When Love Comes to Town E-Book

Tom Lennon

• Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

A new edition of this acclaimed novel Meet Neil Byrne - try-scorer on the rugby field, prizewinning student, one of the in-crowd at the disco, regular guy, gay. Presenting one face to the world and burying his true feelings in fantasy, Neil manages to keep his secret. But when fantasy isn't enough and he becomes caught up in the bizarre subculture of Dublin's gay nightlife, the pretence must end. It is the time for truth. The consequences are both hilarious and painful. Told with honesty, humour and originality, When Love Comes to Town brings a new type of hero to modern Irish fiction.

Leseprobe

For my friends

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

Copyright

CHAPTER 1

Neil rested his elbows on the window ledge, sank his chin into his hands, and stared out across the neighbourhood gardens. Clothes flapped on clotheslines, birds squawked, small kids played football in the garden that backed onto theirs, and a couple of semi-naked diehards lay sprawled on deckchairs soaking up the watery rays of early May sunshine. At the end of his own garden, a rope, with a car tyre attached to the end of it, dangled from the treehouse that his father had built years before. Everything in the garden was in bloom. But even the fresh flowery scents couldn’t change Neil’s mood; Sunday afternoons were always a low point in his week.

Certain that no one was looking, he leaned out the open window and tossed the soggy, sperm-filled tissue into the next-door neighbour’s bushes. Third of the afternoon. God knows what sort of flowers will sprout from that bush, he thought, lighting up a cigarette and slipping on the headphones of his Walkman. Sinead O’Connor’s haunting vocals brought tears to his eyes.

It’s been so long without you here

Like a bird without a song

Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling

Neil made sure to blow the smoke out the window, he didn’t fancy facing another of his mum’s investigations. He looked at the books spread out across his desk and closed his eyes in a grimace. There was so much he had to revise before the exams, but he just couldn’t concentrate today. Then he glanced in the mirror, pouted, and made a face at his reflection.

Nothing compares

Nothing compares to you

Narrowing his moist eyes into slits, he focused on a flock of gulls gliding past distant telephone lines. Lucky things, he reflected, what he wouldn’t give to be able to just fly away with them. Flecks of dandruff cloud speckled the horizon sky. It was definitely a day for the beach. But the thoughts of being the spare prick yet again had made him use the study excuse when Gary and Trish had called.

“Jesus, you can’t study all day,” Gary insisted.

“The break’ll do you good, Neil,” Trish added, touching his arm gently.

“Plenty of time for catching rays over the summer,” Neil replied with a grin. Neil always grinned, that was what they liked about him. All the fun of the fair when Neil was around. Gary and Trish, Tom and Andrea, Joe and Mary, Paddy and Niamh … Tweedle dum, Tweedle dee, all the rhyming couplets were off to the beach – with Neil. We’ll have to find you a girlfriend, Neil, one of the girls would say, and Neil would lie back on the sand, cup his hands under his head, and make some smart Alec comment like, Only one? And, of course, everyone would laugh. And Neil would laugh with them. But inside he felt the clawing emptiness. Sometimes he felt like he wanted to break down and tell them all about the real Neil. End all the pretence. Scream it out at the top of his voice for all the world to hear.

The bedroom door burst open and his young niece stood in the doorway, her bottle in her hand. Neil removed his headphones, switched off the Walkman and stubbed out his cigarette quickly.

“How’re you, Anniepoo?” he said, holding his arms out.

“No, Anniepoo. Nee’s shoe, Nee’s shoe.” The sturdy two-year-old was pointing at his runners.

“Neil’s cool Reeboks,” Neil said, lifting his beaming niece up on to his knee. He could hear the commotion downstairs. His oldest sister Kate and her husband Dan, along with their two kids, had arrived for their Sunday afternoon visit. His mum was showing Kate the new curtains in the diningroom, his dad was chatting with Dan in the livingroom, while Danny, his three-year-old nephew, was running from room to room, shooting baddies with his noisy machine gun.

“You crying?” Annie was pointing at his eyes.

Neil nodded. “I crying.”

This was a signal for his niece to lean forward and place a sloppy kiss on his nose.

“I better now,” Neil assured the little girl.

“Teddy, teddy,” Annie said, pointing to the small teddy bear sitting on top of the chest of drawers. Neil had been given Ted by Santa Claus when he was a baby and, at his mum’s insistence, it had remained in his bedroom ever since. He knew it was because he was the youngest in the family, it was her way of clinging on to the memory of happier times.

“Ted is watching you,” he said, gently pressing his finger into the child’s button nose.

