Home Stretch

by Graham Norton

  At the door, a taxi driver was delivering Linda in her chair. Connor hurried over.

  ‘You look stunning!’ And she did, with her face made up and her hair swept into a roll held by a diamante-covered clasp.

  Linda laughed. ‘Thanks.’ She looked around the room. ‘Jesus, we all look like our parents!’

  ‘Speak for yourself!’

  ‘You most of all, Dan Hayes junior! Now steer me to the bar.’

  ‘There’s just prosecco for now. That OK?’

  Linda was about to answer when her expression changed abruptly.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘What is it?’ Connor asked, concerned.

  ‘He’s here.’

  Connor followed Linda’s gaze to where Martin was standing with Aisling.

  When Connor had emailed to warn her that the father of the groom would be in attendance, she had immediately replied, ‘Like I give a shit,’ but now that she was in the same room as him, she really wasn’t sure how he made her feel. Connor was just pushing the chair away from the door when Martin saw them, seemed to freeze for a fraction of a second and then looked back at Aisling, a half-smile toying with his lips.

  ‘He saw us,’ she hissed.

  ‘Prosecco, here we come,’ Connor replied.

  ‘He looked embarrassed. He was blushing.’

  Connor wasn’t sure. Had he reddened slightly or was that just Linda’s imagination? Was she trying to project normal human responses onto a man who didn’t seem to have any? He was reminded of pet owners describing the complex emotions their dogs were feeling when in fact they were just staring blankly waiting for another treat.

  Long shadows stretched through the room as the sun left the sky and strings of fairy lights on the polished branches of the twisted pillars came to life. The waiters wove through the tables lighting the thick white candles in the glass hurricane lanterns. The place took on an air of magic. It was nearly time.

  The crowd gathered in the area that would be the dance floor later on and Finbarr and Luke stood in front of a low table. The woman conducting the service had been a babysitter for Luke when he was a boy. Ellen gripped Shane’s rough paw and braced herself for some hippie nonsense, but in fact, apart from some extended metaphors concerning a happy marriage and the fellowship struggling against the threat of Sauron, the ceremony was straightforward and ultimately moving. Ellen had never imagined this sort of easy domesticity for her son, and that was even before she knew he was gay. He had always struck her as too brittle and self-involved to be capable of sharing his life, and yet here he was weeping openly as he stumbled through his vows. Ellen wept too and Shane squeezed her hand a little tighter.

  After the happy couple had kissed, the crowd had cheered and rushed to the bar. Connor overheard an older lady with tightly permed hair say to her friend, ‘It was just like a normal wedding.’ She sounded disappointed. He and Linda were already sitting at their table, ‘Rivendell’.

  ‘Is that good?’ Connor had asked.

  ‘Well it’s better than Mordor,’ Linda replied, ‘or Mount Doom.’

  Connor laughed. ‘Oh, please tell me some people are sitting on Mount Doom.’

  He reached for one of the bottles of red wine on the table and looked enquiringly at Linda.

  ‘Please.’

  Patricia, a friend of Finbarr and Luke, was acting as the master of ceremonies. She seemed at home with the microphone, loud and clear, unburdened by nerves, but her loose hair and wide red-lipped smile took the edge off any officiousness.

  ‘Please find your tables. Quick as you like, ladies and gentlemen. Grab a drink and take a seat please. We have a very few speeches. I’m told that they’re super short.’

  ‘We lied!’ Luke heckled his friend.

  ‘Well, long or short, you’re getting them and then you’ll get fed.’

  People shuffled around the tables till most were seated. Linda looked at Connor.

  ‘Speeches first? Jesus, it has been years since I’ve been at a wedding.’

  A flash of memory passed between them. The wedding that never was from all those years before. Ignoring it, Connor said, ‘I think they were scared people would get too drunk.’

