"Tam, Mr. Allardyce doesn’t know me from Adam. How in God’s name did he turn up in court to defend me?"

"You’d be surprised who and what Mr. Allardyce knows. He knows how you stopped that fight the other month. He’s been asking about you a couple of times."

"But he’s a pillar of the kirk. I’m a black-Irish Catholic."

"We’re not all ignorant, bigots."

"I know. I know a lot of Protestants. Some of them are good friends. A few are members of the Lodge as well."

"You’re one of the few that takes the trouble to integrate. You don’t shove your Irishness down people’s throats. You have the respect of your own folk and, at the same time you’re accepted by ‘the other side.’ Mr. Allardyce knows that, and how you cool things down in the yard. All this stupid bigotry costs him money. If he had known that Anderson was causing you and your wife trouble, he would have had him out of there in a minute.

As it is, you and him having a donnybrook and ending up in court, made him mad as hell. Not with you. No, he’s mad that Daly didn’t find out about Anderson in time to let him do something about it. Anderson was out that house the same week. And Daly’s on his last warning. Mrs. Kerr told me that Mr. Allardyce fair shouted and swore at him, and Daly was as white as a sheet when he came out."

"Tam, did you know an envelope with my wages was put through the letterbox every Friday night while I was in the jail?"

"No. I didnae know that, but it doesnae surprise me a bit. You’re well thought of Cormac. And don’t tell anybody about the money. I mean it. Keep it to yourself. Now get out there and get some work done. Your holiday in Kilmarnock’s finished."

"It wasn’t a holiday Tam."

"I know it wasn’t son. I know."

*****

"Are there any more tatties in the pot?’

"No that was the last of them. You’re fairly eating a lot since you came home."

"Got some catching up to do. I was talking to Tam Warnock today. He was saying that Mr. Allardyce had been talking to him about me."

"Tam Warnock said that?"

"Aye, he said that Mr. Allardyce has been asking about me, and that I’m well thought of. They’re relying on me to keep the peace between the Catholics and the Protestants in the yard. Me and Tam have been doing that since that fight between Henderson and Devine, but I didn’t know that anybody else knew about it except me and Tam. Oh, and by the way, keep it to yourself about me getting paid while I was in the jail."

"Why’s that?"

"Well, I’m not really all that sure why. But Tam told me to keep it to ourselves. I think, that if other folk found out, and it happened again to somebody else, they would want the same; especially if they were in the Lodge."

The following week, Beth and Cormac were having their tea, the boys were asleep in the small bed-room.

"Cormac, remember what we were talking about last Monday when you came home from your work?"

"We talked about a lot of things. What thing do you mean?"

"I spoke to Father Boyle on Sunday. I told him what Tam Warnock said about you being well thought of at your work and that. He said that you should go to the Fullarton Institute in Irvine. They have a night-school for the likes of us."

"Night-school? Me? What would I do at night-school?"

"I think he’s right. You should learn to read and write and count, and get a job in the office. You can count already. You do that all the time at your work. You’ve told me enough times. If you can learn to count, you can learn to read and write."

"Don’t be daft. I’m a plater’s mate. I’m thirty-two years old. There’s no way I’m going to school to learn to read and write"

"Cormac Sleanagh, you listen to me. I want you to go to school. I want you to get a job in the office at that shipyard. You’re going to wear a collar and tie to your work, and you’ll be here at home at six o’clock every night. And you’ll not need to get into the bath when you get home every night either."

"You’re mad woman. I’m no scholar. I have no head for learning. I have always earned my living with my hands and the strength of my back. I won’t do it. My forefathers survived by using their muscles, and I’ll survive the same way. Book-learning is for the gentry and their women."

"Our forefathers had no choice. There was no book-learning in their day. There is no difference between you and the gentry except that they have the leisure to indulge themselves in learning. You are every bit as clever and intelligent as them."

"How in God’s name am I going to get to Irvine? Irvine’s a good eight or ten miles away, if it’s not more."

"You’ll get a bike and learn to ride it."

"I will not. You’re mad woman. Even if I did, it would take me an hour to get there."

"Aye. And another hour to get back. Cormac, I want you to do this for me; for yourself; for us. You have a good head on your shoulders. You can do better than labouring in a shipyard."

"I’m not a labourer. I’m a platers-mate, that’s semi-skilled. Labourers are under me. I tell them what to do."

"Ye great daft man. You came off a farm. You turned your hand to the fishing when you needed to. You laboured when you needed to. You learned how to do the plater’s measuring and that. Can you not see that you can do any damned thing you put your mind to? You have brains in your head. I wish to God you would use them sometimes.

