Bomb...

I was lying down. Why is not important. Listening to music, smoking a Benson & Hedges, and had my eyes two thirds closed. The sun was up and the rain had stopped. As far as I can remember, it was Neill Young’s ‘After the Goldrush’. Anyway, that’s how I remember it. I was just reaching for the ashtray on the table when there was a sudden change in pressure, followed by a boom. By the time I opened my eyes I was a little bit baked. The fireball carried on taking my eyebrows and some of my hair with it, leaving me with the smell of burnt me.

They kept telling me I had been incredibly lucky. Look at it from my point of view, I would have said, had I been speaking. Apparently having my eyes half closed meant my eyelids got burnt, not my eyes. Lucky, yes; up to a point.

There was the usual less than really interested inquiry, with the usual less than really interesting outcome. A Butane gas fry-up gone haywire across the corridor, or something. The resident had an alibi, and nobody else was there. It seemed the frying pan just got a notion and started up the stove all by itself. No wonder it exploded.

I missed the rest of the whole first term. After a few weeks, I was off the painkillers, which was a pity, and ambulatory. I was dressed like the Invisible Man for some days. I had visitors. I know, because they had to sign in, so afterwards I could see who came and went. There were all, well almost all, of those I would have expected, and three names recurring which meant nothing to me.

On the juice one’s memory, indeed one’s cognitive function, is somewhat skewed. Over the first few days I was repeatedly woken by someone sobbing. This turned out to be me. By the second week they had stopped talking about reconstructive surgery and was when they started on about ‘lucky’. Apparently having had the window wide open was also ‘lucky’. Just as well, then, the rain had stopped.

By the third week I was talking, and sleeping soundly. My eyes were still bandaged. I became accustomed to the patterns of food - I could eat now, no more tubes – and visitors. Officially visitors were supposed to come in the afternoon, but I sensed rather than saw some presences early in the mornings. At first, I thought it was the drugs, and once early on when I woke up and stopped sobbing, I thought I could hear someone else crying, I assumed it was someone like myself in the next room and drifted back to sleep. Now though I was clear-headed, and I became convinced there was someone else in the room.

One morning, I sensed movement just before I would have expected some breakfast. I pushed myself up and said

“Who’s there? I know there is someone there, so speak or leave” and then I felt a bit silly. I lay back and started to think about food, when I felt two hands resting on my arm. It gave me quite a shock. I was gently patted and a whispering voice said

“I’m sorry, really I am. So very sorry” and the hands were lifted

“Who are you?” I said, but she was gone. I was quite pleased with myself. I recognised the perfume, so my sense of smell was intact. When the nurse came in with breakfast, I asked her if there was anyone else in the room and she reassured me. Later the psychiatrist just casually dropped in. We spoke for a while about ‘voices’ and I have to say he struck me as quite a disturbed person, though I was sure he meant well. I decided not to talk about my ‘visitor(s)’.

They gave me dark glasses. I could see quite well, but the eyelids had a mind of their own. In the evening they bandaged my eyes again, but said I could put the glasses on as soon as I awoke. Aha! I thought. Now I’ll see who is skulking around my room in the early morning. The first morning I slept right through and was woken by breakfast being served. The next morning, I got lucky. It was now October and still quite dark at 6.30. I quietly removed the bandages and put the glasses on. I propped myself up a bit, and waited. I was drifting off when I saw the door open quietly, and one after the other, two girls and a guy filed into the room, and just stood there, staring at me. I stared back, unmoving, through the glasses. After a few moments one of the girls said

‘The bandages are off, he’s wearing dark glasses’

“Do you think he can see?” whispered the second girl. There was a pause. I had become accustomed to being discussed with the usual medical arrogance, as an object, but this was different. I concentrated for a moment and then said

“Why don’t you ask him?” They froze. And then they rushed out the door as fast as they could and ran away! I decided not to mention it to anyone.

I didn’t see anyone again. I almost began to think I had imagined it, but I kept coming back to the perfume. I think you can remember perfume, but you don’t make it up. But what do I know? I scoured the visitors’ book before I left, and apart from the three names I was no further forward, though apparently ‘cured’. My cousin brought me in a pair of ‘Aviators’ and I sauntered out the door like a star. A very pale star.

It was Christmas already. I went home.

In January I went back early as I had things to do. I went first to my room. It had been redecorated, so there was no trace of the explosion. On the bed was a brand-new copy of ‘After the Goldrush’. There was a card. It said “Welcome back’ in large letters, but there was no written message. Ah. Well. I went to see my tutor to arrange catching up. Then I went to the gym and started getting into shape. Term re-started and so did I. I was a five-minute wonder and of course the dark glasses almost became a trademark. One evening in The Buttery, someone suggested I was now just wearing them for effect. I waited for the right amount of tension to build and then removed the glasses and blinked around. There was a bit of a gasp and people looked away. I had become used to the crinkled eyelids, but the others hadn’t.

