Wandering in Exile

by Peter Murphy

“Wait a minute. What did you mean by ‘when he’s well enough to travel?’”

  “He was shot but he is recovering.”

  “Where? Is he in hospital?”

  “I doubt it. All I know is that he’s with friends—and he is safe.”

  “Well, everybody,” she raised her glass, “let’s drink to John Melchor.”

  They all joined in but Danny. He’d heard of John Melchor; he’d just never paid any attention to the stories. He heard what had been happening, too, but he assumed it had ended badly. And while Miriam and Deirdre giggled like school children, making so much of a fuss that the kids came out, Karl sat quietly beside Danny and looked at the setting of the sun.

  “Thank you,” Miriam finally mouthed over at him as things settled down again and Deirdre had gone to put the kids to bed.

  “So what is it that you do again?” Danny asked to fill the empty space.

  “Investigations.” Karl smiled like Danny would understand.

  “Like a P.I.?”

  “Not really. I’m a contractor. I just sit at a desk digging up information about people.”

  “Remind me never to get on the wrong side of him.” Danny winked over at Miriam.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s just a big pussy cat. Besides, I’m sure your days on the wrong side are behind you.”

  Danny looked away. Miriam had never really liked him and Deirdre was probably keeping her up to date on all the stupid things he’d done. “Ah sure, you know yourself, Miriam. One day at a time and all that.”

  “Well good for you, Danny.” Karl smiled again.

  They spent the rest of the evening talking about John Melchor and sipping wine until Danny got tired and went to bed. Deirdre didn’t kiss him goodnight—because she had wine on her lips—and said she would stay up for a while yet. Karl had just opened another bottle.

  *

  Danny was beginning to figure it all out. As long as he went to meetings, Deirdre stayed off his case. He had even memorized all the slogans for when she lapsed. ‘Live and let live,’ was his favorite and that always deflected her. ‘One day at a time’ and ‘Easy does it’ became passwords to procrastination. Nobody could ride his ass anymore. He even told his boss.

  Deirdre thought that he shouldn’t but Danny knew what he was doing. His boss had always indulged him on account of Martin and became even more supportive. Danny could flit out any time to go to a meeting. He’d even invented a young man he was helping as a sponsor. It got him out of the office any time he liked.

  He had to change groups, though. One of the guys at the ‘Broadway’ could see right through him. “Still bullshitting to beat the band, eh Danny?” he’d ask while searching Danny’s eyes.

  “Ah sure, you know what they say: Fake it ’til you make it.”

  “How are the steps coming along?”

  Danny began to avoid him after that and, in time, changed groups.

  Sometimes, it got to him but he was able to rationalize it. Everyone wanted him to stop and he had—almost seven months and counting. He had done his part. Now it was up to everybody else to get their shit together.

  “Danny? Could you take Grainne tonight? I have to work late.”

  He pretended to look concerned. “I’d love to, Dee, but I told this guy I’d take him to his first meeting.” It was perfect. It got him out of anything. He’d been to the ballet rehearsal before and it really bothered him. He didn’t like sitting around looking at young girls, at least not until they were older. “I suppose I could tell him to find someone else to take him—only he’s a bit shaky.”

  Deirdre wouldn’t hear of it. She’d find someone else. She never wanted anything to come between Danny and all he had to do to recover.

  “Are you sure?” Danny asked, to rub it in. He was enjoying his immunity from responsibility. If he was going to suffer, then so was everybody else.

  Are you sure you’re doing this right?

  What? I’m staying sober. That’s what she wanted and that’s what I’m doing.

  You’re such a fuckin’ asshole, Boyle. I think I preferred you when you were drinking.

  So did I, Anto, but she didn’t. She wants me sober and that’s what she’s going to get.

  You still have no idea what it’s about, do you?

  Sure I do. Don’t drink and go to meetings, and fuck the begrudgers.

  I haven’t heard that slogan before.

  That’s because you don’t go to enough meetings.

  Pride, Boyle.

  What about it?

  It comes before the fall.

  *

  By the fall, everything was going great. Deirdre was even having sex with him again. Sometimes, he felt a bit bad about all the bullshit but what could he do? He went to meetings four nights a week and on Sunday mornings over in the hockey arena. He even gave out his number so that guys in the program would call the house. Deirdre was impressed.

  “Gimme a roast-beef on rye and a bottle of Carlsberg.”

  He wasn’t planning on getting ripped or anything. He just figured that he had learned enough about it now and that he could control it. Everybody at the meetings said they couldn’t but Danny had come to realize that he wasn’t like them. He just had some issues that he had to sort out—they were real alcoholics.

  The beer went down well and he went back to work after he had stopped to pick up some gum. He’d finally been promoted to Senior Supply Coordinator. He was doing the same shit but for better money. His boss said he’d deserved it—for all the changes he’d made. His boss even said that when he was ready to retire, he’d recommend Danny.

