Connor Tullen was thinking about Clements. How could fate possibly have chosen such a man to be his saviour? He had nothing against being saved by a Protestant. Religion had never been an issue with Tullen. What rankled the most was the fact that he had been saved by a bigot. During their night out Clements had tried to probe into his background. What school did he go to. What district did he come from, searching questions that would help to ascertain a person’s religion. Tullen had remained non-committal, tight-lipped and totally focused. He was too experienced at dealing with Clements’ ilk and found that he actually enjoyed the cut and thrust of the interrogation. Ascertaining Billy’s religion had been ridiculously simple. To his recollection Connor Tullen had never heard a Catholic refer to himself as an Ulster man. That coupled with the fact that his rescuer’s name was Billy had left little room for doubt. It did not take Sherlock Holmes to deduce the other’s faith. Eventually Clements had tired of the game, choosing instead to enter into conversation with a large bosomed Dutch girl who happened to smile in his direction. Tullen chuckled at the memory. Billy Clements may be a rough Belfast man but he had a boyish charm that had the lady swooning in record time. He was brash and self centred but oozed self-confidence. Tullen was amazed when Clements said to the girl, ‘I’ll give ye half an hour and if yer not back with a friend for me mate here, it’s adios babe.’ Less than twenty minutes had elapsed before the young lady was back with friend in tow. Shit he really is something else, Tullen smiled at the memory. It’s a pity our path’s will never cross again. He was interrupted from his reverie by the shrill tone of his telephone. On the other end of the line was Gerard Graves native of Derry’s famous Creggan district. ‘Hello, Belfast city morgue,’ answered Tullen.
‘Have ye any empty boxes?’ boomed the voice, through the receiver.
‘Could you speak up please, I’m partially fuckin deaf,’ bantered Tullen, which brought a guffaw by way of reply. ‘What do ye want Gerry. Jesus won’t you culchies ever learn that ye don’t have to shout from one city to another. Phones were inverted to do the job for ye.’
‘Agh don’t be like that brother, sure you know fine well electricity baffles us farming folk.’
‘Folk is it, are you sure ye don’t mean stock?’ His sarcasm was answered by another bellow of laughter, causing Tullen to quickly pull the receiver from his ear. ‘Come on now Gerry what the fuck do ye want?’
‘Why is that ye always think I’m wantin somethin when I call ye?’ asked the voice indignantly.’
‘Christ that’s a goodun , maybe it’s because ye’ve never given me anything in the twenty year’s I’ve known ye.’
‘Agh that’s it then, if yer gonna be like that I’ll not tell ye my news.’
‘News is it, and what news wud you have that cud possibly interest me?’ retorted Tullen.
‘Oh I think you might want to know this wee snippet now.’
‘Well go on then. I’d say I’m all ears but I think ye’ve busted me right eardrum.’
‘Fuck you. I only rang to tell ye Moira’s home.’
‘Moira, Moira Lavery?, Tullen’s heart gave a lurch. Are ye sure Gerry?Don’t fuck me around now.’
‘Now ye know I wudn’t be that cruel brother. She flew in yesterday. Says she’s finished with the States. Sure we all got arseholed in Jennies’ last night. Will ye be coming up at the weekend? It wud be a nice wee surprise for yer woman.’
‘Agh I don’t know Gerry. Sure she ran away and left me, what wud she be wantin with me anyhow?’
‘Ye’d be surprised brother. All she talked about was you the whole fuckin night. She got right melancholy once the drink had grabbed her.’
‘Aye right, wud ye stop windin me up Gerry?, said Tullen warily.
‘Honest te God Con, no wind up. If you don’t believe me call Sean, he was there too.’
‘Ask me brother if I’m a liar,’ chirped Tullen, sarcastically.
‘Ach bollocks te ye then, if ye don’t believe me it’s your problem. Do ye think I’ve got good money to waste on the bloody phone?’ snapped Graves.
‘Take it easy now big man, ye can’t blame me for being sceptical. Sure ye know we were as good as married when she just upped and left. I don’t want to be gettin into the same auld rut now do I?’
‘Right enough Con, anyway give it a bit of thought and come up anyway. Sure it’s been ages since we had a pint together. Givus a bell on Thursday night no matter what you decide.’
‘Will do big man. Hey, thanks for the call.’ Connor Tullen replaced the phone and sat slowly down.
His memory raced to the time when he had first met Moira Lavery. She was having an argument with a female neighbour. Her cheeks were glowing red as she defended her younger brother who hid sheepishly behind her skirt. The boy had broken the neighbour’s window causing the woman to pounce like a preying mantis catching the lad a hefty clout. The assault was bad enough but not contented with brutality she had hurled abuse at him as well, bringing into question the boy’s parentage and decrying the Lavery family name. ‘Ye rotten auld bitch,’ screamed Moira. The cheek of ye hittin me wee brother, sure he’s only nine.’
