CHAPTER 1
From our first day at school Danny and I were inseparable. From the moment we were put sitting together in a desk for two in junior infants each of us was the other half of the other as we coped with the new experience of school. We simply got on well together and our friendship made early school experience tolerable for both of us. The school was a small one-teacher country school and Danny and I had similar backgrounds. We both came from small farms on which our parents were struggling to survive. Neither of us had difficulties with schoolwork, which left us time and space to pursue our childish interests. In fact our school life was conducted in the context of our friendship rather than the other way round and we were close friends, through thick and thin.
As I grew older I became aware that some boys did have particular ambitions for the future and made plans in the hope of realising those ambitions. On reflection I am now aware, over fifty years later that, as a small boy, for me there was only the present. I had no plans for the future apart from staying out of trouble with parents and teachers and enjoying myself as best I could, avoiding pain and indulging in pleasure when I could. In my childhood and youth I gave no thought to the future. As far as my life was concerned I dealt with things as they happened and met as well as I could the expectations of my parents and other adults that were set over me. I was largely motivated by whatever was expedient. Danny was much the same; neither of us had an ambition that excluded the other. We shared comics we invented games, we played together at break and we frequently spent time at the house of one or other after school living in a childish fantasy world that kept us amused for hours.
There was one other boy in our class. His name was Dick. (‘My name is Richard and my mother is cross if anyone calls me Dick.’). Since his mother wasn’t there to stop us, Danny and I called him Dick. He was a bit of a loner, and in the school yard he wandered around the edge of the yard watching the older boys playing football, while Danny and I talked about our comics or devised some game or other for two. Dick was a blow-in and spoke with a different accent. His father was the creamery manager and came from Skibbereen. Dick used to talk about his granny in Skibbereen, which, as far as Danny and I were concerned, might have been due west of Timbukto. We thought it was sissy of Dick to talk about his granny; he used to tell us how much he loved her. I loved both my grannies, but I wouldn’t have told anyone. I would admit to loving sweets or staying up late, but not to loving my granny. I loved my one surviving granddad too but I wouldn’t have admitted that even to myself. He was a man. Anyway love just is; something you don’t talk about.
Dick’s mother was from Dublin, which in our minds accounted for his posh ways. Dick, as far as I was concerned, was socially superior, but personally inferior to Danny and me. He was socially superior in that he lived in a fine modern two-storied house with a tiled roof and he was better dressed than we were. He was cosmopolitan; he’d been to Dublin and Skibbereen, and above all his father owned a car. He was personally inferior because he was different from Danny and me; simple as that. We never took it out on Dick, but occasionally we would get at him for being a foreigner or because he wore underpants.
I envied Danny his lunch. I usually had a Bovril sandwich and milk in a lemonade bottle with a cork wrapped in greaseproof paper, which didn’t always seal it completely, so that my books had stains on them and my schoolbag smelled of the combination of leather and sour milk. Danny usually had a meat sandwich, a biscuit and an apple. He always gave me the apple, which his mother included because she told him it was good for him but it was usually bitter. Sometimes he didn’t finish his sandwich either, and I’d eat that for him too. Occasionally Dick would eat his lunch with us before wandering off on his own. He usually had tomato or egg sandwich, always a chocolate biscuit and tea in a thermos flask. I coveted Dick’s chocolate biscuit, and if he didn’t finish his tea he poured out what was left. A boy’s school lunch tells you something about his mother. At the time I felt that my lunch was the least exciting of the three.
After primary school Danny and I went to the ‘Tech’ in town and, you might have guessed, Dick went off to boarding school. The ‘Tech’ was a different matter from our little country primary school. We went from being big fish in a small pool to being small fish in a big pool, and a big pool that contained sharks; some of the boys from the town. The townie boys were cuter and smarter with words, but generally speaking the country boys came off better in fights. Danny and I seldom got into fights. This was made easier for us since academically we were both always in the first three at the top of the class. When we came to the Leaving Certificate it was clear that we were both candidates for university, and this, despite the financial exigencies for our families, was what transpired. We were the first two pupils both from our primary school and from the Tech to go to college.
Though we both did well, Danny and I had different aptitudes and each succeeded best in different subjects. It emerged that Danny was practical and mathematical while I was abstract and literary. Danny did engineering and I did English. This meant that our lectures were at opposite ends of the university and we were mixing with two different groups of fellow students. Since we shared a flat we still saw a good deal of each other and met most days by arrangement for lunch. My main extra curricular activity was the college Drama Society and Danny’s was girls.
Danny talked a good deal about the girls he took out. I wasn’t as at ease with girls as he was and he used to rib me about not being interested in them until finally in order to shut him up on this topic I admitted there was a particular girl, Marie, in the Drama Society that I liked. We got on well and went for coffee together a few times. Marie was gentle and kindly with a good sense of humour and I enjoyed her company.
