Fintan opened the door. ‘The porters in this place are getting more handsome by the second.’
Fintan’s room was huge, with an enormous blue sofa big enough for at least four people. ‘Hi there,’ Fintan said. ‘Hey, what’s up with your hands?’
‘Oh, yeah - I had to paint the set at the Teatro with Giovanni. God, it was boring, but we got it done.’
‘Hey, I’m the painter around here! Do you want to go and scrub them while I order a bottle of wine?’
‘Great, I’d love a glass.’
While Fintan was on the phone to room service, Fergal scrubbed the stubborn paint away and looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He marvelled at the thought that only a few years previously, he had been living in Belfast, wild with excitement about being able to make himself toast in his granny’s rancid kitchen, sneaking in lumps of coal from her postage stamp-sized yard in an effort to keep the downstairs room warm without her finding out and shouting at him for costing her money...It felt so long ago.
Now here he was, in a beautiful hotel room, ordering wine. Fintan shouted out the list from the room service menu and asked him which he wanted, but Fergal hadn’t a clue, so he said he didn’t mind. He felt completely intimidated by Fintan’s ease, even in something as simple as ordering over the phone. Even though there was only a year or so between them, Fintan’s confidence seemed to be miles ahead of his.
Fintan opened the curtains. The window looked out onto a little piazza, empty apart from a trickle of a fountain in the centre. The wine arrived quickly. Fergal tried to pay, but Fintan insisted on signing for it. ‘Look, it’s on Dad, really, he’s the one paying for me to be here, room service and all.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know.’
The waiter asked them where he should put the tray, and Fintan suggested the little balcony. There was a breeze so they kept their coats on, but Fergal felt warm on the inside and he tingled all over. Fintan looked at him silently as they sipped the wine, then he said, ‘May I hold your hand, Fergal Flynn?’
‘You may, Fintan Fiscetti.’
As their fingers nervously interlocked, Fintan laughed. ‘I’ve just realised our initials are the same.’
‘And there was me thinking you had that handkerchief especially made for me!’ Fergal teased.
‘Oh, yes. Actually, that was a present from my mother. I have lots.’ Fintan lit a cigarette. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I promise I’m giving up... soon.’
‘It’s fine,’ Fergal said. ‘Hey, what’s she like, Fintan? I know that’s where you get your red hair.’
‘She’s very delicate. She’s a bit like her roses - she loves roses. She spends half her waking hours looking after them, and she probably does it in her sleep too.’
‘So you grew up with an opera singer and a gardener? What a mixture!’
‘What about you - what does your mother do? I know your dad just passed away. God, that must be one of the hardest things in the world to cope with. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to either of mine. Are you doing okay?’
‘Yeah. It’s not easy.’
‘So was your dad a singer too? Or your mum?’
Fergal realised that it was completely natural for him to be curious. ‘Ah, no, he wasn’t a singer. Neither is Ma. He was into sport.’
He was beginning to get flustered, and Fintan knew he’d steered into troubled waters. ‘So where does your voice come from, then? Grandparents? Or are you the only one in the family, like my dad?’
A knot of panic had risen into Fergal’s stomach. How could he tell this young man about his past? He almost wished he hadn’t come. Fintan appeared to have everything, including a wonderful father. What would he think when he found out the violent details of Fergal’s past? Maybe it would put him off altogether.
‘Fintan, I’m sorry to be so...it’s just that, well, things were very bad at home for a long time, and I just got used to it. I thought it was normal. The more I meet people like you, though, the more I see that it wasn’t normal. That’s all.’
‘Oh Fergal, I’m sorry I brought it up. We don’t have to talk about it now. Let’s just enjoy the wine, eh?’
‘No, you see, that’s just it. You should be able to ask me. The fact that you can’t - that’s what’s not normal, or natural, or whatever is the best word.’
The atmosphere had grown tense, and Fintan thought carefully before he continued. ‘Look, we can’t know everything about each other in one evening, can we? Fuck it, Fergal - shut up and kiss me.’
Fergal put his glass down, almost laughing with relief and wishing he had said it first. They clung to each other on the little balcony and kissed hungrily, more and more deeply as they got braver. Fergal thought his heart had grown to the same size as his chest; it beat wildly and deafeningly. He realised that Fintan was the first person he’d kissed this way since Dermot and a little wave of guilt came over him, but it was quickly blown away by a real kiss, blind and full of love, that robbed him of his breath.
They parted for a second and leaned awkwardly against each other. It had grown colder. They went back inside, to the sofa, and
Fintan dimmed the lights. He found a radio station that played old jazz ballads, with a soft, hoarse DJ who dedicated each song to all the lovers out there, new and old.
They continued kissing, and slowly undid each other’s shirt buttons. Fergal loved the way their mouths seemed to fit perfectly together, and they laughed as desire took hold of their reins and the rest of their clothes ended up on the floor. Fintan loved kissing Fergal. He tasted wonderful, and the very smell of him was enough to get him hard. He moved his mouth down to Fergal’s nipples and played with them with his tongue. Fergal’s chest had sprouted hair since the previous summer, but he was still shy about his body in a way that Fintan found irresistible.
Fergal climbed on top of Fintan, and they could feel each other’s hardness against their stomachs. Fintan slid his hands down the back of Fergal’s underwear, kissing him all the while. Then, slowly, he moved his hand around to the front, and Fergal gasped.
Fintan grinned. ‘Oh, Fergal, you brought me a present - and it’s my favourite flavour.’
