Love Thine Enemy

© 2014 MICHAEL PAKENHAM. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/08/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8387-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8402-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8386-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Acknowledgments

As always, to my darling Mrs Bond, with all my love and thanks.

I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life-

And if God choose

I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrat Browning

One

1970

Dermot Fitzpatrick was enjoying an all too brief moment of quiet reflection. He eased into a chair on the terrace, loosened his tie and exhaled slowly. It had been another stressful day; violence was simmering all over the brooding city, ready to ignite at a moment’s notice.

The light was fading over Lough Neagh and the evening sky was streaked with shades of gold and orange. Mallard circled the glittering waters searching for their favourite landing places. He loved the peace of this place and watched huge, red sun sink slowly like a ship into Belfast’s faraway horizon. His mind drifted back to the time when he was a boy, his father, large and red-faced from a few too many whiskies, taking his hand and walking him down to the Lough. They would stand silently listening to the Lough slowly going to sleep; absolute stillness and the drift of the water. They had stood motionless and breathed in the evening air. His father would put a large arm around his shoulders and smile down at him. I still miss him, Dermot thought as he wiped an involuntary tear from the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.

He took a few brief moments thinking about the man who had unintentionally shaped his future. A good father, who he had loved passionately, but as he’d grown up he came to realise that there were those who saw him as an austere, frightening figure – a man who was reluctant to change his bigoted ways in a new order that was threatening his generation’s way of life. Dermot gave a rueful laugh. He’d been too young then to understand the underlying feeling of injustice that fermented in the bosom of the Catholic minority. And now I’m here trying to make up for all your mistakes father, he said out loud.

*

The sound of Jenny’s footsteps on the terrace flagstones jolted him from his reverie. He raised his hand behind his head to feel for her. She took it and squeezed it gently before dropping a kiss on his small bald patch. She was relieved to have her husband home alive, living as she did in constant fear that one day he would not walk through the door at the end of his day. She knew he was welded to his job and that she would never be able to prise him away. She tried to keep everyday life as normal as possible for their young son, shielding him from the pressure of danger that they both felt. She supported Dermot wholeheartedly because that was her duty. He called her his ‘rock’ but most of the time her insides were like jelly.

‘It’s a beautiful evening’, she sighed. Shall we take our usual walk?

Why not? The sounds of the Lough and you by my side are just what I need.

Tough day?

No worse than usual.

Is it safe to go?

Dermot reached for her hand. We’ve been doing this for years so I’m not stopping now just because things seem to be getting worse again.

Jenny nodded. Let’s go then. I’ll tell Eliza where we are going. She is putting Richard to bed. You can read him a story when we get back.

It’s a promise. How is he?

He’s fine. Eliza has been telling him silly stories and making him giggle. Richard is so fond of her. She’s the best au-pair we’ve ever had."

She’s pretty too!

Jenny gave Dermot a playful dig in the ribs. ‘Have I got competition, Dermot Fitzpatrick?"

Absolutely not! You, my darling are in a class of your own.

Dermot slipped out of his uniform jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. He put his heavy bunch of keys on the table and waited for Jenny to return. There, free from all the shackles of the day, he said as she stepped out onto the terrace. Let’s enjoy a little time of uninterrupted bliss. Where’s our faithful old dog?

He’s right behind you.

So he is. C’mon Teal old fella, time for a stroll. Dermot bent to stroke the Labrador’s greying muzzle.

The three of them walked slowly to the end of the lawn, opened a wicket gate and stepped into the meadow leading down to the Lough side. The ducks had begun their evening patrol of the water. They listened to the splashing and quacking that was all around them. Jenny sighed. Why can’t the whole of Ireland be like this? Why do we have to fight each other, hate each other so much? Why do innocent people have to die, Dermot why?

It was a question he’d been asked many times by grieving families, the media, and politicians, and he’d never been able to find a satisfactory answer for them. He asked himself the same question day after day and the end result was the same. He shrugged and smiled. You know I have no answer to that question. One day though perhaps we’ll find one. He wrapped his arm round her shoulders and pulled her to his side. I love you he whispered.

And I love you.

The boom of a rifle echoed across the Lough.

