“Will we board?” I asked. “And try to get a good seat?”
“Lead the way,” she said, following me down the platform, and I walked toward the most distant carriage, the one that had the least chance of being crowded. There were groups of young people and parents with small children climbing into the nearer ones and I wanted to be as far from them and their noise as possible.
“You’re like an old man, Cyril,” said my mother when I made this observation to her.
“I am an old man,” I said. “I’m sixty-three.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to act like one. I’m seventy-nine and I went to a disco last night.”
“You did not!”
“I did so. Well, a dinner-dance anyway. With some friends.”
When I finally found a carriage that suited me, we climbed on board and sat down at a table facing each other, windows next to both of us for the view.
“It’s good to get off my feet,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been up since six.”
“Why so early?” I asked.
“I went to the gym first thing.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I went to the gym,” she repeated.
I blinked, uncertain whether I was understanding her right. “You go to a gym?” I asked.
“I do, of course,” she said. “Why, don’t you?”
“No.”
“No,” she said, glancing at my stomach. “Well, you should try it, Cyril. Losing a few pounds wouldn’t kill you.”
“Since when have you been going to the gym?” I asked, ignoring this.
“Oh, for about four years now,” she said. “Did I never tell you about it?”
“No,” I said.
“Melanie signed me up for my birthday when I turned seventy-five. I go three times a week now. One for a spin class, one for cardio, and one for aquabatics with Alejandro.”
“What on earth is aquabatics?” I asked.
“It’s a bunch of old ladies in the pool shaking their booties to pop music.”
“What’s a booty? And who’s Alejandro?”
“He’s a twenty-four-year-old Brazilian trainer. Oh, Cyril, he’s lovely! When we all behave ourselves, he gives us a treat and takes his shirt off. It’s a good job we’re all in the pool, as we’d need to cool off.”
“Jesus,” I said, shaking my head in a mixture of bewilderment and amusement.
“There’s life in the old dog yet,” she said, winking at me.
“I don’t think I want to know.”
“Actually, I think Alejandro might be a gay too,” she said. “Like you,” she added, as if I’d forgotten that I was one. “I could introduce you if you like.”
“That would be great,” I said. “I’m sure he’d like nothing more than to be introduced to a man old enough to be his grandfather.”
“Perhaps you’re right. He probably has a fella anyway. Well, you could always just come along to aquabatics and perv over him like the rest of us do. It’s open to anyone over sixty.”
“Please don’t use that word, Mum,” I said. “It sounds really creepy coming out of your mouth.”
She smiled and looked out the window as the train began to move. We had a couple of hours’ journey ahead of us to Cork City, followed by a bus to Bantry, and then I planned on hiring a taxi for Goleen from there.
“So anyway,” she said. “Have you any news for me at all?”
“Not much. I bought a new vase for the front room.”
“And you’re only telling me now?”
I smiled. “It’s a nice one,” I said.
“And did you go on that date?”
“I did,” I said.
“What was his name again?”
“Brian.”
“And how did it go?”
“Not well.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. I’d spent the previous Thursday evening in the Front Lounge with a man in his fifties who had only come out of the closet after thirty-four years of marriage a few weeks earlier. None of his children were talking to him and he’d spent the entire evening bemoaning this fact before I found an excuse to leave. I hadn’t the energy for any of that.
“You need to get out more,” said my mother. “Go on more dates.”
“I do occasionally,” I said.
“Once a year.”
“Once a year is enough for me. Anyway, I’m happy as I am.”
“Do you go into the chat rooms at all?”
“Excuse me?”
“The chat rooms,” she repeated.
“What chat rooms?”
“The ones where gay men meet other gay men. You send pictures to each other and say the age and type of man you’re looking for and if you’re lucky—”
“Is this a joke?” I asked.
“No, it’s very popular among the gays,” she said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”
I shook my head. “I think I’ll stick to the old-fashioned way,” I said. “How do you know so much about this stuff anyway?”
“I’m a Silver Surfer,” she said.
“A what?”
“A Silver Surfer,” she repeated. “Oh, I’m very with-it, you know. I take computer classes in the ILAC Center every Wednesday afternoon with Christopher.”
“Does he take his shirt off for you too?”
“Oh no,” said my mother, shaking her head and grimacing. “And I wouldn’t want him to either. He’s a bit of a minger.”
“You’ve been hanging out with your grandchildren too much,” I said.
“Now that you mention them, did I tell you that Julia has a boyfriend now?” she asked, referring to her eldest granddaughter.
“Does she indeed?”
“She does. I caught them shifting each other in the living room last weekend. I said nothing to her mother but I sat her down later and told her to be very careful and keep a hold of her ha’penny. One fallen woman in the family is enough.”
“What’s shifting?” I asked.
“Oh come on,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Are you alive at all, Cyril? Are you living in the twenty-first century?”
“I am,” I protested. “I imagine it’s some form of…” I hesitated with the words. “Some form of sexual activity, is it?”
“No, it’s just kissing,” she said. “But I suppose it can lead places. Young people can lose the run of themselves and she’s only fifteen. Although he seems like a nice lad, from what I can tell. Very polite. He looks like he could be one of those Westlife fellas. If I was only sixty years younger, I’d have a go myself!” she added with a laugh. “Anyway. How’s work? Am I missing much in the Dáil?”
“Not much, no. It’s fairly quiet. I’ll be ready for my retirement when it comes.”
“You can’t retire,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t allow it. I’m not old enough to have a retired son.”
“I’ve only got two more years,” I said. “And then that’s it.”
“Do you know what you’ll do then?” she asked me.
I shrugged. “I might do a little bit of traveling,” I said. “If I have the energy. I’d quite like to see Australia, but I don’t know if I’d be up for the journey at my age.”
“A friend of mine from the Silver Surfers went to Australia last year,” she said. “He has a daughter in Perth.”
“Did he have a good time?”
“No, he had a heart attack on the plane and had to be shipped back from Dubai in a coffin.”
“Great story,” I said. “Encouraging.”