Line of Fire - by Georgia Bowen

“Ma, who’s that fella wit’ Maddie?” Cian’s voice whined through to the kitchen and within seconds, his Mother, Mo, had burst into the living room. She halted, staring at Cian and then her husband, Brian. Squinting into the dark outside, Cian tapped his index finger against the glass, Ma turning her head. “There, in that car!”

“What? Move yer arse!” She pressed her face against the window and stared into the rain. Maddie was the passenger in an old Vauxhall Viva, the vague outline of a man sat beside her.

Stood behind Ma and peeping outside, Cian was jolted out of the way as she charged out of the room. The slam of the front door rattled the house and startled their cat, Ely. He leapt from Da’s lap and scurried underneath the coffee table, his tail tucked firmly between his legs.

The image of Ma charging down the pathway reminded Cian of a scene from a movie: The swinging motion of her arms, her possessed expression, and the torrential rain that drowned her. Before she had even reached the bottom of the driveway, her dress and cooking apron were soaked, her slippers ruined.

As Ma opened the car door, the rays of a nearby streetlamp trapped her. Protruding against her lower back was the base of her spine, and her scrawny arms looked as if they could snap.

“Is she in trouble? Who’s that lad? Are ya gonna smack her?”

“Cian. Quit the faffin’ and go to bed.” Cian turned to his Da. Lounging in the armchair, his face was buried in The Armagh Chronicle. “It’s already nine.”

Noticing a headline on the paper, Cian took a few steps forward.

            “Have they said who killed Miami Showband yet?” Da closed the newspaper with a grunt and lowered it onto his lap.

            “They’re sayin’ it was the UVF. Cian, I won’t ask again. Please go to bed.”

            “But Da, I’m not-”

            “Now Cian!”

            “Oh, fuck away off will ya,” he muttered under his breath as he left the room. With both of his parents preoccupied, Cian crept into the kitchen, stealing a bottle of Da’s beer from the fridge. His heart pulsating, he removed the cap and made a swift exit to his bedroom.  

Being at the front of the house and overlooking Killylea Road, Cian had the best view of the kerfuffle. His bedroom lights were off and the sky outside was black, bolts of lightening illuminating his room.

Peering down, Ma had Maddie by the wrist. She was heaving her daughter from the car, their yells echoing up the street.

“Who in Christ’s name is he?!”

            “Get offa me!”

            “I won’t have my daughter getting’ knocked up by a stranger!”

            “What a loada crap! You only married Da ‘cause ya were pregnant wit’ me!” Cian’s jaw dropped to the floor. Drawing the curtains and stepping away from the window, Cian fumbled towards his cassette player and flicked a switch on the wall. Da had recently given him a tape by The Undertones and ever since, he had played it non-stop. He liked that they were a local band, and were like nothing he’d ever heard before.

The storm outside was relentless: Rain crashed against the windows, the frames rattled, and Cian’s tape fought to be heard. Boosting the volume so that he could hear ‘Teenage Kicks’, he stood before his mirror and sang along.

            The door behind him swung open, and the music instantly stopped. Stood in the doorway was Da, tape in-hand, with Ely at his feet.

“Shut the hell up and go to bed!”

            “Get out!”

            “Now Cian!” Da fiddled with the cassette, unwinding its film as he left the room.

            With the slam of the bedroom door, Ely scurried towards Cian. He nuzzled and purred against his ankles, his black fur malting onto Cian’s trousers, and his tail brushing against his knees. Cian clambered into bed, with Ely laid at his feet. 

*           *           *

            Awoken by the sound of Ely scratching at the door, Cian’s lids were heavy and his vision blurred. He rubbed his knuckles against his eyes and a gnarly yawn spread across his face. It was ten o’clock.

Crawling out from underneath the duvet and opening the door for Ely, Cian threw on a dressing-gown and wandered over to his window. A blanket of clouds covered the sky, and he could see the effects of last night’s storm: Their front lawn was sodden; flowers had wilted from the rainwater; and the road had flooded.

Because it was so murky, Cian could only see one British Soldier patrolling their street. He was wearing a camouflage uniform, a bulky helmet, and a belt tight around his waist. Fascinated by the assault rifle in his palms, Cian leaned closer to the window but instead, caught the soldier’s attention. Looking up at him and pausing, the soldier maintained eye-contact whilst adjusting his grip on the gun. Cian stuck his tongue out and threw two fingers against the window.

“Boy!” Ma’s voice rumbled, as she pulled him away from sight. She squeezed Cian’s shoulders together and turned him to face her. “What in God’s name are ya doin’?!” Cian stuttered, a light pink rushing through his face. His eyes were wide, his forehead wrinkled.

“I – I, sorry Ma.”

“Stop that, Cian. It’ll get ya a smack.” Watching her son as he rolled his eyes, Ma traipsed downstairs for breakfast, a tired Cian lagging behind.

