Royal Hastings, University of London Multimedia Art MA Final Project

Candidate name: Patrick Bright

Candidate number: 0883480

What I could have done differently:

I said how badly the burglary shook me up. It took me all the way back to Schull and the reason I left, back in ’88. My man Finn and I, we were twenty and drifting. Our friends had gone off to uni or were working, but neither of us had found our thing yet. We’d pick up casual work and hang out. Anyway we were drinking by the harbour one night and got talking with a chap, the way you do. Schull attracts outsiders. A stranger in town is no big deal. We all have a joke and a laugh. This fella says he’s just been paid and stands every round.

Heaven knows how we get on the subject. I think we said how we always end up talking about getting away, making big plans, but in the morning we simply don’t wake up in time. At some point he says if we take a suitcase over the water for his friend, we’ll get a big payout. We’re young, but we know better than to agree to something like that. Except this chap has a way about him. Between that and the drink, we find ourselves saying, ‘Yeah, we’ll do it’, even though something isn’t right. Soon as we agree, the chap nips off to use the payphone and I take Finn aside.

‘Finny, let’s go home, we don’t know him.’

Finn says, ‘Don’t worry, Seany, we’re not stupid. We’ll not turn up to do the job.’

But the chap hurries back, drains his pint and says, ‘Right you are, lads, let’s go’ and that was it, he expected us to leave with him.

I said, ‘No, no, my ma and da will wonder where I’m at.’

‘Not to worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home, you explain you’re going to England for a couple of days.’

There’s suddenly another fellow with us and we’re put in the back of a two-door car. I’d only ever left Cork for family weddings, but suddenly I had to convince my folks I was setting off for England. Finn had to do the same with his da. As he came out of the cottage, his face was white. Mine probably the same. We’d just gone to the harbour for a pint, and now what?

As they drove us away from town I tried to catch Finn’s eye, but he was staring out the window. He may have been crying. I know I watched the lights shrink in the rear-view mirror and wondered whether I’d seen them for the last time.

In the middle of the night we arrive at an empty cottage, who knows where. We walk in and there’s a whole room full of scary fellows who watch as Finn and I are searched. Pockets, sleeves, trousers, as if we might be carrying weapons. The chap who got talking to us and his friend had melted away. Never saw them again.

That’s when it occurs to me that we don’t have passports or any other ID . How can we get to England? I don’t feel much better, because of course these chaps must know that. Sure enough, a fellow with his hood up and a scarf round his face barks questions: name, address. Doesn’t write anything down.

‘Sean and Finbar. Couldn’t make it up, eh.’ His accent sets my heart thumping. Those distinctive tones of the North. Then he stares Finn and me in the eyes, one after the other.

‘Ah, you’re the handsome one, sure enough!’ he says to me, and they all laugh. ‘Hope there’s a match for you in this gallery of rogues.’

He takes out a stack of folded cardboard documents, official-looking and worn, shuffles through them like so many playing cards, holds a couple up to my face until one hits the spot.

‘Good to meet you, Patrick Bright.’ He moves to Finny, does the same. ‘So you’re the lucky one! We have a Finbar O’Leary. You get to keep your first name.’ With that, he pushes the documents into our shaking hands.

‘Temporary passports,’ he says and I study the face in the picture. It’s not me, but in low light and with a seal stamped half across it, perhaps it could be.

‘You might not even need them,’ he purrs, ‘but if anyone asks for ID , you shrug and slip these out your pockets like you’re not bothered to be asked. Now you can do that for us, lads, can’t yers.’ It wasn’t a question.

I see Finn open his passport. His hands are shaking.

We’re herded back outside, as cases are loaded into an old Ford Escort. All the time they’re hissing instructions to us, and I hope to God Finn’s listening because I hear nothing over the blood roaring in my ears. A thread of hope occurs to me …

‘We’s been drinking. We don’t want no accident in your car.’

One of the chaps chuckles. ‘You’ll soon sober up on the road.’

Finn is in the driving seat and I’m passenger. They hand us tickets for the 7 a.m. crossing and shove car documents into the glove. ‘Put your foot down,’ someone says. ‘It won’t wait for yers.’

‘How do we get to the ferry from here?’ I don’t recognise Finn’s voice, or was it mine?

‘You follow us.’

So we trail after a big old Granada and, behind us, was another car that stuck to our bumper like glue, right up to the ferry port at Rosslare. That was the longest drive of my life, but it was over all too soon. Whenever I drive in the dark now, it reminds me of that night.

We pass through the barrier and hand our documents over with the tickets. I pray the inspector notices something wrong and says, ‘Wait, this passport’s a fake – these men shouldn’t leave the country’, but he doesn’t. He glances at them, then shoves them back at us. This could be our last chance to escape. I see the two cars, parked up, watching and waiting. One on each side, so whatever way we try to make a break for it, we can’t. The scary chaps have done this before.

Finn whispers, ‘Seany, if we’re searched when we land and there’s guns or Semtex in those cases, we’re finished …’

‘We’ll chuck the cases overboard halfway across.’

‘What do we say to the fellows waiting on us?’

‘That someone must’ve done it while we were up on deck.’

‘It won’t wash. They might be shadowing us on board too.’

‘We leave the car on the ferry and make a run for it on foot the other side.’

‘We’ve got no money, Sean. The fellows took every penny when they searched us and said we’d get paid once their friends pick up the cases.’

He was right. We didn’t have enough for a cup of tea on the boat.

‘You think they’ll pay us? What’s to stop them taking the cases and—’

‘They wouldn’t do that. Why would they do that?’

‘Is the car bugged? Are they listening to us now?’

We’re silent for a long time. The car rolls forward, dips and clatters as it drives up the ramp and we literally leave the beautiful, blessed Irish soil behind.

‘What time is our return ticket, Finny?’

‘Do you have a return ticket, Seany? Because I don’t have a return ticket.’

I didn’t have a return ticket. Perhaps that, for me, is the moment all this started.

Documents sent to me by Gela Nathaniel:

RH WhatsApp group members Jonathan Danners, Suzie Danners, Ludya Parak and Gela Nathaniel, 16 January 2024:

Gela

How’s the trip going? Weather nice?

Gela

Would be handy to have an update. Jem says hi.

Gela

Did RD 8 have the old components for you?

WhatsApp chat between Gela Nathaniel and Cameron Wesley, 16 January 2024:

Gela

Sourcing trip going as planned?

Gela

Hope you’re enjoying yourselves while Jem and I are hard at work.

Gela

Send an update as soon as you can. Kiss-kiss.

WhatsApp chat between Cameron Wesley and Gela Nathaniel, 16 January 2024:

Cameron

Museum visited. Bags of junk collected. Having din-dins at Spoons next to motel.

Gela

All go to plan?

Cameron

Mission accomplished. Badly need to crash. Dog-tired.

Gela

Kiss-kiss.

Cameron

Kiss-kiss.