Ashes to Ashes

Darragh couldn't relax after that. New Year came and went, and Grainne couldn’t get a word out of Darragh as to why he was so jumpy.

"What is up with you?" she asked once more, getting annoyed as her husband leapt up and dived to the window again, as headlights swept the street outside.

"Nothing." Darragh muttered vaguely, sitting down as he saw that it was just an ordinary car. "Nothing at all."

"That's a lie."

"Daddy's been shooting people!" Miceál yelled from the floor, and then he rolled onto his back and giggled triumphantly. Darragh watched his young son with mixed emotions. Sure he'd raised him to be a wee Republican, but he wasn't sure that he liked his three-year-old being so happy about the fact his father ran around brandishing a gun.

"Tell me what's happened, Darragh," Grainne whispered, leaning against her husband as he sat back down next to her. Darragh closed his eyes, breathing in the soft smell of her hair and wishing for the first time in his whole career as an IRA man that he could just be a normal husband and father, with a normal job, not having to worry about all these different things. Tears suddenly sprang to his eyes. He kept them clamped closed, so Grainne couldn't see.

"Nothing has happened." he said eventually, but Grainne wasn't convinced.

"Fine." she sighed. "All right, if you say so." She got up and picked up Miceál, who protested loudly at being disturbed from his colouring.

"Ma!" he yelled. "I'll beat ye up!" Grainne looked outraged, but Darragh couldn't help but laugh at his son's strong Belfast accent. It sounded weird coming from a tiny three-year-old.

"You shouldn't encourage him so, Darragh!" Grainne rolled her eyes. "Come on, kiddo. Time for bed."

"I'm not a kiddo! I'm in the IRA!"

"Well, even IRA men have to sleep." Grainne carried Miceál out of the room, and Darragh could hear him talking nineteen to the dozen all the way up the stairs. He smiled. He had a mad family, which was for sure. He only wished that he could relax and just enjoy it.

As he habitually walked over to the window to check out of it onto the street, he noticed his son's drawing. It was of a street with several big green blocks, which looked like the armoured police/army vans, coming down it. And on the far left hand side of the paper, there was a little stick man with a balaclava and a gun, shooting little black bullets at the cars.

Darragh gave a thin smile. Look out, world. Here comes Volunteer Miceál Callaghan.

He peered out of the window. It was still deserted. As he watched the window slowly steam up from his breath, he noticed headlights coming down the street. It was an armoured car.

His heart skipped a beat, and he somehow knew that all of the cars now appearing were for him. Heart thumping madly now, he found he couldn’t un-glue his feet from the floor.

"Darragh!" he heard Grainne yell him from Miceal and little Caolan's bedroom. Aoibheann had another room, as the only girl so far.

"I know, I've seen them!" Darragh called back. Hearing the urgency and panic in his young wife's voice made him spring into action, and he ran out of the living room, heading for the back door.

"Darragh! Please be careful!" Grainne ran back down the stairs, looking at her young husband with tears in her eyes.

"I'll be fine," he whispered, stopping to kiss her gently. "I've done this a thousand times. I have to go. I love you, and tell the children I love them as well."

"I will. I love you too, Darragh. God's speed."

Darragh kissed his wife again, and then he hurried out of the back door. Grainne watched him leap up and disappear over the tall garden wall, and no sooner had the top of her husband's head vanish from view, then the front door was kicked down.

"Jesus Christ, there are wee ones in the house!" Grainne yelled as more than three-dozen armed soldiers burst into the house.

"Where is he?" one of them demanded of her, and Grainne shot him a filthy glare.

"Where's who? I don't know who you're talking about."

"My arse!" the soldier spat in a gruff London accent. "Where's the murdering scumbag?"

"I don’t know who you're on about!" Grainne screamed at him. The soldier grabbed her and pushed her up against the wall. Grainne screamed and scratched at his face with her nails, causing him to back away slightly. "Keep your filthy British hands off me!" she yelled at him.

"You know who we're talking about, girl! Your fucking husband! Darragh Callaghan! Where is he?"

"What's my Darragh got to do with all this?"

"Your Darragh is a fucking murderer, that's what your Darragh is! A scumbag! Where is he?"

"He's nothing to do with anything! He's not even in the country!" The soldier laughed, a high, cold laugh.

"A likely story. Where is he really?"

"He's in Glasgow, in Scotland, visiting his brother!" Grainne yelled at him, well rehearsed in the story. She added in her own little twist. "He's been there since before Christmas. He brother's sick. He hasn't been home since he left. He couldn't be anything to do with anything!"

"And what's his brother doing in Glasgow?"

"Trying to get away from you." Grainne spat coldly.

There were suddenly little footsteps on the stairs, and an angry-looking Miceal appeared, looking as furious as a three-year-old could.

"You bad men are after my Daddy!" he yelled at them.

"Miceál, go back home to bed, sweetie," Grainne said to her son gently, scared he would get himself or his father into trouble. Who knew what the little boy could blurt out?

"No! Not until the bad men leave us alone! I won't let them hurt you, Mummy!"

"Get the kid upstairs, woman!"

"Come on, Miceál." Grainne picked up the little child, who glared at the soldiers.

"When I get older I'm going to join the IRA and shoot you!" he yelled at them, over his mother's shoulder.

"When you're older, Miceál," Grainne whispered, so only her little son could hear her. She put her hand protectively on the back of his head, holding him close to her. "Don't worry. You know Daddy and his friends won't let them hurt us."