Taking a seat at the dining table, Cian poured some cornflakes and milk into a bowl. He could sense an awkward and uneasy atmosphere. A sense of dread seemed to encase the table.

“Where’s Maddie?” His parents faltered in what they were doing: Ma was making drinks, still holding the teapot; Da was completing a crossword from yesterday’s newspaper. “Where is she?” Yet another uncomfortable silence consumed the air. Cian edged forward, grasping the attention of his father. “Well?”

Looking up, Da set down his pen and cleared his throat. He clasped his hands together and rested them on the table’s surface.

“Last night, when ya went to bed, Maddie was horrible.” Ma put down the teapot and took a seat at the table. “Yer music musta drowned her out. We wanted to know who that fella was. She said she met him at an Orange Parade way back. The route was bombed and the bus got diverted. She was hauled off, he supposedly saw her and kept her calm. Jesus Christ, she’s got a gub on he-”

 “You’ve not answered me… Where is she?”

“I said to her, ‘If he was marchin’, then he’s a Proddie’. It was like she’d gone mad! She was doin’ my head in. So I told her. She didn’t take it very well. That was when she fecked off.”

“WHERE THE HELL IS MY SISTER?!” Cian shoved his cereal bowl, standing up from his chair.

“She stormed out, Cian. We tried to stop her – but she wasn’t havin’ it! We don’t know where she-”

“How can ya not know where yer own daughter is?!”

“Cian, please. I’m dead sure she’ll be back-” Cian propelled his bowl off the side of the table, his parents watching as it smashed against the ground, china scattered everywhere. Its contents had spread across the floorboards, the spoon ricocheting into the corner. Ma’s face reddened, her eyebrows frowning and lips pursing. Tears streamed down her cheeks, every-so-often raising a palm to wipe away any trace of them.

The thudding of Cian’s feet as he charged upstairs could be heard from the kitchen below, as could the heavy slam of his bedroom door.

Before long, he hurtled back downstairs. Without a second glance, he too stormed out of the house, letting the front door bang behind him. He had walked down their path and onto the pavement when someone grabbed his shoulder from behind.

Cian yelled and leapt forward. Turning around, he was faced with a six-foot man, whose muscles bulged through the dark-camo fabric of his clothes. His expression was fierce, intimidating. As was the assault rifle that he was holding.

*           *           *

The man stood there. He didn’t blink. He was rigid, both palms tensed around his rifle. His feet were shoulder-width apart, a brown pair of leather boots covering them.

Cian stammered. Nothing came out. No words. Nothing.

The soldier’s expression changed: He raised an eyebrow and wrinkled his forehead. His mouth opened slightly. Was he going to say something?

There was a loud double click. The weapon had been cocked. He took one step towards Cian. The horseshoe heel of his boot clinked as it made contact with the concrete.

Cian tripped over his own feet as he stepped backwards. They seemed so heavy, so clumsy. Like they were magnetised to the ground.

Spinning his back to the soldier, Cian sprinted, using all his strength to throw one foot in front of the other. His heart thumped against his chest, balls of sweat beading his forehead. What if the soldier was following? Would he catch up? Was he going to die?

Taking a leap into a nearby alleyway, Cian threw his back against the fence and ducked out of sight. His lungs rattled as he tried to catch his breath, each gasp of bitter air slowly burning his throat.

“Hey, Mucker!” Cian screamed as he threw his hands into the air, turning towards the voice.

“Swear to God, Dyl! You scared the life outta me!” Dylan laughed and continued kicking his ball against the wooden fence.

“Sorry bud! Did ya see the match the other day? Liverpool v United?”

“Nah, I didn’t. How was it?” Insincerity filled Cian’s voice. His mind wandered elsewhere.

“Ay, United killed it! Look!” He gestured to his football kit, turning around and pointing towards the back of his shirt. Charlton, 9. “What are ye doin’ out anyway?”

“Our Maddie’s gone missin’. Left last night. I’m tryin’ to find her.”

“I’ll come wit ya, I always had a wee soft spot for your Maddie…” Dylan chuckled, winking at Cian.

“Is your head cut? You ain’t got a fuckin’ chance wit her!”

Dylan picked up his football. the pair of them wandering down the alley, clueless as to where they were going. Cian wanted to find Maddie, but where would she be? Where would they even start?

The sky above them was still dark, the path even darker. Positioned between two buildings, trees hanging over it, the alleyway nearly managed to escape all light. Yet, Cian could still read the graffiti on a nearby fence panel. It read our day will come in white paint. It had been smudged in the rain.

*           *           *

            “Cian, we aren’t gonna find her. We should go back.” There was no response.

