‘Well, if you were the police you’d know that the gobshite was never going to get what he was looking for in here.’
‘You have him wrong,’ I butted in. ‘I know what he was looking for.’
‘Do you now, missy?’ The way he said missy was derisive. He looked me over and I felt sorry for Grandad Pete. Maybe he didn’t know as much as I had thought. I could see the fun the Irish must have had with him, an old man drinking alone, telling people he was looking for a young girl.
‘He’s my grandfather,’ I said.
‘Then you should take him home out of harm’s way,’ the barman replied. ‘Because there’s no fool like an old fool. I don’t know who told him he could come here and expect to buy what he’s after. Somebody must have been winding him up. I admit we did the same ourselves, all the lads telling him different places he should look. But what do you expect? The guy is asking to get himself locked up.’
‘Stop talking like he was some sort of dirty old man,’ I said angrily. ‘He’s a decent, honest person.’
‘I thought he was nice at first too,’ the girl who had been shown the photograph said. ‘But it gave me the shivers when I found out what he was after. I mean it’s so bloody racist, eh? Try the Irish.’
‘Some of the lads sent him to the Big Top in Cricklewood,’ the barman said. ‘They told him to hang around near the gents and ask for a man called Big Tom to see if he could fix him up.’
The girl laughed, then saw that we didn’t get the joke. ‘Big Tom,’ she repeated. ‘He’s an Irish country singer, sixteen stone and sixty years of age, with a big farm in Monaghan. The idea of Big Tom fixing anyone up is gas.’
She laughed again, expecting us to join in, but it only made me more aggravated. I had never heard anyone ridicule Grandad before. He obviously didn’t know anything about Luke. Somebody must have told him I was seen here. I remembered spotting a girl from Harrow in a corner on my first visit here. Her mother lived on the far side of Cunningham Park. I had never known my grandparents to be friendly with her but maybe word gets around when someone disappears. I couldn’t feel threatened by him looking for me any more. He had always seemed so much in control that the idea of anyone finding him pathetic horrified me. I knew it wasn’t possessiveness which had him stalking these bars. It was concern. I wanted him to come in now, not to scold him but to apologise.
‘How often did he come here?’ I asked the barman, who now seemed bored and uneasy with the conversation.
‘He still surfaces now and then like a bad penny,’ the barman replied. ‘He doesn’t talk much any more, he just drinks himself silly. Maybe he likes the music, I don’t know, but so long as he bothers no one it’s not my problem. I didn’t mean to insult you, nobody here meant him any disrespect but you must admit he was pushing his luck.’
The band had stopped for the interval and the counter was suddenly crowded. The barman moved away to pull pints. Garth was watching Liam push his way in to stand beside us. People let him through, surprised that he had not gone backstage with the musicians. Liam nodded to the barman who broke away from serving someone to pour another orange juice and top it up with vodka. Liam nodded again and the barman looked quizzically at him before pouring a second vodka into the glass.
‘Isn’t there a dressing room where you chill out with the band?’ I asked.
‘Fuck them.’ Liam took a long slug. Garth had turned his back, ignoring him.
‘I thought your manager didn’t allow you to drink during a gig,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t it ruin the clean-cut image?’
‘Fuck him too, then.’ Liam giggled dangerously at the unintentioned double meaning. ‘Though Jesus, he’s such an arsehole it would be like sticking a sausage up O’Connell Street.’
The woman beside me stared at Liam. Her husband half-rose as if objecting to the language. Liam seemed about to say something to him. He looked animated and almost giddy, his eyes glazed with drink. Garth turned and put a hand on his shoulder. The whole bar was watching.
‘I think you should get some fresh air,’ Garth said. ‘Go outside with your girl-friend and sort out whatever’s bothering you.’
It was a lie I never thought I’d hear Garth say. Liam stared at him. I stood up and took his hand.
‘I’m sorry I gave you a hard time earlier on,’ I said, joining in the pretence and leaning forward to kiss Liam. His cheek was shaded like death. People relaxed around us, animated from the thrill of overhearing us. This was a story with legs. I walked across the bar with Liam and through the lobby on to the street. We crossed the road and stood in the doorway where I had waited for Luke. Liam was shivering. I wanted to put my arms around him but didn’t know how he would react.
