by John Boyne
“I wish she’d been my mother,” I muttered.
“When I’m grown up, I intend to be a very considerate lover,” said Jonathan, nodding his head fiercely.
“Good for you. And what does your father say about all this?”
“Oh I don’t have a father,” he said.
“Of course you have a father. You don’t know anything about sex if you don’t understand that everyone has a mother and a father.”
“I mean I don’t know my father,” said Jonathan. “I’m illegitimate.”
“I hate that word.”
“I do too. But I wear it as a badge of honor. I find that if I say it to people, then they don’t say it behind my back. They can’t gossip in corners, saying, Do you know that Jonathan Edward Goggin is illegitimate? because I’ll already have told them. One–nil to me. In fact, every time I meet someone new I make sure to tell them quite soon.”
“Doesn’t your mother mind?”
“She’d prefer that I didn’t. But she says that I have to do whatever feels right and that she’s not going to make my decisions for me. She says she’s my mother, not my grandfather.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” said Jonathan. “But she says that she’ll explain it to me some day.”
“You’re a bit of an oddball, Jonathan,” I said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Nineteen people this year alone,” he said. “And it’s only May.”
I laughed and checked my watch. Five more minutes and I would have to go.
“What’s the name of the girl you’re marrying?” asked Jonathan.
“Alice,” I said.
“There’s a girl named Alice in my class,” he replied, opening his eyes wide, apparently excited that we should have this in common. “She’s really really really pretty. She has long blonde hair and eyes the color of opals.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” I asked.
“No!” he screamed, making the other people in the café turn around and stare in our direction. He went bright red then. “No, she’s not my girlfriend at all!”
“Sorry,” I said, laughing. “I forgot, you’re only eight.”
“A girl called Melanie is my girlfriend,” he said.
“Oh right. Fair enough.”
“And I’m going to marry her one day.”
“Really? Good for you.”
“Thank you. Isn’t it funny that you’re getting married this morning and I’m telling you about the girl I’m going to marry when I’m all grown up?”
“It’s hilarious,” I said. “All you need is love; it’s all any of us need.”
“The Beatles,” said Jonathan quickly. “ ‘All You Need Is Love,’ a Lennon-McCartney composition, although it’s actually written by John Lennon. Magical Mystery Tour, 1967. B-side, Song 5.”
“You’re a Beatles fan then?” I asked.
“Of course. Aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Who’s your favorite Beatle?”
“George,” I said.
“Interesting.”
“Who’s yours?”
“Pete Best.”
“Interesting.”
“I always root for the underdog,” said Jonathan.
We sat and stared at each other and, all things considered, I felt a little disappointed when his mother returned.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking a little flustered. “My phone call took longer than I expected. I’m trying to arrange a flight to Amsterdam and Aer Lingus doesn’t make it easy. I have to go into their offices tomorrow and that will take up half my day.”
“It’s fine,” I said, standing up. “But I better go now.”
“He’s marrying a girl called Alice,” said Jonathan.
“Is he indeed?” she said. “Lucky Alice.” She paused then and stared at me. “We know each other, don’t we?” she asked. “You look terribly familiar.”
“I think we do,” I said. “Didn’t you use to work in the tearoom at Dáil Éireann?”
“Yes, I still do, actually.”
“I used to be a civil servant. Our paths occasionally crossed there. I once got punched in the face by the Taoiseach’s Press Officer and you took care of me afterward.”
She thought about this and shook her head. “I have a vague memory of that,” she said. “But then again, punch-ups happen there all the time. Are you sure it was me?”
“Definite,” I said, but pleased that she didn’t recall it, as of course I had confided in her that day about my sexuality. “You were very kind to me.”
“All right. It’s just that you remind me of someone I once knew. A long time ago.”
I shrugged and turned to Jonathan, offering him a half-bow as I prepared to leave.
“It’s been a pleasure, young man,” I said.
“Good luck with your forthcoming wedding to your fiancée Alice,” he said.
“He’s an interesting boy,” I said to his mother as I stepped past her. “You’re going to have your hands full with him.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. “But he’s my darling. And I’m not letting this one go. Oh!”
“What?” I asked, for she had shivered suddenly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I just had one of those strange sensations, as if someone walked over my grave.”
I smiled, said my goodbyes and made my way toward the door. Fuck you, I said to the universe. All I asked for was a sign, something to give me the courage to walk away, and you couldn’t even do that. I had no choice.
It was time to get married.
Loving Someone Else
I entered the sacristy by the side door to find Julian seated at a table, looking over the Order of Service for the ceremony. For someone who must have had just as few hours of sleep as me, he seemed remarkably fresh-faced, having rid himself of the stubble that he’d been favoring lately and got a haircut. It was a surprise to see him wearing his reading glasses—he almost never wore them around people—but he took them off as soon as he saw me and placed them in his top pocket. It probably goes without saying that his new suit fitted him like a second skin.
