Damian McNicholl was born in Northern Ireland and attended law school at University College, Cardiff. His first novel, A Son Called Gabriel was an American Booksellers Association Booksense Pick and Lambda Literary Awards finalist. The book is currently under film option with award-winning Director Tom Collins. Damian lives in Bucks County Pennsylvania and is at work on his third novel. He maintains a blog at www.damianm.blogspot.com.
Legend Press Ltd, 2 London Wall Buildings,
London EC2M 5UU
[email protected]
www.legendpress.co.uk
Contents © Damian McNicholl 2011
The right of the above author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
ISBN 978-1-9082480-2-2
eISBN 978-1-9082483-0-5
1
All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
Edited by: Lauren Parsons-Wolff
Set in Times
Printed by CPI Books, United Kingdom
Cover designed by Yvey Bailey
www.gingernutdesign.co.uk
Author Photo © Megan McLoone
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Also by Damian McNicholl
A Son Called Gabriel
(Currently under film option.)
Praise for Damian McNicholl
American Booksellers Association BOOKSENSE ‘PICK’
ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Award Finalist
Lambda Literary Award Finalist
Advocate Magazine Top 20 Summer Book Selection
Nominated for the American Library Association
Stonewall Award
‘McNicholl is a fine storyteller and, in Gabriel, he has created a convincing, complicated and likable main character.’
Curledup.com
‘It is so well written, and the author's portrayal of Gabriel is so vivid, that readers will be hard-pressed to remember they're holding a piece of fiction in their hands.’
Backspace book reviews – bookblog.com
‘Beautifully crafted, honestly told, and hauntingly heartbreaking with a gentle dash of humor, A Son Called Gabriel is simply one of the best books I've read in years.’
Bookcritics.org
‘McNicholl’s descriptions dance and light upon the page, making this a very entertaining read.’
Compulsivereader.com
‘Each character, from Gabriel’s girlfriend to his youngest sister Nuala, is so vividly portrayed that their world is all-encompassing, and it becomes almost heartbreaking to say goodbye.’
ForeWord Magazine
‘[A] fine, compassionate coming-of-age story. McNicholl paints a rich picture of Gabriel’s life and all its conflicted messages about sex… McNicholl is a graceful writer, and his is a worthy debut.’
Publisher's Weekly
‘McNicholl writes compellingly, drawing his readers deep into Gabriel’s … tale of growing up in ’60s and ’70s Ireland — so much so that I was left thinking about sequels.’
Echo Weekly
‘The author captures the life and times of the Catholic Irish family and community living. We are given a peek at the pressures that are brought to bear on the families through religious and patriotic differences.’
BookIdeas.com
‘... moving reading... [a] touching portrait of one boy's hopes and fears. A sometimes funny, often painful depiction of a young boy's struggles with his sexuality.’
Booklist
‘McNicholl's affable voice captures the wary innocence and budding sexuality of youth with polished and amiable originality.’
Book Marks
‘Damian McNicholl does a marvellous job telling this heartbreaking story of a boy fighting against himself - so good that you will not be able to put it down.’
Wordswordswords.com
‘A beautiful story, wonderfully written, and the top of my list for recommended reading for everyone, gay or straight.’
The Open Book
‘A touching and dark, yet periodically hilarious work on a subject matter often overlooked in Irish literature.’
Irish Connections Magazine
‘A deeply felt and often funny coming of age novel that is ultimately unforgettable.’
Adelante Magazine
‘The complex relationships within the extended Harkin family…are developed with skill and an attention to the minutiae of life in a divided community that easily holds the reader's attention.’
Emigrant magazine
‘A bittersweet coming-of-age tale… McNicholl’s publishers are (of course) comparing [it] to Angela’s Ashes, which is not necessary. This novel, though a bit melodramatic at times, stands well enough on its own.’
Irish America Magazine
‘… the first-person narrative skillfully evokes the feelings of 10-year-old Gabriel, who fears, then knows he is 'different.'’
Lavender Magazine
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my friends and family for their encouragement during the writing of this novel.
I’m especially grateful to LSE alum Emily Lauren Burg for her help. I also wish to thank Jeanne Denault, Maria Lamba, David Jarret, Chris Bauer, John Wirebach and Russ Allen of The Rebel Writers of Bucks County. And thanks also to my editor Lauren Parsons and Lucy Boguslawski of Legend Press.