‘All through the set I was gathering courage for Garth’s sake,’ he said. ‘He’s always saying I should do it. I was coming out and the man turns around to fucking deny me.’
‘Maybe Garth felt this wasn’t the place,’ I replied, ‘Maybe he thought you might regret it tomorrow.’
‘He’d be right,’ Liam said. ‘Why do you think I’ve been drinking? I’d wake up scared shitless. But who says it wouldn’t be better than this half-living?’ Liam leaned against the wall, trying to stop his hands trembling. ‘On Christmas night I walked up to the Wavin Pipe factory. I used to be happy there. I never wanted to be a singer, at least not a fucking puppet like this. I’m not even allowed a say in how I dress. Who the fuck does Garth think he is to deny me?’
‘Maybe he’s like the rest of us,’ I said. ‘He gets scared.’
‘Have you a cigarette?’
I gave him one and lit one myself.
‘Working in that factory I thought I knew what scared meant,’ Liam said, after a drag. ‘They’d all kinds of blind alleys, perfect for a queer-bashing. But I wasn’t really scared, because I was nobody, I could always vanish. Now there’s nowhere left to vanish to. Liam Darcy, the wannabe star. Once you sign up you lose the person that you were, you become the person they all want you to be.’
I thought of my father hiding from tape recorders in the hills of Donegal. Was that the price of being yourself, or was it another kind of trap, his simplicity or – for all I knew – stupidity being mistaken for enigma? How could my grandparents have understood him? But even if they couldn’t grasp who he was and he couldn’t become what they had wished him to be, it hadn’t given him the right to vanish.
‘I’ve spend my life living out lies,’ Liam said quietly, ‘and the one time I try to tell the truth the only person I trust lies into my face.’
‘We should go back,’ I urged, ‘the band will be coming out.’
‘Lucky fucking band, eh?’ Liam laughed, then stopped. ‘They’re not even my band, my manager made changes. I could feel three pairs of eyes watching me, reporting back to him.’
‘Sing a request for me if you know it,’ I said, ‘The Knight on the Road.’
Liam looked at me quizzically. ‘I know it,’ he said, ‘I’ve just never been asked to sing it. Where did you hear it?’
‘Someone my mother once knew sang it.’
The drummer came out to stare across at us. Liam stubbed his cigarette out.
‘Now I’m definitely sacked,’ he joked, ‘because it sure as hell isn’t on their playlist.’
We went inside. People were watching, wondering what was about to happen. Garth sat quietly facing the bar. He had ordered another drink for me. I took a sip.
‘You hurt him,’ I said. ‘Liam was coming out for you.’
‘He was pissed and besides, I never asked him to,’ Garth replied. ‘Heroic gestures for someone else are too easy. When it goes wrong you’ve a scapegoat to blame. If Liam wants to come out let him do it for himself, because he’s the guy who’s going to have to live with it.’
‘I never heard you lie before.’
‘We all lie to protect those we love,’ Garth said. ‘That doesn’t mean we’re proud of it.’
He turned to stare at Liam as the first song ended. The drummer ta
pped to give the beat for the next tune but Liam stood motionless at the microphone until all noise ceased and even the band were staring at him, uncertain of what he was about to do. Liam closed his eyes and began to sing. His unaccompanied voice, and the eerie picture it drew, instilled total silence throughout the bar.
What brings you here so late? said the knight on the road.
I go to meet my God, said the child as he stood
And he stood and he stood and ’twas well that he stood,
I go to meet my God, said the child as he stood.
How come you go by land? said the knight on the road.
With a good staff in my hand, said the child as he stood,
And he stood and he stood and ’twas well that he stood
With a good staff in my hand, said the child as he stood.