The stillness that had filled them with contentment was shattered. The Lough burst alive with frantic noise. Duck and geese took to the sky in panic, squawking nervously. Jenny felt a thud and the weight of Dermot’s body against her. He grunted and began sinking slowly from her arms into the reeds. Instinctively she ducked, hunching her shoulders in expectation of another shot. But none came. Then she remembered Dermot once telling her, These men kill one spouse and leave the other to grieve. It’s what they call a slow death.

She stifled a cry and scrambled over to Dermot’s side, taking him in her arms, feeling his warm blood soak through her blouse. She didn’t have to feel for a pulse, she knew he was dead – the snipers never missed. She started to sob, her tears mingling with Dermot’s blood.

*

Patrick Ryan watched through the rifle’s scope as his victim fell. The bullet had found its target. The man was dead. He never missed. A smile broke across his face, he blew out his cheeks and wiped the sweat from his brow. A good job had been done. He felt no remorse – the man was his enemy and killing was his occupation. He stood up slowly, stretched, and quietly started to walk back to his car which was hidden a few yards from the road. He’d picked the spot a week earlier when the order went out to get Dermot Fitzpatrick at whatever cost. He and his wife like to walk alone down to the Lough on a sunny evening, no security, the fools. He’d been informed. He’d sat in his chosen spot for several evenings as dusk settled in over Belfast, patiently waiting for a fine evening.

He tucked the rifle under an arm. He was banking on at least a minimum of half-an-hour before the alarm was raised. The shock of watching her husband die would paralyse Fitzpatrick’s wife. Her mind would go numb. It would give him valuable time before she started to run back to the house and alert their body guards. He smiled, relishing the thought of the pain that would be coursing through the widow. Widow! Jesus what pleasure that word gave him! Reaching his car he carefully wiped the rifle with a cloth he’d stuffed into his pocket earlier, and threw the rifle back into the thick undergrowth where he’d hidden it on his visit two days earlier. He didn’t want to run the risk of being caught up in a roadside check point. It didn’t matter if the army found it – there were hundreds of the same make in the IRA’s hands. Tomorrow morning they would claim responsibility for the death of Dermot Fitzpatrick, ex-Chief Constable of the hated RUC.

*

Eliza was getting worried, over an hour had passed since her employees had left the house, longer than usual. Alert to the constant danger they were in, she went to find the protection officers.

*

The alarm had been raised immediately. The helicopter crew found Jenny sitting amongst the reeds with Dermot’s head on her knees. She was shivering uncontrollably, Teal sat close by whining. Dermot’s second-in-command had to prize Jenny away. She looked up at him, panic radiating from her eyes. Her inertia vanished. Richard, Richard! she gasped, leaping to her feet. Oh dear God, he’s in the house! She started to stagger away. The Deputy Chief Constable grabbed her arm. Wait!

I’ve left him too long! He’s in danger! Her voice rose to a scream.

He hung onto her arm. It’s alright Jenny, everything is fine. We have checked the house and your son and au-pair are safe. The girl alerted your protection team. They are aware of the situation.

Jenny stared at him through her tears. But I must go – I must…

Of course. It’s getting dark. I will get an officer to go with you.

No, I’ll go on my own. She looked down at Dermot – double upped and vomited as she saw the gapping hole in his chest. She felt a hand on her back. Come on Jenny, there is nothing more you can do here. She tore her eyes away from the body and turned to the Deputy Chief Constable. You’re right. Without another word she started to run, pushing her way through the reeds in panic. The house seemed so far away. Sympathetic eyes followed her until she disappeared into the evening gloom. Every one of the officers on the ground knew how she was suffering – they had been to too many scenes like this.

*

Jenny rushed into the hall and made for the stairs, desperately wiping away her tears. She intended to reach her bedroom and discard her blood-stained clothes before facing her son.

But he was there.

He was standing at the top of the stairs with Eliza, panic slashed across his tiny face. Richard launched himself down the stairs at her. Where’s Daddy? he screamed, Where’s my Daddy! The sirens and helicopters woke me. I know something terrible has happened. He stopped in his tracks as he took in the horror written on his mother’s face and her blood soaked clothing. It’s Daddy, it’s Daddy isn’t it? Something terrible has happened to him hasn’t it?

