When Love Comes to Town (23 page)

He began to argue silently with himself.
Becky’s right,
he thought.
It’s only a matter of time before it ends. No, what does she know, she doesn’t see the little magical moments that pass between us. Like in the song, magic moments, magic moments. What magic moments? Well, like the way he smiled at me outside the pub in Donnybrook last Saturday night. Yeah, when he was drunk. But what about those long silences between you while he was still sober? And when you did start to babble on, he wasn’t even listening to you. Stop fooling yourself, Neil, he doesn’t want you here. Did you see the face on him when he saw your bag? Stop, I don’t want to know about these things, I have enough problems as it is. Everything will be all right in the morning, that’s what mum always used to say. And everything always was all right in the morning. Go to sleep now, curl up like you did when you were a little boy, wait for Dad’s stubbly kiss…Oh Jesus, what’ve I done? My life’s in a bigger mess than ever before. Why is this happening to me? I can’t take it any longer. What did I have to fucking well tell them for?

N
eil spotted his mum’s blue hat instantly. She was sitting at the rear of the restaurant. Sipping her mug of coffee apprehensively with her handbag jammed between herself and the wall, she looked like a total stranger. All the confidence he normally associated with her was absent. She looked ill at ease, vulnerable even. Gone was the poise and control, the wagging finger, the look that had to be obeyed. Then he decided to do something he hadn’t done in years: he leaned down and kissed her cheek lightly before he sat down opposite her. All traces of anxiety vanished from her face the moment she spotted him. They were in Bewley’s on Grafton Street. It was three o’clock and the lunchtime rush had cleared. Two arty types, reeking with pretension, and wearing quasi-hippie-style clothing, sat at the next table. The guy was reading a book, and the girl, who was sporting a purple beret with a flower in it, was sketching with charcoal. A baby sat gurgling in a buggy alongside them.

“What did you do to your hair?” his mum asked.

“D’you like it?”

On Shane’s suggestion, Neil had begun to gel his hair back off his forehead, so that their age gap wouldn’t be so apparent. And he had also colored it with a pinch of henna.

“Oh yes, it looks fine.”

Neil could tell that his mum was trying hard not to let her bewilderment show. He had let a week go by before he had phoned her. And when he did phone her that morning, her voice was fraught with worry and emotion.

Their initial exchanges were awkward, as his mum performed verbal gymnastics to avoid mentioning Neil’s revelations. But Neil was also engaging in a degree of role-playing, doing his Mister Happy act, as though meeting his mum for coffee in town was a normal, everyday occurrence.

“D’you remember you and Dad brought me in here the day I had my confirmation?”

His mum smiled. “And you ate six sticky buns and nearly got sick afterward.”

Neil was amazed at the accuracy of his mum’s memory.

“And then we went to the spring show,” he added, smiling at the memory of himself in his neat blazer, with the big red confirmation badge pinned proudly onto it, the brand-new pressed trousers, and the squeaky clean new shoes. They were on their second mug of coffee when his mum dipped her hand into her handbag and produced three crisp twenty-pound notes.

“Here, love, you’ll need this.” She was embarrassed as she slid the money across the table to him.

Neil felt his veneer of pretense wilting. “Thanks, Mum.”

“I hope you’re eating proper food now,” she said quickly in an obvious attempt to divert attention away from the money.

Neil nodded, smiling to himself.

“I should’ve asked you to bring in your dirty clothes with you,” his mum continued in her fussing voice.

Neil laughed. “There are laundromats in the city, Mum.”

But the ice was broken. The unmentionable had been mentioned, indirectly at least. Neil realized that it was up to him to broach the subject more directly.

“Has Dad said anything else about last week?” he asked.

His mum shook her head, but he knew that she was lying to him. They had probably sat up every night since, discussing the moment that had ripped their hearts apart. It was funny though, he thought, he could never lie convincingly to his mum, and neither could she lie to him.

“We just want you to be happy, Neil,” she whispered, reaching across the table to hold his hand.

“I know that,” he muttered, keeping his head bowed to conceal his reddening face. He was conscious that the two art groupies at the next table were glancing over.

“He did make one suggestion, Neil. Your father.”

“What?” Neil was wary.