“I think I’ll keep them on just for now, what do you think?” I said. The blighter who had made the suggestion had the good grace to look uncomfortable as I put them back on.

“I’ll have more surgery at Easter just to straighten those out, and my eyes should be OK by then too. I’ll be able to get rid of the glasses in time for the summer!” I made it a joke and the mood lightened. I caught sight of a girl on the edge of the crowd looking very morose and I smiled at her. She looked petrified, like a rabbit in headlights. I wondered.

The surgery went well and I looked to all intents and purposes normal. I stopped wearing the Aviators. I was back in time for the Trinity (summer) Term.

There was still the mystery of the explosion. I had a meeting with someone from the College who was neither staff nor student who took just ages to find out I was not going to sue the College. Why he didn’t come right out and ask, I don’t know. Anyway, once I discovered what it was he was trying ascertain I told him straight out and he seemed happier. Why he should be when it was only Insurance Company money I don’t know. Maybe he worked for the Insurance Company.

Although my room (and me) had been mildly charred by the fireball, the room opposite from which it had come was structurally unsafe and the guy given a new room. His old room was taped off. I did have a peek in there but there wasn’t much to see, not even many floorboards.

The police had come to see me during the first few weeks in hospital once I could speak, but I could not tell them very much, and they told me less. I was a little surprised when nothing happened. It was almost as if it had never happened. I wanted to find out what had caused me to lose three months of my life and not inconsiderable discomfort. I sat down one evening and wrote down what I knew. There were the three unfamiliar names, the three unfamiliar visitors, and a vague story about a Butane gas cylinder. I knew the rooms had kitchens with gas stoves amongst other basic stuff. Why then would someone be cooking on a camping stove? And why had everyone disappeared?

I went to see the guy who had lived there. He was wary but friendly. He had gone out for a dental appointment leaving some people behind who were all students ‘he thought’ but none of whom he really knew or could name. I must have looked sceptical because he sort of started shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Really” he said, “they were just a crowd from The Buttery. I had the latest Leonard Cohen album and they wanted to hear it, so they came back with me and then I had to go to the dentist. When I came back the place was a mess, you were being stretchered out and there were Police and Special Branch everywhere. I couldn’t say for sure who had been there, and anyone I have asked has said no, they weren’t there”. We chatted awkwardly for a bit and when I was just about to leave, he said

“There is one strange thing though. When I moved into this room, there was a new copy of the Cohen album on the bed, still with the cellophane intact. Someone must have put it there, but I have no idea who it might be”. I didn’t tell him about my “After the Goldrush”.

I was busy trying to get fit and at the same time catch up on lost time. I had been thrown a bit off-course for the year, but was slowly making ground. The ‘mystery’ still niggled away at the back of my mind, but it was beginning to lose any urgency or interest. At least it wasn’t the first thought of every day, any more.

Walking back into College one day I passed a guy selling The Internationalist. I paid little attention, having no interest in Trotskyism or Anarchy, associating as I did the paper with one or the other. Then I recognised his face. He was one of my early morning visitors. I nodded, looking straight at him, but he looked down. Not to be outflanked, I pulled some coins out of my pocket and stood in front of him.

“I’ll have a copy” I said. He folded one and gave it to me, and as he took the money and tried to find the change he was shaking. I took the change and was about to ask him some questions but two things stopped me. The first was his body language which said clear as day ‘go away’ and he was joined by one of the two girl ‘visitors’. The three of us exchanged glares silently. She too looked frightened. I was at a loss to know how to proceed.

“You’ll have to talk to me sometime” I said. Mute response. “Or the Police” I said. Both looked stricken. After what seemed like an age he said

“We’ll explain. It’s just..... One of us will meet you and explain” and he folded up his stuff and the two of them walked briskly away. They were almost running by the time they got to Dame Street.

Some days passed and I was starting to regret not pushing my advantage. Then I had what seemed like a stroke of luck. I ran into the third ‘visitor’ by chance. I went to my Friday lecture and tutorial and as usual came out into Front Square just before one. The Buttery was always packed by then, and I had taken on Fridays to strolling up Grafton Street to Captain Americas where I could have a burger and relax. It was crowded there too, but I knew the staff and I was quickly ushered into a seat at a table for two. It dawned on me: sitting opposite me was the girl. I got a whiff of the perfume as I sat down. She looked composed, and, I noticed, not at all bad looking. It thought maybe the whole thing was a set-up, she had logged my routine, got herself into position in the restaurant, probably had a word with the desk, suggesting assignation and smiling, and sure enough they would sit me down with her. Then I dismissed it as paranoia. However, I was sure that it was she.

I ordered a burger and a beer and said nothing. I looked at her and she at me and neither of us spoke. She knew I knew it was she, and she knew I knew she knew. She had a plate of food, untouched, in front of her, and looking down, twirling a locket of hair around an index finger she said quietly and clearly

“I’m sorry. You were never meant to be hurt. It was an accident” She looked up. My food arrived. The waitress was going to say something, but didn’t.