For Larry Caban
Contents
Breaking free
Parrot Talk
At the famine house
London bound
Wardrobe Revelations
A final stance
Too close, Madam
Peculiar questions
My mistake
Speak of the devil
Journalist in training
Offbeat places
Window shopping
Crap humour
A letter to Ma’am
Settling in
A strange emergency
Canapés at Tiffany’s
Honey bunny, now
Surprises
Bunting, as in bunting
Smoking trains
Puppy non grata
Nanny’s mistake
Amorphous shapes
News from home
Staying the course
All’s forgiven
A call to arms
Giving it a go
Making plans
Womb sack therapy
Helping out
Reconnecting
The vehicle of life
Early morning visitor
Back in the Big Apple
Making a move
Lunch with Mom
Striking a deal
Arranging closure
Tea and rancor
Sixth time, a charm
Family time
A very long day
Carrot and Stick
Au revoir
Labour day
Hawks and Sparrows
Toast
Breaking free
Sleek and silver-blue, the car was parked under the porch of his parents sprawling red-brick house, its seductive profile gleaming in the rays of the lowering sun. It was breatht
akingly gorgeous yet the sight of it enraged Danny Connolly as he returned home.
He strode around to the back of the house and entered through the kitchen where he laid his suitcase down beside the knotted pine table. Theme music heralding the start of his father’s favourite nature documentary commenced as he approached the living room.
“Home from the training course, eh?” his father said from the unfurled recliner.
“Hello Mum,” Danny said, not looking at him.
“Have you eaten?” she asked.
She was seated at one end of a buff Chesterfield sofa, open scissors in one hand, a spring green spider plant offshoot suspended in the other, the hacked mother plant in a large terracotta pot perched on a footstool before her. In a semicircle around the stool were ten tiny pots containing the transplanted babies. His mother was constantly assailing the houseplants, shearing leaves at the slightest hint of brown, as well as overfeeding the scrawny rubber plants in the vestibule.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Did they give you a nice certificate to hang up?” his father asked.
Certificates didn’t impress Danny. In, fact, they were a cause of monumental embarrassment. After the university forwarded his degree certificate, his father insisted he display it in the company’s reception area rather than in his bedroom where Danny deemed it more appropriate. It hung there beside his unduly ornate Connolly Dairy Management Certificate in Organisational Methodology, both framed in pretentious baroque gilt frames.
He’d started working in the family business nine months ago at the insistence of his father, a self-made man who’d built a very profitable business supplying supermarkets and corner shops throughout Ireland with milk, cream and cheddar cheese. Danny had graduated with honours in business, and was appointed to supervise a new ‘Yoghurt and Soft Cheese’ department despite pleading with his father Darragh that a marketing position would benefit the company most because he could immediately utilise the knowledge acquired from pursuing his degree. As part of his training he’d been ordered by his father to a yoghurt-making facility in the Republic of Ireland, Mr. Connelly being the sort of boss who required his future executives to dirty their hands on the production lines. But yoghurt cultures weren’t the only thing that had fermented while Danny was at the factory. He’d had ample time to think and decided he was far too subordinate to his father. Things needed to change.
“Dad, they don’t hand out certificates for standing in a production line.”
Darragh turned away from the television and scanned his son’s face, a handsome face, though not classic like his father’s. Danny’s chin not so precisely chiseled, the upper lip not bowed enough. What they did have in common was height, both men being five-eleven in socks, tanned complexions and crops of wavy jet-black hair.
As Darragh sat erect, the recliner rose obediently to support his back. “That’s a shame. Did you see her outside?” His father smiled.
Danny didn’t answer.
“I parked her by the front door.”
He met his mother’s eye. She shrugged before snipping off a tiny shoot that fell to the floor.
“‘Metallic azure blue’ is her colour,” said his father, who peered over at his wife and winked. “Aye, she’s a great motor. Very nifty.”
“I warned you not to buy it until we’d… ”
“Warned?” His father’s right eyebrow lifted.
“I asked you not to buy it until we talked,” Danny said.
“Any manager working for me needs a better car than that piece of scrap you’re driving. You’re representing my company.” His father laughed unexpectedly. “Wait till you take her for a spin. That’ll soon change your mind.”
Danny turned to look at the television as a vulture landed on the hind flank of a zebra carcass and placed its bald head inside a gaping, scarlet hole in the animal’s underbelly.
“Darragh, how can you watch that so soon after eating?” his mother said. “I thought tonight’s programme was about the Thomson gazelle.” She snipped another shoot off her plant, inspected it cursorily and cast it into a mounting pile in the nearby wastepaper basket, then looked over at Danny. “Did you do anything exciting in your free time?”
“A lot of thinking and sorting,” he said, and looked at his father who was watching the television.
“You two go somewhere else if you want to talk,” his father said.