Do this for me. Please. Look at the older men in the yard. They’re done. They’re old men before their time. Do you want to be like that at fifty? Please go to the Institute. It’ll be hard, but it’ll not be for long. You’ll have it learned in half a year. I know you, and I know you can do it. Please Cormac."

"I won’t have it Beth. Now that’s the end of it. I don’t want to hear another word about it."

"Have it your own way. We’ve been married now for nearly five years. All that time, I’ve accepted you as the head of the family. When we were first married, I kept on working in that damned pub when I wanted to stop. You stopped me getting a wee cat when I wanted one. I’ve had your dinner on that table at half past six every night like you wanted. I’m fed up to the back teeth with you making all the decisions about what’s going to happen in this house. I’ve tried to make you see the sense of what I’m trying to do for us. If I’m part of this family, then I’ll be making some of the decisions about what happens in it. If I’m not allowed to make any of the decisions, then I’ll not be part of the family."

Beth went into the small bed-room at the rear of the flat. She opened the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers in the corner. She reached under the bed for the suitcase in which she had brought her things from her parents’ house when they were married. Cormac watched.

"What are you doing?"

"I’m going back home, and I’m taking the boys. When you come to your senses, you can come and get us. I’m your wife, Cormac, not some skivvy to wash your clothes, cook your meals and lie in your bed when it suits you. I’m a full partner in this marriage, and if my wishes and opinions are not going to be considered, then I’m not going to be a partner at all."

She woke the boys, dressed them and herded the two bigger ones to the door. They were too sleepy to resist. In a daze, they followed Beth like little zombies. Four-month-old Paddy, never even woke up as she carried him on one arm with the suitcase in the other hand.

Cormac was still sitting in the chair, waiting on her pulling back from her bluff, when he heard the front door open and close. He stood up and looked out the window. After a few minutes, he saw Beth, carrying Paddy and shepherding the other two, pass the gap between the houses in Green Street.

*****

"Cormac, you in there?" Tom McKillop, their new neighbour, knocked on the open door and came in.

"The door was open Cormac. What the hell have you done to Beth?"

"Aw, it’s just her time of the month. She’ll be back tomorrow."

"She won’t. She told Betty on the stair. Beth’s not kidding. She’s not angry. She’s insulted. Go after her, Cormac. Stop this before things are done and said that can’t be turned back."

Cormac had heard that phrase before. In his own mouth; in the cottage in Carlingford. They were the last words he had spoken to his mother on the farm.

God help me. I’m just like the old-man. He wouldn’t change, and now look at me making the same bloody mistake. He put on his jacket and went out, leaving Tom standing alone in the house.

Beth was standing at the corner of Green Street and the Station Road, the boy in her arms, the suitcase at her feet, with Mack and John clinging to her legs. Cormac walked towards her. When he got to her, she was openly weeping. His handkerchief was none too clean, but she did not object when he wiped her tears.

"Come on home lassie. I’m a daft bugger. If your heart’s that set on me going to school, then I suppose I’ll have to go."

He picked up the suitcase.

*****

The ball floated over into the goal-mouth. Cormac followed his cross into the melee in front of goal. They were two to one down against the Star of the Sea. The Scottish amateur cup quarter-final tie had twenty minutes to go. The ball was headed back out towards Cormac. He collected it and dribbled it towards the goal-line. Facing up to their hefty left-back, Cormac passed the ball back towards the touch-line where Eric McCall was following him up. Eric lofted the ball into the goal-mouth, keeping the pressure on.

Again following the ball into the thick of it, Cormac was sandwiched between two opponents. As he fell, he felt a knee going into his kidneys, and as he lay on the ground fighting for breath, a heavy boot stamped on his knee. He took no further part in the match. He watched his Thistle colleagues being knocked out of the Cup from the side-line with a painful knee. It was the end of his football career.

"That was Danny Taggart that stamped on your knee. It was deliberate. Paul heard him saying that he did it because you’re a traitor to the Gaelic Association. Isn’t that right Paul?" Paul nodded. The defeated Thistle were in the pub after the match. Cormac nursed his swollen knee.

"I can’t believe that. Danny’s a bit of a nutter, but I can’t see him kicking me deliberately."

"You don’t know Danny. He’s a bad bugger. Remember that carry-on in the shipyard a couple of months ago, when they were going to have that big fight after somebody got run over by a train. That was Danny that let the brake off."