Jenny caught him in her arms, feeling his young body tense. She held him tight unable to find the words to tell him that his father had been murdered in cold blood. Her words came in a whisper. Daddy is dead. I’m so sorry darling.

Eliza gasped.

Richard went limp.

He buried his face in his mother’s chest, his shoulders heaving with grief. Then suddenly he reared away, wiping his mouth violently, he could taste his father’s blood. Shock hit him like a bolt of lightening, his face contorted in revulsion. He vomited. Making a noise like a wounded animal he fled upstairs to his bedroom and slammed the door. Jenny dashed after him, ripping off her clothes as she ran. She flew into her bedroom and covered herself with a dressing gown before following him.

Eliza stood bewildered, shock waves were still crashing through her body. She ran up the stairs and saw Jenny opening Richard’s door. She stopped on the landing, deeming it better not to interfere, she’d wait.

Jenny closed Richard’s door behind her, she knew she had to control her grief. Bearing her own pain was one thing, but bearing the pain of her child was something else. She felt helpless. But then reality returned to crush her with an iron hand as she stared at the small naked body sitting on the bed. It was horrible. Richard’s wet pyjamas were lying on the floor where he had thrown them. He was holding a photograph of his father to his chest. Henry, his old well-worn teddy, was lying beside him and his face was streaked with tears. He looked up, his eyes confirming his misery. Jenny dropped down beside him, prised the photograph from his hands and pulled him to her. She felt him resist. It’s okay darling. She could feel him shaking, her heart bled for him. She knew there was nothing she could do to alleviate his pain, only time could do that. She began to tell him how his father had died, desperately trying to keep her voice calm. It was instant; he would have felt no pain. When she’d finished she was drained of all emotion and had drawn on an inner strength she had no idea she possessed. She eased him away from her body and held him at arms length, staring into his eyes. She pulled him close again, running one hand through his damp hair. Finally, after what seemed an age, Richard moved his head so that he could look up at his mother. He put a hand on her cheek and felt the wetness. Then in a voice cracking with emotion he whispered, I’ll miss Daddy so much. They wept together.

Eventually, Jenny felt him relax in her arms and his breathing steady. She didn’t bother to find fresh pyjamas, just laid him back on the bed and carefully covered him with the duvet. Exhaustion had come to the rescue. She picked up the photo of Dermot from the end of the bed and placed it on the bedside table, tucking the faithful Henry into bed beside him, she quietly left the room.

Eliza was standing by Richard’s door and she saw Jenny sway. You need coffee.

Jenny nodded and allowed Eliza to take her by the arm and lead her downstairs to the kitchen. She collapsed onto a chair and rested her elbows on the table, staring at Eliza as she made the coffee, she hadn’t the strength to talk.

The coffee was black and strong and Jenny drank greedily, her eyes darting to the ceiling every now and then, listening for any sounds from Richard’s room. Once her cup was empty she stood up. I must go and see if Richard’s alright.

Okay, Eliza agreed, then adding, but then you must rest. You’ll have a stressful day tomorrow. I’ll sleep with Richard tonight and I will call you if he wakes and asks for you.

Jenny didn’t argue. She and Eliza moved back upstairs and quietly opened Richard’s door, she heard his regular breathing. He’s asleep, she whispered.

Good, now you try to do the same.

Jenny touched the girl’s face and walked towards her room. Once the door was closed behind her she threw herself onto the bed. She buried her head in Dermot’s pillow and thought of the man she’d lost. He had been the only man she had ever really loved, no-one had ever touched her heart like he had and now he was gone – torn away too soon, so violently, but in the way she had so often feared. She felt lost and terribly alone. She thought of her father’s words of caution over her marrying a policeman and an officer in the Royal Ulster Constabulary (the RUC) to boot. But I’m in love Daddy, she’d said. She’d never once regretted her decision; she rolled over on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A cobweb swayed gently from the overhead light, reminding her to wipe it away tomorrow. She dropped a hand over the side and felt Teal’s wet nose, patting the bed encouragingly the old dog struggled to jump up. She rested a hand on his neck and buried her face in his fur. He whimpered. She loved his smell and the warmth of his body gave her comfort as she closed her eyes. Very soon there would be friends telling her that everything would work out alright in the end. The pain will die and life will get back onto an even keel. But she doubted that would ever be the case. She would have to conceal her feelings for the sake of Richard, he must be her priority. She rubbed Teal’s ears and the old dog licked her face, sensing, as dogs do, that something was not right.

