Wandering in Exile (28 page)

She couldn’t care less. Nothing he could say would ever change how she felt about him again.

“I’m going to go back to meetings, too, as soon as I get straight.” He was staying in a hotel downtown, trying to dry out before . . . “I don’t suppose . . . ya know. If I get my act together?”

“No, Danny. It’s all over. This time you have,” she was surprised how calm her voice was because her heart was still pounding, “pushed me way past my limit and I am going to start divorce proceedings.”

“Ah, now, don’t say things like that. We haven’t even had a chance to talk about it.”

“Did you give me a chance to talk about it when you decided to come home drunk and harass my children?”

“Ah, Dee? C’mon. You know me better than that.”

“Oh, I do, Danny Boyle. I know you far better than that and that’s why I’m going to make this easy for you. You are going to get your things out of my house and you are going to stay away from us, or I will lay criminal charges.”

“Dee?”

“You heard me. What’s it going to be, Danny? I’ll be making the call right after I get your answer.”

“Okay, okay. You win, Deirdre. You finally got me exactly where you wanted me. I surrender. I won’t fight you on any of this. But is there any way I could still see Grainne?”

She wanted to step on the only piece of his heart that she could still hurt, but she didn’t. She wasn’t going to be one of those women who used their children as weapons. “Not for a while.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea.”

She was on the verge of breaking down and crying. This was it. This was the moment she never wanted to have to live through but she remained calm. “It might be better for us to have no contact until everything settles down.”

She probably should have screamed at him and gotten angry, but what was the point?

“Maybe after I go to meetings for a while?”

She had to be civil for the kids’ sake. They both hated him right now. She didn’t want that to be their last impression of him. “Just get sober and then we’ll talk about things.”

She leaned back against the wall when she finally hung up. She felt gutted and relieved and had to make herself laugh. “I have just expulsed the biggest piece of shit . . .”

“Was that Daddy?”

Deirdre had no idea how long Grainne was standing there. “Yes, pet.”

“Is he not coming home?”

“No, sweetie. Daddy needs to go away and get better.”

Grainne looked at her for the longest time. It was unnerving. “Will he be okay, all alone?”

“I don’t know, sweetie.” She was trying so hard to be what a good parent had to be—especially a good single parent.

“Course he will, silly,” Martin tousled his sister’s hair as he walked into the kitchen and went straight to the fridge. “Daddy’s Irish. Mum? Can we make nachos?”

“Yeah,” Grainne joined in and left all thoughts of her father swirling behind her. They always made nachos together, extra cheesy on one side with extra peppers and less on the other. That side was covered in ketchup. They even cut some limes to put in their drinks.

She waited until they were totally engrossed before she put on Ricky Martin and danced all the cobwebs away. She danced, utensils in hand, from the counter to the table and back again. Shaking and gyrating everything dark and angry from inside of her. Deirdre and Martin and Grainne were having a little fiesta, to keep their spirits up.

After he had taken Jacinta’s money and found himself a nice flat, Danny went on the anti-booze. He was really going to do it this time. The thing with the kids had made it very clear—he had become everything he had once hated. Even his own father never got that bad.

It was a lot tougher than he’d thought. He was going to have to avoid everything that had once been any part of his life. He tried sitting in bars drinking soda waters, but it drove him mad. Not only could he not get drunk, but he had to listen to everyone telling him that he was doing the right thing. Some of them even put their arm around his shoulder, smothering him in their booze breath.

So he just shuffled off to work each day, did whatever had to be done, and scurried back to his apartment. There was little else to do in February. He just sat and watched TV until something stupid made him cry.

You’re beginning to act like a little girl.

“Fuck you, Anto. Is it not enough that my entire life is shite without you coming by to rub my nose in it?”

Careful, Boyle. I’m the only friend you have left.

“I suppose you’re happy now—seeing me like this?”

