I went round to Cara and Niamh’s flat for dinner; it was a good way for me to check on Cara and see how Niamh was doing. All Niamh wanted to talk about was Tenneh Dumbuya – she couldn’t get her story off her mind.
“I can’t imagine what she’s been through…and at such a young age!” We were cooking a big pot of spaghetti in the kitchen, and Niamh had to put the spoon she was stirring the pasta with down to wipe at her eyes. I was already crying from the onions I was shopping into the sauce. Cara was mixing a salad at the table, and wasn’t saying anything. “To be able to forgive the men who killed her family and raped her…” Niamh was saying. I saw Cara hunch her shoulders over the salad bowl. I put the knife down and went to my sister. “Cara?” I asked in a low voice. She knew what I was thinking and rolled her eyes. “No, I wasn’t raped. I was just irresponsible, okay!” Niamh turned around to watch us. Cara sighed. “You don’t have to be a rape victim to be affected by a story like that.” “Tenneh Dumbuya is an amazing person,” Niamh said. “She is,” Cara agreed. “Were you listening to the show?” I asked Cara. “Of course I was. I also taped the TV show the two of you were on.” Her cheeks turned bright red and she looked down at the salad. “We’re still sisters, no matter what I’ve done.” It was like she had punched both of us in the gut. “You know I’m not holding it against you,” I told her softly. Cara wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “It’s like being raped, I guess. It becomes part of your identity. Tenneh Dumbuya is a rape victim, and I’m a woman who had an abortion.” Niamh inhaled a sharp breath, and I shook my head. “Tenneh is not a victim. You are not your past, Cara.” I gestured to myself. “Am I always going to be the woman whose boyfriend left her?” Cara busied herself with the salad she was making. “I’d like to think that we can move beyond our past.” “Forgiveness,” I said. I reached out to my sister, my heart breaking when I saw her wince. “You have to forgive yourself, Cara.” She buried her face in her hands. “I killed my baby!” she wept. I put my arms around her. “Did you take your medication today?” Niamh asked sternly, coming over to stand next to us. I could feel Cara nod against me. Niamh indicated the calendar on the wall. “Your next counselling session in on Thursday…should I reschedule it sooner?” I felt Niamh was being overbearing, and Cara glared at her. “I can make it through two days,” she told Niamh. “We’re just worried about you,” I said gently. “Well, don’t. I have to come to terms with what I’ve done. I have to forgive myself, like Lisa says…like my counsellor says.” She took a deep breath and attempted a big smile. “It will get better.” Niamh nodded, smiling genuinely. “It does get better…just look at Tenneh. You’d think anyone would just want to curl into a ball and die after what she went through, but she’s got her chin up.” Niamh looked at me and went back to the stove. “I used to think Lisa and Kate were confident, but Tenneh is just amazing. I mean, she can inspire anybody. I think we should send her into every rape crisis centre to let those people know you can survive. Hey, I think we should send her into every rape trial, and let those criminals know they haven’t destroyed their victims. That they don’t have victims…those women can be just as strong as Tenneh!” She covered the pot of pasta with a clang. “Are you going to burn your bra now?” Cara asked sarcastically. Niamh’s look of triumph vanished. “Hey, be nice!” I admonished. “Niamh has a point. Tenneh is inspiring, and brings hope to all of us. I hate every minute I ever felt sorry for myself after Peter and I broke up. It hurt to have my hopes and dreams dashed, but that was nothing compared to what Tenneh went through. And Tenneh is not the only one who went through something like that. You don’t see her having a pity party or giving up. She’s living proof that you can survive.” Cara didn’t have any clever retort to that. She continued making the salad, and I went back to the sauce. “Do you think I could meet her?” Niamh asked. “Tenneh? Sure.” I pictured us all having dinner at my place, but figured it would be too small. Now that I had been promoted and she was a television presenter, we should all meet in a posh restaurant. I realised I hadn’t told Niamh and Cara about the changes at work. “Hey, did I tell ye that we have a new department for good works at McGrath-Roth?” Lunch had gone well; Theresa and Jimmy were on board. I didn’t think much of the name we came up with for the new campaign, but we were already charging ahead with it. Sugar and Spice and Everything Smart –that’s what we were saying girls were made of. Sheila had gotten a tentative yes from a major international cosmetics brand, and they loved the name. Eileen was happy that we already had another project going, with sponsors lined up. Both Cara and Niamh were impressed by my progress at work. Niamh was delighted that I would be able to concentrate on doing good, and Cara was amazed that we had already started a new campaign. We sat down to eat amid their congratulations, and I had to admit that I wasn’t ready to move on. “I kind of feel superficial,” I confessed. “I feel like I’m abandoning the anti-sex-trafficking campaign.” Cara shrugged. “After all the games are played and parties had, what else is left in the campaign?” she asked. “Think of it in terms of phases. In a few months’ time, you can do a phase two…maybe do something more international.” I sighed. “I felt like an abolitionist. The abolitionists only stopped once slavery had been outlawed!” Niamh looked at me sceptically. “I’m sure that’s not true. Wasn’t there a period of reparations or something in America after the Civil War? You know, land redistribution - forty acres and a mule? Someone had to organise and run that.” “And it wasn’t all plain sailing. There were people who fought against the idea that freed slaves were people. Think of the Ku Klux Klan,” Cara pointed out. “You sound like Kate. She said to me today that as long as there is evil in the world, there has to be good to fight it.” I felt sheepish and short-sighted. “Well, she’s right. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Niamh said, echoing Sheila’s sentiments. Cara looked thoughtful. “It took Jesus three days to rise from the dead.” There was a silence, as both Niamh and I looked at her. I’ll admit that I was checking to see if she was being sarcastic, but her expression stayed open and relaxed. “I’m just saying, think of what you believe. You say He came to earth to pay for all our sins. It took God three days to do that…why are you expecting to achieve smaller things more quickly?” I gaped at her, and finally she rolled her eyes. “Don’t get excited. I’m not saying I’m a believer. I’m just reminding you what you believe, and how maybe you’re being too hard on yourself.” My dear sister smiled at me, and I looked at Niamh. I had seen God perform a miracle in her life; maybe I was witnessing the start of His work in Cara’s life. “I said, don’t get excited,” Cara repeated. She gave Niamh and me sharp looks, but we were too busy smiling to care.