‘Aye nine he is, goin on twenty, the wee rip,’ retorted the irate neighbour. ‘Anyway I don’t want to stand here bandying word’s with the likes of ye.’
‘Bandy is it? The only bandy one around here is yerself. Wud ye luk at those legs, ye cud drive a number nine bus between them. Come to think of it, that’s the only thing that hasn’t been between them.’
‘Why ye cheeky wee bitch, I’m gonna tear yer fuckin eyes out,’ screamed the older woman, launching herself at Moira like a tigress that had missed a few meals. Moira spun away and came back like a vixen protecting her young. Gerry and Connor were over in an instant quickly getting between the protagonists. Connor smiled at the memory, placing his arms around her slim waist he had lifted Moira bodily off the ground. In her frustration she had squirmed and twisted trying to break free from his grip but Tullen held on resolutely trying to reason with her. His attempt at peacemaking was to no avail as she writhed and screamed, hurling obscenities. Eventually he frog marched her down the street. Her younger brother, filled with a new resolve, was kicking at Con’s shins. If he could carry her out of seeing distance, he reasoned, there was a chance that he could appease her anger. Gerry, for his part, had better results guiding the older lady home and cajoling her with the offer of a nice cup of tea. ‘Now take it easy Maisey, sure it’s only a windy. Jesus you’d think the house had been knocked down,’ he reasoned, trying to pacify the woman. At the other end of the street, Moira Lavery aimed a well-directed back heel that caught Tullen just below the left knee. He dropped his captive like a disgraced politician, at the same time bending to grip his wounded leg. Weaving his fingers together around his damaged knee he hopped around like a one legged gigolo at a disco. When Moira surveyed her handiwork, she leaned against the wall and howled with laughter. Tullen was furious. ‘Funny eh,’ he sulked, still rubbing at the rapidly swelling wound. Moira just put her hand to her mouth, took another peak at Tullen and burst out laughing again. ‘Agh shite,’ growled Connor, turned and hobbled back up the street.
‘Wait, wait a minute will ye. I’m sorry I kicked ye so hard. Is your leg all right?’ asked Moira, finally showing a modicum of concern.
‘Grand thanks, I think me Olympic sprinting career’s finished and regards refereeing women’s wrestling, I’ll be tearin up my application form.’
‘Ach stop yer wingen wud ye, it can’t be that bad. Who are ye anyway?’ she added, realising that she had inflicted damage upon a complete stranger.
‘Douglas Bader,’ he grumbled still hobbling.
‘Agh come on, I said I was sorry. Are ye a friend of Gerry Graves?’
‘I don’t know whether te answer that or not.’
‘Shit, why not?’
‘If I say yes, maybe you don’t like him and I get another kickin, aye and if I’m not a mate of his, ye won’t like that either, so I think I’ll just pass.’
‘Ye’re a big coward that’s what ye are’ said Moira, flashing an impish grin. ‘Gerry Graves is me cousin so he is and I only kick strangers once,’ with that she turned on her heels and strutted back up the street. Connor Tullen was spellbound. He could not come to terms with his feelings. Gingerly he examined his shin, which by now had begun to swell and was turning an ugly puce. Never before had he been affected like this. His leg was throbbing but he felt great. If she had not had the argument maybe they would never have met. One thing was certain, he was determined to see the girl again. He also vowed that he would contrive their next meeting.
Connor Tullen was besotted. It did not take long for their next encounter. Tullen was visiting relatives in the city and had known Graves since childhood. They were an unlikely pair with Tullen the street-wise city boy and Graves more of the country cousin type. In spite of their obvious differences they hit if off immediately and their friendship had stood the test of time. Gerry was into folk music and Tullen, although more of a country music fan, did not mind accompanying him to folk clubs now and then. It was on one such occasion that Connor was to encounter the beautiful Moira again. Tullen was enchanted as he watched the smiling redhead weave a spell around her companions. He wanted her more than any other woman on the planet. To Connor she was the only person in the room. He was disturbed from his reverie by the foghorn bellow of his friend. ‘Wud ye for Christ sake take this pint outa me hand brother. What are ye starin at anyway?Aw I see, it’s our Moira, feared she’s gonna give ye another hidin,’ laughed the big man, slapping Tullen on the back and almost crushing a lung.
‘I swear Graves, if ye had any brain’s ye’d make a great bowl of sheep’s head broth’.
‘Aye true enough,’ agreed his companion, spraying a mouthful of Guinness over Tullen in the process.
‘Ye know it’s true what they say about you Derry men. If them apprentice boys hadn’t closed them gates. Ye still wud have tried to scale the walls anyway.’
