by Nate Mancuso
Everything comes so easy and natural to him, Bobby thinks as he watches his older brother Denny tear through the opposing defense during the Saturday morning football match at Woodvale Park off the end of the Shankill Road, sidestepping a defender with the grace of a gazelle. It’d always been this way for Denny. He was the most popular lad in school, a top youth footballer in West Belfast, and drew girls like a magnet with his good looks, easy charm and magnetic smile. And, of course, he was their parents’ pride and joy. Their golden boy. Now back home after a two-year stint as a bomb tech with the Royal Irish Rangers, Denny still has that vibrant boyish spirit, now sharpened by an edge of experience that makes him even more formidable.
And Bobby? “Well,” as Francis Kehan would say to anyone who asked about his younger son, “he ain’t Denny but—”
All Bobby heard was the “but” – never what came next. Because it didn’t matter. Like his dad said, he wasn’t Denny and never would be. Shy and bookish, Bobby was a stellar student adored by his teachers, but that didn’t fit well in the alpha-dog Kehan household.
When the match is over, Denny jogs over to the sideline and greets Bobby with a playful punch to the shoulder. “Gotta play with us one a’ these mornings, boyo. Great way to kill that Friday night hangover.” Dipping his hand into a large cooler set down on the worn grass, Denny pulls out two cans of Harp and tosses one to Bobby. “Hair a’ the dog!” he says with a smile as he cracks open his can.
Denny finishes off his beer with a healthy belch, then says to Bobby, “Gotta meet up with Brian and one a’ his lads over in the Queen’s Quarter later this afternoon, but we’re gonna hit up some pubs in the City Centre tonight. Get your nose outta the books and come join us for a few pints. There’ll be plenty a’ birdies flyin’ around. ’Bout time ya met a nice girl.” After some good-natured cajoling, Bobby agrees to meet up with Denny and his crew later that night.
Belfast has been a war zone the past few years, a city riddled with tension and violence, plagued by riots and bombings. Ulster loyalists versus Irish republicans, Unionists versus Nationalists, Protestants versus Catholics, UVF versus IRA. All consumed by terror. Streets lined with British tanks and soldiers, hovering like a dark storm cloud over the city. Catholic and Protestant families alike, who’ve lived here for generations upon generations, leavin’ every day now it seems. Can’t blame ’em – every time they leave the house, they don’t know if they’ll be comin’ home with their arms and legs still attached. Just a matter a’ chance. It’s no way to live, at least not for those who have a choice.
Even with the chaos, Bobby’s always felt safe with Denny at his side. But maybe Bobby’s not the one who needs protectin’.
Add comment