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It was actually good that Mircea wasn’t expected to spend that much time in Cyprus; he found he didn’t know how to take a vacation, or spend time with regular people. The debacle with Astrid proved that. At the airport in Ercan, Mircea ignored the sight of the taxi driver who had driven them to The Swan. He thought he was safe behind sunglasses, but the driver called to him, whistling the Internationale. Mircea realised he shouldn’t be calling so much attention to himself, not in the business he was in. He darted into the departures terminal, only to be stopped to have his luggage x-rayed.
“I’m not carrying any contraband,” he tried to argue. Irritatingly, the taxi driver came in behind him. “Hey, comrade!” he called, clapping Mircea on the back. “Where are all the pretty girls?” People in the airport were turning to look at them. “I don’t know what he is talking about,” Mircea said to the people working the x-ray machine stiffly. The driver threw up his hands, saying something in Turkish. Mircea realised he wasn’t going away…and worse, people were listening to what he was saying. Something Mircea didn’t understand. “Okay, okay,” Mircea said, pulling the taxi driver aside. He reached for his billfold. “What do you want?” The driver was all over Mircea. “What’s this in your mouth?” he asked, indicating the splints. Mircea shrugged dismissively, trying to squirm out of the driver’s grasp. He brought out this billfold and held it up, but the driver shook his finger dismissively at it. “I want to get in that nightclub you wouldn’t let Hikmet into,” the driver said with a lascivious grin. “I’ll arrange it,” Mircea said, repocketing the billfold and trying to get away. The driver stopped him, offering his mobile phone. Mircea declined, getting out his own. There was no way he would try to call from a number they wouldn’t recognise. He quickly scrolled through his contacts, and selected the club icon, getting through to Nikita’s office. Smiling at the driver, Mircea told them in English he was sending someone over. He asked the driver his name, and told the bouncer at the club to expect Tolga the driver. “Thank you my friend!” the driver sang, holding out his hand. Mircea grumpily got out the billfold handed him some money. The taxi driver again clapped Mircea on the back, and finally walked away. Once he was out the door, Mircea called the club again and told them to deal with that obnoxious fool of a driver in Russian. They needed the message to get out that blackmail would not get you into The Swan. Smiling stiffly, he collected his luggage, which had been x-rayed. Grunting, the guard indicated that Mircea should open his carry-on bag. “What? I don’t have anything.” The man grunted again, insistently pointing to the bag. Aware that people in the queue behind him were looking, Mircea tried to laugh nonchalantly. He opened his bag, trying to think if he had anything even vaguely illegal in it. The guard pounced on the tube of sunscreen he had bought the day before. “Is that all?” Mircea asked loudly, holding up the sunscreen so everyone could see he didn’t have anything threatening. He went to throw it away, but the guard pointed to Mircea’s suitcase. “I don’t need it,” Mircea said, throwing the sunscreen into the bin. Giving everyone around a big smile, Mircea gathered his luggage and went to check in. Even though it was only eleven am, Mircea headed for the bar in the departures lounge. He recognised some people from the hotel Astrid had been a guest in; nervously he looked around, hoping she wouldn’t be there as well. He was having a hell of a time trying to leave this island! Fortunately, Astrid wasn’t there, and the people from the hotel didn’t seem to be able to place Mircea, or even take much notice of him. They were obviously trying to enjoy the last drink of their holiday, concentrating on raising the glasses to their lips. Mircea ordered a double vodka, and downed it in one smooth movement. It was the mass-produced American stuff, so it went down without much of a sting. He paid for it and left a small tip, then headed for the duty free shop. He couldn’t head back to Ukraine empty-handed. By the time he landed in Kiev, he was ravenously hungry. The girls were right- the food they served on the plane was disgusting. He had a two hour wait until his flight to Vinnytsia took off, so he had time to go to a restaurant in the transit area. The domestic area of the airport was not as nice and clean as the international departures area. Most people would take a train to Vinnytsia, but Mircea couldn’t be bothered with Ukrainian Rail. He went into the grubby cafeteria and got a bowl of grey potato soup and some perogies. He sat down at a dirty formica table, but felt eyes on him. He looked up to see a Catholic priest and that German missionary, Michael, staring at him from across the cafeteria. It seemed Mircea would not be allowed to travel incognito today. He saw Michael whispering away to the priest, but wondered if there was anything he could really do. He carefully took the splints out of his mouth, as he found that if he ate while wearing them, he would be tasting his meals for hours afterward. He had carefully laid them on a paper napkin, and was spooning the soup into his mouth when Michael came over to him. “We meet again.” Michael stayed standing over him. Mircea was too tired for any kind of confrontation. He continued eating the soup. Michael folded his arms across his chest. “It’s no use ignoring me; we’re probably going to