I turned to spot Grandad Pete at the far end of the bar. He must have entered when I was outside. Surely he had seen us arrive back, yet he wasn’t looking towards me but at Liam, as if transfixed by those lyrics. I was scared for him, although I wasn’t sure why. He had aged so much that it had taken me a moment to recognise him. Mr Manners was right, his clothes were shabby. He had the look of someone who’d been drinking all evening but still hadn’t managed to forget whatever pain was causing him to get smashed. I didn’t like him staring at Liam that way. The barman’s contempt came back. Maybe he hadn’t been searching for a girl after all. Could he have lived a secret life for decades? But why come here of all places? Surely he knew there were gay bars.
Methinks I hear a bell, said the knight on the road
And it’s ringing you to hell, said the child as he stood,
And he stood and he stood and ’twas well that he stood
And it’s ringing you to hell, said the child as he stood.
There was silence for a moment as the song finished. I had no idea what it meant, only that I had never heard anything suit Liam’s voice better. I could see him as that solitary, solemn child confronting an evil presence on a lonely road. The bar erupted into tumultuous applause with only the band looking nonplussed and irritated. Grandad immediately lost interest in Liam and I realised it was the song and not the singer that had fascinated him. I wondered whether he had heard it years before, sung by my father?
Before the applause was over the drummer started into the intro for the next song. The guitar and keyboards joined in, ensuring that Liam took off on no more solo runs. He didn’t look around at them but smiled towards Garth and myself, savouring his brief independence. Garth nodded back in salute, holding his gaze. I stared again at Grandad, who sensed someone’s gaze on him. He looked along the bar, yet his eyes were curiously dead. At first I thought he didn’t recognise me because of my blonde hair, then I realised that he was registering his success in finally tracking me down with numb indifference. I stood up and walked towards him. Garth watched me go, realising who it was. Liam started into the song, his voice more confident now, soaring above the backing band. Couples were drifting on to the dance floor. Grandad watched me approach, then turned back to his drink. I stood with my hands against the back of his barstool.
‘You tracked me down,’ I said. He glanced at me with neither triumph nor warmth in his manner. ‘How did you know I was ever in here?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Then how did you find me?’
He turned back to finish his drink and lift a finger to the barman for another Scotch. I stood awkwardly at his shoulder, feeling like an intruder.
‘You’ve got it wrong, Tracey,’ he said. ‘It’s you who found me. Why should I be looking for you? You made it plain you didn’t want us in your life. You’re over twenty-one, so that’s your choice. You’ve been saying you’re grown up now for bloody well long enough.’
‘But you’re still my grandfather,’ I said, scared by his tone. I had always imagined I was calling the shots in this game, that my bedroom with the cherry blossom branches tapping against the window would still be there for me.
‘You walked out on us with your mother barely dead, remember?’ He kept his back turned to me. ‘The very time a family needs comfort. You stole her ashes. You knew how much that would hurt and you were hurting people who loved you. But that’s all you’ve done for years, wrapped up in your private world. There’s no pain like Tracey’s pain. Still, you didn’t need to sneak out like a thief, no one who would have stopped you. You’ve made your choice, girl, so stop following me around.’
The barman put his Scotch down and, picking up a five-pound note, cast an eye over me. ‘Your granddaughter found you,’ he remarked. ‘Maybe she can get her hands on what you’re after.’
‘I doubt it,’ Grandad Pete replied sourly, ignoring the man’s sarcasm. He watered the Scotch and drank, still not bothering to look at me. The barman placed the change down.
‘What are you doing here, Grandad?’ I asked.
‘I’m drinking. What does it look like?’
‘They said you were after something.’
‘The little spy,’ he christened me mockingly, then shook his head at his own gullibility. ‘A stupid mistake … your Gran thought somewhere like here would be swimming in them.’
‘Does she know you’re here?’ Everything about him frightened me. He laughed morosely.
‘When did you ever give a fig about your Gran?’
‘Is she …?’ I couldn’t say the word. Somehow I had always seen her as indestructible.
‘Sorry to disappoint you. She isn’t dead yet.’
‘I never …”
‘Come off it, Tracey.’ He turned, resigned to the fact I wasn’t going away. ‘You spent years inventing new ways to punish that woman until you found the ultimate humiliation. You must have known you’d be seen in Cunningham Park. Somebody even fished the urn out of a bin and brought it back. I had to go down and scoop bits of ashes up with a spoon. Dogs had pissed on them, people walked them all over the grass.’
