I thought about it. On one hand his argument sounded ridiculous but on the other, it was difficult to identify its flaws.
“You realize it’ll be difficult, though, don’t you?” I said. “Being gay, I mean. I don’t know whether Ireland is even ready for a gay minister yet, let alone a gay Taoiseach.”
“Like I said, I don’t put labels on myself. And of course there are ways around these things.”
I nodded, uncertain whether I really wanted to stay in his company much longer when a thought popped into my mind. It was like a light-bulb moment. “Can I ask you a question?” I said.
“Sure.”
“You don’t have a girlfriend, by any chance, do you?”
He sat back and seemed surprised by what I’d asked. “Of course I do,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m a good-looking man with a great job in the prime of my life.”
I shook my head. “You have a girlfriend,” I said, more of a statement than anything else. “So I presume she doesn’t care about your lack of labels either?”
“How do you mean?”
“Does she think you’re straight?”
“That’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think?”
“Well, you asked me out, Andrew. And we’re here on a date. So I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to ask.”
He thought about it for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, she’s never asked any questions,” he said. “And sure what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” I said.
“What?”
“Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’re getting married.”
“We are getting married as it happens,” he said. “Next July. I think I can get Albert and Kathleen to come to the reception if I play my cards right.”
I started laughing. “You’re some chancer,” I said. “Why on earth are you marrying this poor girl if you’re gay?”
“I told you, I’m—”
“Not into labels, I know. But let’s use one just for a moment. Why are you marrying her if you’re gay?”
“Because I need a wife,” he said unapologetically. “My constituents expect that of me. The party expects that of me. There’s no way that I’m going anywhere unless I have a wife and children.”
“And what about her?” I asked, aware of the hypocrisy in my outrage but, in fairness, it had been twenty-one years since my own wedding day and I hadn’t deceived a single person about my sexuality since then.
“What about her? What do you mean?”
“You’re going to ruin some poor girl’s life because you don’t have the guts to tell the truth about yourself.”
“How will I be ruining her life?” he asked, looking genuinely baffled. “If I go all the way, we’ll be on state visits to Buckingham Palace and the White House and all sorts of places. Are you saying that’s a wasted life?”
“It is if the person you’re with doesn’t love you.”
“But I do love her. She’s a terrific person. And she loves me too.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” he said. “No one’s asking you to marry her.”
“True,” I said. “Look, to each their own. Do whatever makes you happy. Shall we finish these up anyway and get out of here?”
He smiled and nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “We can’t go back to mine, though. You live alone, though, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Why?”
“Will we go there?”
“Why would we go there?”
“Why do you think?”
I stared at him. “You’re not actually expecting us to spend the night together, are you?” I asked.
“No, of course not,” he said. “Not the full night anyway. A couple of hours, that’s all.”
“No, thanks,” I said, shaking my head.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked, looking utterly confused now.
“No, not at all.”
“But why not?”
“Firstly, because we barely know each other—”
“Oh, like that’s a big deal.”
“No, maybe not. But you have a girlfriend. Sorry, you have a fiancée.”
“Who doesn’t need to know anything about this.”
“I don’t do that, Andrew,” I said. “Not anymore.”
“Do what?”
“I’m not interested in being part of a deception. I spent enough of my life lying to people and hiding away. I’m not going down that road again.”
“Cyril,” he said, smiling in such a way that made me know he believed his charm would always work. “Not to put too fine a point on it but you’re supposedly forty-nine years old, I’m only thirty-four and I’m offering it to you on a plate. Are you really telling me that you’re going to turn this opportunity down?”
“Afraid so,” I said. “Sorry.”
There was a long pause while he took this in and then he simply shook his head and laughed. “All right,” he said, standing up. “I’ll leave you to it so. What a complete waste of an evening. You blew it big time, my friend, that’s all I’m saying. And for what it’s worth, I have a massive cock.”
“I’m delighted for you.”
“You sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
“Believe me, I’m completely sure.”
“Your loss. But look”—he leaned over now and looked me directly in the eye—“if you ever tell anyone about this conversation, not only will I deny everything but I’ll sue you for libel.”
“A libel is written down,” I told him. “If I tell someone, then it would be a slander. Although it wouldn’t be anyway since it would be the truth.”
“Fuck you,” he said. “Don’t mess with me, all right? Remember, I know some pretty powerful people. That job of yours could be taken away from you without much difficulty.”
“Just go if you’re going,” I said wearily. “I have no intention of talking to anyone about this. The whole thing is just embarrassing. You don’t have to worry.”
“Right,” he said, putting on his coat. “Well, you’ve been warned.”
“Go,” I said.
And he went.
I ordered another drink and sat quietly in the corner of the bar watching the couples and the groups of friends enjoying their evenings. And nothing changes, I thought. Nothing ever changes. Not in Ireland.
A Real Avery
A month before he was due to finish his sentence, Charles was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and released from prison early on compassionate grounds. With no desire to return to his solitary penthouse apartment in Ballsbridge, he begged me to allow him to spend his final weeks in the house on Dartmouth Square where, he claimed somewhat improbably, he had spent the happiest days of his life. I explained that I hadn’t lived there in forty years, but he seemed to think that I was just being difficult and so I found myself phoning Alice to explain the predicament. Three years after our testy reunion in the Duke, we were on slightly better terms and to my delight she agreed immediately, finding a wonderful opportunity to remind me how good Charles had been to her after I had walked out on our reception, humiliated her in front of all her friends and family, left her alone to bring up our child and generally ruined her life.
“I’m glad you don’t hold a grudge,” I told her.
“Shut up, Cyril.”
“No, really. You’re a very easy-going person. How some man didn’t snap you up years ago is beyond me.”