Islandbridge by John Brady Page A

they? To see if they were all right? No. It was your instinct. You were well reared, I mean. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
    He wondered if Rynn was sitting in the hall in his own home too.
    â€œLook, I want to know if you can hear me. That you’re not asleep there. Okay?”
    â€œI hear you.”
    â€œWell Christ! You got your voice back . . . ! Is that all you’re going to say?”
    He began to imagine Guards bashing down the door behind Rynn, letting him have it with batons.
    â€œI’m not asking you for anything,” said Rynn. “Not a thing. That’s always been my philosophy: if you’re not involved, you’re not involved. Circumstances, is all. Are you with me on this?”
    Kelly remained silent.
    â€œI’m a bit concerned here now that maybe you’re not picking up on this. I’m telling you that so far as I’m concerned the matter is settled. You hear me? Do you?”
    â€œI do.”
    Kelly stared at the skin on his instep where it met with the braid edging on his slipper. There were two big veins. He wondered how long a twisted ankle took to mend.
    â€œI’m not saying what happened was right,” said Rynn. “No. But I’m telling you that I’m taking a chance here, like I did yesterday. This is a big risk for me, you understand? I need you to hear that, and tell me you got it.”
    Kelly listened to the breathing as Rynn waited.
    â€œI’ve made arrangements, see? For whatever happens. Do you know what that means? Yes, or no?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œWell good. I’m a family man. And I’m not half as thick as I look. So when I say I’ve covered both sides, you can take that as gospel. You think about that. Think long and hard, before you get ideas.”
    Kelly heard a lighter being thumbed a few times.
    â€œOkay then,” said Rynn. “It’s like a train, see – you think ‘Oh it’s nice and calm in here, like we’re hardly moving, I can just go and step off.’ Right? But you can’t just walk out, ’cause everything else is going fast – you mightn’t be, but everything else is? Do you get it?”
    Kelly said he did.
    â€œI’m glad,” said Rynn. “Now you don’t know this ’cause you’re new, or newish, maybe. I can do lots of things. If there are times when you want something done, well then you just tell me. Or tell someone, and they’ll tell me. I don’t owe you anything, mind. But what’s done is done. There’s no going back. That’s lesson number one in life. You see?”

    October 24, 1983
    The week before Hallowe’en, Kelly started his longed-for month of day shifts. They kept him with O’Keefe. O’Keefe was a terror for the snacks still. You could depend on him going into a shop twice or more just to get a bag of crisps, or a bar of chocolate or something. There was never an apple, or milk even.
    Kelly kept the engine running outside the newsagent. He adjusted the volume on the radio and surveyed the leaves scudding in under the parked cars. The pearly light that strained through the low clouds over Dublin would hardly give them bright spells today, any more than it had let even a few minutes of sunshine down in the past few days.
    The days had gone short all right. It had been dark when he’d gotten out of bed this morning, and it surprised him that he had not noticed until now. A red-headed man with a flushed face eyed him from outside a bookie’s. The radio chatter between patrol cars and Dispatch about the big traffic accident near South Circular Road went on still.
    O’Keefe was out quick enough, with his fags and his KitKat and his Coke. He also had a newspaper under his arm. He sat in and opened the newspaper. Kelly glanced down at the headline as he turned to begin reversing out. Another factory closing?
    â€œWell, there’s my brother heading for the boat,”