be on the same flight to Vinnytsia.” Mircea sighed. “So what, you want a lift to the church? Will we car pool?” Michael’s dark expression didn’t change. “You should come to the church with me. See the damage you’ve done…and how we’ve cleaned it up. We’re getting new windows put in, to replace the ones that were smashed.” “So no harm done, then,” Mircea said pleasantly. He finished the soup and started on the perogies. Michael didn’t move. Mircea looked up at him, and saw he was looking down at the splints on the napkin. He grabbed them and put them into his pocket. “I see you’re getting your teeth treated,” Michael commented. “Is your pain gone?” Mircea remembered himself on his knees in front of this guy, howling with pain. He pushed the perogies away and got up. “Your pain may be taken care of, but what about the girl?” Michael asked as Mircea tried to walk away. Mircea stopped and looked back. What girl? “The girl whose jaw you broke. They’ve had to reconstruct her whole mouth, with dentures and a prosthesis. I raised funds to bring her to Germany for the procedure.” So she’s getting a nice vacation out of it, Mircea thought. He turned away again, but Michael caught his arm. “She’ll have to learn how to talk again, with a new jaw. It will take months of therapy.” Mircea thought how he would have to wear splints for months to end his pain, so he wasn’t particularly moved. He tried to shrug Michael’s hand off his arm, but the German’s grip was strong. “I find it interesting how you gave the girl the pain you yourself are suffering from,” Michael said to him in a low voice. “Instead of an eye for an eye, it was a jaw for a jaw? What wrong had she committed to deserve such punishment?” “It was business,” Mircea told him quietly. “My business…none of yours!” Again he tried to remove his arm from Michael’s hold, but to no avail. “She came to us for help,” Michael said simply. “She came to us for the help we give anyone. If you came to us, we would help you.” Mircea violently wrenched his arm free. “You don’t help for free!” he spat at Michael. “You say you help the poor, but all you do is take their pennies while your priests live a lavish lifestyle in their velvet-lined golden palaces!” Michael was unmoved by this outburst. He gestured to the ugly cafeteria they were standing in. “We are not in a golden palace here. I see no velvet.” “You can afford to fly down to Vinnytsia,” Mircea pointed out. “What about your vow of poverty?” “I’m using my own money to fly,” Michael answered. Mircea looked back at the priest. “He’s coming to assess the need here in Ukraine, to admire your handiwork and the likes of others like you.” Michael anticipated Mircea’s next barb. “The Church in Munich is paying for all of it…we’re not taking any kopeks from poor Ukrainians.” Mircea didn’t have any smart retorts for what Michael was saying. The German stood proudly in the cafeteria, calmly looking down at Mircea, an almost pitying expression on his face. The few transit passengers were taking the whole scene in, looking from Mircea and Michael to the priest who sat silently in the shadows. Mircea found himself turning and fleeing from Michael, not knowing what to do. Michael was too big…there were too many witnesses…it looked bad. In the grimy men’s toilet, Mircea pulled his splints from his pockets with shaking hands. To his horror, he dropped them to the filthy floor. He crouched down and picked them up, washing them in the thin stream of water that came from the sink. He hated to think of putting them in his mouth, but his jaw was aching. He fitted them over his teeth, the stale taste of the rusty water filling his mouth. With a cry, Mircea realised he had forgotten his bag in the cafeteria. His things! His duty free! He leaned over the sink and pressed his forehead into the cracked mirror. He had to think of how to get out of this. A scrawny teenager wearing an apron came into the men’s room, carrying Mircea’s bag. “Hey, friend,” he called to Mircea, holding out the bag. “The priests say you forgot this. Lucky for you they were there, otherwise someone would have taken it!” Mircea recognised the teenager as one of the servers in the cafeteria. The skinny kid handed him his bag and went back out – obviously he was still on duty and had to get back. Mircea held his bag to his chest like a life-preserver. I have to get out of here. There is no way I can get on that plane with Michael and the priest. He dug into his bag, hoping for some toothpaste to take the taste of the splints away, but of course the liquid ban meant he didn’t have any. His heart was pounding, and he felt dizzy. He took deep breaths to calm himself down, but the strong smell of urine sickened him. He pushed his way out of the restroom, and headed straight the entrance to the terminal, as there was no exit. “I need to get out of here!” he told the guards. He kept his eyes focused on them, not wanting to see the people in the terminal watching the commotion, not wanting to see Michael. “I need to cancel my flight!” The guard grouchily offered to escort Mircea to the transit desk, which he gladly accepted. Just getting out of there, away from Michael was the top priority for him at that moment. To celebrate her new job as a TV Presenter, Tenneh had a party in the restaurant she used to be a manager of. She knew so many people that the place was jam-packed, but she made me a guest of honour. She said if I hadn’t agreed to come on Rhythm and Praise, none of this would have happened. That night, in the restaurant, holding my hand, Tenneh made an announcement. “Lisa, I want to thank God for Athletes Against Exploitation, The Red Light Prayer…and for you!”