  Luke’s mother spoke first. She was so nervous that all Connor could focus on was the shaking of the long green feather protruding from her hat. She spoke briefly but sincerely, and her speech ended in tears. Luke stood to comfort her, and she sat down to sympathetic applause.

  ‘Sweet,’ was Linda’s review.

  Patricia was on her feet again.

  ‘Now it’s time to hear from the grandfather of the groom: please welcome Dan Hayes!’

  A clatter of applause and whoops, and Dan, with a little stiffness, got to his feet. He pulled his glasses from his inside jacket pocket. Connor wondered when his eyes had got bad enough for glasses. He looked over at Ellen on the top table; she was gazing up at her daddy, willing him to be good. Finbarr had originally asked her to speak but, worried about any excuse for awkwardness with Martin, this had been the compromise she had come up with. She could tell that her father had been thrilled and touched to be asked.

  Dan cleared his throat, and putting his hand on Chrissie’s shoulder, made it clear that he was speaking for both of them. He began with thanks. The venue, people for coming, the flowers, the food, each got a polite smattering of applause. Then Dan looked down and smoothed out the paper on the table before him. Raising his head, he looked at the happy couple.

  ‘There was a time,’ he began brightly, ‘when we might have said our grandson Finbarr was not the marrying kind.’ A little ripple of uncertain laughter went around the room. Connor felt tears filling his eyes as his father found his face across the crowd. Dan continued.

  ‘And that was wrong.’ He stretched his lips tight and looked to the ceiling, trying to avoid tears. Chrissie raised a hand and stroked the sleeve of his jacket. Finbarr turned to see where his grandfather had been looking and saw his uncle Connor with a napkin covering his face as his shoulders shook. Dan tried to speak again. ‘That was wrong. We lost a son …’ His head dropped and he put both his hands on the table to steady himself. Chrissie half stood to put an arm on his back.

  ‘Go on, Dan!’ an old man’s voice called from the crowd, breaking the tension. Dan raised his head and laughed, letting the tears drop from his eyes. ‘We lost a son because of that old-fashioned way of thinking.’

  Chrissie was dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. ‘So, on behalf of the Hayes family I want to say how delighted we are that we have now found a new grandson. Luke, we are very happy to welcome you to this family.’ The whole crowd roared its approval, and also its relief that the moment when emotion had threatened to overwhelm proceedings seemed to have passed. Only Connor continued to weep.

  The meal was served. Drinks were dispatched. People passing by Rivendell would squeeze Connor’s shoulder or crouch to say how lovely his father’s speech had been. He smiled in agreement. Linda, after a few more glasses of wine, asked him how he felt seeing all this liberal acceptance. ‘If I was you, I think I’d be so angry.’

  Connor thought about it. ‘No. No, I’m not angry. I’m glad. I have to be. Isn’t it great how far these people have come? That was my father saying those words out loud in public and …’ His face crumpled once more with emotion.

  Linda comforted him with a ‘Shush. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  He grinned at her, his eyes glittering with tears. ‘I can’t be sorry. We’re here now and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘I wonder how he feels.’ Linda nodded her head in the direction of Martin.

  ‘Fuck knows. Who cares?’ But despite his words Connor found himself stealing glances at Martin’s table. Aisling hadn’t left his side all night. Was that why he had made no attempt to come over, or did he intend to ignore Connor and Linda? He knew they were going to be at the wedding so why come if he wasn’t willing to acknowledge their existence?

  A little after eleven, the meal was fi
nished and the younger guests, mostly friends down from Dublin, filled the dance floor. Linda checked her phone.

  ‘That’s the taxi. Can you give me a hand out to the car?’

  ‘Of course,’ Connor said, putting his glass down as he stood.

  He navigated his friend to the door and then down the narrow gravel slope to the car park. The driver met them and together Connor and the driver got Linda up the short ramp into the back of the taxi.

  ‘Goodnight. Thanks for asking me, I enjoyed it. No, really, I didn’t expect to, but I did.’

  ‘That’s good. Safe home.’ They shared a smile.