  Life was good and would only get better. He just had to keep it up for a while longer and show that he had really changed. He’d sneak a few beers now and then but, at home, he’d be the model of reformation. He wasn’t really alcoholic; he just needed to sort out a few things. He had a bottle of tequila in the back shed. It had been there for months and he hadn’t touched it. That meant something. Danny Boyle could take it or leave, just like any other man.

  *

  “John just arrived in Panama City. He’s being checked out in a military hospital and you can talk to him later.”

  Miriam dropped her coat and hat in the hallway and rushed inside. “Where was he? How is he? When is he coming home?”

  Karl laughed and kissed her cheek. “Slow down. I’m just getting the details as they come through. He won’t tell anybody where he was, only that he was safe. You might want to talk with him about that. It could raise complications.”

  “How?”

  “They’ll want to know, and they’ll want to know how much he knows. Talk to him, okay? It’s for his own good.”

  “That has never been John’s biggest concern.”

  “Miriam. This is serious. He has to tell them what he knows.”

  16

  1992

  “What, I don’t hear from you for almost a year and now you show up looking for a place to stay?”

  “C’mon, Frank. Deirdre’s kicked me out and I’ve got nowhere else.”

  “For how long?”

  “Just until I get my act together.”

  “That long? Well, you better come in then.”

  Frank showed him to the spare room. It had a bed, covered in laundry, and a chest of drawers that was spilling over with socks and underwear. Half the floor had been sanded and the tools were still in the corner.

  “You can move all that stuff into the basement.” Frank looked a little embarrassed.

  Danny knew he could count on him. For all his gruffness, Frank was a decent human being and a good friend. They tidied up enough space for Danny to unpack his bag and went downstairs to have a few beers.

  “So what happened?”

  Danny had gotten caught and all of his charades exposed. “I don’t know, Frank. Since we moved to Leaside, she’s changed. Nothing is good enough for her anymore.”

  “You never were—that’s the real problem.”

  Dann
y laughed along as Frank passed the joint. It was like old times, only they were older.

  “I heard you were going to meetings.”

  “I know. Can you believe it?”

  “I can. Why did you stop?”

  Danny handed back the joint and opened the bottle of tequila. He had brought another, and two two-fours as well. He didn’t want to be showing up empty-handed. They’d put some in the fridge and the rest in the basement. They were well stocked for the weekend at least. He hadn’t stopped going to meetings—he just hadn’t stopped drinking either.

  “Because I’m just a drunk.”

  Frank shook his head and had another hit. “Do you know what the difference is between a drunk and an alcoholic? Alcoholics go to meetings.”

  “Do you think I have a problem?”

  “I think you’ve got lots of problems.”

  “I’m serious, Frank.”

  “What do you think?”

  Danny took the joint and had another few hits and thought about it while Frank got another few beers. It was going to be one of those rare times when Danny could sit and talk honestly with someone else. Frank had always been a good friend. All the slagging and snide remarks were just his way of being friendly—the Dublin way.

  “I think it’s all a big load of bollocks, that’s what I think.”

  Frank finished the joint, took another swig of tequila and popped his beer. “Of course it is, but that doesn’t mean that you can fuck-up everything.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like, Frank. You’ve never been married.”

  Frank glanced at him to see if he was ‘having-a-dig’ and sat back like he was going to have to explain it all. “I never got married because I knew I would only fuck it up. Every time I get together with a woman, I end it before I do something stupid.”

  Danny was about to wise-crack but Frank held up his hand. “Don’t fuckin’ try to make a joke out of it, Boyle. I’m tryin’ to tell ya something.”

  He waited while Danny sat back and picked another joint from the soapstone box on the coffee table. He kept them there, neatly lined up and each one perfectly rolled. He had made the coffee table himself, from burnished scrap metal with a sheet of smoked, tempered glass on top. He sat back in his red leather armchair. He had found it in a house he was renovating and had recovered it himself. The couch was black leather, covered with a palomino hide, and the walls were covered with paintings. Other people’s junk, but in Frank’s house they came together like an enigma. Desolate and distorted faces hung side-by-side with sunflowers and Bateman-like prints of animals in the north. Frank had put in pot-lights and tracks. It was the perfect room for men to share their souls.

  “Every time things are going good with a woman, she wants to go to the next stage—the living together and having children and all that. I’m not up for that, Boyle. Some of them tell me that I would be a great father, but I know. You can’t be the way fathers used to be. You know, down in the pub with their mates and only coming home when they had to. My auld fella was like that. My ma used to send me down, on payday, to get the money from him before he spent it all. He’d hand it over, no problem, and he’d give me money for sweets too.”

  He took another swig and passed the bottle. “I’d be like that, Boyle, and no woman today is ever going to settle for that. That’s why I’m still on my own.”

  “You know what, Frank?” Danny slurred a little; they were really getting through the tequila. “You’re the only one who makes sense anymore. And you’re right. Only I had to fuck everything up before I could understand that.” He lowered his head into the stinking cesspool of his reality. The tequila had turned inside of him. “Did I ever tell you about my old man? Now there’s an interesting character. Beaten down and broken, even before he got started. He didn’t even have the balls to stand up for my mother when my granny had her locked up.”