"I don’t believe that for a minute. I know Danny. I see him in the yard. He’s not a bad sort."

"Well, he’s changed since he joined the GA."

"The GA? What’s the GA?"

"The Gaelic Association."

"And how has he changed?" Cormac wanted to know.

"He’s running about with the hard men. Trying to show he’s as hard as them. Him and Francy Devine are as thick as thieves."

"I know Francy as well. He’s not too bright but he’s all right."

"Well, you watch out for the pair of them. Danny’s the brains and Francy’s the muscle."

Damn, thought Cormac. I hope this is not going to complicate things in the yard. I’ll have to have a word with big Tam. He finished his pint and limped home.

"Tam, I’m worried." Cormac explained about Francy and Danny.

"That’s not so good. We’ll have to do something about that. I’ll have a bit of a think about it. I’ll talk to you later."

Two weeks later, they launched a trawler, leaving one of the three slips empty. Maintenance on the empty slip had been planned for a year or more. The keel for the next ship to be built in it was planned to be laid at the end of the summer. The day after the launch, Danny and seven other labourers were paid off They were usually hired back when the next ship started.

Danny was not re-hired.

*****

The following week, Cormac cycled over to the Fullarton Institute in Irvine.

"Mr. Sleanagh. ... Mr. Sleanagh? ... MR. SLEANAGH?"

Cormac looked up from his notebook, as his neighbour at the table nudged his arm. "I think it’s you he’s wanting."

"Mr. Sleanagh?"

"That’s me, sir."

"Thank you. Do you have your course fee?"

"Yes, sir. I have it here. Do you want it now?"

"That would be fine Mr. Sleanagh. If you bring it up to the front here, I’ll make out a receipt for you."

Cormac went to the front of the room, to the teacher; a Mr. Proctor.

He returned to his seat. The man who had nudged his arm asked, "Are you a bit deaf or what?"

"No. Why’re you asking that?"

"Well, Mr. Proctor there, called your name three times before you heard him."

"Aye, I know." Cormac grinned. "I heard him all right, but I didn’t realise it was me he was wanting. Nobody’s ever called me ‘Mister’ Sleanagh before. It’s going to take some getting used to.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Proctor. I’m going to be your teacher for the next couple of months. Fortunately, the class is quite small this term, only fifteen students, so I will be able to give each of you much more individual attention than I normally can. We will start with the alphabet."

Cormac found the work easy. When starting as a plater’s mate, he could barely count, neither had he the faintest concept of geometry. Simple arithmetic, geometry and measuring angles, were soon no longer a mystery to him. He learned to appreciate the logic and symmetry of the discipline. Literacy was just another discipline. At the end of three months, he was moved into the class which had started six months before him. He gained his certificate in six rather than the normal twelve months.

*****

"Mrs. Kerr, would you ask Mr. Hutchinson if he would come and see me this afternoon at four o’clock?"

"Certainly, Mr. Allardyce." She made a note on her pad.

"Thank you. That will be all."

At four o’clock precisely Mrs. Kerr knocked on his door. "Mr. Hutchinson for you, Mr. Allardyce.

"Thank you, Mrs. Kerr. Charles, come in. Please, sit down."

Robert Allardyce adjusted the cuffs of his starched shirt. A tall, slender man with a patrician bearing, he was not without warmth. Thin-featured, with uneven teeth, women did not find him handsome, though his self-assurance and natural charm, not to mention his wealth, attracted them.

Hutchinson was relieved to hear himself being addressed as Charles. That meant that it was not bad news. He sat down in the high-backed chair facing Allardyce across the desk. It was not a large desk. It was always clear of papers. Its gleaming mahogany showed neither chip nor scratch. The leather insert on its surface was as pristine as the day it was delivered. It was a desk to sit at, not to work at.

The colours of the Blackwood-Morton carpet, made in nearby Kilmarnock, were as pristine as the desk. The office was warm from the fire blinking in the open hearth behind Allardyce. Above the mantel over the fire was a large painting of a camel-train crossing the summit of a sand dune in some unknown desert. New members of staff were informed that this was their fate if they incurred Allardyce’s ire.

"Charles, I know you are a busy man, so I will get straight to the point. It has come to my attention that we seem to be buying an awful lot of material for the stores. I have just received the interim profit-and-loss statement from Bob Laird, and I was shocked at the amount we have spent on stocking the stores in the last year. Did it not catch your own eye?"

