The Heart's Invisible Furies

  “Got what?” asked Alice coldly.

  “Well, you know, your brother and your…” He nodded toward me. “Your husband here. Your ex-husband, I mean.”

  “Got what though?” she repeated. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t mind Peter,” said Ruth, reaching across and placing her hand on Alice’s, somewhere between a caress and a slap. “He thinks before he speaks.”

  “I’m in trouble again,” said Peter, looking at me with a grin, and I began to wonder whether he was trying to be offensive or was simply an idiot. There was another extended silence and I glanced down at his book.

  “What’s that like?” I asked, nodding at the John Grisham.

  “It’s not bad,” he said. “Your people read a lot, don’t they?”

  “My people?”

  “Your people.”

  “Irish people, do you mean? Sorry, I thought you were Irish too.”

  “I am,” he said blankly.

  “Oh right,” I said. “Did you mean gay homosexuals?”

  “Isn’t it awful how that word has been co-opted to pursue the liberal agenda?” asked Ruth. “I blame Boy George.”

  “Yes,” said Peter. “That’s what I meant.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, I suppose some do. And some don’t. Like anyone else.”

  “Here,” said Peter, leaning forward and grinning at me. “Bertie or John Major? Which one would you rather have as your boyfriend? Or would it be Clinton? I bet it would be Clinton! I’m right, amn’t I?”

  “I’m not really looking for a boyfriend,” I said. “And if I was, it wouldn’t be one of them.”

  “It always makes me laugh when fellas use that word,” said Ruth, and true to her word she started laughing. “Boyfriend!”

  “It’ll be something new for you, all the same,” said Peter. “A baby, I mean.”

  “It will,” I agreed.

  “The traditional family.”

  “Whatever that is,” I said.

  “Ah, you know what it is,” said Peter. “A mammy and a daddy and a few kids. Look, Cyril, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against your lot. I’m not prejudiced at all.”

  “He’s not,” agreed Ruth. “He’s never been prejudiced. Sure he had a whole load of darkies working for him back in the eighties before it was even fashionable. And he paid them almost as much as he paid the Irish workers. We even had one in the house once.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “For dinner,” she added. “I didn’t mind.”

  “True enough,” said Peter proudly. “I’m a friend to every man, black, white or yellow, gay, straight or homosexual. Live and let live, that’s my motto. Although I have to admit that lads like you baffle me.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to explain. I just never understood how you can do the things you do. I couldn’t do it.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone would want you to,” I said.

  “Oh I wouldn’t say that,” said Alice, poking me in the ribs. “Peter’s a good-looking man for his age. I’d say they’d be lining up. You have the look of Bertie Ahern, if you ask me.”

  “He looks nothing like Bertie,” said Ruth wistfully.

  “Thank you, Alice,” said Peter, pleased by the compliment.

  “You don’t have any gay children yourselves then?” I asked, and they sat bolt upright in shock, the pair of them, as if I’d taken out a stick and started to beat one or the other of them senseless with it.

  “We do not,” they said together.

  “We wouldn’t be the sort,” added Ruth.

  “What sort is that?” I asked.

  “It’s just not the way I was brought up. Or the way Peter was brought up,” she said.

  “But your son Joseph makes lovely roast potatoes, is that right?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing. I was just saying. I’m getting hungry, that’s all.”

  “Can I ask you,” said Ruth leaning forward. “Do you have a…what do you call it…a partner?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “No, I don’t.”

  “Have you always been alone?”

  “No,” I said. “There was someone. Once. A long time ago. But he died.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you, was it AIDS?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No,” I said. “He was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” asked Peter.

  “Yes. By a group of thugs.”

  “Sure that’s even worse.”

  “Is it?” asked Alice. “How so?”

  “Well, maybe not worse, but no one asks to be murdered, do they?”

  “No one asks to get AIDS,” I said.

  “Well, maybe no one specifically asks for it, but if you’re going to ride your bicycle on the wrong side of the street, you can expect to get knocked over, am I right?”

  “No, you’re completely wrong,” snapped Alice. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, that’s a very ignorant thing to say.”

  “I don’t mind at all, Alice,” said Peter. “Speak as you find and I’ll do the same. That way we’ll stay friends.”

  “It’s attitudes like that that cause so much trouble in the world,” she said.

  “We could always eat in the hospital canteen, I suppose,” said Ruth, interrupting her.

  “What?”

  “If we get hungry, I mean. We could eat in the canteen.”

  “Sure the food there is even worse than the rubbish they serve the patients,” said Peter. “Would we not be better going over to Joseph’s and having our dinner with him there and coming back when we get the call? We should eat his roast potatoes while they’re fresh. And you know he wanted us all to watch The Sound of Music in the afternoon. It’s Steven’s favorite film.”

  “Who’s Steven?” I asked.