“What happened?” I said.

“There was an explosion” she said, a touch tentatively. I took a deep breath and controlled myself.

“I know there was an explosion” I said, indicating my face and body. “What I want to know is why?”

She gulped out

“I...I can’t tell you.”

“Why not? You were there, weren’t you?” I saw her blink and misread the signs. “Come on” I said, “I could have died! As it was, I had a pretty lousy year. If you know what happened, the least you can do is tell me” I stopped “What’s so secret? Did you bring a bomb into College and it went off before it was meant to?” As I spoke, her face crumpled. And of course the waitress arrived to take the dishes. She looked at me as if I were a rapist. I reached out across the now cleared table to re-establish contact, but she pulled her arm back and took a deep breath and looked up.

“I can’t, just can’t, tell you what happened, or why. I just wanted to tell you. We never meant for anyone to get hurt. When we saw you going off in the ambulance, we thought we had killed you. We came and visited you every day. At first, they said it was touch and go. I just spent hours watching you breathe. Every so often you would stop. I would be just about to ring the alarm, and you would start again. We couldn’t keep coming when your family and friends were there or it would look suspicious. You were never meant to see us, to recognize us. We just wanted to make sure you were OK.” She looked up at me, worried, wretched even.

I don’t to this day know why I didn’t persevere. I know I found her very attractive, and I never respond with other than empathy when someone is in tears, but even so, I feel I let myself down here. A few moments later she stood up, just as I was trying to formulate a less emotive question, and said

“Look, there are things it is better you don’t know. I am glad, more than glad, you are OK, and it is important you know it was an accident and we ...we meant you no harm” and she walked over to the stairs and down to the street before I could even find out her name.

I got on with my weekend. I went for a few beers but I was poor company. My friends put it down to the accident, and in a way, they were right. My girlfriend of some months was less philosophical about it and all in all I was glad to get an early night. I had agreed to help a friend move flat on the Saturday morning, so they had a party the night before and when I went around, they were all still recovering, so I came straight back out to the car. Standing there was a chap I had seen before. Couldn’t remember where right then, but later, as I was driving the first load around the block it struck me. He had been on Dame Street when I came out of the pub the previous night. Then he was on Leeson Street when I came out of the flat. I kept a look out for him, but never saw him again. Nonetheless, I started to feel I was being watched. That brought a double worry. Either I was paranoid or I was being followed. By Sunday it had come to a head. I didn’t know if I was imagining it or not. I arranged with three friends to have a drink in Davy Byrnes. I joined them and we had a drink, watching who else came in. We positioned ourselves at the mid-point where the room narrows, and after the first drink was being replaced, I shot out the back door and the three guys bunched up to slow down anybody following. I trotted back into College. The following morning, just after the guys filled me in on one burly chap who seemed keen to follow me, I got a message for my tutor. I went to see him at lunchtime. He looked grave. He explained the Special Branch wanted to interview me in connection with the explosion.

I was a bit shocked, really. Once I had recovered my sight in hospital I had given statements to the police about three times, each time saying the same thing to different departments. I was not keen, but it seemed there was no alternative. I asked if I could be interviewed in my tutor’s rooms and to my surprise both he and they agreed.

They were in situ when I arrived. The tutor introduced me and closed the door behind him. I walked to the table and sat down. Opposite me were four individuals. I won’t describe them all, though they were all more similar than different. Let me call them A, B, C & D. Two (A&B) hardly spoke and C was obviously the main inquisitor and he got going pdq.

“What were you doing when the bomb went off?” he said, just straight out.

“Bomb?” I said.

“You were involved in an explosion in your Rooms in October last. We now know it was a bomb, and we wondered what part you played” He let it hang, and so did I. After a couple of heavy moments, I said

“I had no idea it was a bomb” remembering, it was the exact thing I had suggested to my frightened friend. “I understood a gas canister exploded. Since you ask, as I told all the previous Garda, I was half-asleep and listening to music. There was a crowd in the room opposite, and no, I wouldn’t recognize any one of them, and they were talking loudly, arguing maybe, and I had turned up the volume. I am told having had my eyes closed was fortunate.” I stopped. C looked at D, which was obviously a cue. D said

“You are saying you had nothing to do with it, If I understand you correctly?” and as he spoke, he removed some papers from a briefcase. He then laid out four photographs. In the first was me, talking to my ex-neighbour. In the second was me talking to the Internationalist seller, me talking to the girl who had interrupted us, and one apparently of me and the other girl having lunch in Captain America’s the previous Friday. In all the photographs I seemed to be smiling and so did the others, and this in spite of the reality of each meeting was less than happy.

“So” he said, “would you be kind enough to tell us who these people are? All four of them looked at me expectantly. Maybe I imagined the “howzat!” element in D’s expression.

