Divided Loyalties (30 page)

‘Indeed you do,’ Mrs O’Neill told him. ‘I always knew when my Ted was really sick. He’d lose his appetite completely. That’s when I’d start to worry.
And to think he died, hit by a drunken driver and him a teetotaller all his life. Life’s very strange, isn’t it?’

‘It is, Mrs O’Neill,’ he agreed, sitting down at the kitchen table. Twiskers hopped up onto his lap.

‘That cat is terrible fond of you.’ She studied the pair of them.

‘Just as well someone is.’ Noel stroked Twiskers’s velvety head.

‘Ah don’t be saying things like that. Haven’t you three lovely children and four precious grandchildren?’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ He sighed.

‘Of course I’m right,’ she retorted crisply. Noel was really feeling sorry for himself, she thought with wry amusement as she popped a piece of bread under the grill. Typical
man. ‘How’s Bobby getting on? He hasn’t been home in a long time. Is he doing well for himself over yonder?’ she asked chattily.

‘All right, I suppose,’ Noel said gruffly, his lips thinning.

‘You suppose?’ She looked at him in surprise. ‘Do you not keep in touch?’

‘Don’t be asking me questions like that,’ he grumbled.

‘Well I didn’t mean to pry, Noel. I’m sorry if you felt I was.’ Mrs O’Neill wasn’t at all abashed at his rebuke. She was used to his pernickety ways.

‘We don’t get on too well,’ Noel explained, regretting his crankiness.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Noel. I always thought he was a lovely lad.’ She poured the boiling water into the teapot and gave it a swirl.

‘Oh, you might think that. But I’ve had terrible trouble with him,’ Noel confided, rubbing his hands agitatedly. He was starting to show his age, Mrs O’Neill observed as
she watched him slumped in his chair. His hair was thinning, and the liver spots on his knobbly hands had darkened. There was an egg stain on his bottle green pullover and a snag in his grey
trousers. Men weren’t able to cope with being widowed like women were, she thought stoically as she let him unburden himself.

‘No-one knows the worry and upset I’ve endured because of him. It put a terrible strain on his mother, God rest her. I think she’d still be alive, only for him.’ It all
came tumbling out in a torrent of confession.

‘Why? What did he do?’ she asked, shocked at this revelation.

‘Ach, he caused us nothing but worry. You know the way he carries on.’

‘Well I’ve never noticed anything out of the ordinary.’ She frowned, buttering the crispy brown toast, wondering what on earth Noel could be referring to. She always remembered
Bobby as a mischievous, irrepressible little chap who’d grown up to be a very nice young man. He had been Anna’s pride and joy. She’d doted on him.

‘He’s . . . he’s . . . he’s not like other fellows,’ Noel mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

‘Noel, are you trying to tell me that he’s
gay
?’ Mrs O’Neill said incredulously as comprehension dawned.

‘Yes, if you want to put it like that.’ Noel fidgeted in his chair, wishing he were a million miles away.

‘Ah for goodness’ sake, is that all?’ His neighbour placed the hot buttered toast in front of him. ‘I knew that from when he was a little lad. You’d know by the
prancing around of him, for goodness’ sake.’

Noel couldn’t believe his ears. He’d expected her to be shocked and sympathetic, not . . . not matter-of-fact and unaffected. ‘You’re very blasé about it,’
he accused, annoyed at her reaction. How dare she make such light of so distressing a revelation? ‘How would you like it if it was one of your lads?’ he demanded truculently as he fed
Twiskers a piece of toast.

‘It wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to me, Noel. If that’s the way they’re made, there’s nothing you and I can do about it.’ She poured the tea and
sat down at the table opposite him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re holding that against the poor lad?’

‘Well it’s . . . unnatural . . . it’s a very unchristian way of life,’ he blustered.

‘Who says so?’ she challenged.

‘Good heavens, Mrs O’Neill! The Church says so.’ Noel brushed back a stray strand of grey hair that had flopped over his eye and stared at her in dismay.

‘That lot, that shower in the Vatican,’ she snorted. ‘They’re fine ones to talk. Half of them don’t have a bit of Christianity in them. Going on with the nonsense
they go on with. All them old lads wearing their funny hats and flowing robes and living in palaces, issuing rules and regulations. You can’t take communion here; you can’t take
communion there. We’re the real Church. The rest of you are only impostors. What did that “Prince of the Church” down in Dublin say about sharing communion?’ She wrinkled
her brow. ‘“A sham”, that’s it. Sharing communion was a sham! There’s Christianity for you. Do you think that Jesus would say that, Noel?’ She eyed him
sternly.

