by Peter Murphy
He never told her that it was all becoming too much for him, but being outside was calm and quiet.
What the fuck were you thinking of—bringing a child into a world like this?
“Ah, not you. I thought you only came by when I was wasted?”
What? And leave you to make a totally fucking mess of things. Danny, this life is tearing itself apart. There’s fighting and rioting everywhere. And what about all those people that got poisoned over in Bhopal? And the fucking IRA tried to kill Thatcher. This life is no place for a child. What the fuck were you thinking?
“Why don’t you just fuck off and pass over or whatever it is you’re meant to do.”
If you want me to leave just say so. I’m only trying to help you.
“Well that’s very kind of you but I don’t need your kind of help so please fuck-off and leave me alone.”
Danny shook his head and rested his arms on the rail and lit another, softly singing ‘Do they know it’s Christmas?’ as the snow fluttered down and made the lanes and back alleys magical.
9
1985
The Windsor House hadn’t changed too much, except the crowd was younger and the beer was better; McVeigh had brought in Guinness a few years back and served a good pint too. Danny and the lads hadn’t played there since Frank and Jimmy had a falling out.
“I hate when Jimmy Carton is here,” Frank muttered into his pint. “How the fuck are you supposed to compete with that?”
Both bands split their sets between two floors, doing two sets in each and Danny and the lads were finishing upstairs.
“He’ll have done his ‘finale set’ and they’ll be fucking wired. How the fuck are we supposed to top that?”
Jimmy couldn’t contain himself. “You could try singing in tune?”
“And you could learn to keep a beat. You’re always off.”
“It’s called syncopation.”
“Well stop it. You keep throwing me off. It’s hard enough to remember the words with having to wonder when you’re going to come in.”
“It builds anticipation. It’s expressive?”
“What?”
Danny just sat back. It was the same thing every night and he was getting tired of it.
“I like to come in with some panache,” Jimmy continued regardless.
“Panache my arse. You sound more like a bull in a china shop.”
Danny hardly paid any attention; he had other things on his mind. Deirdre was always putting on makeup, every time she went out. She explained that after looking like a beached whale for so long she just wanted to look pretty again. Only she hesitated before saying pretty.
“It complements your cracked voice. You really have to learn to sing properly one of these days.” Jimmy almost made it sound like he was concerned.
Danny hadn’t rushed to reassure her and she noticed that. And she turned it around on him. “I’m sorry if I don’t look good all the time, but I do have a child and I’m studying.”
He should have said something, but he didn’t and that just made it worse.
“Fuck you; everybody says that I sound like Luke Kelly.”
“Now or when he was alive?”
They hadn’t done it since before the baby. In the last few weeks of her pregnancy, she used to get so horny and even get on top of him. But since then—nothing. He knew it was going to be like that so he didn’t make a big deal of it and now she was probably thinking that he didn’t fancy her anymore. Anto kept telling him that she was probably having it off with one of her study group.
“And what would you know about singing? You sound like Elvis getting a blow job.”
“I wouldn’t know what that sounds like, but I do know good singing. Just go down and listen to Carton and you’ll know what I mean.”
“Fuck you too.”
Danny hadn’t mentioned Anto to anybody. He didn’t have to—he knew what was going on. His granny was right; the devil was reaching up for him. It was like Anto was his own Mephistopheles, like in Dr. Faustus. He hadn’t actually read it. Deirdre did and explained it all to him. They were watching something on the television when she mentioned it. She was always doing that. She always wanted them to talk, only she wanted to talk about smart stuff and Danny didn’t know how, so he pretended like he couldn’t be bothered.
Anto said that was why she was probably doing it with somebody else. She probably needs to be with someone who stops grunting when they are not in bed.
Danny had bristled at that but he knew Deirdre wasn’t like that. Sure, they had things to work through just like every other couple. And he had a lot of changes to make but he was going to make it with Deirdre. That’s what was really pissing Anto off—that and getting shot in the head. They were just going through a rough patch, just like every other couple.
“And you, ya bollocks,” Frank turned on him. “What are you sneering at? You should learn to tune that banjo; it sounds like you’re banging a bull’s balls together.”
Danny looked at him but he had no idea what he was going on about.
“Where’s your fucking head, Boyle? You’ve been all fuckin’ broody again lately.”
“Are you having problems at home?” Jimmy asked, almost sounding sympathetic.
“No, no. It’s nothin’ like that. I’m fine. I’m just tired. You know how it is with a baby in the house. It’s fuckin’ hell.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it’s only that,” Frank smiled and turned to Jimmy. “Pay up!”
“That’s no way to act when a friend is sharing his troubles. It’s obvious that the baby is keeping them from . . . you know.”
Danny decided to go back to ignoring them and took another swig.
“What’s fuckin’ eating you?” Frank asked when they got no reaction.
“It’s nothin’ really, only . . .”
