Home Stretch

by Graham Norton

  ‘Well, I haven’t been home for a very long time.’ And as he uttered the words, he felt emotion tug on his mouth, and he had to catch himself before he began to weep. He forced a smile and raised both eyebrows to indicate his own foolishness.

  Karen stepped back, unsure of how to treat her overly emotional passenger. ‘We should be taxi-ing shortly. Enjoy the flight.’ And she shifted her professional largesse onto the passenger behind him.

  Connor worried. Why had he been ambushed by his own emotions? He wasn’t drunk. If this was what happened when he spoke to a friendly Irish stranger about going home, he dreaded to think what state he would be in by the time he reached Hayes Bar and the people waiting for him in those small rooms above it.

  Karen’s plan worked and he found himself waking up as muffled announcements were being made and breakfast plates were being cleared away. He glanced out of the window. There it was. The distinctive quilt of uneven greens with seams of rivers and roads meandering through it. He felt he knew what the inside of every small bungalow and farmhouse they flew over looked like. He had to wipe away another tear. This was ridiculous. Stupid. He would have to pull himself together.

  ‘A quick cup of coffee? Tea?’ Karen’s faced loomed into view. She looked as if she had spent most of the flight re-applying make-up.

  ‘Oh, a tea would be great, thanks.’

  She smiled. ‘It won’t be Barry’s, I’m afraid.’

  They shared a smile of mutual understanding.

  At first the road from Shannon Airport suggested a modern Ireland that he had no idea existed, but before long he was driving his whiter-than-white hire car along the byways of his childhood. High unruly hedges, sharp bends, farmyards smeared across the black of the tarmac. The voices on the radio were discussing the new water charges.

  The world had changed but it hadn’t changed at all. Connor knew this place. Not in the way that he might be familiar with parts of London or New York, but although he doubted he’d ever been on this actual stretch of road before, he had such a deep sense of understanding, of belonging. He knew what the people talking on the radio looked like; when the car came around a bend, he knew that the view would hold no surprises. This is what homecoming meant. Arriving in a place to discover you’re fluent in a language you’d forgotten you ever knew.

  After an hour so on the road, he began to recognise places. Signposts to villages and towns he could remember visiting or at least hearing of in stories from relatives or friends. Mullinmore eleven kilometres, then six, then two. The farm centre where Ellen had worked, down the hill, the bike shop was still there, that mini-mart was new, the trees were gone outside the bank, was that the school with a big glass and steel extension? He turned left before coming into the main square and followed the back quays. Ellen had given him directions to her new house, so he knew where he was going. Ellen had glossed over the next part: ‘And then take the coast road off the roundabout and I’m about two hundred yards down on the right.’

  Barry’s roundabout. He couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It was so much smaller than he remembered. The circle of grass in the centre, just a patch really, and the red and white signage of the garage just beyond, so large and bright. He slowed down and tried to see where the car had broken through the shrubbery. He wondered if there would be a marker or cross or something, but he could find nothing. This was the scene of such devastation, the destruction of so many lives, surely it should look more significant? Cars, oblivious to the awful history of the place, cruised past. Connor felt it was rude, disrespectful somehow. True, he had spent his whole life trying to forget what had happened on this spot, but for the town of Mullinmore to do so seemed wrong. He indicated and slipped away down the coast road.

  His first thought when the door opened was that it was his mother, but then he realised that this must be his sister who had grown into a version of Chrissie. Ellen burst through her front door and almost before the bell had finished chiming, threw herself on her brother. Through sobs, she welcomed him, told him how happy she was to see him again. Connor hugged her back but felt oddly unemotional after all his trepidation. Hearing Ellen’s voice on the phone was one thing, but this woman, this excitable middle-aged woman, bore so little relation to the version of his sister that he had left behind that it was hard for him to connect the two.

  Finally she stepped back and, wiping at her eyes, urged him to come in.

  ‘My God! Look at you, you’re a man!’

  Connor shrugged. ‘You’re a woman.’