‘Ah well now, the Cardinal’s a very learned man. He knows these things,’ Noel explained patiently.

‘Tosh, Noel,’ she scoffed, unimpressed. ‘If you call that learning, you can keep it as far as I’m concerned. Did you ever hear such childish nonsense? And look at the way
women were treated, and still are. There’s no equality in the Church for women, Noel, and us all supposed to be made equal in God’s image and likeness—’

‘You can’t be saying things like that, Mrs O’Neill,’ Noel spluttered in consternation. ‘Women have their place too.’ He had thought his neighbour was a
God-fearing righteous woman. She was sitting opposite him talking . . . heresy.

‘I can say what I want, Noel McCarthy. I had to find my God the hard way,’ she said firmly. ‘When my Ted was taken from me in such a cruel and horrible way I was in a dark and
lonely place and I questioned God. My faith was gone. How could He allow this to happen to a good hardworking man who never did any harm to anyone? I had my dark night of the soul when I was on my
knees, I can tell you, and then I read a book called
Embraced by the Light
by a woman called Betty J. Eadie, about what happens when you die. And it made me think and question
everything
I was taught. And I was taught like yourself, Noel.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘But the difference between us now is that I found a God of compassion. Not the
harsh, judgemental, wrathful God we were reared on. And what a joy it is to me.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears and she wiped them away with the corner of her floral apron.

‘I started reading other books, spiritual books that were very different in outlook from what I was used to and it made me reassess every single thing I’d ever been taught about
religion. And that was the best thing that ever happened to me, Noel. Because now I think for
myself
. And I don’t have so-called pious men as buffers between my God and me. I know
there are some lovely priests out there. We have one in the parish, but I don’t need him any more to tell me about God. I’m learning all about Him myself. And I don’t let any of
them tell me what to do,’ she said stoutly.

Noel couldn’t believe the apostasy that was issuing from his neighbour’s lips. ‘But you still go to church,’ he said weakly.

‘I do, and I enjoy it. But I do it my own way now.’ Mrs O’Neill took a sip of tea and gazed at him calmly. For a moment she even found it in herself to feel sorry for her
neighbour. His red, watery eyes were staring at her with undisguised consternation. It was obvious she had totally shocked him. She took another sip of tea and put down her cup and said kindly,
‘Noel, would you agree that we are all created by God?’

‘Indeed. Of course.’ He nodded earnestly.

‘So all of us are sons and daughters of God?’

‘Oh yes.’ He pursed his lips, wondering where she was heading.

‘Well, my take on it now is that we’re all part of the Divine Creator. He created us. Am I right?’

‘Yes,’ Noel agreed, wondering what she was going to come out with next.

‘We’re in agreement, then. So now, before Holy Communion, instead of saying “Lord I am
not
worthy to receive you”, as we were taught, I say “Lord I
am
worthy to receive you”. And in that way I acknowledge my Divinity. It’s very simple really and much more positive,’ she explained cheerfully, pouring herself another
cup of tea.

‘Good heavens!’ He was astonished at her misguided irreverence.

‘We’ve all been kept down, you see, and made to feel guilty. Religions are great for that sort of thing. And that’s why the likes of poor Bobby have such a hard life. Let me
ask you a question.’ She fixed him with a laser-eyed stare. ‘You’re very fond of young Davey, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am.’ Noel drank a reviving sup of tea. He wasn’t the better for this conversation. ‘He’s a great little lad,’ he added, thinking how much he was
looking forward to seeing them all again.

‘Well what would you say if he came to you and said he was gay?’

‘I . . . I . . . Don’t be ridiculous,’ he stuttered, affronted.

‘I’m not being in the slightest bit ridiculous,’ she insisted. ‘Who’s to know what life throws at us? So don’t be so harsh on Bobby. He needs even more love
than the rest of them. And you know, Anna
knew
he was different, Noel.’ She kept her gaze steady. ‘She said it to me a long time ago and it didn’t bother her, so
don’t be blaming her death on Bobby. Her big worry was the way you’d take it.’ She had no intention of letting him off the hook. ‘If she knew that you were estranged because
of it she’d be very troubled and disappointed.’

‘Don’t be saying things like that,’ Noel muttered wretchedly.