Two

Jenny found the service surprisingly encouraging. It seemed strange to her that she felt like that, but in some way it relieved the ache that had tortured her body since Dermot’s death. It felt as if she had closed a book; a sad, terrible book, its pages full of doom but one that she could not put down. She would choose her next book carefully, she wanted hope to spring from its pages and put her in the mood to move on. Perhaps it was a strange analogy, but it suited her well.

They had sung three of Dermot’s favourite hymns and listened to a glowing address by a fellow RUC officer. Now, as she walked out of the church gripping Richard’s tiny hand and headed for the grave that had been dug several days earlier, she felt as if a great weight was being lifted off her shoulders. This was the final parting – no counting the days to the funeral – no more frantic organisation. Just memories, helped by all the wonderful letters that people had sent her. As well as letters from friends there were letters from people she had never met who had in one way or the other been touched by Dermot’s understanding. A good and decent man, was a much repeated phrase. She would cherish every letter for the rest of her life. To her it meant that he had not died in vain, a small comfort, but something worthwhile to hang on to.

Mourning had to end, she knew it would not be easy but for Richard’s sake she would give it her best shot. They reached the grave and stared into the dark rather frightening hole. Richard had stood beside her in the front pew of the little church, solemn, but dry eyed. Now, watching his father being lowered into the ground proved too much and his courage deserted him. Jenny held him tight as he sobbed. She took off her wedding ring and dropped it on top of the coffin and she turned away. Dermot was at peace now, laying in the Gartree Church Yard next to his father and mother and several other Fitzpatricks. It was time to get Richard away, she was very proud of him. You’ve been so brave, she congratulated him as they got into their car. He looked up into her eyes and managed a smile. Daddy would have been very cross if I’d cried all the time.

Jenny lovingly ruffled his hair, lost for a reply.

*

Half-an-hour later the house was packed with people, there was only just enough time for Jenny to catch her breath and make sure Richard was happy to be with Eliza. She didn’t want to put any more pressure on him by keeping him by her side. He’d had enough for one day. Looking round the drawing room she reckoned she only knew fifty percent of the gathered company. But she was touched that so many of Dermot’s colleagues had come to say goodbye, she voiced this opinion to an officer who had just shaken her hand.

He was greatly respected you know and his fairness admired, not many of us have admirers in these violent times, but Dermot did. He replied.

By the time the last guest had gone Jenny’s nerves were frayed, she was exhausted and a little light-headed from a few too many glasses of wine. Richard was asleep in Eliza’s room. She was alone at last. She poured herself a glass of white wine from a half-empty bottle standing on a table – probably a bad idea but what the hell - and flopped onto a sofa. She looked round the large rather austere drawing room, Dermot’s ancestors glaring at her from every wall. She’d always longed to pull them down. They’re so depressing, she’d said to Dermot the day after they had moved into the house. He’d put an arm around her and said, I’m afraid they stay. And that had been the beginning of a growing dislike of the house and Ireland. I hate you! she shouted at the room. You depress me, you haunt me and I will never be welcome here!

At that moment her father Jack strode into the room, a concerned look on his face, having heard her shouting. He was a handsome man, soft blue eyes, loving and always aware that his daughter had to plough her own way in the world. Even when Edwina, his beloved wife, had died six years earlier he had never once tried to interfere in Jenny’s life and she loved him all the more for this.

You alright Jenny?

She shook her head. Not really Dad. Come and sit with me, I’m exhausted.

Darling you did really well. You were amazingly calm, I’m so proud of you.

I was hurting so much inside.

I’m sure you were. And Richard – well he was a star wasn’t he?

He’s got a lot of his father in him – it’s called balls I think.

Jack sat on the sofa. It may be too early to ask this question, but having overheard you just now I feel I can raise the subject. Have you any idea what you will do now?

How do you mean?

Are you staying in Ireland?

