Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Ten
Padraig sighed deeply as he reached up slowly and knocked on the door. He'd been out of hospital for only a day and already he had to take care of what had happened.
A woman opened he door. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were tearstained. She recognised him instantly. The Commanding Officer of the Belfast Brigade was someone you recognised pretty quickly, as Padraig had found out over the years.
"Mrs McMahon." Padraig said softly. She nodded and moved aside so he could come in. She led him into the living room where a man was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, staring silently at the carpet. On the mantelpiece was a framed picture of Gearoid, surrounded by candles. Padraig felt a lump in his throat as he looked at it, and he let his eyes fall to the floor.
"Brian, it's Mr Caraher." Gearoid's mother said softly, and the man, Gearoid's father, looked up slowly.
"Just … Just call me Padraig." Padraig said softly. He'd never liked any of this formal stuff. His view was that it made an awkward situation even more awkward.
"Padraig." Brian said quietly. "Sit down, then." Padraig gratefully sat down in the other armchair. His head hurt if he stood up too long.
"I'm so sorry about what happened." Padraig spoke softly, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak any louder.
"Padraig Caraher." Brian stated Padraig's name again, and Padraig detected a certain degree of coldness in his voice. "So you're the one, eh? You're the reason my son died?"
Padraig looked down at the floor awkwardly.
"I'm so sorry, Mr McMahon, I really am –"
"Apologising isn’t going to bring my son back, Caraher."
"Brian, please," Gearoid's mother said quietly. "Getting angry at him won't bring Gearoid back, either."
"I know I'm partly to blame, Mrs McMahon." Padraig said softly.
"So what are you here for?" Gearoid's father was definitely cold towards Padraig.
"You may or may not know that Gearoid was a member of the IRA?" Padraig asked, getting straight to the point. He never knew if the parents knew about their child's involvement, and sometimes it took long, lengthily conversations to persuade them that their little angels were actually IRA members.
Padraig's luck was in today, however. He wanted to get out of that house as quickly as possible.
"Of course we knew." Brian said quietly and icily. Padraig found himself getting annoyed.
"Look, Mr McMahon, I know you don’t want me to be here and I don’t really want to be here either. But it's my duty as Commander of the Belfast Brigade and I have to do things that I don't want. And I didn’t want Gearoid to die. No one did, but it happened as things do happen in the IRA. I didn’t personally kill your son and you both know that. Do you not think I'm upset about it as well? I knew it's nothing compared to how you're feeling but I have to live with everyone fucking looking at me and blaming me for it!" Padraig's voice had risen by the end of his speaking, and he stopped and took a few deep breaths.
Brian McMahon was still staring the young IRA Commander out.
"He died because you're running around hiding from the UVF. They shot him to get at you and I personally don’t want to see your face ever again."
Padraig stood up.
"All right, I'll go. I just came round to let you know that as an IRA Volunteer he is entitled to a full IRA funeral. Obviously, the IRA will provide the money for it. Just so you know." Padraig looked at them for a second more, and then showed himself out.
A woman opened he door. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were tearstained. She recognised him instantly. The Commanding Officer of the Belfast Brigade was someone you recognised pretty quickly, as Padraig had found out over the years.
"Mrs McMahon." Padraig said softly. She nodded and moved aside so he could come in. She led him into the living room where a man was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, staring silently at the carpet. On the mantelpiece was a framed picture of Gearoid, surrounded by candles. Padraig felt a lump in his throat as he looked at it, and he let his eyes fall to the floor.
"Brian, it's Mr Caraher." Gearoid's mother said softly, and the man, Gearoid's father, looked up slowly.
"Just … Just call me Padraig." Padraig said softly. He'd never liked any of this formal stuff. His view was that it made an awkward situation even more awkward.
"Padraig." Brian said quietly. "Sit down, then." Padraig gratefully sat down in the other armchair. His head hurt if he stood up too long.
"I'm so sorry about what happened." Padraig spoke softly, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak any louder.
"Padraig Caraher." Brian stated Padraig's name again, and Padraig detected a certain degree of coldness in his voice. "So you're the one, eh? You're the reason my son died?"
Padraig looked down at the floor awkwardly.
"I'm so sorry, Mr McMahon, I really am –"
"Apologising isn’t going to bring my son back, Caraher."
"Brian, please," Gearoid's mother said quietly. "Getting angry at him won't bring Gearoid back, either."
"I know I'm partly to blame, Mrs McMahon." Padraig said softly.
"So what are you here for?" Gearoid's father was definitely cold towards Padraig.
"You may or may not know that Gearoid was a member of the IRA?" Padraig asked, getting straight to the point. He never knew if the parents knew about their child's involvement, and sometimes it took long, lengthily conversations to persuade them that their little angels were actually IRA members.
Padraig's luck was in today, however. He wanted to get out of that house as quickly as possible.
"Of course we knew." Brian said quietly and icily. Padraig found himself getting annoyed.
"Look, Mr McMahon, I know you don’t want me to be here and I don’t really want to be here either. But it's my duty as Commander of the Belfast Brigade and I have to do things that I don't want. And I didn’t want Gearoid to die. No one did, but it happened as things do happen in the IRA. I didn’t personally kill your son and you both know that. Do you not think I'm upset about it as well? I knew it's nothing compared to how you're feeling but I have to live with everyone fucking looking at me and blaming me for it!" Padraig's voice had risen by the end of his speaking, and he stopped and took a few deep breaths.
Brian McMahon was still staring the young IRA Commander out.
"He died because you're running around hiding from the UVF. They shot him to get at you and I personally don’t want to see your face ever again."
Padraig stood up.
"All right, I'll go. I just came round to let you know that as an IRA Volunteer he is entitled to a full IRA funeral. Obviously, the IRA will provide the money for it. Just so you know." Padraig looked at them for a second more, and then showed himself out.