I picked up the first one and pointing to me, I said

“This one is me” This got a flicker of annoyance. “And there’s Willie Lomond in whose room the, er, bomb exploded. He is reading Classics, I think, and he has new rooms just where you took this photograph.” I paused there. D said, pushing the second one forward

“What about this one? We know the one on the left is you. Who is the other person?’

“I don’t know” I said. I was going to explain when C jumped in.

“You seemed to be having quite a chat. We think you must know him”

“’fraid not” I said, “I was buying a copy of the Internationalist”.

“Do you buy The Internationalist regularly?” Said D, making it sound like a crime in itself.

“No, not regularly, but I do like to keep abreast of all opinions” I hesitated a bit as I said it, thinking I didn’t want to give them anything to suggest I was a subversive, but at the same time expressing my right to read what I wished. I had in fact never read The Internationalist’. He stroked his nose, chin and Adam’s apple with his index finger and thumb, using his other hand to push out photo number three.

“Well, who are you with in this picture?”

“I have no idea. I suppose she was a friend of his. He is there in the picture just behind her. They seemed to be taking off when I bought the paper” There was another silence. It seemed the temperature had dropped a degree or two.

“But you do know who this is?” said D, pushing forward the final print. “Not your usual girlfriend, is it?” I think it was this crack which turned me from neutral to antagonism.

“No and Yes” I said.

“What do you mean?” said C.

“He suggested I do know who is in the picture to which the answer is no. He asked if this is not my usual girlfriend to which the answer is yes, it is not.

“You don’t know who it was you were having lunch with?” D made it sound too unbelievable for words.

“I was not having lunch with her. I don’t know her. We exchanged a few words. I took an empty seat opposite her. The waitress showed me into the seat. It was chance”. As I said it, I knew it wasn’t chance. But they hadn’t asked me any questions about what I thought was going on, just presented the pictures and asked me who these people were. I didn’t know. Did they know it I was now just as keen as they to find out?

A spoke.

“Would it surprise you to know Willie Lomond has disappeared?”

“Well, yes it would. I don’t really know him, you know, except as a neighbour. Don’t his parents know where he is?” I said.

“It seems all the data the College hold for him is false. There is no Willie Lomond. There are no Willie Lomond parents. At the time of the explosion, he said he was at the dentist. No dentist in Dublin can confirm it”. They were all watching me for a reaction, but I was annoyed now. I didn’t as much as blink. After a few seconds I shrugged and said

“Is there anything else?’ They looked at each other.

“No. We may need to ask you some more questions as investigations progress, but I think we have gone as far as we can today” said C, again the spokesman. B looked at me as if I were an unpleasant biology specimen, so I stood up and held the door open, wrong-footing them. My Tutor arrived and said

“I hope the meeting was satisfactory” to which I replied, deliberately cutting the police posse out of the conversation

“Yes, I think so” and I stood beside him as they made their way out down the stairs. He turned to me

“You’re not mixed up in anything ... irregular, are you?

“No” I said, “I’ve had enough excitement for this year!”

“I suppose you have” he said, and shook my hand. “You know I’m here to help, should you need it. Not just academically, but pastorally also”. He patted my shoulder. “See you tomorrow”.

Now I wanted to find out what these people were called. I looked at the three names under which they had originally signed in at the hospital. One looked suspiciously like M. Mouser, and another D. Duckworth. Sure enough the third was T. Pie. No help there unless they were American Cartoon fans. I brooded. It struck me and it might have struck the police, that the meeting in Captain America’s was set up, and have talked to the staff. Just in case they hadn’t. I walked up there and started to check it out. The girl who had shown me to the table was a Swedish student and she was not due on duty till six. An hour away. I ate slowly. Six came and went. I was beginning to wonder what was up when she bounced up the steps and rushed in. Something about a puncture. When she had a chance to catch her breath, I called her over. While ordering a beer, I asked her about the set-up. She said the girl she didn’t know, but she had come in saying she wanted to sit with me, she knew I would be coming in and she was hoping to get me to invite her to Trinity Ball. She had persuaded the waitress to hold the seat and push me towards it when I got there. She was just playing cupid and thought it good fun until she saw I had made the girl cry.

“Anyway, what was it all about?” she said.

“I don’t think it was about Trinity Ball” I said, “I think she wanted to talk to me all right, but not about Trinity Ball. Is she a student? What’s her name?”

“You don’t know her name? And yet you make her cry? I don’t know who she is. I guess she is a student. She is a friend of Anna, I think”

“Who is Anna?” I said, with mounting excitement.

“Anna is doing Medicine in Trinity. She comes in here a lot. Blonde hair. You should have noticed!” she said with a laugh. When she brought the beer back she said

“Anna Duggan. Third Med.”

“How did you find out so quickly?” I said.

“Dominic, one of the chef’s. He knows her.”

