When Love Comes to Town (24 page)

S
unday. Guess who’s coming to lunch with his new earring? Wait till they see it. “It’s a present from my boyfriend,” you’ll tell them, doing your best Daphne imitation.

Get lost, I’m taking it out before I enter the lion’s den.

A young guy gets on the bus in Ballsbridge and he and Neil exchange just the slightest of looks. The sunshine brings it all out.

The moment Neil saw the expression on Gary’s face, he knew that Tom and Andrea had spilled the beans. All his usual liveliness was absent, and he kept the garden gate between them as they spoke.

“How’s your boyfriend?” he said, curling his lip into a sneer.

“Fine,” Neil replied matter-of-factly.

“Jesus, you’re not really queer, are you?” Gary blurted out, and Neil just looked down at his runners and smiled ruefully. Now, his lifelong pal seemed like a complete stranger.

“Tell me, what do the two of you do in bed?”

“Why? What d’you do in bed?”

Gary uttered a tense, jumpy laugh. He had both of his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans and he shifted nervously from foot to foot. Even though he was obviously repulsed, Neil could also detect a certain fascination deep below the surface.
Maybe you should just kiss him on the cheek and tell him that it’s not really that important. Tell him that you’re all going to be dead soon enough, that there’s no point in fighting over things like this. Better still, kiss him on the mouth. Relax there, Gary duckie. Yuck, spare me. But could you imagine his reaction? He’d probably love it.

“But why didn’t you tell us about this before now?”

“You never asked.” Neil couldn’t resist the smart-aleck reply.

“I mean, you’ve been my closest friend growing up.”

“I’m still your friend if you want me to be.”

Gary purposely avoided Neil’s gaze as he spoke. “I don’t know. Listen, I’ve got to go, I was supposed to be over to Trish’s half an hour ago.” Gary kept five yards between them as he passed. Gone was his normal parting gesture of draping his arm around Neil’s shoulder. Gone was the friendly grin and the playful punch. Gone was all the warmth.

“See you, then,” Neil said weakly.

“Yeah, maybe.” Gary flapped his arm nonchalantly before he headed off down the road. Neil wanted to shout after him, plead with him.
Please don’t be like this, Gary, you don’t realize how much you’re hurting me. I’d never do anything to hurt you, you know that. I love you, Gary, and I know you love me too. As friends, I mean. I’m still the same Neil. We’ve gone through too much together to leave it like this. I could’ve mentioned the incident in the bed in Donegal, but I didn’t, did I? I knew you’d be too embarrassed. You’d have probably denied it, but there’s no point in fooling yourself, it did happen.

Gary turned the corner without looking back. Then Neil noticed the shadows lurking behind the net curtains. Mr. and Mrs. Kelly gawking out at the freak show. The queer is home. Neil faced the window and, grinning, gave the lurking shadows a big friendly wave. The shadows evaporated instantly.
You should’ve given them a limp-wristed wave,
he thought.
That would’ve really given those tongues something to talk about.

Neil’s dad didn’t speak to him during lunch. Neil and his mum exchanged smiles while the silent man pretended to be engrossed in his collection of Sunday newspapers.

“Oh, a girl called Mairead rang for you during the week,” his mum said at one stage, bringing a snort of derision from his dad, who kept his eyes glued to his newspaper. Neil glared at his dad. Manners of a pig.

“She was the nurse from the hospital, wasn’t she?”

Neil grinned at his mum and nodded.

“Put those papers away, will you, Brendan?” his mum said, but Mister Pig just snorted and continued reading.

“It’s the height of bad manners,” his mum added. “You should talk to your dinner guests.”

“I’ve said all I have to say,” Mister Pig replied pointedly before replacing his snout into his newspapers.

“Eat up some more potatoes there, love,” his mum said, pushing the dish of roast potatoes toward Neil.

“I’m stuffed.”

A loud snort of derision from Mister Pig, the liberal.
Wrong choice of words, Neiley Nook
.

“I’ll get the dessert,” his mum said, putting her napkin on the table and leaving the room.

Oh God, Mum, don’t go, Neil groaned to himself. He’s looking over at me. I know he is. I can sense it. Can’t stop blushing. Why does he despise me? Can I rub my face against your stubble, Dad? Would you dive off a pier and save me now? Doubt it…The all-clear siren sounds. He’s leaving the room. Had enough of you.