All these people I had never met before were all applauding me. I had never felt so embarrassed in all my life, especially standing next to Tenneh. She was dressed in a gold lame evening gown and looked amazing. I was wearing the standard black velvet dress I wore to functions, but I felt invisible. The TV Station had sent photographers, who were dutifully capturing me cowering red-faced next to the stunning Amazon that was Tenneh. I had asked Tenneh if it was all right for me to invite Cara, Kate and Niamh, but I couldn’t find them in the crowd that was in the restaurant. To make things even worse, Tenneh started singing “for she’s a jolly good fellow” in her booming voice. Everyone joined in and flashbulbs went off non-stop in my face, blinding me. I held on to Tenneh for dear life, truly terrified. “OK, that’s enough!” A male voice shouted. I felt a sudden rush of air as she cameras and people moved away. Tenneh and someone else helped me walk into the kitchen. “Tenneh, it’s too hot in here!” the same voice said, and I was helped through the kitchen and out a door, into the cool night air. Lights were still dancing in my eyes and I couldn’t see a thing. I covered my eyes with my hands, hoping the afterglow would fade away. “I’m a nurse!” I heard Niamh shout. “Where is she?” “Back here, in the alley!” Tenneh called. “Lisa, I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” “Can someone get a chair?” Niamh asked. I felt her come over and take my arm. I heard the scrape of a chair, and Niamh helped into a sitting position. “Lisa, you’ve been temporarily blinded by all the flash photography,” Niamh told me. “Just keep your eyes closed and it will fade away.” “Good thing I’m not the one going into show business,” I joked. I wasn’t sure where Tenneh was, so I swivelled my head around, keeping my eyes shut. “She’s gone in to get you a glass of water,” the male voice said. A hand took mine in a firm grasp. “I’m Andy, and I own this place, The Beirut Café.” I started to say pleased to meet you but was interrupted by Tenneh bringing the water. Niamh helped me take the glass, and as I sipped, I peered out through my eyelashes. I could make out shapes and colours, but the lights of the flash still burned. “Just take your time,” Niamh commanded. “I’d better never become famous,” I said, and everyone laughed politely. “It’s a bit late for that!” Tenneh said with a hearty laugh. “I hope someone threw those stupid photographers out,” I heard Andy say. “They were more like paparazzi! Are you sure they were with the station?” “The guy from publicity took care of it,” Tenneh assured Andy. “We won’t let Lisa back into the café unless they’re gone!” My eyes were adjusting. “I’m fine,” I told everyone, still blinking a lot. Niamh took the glass of water from me. I couldn’t look at Tenneh’s dress for too long, but I could make out what Andy looked like. He was an olive-skinned older man, with longish greying hair. He took my hand again, and I could feel he was wearing a wedding ring. I tried to stifle my sigh of disappointment – he had sounded so nice! I heard Tenneh giggle. “Take it slowly,” Niamh advised. “Sit out here for a few minutes – don’t go rushing back in.” “There are no photographers anymore,” Tenneh promised. “Andy, let everyone know Lisa is okay. Her sister is here, and must be worried.” Andy let go of my hand and went back into the café. Tenneh took the hand he had let go. “Don’t worry, Girl; he has a brother!” she whispered to me. I’m sure I must have turned bright red again. I hadn’t thought about dating in ages – I was starting to think I had dried up inside! Tenneh chucked me under the chin, and we both laughed like conspirators. Niamh wanted to know what was going on, but Tenneh waved a hand at her. “It’s nothing; we’re just being silly!” I was able to open my eyes fully when Cara came out. I hadn’t seen her in a dress in ages, and she looked nice. I was happy that Andy had managed to find her. She took my hand. “What happened? Are you okay?” “Too much flash photography,” I explained, squeezing her hand. “She had better get used to it!” Tenneh said, helping me to my feet. “Are the cameras gone?” “Yeah – the owner kicked them all out. Some apparently actually were paparazzi!” We were heading into the kitchen, but at the sound of that, we all froze and stayed in the alley. “They’re all gone,” Cara assured us. We made towards the kitchen again. “Wow, Lisa – you’ve been papped! I wonder what trashy tabloid you’ll be appearing in?” Niamh mused. I couldn’t picture it. “Where’s Kate?” I asked. Cara laughed. “She acted like a bouncer and threw one of those guys with a camera out on to the street!” I paused in the middle of the kitchen and looked at my sister in disbelief. Kate? I mouthed at her. I always knew she was good in a crisis, but I never thought of her as crowd-control! “I think you should make her your official bodyguard,” Tenneh suggested, as we came out into the café again. “Okay, we are back! Is everyone here an invited guest?” There was a big cheer, and Tenneh threw her arms around me. “Well, be warned! Lisa here has her own bodyguard who will take care of any more gate crashers!” I could hear Kate groaning in protest, and the crowd parted to let her through to me. She gave me a quick hug, before being grabbed into an embrace by Tenneh. “This lovely lady is our bodyguard!” she announced, making Kate blush wildly. “So be warned: behave yourself or you will end up on the pavement outside too!” I had imagined the party would be an intimate one, with only a few friends from Christian Soul and Tenneh’s church, but it seemed there wasn’t a person she didn’t know in Dublin. I even spotted the estate agent who had brought me to church in the crowd. I had hoped Kate, Niamh, Cara and I would get a chance to talk with Tenneh, but she was the belle of the ball. There was music playing softly somewhere in the café, and Tenneh seemed to be dancing as she flitted from friendly face to friendly face like a golden hummingbird. “She’s even more amazing in person,” Niamh said to me as we watched her admiringly. Cara seemed entranced; she had an awed smile as she looked at Tenneh. “She is incredible,” Kate told me. “I met her sister here tonight, and she says Tenneh was the one who got them out of Sierra Leone.” We all gaped at Kate, who nodded. “They took advantage of an ambush to get out of the camp where they were being held captive. They crawled through miles of bush for days before they were found by British paratroopers. The paratroopers wanted to move them to a refugee camp for displaced persons, but Tenneh insisted on getting to the Red Cross, saying they were wounded. It was at the Red Cross station where Tenneh got to work, acting as an interpreter and medic. She told the Red Cross their story – no one knew about the sexual slavery at that time. The Red Cross put Tenneh in contact with foreign reporters, who got the sisters asylum in Europe after hearing the story.” We were all awed and silent for a moment, taking the story in. “How old was she