One evening Danny confronted me:
‘Have you not asked that woman out yet?
‘No.’
‘She’ll think there’s something wrong with you, or that you don’t work that way. Do you like her?’
‘I do.’
‘Well ask her out. Make a date.’ I felt nerves in my stomach.
‘Where would we go?’
‘Try the City Morgue, it’s a great place to punch in a few hours.’ Danny came back like a shot, and went on: ‘A picture or your beloved theatre, you feckin’ eejit. Next time you see her, ask her out. Are you a man or a mouse?’
‘If they’re the only two options I’m definitely a mouse.’
A week or so later Danny asked me again:
‘Did you ask that woman out yet?’
‘No.’ I said, hoping the short answer would deter him from pursuing the matter further, but no such luck.
‘Why the feck not? Have you seen her since?’
‘I have.’
‘Is there anyone else sniffing around there?’ I found the expression distasteful in the extreme in relation to Marie, but answered:
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘Well get on with it, or she’ll think you have mickey trouble.’
I thought of defending myself on the grounds that you can be friends with a woman without any romantic or sexual complications, but didn’t, because I knew what Dec would say:
‘You can in your arse,’ or even something worse.
I thought about it more and decided that there was no reason why I shouldn’t ask Marie if she would like to come to the theatre. After one of the Drama Group meetings of the new term I asked her if she was interested to see the new play at The Abbey. She smiled and said she was.
On the night I became tense, anxious as to what Marie’s expectation of the night would be. I was glad when the play started, and we sat on during the interval and chatted. We went for a drink afterwards, and I had the impression that Marie was enjoying herself. I walked her to her bus and knew that, in other circumstances, this was the time I should hold her hand or kiss her on the cheek when she was going, but I had no inclination in the world to do either.
Next time I saw Dec he quizzed me about, what he called my date.
‘How did it go? Did you make a move?’
I was beginning to wonder was there was something wrong with me, and told him jocularly to mind his own business. On the other hand I had no instinct or inclination to go out with anybody. I was content with my friendship with Danny, College, the Drama Society and the odd pint. I saw no reason to disturb the equilibrium of my life by complicating it with a relationship just to please Danny, or anybody else for that matter.
Shortly after Marie and I went to the theatre, as I was coming away from rehearsal, I bumped into Sheila, an older woman who used to come into college from outside, to help us with the drama group. She recounted to me that a friend, with whom she was due to go to the play at the Gate that evening had had a family bereavement and was I free to use the ticket. As it happened I was free, so she arranged that I would go with her.
We met in the crowded foyer, and as she approached I was struck by how different she looked from her appearance at rehearsals. She had her hair, that was going grey, up, held by two combs that left wisps going in all directions and she wore a long black coat, open, over a red dress that hugged her figure. On one side of her ample bosom she wore a large metal brooch with a swath of little chains and a purple stone in the centre. I was immediately conscious that I had made no effort and in sweater and jeans I was distinctly under dressed. She had already bought a programme and greeted me warmly. We were in good time and found our seats. I helped Sheila off with her coat and got a strong waft of perfume. We chatted amiably and I was surprised how comfortable I felt in her company.
At the interval we were at one in deciding that the play, by a new playwright, was only passable. We agreed that it would have been improved by being edited to two-thirds its length. We went to the bar where Sheila’s gin and tonic matched her ensemble and my pint of stout complimented my own inelegance. Chronologically people could have mistaken us for mother and son, but sartorially we didn’t fit at all. What they did make of us I had no idea.
After the show, Sheila, who lived alone, asked me back to her house for coffee, and although I didn’t want to go I had a strong sense she wanted me to, and so I accepted. After a while our conversation was less stilted as I no longer felt I was under anybody’s eye. I had oscillated all evening between offering to pay for my ticket or not. It wasn’t the money; I wanted to do the right thing, but I had no way of knowing what the right thing was. In the end I did offer, but Sheila wouldn’t hear of it. Walking home I had to admit to myself that I had enjoyed the evening, but I would lie rather than tell Danny where I had been and who I had been with.
At the end of our first year at university Danny and I went to America to work for the summer. Danny’s brother lived there and found jobs for us. We worked as waiters and general factotums at a posh Country Club upstate New York. Half way through the summer Dec was nearly fired for what the manager described as ‘flirtatious behaviour’ with one of the waitresses. If the manager had only known. It was much more than flirtatious, as I found to my embarrassment when I discovered the two of them in a walk-in linen cupboard. I felt awkward about it, but I felt even more awkward when after this I realised I too was under surveillance, presumably as the manager assumed I was tarred with the same brush.
