The accusing eyes on the corridor wall unnerve me futher. His sparkling smile cuts through me. His image is imprinted on my mind as I continue on towards the staffroom. Was there something I could have done? Was there something I could have said?
Maura lifts her chin from a cradled cup of coffee and breaks the morgue-like silence. "Well, I'm not the better for hearing it, but I just can't for the life of me understand how he could have got involved in something like that. He was never in trouble when I had him in sixth. Sure didn't he read the peace prayer at Confirmation? There were others all right from that shower who you could imagine getting into trouble, but not him."
"Yeah, I think I taught him in fourth and he was grand as far as I can remember," said Catherine. "I can't think of a minute's bother that he gave me. And sure wasn't he only fabulous at his art. I have this clear memory of him doing a wonderful painting of one of those Viking longboats with the red and white striped sails. His face lit up when we hung it up on the wall. I think I even kept it afterwards to show other classes. I must check my history folder to see if I still have it somewhere."
"So where did it all go wrong?' wondered Aisling, who hasn't been on the staff too long. "It said on the news last night that he had been a courier for some considerable time and that he was known to the Garda." Her clinical tone draws sighs of incomprehension. An upset Eamon, who has digested every gruesome detail overnight, is distressed by his final moments.
"They say his face was beaten to a pulp. They were only able to recognise him at first from his gold rings."
"God that's right, he always did love his jewellery," Brigid added. "He used to give it to me to mind when we did PE in fifth. Feargal, wasn't it you who made him take it off when playing matches?"
"Yeah, that's right. He was on that good team that won in Croker as juniors and seniors. In one final we got a penalty and before I could shout his name for him to take it, he had the ball in his hands. He stepped up and slotted it in without a hint of fear. And then he turned towards the sideline and gave that big beaming smile of his. I was reminded of it looking at him on the corridor on the way down. He was a great kid to have on your side."
The break ends and the teachers stream slowly down the narrow passage-ways back to their bright-eyed faces and dark blackboards. I notice a crush a of uniforms pointing at a team photograph. Grubby fingers mark a framed boy in a green football jersey. Muffled that's hims fade away as I approach. His picture is on the wall near room 7. His picture is in the papers on page 1. Same face. Different stories.
