When Love Comes to Town

by Tom Lennon

  “We’ll be in the usual place,” Trish said before she and Gary said good-bye.

  At four o’clock there was still no sign of Shane. Neil phoned telephone inquiries to check that there was nothing wrong with his phone. His hands were shaking when he eventually phoned Shane’s house. The girl living downstairs answered. She plodded slowly up the stairs and rapped on his door a number of times. Then Neil heard the footsteps clomping down the stairs again.

  “He’s gone out,” she announced in a weary voice and hung up before Neil even had time to thank her. But it didn’t matter, his Adonis was obviously in transit on his hunky mountain bike. He switched off the black-and-white afternoon matinee and stood by the living room window. A couple of the local kids were playing soccer in the road. Neil wanted to join them but couldn’t leave the telephone unattended. Five o’clock came and went. After he changed his T-shirt for the third time, Neil phoned Shane’s house again. The phone rang and rang. Then, the dreamy Belfast accent answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Ach, how’s the man?” Shane sounded badly hungover.

  “Why aren’t you out here?” Neil tried his best to sound jocular.

  “What?” Shane was puzzled.

  “My free house.”

  There was a pause before Shane answered. “Ach, Jesus, I completely forgot!” he exclaimed, and Neil felt like screaming.

  “Well, it’s not too late, they won’t be back for another five or six hours.”

  Neil felt crushed when Shane explained that he had already made arrangements for the evening, but he felt worse still when Shane said that he was going up to Belfast in the morning and wouldn’t be back down to Dublin until Friday.

  Neil wheeled his bicycle through the outskirts of the large crowd that sprawled on the hillside around the lake in Blackrock Park. It was a natural amphitheater. A young four-piece rock band was playing on the small man-made concrete island in the middle of the lake. Everyone seemed to be shirtless as they basked in the last of the day’s hazy sunshine. Then, the entire crowd did the wave to a passing city-bound DART, practically drowning out the band. A couple of drunk young guys lowered their shorts and bared their backsides to the amused train passengers. Across the bay, the hill of Howth shimmered in the heat haze. Yachts bobbed up and down on the frothy sea.

  As the crowd settled down again, he spotted Gary,Trish,Tom,Andrea, and a couple of others, languishing in the usual spot, way over on the other side of the park. Like Neil, they were all wearing shades and baseball caps. Then Trish poured some beer onto Gary’s bare chest and the pair of them started to wrestle playfully on the grass. Watching them, Neil realized he had no desire to join them. It’d be just like the spare prick days all over again. A girl laughed and shook her head drunkenly when he asked her if Sinead O’Connor or the Hothouse Flowers had made an appearance. Neil fidgeted with the bangle on his wrist while he glanced over at the crowd gathered outside the public rest rooms. He wondered if Bushy Mustache was on duty. Certainly having a bumper day if he was, he thought, as he wheeled his bicycle back toward the road.

  When he got home, Neil opened the bottle of homemade wine, wincing when the bitter-tasting liquid touched his palate. Rocket fuel, Gary had once called it. Now he wished he had gone over and joined Gary and the others. In keeping with his mood, he put on Kate’s Leonard Cohen tape. He wanted to feel depressed. All the gentle lyrics of love and despair seemed to have been written especially for him. Gazing out into the back garden, he drank slowly and methodically, aware of the tingling sensation that was weaving its way through him. Speaking aloud, he reenacted his telephone conversation over and over again, and the more he had to drink, the more favorable Shane’s responses became. By the time he had finished the bottle, his Adonis was sitting alongside him. He began to worry about his sanity. “Oh Jesus,” he muttered, “I’m out of my face.”

  He went upstairs to get his address book. There was only one person in the world that he could speak to now.

  “Bonjour,” Becky answered in her dreadful French accent, and Neil burst out laughing.

  “Neil!” Becky exclaimed.

  “Bonjour, madame,” he spluttered.

  “You’re locked!” she screamed into the phone. But he could hear the delight in her voice.

  “I’ve been stood up,” he slurred.

  “What?”

  “He never showed up.”

  “Northern Joe?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is that why you rang me?” she gasped incredulously.