"It did Mr. Allardyce, and I discussed it with the production people. They tell me that it’s due to the new type of ship we started building last spring. We need to stock up on lots of new items which we never used before. It sounded logical to me."

"Rubbish. When we decided to go ahead with the new design, it was on the condition that existing stocks of components would be compatible. The whole point was to avoid just such an increase in stocks."

"I have no insight to that Mr. Allardyce. The purchase-slips are passed to me, duly signed by the right people. I countersign them and pass them to Alistair Duff who orders the stuff."

"I was afraid of that. Charles, I think there is thieving going on in the stores. As one of the longest-serving and most-trusted of my managers. I want you to find out discreetly what is going on. I want you to put some-one into the stores, who will do that."

"I’m tight for staff as it is Mr. Allardyce. If I have to lose one of my clerks, I will have a serious problem meeting my commitments."

"I am aware of that. That brings me to my second point. I would like you to take on a new clerk as of the first of next month. This man, will be trained for four weeks to take over the duties of the man you choose to move into the stores. Then, that man will do a complete inventory-count of all items in the stores. At the same time, I want him to make a thorough report on how the stores work. Who does what. Who signs for what and how the whole thing works in detail. I know this is a huge exercise, but it will serve two purposes. One, such an inventory will be an excellent financial discipline, and second, it will point us in the direction of the identity of the thieves. Now, this is a matter of the utmost discretion. Do you have any-one you can trust with such an endeavour? This project, by the way, will do no harm to the career of the person who does it."

"Kenny Gibson. He’s a bright young man. This would be an excellent opportunity to give him a chance to prove himself. I think he would be perfect for the job. May I ask, who this new clerk will be? You obviously have some-one in mind."

"His name is Sleanagh. At the moment, he is a plater’s mate in the yard. He has recently received his certificate in literacy at the Fullarton Institute in Irvine. He completed the course in half the normal time."

"Yes, I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he the one that broke that chap’s jaw behind the big shed last year?"

"The same man."

"I hope he’ll not be breaking any jaws in the office. I wouldn’t like to have an aggressive type, who’ll be upsetting us all."

"No possibility of that, Charles. I can give you an absolute guarantee of that. Exactly the opposite in fact. He’s a Catholic. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not personally, but I must confess, I think it might cause some friction in the office."

"Charles, I will confide in you. This is for no-one except yourself. Sleanagh is the key to keeping the sectarian trouble under control. He and Tom Warnock have the leaders of the two factions in their pockets. Have you not noticed in the last year or so that there has been almost no trouble any more?"

"To be honest, it did strike me that things were extra quiet, but I thought it was only a lull in the normal process of things. Well, I’ll be damned. Well done Mr. Allardyce. How did you ever manage to do that?"

"I wish I could claim the credit, but it was Sleanagh who conceived the plan and made it work. Have you seen the production figures since the summer?

Now, back to the business in hand. You understand how important it is that your people accept Sleanagh? He is not the sort of chap who will cause friction. If there is trouble, it will come from your people. So see that they don’t rock the boat. I know it will be difficult, but, if you can give the example without seeming to show favouritism, I’m sure it can be done. Now there are two devilishly important bits of business here, so we have got to make it all work. Can I count on you, Charles?

"Certainly, Mr. Allardyce."

*****

"Here, let me put the boys to bed tonight. You look dead tired. You’re not coming down with something, are you? It’s nice to see the bairns again. When I was away in Irvine twice a week, I hardly saw them. If I was at school, they were in bed when I got back. And the nights I was in the house, I was too busy doing homework or too tired to pay them any attention. Oh, it’s grand to have some time to yourself. I’m that glad I’m finished with the night-school."

"Me too. I’ve hardly seen anything of you for months. You’ve been too tired to pay any attention to me either." She arched her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Aye, I know Beth. I’ve missed you too. I’ll tire those weans out before I get them into their bed, and they’ll not bother us tonight. Then, I’ll make it up to you." He winked at her, and slapped her on the bum.

"Not in front of the children."

"Away you go and fold that washing, and I’ll get them to bed."

"Well, see you don’t tire yourself out, tiring them out. Then you’ll be no good to me again."

"Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be ready for you. Use some of that scent I got you for your birthday. You’ve never put it on since you got it."

"Aye, and whose fault is that, then? It’s not mine. You’ve been the one that’s always been tired. I never even got the chance to have a headache." Beth went off to fold her clean washing.

"Right, you lot. Get your clothes off and I’ll get the sink filled with water. Who’s going to be first?"

"Me." John, almost six, always wanted to be first.

