Torn Apart

'Hello, Sheila, old darlin'. You're looking well.'

Sheila had stayed sitting. 'Hello, Seamus.'

He smiled. 'You don't think I'm looking well?'

Sheila said nothing. Cummings was as tall as me and he looked me straight in the eye.

'Cliff Hardy,' he said. 'You have the misfortune to closely resemble a piece of shite named Paddy Malloy.'

'I resent that,' I said. 'He was my cousin and yes, I did look like him.'

'That's right, you did. Cousin, is it? If I was to tell you about the cousins I've lost… Now I suggest you two have a little dance. I'd ask you, Sheila, but I'm a bit past the dancin' myself. I'll just watch, and if I see you leaving or making telephone calls, you'll not see your bearded professor friend ever again.'

'Where is he, Cummings?'

Cummings smiled and did a little, jerky jig, as if warming up for a dance he'd never complete. 'Now, now, have a little patience. You've taken a lot of trouble and some time to reach this point, Hardy. Just be patient a while and you'll learn all you want to know.'

26

It's an old trick-you get the people you're trying to control to do something they don't want to do, just for starters. I stood my ground with my hand on Sheila's shoulder.

'Fuck you,' I said. 'Get on with whatever you've got in your sick mind.'

That death's-head smile again. 'I'm sick all right, but my mind's as clear as a Galway stream. Just stay with me-the threat remains the same.'

The organisers were clearing away the trestles and chairs and the remainder of the food and drink, and the musicians were refreshing themselves before their next onslaught. People were gathering in groups ready to dance. Cummings backed away carefully, taking small steps. The healthy tan was deceptive; his sunken eyes were pools of pain as he moved and his hands shook as he took a mobile phone from his pocket. He reached the wall and steadied himself, fighting for breath. Sheila and I moved with him, keeping a couple of metres away as he sent a text message.

'You're very sick, Seamus,' Sheila said. 'You need help.'

He put the phone away. 'I'm beyond help, darlin', but I've done the two things I needed to do so it doesn't matter a tinker's curse.'

A paroxysm of coughing shook him; his knees sagged but he fought to keep himself upright. This was a very determined man.

'Let's go,' he said when he'd recovered. 'I just have to say goodbye to Mr O'Loughlin, fine man that he is.'

Painfully slowly, Cummings approached O'Loughlin, who was loading wood into the potbelly stove near the band. O'Loughlin saw him and straightened up.

'Long live the Travellers of whom I'm a proud member. Sorry I can't stay longer, but I'm broken down in body as you see, but not in spirit.'

O'Loughlin took Cummings's outstretched hand in the gentlest of holds and put his other hand lightly on his shoulder. The contrast between the two men could not have been greater-O'Loughlin must have weighed 120 kilos and Cummings looked to have wasted away to about half that and, although Cummings was tall, O'Loughlin topped him by a head. Sheila and I hung back.

'My name is Seamus Cummings of County Galway. I want to thank you, Mr O'Loughlin, for a fine evening and to say slan.

' Slan to you, Seamus, and may God bless you.'

'I doubt that, but thank you.'

Cummings turned towards us as O'Loughlin gave us a salute-the gallant support staff. Cummings looked about to fall and I couldn't do anything but step forward and take his arm. We left the room as the band struck up and the so-inclined Travellers swung into their dance. We reached the door and Cummings, feather light, turned to take a last look. I heard a sniff from Sheila and when I looked I saw her dabbing at a tear with the sleeve of her jacket.

Jesus, I thought, this man murdered her husband and my friend. What the hell is going on here?

We shuffled along and I couldn't tell whether Cummings was as decrepit as he seemed. He'd appeared to be all right when he took his seat and while he was eating and drinking. I strongly suspected that, weak though he undoubtedly was, he'd play on his appearance for any advantage he could get.

Bottles empty and not empty had been stacked on a sideboard in the hallway and Cummings suddenly pulled free of me.

'Better pick up a few,' he said. 'We've paid for it after all, and we've got a long night and a lot of talking ahead of us.'

I picked up three bottles. Sheila seemed to be moving in a trance-like state. Cummings noticed.

'For Christ's sake, Sheila,' he rasped. 'Grab a bottle or two. What's wrong with you?'

Sheila's head came up and she moved quickly to block his path. 'Grab them yourself, Seamus. It's a long time since I did what you told me.'

'Did at one time though, didn't you, darlin'? And loved it.'

'Knock it off,' I said. 'We're not going one step further until you tell us what's going on.'

'How about your friend?'

'He's not a friend. He's someone I used to help track you down.'

'Is that a fact? He'll be disappointed to hear it. We drove about a bit and got on famously. I told him some things he didn't know and helped him sort out the dirty lies from the dirty truths.'

'The blarney is giving me the shits. Who did you send the text to?'

Ah, good question. Just the right question. I can see that you have a brain in your head. Well, I might say the same as you. He's no friend of mine but someone I've found useful. I think we may have more in common than it looks, Hardy.'

'If it's the right question, what's the answer?'

Cummings laughed and the movement brought on another spell of coughing and forced him to lean against a wall again. 'He… he's by way of being a member of the Australian intelligence service, oxymoron though that is, and he's known about me and Patrick Malloy and you and your friend Casey for days and days and days. And I know about him, so I thought to invite him along to a little meeting.

Not a ceilidh, mind, Hardy, but you'll want to be there for certain.'

We followed Cummings in his black ute away from the farm.

'I hope you've got that gun with you,' Sheila said. 'I haven't, it was a temporary measure.' As I expected, Cummings turned in at the caravan park. I drove past.

'What're you doing?'

'Taking you back to the motel.'

'You do and I'll never fucking speak to you again.'

'Sheila, he's a killer.'

'Maybe he was, but not now. You saw and heard him. The man's on his last legs. He wants to talk. I'm involved in this, Cliff. I want to see it through.'

She had a point. I slowed down. 'I don't like the sound of the intelligence people being involved. A minute ago you were wishing I had a gun.'

'I was dramatising. It's one of my faults. How can it hurt to have a security guy there? Look, I meant what I said, Cliff. I like you a lot. I think we could be good together, but I'm buggered if I'll be sidelined. Turn around… please.'

I did. It wasn't late and the boom gate hadn't come down. The place was fairly well lit and I remembered the layout well enough to navigate back to cabins 31 and 33. The black ute was there, parked next to 33 with Casey's SUV by 31. The porch light was on at 33 and Cummings stood at the door wrapped in a blanket. His breath steamed in the cold air. We drew up behind the SUV and got out, Sheila carrying one bottle and me two.

'We were waiting for the grog. Lose your way, did you?'

His grin showed that he knew exactly what had happened. I didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply. 'Jack?' I called.

'Careful, you'll wake the neighbours,' Cummings said.

Casey appeared behind Cummings. He looked strained and white as he puffed nervously on a cigar. A movement behind him suggested there was someone else inside.

'Better get in here, Cliff. Tell Sheila to wait in the car.'

'Dunno about that, Jack. She'd be likely to ram your vehicle and then have a go at the cabin. That'd wake the neighbours.'

'That's right,' Sheila said. 'Fuck you, Jack.'

'All in together then,' Cummings said. 'It'll be a little cramped, but who looks for a lot of room at a good party, eh?'