at the time?” I asked, remembering how she said she was nine when she was first raped. “About thirteen,” Kate replied. She cleared her throat as she stole a glance at Cara. “Her sister was fifteen and pregnant.” Niamh leapt and pounced on Cara, who was desperately trying to run away. “Let me go! I can’t meet her! I can’t face them!” Cara punched at Niamh to let her go, and I grabbed her arm. “Calm down!” I ordered. “People are starting to look!” My sister turned to look at me, her face a bloodless white mask of terror. “Don’t make me meet her! I can’t look at her! She’ll hate me!” “She won’t hate you,” Kate told Cara gently. She stroked the arm I was holding down, the one with the fist that punched Niamh on the end of it. “She knows what an unwanted pregnancy is like.” Cara shrieked at those words, and broke free. She vaulted over Kate and ran for the door, crashing into a whole bunch of people. She shoved them all aside, and managed to escape out into the night. Some of the people she had pushed were on the ground, while others leaned against the tables, murmuring in angry confusion. They turned to Kate, Niamh and me, and we just shook our heads. “I’ll get her,” I said, making to go after her, but Kate blocked my way. “There’s no point. She doesn’t want to talk to you, or anyone.” “She needs me!” Kate caught a hold of my arms and stopped me from running out after Cara. “Kate’s right,” Niamh said, putting her hands on my arms too. “She doesn’t want to see or talk to anyone. We need to give her time.” Everyone was still looking at us. Tenneh came over, her expressive face a giant question mark. I looked away, embarrassed, and then saw an African woman who looked a lot like Tenneh standing behind her. I glanced at Kate, who nodded. I suddenly found I couldn’t look face Tenneh or her sister, and pushed my way through the crowd into the kitchen. A million thoughts were racing through my head. First, there was my little sister, out there alone somewhere, ashamed and frightened. Then there were all those strangers who had witnessed the scene Cara had caused; the same strangers who applauded me and my stupid little campaign against trafficking. Then there was Tenneh and her sister, who had survived an unbelievable hell. I felt I could never complain about anything in my life ever again. I put my hands to my face, crying from mortification and thinking about the atrocity Tenneh and her sister had gone through. Andy came over to me, putting his arms around me. His face was lined with concern. “Lisa, what’s wrong?” he asked. I pushed his arms away. “You’re married!” I howled, and ran out into the back alley. Mircea’s face ached; from his jaw, from the tension headache cancelling his flight to Vinniytsia had brought on, and from the Duty Free he had opened and rapidly consumed. It was embarrassing to have to cancel his flight so he wouldn’t have to face Michael, but Mircea couldn’t bring himself to take that flight. Even if it meant stranding himself in Kiev – there were no regularly scheduled daily flights to Vinnytsia. He would have to wait two days for the next one – he had no idea how he would explain the delay. I couldn’t be near some priests? He would tell Piotr he was hungover and missed the connection. The next question was how was he going to get down to Vinnytsia – he didn’t want to wait the two days.
He was not going to go down by train. That might take two days, for all he knew of Ukrainian Rail. (It would certainly feel like it!) He checked the car hire counter, but got a very frosty reception. Foreigners were expected to pay top dollar for big cars, and going down to poorer parts of Ukraine was not encouraged. Mircea might as well have said he was planning to drive to Moldova from the expression on the clerk’s face when he said he was going down to Vinnytsia. He wanted to say a few choice expletives, but he had learned never to burn all his bridges. Instead he smiled as charmingly as he could through the pain, and said he needed to check his business plans. He caught a taxi into town and headed for a hotel he knew the Syndicate owned. The manager was someone he knew from past dealings, so he requested to speak to him at the front desk. He decided to throw himself on his contact’s mercy. “Liev, I need a bed for tonight and a way to get to Vinnytsia tomorrow,” Mircea told the manager in a low voice. “I’m just in from Cyprus and have the mother of all hangovers.” Maybe it was the hundred dollar bill he slid across the desk, or maybe Liev was impressed by Mircea’s travelling. Tucking the money into his breast pocket, Liev nodded soothingly. “Never drink ouzo,” he advised, pushing a room key over to Mircea. “I was in the North, so it was raki!” The manager winced, and tutted. “I have someone making a drop off of goods to the south, so I’ll have them do a little detour so they can drive you. That’s a good thing, as you’re in no state to get behind the wheel!” Mircea wrapped Liev’s hand with the both of his in lieu of an embrace. A porter gathered up his suitcase and carry on, leading the way to the lift. It was a small hotel, with only two penthouse suites. Mircea’s connection didn’t get him into one of these, but he was shown into a nice double and told the mini bar was complementary for him. Liev was a perfect example of never burning bridges; Mircea knew him from the Chernivtsi days, smuggling girls and dope. Liev had managed a night club there, and had taken a piece of what Vasile was skimming off the top. However, he kept all Syndicate members close with his sense of hospitality and comradeship – Mircea never felt like a junior member of staff with Liev. Vasile may not have respected him much, but Mircea did, keeping contact when Liev was moved up to the hotel in Kiev. As he sank down on the clean bed, he really appreciated Liev and his help. Closing his eyes, the feeling of his cowardice was as strong as the bad taste from his rinsed splints. Mircea got up out of bed to rinse them off in the clean sink of the room. He glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was young and fit – he should have been able to stand up to Michael. He moaned as a sliver of pain crept around his jaw. “I got the girls down to the club without incident,” he told his reflection, feeling like he was practicing his excuses. Mircea knew he couldn’t tell anyone about the two taxis and