  ‘Don’t dance with the prick!’ Linda called as the door was closed.

  ‘I won’t,’ he mouthed through the window as he waved.

  He stood and watched the car pull away and then for a moment breathed in the cool stillness of the evening. He looked up. Stars. Dozens of them. Such an abundance of beauty, it seemed too much; more than any of them deserved. He rocked back on his heels, drunker than he’d thought he was.

  He crunched slowly across the gravel, his hands in his pockets. On the gentle slope up to the door there was a figure silhouetted against the flashing lights of the interior. It was only when Connor was mere inches away that he realised who it was.

  ‘Connor.’

  ‘Hello, Martin.’ He went to walk past but an arm stopped him.

  ‘I was hoping to speak to you.’

  ‘Really.’ He had no intention of helping Martin with this, whatever this was.

  ‘I feel I owe you an apology.’

  ‘An apology?’ Something that began as rage had ended in laughter. Connor let out a honk. An apology. It seemed like such a ludicrous thing for someone to offer in exchange for altering someone else’s whole lifetime.

  In the glow from the shifting lights of the disco inside, Martin looked taken aback, offended even.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  Connor stepped back and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘Funny? All of it, Martin. All of it.’

  ‘I really am sorry.’

  ‘I’m sure you are.’ Connor felt sober. ‘It’s just this is weird. You know, after everything, after Ellen.’

  Martin looked at his feet and scuffed the gravel with his shoe.

  ‘Such a fucking mess,’ he said, perhaps more to himself than to Connor.

  ‘Martin, why are you here? Why come to this wedding?’

  He looked puzzled, as if the idea of not attending had never crossed his mind.

  ‘Finbarr is my son. He wanted me to be here,’ he said stiffly.

  Connor looked away, not wanting his face to betray Finbarr’s lie or Martin’s delusion.

  Even in this light, Martin looked old. So far from the tall, broad-shouldered youth that Connor had admired from afar. He had imagined this meeting so many times. All the things he would say, the violent damage he would do to his nemesis. But now here they were, face to face on a mild September night almost exactly thirty-two years after the day that had changed their lives entirely, and what did he want to say? He didn’t know. Connor had lived his life believing that Martin had won and he had lost. It had always seemed that simple, but not tonight. This man did not seem like a winner. From where Connor stood, it looked as if the life that Martin had ruined was his own. This man, with shoulders stooped, a pariah at his own son’s wedding, seemed more of an object of pity than someone to be envied or admired.

  Martin raised his eyes for a moment, and they looked at each other.

  ‘Goodnight, Martin.’ Connor walked back to the party. He wondered if he would be followed, but no. Footsteps on gravel receded into the distance. Martin must have decided to leave. At the door he bumped into Ellen, her face flushed and glistening from the dance floor.

  ‘Was that Martin you were talking to?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘I wanted a word with him. Is he gone, do you think?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Right.’ Ellen half turned to go back inside but then thought better of it. She steadied herself on her brother’s arm.

  ‘Did you know about Martin?’

  Connor didn’t want to assume he knew what his sister was talking about.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘About …’ She threw her head back. ‘About the men. Gilles, and I’m sure there were more.’

  He wondered how much to say.

  ‘I didn’t know any of them. I didn’t really know anything for sure, but I guessed.’

  ‘I met Gilles.’ She swayed slightly from the wine. ‘A nice fella. Too nice for him anyway.’ She prodded a finger into the darkness.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you knew. That’s why I didn’t say anything.’

  Ellen nodded deeply to indicate she understood.

  ‘And tell me this, and sorry to be asking you this, but – and it’s the last thing I’ll ask you – did you and Martin ever …?’ She braced her other arm against the door frame. Connor peered into her face. What could he tell her? What should he say?

  ‘No. No, we were never lovers.’ And that was the truth.

  Ellen considered his answer and then shrugged the moment off.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Come back in; you’ll be frozen and Shane will be looking for you.’