I got up to go. I turned to her and said

“The police may come around asking questions. About her, about me. Don’t worry if they do, just tell them the truth. Maybe don’t tell them about Anna, hay? And let me know if they have been around, OK?”

“Sure I will,” she said with a smile.

Anna Duggan. Medical School. Third Med. So still on campus. I strolled down to the Medical Building but it was closed. I went and met my friends in Davy Byrne’s to buy them a drink for helping me and to fill them in on developments.

The next day I went down to the Medical Building straight after my tutorial and pinned a large red notice to the board with Anna Duggan written in hand high letters on it. Inside it merely said ‘Turn Around”. I pinned it to the board and waited in the shadows. Not half an hour later the crush of students poured down the stairs and out the door. For a moment I lost sight of the board. Then I heard a voice shouting

“Anna! There’s something here for you” and then I saw an arm reach out and take the note. The crowd thinned and there she was, turning around and looking straight at me. She looked quickly around, but everyone had now gone outside.

“What do you want?” she hissed. This was the other girl in the photographs, the one who had interrupted the newspaper seller. She knew who I was.

“I want to know what’s going on”

“I can’t help you” she said tersely, and went to brush past.

“The Garda want to know who you are?” I said, and she froze. She turned and looked at me.

“You don’t know what you are getting in to. You can’t help us, just walk away”.

“I want to talk with your friend again. The Guards have photographed me with you, with your ...boyfriend? and in Captain America’s with her. They tell me Willie Lomond has disappeared and never really existed as Willie Lomond. They obviously suspect me of something. I want to find out what”.

She hesitated. Then she said

“I’ll ask her to make contact. We ...we don’t want to give the Guards any more photographic opportunities, so it will be somewhere hidden, and somewhere you would usually go. Where do you suggest?”

“It’s not quiet, anything but, but the basement of the Stags Head is a good place. I’m well known there, and anyone with a camera will get short shrift if I put the word around. It can be a bit of a madhouse down there but I think I can guarantee no photographs. I’ll be there from nine tonight. OK?”

“OK. I’ll ask her. But I did warn you you should really just walk away. Let us sort out our own problems. You could regret not taking this advice” and she walked sedately away towards The Buttery.

I didn’t know what to think. I told the guys I was on a date and chatting someone up with a view to Trinity Ball. I said her ex was a thug and we needed protection. No better story to guarantee a scrum. I got there at eight-thirty and had a drink with the guys. Dead on nine, she came down the steps. One of the guys turned to me and said,

“Is that her? Louisa Hewson, Danny’s sister?” and immediately I saw the resemblance with the first XV scrumhalf.

“What is she reading?” I said

“I’m not sure” he said “Mod Lang or something”. I stood up and shuffled towards her. She looked frail, but she smiled. I got her a drink and we found ourselves behind some broad backs.

“So, you’re Louisa Hewson” I said. She looked surprised

“You’ve done your homework”

“So, what’s all this about? You didn’t want to chat me up for Trinity Ball, so there must be something else. And you rushed off as soon as I mentioned a bomb. Now I know there really was a bomb, I can maybe see why. But now the Guards are questioning me and asking me who you are. I thought I had better find out”.

She sipped her drink. Having let the silence go on just a little more than reasonable, she said

“I’ll tell you what I can even it is not much and even so it is unbelievable. I wake up each morning and for the first split second I think it is just a dream, and then I realise it is not. You are probably not going to believe what I tell you, but that’s up to you”. She looked at me as if gauging my reaction and I studiously kept a poker face.

“We started out as an idealistic group, discussing ways to move towards a more just society. There were a few anarchists in the group, and a few civil rights people, but mostly just socialists and ethicists. It was really exciting at first. But over the summer Willie called on each of us in turn and he had this idea if we meant what we said we should be prepared to act. And if we were prepared to act, we should do it at the beginning of the upcoming term. At first, we thought he was talking about organising a march. He was the point of contact between all of us so the conversations went back and forward. When we all met in his rooms, most of us thought we were talking protest march. But straight away Willie and Harry started talking about a bomb. Several of us were horrified. We all started shouting and Willie just put his case on the table and opened it and there was a bomb! He put it on the table like a centrepiece. Some of the others cheered, but I was frightened, and so was Anna. Harry didn’t say much. Then Willie said he had to go to the dentist. When we said what about the bomb? He just said ‘it’s quite safe’ and as he went out the door he said ‘for now’. We were struck dumb. We looked at each other and one of the guys went to pick it up but we all said to leave it. And then with no discussion, we all just filed out of the room and down the stairs. We were hardly out of the building when it went off”

She looked at me again. As she did, tears welled up.

“We all got away, and we thought no one was hurt. And then.... and then we looked up at the window and saw the fireball flash across the corridor. And I knew I had heard music across the hall, so I knew there was someone in there. I called the ambulance. I couldn’t believe it when they brought you out on a stretcher. I thought you were dead.........I thought we had killed you. Then in the hospital it was touch and go.” She took a sip, put the glass down, and said.