the drivers trying to blackmail him into getting into The Swan. He didn’t want to seem like an amateur, some snotty-nosed kid playing gangster. Although hiding from Michael was not something that matched the hard man image he had cultivated in Minsk. “I took on the Church!” Mircea said to his reflection, sounding like a kid for all his bravado. He groaned, as his jaw was killing him. “I got those girls down,” he told the mirror in a softer voice. “I played a big part in getting the Swan Nightclub up and running, and building a reputation as a place for the big league! Without Slavic beauties, it would be just another cut-rate peep show.” He remembered the nubile bodies in the changing room – just a glimpse of those girls drove the taxi driver insane. Mircea wondered how hard they were on the driver when he tried to get in – probably just a few punches to the gut and kidneys. He started to feel sorry for the guy, but remembered how he through he could take advantage of him –no one took liberties with Mircea Rotar! I hope they killed him, the smarmy git! He left the bathroom and checked out the minibar. It wasn’t a good selection – mostly Ukrainian liquor, and a few small bottles of what looked like watered-down whisky. Even though his head was pounding, he opened the Nemiroff vodka. The fumes alone from it would kill the bad taste in his mouth. He cursed when he realised he didn’t have pain killers in pill form – he should have asked Liev for a good connection. If he called down to the front desk now, they would probably give him chalky aspirin. He rolled the vodka around in his mouth, hoping the alcohol would deaden any nerve endings. His grandmother was always slurping hard liquor for toothaches, but Mircea doubted its effectiveness. He remembered his grandmother got drunk, not soothed by the liquor. In the morning, she still had the toothache, but now with a hangover. Feeling defeated, Mircea spat the alcohol out and called the front desk for aspirin. I’ll get some drugs when I get back to Vinnytsia, he reasoned. He watched some satellite TV while he waited for the aspirin. There was some war going on somewhere, and that was being covered on the news channel; the battle scarred streets and people hunkering down in rubble made him think of his childhood. There was no war, but it looked like a war zone, Mircea thought bitterly, changing the channel. The inherent injustice of it all irritated him – why did the West never look like that, when 90% of the planet had to more or less live in a rubbish tip? Unwittingly, Mircea looked down at his hands, which were never clean while he was growing up. He was always washing them now, springing for the occasional manicure, but still, somehow, the shadow of the grime of his youth always lurked over his hands. He made to go into the bathroom, to wash them yet again. A knock on the door interrupted this plan; it meant that the weak pain relief had arrived! He opened the door and took the small packet from the waiter; the tablets inside were ibuprofen – Liev must have gotten wind of Mircea’s request. “The manager says to never drink Raki again!” The waiter handed Mircea a small bottle of mineral water, who slipped him a few Hrivnia in gratitude. The ibuprofen would go much further than the cheap aspirin would in relieving his aching head, but not nearly far enough. As the waiter made no subtle inquiries to Mircea needing something stronger, he didn’t ask for drugs. He would try to knock himself out with the vodka; hopefully a bit of sleep would ease the pain until he got to Vinnytsia. “Thanks again,” he said to the waiter, realising he had never thanked him the first time. But the waiter was gone, and so Mircea closed the door and reached for the vodka. With any luck, Piotr wouldn’t even be in Vinnytsia; maybe he would even be called to Minsk to make his report on the Cyprus club, and not have to spend much time in Vinnytsia. There were still some loose ends to tie up in Ukraine, but with the successful completion of his mission to Cyprus, maybe Mircea would never have to go to Vinnytsia again. He could sell on his share in the laundry, and focus only on international dealing. Never have to run into Michael again, he thought. Again, he hoped it wouldn’t get out that he turned tail and ran from a pair of priests. Mircea felt a bead of sweat on his forehead, and worried that his jaw pain had given him a fever. He figured the ibuprofen would take care of that, and swigged another gulp from the vodka bottle. I need to get some rest, he figured. He tuned the TV to a movie channel, and sank down on to the bed. I just need sleep! Sleep must have come, for the next thing Mircea was aware of was the hotel phone ringing. He felt clammy all over as he reached for the phone. His jaw was still sore – he had forgotten to put the bite plates in! He stifled a groan as he answered the phone. “This is Boris…I’ll be driving you today,” a gruff male voice informed him. “I’ll be leaving at nine, so come down to the lobby at 8:50.” “How will I recognise you?” Mircea asked, squinting at the watch on his wrist for the current time. “I will recognise you,” was the curt answer, followed by a dial tone. It was eight o’clock; Mircea had time for a shower and a bit of breakfast before the trip. Getting up, he realised his head didn’t hurt, even if his jaw did. He spotted the empty mineral water bottle on the nightstand, and was once again grateful to Liev. It was probably the rehydration more than the ibuprofen that improved his condition. Cleaning himself up, Mircea wondered if he should stay looking rough, to corroborate the hangover story. He thought about the hours it would take to drive down to Vinnytsia and figured he should at least tidy himself up before getting all crumpled and tired again. Even though he hated to show weakness, he put the splints in. He had to get some relief from his jaw! After a strong espresso and a continental breakfast, Mircea did feel better. He brushed his teeth and put the splints in, after having rinsed them with mouthwash. In the mirror, he looked good – a look that would not last very long in transit. Even though he would have to make an appearance, he hoped no one would be around when he finally got to Vinnytsia. Piotr hadn’t replied to his text, which Mircea didn’t know what to feel about. Surely if he were angry he would have been screaming down the phone at him. No news is good news, Mircea figured. At the front desk, Mircea had to deal with someone else, who at first tried to charge him for the room, but then noticed the note in the computer. He coughed, trying to cover up his gasp, and gave Mircea a sickening smile. “Forgive me, I did not notice the manager’s comments,” he explained. