“Hi, Marcus,” said Laura.
“Hello, Mrs. Woodbead,” he replied politely, and I noticed that neither she nor Liam invited him to call them by their first names. My son made some remark about a football match that had taken place the night before and within a minute the two were engaged in a lively conversation about it. From what I understood, the team that Liam supported had beaten the team that Marcus supported and the young lad was raging about it.
“You look very smart, Cyril,” said Laura, reaching over and giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” I said. “As do you. If I was forty years younger, of a different sexual orientation and my son wasn’t married to you, I’d be after you in a heartbeat.”
“I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” she said, pouring me a glass.
“Isn’t this just fucking great?” said George, raising his voice now, and we all turned to see him beaming in delight as he held his glass aloft.
“Watch the language,” said Liam.
“I’m just saying,” said George. “To find love when you’re…you know…so ancient. It’s fantastic. And then to be able to stand up before the world and declare it out loud. It’s fucking brilliant.”
I smiled and nodded. It was, I supposed.
“It’s probably more unexpected than anything else,” I said.
“No, he’s right,” said Laura, raising her glass. “It’s fantastic.”
“Fucking fantastic,” insisted George, pulling Marcus close to him and giving him a quick peck on the lips. I couldn’t help but notice how both his parents looked away instinctively, while his younger brother and sister stared and giggled, but it felt very good to watch the moment as he pulled away and they looked into each other’s eyes, a couple of teenagers who had found each other—and would surely lose each other again for someone else soon but were happy right at that moment. It was something that never could have happened when I was that age. And yet for all my happiness at seeing my grandson happy and secure in who he was, there was something terribly painful about it too. What I would not have given to be that young at this time and to be able to experience such unashamed honesty.
“We should start to make a move,” said Laura a moment later, glancing at the clock. “Shouldn’t the car be here by now?”
As if by magic, the doorbell rang and everyone jumped. “Right,” said Liam. “Has everyone got everything they need? Dad, you have your speech?”
“It’s right here,” I said, touching my breast pocket.
“All right. Let’s go then,” he said, marching down the hallway and opening the front door, where two silver Mercedes were waiting to bring us into the city center.
Yes or No
“They haven’t taken all the signs down, I see,” said Charles as we drove along.
“What’s that?” I asked, turning to look at him, surprised to see how neatly he’d fit into the seats opposite me, next to Liam, George and Marcus.
“The signs,” he said. “On the telephone poles. There’s still quite a few up. The referendum was months ago now.”
“People are lazy,” I said. “There’ll be a storm sooner or later and they’ll blow the rest down.”
“I’m bloody glad it’s over,” he said, shaking his head.
“Me too.”
“I knew it would bring out the worst in people.”
“Well, you were right.”
“It brought out the worst in you too,” said Charles.
“What do you mean?” I asked, offended.
“You know what I’m talking about,” he said. “Engaging with all those morons on your phone. Arguing with complete strangers.”
“It was impossible not to,” I said. “I spent long enough staying silent. There was a chance to speak up at last and I took it. And I’m glad I did.”
“Well, you won, so you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“But all it did was remind me how unkind people can be. And how ugly.”
“And you weren’t part of that ugliness?”
“I don’t think I was,” I said.
“All right,” said Charles, taking an iPhone from his inside pocket. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” He pressed a few buttons and scrolled down. “Why are you so afraid of people being happy?” he read. “Why can’t you just live and let live? Now, who wrote that…oh let me see…oh yes! @cyrilavery!”
“That was that awful Mandy woman,” I said. “Every day, tweeting about how her relationship was more valid than anyone else’s. Just a vile human being.”
“And this one,” said Charles. “If your relationship was a successful one, then you wouldn’t care what other people did in their own private lives. Also @cyrilavery.”
“An awful married couple,” I said. “Tweeting all day long, every day, to practically no followers. They must just have sat on their phones from morning to night. They deserved all the abuse they got.”
“And how about this one?” he asked. “You must be filled with self-loathing to be behaving the way you are.”
“I know that one!” I said. “That was to that gay guy who was voting No.”
“Well, didn’t he have the right?”
“No!” I shouted. “No, he didn’t! He was just looking for attention, that’s all. Fuck him! He was betraying his own people.”
“Oh, Cyril,” said Charles. “Don’t be a moron. And as for that radio debate—”
“They asked me on!” I said.
“You should have just ignored them all,” said Charles with a smile. “It’s the best thing to do with your enemies. And anyway, they lost, didn’t they? By a landslide. Their day is over. They’re the past. They’re history. Just a bunch of bigots screaming into the void, desperate to have their voices heard. They were always going to lose. And you know what? The world didn’t fall off its axis when it happened. So stop being so angry. It’s over. You won, they lost.”
“But I didn’t win, did I?” I said.
“How do you mean?”
I shook my head and looked out the window. “When the vote was passed,” I said, “I was watching the news reports on the television. And there was David Norris. It’s a little bit late for me, he said, once he knew that it was a Yes and that the country had changed forever. I’ve spent so much time pushing the boat out that I forgot to jump on and now it’s out beyond the harbor on the high seas, but it’s very nice to look at. And that’s how I feel. Standing on the shore, looking out at the boat. Why couldn’t Ireland have been like this when I was a boy?”
“That, I can’t answer,” said Charles quietly.
“Look,” said George, pointing out the window, and I turned around to him in a daze.
“What?” I asked.
“We’re here,” he said. “There’s Ignac.”
The car pulled over to the side of the road, and I saw Ignac, Rebecca and the children standing outside, talking to Jack Smoot, who was in a wheelchair but had shown up as he had promised.
“I can’t believe it,” said Marcus. “I’ve read all of his books three times. He’s my favorite writer ever.”
“I’ll introduce you to him,” said George proudly. “Ignac and I are big pals.”
I smiled. It was nice to hear.
“Right,” I said, opening the door. “Let’s do this.”