Paradigm – Chapter 2

The Debt

 

It felt good to return to return to UCD for Second Year of my Bachelor of Commerce Degree, anything to take my mind off the summer’s events.  It is the largest university in Ireland with approximately eighteen thousand students.  During the day there is a constant flow of activity and at night The Student Bar is the place to be.

 

Just like my first year I would live in a ground floor apartment on campus with fellow student Lucy and Personal Assistants.  It is close to the centre of everything which makes my college life that much easier.  The only drawback is that almost all the rest of the student accommodation is inaccessible.

 

Lectures provided an opportunity to exercise my mind without feeling a cold sweat pour over me.  The Student Bar was once more in full swing with queues forming before lunch hour to get in.  Just the way I liked it.  My friends were  thrilled to see me if a little amused that I had made it this far after spending so much time in the pub.

 

Casey gave me a big hug when he saw me.  It was the second night back and I was reacquainting myself with my favourite table and my beloved vodka.  The music was pulsating through the bar and the large crowd were in vibrant form.

 

At times shouting into my ear as people barged past he told me about him summer.  He had spent it in Lyons in France teaching English and had become besotted with a French girl.  He had told her that he would return but now looking forlorn was doubtful he would.  He never asked about my summer; perhaps wanting to distance himself from events.

 

The party atmosphere continued throughout the night.

 

Fortunately fewer hours of lectures were scheduled than my first year at the university.  There would be plenty of time for recreational activities between lectures which would probably consist of drinking tea and watching daytime TV for me.  I had different subjects than last year; but being a Commerce student; there was nothing, not related to business or which I felt could give me a sleepless night.

 

Economics was always a subject which made total sense to me and business organization couldn’t possibly be arduous.  Hopefully accounting wouldn’t be too boring this year.

 

But a shadow constantly lingered over me.

 

Just a week before I started back, the mission had been outlined to me.  It was a bomb plot to murder the British Prime Minister.  Originally there was a different target but this was apparently too good of an opportunity to let pass.  He was to give a key speech about the peace process in two months at the Langton hotel near Belfast city centre.  One month from now I would be attending a disability related conference at the same hotel where my co-conspirator would plant the bomb.

 

All I was told was that there was a republic sympathizer involved in an organization called People with Disabilities in Northern Ireland (PDNI) who would ensure I would be invited and that suitable accommodation was booked.  I would be accompanied by another IRA agent who would both seemingly look after my needs and plant the bomb while I was there.

 

“Where?”  “Why?” and “How?” is a summation of my parents’ thoughts regarding my forthcoming trip to Belfast.  Telling the truth that I was on an IRA mission was totally out of the question so instead I told them that I needed time to get over Karen’s death; that a trip away would be cathartic for me, that I needed to spend some time away from everything, where people didn’t know my name or what I’d been through.  When they started to accept that the questions about who I was going with started.

 

These were far more difficult to answer.  I was only meeting my “handler” every two weeks at best, sometimes beside a bench in the town park in Mullingar and other times in the Arts Centre on campus.  He gave little information away stressing that people had to be protected.  He had seemingly been assigned to me by central command and had a long terrorist history.  Shabbily dressed with a long white beard and ever present blue cap he liked to remind me endlessly that I should be honoured to get a chance to serve my country. That the British had been oppressing the Irish for over eight hundred years and it was now time for them to leave.

 

He suggested telling them that I was going with “Jimmy”; a mature student.  The rest of the details were to be kept as vague as possibly lest they were to guess for instance that “Jimmy” had no idea where UCD even was.  This was not very reassuring.  Pointing out that I needed someone who understood how to use a hoist and could drive the family’s accessible van drew a quizzical look before looking away and saying it would all be sorted.

 

Eventually he told me that my accomplice would be a masquerading as a mature student who had some previous experience helping people with disabilities.  Whether he actually had any experience helping someone with a disability was seemingly another thing entirely but the leadership were confident I could direct him appropriately, something which reassured me little. The date of the conference was now fast approaching.

 

Two weeks later I got the call.  My Dad called out my name to tell me that “Jimmy” was looking for me on the phone.  I nervously drove into the kitchen to take the call.  My Dad had to had to hold the telephone to my ear which made me worry he might hear something he shouldn’t.

 

The first thing I noticed about Jimmy was his thick Dublin accent.  It was unexpected as I thought it would be a Northerner but nevertheless the sense of familiarity made me more comfortable.  The conversation was short and snappy.  He would be calling at 10 am the following Saturday and driving me up to the conference.   We would be staying for two nights; he had used a hoist before and there was nothing to worry about.  In response I just responded that was fine and I would see him then.

 

That ended the conversation and I nodded to my father that he could put down the phone which led to him looking at me a bit bewildered.  Seizing the initiative, I then informed of my plans for the following week.

 

He was concerned but then said he hoped everything would go smoothly.  That it would be good for me to get some time away from things.   It made me feel sick to lie to those closest to me.