The Heart's Invisible Furies

by John Boyne

  I smiled and nodded. It was, I supposed.

  “It’s probably more unexpected than anything else,” I said.

  “No, he’s right,” said Laura, raising her glass. “It’s fantastic.”

  “Fucking fantastic,” insisted George, pulling Marcus close to him and giving him a quick peck on the lips. I couldn’t help but notice how both his parents looked away instinctively, while his younger brother and sister stared and giggled, but it felt very good to watch the moment as he pulled away and they looked into each other’s eyes, a couple of teenagers who had found each other—and would surely lose each other again for someone else soon but were happy right at that moment. It was something that never could have happened when I was that age. And yet for all my happiness at seeing my grandson happy and secure in who he was, there was something terribly painful about it too. What I would not have given to be that young at this time and to be able to experience such unashamed honesty.

  “We should start to make a move,” said Laura a moment later, glancing at the clock. “Shouldn’t the car be here by now?”

  As if by magic, the doorbell rang and everyone jumped. “Right,” said Liam. “Has everyone got everything they need? Dad, you have your speech?”

  “It’s right here,” I said, touching my breast pocket.

  “All right. Let’s go then,” he said, marching down the hallway and opening the front door, where two silver Mercedes were waiting to bring us into the city center.

  Yes or No

  “They haven’t taken all the signs down, I see,” said Charles as we drove along.

  “What’s that?” I asked, turning to look at him, surprised to see how neatly he’d fit into the seats opposite me, next to Liam, George and Marcus.

  “The signs,” he said. “On the telephone poles. There’s still quite a few up. The referendum was months ago now.”

  “People are lazy,” I said. “There’ll be a storm sooner or later and they’ll blow the rest down.”

  “I’m bloody glad it’s over,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Me too.”

  “I knew it would bring out the worst in people.”

  “Well, you were right.”

  “It brought out the worst in you too,” said Charles.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, offended.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” he said. “Engaging with all those morons on your phone. Arguing with complete strangers.”

  “It was impossible not to,” I said. “I spent long enough staying silent. There was a chance to speak up at last and I took it. And I’m glad I did.”

  “Well, you won, so you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “But all it did was remind me how unkind people can be. And how ugly.”

  “And you weren’t part of that ugliness?”

  “I don’t think I was,” I said.

  “All right,” said Charles, taking an iPhone from his inside pocket. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” He pressed a few buttons and scrolled down. “Why are you so afraid of people being happy?” he read. “Why can’t you just live and let live? Now, who wrote that…oh let me see…oh yes! @cyrilavery!”

  “That was that awful Mandy woman,” I said. “Every day, tweeting about how her relationship was more valid than anyone else’s. Just a vile human being.”

  “And this one,” said Charles. “If your relationship was a successful one, then you wouldn’t care what other people did in their own private lives. Also @cyrilavery.”

  “An awful married couple,” I said. “Tweeting all day long, every day, to practically no followers. They must just have sat on their phones from morning to night. They deserved all the abuse they got.”

  “And how about this one?” he asked. “You must be filled with self-loathing to be behaving the way you are.”

  “I know that one!” I said. “That was to that gay guy who was voting No.”

  “Well, didn’t he have the right?”

  “No!” I shouted. “No, he didn’t! He was just looking for attention, that’s all. Fuck him! He was betraying his own people.”

  “Oh, Cyril,” said Charles. “Don’t be a moron. And as for that radio debate—”

  “They asked me on!” I said.

  “You should have just ignored them all,” said Charles with a smile. “It’s the best thing to do with your enemies. And anyway, they lost, didn’t they? By a landslide. Their day is over. They’re the past. They’re history. Just a bunch of bigots screaming into the void, desperate to have their voices heard. They were always going to lose. And you know what? The world didn’t fall off its axis when it happened. So stop being so angry. It’s over. You won, they lost.”

  “But I didn’t win, did I?” I said.

  “How do you mean?”

