The psychologist who interviews Paddy is determined to be friendly, a small man with a short-back-and-sides haircut and a very straight parting. He holds out his hand to shake Paddy’s, as if they were on the outside, not sitting hunched in a cell. Paddy sits on the bed while the psychologist, whose name is Ramsey, perches on the chair.
‘I asked to see you in here,’ Ramsey says, his voice earnest, ‘so that we wouldn’t have guards watching us in the visiting area. I want to connect with you, Paddy. You know, really get to know you. I want to know what makes you tick, your thoughts and your feelings, to open up your heart to me.’
‘Well, some people would say I don’t have one of those. A heart, ha ha.’
‘This isn’t a laughing matter.’ Ramsey is wearing a lime-green merino jersey with a diamond-checked red and brown panel down the front, as if to show that he is really quite a casual person and not a bureaucrat. ‘It’s your life, young Paddy my lad. Believe me, I know the value of life, I was a fighter pilot in my war days. Flew Spitfires over the Pacific. Did your father serve in the war by any chance?’
‘He was a soldier, yes.’
‘Hmm. And what did he tell you about the war?’
‘Not much, sir.’
‘Please call me Ramsey,’ the psychologist says. ‘I want to be your friend.’ He has very bright blue eyes, as though he were wearing the sky in them, but somehow they contain a blankness, as if he wouldn’t recognise a cloud if he bumped into it.
‘My da said that it was best put behind us. The war, sir. Uh, Ramsey. He had a marley that he took off a German, but I lost it.’
‘What is a marley?’
‘A marble, sir.’
‘A marley, well now isn’t that interesting? I’ve learned something. Language is so fascinating.’ He seems to have given up on Paddy calling him by his name. ‘I’m interested in the meaning of bodgie. You don’t happen to know that, by any chance?’
‘I did hear. I had a friend called Henry, he stayed with me now and then and he was a Teddy boy. He was a pretty smart guy, was Henry, and he wore the best clothes — really smart Edwardian gear, if you know what I mean, the long coats and shiny shoes.’
And talking about Henry reminds him of something that has hovered alongside him, the shadow of something or someone he hasn’t been able to recognise. It’s Henry’s face swimming before him, and he is in Ye Olde Barn cafe the night Johnny McBride died. Or that’s what he thinks, even though it’s improbable and wasn’t Henry away at sea that night? The Henry he is seeing is wearing a dark heavy jersey, not his Teddy boy clothes. He shakes his head; he must be dreaming.
‘So the bodgies? We were talking about the bodgies.’ Ramsey’s voice is insistent, persuasive.
‘Yes, sorry. Bodgies, the way I used to dress after I got to Auckland, we’re a bit more casual. You know, sweatshirts and bomber jackets, that sort of thing. Anyway, Henry told me that bodgie comes from budgerigar, which is an Australian love-bird. We’re the down-under types.’
‘But you’re not a down-under man.’
‘I’d like to have had gear like Henry’s, but it costs, you know, all tailored stuff. The stewards and seamen who come off the ships, they’ve got money for it. I might have got round to it, but I was kind of saving my money for other things. Well, I was going to start saving.’
‘Like? Like what other things?’
‘Going home perhaps. I don’t know.’ His voice is wistful. Everything is floating before him now. The girl, his mam and da, the little boy Daniel, all of them.
Ramsey is busy scribbling down notes. ‘So why do you people want to dress like this? These hair-dos and all this sort of thing?’
‘It’s a bit different, isn’t it? No offence meant, but everything’s a bit grey here, isn’t it, sir? I mean, why does everyone have to look the same?’ Paddy is trying to pull himself back into this strange exchange.
‘So everything in Northern Ireland is different from here, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, it’s pretty plain living in Ireland, sir. There’s not all that much money there, I can tell you that. But we get dressed up for the Orange Parade — you know, sashes and things.’
‘Ah yes, groups of Loyalists, hmm? So you like going round in gangs?’
‘We stick together. All the crowd at Ye Olde Barn cafe were like mates. Well, most of us, until things went wrong. As they did for me. You get a bad egg or two.’
‘But, on the whole, you’d hang out together and make yourselves very obvious? Quite provocative to passers-by. Would that be fair comment?’
‘Not intentionally. Some of these Kiwi blokes want a punch-up sometimes, they don’t like that we all have girlfriends.’
‘Your lot carry knives?’
‘Some of them do.’
‘You did.’
‘That night. Not as a rule. If you got cornered alone in a back street and someone took against you, you needed to protect yourself. Some of the boys used their boots and broken bottles. Like Johnny McBride.’
‘But the witnesses say you had a broken bottle the night of the party at 105 Wellesley Street.’
‘Did they say that? I don’t really remember. I forget what happened that night. Does it matter now?’ Paddy feels very tired.
‘So let’s move on to the girls. Everyone had girlfriends, I gather?’ The voice of the psychologist is inexorable, the blue eyes shining with something like excitement, his first real sign of emotion. ‘The widgies. Do you know what a widgie is? Any idea where that comes from?’
‘No.’
‘Widgeons, I’m told. A kind of duck. That’s what I’ve heard. Ducks, I tell you. Now there’s a bit of information for you.’
‘So you knew where bodgies came from before you asked me?’
‘Don’t go smart arse with me, Black. Of course I know the answers. I think I know the answers to most things about you.’
‘If you say so.’
‘This conversation isn’t going anywhere much. You’ll have to be a bit more cooperative than you’re being now. How come this girl Rita was so quick to go to bed with you?’
‘Well, the girls, you know, they’re willing. They enjoy sex. So do I.’
‘So you had plenty of girls at your disposal? How often did you have sexual intercourse?’
‘Oh, four or five times a week.’
‘With the same girl?’
Paddy has had enough of this. The man is writing away with feverish enthusiasm as if he were getting kicks out of the conversation. ‘Nup, not always. I liked a bit of variety.’
He hears himself in his head and feels slightly sick. ‘That is, until—’ He stops. But no, he is not going to tell the psychologist about Bessie. This is a grubby little game at best.
‘So it was all right if you double-crossed your own girlfriend?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ But what was it like? He hopes the man doesn’t ask him that.
‘Did you take precautions against venereal disease?’
‘No, I didn’t, and so far as I know I’ve never had the clap.’
‘What about pregnancy?’
Perhaps this Ramsey knows about Bessie anyway, but he won’t find out anything about her from him. ‘I guess some girls get pregnant,’ he says, in what he hopes is an even tone.
‘So these gangs of youths you hung out with, they don’t work regularly?’
‘I didn’t at the time. But I did have the same job down south for a year and a half or thereabouts. I earned enough to get by.’
‘So really, you were a defaulting assisted immigrant picking up a bit of work here and there until you ran out of money again?’
‘Something like that.’
The interview is over, the notebook snapped shut. ‘Well, thank you, Mr Black, you’ve been helpful after all.’ The psychologist doesn’t offer to shake hands this time.
What was all that about? Paddy wonders. The man hadn’t wanted to get to know him at all; it seems he just wanted some gossip as juicy as possible. Paddy can hear it going down a treat in his office. It occurs to him then that this is what the Executive Council will hear. Well, hadn’t he known that from the beginning? This was his chance to grovel and he’s messed things up again. There is no taking any of it back.