“There you are,” he said, grinning up at me. “The condemned man. How’s the head?”
“Terrible,” I told him. “How’s yours?”
“Not too bad, all things considered. I got a couple of hours’ sleep, then went for a swim in the Countess Markievicz pool before visiting my barber. He put hot towels over my face and hummed Simon and Garfunkel songs while he shaved me and the whole thing was incredibly relaxing.”
“You did all that in the last nine hours?” I asked, baffled.
“Yes, why not?”
I shook my head. How could someone drink as much as him, be out as late as him and then get up, do all that and still look so attractive? Were some people just given everything?
“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” I said. “I might be better off going back to bed.”
His smile faded and he threw me an anxious look before bursting out laughing. “Jesus,” he said. “Don’t do that to me, Cyril. I thought you were serious for a minute.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” I muttered. “Anyway, I’m here, amn’t I?”
“You realize I’d have no choice but to kill you if you let my sister down, right? You were in some form last night all the same. I suppose the nerves were getting to you. Your friend Nick was pretty upset by the way you spoke to him.”
“He’s not my friend,” I said. “And how do you know how he feels?”
“Oh, I ran into him earlier. Just by chance on Grafton Street. We went for a quick coffee.”
I sat down and closed my eyes. Of course he had. And of course they had. I could have predicted it.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, coming over and taking the seat next to me. “Do you need an aspirin?”
“I’ve had four already.”
“How about som
e water?”
“Yes, please.” He went over to the sink and when he couldn’t find a glass, reached for a large golden chalice with silver inlay along the knop, filled it to the brim and covered it with a bronze paten before handing it to me. “Bless you, my son,” he said.
“Thanks, Julian,” I said.
“Are you sure you’re going to be OK?”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him, trying to look cheerful. “Happiest day of my life.”
“It’s hard to believe that we’re going to be brothers-in-law in an hour or so, isn’t it? After all these years of friendship, I mean. I don’t know if I’ve ever said it, Cyril, but I was really happy when you asked me to be your best man. And when you asked Alice to marry you.”
“Who else would I ask?” I said.
“Well, there’s a lot of girls out there.”
“I meant who else would I ask but you?” I said. “You’re my best friend, after all.”
“And you’re mine. She looked so happy when I was leaving the house this morning.”
“Who did?”
“Alice, of course!”
“Oh yeah. Of course. Is she here yet anyway?”
“No, the priest said he’ll give us the nod when she and Max arrive. I saw your father out there, though. And the new Mrs. Avery. She’s a bit of a stunner, isn’t she?”
“My adoptive father,” I said. “And, yes, she’s a model, as it happens.”
“Get out of town!”
I rolled my eyes.
“Why?” I asked. “Were you thinking of having a crack at her yourself later?”
“It crossed my mind, but no. Models are hard work and they’re all fucking crazy. I tried it on with Twiggy once and she was having none of it.”
“I guess that means she’s crazy,” I said.
“I didn’t mean it like that. But she looked at me like I was something she trod in. Even Princess Margaret wasn’t that rude. Fair play to Charles all the same. He still manages to pull them, doesn’t he? I hope I’m still having as much luck as he is when I’m that age.”
I felt the water reacting badly inside my stomach and beads of perspiration beginning to break out across my forehead. What was I even doing here? Years of regret and shame began to overwhelm me. A lifetime of lying, of feeling that I was being forced to lie, had led me to a moment where I was not only preparing to destroy my own life but also that of a girl who had done nothing whatsoever to deserve it.
Sensing my despair, Julian came over and placed an arm around me, and it felt entirely natural when I allowed my head to rest on his shoulder. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and fall asleep while he held me. The scent of his cologne was subtle and beneath it I could smell the lingering odor of whatever cream the barber had used earlier. “What’s the matter, Cyril?” he asked me quietly. “You don’t seem like yourself at all. It’s natural to be nervous on your wedding day but you do know how much Alice loves you, right?”
“I do,” I said.
“And you love her too, don’t you?” His tone hardened a little when I didn’t reply immediately. “You love my sister, don’t you, Cyril?”
I inclined my head a little to give the appearance of an affirmative answer.
“I wish my mother was here, that’s all,” I said, the sentiment surprising me, for I had not realized that I wished any such thing.
“Maude?”
“No, my real mother. The woman who gave birth to me.”
“Oh right,” he said. “Have you been in touch with her then? You never said.”
“No,” I replied. “I just wish she was here, that’s all. To help me. To talk to me. When she made the decision to walk away from me, it must have been incredibly difficult. I just wonder how badly it affected her afterward, that’s all. I’d like to ask her.”
“Well, I’m here,” said Julian. “So if there’s anything you need to talk about, that’s what a best man is for. Not to mention a best friend.”
I looked up at him and quite unexpectedly began to cry.