  I shook my head and looked out the window. “When the vote was passed,” I said, “I was watching the news reports on the television. And there was David Norris. It’s a little bit late for me, he said, once he knew that it was a Yes and that the country had changed forever. I’ve spent so much time pushing the boat out that I forgot to jump on and now it’s out beyond the harbor on the high seas, but it’s very nice to look at. And that’s how I feel. Standing on the shore, looking out at the boat. Why couldn’t Ireland have been like this when I was a boy?”

  “That, I can’t answer,” said Charles quietly.

  “Look,” said George, pointing out the window, and I turned around to him in a daze.

  “What?” I asked.

  “We’re here,” he said. “There’s Ignac.”

  The car pulled over to the side of the road, and I saw Ignac, Rebecca and the children standing outside, talking to Jack Smoot, who was in a wheelchair but had shown up as he had promised.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Marcus. “I’ve read all of his books three times. He’s my favorite writer ever.”

  “I’ll introduce you to him,” said George proudly. “Ignac and I are big pals.”

  I smiled. It was nice to hear.

  “Right,” I said, opening the door. “Let’s do this.”

  “Wait!” cried George. “Does anyone have a mirror?”

  “You’re only gorgeous,” said Marcus. “Stop looking at yourself.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up.”

  “Both of you shut up,” said Liam.

  We got out of the car into the sunlight, and I felt a slight pain in my head and remembered that I had forgotten to take my morning pill. It didn’t matter too much; we’d be passing by the house later on the way to the reception and I could stop in for a moment and take it then. The doctors had told me that I had six months but if Julian was to be believed, it was more likely to be just over two. Three days after Halloween.

  “Just like me,” said Charles, waving goodbye to me as I stepped out onto the street. “A brain tumor. Turns out you’re a real Avery after all.”

  I laughed, then turned to look at the registry office before me. Death was coming for me, I knew that. But I didn’t want to think about it today.

  The New Ireland

  As I entered the registry office, I saw Tom hovering near the front, looking handsome in his wedding suit, his daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren standing next to him with wide smiles on all their faces. When he saw me, he raised a hand in the air and I walked over, my arms open wide to embrace him.

  “Didn’t we get great weather for it all the same?” said Jane, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  “We did,” I said. “Somebody up there is in our corner.”

  “And why wouldn’t they be?” said Tom, smiling. “When you look back, Cyril, did you ever think a day like this would happen?”

  “Honestly?” I said, shaking my head. “No.”

  “Do you have your speech ready?”

  “Everyone is very concerned about this speech,” I said. “It’s written. It’s the right length, there’s a few good jokes in it and I think we’ll all be h
appy.”

  “Good man.”

  “We weren’t sure we were even going to make it,” said Jane.

  “Why?” I asked, frowning.

  “Don’t,” said Tom.

  “His arthritis,” she said, lowering her voice a little. “He’s been having a terrible time of it.”

  “But it’s fine today,” said Tom. “There’s not a bother on me.”

  “Sure none of us are as we were,” I said. “We’ll all get through the day anyway.”

  “It’ll be very strange to have a son who’s only a few years younger than me,” he said.

  “I won’t be calling you Dad, if that’s what you’re expecting,” I said, smiling. He was a nice man, Tom. I didn’t know him very well, but from what I’d seen, I liked him. An architect by career, he’d been retired for thirteen years and had a nice bungalow in Howth with a great view over Ireland’s Eye. I’d been out there a couple of times already and he’d always made me feel very welcome.

  My mother and he had met on Tinder.

  A hand touched my arm and I turned around to see Ignac standing behind me. “They’re here,” he said.

  “They’re here,” I repeated, turning back to Tom, my voice rising like an excited child, and we took our leave of each other, he going to the front of the registry office, me going to the back, while everyone else took their seats. As the guests sat down, I said a quick hello to Jack Smoot, who shook my hand and told me that there was nothing that would ever have brought him back to Ireland except for this.

  “And I’m getting the fuck out of the place first thing tomorrow morning,” he added.

  The doors opened and that’s when I saw her. Standing at the end of the aisle, eighty-six years old without a care in the world and looking as happy as any bride on her wedding day. Next to her, my ex-wife Alice and Cyril II—she’d stayed with them the night before—who surrendered her to me.

  “I want to see you at the reception,” said Alice, as she kissed me. “All the way to the end, do you hear me?”