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.” Mircea enjoyed the feeling of power the clerk’s grovelling gave him, but slipped the poor man some Hrivnia anyway with a magnanimous smile. Turning from the desk, he saw Liev by the door, talking with a short hulk of a man in a leather jacket. He waved Mircea over, straightening the collar of the man’s jacket. “Mircea! You look refreshed and recovered,” Liev said. He gestured to the man, who eyed Mircea stoically. “This is Boris. Take good care of Mircea,” Liev ordered. “He is a very important man!” Mircea puffed out his chest in delight, and eagerly kissed Boris on either cheek in grateful farewell. Turning to go, he saw Boris’s eyebrows had lifted slightly. Silently, Boris took his suitcase and led him out to the waiting car. Mircea hadn’t known what to expect, but he was still pleasantly surprised by the fairly new comfortable sedan that Boris was driving. “The trunk is full, so your bags will have to go in the back,” Boris informed him brusquely, shoving Mircea’s suitcase into the backseat. “Yes, of course. Liev said you had some deliveries to make,” Mircea said, making conversation. Boris took his carryon wordlessly and dropped it on to the backseat. Mircea got the sense that this was going to be a long trip. Boris was sullenly quiet as they drove off; Mircea figured he would get some sleep, but Boris’s aggressive driving style was not conducive to this. Traffic in Kiev was bad, particularly as Boris had chosen to leave during rush hour. Boris had also put on a CD of annoying Russian pop music, and seemed to be applying the brakes in time to the drumbeat. Mircea realised he would have to talk to distract him from the music. “Have you far to go, after Vinnytsia?” he asked, hearing how the splints were muffling his words. Am I going to have to take them out? He frowned. Boris gave him a sideways glare. “I have to get to Odessa. It would have been quicker with the direct route, no detours!” Sucking on the splints, Mircea realised he was going to have to slip Boris some dollars to compensate him for the extra journey. He must have had some agreement with Liev, but he obviously wasn’t very happy about ferrying Mircea. It was a complicated way to go to Vinnytsia and then Odessa, so Mircea got out his bill fold. Seeing this, Boris grunted, and waved a hand over the passenger seat. “It has all been taken care of,” he said dismissively. “A favour to one of Liev’s friends is a favour to him.” The way Boris said friend had an odd tone to it. “I’m very grateful to you,” Mircea insisted, motioning with the billfold. He felt the spints slip, so he shut his mouth quickly. Boris snorted. “I don’t need your gratitude.” Again, the odd tone on gratitude. “You and Liev have your arrangement!” Slowly, a light came on in Mircea’s head. An arrangement. Liev’s “friend”. Disgusted, Mircea shoved the billfold back into his pocket and took a breath to protest, but then he stopped himself. He didn’t need to explain anything to Boris. Clenching his jaw and pushing the splints into place with his tongue, he forced himself to smile. “All right, then.” He reached out and turned the volume down on Boris’s music, not caring how he reacted to this. “I’ll get some sleep. How long do you think it will take to get to Vinnytsia?” “Long enough,” was the grunt of a reply. Mircea kept his false smile firmly in place. “Okay. “ Although he didn’t feel it was important to correct Boris’s impression of him, the true reason behind him having to be driven down to Vinnytsia couldn’t get out. “Keep the music down, will you? This monster of a hangover isn’t going away.” Boris promptly switched the sound system off. Mircea closed his eyes in the blissful silence. Being chauffeured was much preferable to a domestic flight, now that he thought about it. He smiled genuinely now – Mircea Rotar was moving up in the world, no matter what people thought of him! After a fretful night, Niamh called me in the morning to let me know that Cara came home, safe and sound. I had tossed and turned, worrying about my little sister, so I thanked her for calling me and asked Niamh to put her on the phone.
“I’m fine!” was the first thing Cara said, before I could even get a question in. “I’m sorry you were worried.” “Where were you?” After she fled the Beirut Café and I made an idiot of myself in front of Andy, I snuck out the back and collapsed into a taxi home. Kate and Tenneh had been texting me all night, but I insisted they focus on praying Cara was safe. I’m not the one we should be concentrating on! I texted back. On the other end of the phone, Cara sighed. “With a friend,” she said evasively. “I needed to be alone, okay? I’m fine. I didn’t do anything stupid.” We let that statement hang for a second, not saying anything. We both knew Cara meant she hadn’t done anything else stupid. “It’s okay,” I told her. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s okay. I’m fine.” “Tenneh has been praying for you,” I said. That touched a nerve. “I’m okay!” Cara roared, and I could tell she was crying. “You didn’t need to run off like that. You know we love you…no one is angry. Which friend did you stay with?” For some reason, I wondered if she had gone to the guy she had been seeing, the father of the child. Did he know she’d had an abortion? “Look, I called my counsellor. I’m not stupid – she told me I should call her when I felt bad, and so I did.” I was surprised by this turn of events. “You stayed with your counsellor?” Was that even professional? Cara chuckled harshly. “No, of course not. She suggested I call someone in the support group, this girl I like. I have friends, you know.” Cara’s voice softened. “It was great being able to go to someone who understands how I feel.” I couldn’t wait to tell Tenneh and Kate how our prayers had been answered. I was so glad Cara was all right, and that she had a support system in place. “We just all worried about you, but I’m so happy that you were okay, with people who