Jenny whipped off her hat and threw it across the room, her long auburn hair cascading down her face. To be honest Dad I can’t wait to leave. It’s an easy decision. Jenny filled up her wine glass, and offered a glass to Jack, who refused. I’ll say it now and again and again if anyone wants to hear. I hate this place – I’m away just as soon as I can sell it.

Jack nodded. I thought that might be your decision.

I suspect it’s a bit selfish but I’ll never settle here now that Dermot is dead. The house has always seemed a bit like a morgue to me – too much history attached to it and most of it sad. The rooms are large and gloomy, made worse by all these awful paintings of Dermot’s ancestors. The only redeeming feature is the garden and the view. But I can’t live outside and I don’t ever want to walk down to the Lough again. Also, I can’t go anywhere without a bodyguard – although I suppose that might change now.

Jack nodded his understanding. Jenny continued. It’ll be like living in a prison. And that’s about it Dad, it sends out all the wrong vibes and it makes me desperately sad. But in spite of everything I’ve had some very happy years with Dermot and Richard was born here, but we’ve never been able to live a normal life. Countless times I’ve longed for England and a more secure living and this is the moment to take it. I’m free to make my own decisions – Dermot’s parents are dead and there are no other relatives to jump out of an Irish bog and make a scene. So I’ll cut my ties and return to England as soon as I can. To some it will seem like I’m running scared and they aren’t far wrong. And no doubt others will think it’s wrong to sell a home that has been in the family for five generations but it’s my life I have to think of now.

Jack wrapped an arm round Jenny’s shoulders. He understood completely how she felt and was rather relieved at her decision. He certainly wouldn’t be putting any obstacles in her way. I won’t try and stop you darling but if you had decided to stay, I hope you know I would have supported you in any way I could.

I know you would Dad. She tucked her long legs underneath her and reached for Jack’s hand. She could almost feel the love seeping out of him, while he was alive she knew she would never be alone.

*

I think we have a buyer, said the young man from the estate agents, smiling broadly at Jenny. She felt a surge of excitement; the house and the farm had only been on the market for two months and this came as a great relief. Who in their right mind was going to be prepared to shell out a load of money on a large house with a six hundred acre farm when bombs and killings were every day events?

Who? she asked.

An aviation company.

A what!

It makes sense Mrs Fitzpatrick. You’re not far from Aldergrove airport – the land is flat, and the farm buildings could be used for storing small aircraft.

And the house?

The young man didn’t look her in the eye. I think it will be demolished."

Jenny looked at him in amazement. Demolish it, can they do that?

They can.

Jenny took a deep breath to try and control her rapid heart rate. It might well be the only offer she got. But to destroy the house! Dermot would turn in his grave. She looked at the young man standing nervously infront of her. I can’t give you an answer right away. Can I ring you tomorrow?

I doubt if there is any hurry Mrs Fitzpatrick, this looks as if it might be the only offer we get for some time. This isn’t the sort of property that will sell easily – too remote.

I realise that. I’ll ring you tomorrow.

Jenny immediately rang her father and told him the news. She explained her dilemma. What shall I do Dad?

Jack didn’t need to think for long. He said firmly, I’ll tell you exactly what you do. You think about yourself for once, you’re unhappy there. Sell it Jenny, and if you have any doubts about how Dermot would feel, let me say this, Dermot isn’t here darling – you must do what you feel is right for you. I’ll fly over tomorrow and not leave until you’ve got the contract in your hand.

It was all Jenny needed to hear.

*

The house was an empty shell. The contents on their way into storage in London until Jenny could find a house. She sat in the back of the car with Eliza and Richard. Jack drove, judging that Jenny and Eliza had their hands full trying to console Richard. He’d hardly stopped crying since she’d broken the news of the sale to him. He glanced in the rear view mirror at the sullen face and Jack’s heart went out to him, but Richard was young, he would recover. He started the engine. Ready? he asked.

Ready, said Jenny and was rewarded with a kick from Richard.

No one spoke on the way to Larne. Richard was wrapped in his own thoughts, wondering if he’d ever speak to his mother again. How could she walk away from his home, daddy’s grave, the Lough which he loved? He’d been so happy. His mother was a monster. Looking out of the window at the familiar landscape he made a vow – one day when he was grown up and his monster of a mother could no longer tell him what to do he’d return. He glanced at his mother, indifferent to her tears. I hate