His mum leaned forward and whispered, “He thinks that maybe you should go and see a psychiatrist.”

Neil looked twice at his mum to check that she wasn’t joking. Then he leaned back in his chair, shook his head, and expelled a quick rush of air through his nostrils. “You are being serious, aren’t you?” he said incredulously.

His mum shifted uncomfortably. “Well, you never know, it might help, they’re very good at—”

“Mum,” Neil interjected, taking hold of his mum’s hand. He saw that she was blushing when she lifted her head to look at him. “After I told you I was gay,” he said quietly, “I swore to myself that I’d never lie to you again. No more pretense. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime.”

His mum lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

“So believe me when I tell you, being gay is not a mental illness. It’s the way I am, Mum, the way I’ve always been, and the way I always will be.”

“Ah, you don’t know that,” she said, hitting his hand gently.

He spoke deliberately. “Mum, I do know that.”

His mum managed a smile. “He was only trying to help, Neil.”

“Sure,” Neil sighed, and he turned to glare at the two art groupies who were listening intently. His mum looked sheepish now, so Neil changed the subject and started to ask about his nephew and niece. She told him that they both missed their Uncle Neil, and that they charged upstairs to check his bedroom every time they visited.

“Tell them that I’ll take them in to see my new house one of these days,” he said. The thought of their amazed little faces looking out onto Leeson Street from his bedroom window amused him. But this mention of his flat only prompted another inquisitive search for details of his new life.

“Tell me,” his mum said in her soft whisper. “Do you and your friend…” She paused, holding her hand to her head.

“Shane?” he said, jogging her memory.

“Yes, of course, Shane.”

Neil smiled to himself. His mum’s feigned forgetfulness often amused him. But years of experience told him that it usually meant that she was carefully maneuvering her way toward an awkward subject.

“Tell me, do you and Shane share a bed?”

Neil very nearly slipped off his chair. He wanted to laugh out loud, but he didn’t. Suddenly, he felt so sorry for his mum. Why should he hurt her anymore? Surely the woman who had devoted so many years to him deserved a break. The woman who had carried him around as a tiny, wriggling, red-veined, saucer-eyed fetus.

“God no,” he said and watched the warm glow of relief spread across his mum’s face.
I’m doing the right thing, Jesus, aren’t I? Why not let her believe what she wants to believe? After just telling her that I’d never lie to her again,
he said to himself.
Scribble it in my ledger as a very, very, small, barely noticeable, white untruth.

“So, you’re really just good friends then?”

“Yeah, just good friends,” Neil nodded, still grinning.

“Ah, that’s nice.”

God, look at her, J.C., her world is worth living in again. But d’you think she believes a word of it? Aw, what the hell. You’d do the same for your mum, wouldn’t you? Course you would. I’m not suggesting that you’re gay or anything, now, don’t get me wrong. But just imagine if you were. Imagine if you came back to earth in a blaze of glory. Most amazing light show ever seen in Dublin. It’d have to be the Phoenix Park, to cater for the crowds. So anyway, there you’d be, with the whole country on its knees before you, and up you’d go to the mike, pause for effect, tap the mike a couple of times. Testing, one, two, three. Bit of hush now, the Main Man’s going to speak. And then you go and tell them all that you’re gay. Oh, I’m telling you, that’d put some spanner in the works…Hope you’re not disgusted now. Are you? Well, I mean, let’s face it, thirty-three and not married. If you lived on my road, the tongues would’ve drawn their own conclusions. You would’ve featured in a lot of their conversations. I mean, they wonder about me and I’m only eighteen. Imagine if I stuck around till I was thirty-three! Spare me.

“Neil?” His mum was waving her hand in front of his eyes.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” Neil answered.

“What were you thinking of ?” she asked.

“Ah, nothing really,” he said.

His mum smiled. “You know, you look just the way you used to look as a little boy, when you go off on those daydreams of yours…”

But the moment between them was dashed when the arty woman at the next table spoke loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear her.

“Dermot, the child’s name is Iseult, not Izzy! Speak to her properly, don’t ever underestimate her intelligence!” The embarrassed man immediately stopped playing with the baby and returned to his book in a huff.

Neil and his mum exchanged looks, and Neil wanted to comment on how little the arty couple had to worry about. He wanted to ask them how they’d speak to their little girl if she turned out to be a diesel dyke.