“We went to see Willie and he just laughed. Laughed! Then....then he showed a tape. A cassette tape. He had recordings of all of us. Discussing how dissatisfied we were with society and how something must be done to shake them up. When he played them, it made us all sound like terrorists, especially now the bomb had exploded and you had been injured. He said he would have to lie low for a time and he would need money. If we don’t get the money he needs, the tape goes to the Gardai. As he said, our careers will be in tatters, our families shamed, we will probably be jailed. He is still in Dublin. He leaves messages for us at Front Gate. He is obviously testing us by asking for increasing amounts and we are running out of money.

He found out we were visiting the hospital and became quite nasty about it. He told us to stay away from you. I don’t know why, but I think you represent some sort of threat to him”. She looked up questioningly but I could not think of any reason why he might. And she was right. I didn’t believe her. I got another round although we had sort of stopped speaking. She made no move to go. I ran it around in my mind again and said

“Would it not be better to go to the Garda and come clean? After all, you actually didn’t do anything irregular”. And I waited. I had a feeling there was more, but I couldn’t imagine what.

“it’s not so straight-forward. Those tapes, I tell you, I even sounded like a terrorist to me! Perfectly ordinary comments sound entirely different once violence is involved. I mean, everybody knows politics here is as corrupt as anywhere in any other emerging nation, and it is high time some of these people were called to account. But saying we should shake them up once and for all sounds much more sinister once the bomb has gone off. I am a pacifist. I would never, ever, be part of a bomb plot. Yet now, it seems like I was. And now we have given him money, it proves our collusion. He’s had almost 2000 already and now he says he needs another 3 to get away. If I ask my folks for a loan, they will want to know what it is for, and I don’t have any money left. I don’t know what to do”

I think it was then when I first fell in love with her. Her petite frame cowed almost by these events, but still game. I stretched out my left hand to her right hand and she took it. I squeezed her hand and said

“I’ll think of something. I need to sleep on it.” I felt her arm tense. “so maybe we should call it a day and I’ll get you a cab?

She stood up with more alacrity than I would have wished, and we headed for the street. There was a cab idling nearby so I opened the door. Once she was in I said

“Can we meet tomorrow? Don’t do anything, pay anything, until we talk tomorrow, OK?”

“OK” she said, “Where will you be?”

“I’ll be in my rooms at lunchtime. Why don’t you come for lunch? It won’t be Cordon Bleu.” I smiled.

I watched the cab head off with mixed feelings. Confusion and lust. I think.

There were bits I couldn’t reconcile. I couldn’t sleep. I stood at the window, looking down at the now shadowy tennis courts and tried to rationalize the seeming irrational. Why for example, was I a threat to Willie Lomond, or whatever his real name was? And what was the real hold he had over these three people?

I got nowhere and slept. In the morning I had a lecture and afterwards I went and did a bit of shopping. I rustled up a meal, chilled a bottle of wine and put on some music. There was a knock on the door rather before I expected it and it was the about to become ex-girlfriend. This because a rather done-up Louisa almost followed her in and I guess the fact I had gone to some trouble with the meal, coupled with my glamorous guest gave an ambiguous signal and it was taken with a hissed termination and a slammed door. The needle jumped on my brand new ‘After the Harvest’ album. Louisa looked at me with a controlled expression and I poured a couple of glasses of wine.

I know she was impressed with the meal. People are. An only child learns self-sufficiency early, and I had a great teacher. Anyway, we chatted a bit about nothing and at some point, I caught her unawares by saying quietly

“What is it about all of this you haven’t told me? She thought for a minute and then gave me a great answer, one which stymied me for ages. She said

“I don’t know you well enough to say any more”. Well, what do you say to that?

“What do you know of Willie Lomond? What is his real name?” I said. Nothing.

“OK” I said, “How does he communicate with you? He leaves notes at Front Gate? How do you know they are from him?

Louisa thought about it for a couple of minutes, which is a long silence, but I stopped myself butting in. In the end she said

“I think he is in contact with some people in Germany. They call him Manfred. They came to one of our meetings. A tall girl who was very serious and didn’t speak, and a guy. I think Willie was in awe of this guy. He was Dieter someone. Anyway, I think Manfred was a sort of nickname. Nobody knew Willie at school, or anywhere. He just appeared and he always had money. He claimed they had robbed a bank, but no one really believed him. I think Willie was always trying to impress everyone. I think the bomb was meant to get our attention. I don’t think he meant to blow us all up” As she spoke, the realization of his probable intension registered on her face. She shivered. I got up and made coffee to give her a break.

When I set the cups down and sat, she said

“You’re nothing like I expected” and she blushed.
“What did you expect?” I said, “We hadn’t met before this, had we?”

“No, Oh no, we never met, but my.,. a friend told me all about you.” I didn’t pick it up. Vanity, I guess. I said

“Oh. So what did this friend say about me. Who is she? It is a she?”