“Nee’s books, Nee’s books,” she said, now pointing at the desk.

“Neil’s books,” Neil nodded, as he stood up and hoisted the delighted child on to his shoulders.

“My bot-bot, my bot-bot,” Annie squealed. Neil picked her bottle off the table and went downstairs with Annie bouncing up and down on his shoulders.

He stood outside the livingroom door and listened. His dad was holding court.

“You’ve met Chris, haven’t you, Catherine?” his dad asked.

“I think so,” his mum replied absently. “Doesn’t he work in the advertising department?”

“The very one,” his dad agreed.

“You always find them in advertising,” Dan, Neil’s brother-in-law, said with a guffaw.

“I mean, he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s one-of-them,” his dad added, and again Dan guffawed.

Outside the door, Neil was struggling to fight back his blushes.

“But, you know, a better listener you’ll never find,” his dad continued.

“Is that right?” Dan said in his lick-arse voice.

“People queue up outside his office for advice on their marital problems.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Dad,” Kate said.

“I’m telling you, they do,” his dad insisted. “The man’s a born counsellor.”

“So long as he sticks to counselling,” Dan quipped, and he and Neil’s dad laughed.

Neil took a deep breath and walked into the livingroom. Dan immediately came over to Neil and slapped his back in his rugby-club manner. “Couple of weeks now and we’ll be able to go for a pint together,” he said, winking to the others.

Neil grinned, trying to conceal his horror at the thought of being stuck in a pub alone with his brother-in-law.

“Our little Neiley Nook’s going to be eighteen!” Kate exclaimed histrionically, clapping her hands to her face. “Oh my God, I feel ancient!”

“I must say, I’m looking forward to discovering what pubs look like from the inside,” Neil said in a deadpan voice, bringing a burst of laughter from the others, especially Brendan, his dad.

“Don’t mind that chancer,” said Catherine, his mum, smiling uncertainly.

“The most worrying thing is that this fellow and all his pals are going to have a vote,” his dad said, and another friendly peel of laughter circled the room.

Then Neil’s little nephew charged into the livingroom, spraying the place with imaginary bullets from his clacking machine gun.

“You’re dead! You’re dead!” Danny shouted.

Everyone had to moan and pretend that they were hit before the noisy gun fell silent. Then the little fellow’s eyes lit up. He had spotted Neil. He dropped his gun, hurtled straight for his uncle, and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“Hulk Hogan!” Danny roared, attempting to lift Neil up off the ground.

“And the Warriors of Doom,” Neil said, keeping his head bowed, afraid that his dilated pupils would betray his squalid bedroom activities.

“They love their Uncle Neil,” Kate said.

“Mind the baby, Neil!” his mum warned, watching anxiously as Annie jigged up and down on his shoulders.

“So, how’s the study going?” Dan asked.

“Fine,” Neil replied, adopting his best fake smile. Since Christmas, his brother-in-law had asked him the same question every time they met. He usually singled Neil out for a friendly chat, but Neil always felt awkward. Except for rugby, they had absolutely nothing in common.

“Danny, stop that!” Dan caught hold of his son who had begun to grab ornaments off the mantlepiece and toss them across the room as imaginary grenades.

“Danny!” Kate shrieked.

“You’re a bold boy!” Dan said to his brazen-faced son.

“It’s all right,” Catherine said, stooping down to pick up her precious ornaments.

Brendan chuckled heartily as he rubbed his grandson’s hair. “No damage done.”

“Don’t encourage him, Dad,” said Kate.

“You’d need eyes in the back of your head,” Dan said.

“Did he break them?” Kate asked.

“No, no, they’re fine,” Catherine said. Neil saw his mum slip a broken china elephant into her pocket. Her brother Frank, the missionary priest in Africa, had given it to her. Neil knew that he’d hear the complaints about Kate’s children later. But as always in the family, nothing was ever said when it should have been.

“Bit of news.” Kate held her hands up theatrically, “Dan’s getting a new company car next week.”

“Really?” Neil’s mum pretended to sound delighted.

“What type?” his dad asked, his eyes lighting up.

Kate turned to Dan. “What type was it again, pet?”

“Well, it was a choice between a Volvo and a BMW,” Dan said. Neil could see that Dan was bursting with pride, though doing his utmost to appear modest.

“We’re taking the Volvo because we think it’ll be safer for the children,” Kate told them.

Brendan nudged Dan. “You let her choose, did you?”

“You know yourself, Bren,” Dan laughed.