  ‘An old woman.’ They both laughed and then before the pause in conversation became awkward, Ellen quickly continued, ‘I’ve rung to make sure they’re both in. All I said was that I had something to drop off.’ She stopped abruptly and spread her arms wide. ‘They’re going to lose their minds!’ She laughed and took Connor’s bag.

  ‘You’re in here.’ She indicated a door just off the small, square hallway. ‘Do you want to have a lie-down? Cup of tea? Whatever now.’

  ‘Tell you what I’d love is a shower.’

  ‘Of course!’ She grabbed his arm and led him a little further down the corridor. ‘Bathroom is in here. The shower is one of those ones where you pull a string to turn on the … well, I’m not sure, but when that red light is on you can turn the water on at the wall. I’ll get you a towel.’ Ellen rushed off. She was an enthusiastic hostess. Connor was already relieved that he had opted to hire a car. He foresaw quite a few solitary day trips.

  Dressed in fresh clothes, he found his sister in the kitchen. She seemed calmer. There was some small talk about Finbarr and Aisling. Martin’s name was avoided as if by previously arranged agreement. She asked Connor nothing about his life other than how the trip had been. He had mentioned Tim to her in phone calls and talked about working on the roof gardens, but he sensed she didn’t want to pry, or was afraid of what she might discover.

  They took Ellen’s car. Connor braced himself as they approached the roundabout, but she made no comment. Surely she hadn’t forgotten? More likely that she was just trying to avoid any awkwardness. She pointed out the various changes in the town as they passed buildings that had been neglected or reborn.

  ‘Will Daddy not be in the pub by now?’

  ‘No. They only open at night these days. It’s hardly worth it but they don’t really have many options. In the boom time someone offered them a fortune for the place, but Daddy said no. He thought he’d hold on and get even more. They’re sorry now.’

  Ellen had to circle the square twice to find a parking space. Connor could feel the nerves beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. He made a conscious effort to keep his breathing deep and even.

  ‘You all right?’ Ellen asked before getting out of the car.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied but he didn’t sound very confident.

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ His little sister was in charge.

  They crossed the square and none of it seemed real. It might have been a movie set or a theme park. Hayes Bar. The sign was the same. Had the door always been navy blue? It looked different. New glass? Ellen opened the street door as quietly as she could. The two of them squashed inside. This was where he had last seen his mother, floored by her grief at his leaving, her arm pressed up against the wall to steady herself. They could hear voices from above.

  ‘I only have those brown ones from Taylors now. I don’t know what’s happening to my feet. I’ll be leaving the house in slippers soon.’

  ‘You have the grey slip-ons, don’t you?’ His father’s voice.

  ‘Those? They’re more like an orthopaedic boot. I couldn’t go out in them!’

  Ellen rolled her eyes and grinned. A finger to her mouth to ensure he was silent and then she crept up the stairs in front of him. Connor wasn’t sure what to do, so waited inside the door. He noticed the wallpaper was gone, replaced by light blue paint. He thought the mirror at the top of the stairs was new. His was aware of his heart drumming at an alarming rate. He felt like he was waiting ba
ckstage for a performance and he had no idea of his lines. Oh God. What if this was a huge mistake? What if …

  ‘Oh, there you are, love. Dan. Kettle,’ his mother greeted Ellen. He heard his sister cough and then say in a voice she might have used speaking to young children, ‘Now, I have someone here who’d like to see you.’ His parents made inarticulate sounds and Connor heard a newspaper being folded. Ellen stuck her hand out from the kitchen doorway and waved him up. Like a sleepwalker he began to climb, one foot in front of the other. Even before he had reached the top of the stairs, tears were falling down his face. Ellen caught his elbow and ushered him forward. Two old people that looked like his parents stared at him across the room.

  Chrissie looked at the man in the doorway. Why was he upset? Did she know him? She did, but how … and then all at once a mother recognised her boy. Her face crumpled as she rose from the table and then with two strides he had crossed the room, the years and all the regrets gone, to hold her tight.

  ‘Connor. Oh, Connor.’ Her hand was in his hair, pulling this man down into her embrace. ‘You’re back,’ she told him, as if to make sure that it was true. ‘You’ve come back!’