‘’I think you were a sort of hero to someone and I assumed you would be unbearable, but I felt I had to make it up to you for what we did to you. It never struck me I might like you”

“So, how did I seem heroic?” I said, digesting what I had just heard.

“Oh, apparently you single-handedly saved the day for her. She was cycling down Nassau Street when a car knocked her to the ground. Then some gurrier grabbed her bag and hoofed it off down the pavement. As she tells it you streaked after him, floored him with a world-class tap tackle, retrieved her bag, came back, straightened out her bike, got the name and address of the driver, and took her for a coffee to make sure she was over the shock. All round hero stuff. She never shut up about it. You must remember, unless you do this sort of thing every day, like superman!” I did remember, though it seemed more than it was. I remembered the girl was cute and learned not to do tap tackles on concrete.

“I do remember something happened all right. I just acted on autopilot. You know – this girl had the bad luck to be knocked down, and some perisher took advantage and grabbed her bag. I couldn’t not give chase. He wasn’t very fit, and big though he was, you know the old adage – the bigger they are, the harder they fall – his bulk was his downfall. He went down like a ton of bricks, which was just as well as I winded myself too! What was her name? Elizabeth something?”

“Elizabeth Hewson” said Louisa, in a resigned voice. I was still a bit slow.
“My cousin, Elizabeth” said Louisa, “This is why Willie doesn’t want you around. Elizabeth thinks you are wonderful and was always winding Willie up about it.” She went quiet. Then

“You might as well know. She and Willie are an item. She has gone missing too” I saw the tears sparkle in the corner of her eye. “I am so worried. I just don’t know what to do. Willie says if we don’t play ball we will never see her again. Elizabeth is a bit immature, you know, easily led, and she thinks Willie being a revolutionary is so romantic. She probably thinks this is all just great fun. But Willie says he is going to Germany and will take her with him. We have to do something” she said, almost to herself. I changed the record and had a thought.

“Was it you who bought the “After the Harvest’ album for me?”

“Yes” she said, with a smile “I remembered what was what was playing when the explosion happened. I thought it might make up a bit ....” I knew she was going to cry. I took her hand and drew her up and to me. I kissed her gently. And we went on from there.

In the morning we walked across Front Square arm in arm, as far as Front Gate, and as we passed the noticeboard she froze. Then she took a deep breath and pulled the note out. It didn’t say much. Just time was running out and unless there was some action, they would have to leave without saying goodbye. It was signed ‘Manfred’. Nothing incriminating, but a clear ultimatum all the same. I intimated I wanted the paper and Louisa handed it to me looking puzzled. I spread it out. It had been torn from an old diary. The date was one day last year, but the entry on the reverse said Dentist, Lincoln Place. The diary was a standard Eason’s number and there was little else of note. I knew the only dentist in Lincoln Place was the College Dental Hospital. It struck me the Garda probably hadn’t checked there. I wracked my brain for anyone I might know in Dentistry, and eventually remembered a guy who was a good poker player in the Junior Common Room. His name was Benson. I decided to wander down and see if I could find Benson, with nothing definite in mind. Louisa went home, promising to be in touch.

I found Benson almost immediately. He asked me how I was now. My incendiary incident was well known. I assured him I was one hundred per cent now and said I was looking for any revolutionaries in the Dental School. Benson guffawed.

“Nobody revolutionary goes into the professions! People joining the professions expect the profession to be the same when they get in as it was from time immemorial. We self-select for the status quo”. I tried another tack.

“Any Germans?” I said, about to expand when Benson said

“Only ‘The Kraut'” – the senior dental technician. He’s been here for yonks. Don’t think he’s a subversive, though mind you, how would I know? He does have a lot of visitors in his little office. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. I’m just gathering a bit of data for a project. Thanks for your input.” and we shook hands.

Next, I went into the Trinity Office and looked up the staff lists. I found him quickly. Michael Kunze. Home address Sandymount Road. Then on a whim, I looked up the student lists. William Lomond. Home address, Sandymount Road. Curiouser and curiouser. I walked up to the Stag’s and had a drink while I worked it out.

I couldn't see any other way to do it. The next morning, I walked into Pearse Street Police Station and asked to speak to C. When he finally came down to see me his humour seemed to have improved from the first time we met. He launched his bulk off the bottom step and lurched forward, hand outstretched, saying

"Come to give yourself up, have ye?" but his handshake was firm.

"Not exactly" I said. He nodded sideways to indicate we should move into an interview room.

"Coffee? " he said "its instant. The tea's better."

"I'll have the tea, thanks" He got a tea for us both and we had a long chat. I told him what I knew, with no names except Willie Lomond. I gave him the Dental College connection. Then he started to pay attention. When I was finished, I said

"You don't believe it, do you?"

"No, I don't" he said

"Neither did I at first"

"What changed your mind?"