“Don’t mind him,” said Kate.

“Well, I think this calls for a celebratory drink,” Brendan announced, taking a bottle of his homemade wine from the drinks cabinet. “And we’ll even allow the young fellow a taste of things to come,” he added, nodding towards Neil.

But Neil shook his head. “No, Dad, I won’t, I’m just going out.” Escape was imperative. There was only so much happy family chat he could endure. It was as if the same record was replayed everytime they met.

“Where’re you going, love?” his mum asked.

“Just out on the bike for a bit of air.”

“Oh, some young one, I’ll bet,” his dad teased.

“Is there something we should know?” Kate looked to Catherine enquiringly.

His mum shrugged. “Sure, he tells us nothing.”

“A break from my study, Kate.” Neil blushed as he lifted Annie down from his shoulders, and purposely avoided his mum’s searching look.

“A good-looking fellow like you should have a girlfriend,” Kate said, prodding him gently.

“Only one?” Neil felt suddenly nauseous as he muttered the well-worn reply and brought the predictable macho laughter from his dad and his brother-in-law. But he was still conscious of his mum’s stare.

“Whatever happened to Becky what’s-her-name you brought to your debs?” asked Kate, tweaking Neil’s nose.

“That’d be tellin’,” Neil said, ducking out the door. He couldn’t get away fast enough now. He glanced back quickly and saw them all watching him leave.

While Neil was wheeling his bicycle out of the garden shed, he could hear his mum’s voice drifting out through the open window. “He likes to go out for cycles on his own,” she said, but Neil could sense the pain in her voice. She knew that there was something troubling her youngest. Neil had once overheard his dad putting it down to his exams, but he knew that his mum wasn’t convinced. Her motherly intuition told her that it was something a lot deeper than that. But her watchfulness drove Neil even further away from her. The boy who had told her everything during his younger, more carefree, days was like a stranger to her now.

Neil forgot his troubles as soon as he felt the summer breeze on his face, blowing away all the bedroom cobwebs. He took a short-cut through the deserted suburban oasis of Blackrock College, past all the rugby pitches which held so many vivid memories of past glories for him. He smiled as he recalled his brother-in-law Dan charging on to the Lansdowne Road pitch in front of twenty thousand spectators and embracing Neil after he had scored a try in the Schools’ Cup final. Neil had teased him about the lengths people go to to get their mug on television. But Dan was so taken with the achievement that he actually brought Neil’s medal into his office and down to his rugby club to show it off. Look what the missus’s kid brother won! Passport to any job in the country, this medal is. Neil imagined the reactions behind Dan’s back. Swear he had won it himself. Idolising a kid, what a dork.

Neil’s thoughts were interrupted when Fr Donnelly stepped out into his path and flagged him to stop. His brakes screeched as he skidded his bike to a halt.

“Trying to run me down?” Fr Donnelly joked.

Neil grinned. “Sorry, Father, didn’t see you there.”

“You look like a man who’s very worried about his Leaving Cert.”

“Short break from the study.”

Fr Donnelly rested his hand on Neil’s shoulder. “I want an ‘A’ in that English paper from you,” he said.

“At least,” Neil smiled. Fr Donnelly had taught him since First Year and Neil had always been one of his favourite students.

The priest’s face became serious. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Neil nodded. “Arts.”

“And have you told your mother and father?”

Neil shook his head. Fr Donnelly squeezed his shoulder gently. “I think you should, you know.”

Neil blushed. “I will after the exams are over.”

The priest relinquished his grip on Neil’s shoulder. “You should tell your parents these things, Neil, they’ll understand. They know you a lot better than you think they do,” he added absently before he bade farewell and continued on his stroll.

What was Donno getting at? Neil wondered. Had he been talking to his mum? Neil knew the priest well enough to realise that what he had just said was laden with undercurrents. Surely the old codger couldn’t have guessed. No way. He was just worried that he would be seen as the one responsible for Neil’s decision not to do Engineering. That was it, he decided, as he pressed down on his pedals and set off again through the empty school grounds.

A man with a bushy moustache was standing by the urinals, supposedly pissing, when Neil stepped cautiously into the gents’ toilets on Blackrock seafront. Keeping his head down, Neil ducked into a cubicle and locked the door. Water was hissing through the overhead pipes, and the faint sounds of people on the beach drifted through the vent in the concrete wall. Ignoring the pungent odours, Neil started to read the graffiti. It struck him how sad most of the comments were. Notes of desperation. Presumably sane people organising dates on the back of a toilet door. After he had read the complete toilet-door works, he flushed the toilet and opened the cubicle door. His heart jumped when he saw that Bushy Moustache was still in the toilets, now pretending to wash his hands in a dingy hand-basin that looked older than himself.

