Authors: Deirdre Quiery
Eden Burning
eden
burning
Deirdre Quiery
First published in Great Britain in 2015
by Urbane Publications Ltd
Suite 3, Brown Europe House, 33/34 Gleamingwood Drive,
Chatham, Kent ME5 8RZ
Copyright © Deirdre Quiery, 2015
The moral right of Deirdre Quiery to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-909273-90-0
EPUB 978-1-909273-91-7
KINDLE 978-1-909273-92-4
Design and Typeset by Julie Martin
Cover by Julie Martin
Printed in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham, Wiltshire
The publisher supports the Forest Stewardship Council® (FSC®), the leading international forest-certification organisation. This book is made from acid-free paper from an FSC®-certified provider. FSC is the only forest-certification scheme supported by the leading environmental organisations, including Greenpeace.
Door to Silence – John Main
“The purification that leads to purity of heart … is a consuming fire. We must not be afraid of the purifying fire
.
We must have confidence in the fire because it is the fire of love … It is the fire
who
is love”.
*
*
reproduced with the kind permission of the World Community for Christian Meditation
For Martin – my Guardian Angel – always by my side dancing along the slippery path of life.
Contents
Chapter 1 Friday 31st December 1971
Chapter 2 Saturday 1st January 1972
Chapter 3 Sunday 2nd January 1972
Chapter 4 Monday 3rd January 1972
Chapter 5 Tuesday 4th January 1972
Chapter 6 Wednesday 5th January 1972
Chapter 7 Thursday 6th January 1972
Chapter 8 Friday 7th January 1972
Chapter 9 Saturday 8th January 1972
Chapter 10 Sunday 9th January 1972
Chapter 11 Monday 10th January 1972
Chapter 12 Wednesday 12th January 1972
Chapter 13 Thursday 13th January 1972
Acknowledgements
Gosh – where to begin? Maybe I start with my parents George and Doreen from whom I learnt so much about love. They asked so little from me – well nothing from me and gave so much without any expectation or demands. You will see their essences in my second novel “Gurtha”. I also want to thank Martin’s parents Elsie and Hooksie for welcoming me into the family and giving me a haven of peace only a few years after the setting of “Eden Burning” in 1972. What a joy it was to see the waves pounding Portstewart Strand compared to watching the petrol bombs explode on the Crumlin Road. That beauty inspired me to write the scene about Cedric and Jenny towards the end of “Eden Burning.”
Then it has to be Martin. How I loved those morning walks in the mountains when we would talk about what might happen to Tom and Lily. Martin would always come up with great ideas and twists for the story. So together the characters were born – Eden Burning is our baby!
Rachel Connor has been a source of inspiration and motivation with the quality of her feedback and encouragement. She knows that writers need to write badly if they are to improve and so enormous thanks to Rachel for persevering with all of the early drafts and helping to carve a way forward towards the final full stop.
A special thanks to Matthew Smith from Urbane Publications whose Monday evening email changed my life! Since that email,
I’ve grown to respect and to be fascinated by Matthew’s true collaboration with the writer. He never fails to amaze me.
To allow you time to read the book – let me briefly mention others whose contributions were so significant either in providing me with the motivation to keep going or in practically providing editing and feedback. There has to be a special thanks to Alan and Agnes McLaughlin and Peter and Liz Richardson who provided financial support during the economic crisis in 2009 which allowed me to start writing “Eden Burning”.
Thanks also to Cornerstone Literary Consultancy, David Walker, Mary McMenamin, Mark and Heather Quiery, John and Linda Burridge, Natascha Czech, Ivo and Rose Van Der Werff, Marie-Claire Primel, Bill Hoagland, Elspeth Bannister, Mary and David Smith, Lilo Heine, Janice and John Brooke, Diamantina Messaris, Deirdre Shannon and Michael Boyce, Penny and David Lee, Caroline and Ben Warner, Pep and Maria Vicens, Catalina and Paco, Ingrid and Kike, Natalia, Ricardo, Marga (1) and Bernardo, Doris, Walter, Miguel, Kike, Bettina, Joachim, David and Nuria, Marga (2), Monica, Lucia, Nadal, Rebecca, Loli, Rosa, Jose, Shinzen Young, Geraldine Glover, Dolores and Paul McCloskey; and of course the cats – Paloma, Ulysses, Jemima and Bumper.
