Father’s Music

‘Come on, Tracey.’ Garth grinned. ‘I should know the signs.’

‘I’ve only met him once,’ I said, with the wine making me realise how hungry I was. ‘It was exciting, but we were crazy with the risks we took.’

‘Do I know him?’

‘We got our roles wrong in the Irish Centre,’ I said. ‘You should have been my chaperon.’

Garth refilled my glass. ‘He wouldn’t be my type,’ he said. ‘I’ve never liked broody men. They’re dangerous, especially when they’re married.’

‘That’s the problem,’ I replied. ‘He’s not my type either.’

Garth laughed in recognition. I wondered about the other part of his life. It was good to talk to someone. The jazz started after the food arrived. It was hard to decide which was worse.

‘It’s a simple enough cock-up,’ I said. ‘The chef’s obviously playing the piano while the band are locked in the kitchen.’

We finished two bottles of wine, then ventured on to the street where it was raining. Garth waved a taxi down.

‘You take it,’ I told him, ‘you’re the man going places.’

He held the door open for me, then climbed in as well.

‘You’re in a bad way, sister,’ he said. ‘You’ll probably cost me the chance of a mother-in-law in Drogheda but we’re going to find out about this Irishman.’

Liam Darcy was waiting in a bar in Kensington. It was twenty minutes to closing time with a stampede of bodies hugging the counter. He saw me with Garth and looked cornered and scared. He rose.

‘Who’s she? A journalist?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Garth said. ‘Take it easy, Liam.’

‘I won’t take it easy, I …’ He lowered his voice as people looked around. ‘We agreed.’

‘Sit down,’ Garth told him. ‘The world isn’t out to get you and anyway you’re safer being seen in public with the likes of her than with me.’

Liam looked at me. ‘I can be seen with anyone I like,’ he protested. ‘Nobody can say that just because I’m having a drink with some …’

He stopped, flustered, leaving the word unspoken. It was a long time since I’d seen anyone so nervous. He was twenty-five or six but anxiety made him seem like a teenager on a first date. I could imagine a time when his clothes were fashionable. They probably still were in Moldova and Uzbekistan. He was good-looking but not in a way that appealed to me.

‘You’re the least gay looking guy I ever met,’ I lied to put him at ease.

‘Yeah, but those songs are a dead giveaway,’ Garth added.

‘What do you mean?’ Liam was defensive again.

‘They’re so corny and sentimental only a man would fall for them.’

It took Liam a moment to realise Garth was having him on. He looked at us, shamefaced. ‘I almost said “queer”, didn’t I?’

‘I’ve been called worse,’ Garth replied. ‘Names change nothing so take your pick. I’ll get us a drink.’

Garth pushed his way through the crowd. I sat in uneasy silence with Liam until he looked across.

‘You were in the Irish Centre,’ he said. ‘I remember your face. I’ve offended him.’

‘That’s between you and him.’

‘I just panicked. I’m not used to this. I almost didn’t turn up tonight.’

‘He’s a good man, Garth,’ I said.

‘We’re not … I mean we haven’t.’ He looked at me again. ‘Do I really not look gay? For years I’ve tried convincing myself, but you get sick pretending.’

‘Why not come out? In the long run it’s better.’

‘Maybe over here it is,’ he said. ‘But my manager would kill me. Two years ago I worked in Wavin Pipes in Balbriggan. I’d hardly an arse in my trousers. Now five people make a living out of me. I can’t walk away from all that.’

‘Would the Irish papers go crazy?’

‘They’d love it,’ he said. ‘I’d be a hero. But papers don’t count. They only mock my music anyway. I wouldn’t get gigs. The men running this business are fossils who’ll never change.’

I saw Garth joke with the barman as he gathered our drinks up. Liam watched him too.

‘So you live a lie,’ I said.

‘What’s so wrong with that?’ Liam was suddenly angry. ‘People think I’m stupid but I’m not. I know those songs are half-arsed but I like them. I like others, sean-nós, traditional stuff you never heard of, blues, rock, all kinds. Maybe my manager’s stuck me in one box, but I’ll not be stuck straight back in another. The gay country singer. It wouldn’t matter what I’d sing. Every bloody question would be about the same thing. I wouldn’t be a singer, I’d be a token queer bandied about by everyone for their own use.’

‘I’m sorry’, I said. ‘I’m drunk. I wasn’t getting at you.’

Garth put the drinks down and sat back. Liam took a long sip of Jack Daniels and smiled, ruefully.

‘I normally have this conversation with myself,’ he said. ‘My manager says in three years I’ll be as big as any of them: Philomena Begley, Daniel O’Donnell, Big Tom. “Leave everything to me,” he says and I do. He knows the business. He decides when my albums come out, but I’ll decide when I do.’

‘That’s your business,’ Garth said. ‘We’ve more serious things to discuss, like which club to go dancing in.’

It took intense persuading to get Liam to visit a gay club, and he only agreed when Garth repeatedly explained how discreet the one he had chosen was. It was in the taxi that Garth mentioned Luke, asking Liam if he remembered a wedding party in the Irish Centre.

‘The place was packed,’ Liam replied. ‘I play it once a month. I won’t know anyone there.’

‘There’s a guy Tracey wants to know about,’ Garth pressed him. ‘From Dublin but living here. His name is Luke and he works in tiles. He knew you or a fair amount about you.’

I realised Garth had never told Liam how he came to be in that coffee shop and he was taking a risk for me now.

‘What did he claim to know?’ Liam was defensive again.

‘Where I might meet you, for example.’

Liam lowered the window so that cold air filled the cab. The West Indian driver drove with sullen fury, jerking us about. Liam’s good humour had vanished as he digested the news of someone else knowing his movements.

‘And that it might be worth your while going there?’ Liam asked. Garth said nothing, but Liam leaned back, tense now with the world shrinking in his mind.