“We’re fucked now. Here comes McVeigh.”
“Would you ever,” Jimmy McVeigh asked with his head slightly tilted, “get back on stage. I’m not paying you to stand around drinking. And try to keep the crowd from leaving.”
Frank looked like he was about to say something but probably thought better of it and walked back on stage.
“We’re back,” he announced and looked around at the crowd, “but before we begin I have an announcement.”
Danny and Jimmy followed and slung on their guitars as they waited for the other shoe to fall.
“Jimmy McVeigh needs you all the get shit-faced drunk before you leave.”
The crowd roared back in approval but Jimmy McVeigh walked away shaking his head.
“And now, the ‘F-an’-DJs’ would like to do a song that is currently very high on the charts in Ottawa.”
“What’s he doing?” Danny mouthed at Jimmy, who just shrugged and waited for Frank to sing:
“When Irish eyes are smiling.” He raised his arms like a conductor and led Jimmy and Danny into a very exaggerated waltz.
Sure, ’tis like the morn in Spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear Mulroney sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Ronnie Reagan’s smiling,
He’s gonna blow all the Commies away.
*
Billie walked in just as they began their second last song. She was wearing a black spandex skirt and the type of underwear that Madonna wore with nothing over it. Only Billie wore a jacket, like the ones that bullfighters wore.
When she took it off she nearly impaled the guy she was with—a dorky looking git with parachute pants and a black tee shirt with no sleeves. And arms like a junkie. She leaned forward enough for Danny to see her at her best and blew him a kiss. Her lips were dark and wet looking and her eyes looked so bright in all the dark makeup she had on. She even wiggled a little while her boyfriend was at the bar.
She did it again when they started their last song, and Danny had to turn to hide his bulging behind
his guitar.
“What the fuck is he doing now?” Frank asked between verses of The Irish Rover—their party piece. They played it with almost enough energy to drown out Jimmy Carton from the floor below. He was singing The West Awake and the whole building seemed to be shaking.
“It looks like the Duck Walk—only he makes it look like he’s humping the guitar.”
*
Danny woke around eleven. Deirdre let him sleep in after gigs and even went out with little Martin to get the papers. She kept him quiet, too, when they got back. She’d keep him on her lap while she read the paper aloud but soft enough so as not to wake Danny.
He lay on his back and thought of Billie. She was just fucking with him—showing up like that—and carrying on like that. She left before he got a chance to talk with her but he knew what she was up to. Stuff like that was always happening to Frank and Jimmy, only they weren’t married.
He wanted to roll over but he had to get up; he had promised Deirdre that he’d call his mother. He hadn’t called her since Christmas. He made all kinds of excuses—that’s she’d still be going on about his uncle and why he wasn’t buried in Ireland but the truth was, he just didn’t want to have to deal with her right now.
He felt guilty about that and every time he held little Martin and stared into his eyes, he had to look away. Little Martin trusted him and so did Deirdre. The problem was that he couldn’t ever really trust himself. He never let on, though, and went on like everything was great. Deirdre seemed to sense that and said she thought he might be bottling things up inside him, but he just laughed. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “In fact I’m better than fine. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
That always seemed to work and she’d stop bugging him. It was, however, one of the things he was beginning to dislike about her—she was always trying to get him to change. When Billie used to do it, she made it all seem like an adventure, but with Deirdre it was different. It was like she was a school teacher. She had even started to tell him that he should go back to school too. He could do it part-time. And where the fuck would he get the time? He was already killing himself, working night and day. But he had known it was going to be like that and didn’t feel right complaining. It was his job to go to work and provide for them. But with Deirdre finishing her degree and little Martin going to daycare, he felt he was the only person not learning anything.
Maybe that was it. Maybe she was getting embarrassed by him—in front of all her university friends.
*
“Well! It’s about time you called. I’ve been worried sick that you’d caught whatever it was that took my poor Martin.”
Danny made a face while Deirdre balanced little Martin on her hip and went into the bedroom so Danny could have some privacy. With the baby, the apartment was beginning to feel so small.
“Well I’m calling now. Besides, you could have called me.”
“Listen to yourself. We’re not made of money over here, you know.”
“Well they don’t give it out free here either.”
His mother seemed to sense his mood and changed tack. “Well, you’re phoning now. I know you’d never turn your back on your own mother. And how’s Deirdre—and the baby?”
“They’re both fine. Martin is starting to walk only he falls over a lot, but he should be able to get around by the time we come over.”
“It’ll be great to see you again son; it really gives me something to look forward to.”
For a moment Danny felt she was trying to turn things on him again. Deirdre said that she did that. She felt that Danny had to stand up to her more—for both their sakes. He wasn’t doing his mother any good either.
“So? Any news on your end?”
“They made a big fuss over that Bob Geldof down in the Mansion House. That could have been you, ya know, if you hadn’t gone running off to Canada.”