*
If I Loved You lyrics reproduced with the kind permission of Reprise Records
.
**
Song for Ireland lyrics copyright Phil and June Colclough
prologue
Wednesday 12th January 1972
A
velvet purple curtain glimmered golden at the edges of the Confessional box like a total eclipse of the sun. Tom sat on the bench, feet perched on the kneeler with hands joined in prayer. He listened to the hum of voices inside. It was surely Mrs McLaughlin with Father Anthony. He couldn’t hear the content of what she was saying, but her voice rose and fell with a fingerprint rhythm. He raised his eyes towards the main altar where a familiar red light flickered beside the tabernacle, indicating the presence of God. He closed his eyes and prayed.
“Don’t let them murder Rose.”
Thunder rumbled, then crackled in the distance over Black Mountain and the lights of the Church momentarily flashed on and off. Tom felt the sweat on his hands as the brass knob turned sharply and the Confessional door squeaked open. He rubbed them on his brown corduroy trousers.
Tom listened to Mrs McLaughlin’s brogues briskly clump across the marble floor towards the exit at the rear of the Church. When the wooden door thumped closed, he looked around to make sure that he was alone, then heaved himself to
his feet, opened the Confessional door, blessed himself, and in the darkness whispered to Father Anthony, “Father, get me a gun.”
Father Anthony pushed open the confessional grill, stuck his curly black head through the small window and looked Tom in the eyes.
“What on earth are you talking about Tom? What do you mean a gun?”
“They’re going to kill Rose.”
“Who in God’s name?”
“Cedric and William.”
“Who are they for Christ’s sake?”
“Paddy’s killers.”
Father Anthony pulled his head quickly back through the window. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, bit his right knuckles before sitting up and resting his head against the back of his chair.
“Christ Almighty,” he whispered. “Christ on a bicycle. Not Paddy’s killers. Not Rose.”
Tom leaned forward, peering into the Confessional through the wooden lattice window. Father Anthony pulled at the white collar around his neck, sat forward and looked directly into Tom’s eyes.
“We can’t stop them with a gun, Tom.”
Tom slowly shook his head. “This is not murder.”
“Tom, you know it is.”
Tom squeezed his hand into a fist and hammered on the lattice. He pushed his face against the wood. His lips pressed slightly through the lattice like soft putty. His teeth touched the pinewood as he rasped.
“Have you not heard a thing I’ve said? They’re going to kill Rose. How many times do I need to say it before you hear it?”
“What has happened to you Tom?” Father Anthony asked in a soft voice.
Tom stayed on his knees and slowly took a white cotton handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He opened it carefully, removed his glasses and wiped them. Holding the glasses in his hands he raised his eyes to plead with Father Anthony.
“Have you forgotten what they did to Paddy and Michael?”
Father Anthony was the right person to find him a gun. He approached Father Anthony because he knew that one of the other priests – Father Martin – had a gun which he used when he went hunting rabbits up Cave Hill in the summer. Tom thought that Father Anthony could be persuaded to get hold of Father Martin’s gun. He didn’t expect Father Anthony to pull the trigger or to aim the gun at Cedric. Tom was prepared to do that. If Tom had to kill Cedric to save Rose’s life that was the way it would be.
Anyone who had known Tom before the evening of Wednesday 12th January would never have believed that he was capable of contemplating murder. It was no wonder that Father Anthony felt totally confused. Tom was the most saintly man he had ever met; in or out of Confession. Saintly in Father Anthony’s mind did not mean “perfect” but someone who imperfectly struggled to put God’s will first in their lives.
Tom understood that the natural world worked within preordained rules and within a primordial order, annihilating and creating simultaneously. The sun rose and set at its prescribed times with each passing allowing light to flood the earth or darkness to cloak it. Seasons came and went in a disciplined manner. There was beauty in this order. Tom heard conkers thump onto the sodden ground or patiently watched a sycamore leaf flutter in an autumn breeze and settle into the moist earth, before disintegrating to nourish the tree from which
it came. Tom felt familiar in the rhythm of this natural world where a fuzzy cloud appeared from nowhere and held form on a still day before morphing, dissolving, reforming, moving and disappearing. He knew the importance of touching cherry blossom on the tree as it burst into life. Nature, apart from man, was at home in its rhythm, in harmony with God – the “prime mover” setting the world in motion.