I’m delighted, Boyle, but not for the reasons you’re thinking of.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Figure it out for yourself, Boyle. I had to.

He tried but he couldn’t stop thinking about drinking.

But from the moment he woke and realized it was going to be another dry day, he kept telling himself that he was doing it for the kids. It was getting harder and harder but he didn’t give in and had to make-do with binges of self-pity and bursts of self-loathing. He was smoking two packs a day and his whole life stunk.

So it wasn’t so surprising that he got drunk on St. Patrick’s Day. Only he was still taking his pills, too, and had to be taken out of the Rose and Crown in an ambulance. He had passed out in a washroom stall. He hadn’t been feeling too good.

“Fuck it. Okay. You can stay with me for a while.”

Danny had phoned him from the hospital. They had kept him for a few days and wanted to send him home with Valium, only they didn’t want him to be alone. “They think I’m a bit suicidal, Frank. Can you believe it? Me?”

Frank wanted to tell him to go fuck himself but he could hear his desperation. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll come and get you.”

He wasn’t ready for this; he had only been sober for eight months.

And he should have talked to his sponsor first, but, fuck it, it was done now. But there would be rules. Danny the-fuck-up-Boyle wasn’t coming over to flop.

Besides, people at the meetings were always saying that helping others was what kept them sober. Even if Danny didn’t make it, Frank would be all right.

He was still angry at him, though, and struggled not to become furious. What he should do was lock Boyle in the basement and only let him out to meetings. But he didn’t. He took him home and looked after him. Not that it was hard. Danny was out of it most of the time and that made Frank leery. There was no way he got all that Valium from the hospital.

“Okay,” he announced when he finally caught Danny awake. “My house, my rules. You’re going to meetings or you can’t stay with me.”

“Ah, Frank. Where am I?”

“Fuck that shit, Boyle, and listen to me. This is your last warning.”

“From you or from the higher-fucking-power?”

“We’re going to a meeting on Sunday morning. That gives you a day to get your shit together. Now hand over the Valium.”

“But they’re prescription.”

“And from now on, you’re only getting them from me.”

“I will in my bollocks. I’m not staying here to be treated like this. You’ve just lost yourself a friend.”

Frank didn’t try to help him as he swayed when he got up from the couch. He steadied himself and tried to look indignant. “You know, I always thought you were smarter than that, Frank. I never figured you to be one of the sops that soaked up all that religious shit.”

“It’s spiritual, not religious.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You’re the one crashing on my couch.”

“When did you realize that you were, ya know, an alky?” They were driving to their seventh meeting in two weeks and Danny was trying so hard to look like he was beginning to believe.

“I’m not an alky, I’m an alcoholic—I go to meetings.”

“No, I’m serious, Frank. When did you know?”

“Well, you know when my ma died a few years ago? I went over to see her and the last thing she told me was to stop drinking. Of course, being the bollocks I was, I didn’t. Then every time I got drunk, I’d end up seeing my mother’s face, crying. Every time until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

He quickly wiped at his eyes and Danny couldn’t help it and began to blub too. When he thought of his own mother, she looked the way she did in the hospital, only now it felt like he was the one stuck inside and she was just visiting. “I know what you mean. I’m just worried it’s too late for me. I’ve fucked over too many people.”

“It’s never too late, Boyle. Not if you really want it.”

“Hi. My name is Simon and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Simon,” Danny and Frank answered back in unison along with the rest of the meeting.

“And tonight,” Simon continued, “I have a message for those who have struggled with the program.”

“That’s right up your alley,” Frank snickered toward Danny.

“For ten years I came to meetings and went along with everything, but deep down inside, I just wouldn’t accept a higher power. And for most of those years, I managed to stay for a few months here and a few months there. I once made it to almost eleven months but I always went back out.”

Half of the meeting nodded along while others just kept their heads down.

“You see,” Simon explained, “I was a priest, and a priest who doesn’t believe in God is never going to be at peace.