  “Well, yeah…And I just wanted to tell you that I was thinking about you.”

  Becky’s voice softened. “Ah, Neil, you’re so sweet.”

  Neil swallowed the lump in his throat. “Can’t wait to see you,” he muttered, blinking back the tears of self-pity. Why was his life in such a mess?

  “Can’t wait to see you,” she whispered tenderly, and the tears started to flow freely. But while he told her about his afternoon of waiting in vain, he realized that maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought. Becky assured him that he had a long way to go before he matched her for time spent waiting by phones. She even jokingly suggested that he join her in France, that that would put the skids under Northern Joe. After that, the conversation became livelier. Becky told him that she had been to London to see her brother Jimmy, and that Jimmy had invited Neil over to stay with him and Jamie.

  “You told him?” Neil gasped.

  “Don’t worry, Jimmy won’t say a word,” she assured him.

  Speaking to Becky had cheered Neil up. He took her advice and headed up to Hollywood Nights. There was no point sitting in and moping.

  Neil’s head was swirling when he walked into the crowded dance hall. The revolving lights were blurred, and the heavy pumping dance music sounded almost distant. Everyone there seemed sunburned. He pretended not to notice Mal and Tony beckoning him to join them at the bar. Tonight was a night to be with his real friends. The bottle of wine inside him ensured that he didn’t feel like a spare prick. Andrea hugged him and pecked him on the cheek. Trish did likewise. Gary bought him a pint, and Tom proceeded to describe how the bass player in Mick Toner’s band had been thrown into the lake. Besides that, they said, he hadn’t missed much, neither Sinead O’Connor nor the Hothouse Flowers had made their anticipated appearance.

  “If you ask me, it was all a Mick Toner rumor,” Tom said.

  “But why did they throw your man in the lake?” asked Neil.

  “Because he was brutal,” Gary laughed.

  Neil laughed too as they described again how a couple of drunk guys crossed the narrow bridge onto the man-made island. The crowd went hysterical when they grabbed hold of the surprised bass guitarist and flung him into the shallow water. Neil knew that it was because of him that none of them was going out onto the dance floor. Besides the sympathy factor, it was so rare that he joined them these days, that he could tell they were making a special effort to make him feel welcome. Neither couple was even holding hands. Then Yvonne Lawlor came up to him and kissed his cheek.

  “Sorry to hear about your accident,” she said, and Neil could tell she was genuinely concerned.

  Neil thanked her for her get-well card, but he wanted to tell her that her blouse was the same sexy color as his tranny friend Gladys’s.

  “I’m back in business now,” he grinned, grabbing hold of Yvonne’s arm and dragging her out onto the dance floor. Within minutes, they were French kissing, much to the bemusement of Neil’s friends. Mal and Tony looked like they were in shock. Neil’s jaw ached when Yvonne became more passionate in her warm, moist kisses. But try as she might, she did nothing for him. He felt like such a fraud. He knew he was doing it just to be like Shane. But then, the cavalry arrived in an unexpected shape. A fight had broken out at the other side of the nightclub. Shrieks of panic rang out and the chaotic dance floor cleared instantly. The music stopped and the full lights came on.

  “Some northside knacke
rs!” he heard someone mutter in the crowd that had gathered in a circle to watch. Neil felt nauseated when he saw two tough-looking types with cropped hair kicking another younger guy, who was lying on the ground with his hands clenched over his head. All the memories of his own assault came flooding back. Out of the corner of his eye he was relieved to see that the bouncers were moving swiftly toward the fracas.

  “Jolly Good Fights,” Yvonne muttered the rhyming slang nickname for the nightclub. But Neil’s attention was focused elsewhere. He had spotted Ian on the peripheries of the fight. Then he recognized the bloke on the ground; it was one of his pals. Alarm bells rang in his head when he saw a third, toothbrush-headed hard-chaw shoving Ian roughly to the ground. He let go of Yvonne’s hand and surged forward. Everything changed to slow motion. He heard Gary’s shout of warning in the background, he saw a boot land on the blond head, he felt his insides steel up with intense fury. All the years of rugby tackling came into play as he launched himself and flattened Ian’s assailant. The crowd of onlookers cheered, and Neil glimpsed the momentary look of surprise on his victim’s face. Then he felt an arm grab him roughly around the neck. The bouncers had arrived.