  “His flatmate,” said Peter. “They’re great pals. They’ve been sharing for years.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “No, we would not,” said Ruth. “You won’t be able to drive for one thing.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because I know what you’re like, Peter Richmond. You’ll get started on the red wine and that’ll be the end of it. I won’t get a word of sense out of you and there’ll be no taxi drivers on the street later. They’ll all be at home with their families.” She paused for a moment and put a finger to her lip. “It must be terrible to be murdered,” she said, turning back to me. “I’d hate it.”

  The door opened again and now Liam appeared, wearing similar blue scrubs to those that the nurse had worn earlier. Turning and seeing us all waiting, we stood up and he grinned, holding his arms out wide.

  “I’m a dad,” he said. “Again!”

  We all cheered and embraced him. I was touched that when he threw his arms around me he seemed to squeeze me extra-tight and when he pulled away he looked directly into my eyes and smiled.

  “And how’s Laura?” asked Ruth anxiously. “Is she all right?”

  “Not a bother on her. They’ll be bringing her up to her room in about half an hour and you can see her then.”

  “And the baby?” asked Alice.

  “A little boy,” he replied.

  “You’ll have to try for a girl next time,” said Ruth.

  “Steady on,” said Liam. “Give us a chance.”

  “Can I see him?” I asked finally. “I’d love to hold my grandson.”

  Liam looked up and his face broke into a smile of pure happiness as he nodded. “Of course you can, Dad,” he said. “Of course you can.”

  Julian II

  Laura’s parents left first, looking forward to Joseph’s roast potatoes and Steven’s rapturous appreciation of The Sound of Music. Alice left shortly afterward, but I told her that I was going to stay with Liam for a little while longer and that I’d take a taxi to Dartmouth Square and be there before Cyril II was ready to carve the turkey.

  “You’re not goin
g to not show up, are you?” she asked, looking me directly in the eye with all the coolness of a trained assassin.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.

  “You do have form in this area, Cyril.”

  “Not fair. I always show up. I just don’t always stay until the end.”

  “Cyril—”

  “Alice, I’ll be there. I promise.”

  “You better. Because if you don’t, Ignac, Rebecca and the children will be very disappointed. And so will I. It’s Christmas Day, after all. I don’t want you hiding out in Ballsbridge on your own. The whole family should be together. And I’ve bought a massive box of Quality Street.”

  “Well, that seals the deal.”

  “And every flavor of Pringles.”

  “I hate Pringles.”

  “And I’m planning a game of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? later. I even bought a book.”

  “Even so. I’ll still come. As long as I can be the question master.”

  “No, Cyril II wants to be the question master.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Oh shut up, Cyril.”

  “I just feel like spending a little more time with Liam, that’s all. And it would be nice for you and your young man to have an hour together before I arrive. You can kiss and do all sorts of man and woman dirty things with each other.”

  “Oh for God’s sake.”

  “You can wax his strings.”

  “Cyril!”

  “Tighten his bow.”

  “I’ll swing for you in a minute.”

  “By the way, I was planning on getting completely sloshed tonight and staying over. I assume that’s all right.”

  “If you don’t mind sleeping in your childhood bedroom and hearing your ex-wife have sex with a man five years younger than you while five infants scream their heads off, then it’s fine with me.”

  “Sounds delightful. I’ll be there by four. Promise.”

  And so I spent another half hour with my son and his wife, and before I left I brought Liam down to the hospital café, where we bought two bottles of beer and toasted the latest addition to our unconventional family.

  “It was very kind of you,” I told him, feeling a little emotional now, partly because I was a grandfather again, partly because it was Christmas Day and partly because I was looking forward to the evening ahead. “To invite me in to meet the baby first, I mean. I’m not sure that I’ve earned that right. I would have thought your mother or Laura’s parents—”

  “I don’t care about all that stuff anymore,” he said quickly. “I’ve put all that behind me.”

  “That’s good to hear. But still.”

  “Look,” he said, putting his bottle down. “Cyril. Dad. It doesn’t matter, OK? I know I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with when we first found each other but things are different now. You’ve done nothing since we first met but make me like you. Despite my best efforts. And it’s quite annoying, actually, because I was determined to hate you.”

  “And I was equally determined to love you,” I said.

  “You know I had to do it, don’t you?” he said eventually.

  “Do what?”

  “His name. My son’s name.”

  “I guessed that you might,” I said. “I hoped that you would.”

  “It’s not a slight against you.”

  “I never thought for a moment that it was. You and your uncle had a close bond and you loved each other. I respect that. And my relationship with him was just as deep as yours, only different. I loved him very much. Our relationship was a complicated one and I didn’t come out of it covered with glory, but then again neither did he. Still, we were together from the start, we went through a lot together, and we were by each other’s side at the end.”

  To my surprise, Liam buried his face in his hands and started crying.

  “What is it?” I asked, reaching out and taking his hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “I still miss him so much,” he said. “I wish he was here.”

  I nodded. And the lesser part of my character allowed myself to feel envious, knowing that my son would never love me as much as he had loved Julian.