“You wouldn’t have the time, would you?” Bushy Moustache asked in his suave voice.

“Eh, it’s just gone three o’clock,” Neil replied, avoiding the man’s lingering look. His face felt like it was on fire as he walked out of the toilets. He stayed out of view while a DART train, packed with happy day trippers, shuttled past. Then, as he was unlocking his bicycle, Bushy Moustache appeared at the doorway of the toilets.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah.” Neil’s hands were trembling as he fiddled with his combination lock. He felt the man’s eyes burning right through him. He kept his head bowed, certain that with his luck, someone he knew was bound to be passing at this embarrassing moment. Hey, Neil, saw you chatting to this bloke outside the bog in the park. You’d want to watch it, you’ll get a bit of a name for yourself. Don’t worry, Neil reassured himself, you’d fob them off with a grin and a joke. Oh, he was some goer, you’d say with a mock sigh, me arse was sore for a week after. They’d laugh, and all suspicion would be dispelled immediately.

“You don’t have a light by any chance, do you?”

Oh shit, he’s not giving up easily. Maybe you’re giving out signals without even knowing it.

“Sorry, don’t smoke.”

That’s it, up on your bike now, and cycle away back into your safe little world, Neil thought. Leave the toilet fiend to his own devices. God, what a life, spending your Sunday afternoons in a stinking toilet. Imagine if his mother knew. Imagine if the doctor delivering the screaming babby said, Oh missus, this boy of yours is going to spend every Sunday afternoon in a dingy toilet, attempting to lure younger men into the cubicle with him. Aaaah, she’d scream, murder him! Drown him like a kitten. Slit his throat from ear to ear. Gag him ‘till he suffocates. Just get rid of him.

Quickly Neil squashed any thoughts of what his own mum would say if she could see her little fellow now.

Later that evening, Neil crossed the road as he cycled past Hollywood Nights. He didn’t want to be spotted by any of the rhyming couplets who went there most weekend nights. Anytime he did go there, Neil ended up standing at the edge of the dancefloor with Mal and Tony, two cynical guys from his class, who spent their nights commenting on the ugliness – and the sexual availability – of the female talent. Two cynical guys with whom no self-respecting girl would dance even if they did have the nerve to ask. It was Mal who, during one of his more inventive moments, had coined the phrase “rhyming couplets”. Neil hated himself for fraternising with them, but it was better than feeling completely left out.

After locking his bike to a railing in the carpark of the Stillorgan Orchard, Neil skipped up the steps that led to the cinema. Quarter to nine. Good, he thought, he wouldn’t have to stand in the queue and pretend he was waiting for someone.

“Neil!”

Neil’s heart sank. All the people in the queue turned to look at him.

“Hey, Neil!” It was the unmistakeable voice of his sister Jackie. Neil turned around and saw her and her boyfriend Liam. There was no escape.

Neil grinned as he joined them. “How’s it going?”

“How’re you, Neil?” Liam beamed his friendly smile. Both Liam and Jackie were wearing odd shoes again. It was their latest craze. They had started off wearing odd socks, before graduating to odd shoes. One day Neil had bumped into the pair of them on Grafton Street, when they were wearing one runner and one Doc Marten each.

“Who’re you here with?” Jackie asked, searching around for her younger brother’s friends.

“I’m supposed to meet Gary and Tom,” Neil lied, “but I’m a bit late. You haven’t seen them, have you?”

Jackie and Liam shook their heads vaguely. Then Jackie’s eyes lit up as she grabbed Neil’s sleeve. “Did the old pair say anything about me not coming home last night?” Both Jackie and Liam were in second year Science in UCD. Liam had a flat in Rathmines and Jackie often stayed the night there. She would phone home after the pubs closed and tell her parents she had missed the last bus and was going to stay with her friend Michelle.

Neil shrugged. “Nah, just the usual martyr act from the old

dear.” “Oh, what have we reared?” Jackie was doing an exaggerated mimicry of their mother.

Liam smiled. “Which film are you going to?” he asked, flicking his long hair back from his face, and jangling the huge collection of love bangles on his wrist. Both he and Jackie gave one another a bangle to mark each new week of their relationship.

“The Crying Game,” Neil told him, wishing he had someone to wear bangles for.

“That’s what we’re going to,” Jackie said. “You might as well sit with us, looks like the lads have gone in already.”

