spanna
The Fly
next part... sorry bout the cliffhangers and tension 
Chapter Nine
5th December 2001
4.00 pm
I can’t even begin to describe these last few months but I am going over my diary entries. They speak but little of the desperation that I’ve experienced every day and every night. But I will try and summarise. I received threats from O Connell the day after the first appeal and so that’s when I effectively became a prisoner myself as no one let me out alone. My freedom was gone. I could only go out with one member of the band and a bodyguard which I’ve hated at times but knowing I have to think of the baby helps. Security surrounds the Evans’ house day and night.
Adam and Suzie have the dogs but I haven’t been back to the house Bono and I shared except the afternoon of that first televised appeal to get my essentials. Otherwise, I’ve avoided it. I can’t bear the thought of going back to all those memories.
I try and remember what it was like, living without this paralysing fear and agonising depression but I can’t. I even find it difficult to remember the happiness that Bono and I had. Every memory’s been veiled by a kind of impenetrable fog. I’ve turned into a paranoid hermit, sudden noises like the phone make me jump and I can never watch TV.
I fill my days with a dogmatic routine, it’s easier to have all the hours filled. It means less time thinking, contemplating and moping.
I wake, help Morleigh with the kids. Go for an early walk with Adam, Suzie and the dogs. I do the daily television appeals though the voyeuristic journalists drain more life out of me. Knowing there’s a baby growing inside me is really the only thing I can focus on and give my tiny portion of positive energy to. I talk to him, I’m sure it’s a he somehow and play him his daddy’s music.
In the afternoon, I answer a selection of sweet letters of compassion from teens, old and middle aged people alike. People who have gone through similar experiences or just want their prayers heard. I only do two or three each day but it helps with the all consuming gloom. And in the evenings, I knit endless clothes for my baby, Guggi, Larry and Edge’s children. Meals are difficult, my taste is numb and everything tastes the same. Food, something I so enjoyed with B before he was taken from me but now it tastes of nothing.
Bedtime is by far the worst. I can only take a very mild form of sleeping aid because of my pregnancy and alcohol is obviously out so the nights are spent worrying about what’s happening to Bono. If I wake which I normally do, I can’t sleep the rest of the night. He’s been gone so long that when I feel miserable at 3.00 am, I resign myself to the fact that he’s probably dead. And then I shake, sob and remain awake until the morning.
Morleigh and Ann do their best to lighten me up but I can only respond half heartedly to their attempts. They couldn’t be any sweeter to me if they tried, they know when to leave me alone and when to talk to me. Colleagues from work call in sometimes but I avoid them. I can’t bear their well meaning words about my appearance (which is dreadful) or their pleas to take me out shopping or to the cinema. The fact that it’s nearly Christmas makes things a whole lot worse.
I met with Jill Morrell yesterday, her ex boyfriend John McCarthy was kidnapped and held for five and a half years in Beirut. She was telling me about how she and John tried everything they could to stay together but he’d changed too much after his incarceration. She tells me that she’s sure it’ll be different with Bono and me as we’re having a baby but wanted to me to know about the adjustment period. She was a lovely woman and I was very happy to meet her. So good to talk to someone who’s gone through everything I have though she leaves me with the niggling fear of what might happen to Bono and I if that’s what happened to her and John.
We’ve had phone calls from people who have apparently seen him wondering round in Northern Canada or near Ayer’s Rock in Australia. The letters from people have been the most moving, U2’s fan base is massive and loyal and the messages of love, faith, hope and prayers have been beautiful. Politicians and just about every single celebrity has been in touch, from Springsteen to Jagger and from Prime Minister Blair to Condoleezza Rice.
Today has been like any other. I am in the kitchen with Edge when Benton runs in like wild horses are after him. He’s red in the face and panting.
‘I came as soon as I could,’ he breathes ‘you should both sit down for this.’
Edge and I sit on command and I hold the table firmly.
‘Message this morning,’ Benton gasps ‘O Connell himself. He and his lads need the contract and money tonight in exchange for Bono! Otherwise…’
I lean against Edge, the words bouncing off and hitting me. Can I really take it in or believe it. We’ve had so many wild goose chases all over the country.
‘They want you and Grace to deliver it at the docks tonight. It is definitely not a hoax this time,’ Benton continues ‘I’ve been in touch with police, they’re working on a strategy of hidden forces around there. Will you both do this?’
‘Anything!’ I cry impulsively ‘I’ll do anything.’
‘Absolutely,’ Edge nods ‘but what about the baby? Will Grace be in danger?’
‘Nope of course not, you’ll have bodyguards behind you,’ Benton explains ‘well here’s the contract, it’s real. McGuinness had it drawn up this morning but we’re obviously banking on getting O Connell before he can use it for his purposes.’
Benton hands over the piece of paper and Edge reads it silently.
‘And if yer don’t get him,’ he says almost inaudibly.
‘Well…’ he leaves the sentence hanging ‘now 11.00 pm, you and Grace will be picked up and driven to a place in the docks. O Connell will get out to get the contract and then throw Bono out. Snipers and police officers will be around. You must be highly cautious when you go to Bono. Is that clear?’
We nod.
‘Right, I have to go back to the police and help get them sorted,’ he says getting up ’11.00 pm, be ready. I’ll be with you.’
Benton leaves and I throw my arms around the Edge hysterical.
‘He’s coming back to us,’ I sob into Edge’s neck.
‘Oh sweetie,’ he says weeping softly himself ‘I hope to God that he is.’