Outside, the sun had emerged from behind the clouds. Grafton Street was in full flow. A guy in shorts strolled past them and Neil had to struggle not to turn his head. A passing girl smiled at Neil, and he felt his mum nudging his ribs playfully. Then she insisted on going into a newsstand and buying him a bag of apples and bananas.

“I don’t want you getting scurvy,” she said loudly, and Neil noticed a number of passing heads turn to look at them. Farther up Grafton Street, the friendly lesbian couple who had given Jackie the creeps waved across the street to him.

“Who’re they?” his mum asked after he had waved back.

“Friends.”

His mum looked at him, lifting her eyebrows in amusement. For some strange reason, he felt as though he was protecting her by not telling her who they were. He didn’t want her thinking that the whole of Dublin had suddenly turned gay. Her world was in enough turmoil as it was. He walked up to St. Stephen’s Green with her, up to where her car was parked. She sat into the car and rolled down her window. He rested his elbow on the car roof.

“Will you be out for Sunday lunch?” she had to shout to be heard over the din of the traffic.

Neil shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, Mum. I’ll phone you.”

“Well, if you do come, make sure you bring out your washing with you. I don’t want you wandering around looking like a tramp.”

“Okay,” he grinned.

“Oh, and have you got enough bedclothes?”

“Yeah,” he said, trying his utmost not to blush.

“There’s a bit of a nip in the air these nights.”

“Will you stop worrying about me? I’m not a baby.”

“You’ll always be my baby,” she smiled, punching his stomach lightly. He watched as she put her sunglasses on, turned the key in the ignition, and revved the engine up. Then she did something she hadn’t done in years. She pointed at her cheek, her signal for him to kiss her. Neil leaned through the open window and duly obliged.

“Mind yourself, love,” she whispered, ruffling his hair.

“Oh, now she tosses my hair,” he said, feigning annoyance.

“Neiley Nook,” she teased.

“I’ll call you,” Neil said, waving to her.

“God bless.”

Once the traffic cleared, his mum reversed her car back out onto the road and drove off. Neil felt as if his nerve ends were scraping off the ground as he crossed the road.

He squatted down on his haunches and watched the ducks frolicking around the pond in St. Stephen’s Green. He put on his tacky mirrored sunglasses so that the afternoon throng of sun worshippers wouldn’t see his moist eyes.

Well, what d’you make of that, J.C.? Mother and child reunion. That’s the sort of stuff you’re into, isn’t it? Madonna and child and all that. Here I am, making a public spectacle of myself again. But she’s great, isn’t she? I felt like telling her that I loved her. The moment was right. But I couldn’t. Anyway, it wasn’t necessary—she knows I do. The old fella will be a different matter. Shane says my dad probably sees it as some sort of reflection on his manhood. Pity about him, I hear you say. He’s probably sitting at home, thinking of all the times he changed my diaper and wiped my bum, wondering where he went wrong. Crazy, isn’t it?

“Hey, Neil!”

He turned around and saw Tom and Andrea strolling over to him. He blinked a number of times to clear his eyes.

“Long time, no see,” he said.

“Love the sunglasses,” Andrea laughed.

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” Tom exclaimed.

“Looks great,” Andrea said, kissing Neil’s cheek.

“Don’t ever wash your hair when you’re locked,” Neil said, pushing Tom’s teasing hand away from his hair.

“What?” Tom was puzzled. “I thought it was shampoo I was using.” Andrea laughed. “And it was henna?” Neil nodded. They’re happy now. Sighs of relief all around. Their friend isn’t that weird.
Wonder what they’ve been saying about me. Let’s go for lunch.

“Anyone fancy an apple or a banana?”

“Where’re you living?”

“Leeson Street.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Are you really shacked up with a married woman?”

“Quiet now, the pair of you, I’ve got something to tell you about myself.”

The story gets easier every time you tell it. Look at the faces on them, they can’t believe it. Another kiss from Andrea. And then, couldn’t believe it, Tom leaned over and hugged me.

“We’re glad you told us, Neil, after all, we are your friends.” He grinned, as always, but surely Neil didn’t have to tell them that friends weren’t enough.