  Frank didn’t say anything so Danny continued, talking about all the shite that had been his life. About all the lies about what was good and what was bad, about all the little runts that picked on him and about Martin, the only shining light.

  “I still miss him, you know?” He tried to look defiant but there were little tears in the corners of his eyes. “He was the only one who was ever really straight with me. Deirdre was for a while. But once she came over, she changed. Now all she wants is to make everything better.

  “I suppose she was right but there was no room for me in her brave new world. I was supposed to change too. I was supposed to stop being me and become one of those ‘involved’ fathers. I didn’t mind that, Frank. I mean I love my kids. Who wouldn’t? But I’m not one of those guys who can live in the little pockets, ya know? Storing it all up for ‘boys-night-out’ or fishing trips.

  “I went on a few of those. Just a bunch of sad bastards sitting around drinking and longing for when they had real lives of their own. They were all lawyers and managers and fuckers like that, but every one of them was miserable. They all knew they were dying inside.

  “But, do you know what. This is all getting very fuckin’ heavy, man. Let’s just take out the guitars again. Let’s put the fuckin’ band back on the road. Eh?”

  *

  “Is Daddy never coming home again?”

  Deirdre clutched Grainne to her breast. Her little body was warm and tucked in like they had never been pulled apart. “I don’t know, sweetie. Daddy is very sick right now and he has to try to get better.”

  “If he gets better, will he be able to come home then?”

  Deirdre was going to reassure her but Martin was standing in the doorway. She knew he was hurting, too, but he smiled and came toward them.

  “Or course he will, silly. After he gets better.”

  He sat on the bed and tried to wrap his arms around the two of them.

  “You know that I will never leave you,” he added as they laid his sister under the covers.

  “She knows that, sweetie. She knows she has the best big brother in the world.”

  “I meant you, Mummy. I’ll never leave you.”

  Deirdre tried to pick him up but he was far too heavy and slid back down until his long legs reached the floor. He was almost up to her breasts.

  “You say that now, Martin, but one of these days one of those pretty little girls at school is going to catch your eye.”

  “I know all that, but when I grow up and get married, you and Grainne can come and live with us.”

  “I’m not sure what your wife will think.”

  “It’ll be okay. I’ll tell her before we are married.”

  It was funny but Deirdre began to cry. She had been so brave for so long. She had been exactly what they told her she had to be. She had been consistent and firm. She had quietly noted and catalogued each one of Danny’s transgressions. Not for her sake—for his—so she could lay them out as evidence before him, to convince him to see himself for what he really was.

  They told her it would be hard. They told her that she had to learn detachment. But they never told her how gut wrenching it was to sit with her children and explain why she wouldn’t let their father come home. What choice did she have? She could never be one of those women who kept it together for appearance’s sake. She was doing the right thing. She had to keep reminding herself of that, especially when she felt guilty and re-questioned her motives.

  *

  Sometimes things just happened.

  She had taken Martin to a game in Brampton. He’d been pumped for days. The coach had talked it up — ‘urban against the sub-urban.’ “This is it, guys,” he had briefed them after the last practice. “This is when we start finding out who has it and who doesn’t. Brampton has won the last four years. They’re going to think they just have to show up. But they don’t know what I know about you—you’re not quitters or losers. You’re winners. You are going to Brampton to kick butt.”

  The parents gathered round and nodded to their kids. Coach’s words were ‘gospel.’ Except Deirdre. She just studie
d Martin’s face but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “Do you like your coach?” she had asked as they drove home.

  “He’s all right.”

  “What do you think of all the stuff he says?”

  “I don’t really listen. He’s only a select-team coach.”

  When they got to the rink, all the other fathers were seated behind the team’s bench in tiers, reading The Globe and Mail while sipping on their ‘Second Cups.’ They greeted each other politely but they were on edge, each hoping their kid wouldn’t fuck up. The coach had warned them all that there were going to be changes—if they were to move up to double ‘A.’ Stuff like that really mattered to them; their kids were currency.

  Deirdre never sat with them, preferring somewhere off on her own. She didn’t like hockey but she paid very close attention to everything Martin did. She had to be able to discuss it with him on the way home.

  *

  “Dee-dree? Dee-dree Fallon? You’re the last person I expected to see here.”

  Eduardo looked the same. Dark and suave with just the tiniest twinkle in his eye.

  “What can I tell you, Eduardo? They’ve made a hockey-mum out of me. What are you doing here?”

  “My son is here with his team. They’re tykes. None of them can even skate yet but you know hockey, it’s worse than religion.”

  They both laughed and he reached forward to kiss her cheeks, but she leaned back. The Leaside fathers were all watching them over their rims or fluttering business sections.

  “May I sit with you?”

  As she moved her bag from the seat beside her, she stole a peek at the Brampton parents. Husbands and wives with blankets and cushions and cups of ‘Tim Horton’s.’ She might have felt like Juliet but she was far too cynical for that.

  She had known that Danny was drinking all along, but what really hurt was the way he was using the AA program. It almost felt like he had taken their last hope and wiped his feet on it. She had done everything to support him and it was all lies.