"These people are not faking terror. And now I've seen one of Willie's notes. Let's just suppose I can get him out in the open, will you be the cavalry and ride in to the rescue? I am worried this may escalate. I am the only one damaged so far. I want to finish it and get on with life. What do you say?"

He thought for a moment and finally said
"OK. The Martello Tower is good. You tell us when he will be there and I'll provide the backup."

We shook hands and I left. Then I had to persuade Louisa. It was impossible to make it sound other than foolhardy without the police backup, but when I mentioned it she looked at me and said

"You told them? You told them what I told you in confidence? How could you?!"

"I haven't told them who you are. The only names I gave them are Willie Lomond and Michael Kunze. The deal is they leave you and your friends out of it - I told him you were innocent victims - if they get Willie. He said he knows you are not terrorists. Now what we have to do is contact Willie and ask for a further 24 hours. Tell him you will give him another three thousand tomorrow, but you have to see Elizabeth is safe, and tell him I will deliver the money and exchange it for the tape. He won't go for it straight off, so be warned he will come back hard. But he won't jeopardies the money. I think money is what makes our Willie tick."

"What choice do I have?" she said bitterly.

"What choice did you have anyway?" I said. She looked unconvinced. "Help me" I said. We worked out what to write and walked across together to Front Gate to put it on the board. Then she said she was going home. I looked at her and she hesitated. Then she gave me a quick kiss and said

"See you tomorrow. Let's see what the morrow brings, as they say" and she walked off into Dame Street.

In the morning I checked but there was nothing. I had an early lecture and straight after I went back to Front Gate. Louise was there, but catatonic. I prised the note from her fingers and read. He was furious about having to wait, he was furious I was now involved, he was furious he seemed to have lost the ability simply to demand. But at the end there was an ultimatum. He was offering one final payment - Six Thousand, and in return he would hand over the tape and the cousin would be free to leave if she wished. If it was not agreed straight away-all deals were off and the tape would go to the police and the cousin to Germany. I saw it as a success. Louisa saw it as a calamity.

I got her into Davy Byrnes and got her to drink a hot port. Her skin was grey. She was shaking. I took a piece of paper from a notebook and wrote

"Martello Tower, sea aspect, 15.00 today. Six Thousand in exchange for the tape and my cousin."

I pushed it over to her and said

"Write this. We'll finish it this afternoon"

"But where will I get six thousand? I've hardly got six left"

"If you write the note, finish your drink, and walk down to Front Gate and put the note up. Then come and join me in the Bank of Ireland. I will get the money."

"How, how can you ...have you... I can't ask you... you of all people. I mean...Oh! I don't know what I mean"

"The details we can fill in later. You just have to be on Sandymount Road in the car ready to go when we come running like the wind. OK?

It went as planned. I pitched up with the money in a plastic bag. Dead on three o'clock Willie came around the tower with a bedraggled Elizabeth in tow. We stood not a meter apart. It looked to me as if Elizabeth was drugged. I had the money in a plastic bag. He had the tape in a very similar plastic bag.

I said to Elizabeth

"Are you coming with me?" Before she could answer, Willie cut in

"Give me the money first"

I threw the bag at his feet, and said

"Throw me the tape, push Elizabeth over to me, pick up your money and bugger off" He sneered and pulled out a gun.

"I'm giving the orders now" he said, picking up the money, pointing the gun at me.

"I guess you are," I said. "But be a good fellow and throw me over the tape" He thought for a minute, and then seemed to realise time was passing. He kicked the tape over as he counted the money. I pulled the tape out of the bag and started removing the tape from the cassette, wrapping it around my wrist. Willie finished counting the money and abruptly pushed Elizabeth over to me and sprinted back around the tower. I moved with Elizabeth in the opposite direction around the tower where we ran into a policeman. For a moment I thought they had missed their man, but no, two appeared from the other side, one holding Willie's gun, the other a hand-cuffed Willie. I snapped the last of the tape out and dropped the tape back into the bag. We walked back towards the road where there was now parked a police van as well as Louisa's car. The Sergeant took the two plastic bags, and they left with the usual exchanges. Elizabeth sat in the back and I sat in beside Louisa.

"The police have the tape after all" she said in a resigned voice.

"No" I said, brandishing my wrist "They have the cassette, I have the tape. Let's go" She started to cry. I knew it was just relief. I put my arm around her and sat there for as long as it took. Elizabeth slept. It started to get dark. I drove. We dropped Elizabeth at her parents' house, and I drove Louisa home. I turned off the engine. I unwound the tape and gave it to her. She reached over and gave me a kiss. Then we got out and as she turned towards the front door I started to make for the road and public transport.

"Where are you going?" she said

"Well, home." I said.

"You can't. You must come in and meet my parents" Her colour had returned.

"Why must I meet your parents? They don't know me from Adam" She came and took my hand.

"I want them" she said "to meet the man I want to take me to Trinity Ball"

© Dave Cuffe 2025

2014