“Where’s your father gone?” his mum asked, putting her Neiley Nook’s favorite dessert, baked Alaska, down on the table.

“Off to clean his snout,” Neil said, and his mum grimaced.

“Don’t mind him, love,” she said, spooning him out an extra large helping.

“I wonder, does my liberal-minded dad still talk to his gay friend in the office?” Neil said.

His mum sighed wearily. “Give him time, Neil, he’ll come around.”

“Might be too late,” Neil muttered, and his mum looked at him anxiously. Neil tried to smile to ease her tension.

“He loves you, Neil,” she whispered, touching Neil’s bare arm lightly.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmured, lowering his eyes to avoid his mum’s stare. The huge mound of baked Alaska now looked very unappetizing.

“Would you try and talk to him?” There was a hint of desperation in his mum’s voice.

But Danny and Annie’s squeals of delight prevented Neil from answering. They were playing with their grandfather in the hallway. The moment Neil set eyes on Kate and Dan, he knew that they had been told. He felt like an animal in the zoo. Kate went to extraordinary lengths to avoid looking at him. Dan kept sneaking so many furtive glances in his direction, that at one stage, Neil glanced at his reflection in the china cabinet to check that there weren’t horns growing out of his head. They were having engine problems with their new car. Their world was in chaos. Neil wished that Jackie was there to knock the pair of them off their cruel pedestals with a blast of her rhetoric.

Then the two gleeful children raced into the room. They made a beeline for their Uncle Neil, but Dan stopped them in their tracks. Neil saw the flash of blind panic in his brother-in-law’s eyes as he held the two protesting children firmly in his grasp.

“Stop that screaming!” Kate snapped, slapping Danny on the bottom.

Unclean, unclean, ring my leper’s bell. Ding-a-ling-a-ling. Out of my way. Unclean, unclean. Mum is looking over. She’s noticed. Kate’s afraid to look at you. Old Mister Pig tries to talk about the new car, but the kids are shouting him down. They want their Uncle Neil.

“Good-bye, everyone, have to go now.”

Thought they might relent, but they don’t. Casual mutters of good-bye.

“Are you going already?”
The fake look of surprise on Kate’s face. But still she can’t look you in the eye. She knows you see right through her. Have a nice life.

Mum comes to the door with you.
“I’m sorry, Neil,”
she says, hugging you. Hold her tightly. Salty tears flowing, nose sniffling.
“I love you, Neil,”
she whispers softly. Can’t answer.
“God bless,”
she murmurs. Kiss her and walk away. Past your brother-in-law’s gleaming new car in the driveway. Past the flowers in the garden. Past the lamppost you crashed your bike into once. Past the next-door net curtain shadows. Put on the tacky mirrored sunglasses. Don’t look back. Don’t let them see you this way.

When Neil got back to the flat that afternoon, Shane was there. He could hear the loud classical music wafting through the building as he climbed the old, creaky stairs. A broad grin creased his face when he traipsed into the living room, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his lover how glad he was to see him.

“What’s that?” He had to shout to be heard.

“Baïlèro,” Shane replied absently without lifting his head from his book.

“What time d’you get back at?” he asked, flopping into an armchair.

“From
Songs of the Auvergne
.”

“What?” Neil was puzzled.

Shane closed his book and looked at Neil. “You asked what the music was,” he spoke slowly and deliberately.

Neil winced. He hated when Shane treated him like a kid, telling him to stop talking so fast and to stop asking so many questions at once. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself when he was excited; everything just seemed to tumble out. He decided to try and say something meaningful.

“That’s the type of music you’d like played at your funeral, isn’t it?”

Shane barely nodded, leaving Neil feeling crushed. They sat in silence until the final note played. Then Shane rewound the tape and played the same piece again, at a lower volume. Now the sad haunting voice really sounded like funeral music to Neil.

“I’m going back to Belfast next week.”

The words seemed to echo and reverberate around the room a million times before Neil actually heard them.

“I’ve got a job there.”

Hey Jesus, do something, my world is falling apart. Stay calm, Neil, best to stay calm.