‘That’s great craic wee man, it’s about as funny as a no entry sign on a brothel door.’
‘Listen Gerry, isn’t that Jane Kerr over in the corner,? observed Tullen, nodding in the direction of an attractive girl who was having an animated conversation with another young lady.
‘Sure enough, so it is,’ assented Graves. ‘Haven’t seen her around for a while. Hey do you remember the times we had with her and her sisters up the glen?’ smiled his companion, lustfully.
‘Christ aye, listen I want ye to do me a favour.’
‘Oh and what might that be brother?’ asked his friend ,warily.
‘If ye think I’m gonna go for that refugee from Battersea dogs home that Jane’s talkin to, ye’ve got another thing coming.’
‘No Ger, yer one ugly bastard but even Quasimodo had standards.’
‘Ha fuckin ha,’ snorted the big man glumly. ‘Well what is it ye want then?’
‘I’m gonna take a leak. I want ye te get Moira over here. Buy her a drink and then when I come back, let on that ye’ve just clocked Jane and leave me alone with yer cousin.’
‘Fancy her a bit do ye Con boy?Well let me tell ye somethin, yer wee woman is a real gem and she’s got nine brothers. If ye’re thinkin of any monkey business ye’d best forget it. Oh aye, I wouldn’t be too pleased neither by the way.’
‘Agh away an shite wud ye. Just do me a favour and cut the crap. I’m away for a Jimmy. I’ll be clockin ye from round the corner, OK?’ ‘Aye alright Con but I meant what I said,’ confirmed Gerry. Tullen positioned himself behind a pillar to covertly survey his friend’s progress and true to his word, Gerry managed to draw Moira away from her companions over to the bar. Connor gave them a few minutes before limping over to join them. ‘Oh, I see we have the new Derry City centre forward with us,’ he said, nodding to the girl.’
‘Ye’ll hardly get a trial for the paralympics the way yer hobblin around. Are you never better yet? Jesus you Belfast boys are the soft yins aren’t ye,’ retorted the girl, which was Gerry’s cue to beat a retreat.
‘I’d like to stay and mediate on the rematch but one fight a week is all me union will let me referee. There’s big Jane Kerr in the corner. Think I’ll mosey over and check out the colour of her knickers,’ added the big man, with a wink.
‘She’d be in dire need of an optician if she were to drop them for ye,’ shouted Moira, after her cousin who answered her slight by extending the middle finger of his right hand. Ignoring the gesture Moira turned to Tullen casting an anxious glance. Is your leg really bad? I don’t even know yer name. Ye can tell me now and I promise I won’t kick or bite ye for at least tonight.’
‘My name’s Tullen, Connor Tullen and as ye can see by my sartorial elegance, I hail from Belfast.’
‘Oh sartorial elegance,’ she mimicked, ‘Proper toff aren’t we. My name is Moira Lavery, from lovely Derry. Now that we have been introduced properly I want te say thanks for stoppin the row. I was makin a right eejit of meself and yer woman isn’t a bad auld soul really. I’ll have te learn te control me temper, it’ll be the end of me one of these days.’ Tullen bought her a drink and they stayed together for the remainder of the evening. Playing the gentleman Connor walked her home and was afraid to steal a kiss in case she rejected his advances. ‘Goodnight Moira I had a great night. I was wondering if I could see you again.’
‘Ye’ll not be seein me again, if ye walk away without givin me a goodnight kiss.’ With that she grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a long lingering kiss on his mouth. ‘See you in a couple of days. Gerry can give ye me number, night Douglas Bader.’ In a flash she was gone.
The relationship blossomed quickly. They grew closer, became a couple and inevitably lovers. Tullen drove up to Derry every weekend and sometimes during the week. He was unashamedly in love. Months sped by and turned to a year. As suddenly as their whirlwind romance had blossomed, his world came crashing down around him. Arriving at Moira’s door one evening, he was greeted by her mother who informed him that Moira had been employed as a nanny for a couple in Boston. His reason for living had flown to America the previous day. No explanation was offered, not so much as a note. She had been wrenched from him without reason. Stunned and unable to speak he turned and in a daze drove back to Belfast. Emotionally he was a wreck, filled with anger that he directed against the British. Part of Connor died on the doorstep that night. Nearly six years in the distant past she had driven a sword through his heart and here she was again threatening to rip his soul apart for a second time. Tullen could not come to terms with her seemingly unfeeling comings and goings. He dreaded their first contact but feared even more the option of never seeing her again. A man used to being in control Tullen had adjusted to life without her but her image had never strayed far from his mind. Why was she doing this to him? Tearing at his heart, opening wounds which had never really healed. The thought of seeing her again gnawed at his soul. Tullen had no choice for deep down he knew that, on Saturday, wild horses could not keep him from sinking into the beckoning pool that is Moira.