  ‘Mammy. I’m so sorry, Mammy.’ His tears rained down on Chrissie’s shoulder. ‘I’m so so sorry.’ He knew it was all that he had to say to her. It was all she needed to hear.

  On the other side of the table Dan was standing, looking on in disbelief, and then the reality of what was happening finally registered on his face. His son, the son he thought he’d never see again was in the room, alive, warm, breathing. His features contorted as he fought a losing battle with the tears that burst forth. He stumbled past his chair, impatient with his legs. ‘Connor. God Almighty, Connor!’ And then he threw his arms around the huddled duo of his wife and son. The shared sobbing pulsed through the three entwined bodies till they looked like a single beating heart.

  By the doorway, Ellen stood watching. This was good. It was wonderful. Only someone with a heart of stone could fail to be moved, so why did she feel so detached? Perhaps it was because her mother had used up all the happiness that could fit in the room. Ellen had often heard people speaking of eyes lighting up, but she had never witnessed it until now. It had reminded her of an illustration in a book she had loved when she was a little girl. Old Geppetto’s face when he saw that his puppet had become a real little boy.

  It was Dan who remembered that Ellen was still in the room. He broke away and went to give her a hug.

  ‘You could have killed us! I’m only out of the hospital.’

  Ellen laughed and hugged her father.

  Connor stepped back from his mother and then the four of them looked at each other standing around the table beaming. These four people in this room had once been so commonplace and ordinary, but now it was akin to a miracle.

  ‘Ellen! How long have you known?’ Chrissie was fanning herself with her hand, tears still falling steadily.

  ‘Not long. I thought you’d like the surprise. Was I wrong?’

  ‘No. No.’ Chrissie pulled Connor’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. ‘This is the most wonderful surprise.’ She looked at Dan. ‘The power of prayer.’ Her husband gave a solemn nod.

  Ellen wondered if her mother was at all bothered by the unhurried speed at which her prayers had been answered.

  Chrissie fell back into her chair and looked at her son, now a middle-aged man.

  ‘Where have you been, pet? How did Ellen find you?’

  Before Connor could answer, Ellen said, ‘It wasn’t me that found him, it was Finbarr.’

  ‘Finbarr?’ Dan asked, trying to make sense of what was going on.

  The Hayes family had a great deal to discuss.

  IV.

  Connor found himself walking again. This time it differed from his city treks in that he was no longer trying to lose himself. Instead, he was trying to reassemble the person he’d been when he had left this place. The streets, alleyways and squares of Mullinmore were literal memory lanes for him. Trying his first cigarette in the yard behind the bookies, smashing windows in the abandoned cottage above the nursing home on Shorten’s Lane, the walks to and from school, the pub, the awkward kiss with Sarah Beamish – where was she now? Everything seemed second-skin familiar, and yet it was as if he was carrying around the memories of someone else. He couldn’t articulate it. He knew who he was now, and he still remembered the boy he had been then, but it appeared to be beyond his imagination to connect the two.

  The reunion with Chrissie and Dan had been easier than he had feared. Had Ellen done some groundwork for him? He wasn’t sure, but happily he found he was never in the awkward situation of being almost forty-six years old and having to come out to his parents. They knew. They must have. Maybe it was thanks to Finbarr, or perhaps it was just 2013, but there were no questions about wives or girlfriends. They managed to maintain composed faces when he mentioned moving to New York with Tim. Because he knew that they knew, it never had to be directly referred to or discussed. When they told him that they loved him, he believed them entirely. There were no nagging doubts. After all the needless foolish tears that had been shed, finally these were happy ones, and he could feel the tight knot of secrets and regret slowly loosen and slip away.

  That first night was all about Mullinmore. What and who were long gone, as well as the changes and the new arrivals to the town. He found himself glazing over and pretending to remember names and places that only stirred the tiniest flicker of recognition in dusty corners of his memory. Late in the afternoon Ellen had slipped out to Murrays and brought back four fish suppers, the fish and vinegar steam conjuring up Connor’s childhood almost as strongly as the faces that sat around the kitchen table. Afterwards, they had gone downstairs and had drinks in the pub until jet lag began to tug at his chin, bouncing it off his chest as he struggled to remain awake. Chrissie had tried to insist that he stay in his old room, and when he chose to go back to Ellen’s bungalow, the children could tell that while she was disappointed, both she and Dan were proud to see them as adults behaving as grown-up children should. Brother and sister reunited.

