sure we’re issuing enough fines to pay the rent.’
Macken laughed along dutifully. He was trying not to stare at his bag of dollaghan. A thick register for recording comings and goings had been pushed aside to make room for the fish. Behind the desk was a row of files and ledgers. Macken presumed they were the usual records of summonses and official notices, the patrol books in which were noted all incidents outside the barracks and the bicycle book that held the frame numbers of missing or stolen cycles. Fixed to the wall were the daily duty roster, some Hue and Cry notices and the standard litany of barrack rules: ‘The Undermentioned Regulations are to be strictly observed and enforced.’
A portable bed was folded in the bay. The duty roster would ensure a twenty-four-hour presence in the day room, though visitors might have to shake the guard awake. Glowing coals in the hearth and the fire-blackened kettle on its holder gave a touch of homeliness.
Bull recorded Macken’s arrival and then took him on a short tour of the barracks, holding the bag of fish in one hand and gesturing with the other. Halfway along the hall, steep stairs climbed to the right. Back left, behind the day room, was the kitchen.
‘Mind how you go there. That’s Molly’s territory,’ Bull cocked his head back to the front door. ‘She also cleans, or so I’ve heard. But it’s mainly the meals. If she’s time between fags and gossiping,’ Bull held up the fish, ‘I’ll get her to do something with these. Gift from a grateful public. I bet you didn’t get that in Belfast?’
Macken decided it wasn’t worth correcting him. Moving clockwise, Bull pointed to the washroom and the old bog outside in the back yard. ‘Not somewhere you’ll want to linger.’
Carrying on round, the door by the foot of the stairs led to the cells. Bull explained that they rarely used either of them. And finally, completing the circuit on the other side of the front door, was the private office.
‘For meetings. Though it’s cosier in the day room. We don’t lay a fire in the private office in case some visiting bigwig settles in too comfortably.’
As they tramped upstairs, Bull told him they had room for eight in comfort, two per room, but that one of the back rooms was being used for storage. The barracks sergeant, called Gracey, had the other. Of the three remaining doors, Bull explained that the furthest one led to a small toilet room with a basin.
‘It’s the only improvement since this place was built,’ said Bull. ‘Saves you traipsing outside in the middle of the night, so it does.’
He ushered Macken past the door of the first front bedroom and into the next room. Macken guessed he was now standing above the reception area and therefore in the noisiest spot.
‘This is you,’ concluded Bull. ‘I’m next door. Cedric’s your room-mate.’
‘We’ve met.’
‘Well then. I’ll leave you to get spruced up.’
*
Macken sank down on the free bed. The room was plain. A wardrobe with drawers beside each bed. And a heavy, iron-bound, black wooden box, the size of a tea chest, handles on either end. C. ANDREWS was stencilled on the front. There was space beside it for Macken’s own box, which was due to be delivered later in the week.
The butt of a Sten gun poked out from under the other bed, but otherwise the room was tidy. No personal touches. Typical barracks.
Macken felt the bed calling to him. It had been a long and wonderful morning, but the walls around him were squeezing out the space and clarity he had felt only hours before. His boots were filthy too. Not a good start. As Macken unpacked a rag and brush and boot polish, he reflected that life these days seemed to be a constant challenge to avoid putting a foot wrong. Looking down at your boots instead of up at the sky.
The small tin of polish rolled out of sight. Macken sighed and imagined just putting his head down. ‘Into action!’ he remembered his father would say. So instead he knelt to find the polish. Must have rolled under the other bed, he thought, reaching underneath.
‘What’s going on?’ burst in a voice, surprised and shrill.
It was Cedric from the bridge, and the lake, looking down with suspicion.
‘Don’t tell me you were saying your prayers, because I’ve seen your lot praying before, and there was no hoking under other people’s beds.’
Macken pushed himself to his feet. Cedric stepped back.
‘Thought my polish might have rolled under the bed.’ I’ve got off on the wrong foot with this one, thought Macken, and forced a smile. ‘So, we’re in here together then?’
‘Aye,’ Cedric curled his lip. ‘No surprise there.’
Am I missing something here? thought Macken. ‘Oh aye? How’s that?’
‘Dead man’s shoes. Dead man’s bed anyway.’
Macken winced. ‘Is this where… Good God!’
Cedric seemed to gain comfort from Macken’s dismay. But seeing the grim satisfaction on Cedric’s face helped Macken master his own emotions.
‘Were you…’
‘Aye, I found him. He’d been plugged. It wasn’t pretty. And now you’re here. The new Fenian. Maybe you’ll last longer.’
Jesus, thought Macken, the hostility coming off this fella is incredible.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
But there was something else.
‘He’d been plugged? I thought he shot himself.’
‘That’s what they say.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Macken.
‘I don’t think anything,’ said Cedric. ‘None of your business either.’ His eyes flicked to his own wardrobe. ‘And stay away from my things, do you hear?’
‘Aye, sure.’
It was obvious that Cedric was reluctant to leave him unsupervised, but his desire to end the conversation was stronger. He turned to go.
‘But Cedric,’ began Macken.
The other man stiffened at the use of his first name.
‘Less of the Fenian, Cedric. A bit of civility and you’ll get the same.’
Cedric’s eyes narrowed. He grunted.
‘Anyway, I came to tell you. You’re due downstairs.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘And those boots…’
Macken glanced down and swore to himself. Cedric left and Macken dropped to the floor again, flat this time. He saw the polish under his own wardrobe. As he reached for it, something gently stroked the back of his hand. He reached in again and drew out a scrap of paper. It must have fallen behind the drawers at the bottom, thought Macken. It was
