traffic. Davy had a room in an old three storey house in a street just off the Ormeau Road. It couldn't be called a flat. He shared kitchen and bathroom, but his own room was private, with a door which could be locked. They paid the taxi driver, went in and upstairs. There was no-one else about. Davy closed his room door behind them and sat down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. He had not spoken since they left the hospital.

  Suddenly a groan broke from him and he cried out, “Why? Why?”

>   Phil went to him and knelt on the floor beside the bed, on the threadbare carpet, putting her arms round him.

  “Hush, dear, hush. It's all right.”

  “It's not all right,” he said vehemently. “It's all wrong. We're helpless, Phil. The big bosses won’t let the ordinary, independent traders operate in peace. What harm does it do them? They have ninety per cent of the customers, why can’t they leave just a little bit for other people? It'll never change.”

  “So, that was what it was all about?” Phil asked slowly. Mixed with her anger at the attack on Davy was equal anger with him. How could he be such a fool as to put himself at such risk? And didn’t he have any feeling of right and wrong? Surely he knew he should never have started this?

  “Yeah, Big Jim Murphy’s boys,” Davy said absently. “Said it was an object lesson. Didn’t know they were familiar with concepts like that.” He made a weak attempt at a grin. “Said I was working on their turf.” His face grew white again. “Why should they think it’s their turf? And why should they think they have the right to do this to me?”

  “Because they’re greedy, vicious people or they wouldn’t be involved in this in the first place,” Phil said. But she could see he wasn’t listening.

  She pulled his dark head down and stroked his hair, whispering endearments to him as if he were a child.

  “Oh, Phil, Phil,” he groaned. He lifted his head from his arms and looked at her. There was a plaster across his forehead just below the hairline to protect the stitches he had got in the Royal Victoria Hospital.

  “You're so lovely, Phil. Don't let go of me.”

  “I'm not going anywhere, Davy. I'm right here.”

  She could not remember ever having seen Davy, casual, self-possessed Davy, looking like this before. He seemed lost, even frightened, clinging to her as if he would never let her go. Phil felt as if her heart would break.

  “It's all right, dear,” she said again. “It's all right.”