  After the hard-chaws were driven away in a police car, Neil set off home with Ian and his pal. Despite all the protests from the crowd, the three of them had been thrown out, much to Neil’s delight.

  “Feel the lump,” Ian said, stopping outside the nightclub and inclining his head toward Neil. A shiver ran down Neil’s spine as he caressed the soft hair.

  “D’you feel it?” Ian asked, grinning at him.

  God, look at his eyes. Can’t speak. Just let the world freeze on its axis now.

  “Don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Ian’s pal said before Neil had time to answer. “You only got one kick.”

  One kick too many, Neil wanted to say. If you were a real pal of Ian’s, you would’ve put your face between that boot and his perfect skull, because let’s face it, another well-aimed kick might’ve straightened that nose of yours out. Hush now, everyone, my beloved’s about to speak.

  “Sorry to hear about you being beaten up,” Ian said, flicking his hair back ever so delicately.

  What am I supposed to say? Aw shucks, it was nuttin’, kid. We macho men are forever getting in these scrapes; you know yourself.

  “I would’ve visited you, but I didn’t know which hospital you were in.”

  Neil wanted to howl up at the black night sky. Go on, risk one little peck on that smooth cheek. Blame it on the drink if he creates a scene. Thanks, Ian, that’s very thoughtful of you. Thoughtful? That’s the kind of word grannies use. Shucks, Ian, that’s sure hip cool of you, dude.

  “Hey, Byrner!” The spell was broken by Gary’s raucous shout.

  “Wait for us!” Andrea shrieked.

  Gary,Trish,Tom, and Andrea had decided to leave the nightclub in solidarity with them and were running toward them.

  “Didn’t think you’d be safe with these two knackers,” Gary said to Neil, punching both Ian’s and his pal’s shoulders.

  “Save your aggression for the rugby pitch.” Tom was mimicking Donno, wagging his finger at the two grinning lads. All the way home, Neil found it difficult to conceal his despondency. They discussed the dance hall incident again and again, but his ears only heard one voice.

  Neil was disappointed to find that his mum and dad were not home yet. It was childish, he knew, but it was nice just to know that they were both asleep upstairs. He put on the fairground video, which had been filmed years before on a sunny Sunday afternoon in Bray. “Daredevil Neil Byrne riding the merry-go-round,” his dad’s voice announced. And there he was, at five years of age, clinging on to the little horse for dear life. Jackie sat up confidently on the horse alongside him, but none of her comforting words could lessen his fear. In the background, the rest of the family was smiling and waving to them as they passed. Round and round the dizzy merry-go-round went, up and down the horses bobbed, with all the happy mums and dads waving to their children. And all the children, except him, seemed to be smiling and waving back. Round and round he went, the passing world a blur of happy faces.

  He was woken by his mum’s light tap on his shoulder. Beaming affectionately, his dad leaned over and tussled his son’s hair. In that drowsy moment of half-sleep, he wanted to tell them. Whisper all those secrets he kept hidden from them, nestled in the depths of his heart like dark storm clouds lurking beneath a rainbow.

  “I’ll tell you one thing now, Neil, if you want us to come to your wedding, make sure you get a decent band,” his dad said, smiling as he held his fingers to his ears.

  “They were dreadful,” his mum agreed, stooping down to switch off the blank TV screen.

  Neil listened while they told him about the wedding, knowing that the moment for revelations had slipped away.

  “Another thing, Neil,” his dad said before Neil headed up to bed, “your mother and I have been discussing what you want to do in college.”

  Neil looked over at his mum uncertainly, but she winked to him reassuringly.

  “And we think that…Well, if you want to study art, then you should…Like, there’s no point in doing something that you don’t want to do.”

  Neil felt like hugging the pair of them. But instead, he blushed, stared down at his sneakers, and muttered his thanks.

  “I’m sure Father Donnelly would give you all the teaching practice you wanted in Blackrock,” his mum added.

