Why can't these people buy houses the way normal people do?

TRIBUNAL SKETCH:IT'S A game of Tribunal Twister. Dublin Castle spins the arrow, it lands on a new bank account or more money, and then Bertie Ahern and his pals contort their stories another little bit until the latest angle is covered.

They're really good at it, and they never seem to get tired, or trip themselves up. Yesterday, it was Celia Larkin's turn to play again. Her right arm was in plaster, but it didn't hinder her.

She emerged unruffled from her latest experience thanks to strong support from her aged aunties and no support whatsoever from her feeble memory. She was also fortunate to be able to draw on assistance from beyond the grave, courtesy of a man whom the tribunal has been repeatedly told knows all the answers but, sadly, is no longer with us.

Isn't that always the way when witnesses desperately want to co-operate fully with a tribunal over unusual financial fortunes that fall unbidden into their laps, only to find that the key to set them free has gone to a better place? You'd have to have sympathy, if you weren't laughing.

Two properties took top billing. The first was Beresford, the home Bertie Ahern eventually bought after a bewildering journey involving convoluted foreign exchange transactions, numerous bank accounts, a suitcase full of cash and soft furnishings.

The second was a nice big red brick period house on Dublin's North Circular Road, which belongs to Celia Larkin, although she never wanted to own it in the first place. But her name is on the deeds and there isn't much she can do about it. An unfortunate turn of events, but she has the house now through the kindness of Bertie's friends who "loaned" her the money to buy it without his knowledge.

What is it about these people? Why can't they just go and buy their houses the way normal people do?

Let's look at North Circular Road. She answered questions about the circumstances surrounding her acquisition of the property - which she bought in 1993 with Fianna Fáil/Bertie Trust fund money for about £40,000. It is now conservatively estimated to be worth about €700,000.

Even today, she doesn't like to refer to herself as the owner of the property, although, she conceded wearily, it belongs to her "legally".

Celia was what Bertie coyly called "a member of staff" when he mentioned in earlier evidence, in that nonchalant, bomb-dropping way of his, that a loan of £30,000 from a bank account for the upkeep of his constituency office had been given to an unnamed individual.

There was quite a stir when that person turned out to be his then life-partner, Celia Larkin.

Her aunties had lived in the house for most of their lives and it was about to be sold, with them as sitting tenants. What to do? She didn't ask anyone for a financial dig-out, or anything like that. But her aged aunties desperately needed £30,000 to "secure their position" in their old age.

As seasoned tribunal watchers know, the people who gather around Bertie in St Luke's are very sociable folk. They go out a lot and they have lovely chats. Celia would have been talking, as you do, about how she was worried about her aged relatives.

One day, "out of the blue", the late Gerry Brennan, a solicitor and one of Bertie's friends and supporters, rang her up and said the St Luke's committee wanted to give her a loan for the aunties.

" I don't remember the date, but I remember being relieved," she recalled. All this was done by the "St Luke's Committee" under the nose of their guiding light and shining star, Bertie Ahern. But he hadn't a clue about it.

At the time, her then life-partner had over £50,000 burning a hole in his safe. Did she not think of asking him for a loan? It never occurred to Celia during all the times they discussed her poor aunties' situation.

But he was a tower of strength to her, all the same. He discussed with her the various possibilities open to the aged ladies - public authority housing, rent subsidies, that sort of thing. It never occurred to him to mention that he was in a position to help her out. It would never have occurred to Bertie - he was more into the receiving end of funds, than the giving. Naturally, he was delighted for her when she told him the good news, after the event.

In the area of housing, Celia was just as lucky as him.

Fifteen years on, and she can't remember much about the deal, except that the late Gerry Brennan handled it. And one other thing, she specifically recalls him saying that it came from "The Building Trust Fund". On that matter she is very sure.

This is the fund that was only discovered by accident earlier this year by the tribunal. It was administered by the committee, although the names of most of its members have been largely forgotten by Celia and Bertie's pals. The fund was to be used for the upkeep of St Luke's and to pay for any major renovations.

St Luke's was always on the verge of falling into the river Tolka, and corrective work was often needed. But the money never came from that fund.

Still, it was there when Celia's aunties needed propping up, thank God.

The "loan", for which no contemporaneous documents exist, was to be repaid when the committee asked for it.

They never did, and her house appreciated in value. She paid it back this February because a reporter called to her aunt's house and Celia decided it should be repaid to put her mind at rest. It had nothing to do with the tribunal sniffing around.

She took out a loan for €40,000, which she found difficult to do. Taking out equity on the house, worth many multiples of what she had to return, didn't appear to occur to her.

At this point, 15 years on, Bertie stepped in and lent her the 40 grand. He paid it into her account, having told her how much she should repay the party, and she left a blank cheque in St Luke's for him to do the needful.

Three weeks later, she sent on another cheque to Bertie. Did he cash it? He's in the money these days. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. And so, when the dust cleared after all of the twists of Celia's evidence, one thing is sure. She is remains the owner of a fine big house in Dublin.

It's bigger than Beresford, Bertie's house. In 1995, Celia was charged with refurbishing the house that Bertie hadn't yet bought, because it would first be bought by Mícheál Wall. He's the man who took a suitcase of cash to St Luke's months before he acquired Beresford, so the house could be done up. That was Celia's job. Bertie, a mere finance minster, supplied the money. He set aside £50,000 for the job. For the work intended - the fit-out of the house, not the building work. Lawyer Henry Murphy thought it "way over the mark as an estimate of the work to be done".

"With hindsight," sniffed Celia.

Perhaps Bertie had done what he did in government and employed consultants to do a report first. That would have eaten up the cash.

With his money and Mícheál's, that was over £78,000 on a house that cost £138,000. Celia said she hadn't thought about it. She couldn't remember how much was paid for the house. She couldn't remember discussing renovations. She couldn't much at all.

But wait. She mostly dealt with the late Gerry Brennan, who was Wall's solicitor too. Sadly, deceased.

Then Bertie decided he didn't want to live in Beresford, so he took out the money set aside for the work, in cash, and didn't tell Celia. That didn't bother her.

Why should it? If only she could remember.