She was doing that again. Twisting everything around on him and forgetting what really happened.
“How’s Da’s business coming along?”
“Mister big-shot? Don’t be asking me; he never tells me anything.”
“Is it raining there?” She always got like this when it rained.
“It’s always raining around here, Danny, only I’m sure it will be fine for when you come over.”
“With my luck?”
“Danny? Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Did you burn up what was left of Martin?”
“Ah, Ma. Don’t be bringing all that up again. He was cremated—just like he said in his will.”
“I know that, but what happened what was left of him?”
David had taken his ashes to spread on the sands around the cabana. Danny had promised David that he would go and visit it, as soon as he got the chance. They held a celebration for him, too, on Valentine’s Day. Deirdre was busy with the baby so Danny went on his own. He didn’t mind being around gays anymore.
“He had his girlfriend spread them on the beach where they met.”
“Is she white at least?”
“She is, Ma. You would’ve liked her.” He lied but there was no point telling the truth—there never was.
“We’ll never know, now, will we?”
“Well,” Danny searched for something to lighten the mood. She was dragging him back to the days when he and his granny used to visit the hospital. “We know you’re going to love little Martin.”
“I will, but I’ll never be able to hear his name without thinking of my brother.”
“That’s the way Martin would have wanted it. It was his idea to name the baby after him,” he lied again.
“That was the way he was his whole life—always thinking of others.”
*
“So? How is your mother?” Deirdre emerged from the room as he hung up.
He wished she hadn’t asked. He wanted a bit of time to himself to come back from the places his mother had taken him to. It was always like that when he phoned. She always made him feel like he’d run away and deserted everything. “Morose, but she’s happiest that way.”
“Danny, you really shouldn’t let her get to you anymore. I know she can’t help it, but she can be very negative.” She balanced the baby on her hip as she kissed him. “Now,” she handed little Martin over, “please look after this lump for a few hours while I catch up with my study partners.”
“Ah, Deirdre. I’m working again tonight. I was hoping to take a nap.”
“You can take a nap when he does. Maybe you can take him for a walk first? That always tires him out.”
She kissed the pair of them and gathered her papers and things. “I won’t be long.”
“Deirdre,” Danny asked as she got to the door, “do you ever get ashamed of me?”
“Oh, Danny, not now. I’m already late. You always get like this after you talk with your mother.”
“Yeah, but do you?”
She assured him she didn’t and rushed off leaving Danny holding his son, who was watching him closely.
“What are you looking at?”
Little Martin made some sound and poked at Danny’s face with his tiny fingers.
“I suppose you’ll grow up to be ashamed of me too?” But he made it sound like a joke and little Martin laughed along with him.
*
There were three of them in the study group: Deirdre; Jean, who Deirdre suspected was lesbian; and Edward.
His real name was Eduardo but he wanted to hide his ethnicity. Sometimes he seemed to forget himself and called her ‘Dee,’ like they were so much closer. When she pulled him up on it, he’d get flustered and said that he had difficulty saying her name properly.
“Deer-dra,” she’d correct him.
“Dee-dree,” he’d say, no matter how often she pronounced it for him.
He was alone when she got there. Jean had called him to tell him she couldn’t come. She’d tried to rea
ch Deirdre but her phone was busy.
“So what are we supposed to do now?”
“You could stay . . . and have a coffee with me.”
“Eduardo, you know I am married with a child?”
“I do. That’s why I thought you might want to take a little rest from all that for a while. It’s only coffee and I promise—I will behave like a gentleman.”
“Do they have those where you come from?” she laughed and flopped into the chair beside him. She hadn’t taken time for herself in so long.
“According to my father, we invented that too.”
“Oh, dear. Did I hit a nerve?”
“We Portuguese are so proud that we do not get upset by little things like that.”
“So what do you get upset about?”
“Amor. In Lisbon we say that you can leave your house unlocked, but you cannot leave your love alone.”
*
“And did you know?” Patrick was almost rude. The whole thing was too incredible to believe.
Giovanni shrugged and looked trapped. “I knew, but nobody else did. Except . . .”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“What was I going to do? Welcome you into my café and tell you that your uncle was once in love with my sister?”
It was even more incredible when someone else said it. Patrick had to sit.
“Yes, that’s it. Sit down and we will drink some coffee, okay?”
“Yes, yes, whatever.” Patrick was waiting until his whole world stopped spinning around the rotunda.
Giovanni beckoned to someone behind the bar and a tray emerged with coffees and small glasses of Irish whiskey. “We will drink a toast to a good man.”
He waited until Patrick raised his.
“Your uncle was a young man back then. And sometimes, even the purest of young men can fall in love. It was very hard on my sister too. She didn’t want it to happen either. They were young and she was working here. He used to come in and she would bring him his coffee. There was never any harm in that.