“Jesus Christ, Cyril,” said Julian, sounding truly worried. “You’re starting to scare me now. What’s the matter with you anyway? Come on, you can tell me anything, you know that. Is it just the drink? Do you need to be sick?”
“It’s not the drink,” I said, shaking my head. “But I can’t…I can’t tell you.”
“Of course you can. Think of all the things I’ve told you over the years. Christ, if we were to write some of that down I wouldn’t come out of it smelling like roses, would I? You haven’t been with another girl, have you? Behind Alice’s back? It’s not something like that, is it?”
“No,” I said. “No, there’s been no other girl.”
“Because if you had, well, I suppose you could just chalk it up to experience. Alice is no saint either, you know. A marriage only begins when you take your vows. After that, you have to stay faithful, I suppose, or what’s the point? But if you’ve had a few slips along the way—”
“It’s not that,” I insisted, raising my voice.
“Then what? What is it, Cyril? Just tell me, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m not in love with her,” I said, looking down at the ground, noticing for the first time that Julian’s shoes were a little scuffed at the sides. He’d forgotten to polish them. Maybe he wasn’t perfect after all.
“What did you just say?” he asked me.
“I said I’m not in love with her,” I repeated quietly. “I’m very fond of her. She’s the kindest, most thoughtful, most decent girl I’ve ever known in my life. The truth is, she deserves better than me.”
“You’re not going to get all self-loathing on me, are you?”
“But I don’t love her,” I repeated.
“Of course you fucking love her,” he said, taking his arm from my shoulder now.
“No,” I said, feeling intense excitement to hear the words emerging from my mouth. “I know what love is, because I feel it for someone else. Just not for her.” It was as if I had left my body and was floating in non-corporeal form a few feet above us, looking down, watching carefully, intrigued to know how this scene was going to play out. And still delusional enough to wonder if there was any chance of me going home with a different Woodbead than the one I was there to marry.
Julian took a long time to speak again. “But you just told me,” he said slowly, sounding out every word carefully, “that there’s been no other girl.”
“The truth is I’ve been in love for as long as I can remember,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “Since I was a child, in fact. I know it sounds stupid to believe in something as corny as love at first sight, but it’s what happened to me. I fell in love years ago and I’ve never been able to let go of that person since.”
“But who?” he asked, the words almost a whisper as I turned my head toward him. “Who is it? I don’t understand.”
Our eyes locked and I knew then that my entire life had led me toward that moment, to that sacristy, to the two of us sitting next to each other, and, without planning it, I leaned forward to kiss him. For a few seconds, no more than three or four, our lips pressed against each other and I felt that curious mix of tenderness and masculinity that defined him. They parted just a touch, almost automatically, and so did mine.
I moved my tongue forward.
And then it was over.
“What the fuck?” said Julian, leaping to his feet and stumbling back toward the wall, almost tripping over his own feet as he did so. He didn’t sound so much angry as utterly bewildered.
“I can’t marry her, Julian,” I said, looking across at him and feeling braver now than I ever had before. “I’m not in love with her.”
“What are you talking about? Is this a joke?”
“I’m not in love with her,” I insisted. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Since that first moment I came downstairs in Dartmouth Square and saw you sitting in the hallway. All
the way through our school days. And every day since.”
He stared at me, the pieces starting to fall into place, and he turned away, looking out the sacristy window to the gardens beyond. I said nothing, my heart pounding so hard within my chest that it felt as if I might be having a heart attack. And yet I didn’t feel frightened. I felt instead as if a great burden had finally been lifted from my shoulders. I felt excited. And free. Because there was no way that he would allow me to marry his sister now. Not knowing what he knew. Whatever happened next might be painful but at least I would not be condemning myself to a lifetime with a woman for whom I felt no desire.
“You’re a queer,” he said, turning back to me, his tone lost somewhere between a question and a statement.
“I suppose so, yes,” I said. “If you want to put it like that.”
“Since when?”
“Since always. I don’t have any interest in women at all, that’s the truth of it. I never have had. I’ve only ever…you know, done it with men. Well, except for once a few weeks ago, with Alice. She wanted to. I didn’t. But I thought it was worth trying.”
“Are you telling me that you’ve had sex with men?” he asked, and I was surprised to hear such disbelief in his voice. He who could scarcely get through twenty-four hours without fucking someone.
“Of course I have,” I said. “I’m not a total eunuch, you know.”
“How many? Four? Five?”
“Jesus, does it matter?” I asked, recalling a similar conversation I had had with Alice and how I had been uncertain whether I wanted to know her number out of interest or perversity.
“Yes, it matters. Maybe it’s just a phase and—”
“Oh come on, Julian,” I said. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m past phases.”
“How many then?”
“I don’t know. Two hundred maybe? Probably more.”
“TWO HUNDRED?”
“Which is probably a lot less than you’ve slept with.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, panicking now, making perfect circles on the carpet as he marched around. “You can’t be fucking serious. You’ve been lying to me for the last twenty years.”