Live to Tell (7 page)

The sweet looking girl tip toed from his bedroom, wrapping a sheet around her body and carefully took hold of me. The hem of the Victorian nightdress that I had painstakingly made by hand a few weeks earlier was now soaked in Aidan’s blood and there were red smears across its front. As I stood up, I tried to hold it away from my body, but I couldn’t somehow manage to, and started screaming again.

“Come away, please,” she said and led me into Jurgen’s room. “Now, where’s your phone? Is it in the main room? I didn’t see one in your hall. Someone must call for an ambulance.” She stared earnestly into my face.

“We haven’t got one,” I shrieked. There’s one in the hall of the building, by the front door.” I broke free and flung the bedroom door open wide. It hit the wall and bounced back at me. “You know, a pay phone. I must go back to Aidan.”

A still naked Jurgen was sitting on the floor, cradling Aidan in his arms, as Emma, barefoot and wrapped in her sheet, glided past him to the phone. I knelt on the floor beside the two men in my life and sobbing against Jurgen’s shoulder, tried to hold them both in my arms.

“Emma,” he shouted, ignoring me, when she came back seconds later, “Please get my jeans and a shirt. I must not leave him.”

I couldn’t look at Aidan’s blood-encrusted face but tried to hold his hand. It was swollen and didn’t feel right so I gently placed it across his chest.

The ambulance arrived silently a few minutes later.

“Don’t worry,” the attendant said when he came in. “We never put the sirens on in the early morning unless the traffic’s heavy. Oh, and I’ve called the police. It’s routine, in these cases.”

I wasn’t so sure.

“Now, let’s have a look. What’s your name son? Can you tell me?”

“Look,” Jurgen said to me, when Aidan’s prone body was loaded onto a stretcher and placed in the ambulance “I don’t want to leave you on your own, but I must take Emma home.” He buttoned up his shirt and addressed the paramedic. “Which hospital are you going to?”

“St. Mary’s Paddington,” said the man. “You don’t need to come right now. I’ve given him morphine. He’ll be out of it for some time.”

I started crying again and Jurgen put his arm around me. “When I get back, we’ll go to the hospital. Okay?” I nodded. I needed to get into a hot bath before I thought I could do anything.

He didn’t come back for over two hours and I was sure he had done more than just take Emma home, but I could hardly say anything about the delay. He was tidying himself up in the bathroom and I decided to make him a large mug of coffee when the door bell rang.

A thick-set man stood there holding up a police warrant card. “I understand there has been an incident here,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Aidan’s blood was smeared across the white tiles in the outer hallway and I stared at it mesmerised. In the early morning light I hadn’t noticed it but now I felt an urgent desire to clean it away.

“Now, then,” he said, taking out his note book, as Jurgen re-joined us. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. We were in bed. We don’t know what happened,” I said.

“I see. So you two were in bed. Which room were you in?”

Jurgen looked angry. “We sleep separately. I was in that room, and she was in that one. We just share this apartment. Aidan’s room is the one at the end, there.”

“So, neither of you can corroborate where the other actually was!”

I realised, in all probability, the police were more likely to think that Jurgen had attacked Aidan than I had and I needed to protect him. I also guessed that he wouldn’t want Emma involved.

“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “I heard a noise. Then I found Aidan outside the door. It was me that woke Jurgen. He was asleep,” I finished feebly.

“Okay, let’s move on then. Have you any idea who caused Mr Monahan’s injuries?”

“No,” we both said in unison. “No idea,” Jurgen added. “He is a nice chap. Everyone likes him.”

“Right.” The policeman looked from one to the other of us. “And you didn’t have a quarrel?” He stared at me hard.

“No, we didn’t. Can I ring my dad, please? I want my dad. I want my dad to be here.”

“How old are you, miss?”

“Eighteen, er eighteen-and-a-half.”

“Then I’m afraid that legally, as you are not a minor, you must answer my questions on your own. Now tell me again, in your own words, what happened.”

“I don’t know what happened!” Again, I started to cry. Jurgen glowered at the policeman and clenched his fists.

“Right. Then let’s turn to Mr Monahan’s injuries. The letter “P” was carved into his forehead. Can you explain that, for me?”

I had a sharp intake of breath and the world went black as my knees buckled. I came to my senses to find Jurgen holding my head, cursing quietly in German, at the other man. He must have caught me and lowered me onto the sofa. Looking angrily at my flatmate, the policeman fetched a glass of water and I turned my face to Jurgen’s.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “How awful. Poor Aidan. I’m so sorry to be such a wimp.”

“It’s alright,” he said gently and turned to face the returning policeman. “You must believe me. Not her or I know anything about this. There was so much blood. But it might suggest to me a reason.”

“Go on.”

“In Germany we have something that I believe you have here also. I understand, you call it queer bashing? And another word is poof? Sometimes, my college friends say it.”

“Oh, I see. Well, that might place a different complexion on things, sir. So your friend, Mr Monahan is a homosexual?”

His eyes travelled up and down Jurgen’s body.

“No,” I protested. “That’s not fair. Aidan was celibate. He didn’t like to advertise what he was. I think he was ashamed. And Jurgen isn’t gay.” As soon as I said it, I realised I had probably made things worse.