“Have you? That’s great.” Neil heard his own voice waver like a thirteen-year-old’s as he spoke.

“There’s nothing down here for me—workwise, I mean. And I’m sick of pissing around this stinking town on a bicycle.”

What should I do? I have to ask him, but you’d think he’d have asked me already. No, I won’t ask, I’ll just assume.

“I wouldn’t mind living in Belfast for a while. You know, the danger and all that could be exciting…” Neil heard his voice tail off weakly. The expression on Shane’s face told him everything.

“You’re eighteen, Neil, only just eighteen, and I’m twenty-three, almost twenty-four. We’re at different stages of our lives.”

I can’t speak. I’m trying to, but no words come out.

“I’m sorry, Neil, I really like you—but it’s just not working out, you’re crowding me too much.”

I won’t do it anymore, I promise. Please don’t look that way. Please listen to me. You don’t know what you’re doing to me. Please touch me, can’t you see my eyes begging you. Why can’t he hear me screaming?

“You’ll find someone new, so you will.”

Feel numb now. Can’t think straight. All the world is spinning in a spiraling descent. Got to get out of here.

“Neil, come back.”

He’s still talking, but I can’t hear him now. Throw everything in. Even you, Ted. What d’you think of that for a quick packing job? Shit, can’t close the zip. Take out the new shoes Mum bought .A souvenir for him.

“Neil.”

Let me out of here. Hide the tears.

“Neil, wait.”

Bawling now. Don’t look back.

Sunday. The seagulls rise majestically from the rugby fields as you approach. Up into the air like a billowing white carpet. Over to the building. Ring the bell. The old housekeeper with thin white hairs sprouting from her chin answers the door. Remember in school, all the lads used to say that she was having an affair with Donno.

“Yes?”

Speak to her. Ask her about her lover.

“Could I speak to Father Donnelly, please?”

Your voice sounds distant. She’s looking at you oddly.

“Father Donnelly is away on a retreat for the weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

Scratch your head. Tell her how sad you feel. Why not? Her face is kind. Who else do you have to turn to?

“Will I leave a message for him?”

Stare at your feet as you speak.

“Tell him that the flowers around the oak tree are withering.”

Now she really thinks you’re nuts.

“Are you one of the gardeners?”

Shake your head. Turn and walk away. She’s watching you leave. Past the giant oak tree. Up through the grounds. There’s the young lads playing soccer again. They’re shouting over to you. Eager voices. They want you to play. Can’t be bothered.

“Sorry, lads, in a hurry.”

“Hey, mister, did you really play for Manchester United?”

How can you resist those innocent eyes. Long time ago. The others snigger. Can you blame them.

“What’s your name?”

“Ryan Giggs.”

“It is not!”
they roar in unison, except for Innocent Ryes, he believes you. There’s always one. Take him with you and protect him from the world. How can his mother even let him step outside the door?

“Bad day, lads, sorry, have to go.”

“Ah, c’mon, mister.”

“Maybe some other time.”
They’ve forgotten you already.

On you plod, there’re places to visit. You’re not going to? Are you? What does it matter now? The trees are bare now, the cherry blossom petals are all gone. Smell of freshly cut grass fills your nostrils. Naughty, naughty, cutting your grass on a Sunday. Press the doorbell. Ding-dong. Sounds the same as yours. We have something in common after all, me and Ian.

“Yes?” his mother says from behind the half-open door.

Don’t just stand there, say it. I can’t. You have to.

“Could I speak to Ian, please?”

The hardness drains from her face. Her face is pleasant now. She has his eyes and mouth, and even his cute little nose. Go on, tell her. “Hey, Missus, now I know where your son got his heavenly looks from.” Or, “You don’t know how lucky you are, sharing a house with that boy of yours.”

“I don’t know if he’s in,”
she says.

Of course he’s not. What did you expect, today of all days?

“Ian!”
she calls up the stairs.

No reply.

“Ian!”
she calls again.

Still no reply. She shrugs her slender shoulders and smiles.

“Oh … well, sorry for disturbing you.”

She knots her brow and wonders if she’s seen you before
. “Who shall I say called?”

Decision time. Go on, go for it. Too late to turn back now. What does it matter? Take them out of your pocket and give them to her. You should’ve put them in an envelope.