“The God I believed in, the one that I studied and based my life on, became dead to me. I was angry at Him for all the terrible things He allowed to happen. I believed Him to be indifferent to all the suffering and heartache around me.”

He paused for a moment to take a drink of water and to settle the emotions that were causing his voice to waver.

“I used to sit in meetings like this and feel sorry for all you poor fools who were getting sober on a lie. I used to think that I knew so much more than all of you, only I didn’t know how to stay sober.

“Finally, I was given my marching orders and left the priesthood. They offered me some options, but do you know what? I was so far gone that I even thought I was superior to them. I left and devoted the next few years of my life to getting drunk. I told myself that I was on a mission to find God, and I can tell you,” he smiled, “He wasn’t to be found in any of the watering holes from here to Montreal. And I know. I drank in every one until they threw me out too.”

He went on to talk about how bad things got for him and many nodded along. It was the same old beaten track for all of them, one way or another. He had lost everything and ended up swigging from a paper bag in Moss Park and sleeping in Seaton House when he could afford it. That was where he met Albert; he was running the meetings there.

“He used to be one of the drunken Indians that hung around outside the Canada House. I met him in the park at Queen and Church a few times. He remembered me and, after the meeting, came to talk with me. He had been sober for over a year and asked me how much more suffering I needed before I’d stop.

“I didn’t want to talk to him but he was the only person I had talked to in weeks. Seaton House, as some of you may know, is not a great place for conversation.”

A ripple of laughter wrinkled through the room as those who had been there agreed.

“We were more into snapping and snarling at each other like a pack of wild dogs. But Albert cornered me and wouldn’t let go. So I gave him the sad story about how I was a priest who had lost God. How was I ever going to get sober?

“It worked on most people. Nobody else knew what to say and left me in peace. Not Albert though. He just looked at me, through those huge big glasses he wore, and he had a huge bulbous nose. He calls it his whiskey nose. Anyway, the next thing he said to me was one of those moments when it feels like the higher-power is talking directly to you: ‘You can borrow mine, if you like.’

“I was angry and glared at him but he just smiled and walked off. He came back the next morning and took me out for a coffee and I went because I had nowhere else to go. And we started doing that every morning.

“He brought me back to meetings, too, but I just fell into my old habits, acting like everything was just fine because I couldn’t stand the idea of anybody feeling sorry for me. But Albert could see right through me. ‘Simon,’ he said to me one morning, ‘when your people came they took away everything we believed in, our lands, our way of life. Everything.’ He said it in such a soft understanding way. ‘But you could never take away the Great Spirit. It’s still here. It’s in all the good things in the world. It helped me to get sober and it will help you too.’

“So for a while, when I tried to pray, I kept thinking of God in full head-dress.”

“What did you think of the speaker?” Frank prodded as they drove home.

“Yeah. I’m still thinking about it.”

“Can you imagine being a priest that doesn’t believe in God? That’s fucked, that’s what that is.”

“Yeah. I wonder how he handled drinking the wine during the mass, ya know? Transubstantiation goes right out the fucking window.”

“Fair play to him, though. He’s got his shit together now.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think of the stuff Albert said to him?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“Stop trying to think it, Boyle, and just feel it.”

“Easy for you to say—you’re fucked in the head anyway.”

“Then how come I’m sponsoring you?”

“Because you’d only fuck it up without me.”

“Fuck you, Boyle, ya ungrateful bollocks.”

They laughed for a while but fell silent as they waited for the light to change at Queen and Sherbourne, across from the Canada House, as the former friends of Simon and Albert swayed and tottered back toward the mission before it shut.

“You know I’m kidding?”

“I hope you are.”

“C’mon, Frank. I know what you’re doing for me, and I know I don’t deserve it, but thanks.”

They were stopped again at Broadview, across from the strip joint, kitty corner to the Jamaican place.

“I shouldn’t really be telling you this, only she’s pestering me.”