Dylan and Cian halted in their tracks, both turning to face one another. Cian could see Dylan’s goosebumps, his lanky arms folded across his chest. His teeth were chattering, his bare legs a pale, lily-white. They nodded in unison.

By now, the sky was black, the only light coming from the stars and scarce streetlamps along the street. The air surrounding them was frosty, their breath visible as they breathed. Neither of them had brought a coat: Dylan hadn’t thought that they were going to be out searching for this long; Cian hadn’t thought to pick one up before he left. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The walk home was long and cold, and the streets were completely empty. Soldiers usually patrolled the streets for the whole night. Not tonight. There were no other people lurking about. Nothing.

Passing a string of shops on their left, Cian paused. Each shop window had been barred with metal railings, and IRA had been sprayed onto the brick work. The streetlamp behind him meant that, between two steel rods, Cian could just about see his reflection in the shop window: Grey circles resided under his eyes, his hair was matted, and his lips were chapped from the cold.

            “C’mon Cian! Let’s go! I’m starvin’!”

A smile spread across Cian’s face as he thought of being inside and getting out of the cold. But his stomach instantly sank. How were his parents going to react? Would they be angry that he didn’t tell them where he was going? Or would they be more concerned about Maddie?

Walking up the deserted street, Dylan threw his football to Cian. Zoned out and staring into space, Cian hadn’t even noticed.

“OW! What the fuck, Dyl!!” Cian cradled his nose, checking his fingers for blood.

“I thought you’d catch it! You were the school keeper for two years…” He checked Cian’s nose and sniggered. “Ya nub’s fine ya woos!”

Cian and Dylan continued up the street, kicking the ball between them, their feet frozen and noses reddened from the cold. They could see the outlines of their houses in the distance. Suddenly, the silence between them was broken.

“I forgot! I knuck one of my ol man’s fegs this mornin’! Oh, and this!” Dylan rummaged through the pockets in his shorts and withdrew a cigarette. In his other palm was a lighter, a beaming smile across his face. “Da always smokes when it’s cold.”

Cian snatched the cigarette from Dylan, placing it between his lips. Outstretching a palm, he gestured for the lighter, but struggled to actually light it. The flame wasn’t catching. There were snorts of laughter.

“C’mere, ya eejit!” Snatching the cigarette and lighter back, Dylan lit it within a few seconds. “Here, take a toke!”

After a deep inhale, Cian choked, spluttering. Standing still and steadying his breathing, he held the cigarette out for Dylan.

“I’ve got a bad cough anyway…”

“Ha! Of course ya do. See ya at school.” They tapped fists, the sounds of Dylan’s hysterical laughter sounding as he strolled into the distance.

After bidding farewell to Dylan, Cian trudged into Killylea Road, noticing that their front door was ajar, swaying in the breeze. The lights in the hallway and the living room had been left on. There was broken glass spread across the path. Ely was sat on the front door step, his loud cries pricking Cian’s hairs on end. A shiver travelled the length of his spine.

Charging towards his house and trying not to lose his footing, Cian’s heart pounded against his ribcage. He leapt through the door, Ely jumping out of the way.

            “Ma? Da? Maddie?! Are ya home?” Ely began whining and hissing behind Cian. “What?!” Cian blared, sending Ely running through to the living room. Throwing a glance behind him, he followed.

            The living room had been destroyed: The front window had been smashed; the coffee table flipped; and their finest crockery pulled from the display unit and smashed to smithereens. On the carpet were mudded footprints. Footprints belonging to a group of people.

            The face of Cian’s Ma was white. Her lips were blue. Her eyes were open and staring into nothingness. She was laid beneath the front window, sprawled rigid. On her chest was a bullet wound, encased by blood. Her dress was sodden. It had stained red, and so had the once-beige carpet beneath her. Cian’s stomach turned as he approached his Da.

            He was sat in his armchair, newspaper on his lap and the fireplace still burning beside him. His arms hung either side of the chair. Blood stained his open mouth and chin. Cian looked down at his Da’s torso. His shirt was covered in blood. Glancing at his neck, Cian saw that his throat had been slashed. At his feet, sat Ely, and next to him: the weapon.

            Unable to hold his own weight, Cian’s ankles buckled beneath him. He crashed to the ground, his palms breaking the fall. Shards of glass cut and embedded in his hands, and he gritted his teeth together. As he lifted his head, a lump solidified in the back of his throat, tugging at his gag reflex.

On the living room wall were the words, “IRA”. Tears poured from his eyes and his sobs echoed throughout the room. Harsh, bitter winds began to blow through the gaping window. The blooded curtains rustled.

Entranced by the writing on the wall, Cian caught a glimpse of movement outside. A car had pulled up by the house. Its headlights reflecting against the shards of glass that were scattered across the concrete outside. The engine juddered as it came to a halt. The passenger door opened, but Maddie just sat there, staring at the house…

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