The queue had started to move. Neil sensed that Jackie knew that he had come alone. She was probably wondering what was wrong with her little brother. Why didn’t he hang around with the crowd? Neil saw a flicker of the same look of pity that he’d seen on his mum’s face earlier. He wished he had hidden away with his books as usual, invisible to the world.

CHAPTER 2

A carnival atmosphere swept through the Sixth Year classrooms as the end of term drew closer. Everyone knew that it was the end of an era, a benchmark in their lives, and a strange aura of camaraderie and goodwill pervaded. Fellows who had hated one another’s guts for the past six years exchanged pleasantries. The coolest bloke in the class, Mick Toner, who had behaved like a rock star for the past few years and made a particular point of not speaking to anyone who played rugby, now dropped his guard and babbled away like an excited kid on Christmas morning. The two cynics of the class, Mal and Tony, were barely recognisable without their sneers. Even despised teachers were treated as friends.

But a great cloud of nervous anxiety hung over everything. Neil smiled to himself, he and his classmates were like unborn infants reluctant to leave the womb, afraid of the great unknown that was beckoning and which they had all been looking forward to escaping into for so long. Now, even the classrooms which had always been seen as torture chambers, suddenly became appealing. They personified safety and certainty. All decisions were made there for you. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad place after all, he thought, but it was like something he had read somewhere once, that most people only realise how good times were when they were over.

“I don’t like saying goodbye,” Fr Donnelly, flanked by all the other teachers, was addressing the Sixth Years, all of whom had assembled in the hall, “so I’m not going to say goodbye.”

“Say au revoir.” The voice from the back of the hall was clearly audible, and a ripple of amused laughter filled the hall.

Up on the stage, Fr Donnelly smiled benevolently, biding his time, waiting for the noise to subside. Then he pointed down at the grinning culprit. “Keep that sense of humour, Mr Toner, God knows you’ll need it.” This was greeted by a burst of laughter, as every head turned to look at the now red-faced Mick Toner.

Fr Donnelly rambled into his end of term speech. He reminded them how fortunate they were to have been educated in Blackrock College. This was met by low mumblings of protest from the back of the hall. He told them that they must show compassion to those less fortunate than them, that they must take Christ’s message out into the world with them.

“His rule is simple …” Fr Donnelly paused.

“No baseball hats in the classroom,” a deep voice at the back of the hall interrupted, and this was greeted by another burst of laughter.

Fr Donnelly chose to ignore the comment, “… Love God and love thy neighbour.”

“Even Mal and Tony?” The deep voice was again followed by sniggers, quickly silenced by Fr Donnelly’s icy glare. Neil felt sorry for Donno, it was obvious that the ceremony meant more to him than it did to his students. He had admitted as much to Neil and a couple of others on the Co-Operation North weekend. He had told them that summer was the saddest time of the year for him. The Leaving Cert class, which he had known since they were twelve year olds, would walk out the school gates, and very few of them ever came back to see him again. Neil decided that he was definitely going to drop in and visit Donno regularly.

Fr Donnelly signalled for attention. “Now, all that’s left for me to do is to open these envelopes here in front of me and announce the winners of this year’s prizes.”

The tension in the hall mounted. Fr Donnelly didn’t lift his eyes from the gathered assembly as he tore the envelopes open. He seemed to enjoy watching them squirm. There was a prize to be awarded for each subject and each recipient had to suffer the long walk up to the stage to collect his prize. Drops of perspiration trickled down Neil’s ribcage, his heart pounded. The prize for English was about to be announced and he was one of the hot favourites.

Big deal, he thought, who gives a shit if I win or not. It’ll all be forgotten about by tomorrow anyway.

But try as he might, he still couldn’t ease his anxiety. No point in fooling yourself, Neiley Nook, you’re a competitive fucker and you want that prize.

Fr Donnelly held the piece of paper up in front of him. Half-an-hour seemed to pass before he revealed the winner’s name.

“Neil Byrne.”

Neil froze. Everything went hazy.

“Yo, Byrner!” someone shouted.

Gary hugged him in congratulation. All around him his classmates turned their heads to look at him. He was a popular winner. Thunderous applause, piercing whistles, and the din of stamping feet rang in Neil’s ears as he walked the seemingly endless distance to the stage. Arms reached out to slap him on the back and punch him when he passed. Even ice-cool Mick Toner was applauding wildly, and the sneers were strangely absent from Mal’s and Tony’s faces. Neil struggled to fight back the tears of pride. But he felt uneasy as he turned to show the crystal bowl to his admirers. Would their adulation be so enthusiastic if they knew the truth about him? What would they be shouting at him then?