Chapter Nine
5th December 2001
4.00 pm
I can’t even begin to describe these last few months but I am going over my diary entries. They speak but little of the desperation that I’ve experienced every day and every night. But I will try and summarise. I received threats from O Connell the day after the first appeal and so that’s when I effectively became a prisoner myself as no one let me out alone. My freedom was gone. I could only go out with one member of the band and a bodyguard which I’ve hated at times but knowing I have to think of the baby helps. Security surrounds the Evans’ house day and night.
Adam and Suzie have the dogs but I haven’t been back to the house Bono and I shared except the afternoon of that first televised appeal to get my essentials. Otherwise, I’ve avoided it. I can’t bear the thought of going back to all those memories.
I try and remember what it was like, living without this paralysing fear and agonising depression but I can’t. I even find it difficult to remember the happiness that Bono and I had. Every memory’s been veiled by a kind of impenetrable fog. I’ve turned into a paranoid hermit, sudden noises like the phone make me jump and I can never watch TV.
I fill my days with a dogmatic routine, it’s easier to have all the hours filled. It means less time thinking, contemplating and moping.
I wake, help Morleigh with the kids. Go for an early walk with Adam, Suzie and the dogs. I do the daily television appeals though the voyeuristic journalists drain more life out of me. Knowing there’s a baby growing inside me is really the only thing I can focus on and give my tiny portion of positive energy to. I talk to him, I’m sure it’s a he somehow and play him his daddy’s music.
In the afternoon, I answer a selection of sweet letters of compassion from teens, old and middle aged people alike. People who have gone through similar experiences or just want their prayers heard. I only do two or three each day but it helps with the all consuming gloom. And in the evenings, I knit endless clothes for my baby, Guggi, Larry and Edge’s children. Meals are difficult, my taste is numb and everything tastes the same. Food, something I so enjoyed with B before he was taken from me but now it tastes of nothing.
Bedtime is by far the worst. I can only take a very mild form of sleeping aid because of my pregnancy and alcohol is obviously out so the nights are spent worrying about what’s happening to Bono. If I wake which I normally do, I can’t sleep the rest of the night. He’s been gone so long that when I feel miserable at 3.00 am, I resign myself to the fact that he’s probably dead. And then I shake, sob and remain awake until the morning.
Morleigh and Ann do their best to lighten me up but I can only respond half heartedly to their attempts. They couldn’t be any sweeter to me if they tried, they know when to leave me alone and when to talk to me. Colleagues from work call in sometimes but I avoid them. I can’t bear their well meaning words about my appearance (which is dreadful) or their pleas to take me out shopping or to the cinema. The fact that it’s nearly Christmas makes things a whole lot worse.
I met with Jill Morrell yesterday, her ex boyfriend John McCarthy was kidnapped and held for five and a half years in Beirut. She was telling me about how she and John tried everything they could to stay together but he’d changed too much after his incarceration. She tells me that she’s sure it’ll be different with Bono and me as we’re having a baby but wanted to me to know about the adjustment period. She was a lovely woman and I was very happy to meet her. So good to talk to someone who’s gone through everything I have though she leaves me with the niggling fear of what might happen to Bono and I if that’s what happened to her and John.
We’ve had phone calls from people who have apparently seen him wondering round in Northern Canada or near Ayer’s Rock in Australia. The letters from people have been the most moving, U2’s fan base is massive and loyal and the messages of love, faith, hope and prayers have been beautiful. Politicians and just about every single celebrity has been in touch, from Springsteen to Jagger and from Prime Minister Blair to Condoleezza Rice.
Today has been like any other. I am in the kitchen with Edge when Benton runs in like wild horses are after him. He’s red in the face and panting.
‘I came as soon as I could,’ he breathes ‘you should both sit down for this.’
Edge and I sit on command and I hold the table firmly.
‘Message this morning,’ Benton gasps ‘O Connell himself. He and his lads need the contract and money tonight in exchange for Bono! Otherwise…’
I lean against Edge, the words bouncing off and hitting me. Can I really take it in or believe it. We’ve had so many wild goose chases all over the country.
‘They want you and Grace to deliver it at the docks tonight. It is definitely not a hoax this time,’ Benton continues ‘I’ve been in touch with police, they’re working on a strategy of hidden forces around there. Will you both do this?’
‘Anything!’ I cry impulsively ‘I’ll do anything.’
‘Absolutely,’ Edge nods ‘but what about the baby? Will Grace be in danger?’
‘Nope of course not, you’ll have bodyguards behind you,’ Benton explains ‘well here’s the contract, it’s real. McGuinness had it drawn up this morning but we’re obviously banking on getting O Connell before he can use it for his purposes.’
Benton hands over the piece of paper and Edge reads it silently.
‘And if yer don’t get him,’ he says almost inaudibly.
‘Well…’ he leaves the sentence hanging ‘now 11.00 pm, you and Grace will be picked up and driven to a place in the docks. O Connell will get out to get the contract and then throw Bono out. Snipers and police officers will be around. You must be highly cautious when you go to Bono. Is that clear?’
We nod.
‘Right, I have to go back to the police and help get them sorted,’ he says getting up ’11.00 pm, be ready. I’ll be with you.’
Benton leaves and I throw my arms around the Edge hysterical.
‘He’s coming back to us,’ I sob into Edge’s neck.
‘Oh sweetie,’ he says weeping softly himself ‘I hope to God that he is.’
is it a trap?
were you listening to Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of while typing this? 
the title!
. 