His mother’s nose flared when she glanced at her husband. She patted one side of her combed back auburn hair secured with a broad tortoise shell clasp. “I told you to do nothing about that car until he came home, but you never listen to me Darragh, do you?” She pushed the footstool aside, rose and picked up four of the potted transplants. “Danny, will you bring in the rest of those and put them on the kitchen window sill so they’ll catch the morning sun?”
“Helen, for Christ’s sake,” her husband said. He seized the remote and turned up the volume.
She looked at Danny and rolled her eyes.
As soon as his mother left, Danny’s father lowered the volume. The pair sat in silence until the programme cut to an advert break.
“Dad?” Danny cleared his throat. “We must talk.”
“What, now?”
The tick of the Vienna clock behind him seemed suddenly very loud. “Before I begin, I need you to not interrupt.”
Darragh said nothing.
“Okay?”
“Go on.”
“I’ve been allowing you to make decisions for me that I should make. This was fine when I was younger. But I’m nearly twenty-one and it’s not anymore.” He paused and scoured his father’s face to see if he was listening. “I’m going to do things differently and need you to understand that so you don’t get confused.”
“I’m already confused.”
“No interrupting.”
“Make it snappy. The programme’s about to come on again.”
Danny took a silent, deep breath. “I need some time away to think things through… where I’m going in life and stuff.”
“What’s to think through? You’ve got a job with a future and a fiancée who looks great and has a damned good business head on her shoulders.”
He decided not to dilute the conversation by joining the issues of his work and fiancée. Susan was already a member of the family in his father’s eyes. His mother was not so welcoming but would not go against her husband’s wishes, at least not overtly.
“The job’s not giving me satisfaction, Dad.”
“Ach, are you going to start up about the marketing job again? You’ll get there when I judge you’re ready.”
“Here you go again. Let me finish.” Danny paused to allow his command to sink in. “I’ve decided to leave the dairy for a while to… ”
“Leave?”
“It’s not just the job. It’s everything.”
“Ah, I see your strategy.” His father slammed his palms into the armrests and laughed. “I see what you’re up to now. No problem.”
Danny’s jaw slackened.
“You’re slow on the uptake but you do learn, I’ll give you that,” his father added. “Maybe there’s a bit more of me in you than I thought.”
Danny wolfed down the compliment. “I thought you’d be angry.”
“No way. This is exactly what I want from my managers.” His father’s eyes glittered and he lowered his head as if it was heavy with wonder. “Tactics are the wheels of business.”
“What are you… ”
“A sharp man always chooses his moment.” His father glanced at the television before turning back to Danny. “Programme’s back. Listen, leave it with me and I’ll see what I can come up with.” He threw back his head and guffawed. “You got me fair and square this time. Wait till your mother hears how you played me to get a raise.”
He watched dumb-struck as his father turned away. “This isn’t about a raise.”
“Shush. A smart man also leaves when he’s winning.”
“Dad,
I’m going to London to do a language course. German.” His innards shook like a dangling trout he’d once caught. “Think of it as a mini-sabbatical. Many people take one at some point.”
“Interesting.”
Like a salesman, Danny moved now to clinch the deal. “You’ve said many times that you’d like to expand into Europe one day and I’m sure you’d agree Germany would be a brilliant place to start now they’ve finished absorbing East Germany. It’s a huge market and I’ll be able to help with the negotiations for leases and supply contracts and stuff.” He paused for a response, but his father said nothing. “Well, that’s it. I’ll leave you in peace to enjoy the programme.” Danny walked quickly to the door.
As he touched the brass door handle, his father said, “Help me get this straight, son. You’re going to London to learn German?”
“That’s it.” He pressed down on the handle.
His father was silent for a moment. “Now I might not be a smart man, but would Germany not be a better place to learn German?”
“The school specialises in teaching professional people.” Danny opened the door.
“There’s also the matter of London itself,” his father said.
“What do you mean?”
“Full of degenerates that place. You’ll end up using drugs.”
“I didn’t in Belfast.”
“Belfast’s different.”
“Right, they’ve only been blowing people to bits for years there.”
“Naïve young Irish people get into trouble in England.”
A surge of adrenaline coursed through Danny’s veins. “It’s time you gave me some credit, Dad.”
His father tutted. “Going away to think about life. I’ve never heard of the likes.” His father sat up erect again. “You’re not leaving here. End of story.”
Danny rushed back into the heart of the room. “No matter how I try, you never listen. I’m responsible for my… ”
“Act responsible then. You’ll have a wife in a few months. What’s she say about this nonsense?”
Danny didn’t speak for a moment. “I need to do this.”
His father’s cheeks turned purple. “What’s needed is for you to help grow my business.”
Twisted Agendas Page 1