‘I did it for Mammy,’ I said. ‘I wanted her spirit set …”
‘Her spirit?’ He almost spat out the word. ‘What spirit? The dead are dead. The only pain that’s real is the pain of the living. Everything else is bollocks. Don’t deny you’ve always hated your Gran.’
I’d never heard him curse before. It was more shocking than if he had struck me. He took another slug of Scotch. Coming here I had rehearsed speeches about the right to lead my own life. Now I couldn’t think of anything to say. He was waiting for me to go.
‘All right,’ I confessed. ‘She’s a bitter woman, hard on us all and hard on you. Admit it yourself, she’s no easy woman to love.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘but any fool could love a saint. That’s not love, it’s too easy. Your Gran has made my life hell. Hundreds of times I’ve been like a reed about to snap, but I never have because she was hardest of all on herself. I love her still like I’ve never loved anyone else.’
‘You’re frightening me, Grandad,’ I said. ‘Why did you come here the first time?’
He eyed me, deciding if I was worth the bother. Then he snorted, in self-disgust.
‘Prejudice, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Your Gran meant me to try the Irish pubs around Kilburn. A man in one of them played a trick on me. More fool me to believe him, but I got that from your Gran too, always think the worst of Irishmen. He claimed this place was awash with them. All I had to do was tip the barman fifty quid and he’d point out a table where I could hire a gun.’
I wanted to laugh. Grandad always had the driest humour. He must be winding me up. But there was no trace of humour in his eyes as he stared, indifferent to my response.
‘What are you talking about, Grandad?’ I said. ‘What would you want a gun for?’
‘Because your Gran was always scared of needles,’ he said. ‘She’d never let anyone near her with one. Otherwise it would be easy, I’ve friends who are chemists still. Thirty seconds’ struggle with a pillow would probably do it as well, but that seemed so cowardly. It was a gun she always asked
for.’
‘You’re drunk,’ I said. ‘Look at the state of your shirt and you haven’t shaved either. What does Granny say about you going around like this?’
‘She says nothing.’ He turned back to his drink. ‘She can’t speak or eat or even move. She was a proud woman always. I know she can’t stand the nurses changing her bag, moving her around like a vegetable. She made me promise years ago that I’d have the courage if anything like this happened to her. It’s what she wanted. It still is, I know. She used to say; “Don’t leave me lying in some hospital for years. Go down to the Irish bars, they’re full of thugs and gunmen. If it’s the last thing you do for me, Peter Evans, find yourself a gun and blow my brains out.”’
My throat was dry. I couldn’t bear to look at his bowed head any more. The hair had greyed around the bald patch on top. It made it hard to see the dandruff crusted into his scalp. The floor behind us was crammed with dancers as Liam sang I Just Want to Dance with You. I had seen him sing it the first night I was here and remembered him going down on to the floor with the microphone. This time as Liam left the stage I guessed where he was heading. His nervousness was gone. He knew exactly what he was doing and why. Garth could sense the difference too as he stood up, ready to dance if asked. The band glanced at each other, wanting to end the tune. Phone calls would be made to Dublin tonight. But I watched almost indifferently as Liam reached Garth who put his hands on to his shoulders. Nothing felt real. Grandad Pete turned dispassionately to watch Liam and Garth dance.
‘Gay as a coot that singer,’ he remarked. ‘I think that’s why the women all want to mother him. He plays here once a month or so. I think the only mystery was whether he knew himself. Still, he’s a fool to dance like that. They love their secrets, the Irish, but it’s one thing for them to know, it’s another when the truth gets flaunted in their faces.’
A small space cleared around Liam and Garth as people hesitated and then self-consciously resumed dancing. After a few moments Liam broke away and sang the chorus again as he moved through the crowd who stopped dancing to watch him climb back up on stage and confront the band. I swallowed hard and forced enough moisture on to my tongue to speak.
Father's Music Page 24