"Right. You can’t get in the sink with your socks on. Off they come.

Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John.

Washed his feet with his stockings on."

Cormac chanted the doggerel while he soaped the boy with a wash-cloth. The child splashed with his feet. Soon, Cormac was soaked and the floor awash.

"You wee monkey. Look what you’re doing to your daddy.’ Cormac joined in the fun, tickling the boy. Beth came through from the living-room.

"Looook at this mess. You’ll dry it up when you’re finished. " Her wide smile betrayed her mock anger at the hilarity.

While Cormac dried John, Mack sat on the draining board next to the sink, paddling his feet gently in the water.

"Right you. Am I going to have the same carry-on from you as that rascal of a brother of yours?" John was by the fire, dry in his pyjamas.

"No daddy." Cormac tickled him under his oxters. Mack squirmed and squealed. More water spilled on the floor. At last, both boys were in their pyjamas by the fire. Cormac dried himself off as best he could and wiped the floor dry.

"Right, bed," he commanded sternly through a laugh, pointing to the door.

"We haven’t had a story yet. We’re not going before we get a story. Sure we’re not Mack."

"No. Tell us the one about Finn MacCool?"

"I told you about Finn MacCool last week. Did I tell you the one about Cuchulain and him stealing the cows from Cooley?’

"Aye. Tell us about Cuchulain. He’s good. We like Cuchulain, don’t we Mack."

"Cuchulain. Tell us one with Cuchulain."

The story of the cattle-raid on Cooley was duly told. Cormac was a born story-teller. He enjoyed bed-time stories more than the boys.

"You spoil them with all your stories. I don’t know where you get them all from."

"Ah, Beth. I got them from my mother, Biddy. I got a lot from old Fergus Sweeny, the shanachie as well. Sure it’s the only way the old legends and myths get passed on. It’s their heritage; their culture. I never want them to forget their Irish roots."

"That’s rich coming from you."

"Aye well, I suppose you’ve a point there. But there’s a difference between being militant and fanatical, and remembering where you came from."

While getting the children ready for bed, Cormac reviewed his marriage and the sexual aspect of it. It’s been a long time, he mused. Why is that? I still want it, but there’s not a lot of fun in it any more. Never really was any; not even in the beginning. She just lies there like it was some holy duty; like she was doing God’s will letting her husband have his wicked way so that more wee good-Catholics will come into the world to do His will. A thought struck him. I’ve never seen her naked. In all our married life, it’s been in the dark, under the blankets. His thoughts drifted to Maisie Wilson and their wanton fling by the burn.

Later in bed, lying in each others’ arms, relaxing in the afterglow she said, "It’s been too long Cormac. Never leave me alone that long again."

"I promise, my love. Whatever happens, we’ll make the time. It’s just been one thing after the other. The bairns being wee; the night-school; me being in jail. It took me a while to get over that."

"Aye. I know. I know. Do you know how long it’s actually been?"

"I honestly can’t remember. I know it’s been a long time. Must be at least three, four or even five months, maybe longer."

"You haven’t taken me to your bed since just after you came out of jail."

There was a silence. "It can’t be that long. That’s more than a year."

"That’s right. That’s how long ago it was."

"Sweet Beth, never let me do that again. I had no idea it was that long. Oh my sweet love, I’m sorry. I’ve been that tied up with my own worries, that I never thought about you. I’ll make it up to you now that things are settling down. That’s a promise"

"You know, it’s been that long that Father Tierney even spoke to me about it."

"How do you mean the priest spoke to you about it? How the hell does he know how long it’s been since we’ve shared our own bed together? What’s it got to do with him? Did you ask him about it or what?"

"No, don’t be daft. He asked me if we were having trouble having another baby. He was fishing to find out if we were doing something to stop me having another baby. He’s worried that we’re committing a mortal sin."

"The cheeky bugger. It’s none of his damned business what we do in the privacy of our own bed-room. I’ll have a word with him about that. He’ll think twice before he embarrasses my wife again."

"You will not. I don’t want you upsetting the priest. He’s a man of God, and should be treated with respect. Anyway, they’re always asking us about it, if there’s no sign of anything after twelve months or so. It’s just routine to them. None of us married women gets upset about it. That’s what they’re there for. We know we’ve done nothing wrong, and I told him that. Don’t spoil it now. It’s been so long since we’ve been together like this. Just forget it. I wish I’d never mentioned it now."

"Aye you’re right. What difference does it make anyway, eh? Let’s just forget it."

But he did not forget.

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