His parents’ delight turned to silence when Neil broke the news to them. He picked at the little specks of dirt lodged beneath his fingernails while he waited for their response. He realised that it would come as a shock.

“Arts?” His dad almost spat the word out in disgust.

“Well, English and History …”

Another long silence followed. The martyred look creased his mum’s pinched face. His dad’s face was red with anger.

“I mean, that’s what I’m interested in,” Neil pleaded. “I won the prize for English, didn’t I?” he added.

His dad stood up, rested his backside against the draining board, and stared intently at his son. Through the kitchen window behind his dad, Neil counted seven magpies perched on the thick branch supporting the treehouse. “I’m interested in classical music, Neil, but I’d never be able to make a living out of it,” his dad replied calmly.

Neil bowed his head and stared at his feet. He knew the line his father’s argument was going to follow. You’ll get a job anywhere in the world with an engineering degree. Arts is for rich kids who can step into Daddy’s company when their dossing days are over.

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for … Neil’s mind went blank, he couldn’t get past four in the rhyme his mum had taught him as a child.

“English and history books should be read as a hobby, in your spare time … An Arts degree isn’t worth tuppence when it comes to the jobs market.”

“You need one if you want to become a teacher.”

“A teacher?” His dad’s voice was laced with incredulity.

“You want to become a teacher?” his mum asked in surprise.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind it,” Neil lied. He had no idea what he wanted to do after college; he never looked that far into the future.

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’re more teachers on the dole in this country than there are working,” his dad snorted derisively. And once again, Neil felt like breaking down and telling them all about the monsters that stalked him. About the sadness, the despair, the hopelessness, but worst of all, the horrible loneliness that he kept hidden deep in his heart. Try to understand, his eyes pleaded, hug me and tell me that you’ll love me no matter what.

His dad prodded his shoulder. “Are you listening to us at all?”

“Yeah.” Neil swallowed to clear the lump in his throat.

“Look, just you do your bloody exams first. We’ll discuss this again some other time,” his dad said, and left the room. The front door slammed shut behind him.

Neil remained seated as his mum started to clear the dishes off the table. Eventually, she broke the awkward silence. “Your father isn’t too pleased with your sudden change of heart.”

“It’s not sudden.” Neil’s reply was sullen.

“Well, it’s very sudden to us, Neil … I don’t know, but d’you have any idea how much it costs to go to college these days?”

Neil said nothing.

“I mean we’re not made of money, your father only has a limited salary,” she sighed. “With both you and Jackie at college, things are going to be very tight …”

Neil dug a teaspoon into the sugar bowl and stirred the white granules around slowly. How could she worry about such stupid things at a time like this? Why didn’t she understand?

“But we don’t mind making sacrifices if we know that you’re going to have a chance of getting a decent job at the end of it.”

“Well, if I get a Morrison Visa, I won’t need to go to college at all, and you won’t need to spend a penny on me,” Neil countered cruelly. This sparked a brisk upsurge in his mum’s work rate. She got down on her hands and knees, shook some Vim onto a scouring pad, and began her assault on the greasy interior of the oven. Martyr overload, was what Jackie called their mum’s habit of diving into her least favourite chores when she was upset. But America was a particularly sore point. Both of Neil’s older brothers, Paul and Joe, had got Donnelly Visas a couple of years before, and the pair of them now lived in New York. She never admitted it, but Neil knew that their leaving broke his mum’s heart, and the last thing she wanted was for her youngest boy to emigrate.

But this silent suffering angered Neil. Why didn’t everyone just say what they felt? Instead of listing off a million-and-one reasons, why didn’t his mum just admit that she didn’t want him to leave because she loved him? How could she expect him to be less secretive with her if she wasn’t prepared to be open with him?

“I better do some study,” Neil muttered, standing up. He needed to have a smoke and listen to some music. His mum kept scrubbing, ignoring him as he crossed the kitchen. Neil lingered at the door a moment, smiling inwardly as he watched his mum’s furious scraping.

But then the unexpected happened. His mum spoke.

“Your friend Becky phoned for you earlier.”

“Oh really, what time?” Neil asked calmly.

“Earlier, I don’t know what time,” his mum said, resuming her scrubbing at a slower pace.

Neil left the room. As he dialled Becky’s number, he grimaced. He had finally recalled the last lines of the magpie rhyme: Five for silver, six for gold, seven for secrets never to be told.