‘You know, Noel, we’re in our second half of life and we have to stop acting like sheep and swallowing everything we’re told. We have to think for ourselves and work it out as
best we can. And that’s my advice to you. Think for yourself and stop making life hard for the pair of you. God’s compassion is there for us all if we want it. Bobby’s a lovely
lad. What harm if he finds love with a chap like him? Love is love no matter who’s giving and receiving it. And isn’t that what we all want? A little bit of love?’

The phone rang. She smiled at him benevolently, aware that she had shocked him to his core. ‘There’s Carrie now, I’d say. Go and answer it and don’t let on there’s
a thing wrong with you, while I wash up these cups,’ she ordered.

‘Right,’ he said meekly, wondering whether she had turned into some sort of she-devil. He went out to the hall and picked up the phone and heard a chorus of ‘Happy Easter,
Grandpa’ in his ear. His heart lifted at the sound of his grandchildren’s childish glee. Tempted as he was to play the martyr and get some sympathy, he knew that Mrs O’Neill had
her ear cocked in the kitchen and would give him a sharp telling off if he played the old soldier. Anyway, there was less than a week to go now until they got back; he’d struggle on until
they got home. It would be mean to ruin Carrie’s holiday by having her worry about him.

‘Hello, Dad? How are you?’ He felt a surge of emotion and affection as he heard Carrie’s voice on the line.

‘I’m fine, Carrie. Are you having a good time? How are the children? Is it too hot for them?’

‘Not at all, Dad. We go swimming in the Gulf every day, and they’re having a great time. We went camping in the desert on Friday. It was fantastic. The time is flying. Sure
we’ll be home before we know it. You sound as if you’ve a cold.’

‘Ah it’s only a sniffle,’ he said heartily, triumphantly resisting the urge to enact the role of the abandoned invalid.

‘Well, mind yourself, Dad. What are you doing for your dinner today?’

‘Sadie’s bringing me a turkey dinner, so I’ll be grand. Mrs O’Neill is with me at the minute. We were having a cup of tea. She brought me in your Easter egg. It was very
kind of you, Carrie. Thanks a lot.’

‘You’re welcome, Dad. Here’s Shauna, she wants to say hello.’ Carrie passed the phone over to her sister, and Shauna came on the line. ‘Hi, Dad. Happy
Easter.’

‘Hello, love. Are you having a good time with the gang?’

‘It’s great to have them here. I’ll miss them when they’re gone.’

‘Why don’t you come home yourself for good? That place is a bit of a powder keg with the war in Iraq and all of that,’ he urged.

‘We’ll see,’ she said non-committally. ‘Chloe wants to say hello to you.’

He spoke to all of the children, even Hannah, who was all talk of her Easter eggs. He felt lonely hanging up. It was amazing how much he missed them. He supposed he’d taken them for
granted over the years, he acknowledged uncomfortably.

‘They’ll be home soon, Noel, don’t be fretting now,’ Mrs O’Neill said when she saw his crestfallen face as he came back into the kitchen. ‘Phone calls are all
I have. At least Carrie will be home soon and Shauna will be home for the summer.’

‘What are you going to do for the rest of the day?’ he asked, beginning to realize how lonely a life his neighbour must have in spite of all her social activities.

‘I’m going to lunch with another widowed friend of mine. But I’ll call in on my way home and see how you’re getting on. Is there anything I can get you when I’m
out?’

‘I have everything I need, thanks. And . . . er . . . thank you for all your kindness,’ he said awkwardly.

‘Even if I’m a bit of a heretic?’ Her bright blue eyes twinkled at him mischievously.

Noel laughed. Mrs O’Neill was a good-humoured woman and always had been. ‘We’re different,’ he conceded.

‘Anyone can change. Make your peace with Bobby; it’s what Anna would want. Life’s too short to be fighting. We don’t know what’s round the corner. We could be gone
tomorrow. And besides, it would be the
Christian
thing to do,’ Mrs O’Neill advised as she folded the tea towel and hung it up.

He watched her go, chewing the side of his jaw. From anyone else he would have taken it as nosy interference, but he had a high regard for his neighbour. She’d been a great friend of his
wife’s and she’d coped with her husband’s sudden death and her children’s departures to foreign climes with stoic determination and bravery. He was still pondering on her
words even as he ate the tasty roast turkey dinner Dan’s sister brought him a couple of hours later.

Had he been too harsh and judgemental on Bobby? What would he do if Davey came to him when he was older and said that he was gay? Kind, loving Davey who always made a fuss of him. Bobby had been
a kind and loving child, he thought with a little dart of shock. He and his nephew were very alike in some respects, but Noel had spent so much time chastising him, wanting him to do manly things,
that they’d ended up at loggerheads.