  Connor had gone straight to bed that night and passed out more than slept. It was only in the morning he felt he could raise the subject of Martin and the crash. He asked his sister questions. Who had she spoken to? What did she know? Had Martin said anything? Did she know who had been driving? Surely Martin hadn’t told her everything. He listened and then tailored the truth of his answers to the version of events that Ellen believed. All she was really interested in confirming was that there had been no pact between himself and Martin that involved marrying her. This particular scenario had never crossed Connor’s mind before, though of course, now that Ellen brought it up, he could see how she might have jumped to that conclusion. Certainly hearing his sister talk about her marriage it didn’t sound like a grand romance or even a lost love, just something Ellen had endured for more years than Connor could understand. Afterwards, on his walks, he wondered about Martin. What sort of man had he become?

  Apparently, he was working in Southampton now, doing maternity cover in a practice there. That was all Ellen knew. It seemed so strange that both brother and sister should have had their lives so dramatically altered by this one man. Why had he married Ellen and, although he never asked his sister, why had he just run away when he’d heard that Connor had been found and might return to Mullinmore? Martin must be over fifty years old by now. Surely, he could have been man enough to stay and face Connor. He can’t have thought it was suddenly going to become a police matter again after all these years. Apart from Linda, it was just a case of his word versus Martin’s. No matter what he feared, why not just brazen it out? It made little sense.

  Brother and sister talked about their parents. Now that the happy reunion had occurred, what more should they be told? Connor sensed that Ellen would be very happy if they never spoke about Martin and the crash again, but Connor knew that having come all this way, he wanted them to kno
w the truth. It might have been an accident and he knew his parents had never really blamed him, but it was important that they finally understood that he had not killed those people. Reluctantly Ellen agreed, but then as they were leaving the bungalow, she put her hand on his arm.

  ‘One thing, Connor …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you mind if … and I completely understand that you … it’s just …’ Ellen’s face reddened as she became more flustered.

  ‘What? What is it?’ he asked in a soothing voice.

  ‘Can we not tell the children? Finbarr and Aisling, do they have to know?’

  Connor bristled. Surely this was the moment for everyone to know everything?

  ‘Why?’ He sounded more confrontational than he had intended. Softening his voice, he asked again, ‘Why? Why not tell them?’

  Ellen looked downwards and pushed her elbow into her waist in a way that made Connor think of his sister in her convent uniform waiting in the cold outside the pub.

  ‘He’s their father. Bad enough that he’s left us. If they know this, they’ll think he’s some sort of monster.’

  Connor nodded, not wanting to say that that was precisely what he thought Martin was.

  ‘I just want to protect them. Is that all right? Do you mind?’ There was a pleading in her eyes.

  Even though he suspected the person she really wanted to protect was herself, he found himself saying, ‘Yes. That’s fine.’ He comforted himself with the thought that surely once their grandparents knew the truth, it wouldn’t be long before everyone was in possession of all the facts.

  Chrissie had immediately dissolved into hunched-shouldered sobs, while Dan’s face paled with shock. ‘What?’ he repeated with growing fury as Ellen and Connor pieced together the story of what had happened the day of the crash. Finally, Dan’s question became ‘Why?’ and Connor found himself searching for the right words to explain why he had been willing to take the blame. As he picked his way through Martin’s threat and his decision to claim he was the driver, he hoped his parents wouldn’t make an extravagant show of dismissing his fears in retrospect. He didn’t want to be forced to remind them of the things they had said about gay people, or even the general attitude of people in the town and beyond back in the eighties. To their credit they just stayed very quiet. Chrissie held out her hand and Dan took hold of it. Connor didn’t want them to blame themselves – what was the point? They had all been different people back then.