I could tell by Jurgen’s body language that he was trying to control himself. He must think that being a foreign student mixed up in a beating is not a good place to be, I thought. I was sure that if he had been on his own soil, he would have given the man a piece of his mind. As it was, he restrained himself regally.

By the time the policeman left, I felt worn out. He had elicited my story in detail, much good that it might have done him, for, as I kept saying, I knew nothing. I then scrubbed the floor and the walls where the blood had congealed earlier that morning.

Hospital visiting started from two p.m., and together Jurgen and I went to see Aidan. Jurgen parked the car beside a parking meter and I felt shocked at how much money he had to put in. We then went to the hospital shop and bought some flowers before making our way to the third floor where Aidan was being treated.

He was in a side ward on his own swathed in bandages. His eyes seemed to have a furtive look and kept darting from side to side restlessly. When he saw us and realised we had both come to visit him, tears rolled down his face. I leaned forward and kissed him. He caught hold of my hand.

“The pub,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t say anything about the pub.” The broken fingers of his other hand moved in front of his lips and he made a hush. “Mum’s the word.”

Later we wearily went home to Maida Vale and parked at the back of the building. We trudged round to the entrance with its impressive Art Deco facade and he opened the outer door for me. The trauma we had been through seemed to have forged a bond between us that earlier I would not have thought possible and I went in thinking how lucky I was to have him around. He had the sort of quiet bearing that made you feel he could be depended upon.

Inside our apartment, I was just taking off my coat when the door bell rang. I was surprised to see our early morning visitor was back with another man.

“Can we come in Miss? Some more information’s come to light that we need to discuss with you.”

Behind me Jurgen muttered something quietly in German, but as I didn’t speak the language I had no idea what he said, although I got the impression he wasn’t happy. The four of us went into the kitchen, and sat down. The new man introduced himself.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Sutherland and I’ve just seen the doctor’s report on your friend. I’d like your permission to search these premises,” he said.

I stared at him in surprise. Why would he want to search the flat? Oh, no, I thought. Perhaps Aidan takes drugs. I never noticed anything but he wouldn’t be the first art student to indulge. God knows he had little enough in life. A bit like me, I thought. Jurgen took charge of the conversation. He was
definitely
a drug free zone but the same thought must have crossed his mind.

“What are you looking for? We have nothing here.”

“Then you won’t mind, will you? I’ll start with Mr Monahan’s room. Which one did you say?”

“Down the passage, sir,” the thickset officer said, pointing.

“If you are going to search my room, I’d better tidy it first,” I said, jumping up and thinking of my unmade bed. I immediately realised from the scornful look on the man’s face what an idiot remark it was. “Oh, perhaps not.”

Defeated, I sat down again with Jurgen beside me. He placed his hand on my knee and patted, then squeezed it. The thickset policeman’s eyes took it all in.

Aidan’s room was very small and the search was over in ten minutes. Whatever they were looking for did not seem to be there. I expected them to search ours as well but instead they both sat down again opposite us.

“Now then, can you tell me what religion Mr Monahan practised,” the detective asked.

Surprised, I said, “Well, I never saw him go to church. Sometimes on Sundays we went to Camden market. They have some fabulous stalls there. The last time we went, we each bought a hat.”

He sighed. “Let me re-phrase the question. Do you know what religion he is? Church of England, for instance.”

“Oh, no. He’s Irish. They are all Catholics.”

The two policemen rolled their eyes at each other. “So are you sure he is a Catholic?”

“I guess. What difference does it make? A lot of people don’t go to church any more. It’s not a crime, is it?”

“So you are sure he isn’t a Protestant? Where does he come from? Has he ever mentioned Belfast, for instance?”

“He told me he was from Cork. Isn’t that in Eire?”

“Yes, love it is,” he said, more quietly. “It’s just that, as I mentioned when we came in, we now know the extent of his injuries.”

My flesh went cold and I grabbed Jurgen’s hand. After his remarks about homophobia earlier, my thoughts ran straight to castration and I knew I was going to be sick. Swallowing hard I tried to resist the urge.

“My Monahan’s injuries bear the signs of a classic IRA beating,” he continued. They often concentrate on the legs and although his knees were not shot, one of them is broken. His shin also appears to have been stamped on. It’s not so common here on the mainland but it’s an everyday occurrence in Northern Ireland.”

I stared into the face of the speaker and squeezed Jurgen’s hand tighter, my finger nails digging into him. I covered my mouth with my other one but despite my best efforts at control, I gave a little moan.

“The wound to the forehead is not consistent with the other injuries but in the light of what you told my colleague, they might have thrown that one in out of malice.”

“Malice?” Jurgen got to his feet, letting go of my hand sharply, and pushing his chair back hard. “How can you talk about malice? I thought the United Kingdom was a civilised country. How is one wound from malice, as you say, and the rest not?
Mein
Got!
”

“The criminals, and bear in mind, these people are criminals. The criminals claim to have a political motivation and some of them justify their acts as being a part of justified political retribution. Did your friend get involved in politics?”

We shook our heads.

“No? What about the IRA? Had he friends who might have been members? Or was he friendly with any members of an Irish Protestant organisation? In other words, had he had any dealings at all that you can think of that might have antagonised them?

I drew in my breath, suddenly everything becoming clear. How could I have been that stupid? “The pub,” I said. Then I looked at the policemen aghast. Aidan had said “Don’t mention the pub.”