During the next academic year Sheila and I went to the theatre together a number of times. I was careful to dress appropriately and we always went back to her house for coffee afterwards. I enjoyed these evenings; she knew a great deal about theatre and I was stimulated by her conversation. She used to say that only art helped her to make sense of the world. She gave me confidence to admit to myself that it was all right to dissent from the rigid norms of Irish society of the time. Sheila introduced me to serious music by arranging to go to concerts. I soon became entirely at ease on our theatre and concert nights out and Sheila had taken to offering me her cheek on meeting her and when saying good-night. Occasionally I would suggest something slightly circuitously by asking: ‘Have you seen such and such?’ If she hadn’t she would always say:
‘No, lets go.’ One of her great phrases was ‘why not.’
One night, having been to a concert, we were sitting in Sheila’s house drinking coffee when she answered a ring at the front door. She left the sitting room door ajar and I recognised the caller’s voice. It was my Professor of English Literature. The conversation went something like this:
‘Frank.’
‘Hello, Sheila.’
‘I thought I told you not to call.’
‘I know, but I happened to be passing.’
‘Come on, Frank, don’t take me for a fool.’
‘Can I come in, just for a few minutes?’
‘No you can’t,’ Sheila said firmly, ‘I have a friend with me.’
‘That’s O K, I’m sure she won’t mind, and I won’t stay long.’
‘I don’t wish to be impolite, Frank, but I can’t ask you in. Anyway it’s late.’ The Prof dropped his voice and I couldn’t hear what he said to this. Whatever it was, Sheila replied:
‘No, Good night,’ and closed the door.
She came back into the sitting room and sat down.
‘That was a friend who calls from time to time, but it’s much too late to invite anyone in.’
‘I must go,’ I said and put down my cup.
‘No, No, stay where you are,’ and with a matronly smile she added ‘it’s not at all too late for someone who’s already here,’ and offered me more coffee.
I had become fond of Sheila, and I believed she of me. She was like a favourite aunt, and I assumed she saw me as a favourite nephew who shared with her an interest in theatre, and whom she had introduced to serious music. That is until one night back at her house when I was leaving. Instead of the usual friendly peck on the cheek, she held me and kissed me full on the lips. I mumbled something and left quickly. I was shocked and on reflection, if I had thought about it I might have seen it coming. The signs were there, but I hadn’t put them all together. On her next visit to rehearsals there was no mention of our last night out. We both maintained the same friendly formality we always did at rehearsals.
I was a little ill at ease on our next evening at the theatre and first thing when we got back to her house Sheila said:
‘ Declan, I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For when you were leaving the last time we were out. Your company means a lot to me and I don’t want to lose it. It won’t happen again.’
‘Don’t give it another thought,’ I said, glad that she had brought it up, and glad to have it out of the way. We had coffee as usual and when I was leaving, I kissed her as usual, platonically, on the cheek and felt a great relief that normality had been re-established between us.
The following summer Danny and I went back to the Country Club in America and I assumed Danny had plans for some more ‘flirtatious behaviour’ with his waitress friend as they had been in touch in the meantime. What transpired was a surprise to me, but a complete catastrophe for Danny.
His waitress friend became pregnant during the previous summer, but she did not tell Danny that she had had his child until he returned to America. She wanted him to stay and settle down with her, but their presuppositions about the nature of their relationship were different. Danny made it plain that staying and settling down together were out of the question, and he tried to bring forward his air ticket to return to Ireland as soon as possible. Since it was a student charter flight he wasn’t able to make a change. His only option was to ask his brother for the money to book a scheduled flight and confess the reason. Before he had done this the girl’s father arranged to have the legal papers for a paternity suit served on him, and he appeared in court and had to surrender his passport and stay in the United States until the case came up. Dec’s ‘flirtatious behaviour’ of the previous year had landed him in the soup.
The mother of Danny’s child no longer worked at the club. She had a permanent job in town and her mother looked after the baby. After an initial bollocking Danny’s brother supported him, and he became reconciled to the fact that he would either have to agree to a financial contribution towards the maintenance of the child or contest the paternity suit in the autumn. He built his hopes on the possibility that the child might not have been his, although he knew the timing made it likely that it was. Danny talked to me from time to time about the whole thing, but I lost track of the details. What astounded me most and obliterated any sympathy I had for him, was that he began a new relationship with a woman that worked in the office at the Country Club. He couldn’t help himself. His only hope was to ensure that he didn’t make the same mistake again. The upshot was that Danny was stuck in the States until the case came up and had to take a year out from college. I came home, set into another academic year and continued with my life as before.
In the second term tragedy struck Sheila. She had a severe stroke. She was brought down in full stride like a fallen horse. I went to see her in hospital and I don’t think she recognised me. A week after the stroke she died. Sheila could never have faced incapacity; she could not have coped with being unable to use her extravagant gestures to give expression to her flamboyant temperament.
Some weeks later I learned from Danny’s brother that the court had found that he was the father of the child, he was still in America and he would not be returning to College.