  His sister let her head fall back against his chest.

  ‘Isn’t he lovely?’

  ‘He is. He is,’ Connor assured her as he steered her through the door.

  Making his way to the bar, he bumped into his parents. Chrissie was wearing her coat.

  ‘You’re off?’

  ‘We are,’ his father replied and then whispered in his ear, ‘Your mother has had a bit too much.’

  Connor bent to kiss his mother’s cheek.

  ‘Goodnight, Mammy.’

  ‘Your father is drunk,’ she confided as quietly as she could.

  ‘Right.’ Smiling, he watched them go, their arms around each other, unclear who was being supported.

  At the bar, he found a dry patch of countertop and leaned against it. The party was in full swing. Ellen had re-joined Shane and the young people on the dance floor. It was lovely to see his sister so happy, being twirled around the floor, holding her high heels in one hand. Luke and Finbarr, jackets and ties long gone, were dancing with their friends. It was just another scene from a happy family wedding, but it was his family. He should go. A walk back to Ellen’s would do him good. There was no reason to have a hangover the next day.

  ‘Another?’

  It was a young barman, smiling at him.

  ‘No thanks. I’m grand.’

  ‘Are you sure now? The night is still young.’

  ‘The problem is that I’m not.’

  The barman raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, I’d say you’re still young enough.’ He gave Connor a wink. Flattered, he smiled, but declined. ‘No. That’s me done. Goodnight.’ He buttoned his suit jacket and walked away back towards the door. He was about halfway across the room when he stopped and turned. The barman had his back to him, tall, with the tanned skin of his neck leading up to cropped blond hair.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Connor was back at the bar.

  ‘You changed your mind.’

  ‘I did. A vodka and soda please.’

  The barman grinned. ‘Why not?’

  Why not indeed, thought Connor. The party was far from over.

  Acknowledgements

  It may take a village to raise a child, but it required something approaching an urban sprawl to bring this book into being. So many people have had a hand in the story, writing, production and sales of my novel, that it would be impossible to thank them all individually, but I am nonetheless eternally grateful to every single one of them.

  This is my third novel and I’m thrilled to still be in the capable, steady hands of my editor Hannah Black. Working with her makes the writing process challenging and inspiring but never daunting. My thanks also to Erika Koljonen for all her assistance in getting the book acros
s the finish line. No one would have heard of this book, and certainly wouldn’t have purchased a copy without the supreme efforts of Catherine Worsley and Richard Peters. Stepping into the world with a new novel can be a tad panic-inducing so I’m indebted to my cheerleaders Emma Knight and Alice Morley for holding my hand while pushing me firmly forward. Alasdair Oliver and Kate Brunt are responsible for how beautiful this book looks and without Claudette Morris it wouldn’t exist as a physical object. Thank you. Producing an audiobook during a pandemic had a few extra challenges so hats off to Dominic Gribben, along with David Roper at Heavy Entertainment in London and Conor Barron at Half-Light Studios in Cork. If you are reading this book anywhere apart from the UK or Ireland, then please join me in thanking Grace McCrum and Melis Dagoglu.

  Huge thanks are also owed to the Hachette Australian and New Zealand teams and everyone at Hachette Books Ireland.

  My good friend Elaine O’Driscoll helped with some questions I had about the law in Ireland in the late eighties, while John Martin, volunteer archivist for YHA (England and Wales) provided details for Connor’s arrival in London. Thank you both.

  I am also very grateful as always to Melanie, Dylan, Rebecca and Jono.

  Finally, I would like to thank all the people who stayed in Ireland to fight for the modern, tolerant country it has become. I took the easy way out and left to find places where I could be myself. The dedicated, passionate, tireless campaigners who remained, mean that I am proud and privileged to return. Your extraordinary achievements make writing a novel seem like a very small task indeed.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Contents

  Also by Graham Norton

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1987

  1988

  1995

  2012

  1987

  2012

  2013