can support you.” “Lisa, you support me! It’s just that these people understand. They’ve been through it.” “One day you’ll be strong enough not to have to run away,” I assured her. “You know you don’t have to be ashamed.” “Yes I do,” she insisted. “It’s something that will never leave me. When I see parents with children, I have to realise I chose not to do that. When I meet people who are unable to have children, I have to face that I could, but I didn’t. It’s not easy Lisa, but it’s something I did, and something I have to come to terms with.” Tears came to my eyes. “I just don’t want you to suffer.” “I’m not suffering!” She paused, and I could hear her blow her nose. “Lisa, we all suffer in one way or another. It was just hard for me to face someone who had been raped and was pregnant from that. I feel like such a spoiled brat next to her.” I didn’t say anything, as I could see what she meant. It was hard enough for anyone to hear horror stories of abuse and crime, but imagine being in the position of privilege of choosing while the other person was a victim from the beginning. “So where does the pro-life brigade stand on that?” Cara asked me suddenly, her tone vicious. “I know they don’t approve of me, but what do they say to someone like Tenneh’s sister?” It was just like talking to Niamh of old. Actually, it would have been great if Niamh had ever been that direct; she usually just made some snide comment under her breath. Any time I wanted to call her out on that, she made me feel like I was making a big deal out of nothing. But Cara was accusing me and my friends of being insensitive, something we weren’t. “We’re not a brigade,” I replied. “And we don’t have anything to say to someone who has been raped. What must you think of me…that I would be cold and hard to someone who’re been victimised!” “You don’t think it’s okay for someone to abort a rape baby!” I cringed. “It’s never a rape baby…it’s a baby. And an abortion won’t unrape the poor woman. But no, Cara, I don’t think anyone should be forced to have a baby. I don’t like the killing of an unborn child, but I don’t think I have the right to tell anyone what they should do. I cry when I think of what happened to Tenneh and her sister. I don’t know the right answer, but I don’t have to. That’s for God.” Cara was silent. I closed my eyes and thought of Tenneh and her sister, Hannah. They were both such strong, delightful women. I hated to think of their past, but Tenneh says you are not your past. They survived, and now are happy to be symbols of strength and hope to all of us. Mostly, they’re just happy to be alive, and be joyful. “You should meet them,” I said finally, opening my eyes. “Cara, you should meet Tenneh, and her sister. Talk to them…they are the most incredible people. They are so full of love and hope, after all that has happened to them…” I broke off. “I haven’t even met Hannah, but Tenneh says she’s amazing. You feel bad Cara, but you don’t have to.” “She’ll hate me,” Cara whimpered. “Of course she won’t. If anyone understands that life is hard, they do. They’re Christians – they don’t condemn people. Will you meet them?” “No.” Cara’s voice was shaky, but strong. “No, I won’t. I’m not ready.” I took a deep breath. “It takes a lot of strength to say that,” I told my sister. “When you’re ready, you can meet them…in your own time. I’m going to meet them, and I’ll say hello for you.” “It would be better if they hated me,” Cara said in a small voice. “Cara, please take it easy on yourself. No one hates you, not even you. You made a mistake…you’re allowed to do that. You’re human. It was a big mistake, but it’s over.” “I feel so bad,” she whispered. I felt like I was holding out a life ring to my sister, and I was starting to lose my grip. I didn’t know what to say to her. “When’s your next counselling session?” I asked instead, trying to focus on the positive. “You should tell your counsellor how you’re feeling.” “The session is next week, but I’m going to call her this afternoon. And then I’m going to the support group meeting. A lot of people feel like I do. It doesn’t make it any easier, but it’s great not to be alone.” For the first time in a long while, I heard her genuinely laugh. “That’s great, Cara. It’s really good that you’re not alone in this.” “I’m sorry I push you away…you and Niamh. Please don’t worry about me.” “Oh, Cara.” She laughed again. “So tell Kate I’m fine…and tell Tenneh too. I would like to get to know her and her sister, but not yet.” The sound was suddenly muffled on Cara’s end, and after a few moments, Niamh came on the line. “Hi, it’s Niamh…Cara was just saying sorry to me, and that I shouldn’t worry.” I heard a brief exchange between Cara and Niamh. “Oh, and she says you shouldn’t worry either!” Niamh sighed. “ I wish I were as close to my sister as Cara is to you.” I heard Cara say what I was thinking, that it wasn’t easy. She took the phone from Niamh. “Just kidding!” she sang. I shook my head – it wasn’t easy. The relationship I had with Cara was completely different from the ones I had with my other sisters. Not being able to talk with Muiread or Trish about Cara’s problems was hard on me, as I looked to them for advice. I had to let Cara tell them what she’d done, and I had to give her time to do that. In the meantime, I could talk to Kate, but it wouldn’t be the same. I was never one for secrets. It just wasn’t something we did in my family. “Tell Niamh thanks again for calling me. We’re not keeping tabs on you, but we did worry,” I told Cara. “Why don’t we all have brunch on Sunday? You, me, Kate and Niamh?” There was silence on the line, and I knew Cara was hesitating. “I’m not asking you to go to church with us. Just four friends having brunch.” “You know, Kate isn’t my friend,” Cara said slowly. “I’m not saying I dislike her, but that setup is your group of friends, now that Niamh has gone Christian.” I blinked hard, taking this in. Cara was right – that was my group, especially now that Niamh was coming to church. “Well, I’m just doing the inviting. Why don’t you ask one of your friends, then?” Cara didn’t take the suggestion. “Why don’t we do it like we did in the old days…just us two, meeting for a coffee.” I remembered those days, and smiled. Just me and my sister, meeting up to have a chat and spend time together. “I’d like that,” I said. It was a date. |