  “You don’t need to worry,” I said, smiling.

  “Because if you disappear, I’ll do a Liam Neeson, do you hear me? I have a very particular set of skills and I’ll hunt you down, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you.”

  “Alice,” I said. “I give you my solemn oath. I’ll be the last one to bed tonight.”

  “Right,” she said, smiling and looking at me with something approaching love in her eyes. “You’ve been warned.”

  They took their seats, leaving my mother and me together.

  “You look wonderful,” I said.

  “You’re not just saying that, are you?” she asked nervously. “I’m not making a fool of myself?”

  “How could you be?” I asked.

  “Because I’m eighty-six years old,” she said. “And eighty-six-year-old women don’t get married. Especially not to seventy-nine-year-old men. I’m a cougar.”

  “Sure everyone can get married now,” I said. “It’s the new Ireland. Did you not hear?”

  “Cyril,” said a voice behind me, and I turned around.

  “You’re busy today,” I said. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for another few days yet.”

  “You can come over later tonight if you want,” he said.

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “You said Halloween. Actually, you said a few days after Halloween.”

  “All right,” said Julian. “I was just checking. We’ll have a bit of a laugh when you do get here, though. There’s a couple of girls I want us to double-date with.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t change, do you?” I asked.

  “Just be my wing-man, that’s all,” he said. “You don’t have to actually do anything.”

  “Halloween,” I said. “A couple of days after.”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Are we set then?” asked my mother.

  “I am if you are.”

  “Is he here? He didn’t change his mind?”

  “Oh he’s here all right. You’re going to be very happy, the two of you. I know you are.”

  She nodded and swallowed a little as she smiled at me. “I feel that too,” she said. “He was wrong, wasn’t he?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Father Monroe. He said I’d never have a wedding day. He said that no man would ever want me. But here that day is. He was wrong.”

  “Of course he was wrong,” I told her. “They were all wrong. They were wrong about everything.”

  I smiled and leaned forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. I knew this might be one of the last things I got to do in this world, leaving my mother in the hands of someone who would take care of her, and I felt great relief to know that there was a family, a big family, who would look after her when I was gone. She needed that. She’d missed out on it all these years. But now here it was.

  “Walk slowly,” said a voice from behind me, and I turned around and felt my heart jump in delight. “Remember, you’re on a crutch and she’s an old lady.”

  “You came!” I said.

  “I heard you were looking for me. Julian told me.”

  “I didn’t think I’d see you. Not till, you know, till it was my turn.”

  “I couldn’t wait,” he said.

  “You look exactly the same as you did on that last day. In Central Park.”

  “Actually, I’m a few pounds lighter,” he said. “I’ve been on a fitness drive.”

  “Good for you.” I stared at him and felt the tears forming in my eyes. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” I asked him. “It’s been almost thirty years. I shouldn’t have had to spend all that time on my own.”

  “I know, but it’s nearly over. And you haven’t done a bad job of it at the same time, given the mess you made of the first thirty. The years apart will feel like nothing compared to what we have before us.”

  “The music’s started,” said my mother, clutching me to her.

  “I have to go, Bastiaan,” I said. “Will I see you later?”

  “No. But I’ll be there in November when you arrive.”

  “All right.” I took a deep breath. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” said my mother. “Shall we go?”

  I nodded and stepped forward, and slowly we made our way down the aisle, passing the faces of our friends and family, and I delivered her into the arms of a kind man who swore to love her and take care of her for the rest of her life.

  And at the end, when the entire congregation broke into applause, I realized that I was finally happy.

  Acknowledgments

  With thanks, as ever, to Bill Scott-Kerr, Larry Finlay, Patsy Irwin and Simon Trewin.

  About the Author

  John Boyne was born in Ireland in 1971. He is the author of ten novels for adults, five for young readers and a collection of short stories, and is perhaps best known for his 2006 multi-award-winning book, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. John’s other novels, notably The Absolutist and A History of Loneliness, have been widely praised and are international bestsellers. In 2015, John chaired the panel for the Giller Prize, Canada’s most prestigious literary award. The Heart’s Invisible Furies is his most ambitious novel yet.

  johnboyne.com

  @john_boyne

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