  Would she say that if she knew the truth about him? Neil wondered. And would his dad be smiling so benevolently at him? Doubt it. There are some things they probably never want to hear.

  Chapter Eight

  The weekend arrived. Becky sat in the corner of the pub, holding court with Neil, Shane, Redser, Dave, Dave’s brother, and Dave’s brother’s boyfriend, gathered around her, listening to her stories about France. Neil smiled to himself; Becky was in her element with gay blokes. A fag hag, she had jokingly referred to herself as earlier on their way into town.

  “If I see one more dirty nappy in my life, I’ll scream,” Becky said. “I’m warning you boys, use condoms, you don’t ever want to have screaming brats.”

  “It’s a pity Daphne isn’t here,” Neil said after the laughter had subsided. Becky’s drunken gesticulations had reminded him of Daphne.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard so much about him, I’m disappointed that he didn’t come in to see me,” Becky added, almost having to shout to be heard over the driving dance music.

  Neil noticed Redser and Dave exchanging somber looks every time Daphne’s name was mentioned. But he was more worried about Shane’s revelation earlier in the evening when he and Becky had met him in Hartigans. Everything had being going fine until Becky, for the umpteenth time, leaned over to inspect Neil’s fading bruises. She placed her hands on either side of his head and then, after her inspection was completed, kissed him on the lips. This seemed to work as the catalyst for Shane to casually let it slip that Geraldine had spent the week in Belfast with him. Outwardly, Neil had pretended to be unaffected by the remark, but inside, he was in turmoil. Even Shane’s explanation about giving his parents the right impression didn’t appease his disquiet. He reasoned with himself that this apparent jealousy was a good sign. At least it showed that he was interested. But the incident signaled Shane’s switch to double vodkas, and his subsequent drunken behavior surprised Neil. He became loud and aggressive and began to make cutting comments that seemed totally out of character. Neil presumed that Becky couldn’t help noticing the unease the incident had created.

  “Your elderly friend is here,” Redser said, nudging Neil out of his daydream. Uncle Sugar was making his way up to the bar.

  “My one and only Sugar!” Neil cried, and he saw Becky frown when Shane told him to calm down and stop behaving like a kid.

  Neil ignored him. He jumped up and hurried across the bar to intercept Sugar. Grinning, Neil wrapped his arms around the surprised older man.

 
“Never said thanks,” Neil muttered. He felt very guilty about not contacting Sugar since the ill-fated night. But secretly, he knew that his uncustomary display of affection was designed to annoy Shane. Uncle Sugar was momentarily overcome. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and took Neil’s watch out. “I found this in the road.”

  While Neil was thanking him again, Becky arrived by his side. “Becky, this is a very special friend of mine,” he said, realizing that he had forgotten Sugar’s real name.

  “Jack,” Sugar smiled, extending his hand for Becky to shake.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Becky told Sugar.

  “All lies, I hope,” Sugar smiled with embarrassment.

  “Of course,” she said, touching the sleeve of Sugar’s jacket.

  “What’s this girl drinking?” Sugar asked, reaching for his wallet.

  “No way,” Neil pushed Sugar’s wallet back into his pocket. “I’m getting you this one.”

  Sugar knew better than to object. The determined, “try scoring” glint in Neil’s eyes seemed to amuse him slightly. Up at the bar, Neil sneaked a look at Shane, who was slumped forward in his seat, his chin resting in his hands and an intensely bored look on his face. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Neil muttered, tearing a beer mat to shreds.

  “This fellow looks great again, doesn’t he?” Sugar said when Neil returned with the drinks.

  “Ah, he’s a little pet,” Becky said, cuddling Neil.

  “You’d easily know I just bought you a drink,” Neil grinned.

  Later, when Shane came over and announced he was going home, Uncle Sugar insisted on giving them all a lift, saying that he didn’t want Neil walking up any cobblestoned roads again. The four of them piled into the sleek car and headed off across town.

  “So, what d’you think of the pub?” Sugar asked Becky, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, cheerfully rummaging through his collection of tapes.

  “Massive,” Becky purred, and Neil giggled, realizing that she was doing her Yvonne Lawlor imitation. Shane let out a little snort of derision beside him.