  “Did he talk about me?” he asked. “When he was dying, I mean? Did he mention my name?”

  I felt the tears form in my eyes now too. “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “Liam, you were the son he never had. He talked about you all the time at the end. He wanted you there but he didn’t want you to see him as he was. He loved you so much. You were the most important person in his life.”

  He lifted his bottle. “To Julian,” he said, smiling.

  It took me a moment, but I lifted my bottle too. “To Julian,” I said quietly.

  And to this day, I don’t know which Julian we were each toasting, Liam’s beloved uncle or his newly born son.

  A Little Hunchbacked Redemptorist Nun

  As I made my way back toward the ground floor, my phone rang and I glanced at the screen, knowing exactly what it would say: Alice.

  “You have one hour,” she said without any preamble when I answered.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  “One hour and then I lock the doors.”

  “I’m literally walking out of the hospital as we speak.”

  “The twins are asking where you are.”

  “Which twins?”

  “Both sets.”

  “Impossible,” I said. “One set are only babies. They can’t even speak, let alone question my whereabouts.”

  “Just be here,” said Alice. “And stop annoying me.”

  “How’s Cyril II? Is he cracking under the pressure of cooking for so many people?”

  “Fifty-eight minutes and counting.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I hung up and made my way toward the exit but the sound of weeping coming from behind a set of doors to my left gave me pause. I glanced over to where the doors to the chapel were ajar. The room inside seemed so different from the rest of the hospital—the clinical white walls replaced by something warmer and far more inviting—that I found myself moved to take a closer look.

  There was only one person inside, an elderly lady seated at the end of a pew halfway toward the altar. Classical music was playing softly, a piece I half recognized, and the door to one of the confessionals was open. I watched the woman for a few moments, uncertain whether I should walk away and leave her to her sorrow or see whether she needed some help. Eventually, my feet made the decision for me but as I stepped closer, my eyes opened wide in surprise at who she was.

  “Mrs. Goggin,” I said. “It’s Mrs. Goggin, isn’t it?”

  She looked across at me as if woken from a dream and stared at me for a few moments, her face pale. “Kenneth?” she said.

  “No, it’s Cyril Avery, Mrs. Goggin,” I said. “From the Dáil library.”

  “Oh, Cyril,” she said, nodding her head and putting her hand to her chest as if she was afraid she might be having a heart attack. “Of course. I’m sorry; I took you for someone else. How are you, dear?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “It must be years since I saw you last.”

  “Is it that long?”

  “Yes, it was at your retirement party.”

  “Oh yes,” she said quietly.

  “But what’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not, no,” she replied. “Not really.”

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But thank you anyway.”

  I glanced around, hoping that one of her family members might be nearby and come in to help but the chapel was silent and the doors had closed shut behind me.

  “Do you mind if I sit down for a few minutes?”

  She took a long time to decide but finally nodded her head, moving over a little in the pew to let me join her.

  “What’s happened, Mrs. Goggin?” I asked. “What has you so upset?”

  “My son
is dead,” she said quietly.

  “Oh no. Jonathan?”

  “A couple of hours ago now. I’ve been sitting here ever since.”

  “Mrs. Goggin, I’m so sorry.”

  “We knew it was coming,” she told me with a sigh. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “Had he been ill for long?” I asked, reaching across and taking her hand in mine. Her skin felt paper-thin and there were dark-blue veins running toward her knuckles.

  “On and off,” she said. “He had cancer, you see. He first developed it about fifteen years ago, but he managed to beat it then. Unfortunately, it came back late last year. Six months ago, the doctors told us there was nothing more that they could do for him. And today was the day.”

  “I hope he didn’t suffer too much.”

  “He did,” she said. “But he was very stoical about it. It’s those of us who are left behind who’ll have to suffer now.”

  “Would you like me to leave you on your own or is there someone I can call for you?”

  She thought about it and dabbed the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. “No,” she said. “Can you stay a little while? If you don’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” I told her.

  “You don’t have anywhere to be?”

  “I do. But it won’t matter if I’m a few minutes late. But is there anyone from your family here to take care of you? You’re not all alone, surely?”

  “I don’t need taking care of,” she said defiantly. “I might be old, but you have no idea the strength that’s left in this body.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said. “But you’re not going home to an empty house, are you?”

  “No. My daughter-in-law was here earlier with my grandchildren. They’ve gone home now. I’ll follow shortly.”

  “All right,” I said, remembering the woman and the two little girls whom I’d seen wrapped in each other’s embrace earlier when I’d first arrived at the hospital. “I think I noticed them in the corridor upstairs a couple of hours ago.”

  “You might have done. They were here all night. Well, we all were. A terrible way for children to spend Christmas Eve. They should be waiting for Santa Claus, not watching their daddy die.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you,” I said, looking toward the front of the church where a large wooden cross holding the crucified Christ stood on a wall, looking down at us in all his pity. “Are you religious?” I asked. “Do you find some peace in here at least?”