Fergal could only laugh helplessly as Fintan left a trail of kisses from his chin to his belly. Then he pulled off Fergal’s underwear and took him into his mouth. Fergal thought he would burst right then and there, but he just managed to hold himself back. Fintan looked up at him and smiled, then he began sucking, gently and lovingly, and Fergal threw his head back with a sudden unstoppable moan.
He wanted to do the same thing to Fintan at the same time, so he twisted around on the sofa, managed to get Fintan’s underwear down around his thighs and took him into his throat as deeply as he could. They came up for air only when they both knew they wouldn’t last.
They lay side by side and continued kissing. Fergal stroked Fintan’s hair, and again Father Mac flashed through his mind. He didn’t want to think about him. He climbed on top of Fintan, and they rubbed their entire bodies against each other. The motion grew wilder. Fintan’s legs widened and he bucked against Fergal, thighs clasped around his waist, and then there was no turning back, and one final heave left them both exhausted and soaking.
Involuntarily, they drifted into sleep. When they woke, Fintan went to the bathroom to take a shower. Fergal sat up, rubbing his eyes. He remembered Father Mac’s letter telling him to go into the world as a single, free young man. At the time, that had sounded impossible, but then Fintan had appeared out of the blue...
Fintan came back wearing a bathrobe that should have belonged to a sumo wrestler and handed him a huge bath towel. ‘The shower’s still running if you want a quick rinse.’ Fergal stood up and they kissed again before reluctantly parting, and he stepped under the warm running water. As he turned off the shower and stepped out onto the mat, he picked up a bottle of French cologne from the sink and unscrewed the top. Sure enough, it smelled just like Fintan.
Fint
an was still in his bathrobe. He had flicked on the TV and was channel surfing, and it struck Fergal that he hadn’t seen any TV in ages. Even though he had just shared his body with this young man, he suddenly felt self-conscious as he saw his underpants on the floor. He pulled them back on under his towel, as if he were at the beach, and his timidity made Fintan like him all the more.
‘Do you want to stay the night, Fergal?’
‘I’d love to, but I think I should probably go. What time is it? I’ve got an early lesson in the morning.’
They couldn’t believe it when the hotel clock told them it was almost two o’clock. ‘My God,’ Fergal said, ‘are you sure that thing is right? Fuck - how long were we asleep? I should ring for a cab.’
‘There’s no need, there’s always one at the front door. Do you want me to get dressed and leave you down?’
‘No, no, sure, you look far too comfortable there. Hey, where’s my other sock?’
When Fergal was finally dressed, they kissed again on the sofa, and Fintan played with his hair in the way he was beginning to love.
‘I always used to want dark hair like yours.’
‘Really? But yours is incredible. I’ve never seen hair so red before.’
Fintan opened his bathrobe and looked down. ‘You weren’t put off by my ginger pubes?’
They exploded laughing, and Fergal shook his head. ‘The opposite, actually.’
‘I’m glad. You know they used to call me Fanta-Pants at school?’
They collapsed with laughter on the sofa again, and Fintan wrapped his open robe around them both. They lay there, listening to the fountain, until somewhere in the city a bell told them it was half past two. Fergal wrote down Alfredo’s home number on the hotel pad and told Fergal he didn’t usually leave for the theatre till after five o’clock.
They said goodbye at the door of Fintan’s room. One more kiss, and Fergal was gone.
Sure enough, there were a few taxis waiting, and he was back home in no time. He opened and closed the front door soundlessly and he was about to head up the stairs when Alfredo appeared from the kitchen in his nightclothes, holding a glass of milk.
‘My goodness, Fergal! Did you end up painting the outside of the theatre as well?’
It took Fergal a second to figure out what he meant. He managed to quell his panic. ‘No, I bumped into Fintan, and we ended up going for a walk and a drink and stuff.’
‘That was a long walk. It’s nearly three o’clock.’
Fergal wanted to tell him everything. He needed to tell someone, to help himself make sense of it all, so why not Alfredo? There wasn’t much his teacher didn’t already know about him.
But what could he tell him? That he and Fintan had had sex? How good it had made him feel? Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to Fintan as it had to him...‘Ah, we had some food and talked a lot, and then we ended up back at his hotel, watching TV. You should see his room, it’s like an apartment or something, with its own wee living room and balcony.’
Alfredo noticed that Fergal didn’t meet his eyes, and he dropped it. ‘A phone call to say you were going to be this late would have been appreciated. I don’t want to sound like some dreadful governess, but I worry, Fergal, it’s my nature. Father MacManus was on the phone. He’s worried about you too, since the funeral. He did say that he took your mother to get her passport photos, so things are moving along. He was sorry not to speak to you.’
‘Right.. .Look, I’m sorry, Alfredo. We just lost all track of time.’
‘Well, you’re young - and you’re home now, and you’re safe, and that’s the main thing. You look exhausted, though. Get some sleep.’
But Fergal couldn’t sleep. His heart was racing, and he wanted to kick himself for being caught coming in so late.
‘Fintan Fiscetti is leaving in less than a week,’ he whispered to the ceiling. ‘Maybe he’ll decide to study in Italy, but it might not be Rome. Maybe he won’t come back at all. What am I doing? He can’t be that interested in me. Maybe he’s got another fella in London or Paris, or...’
On and on the questions rattled around in his head, and the church bells sounded six before he was finally able to drift off for a few hours of sleep.
26
It was just after half past ten when Fergal made it downstairs. Daniela was in full swing, dusting and polishing, so he hid in the kitchen, making coffee and looking out at the swinging sofa at the bottom of the garden, remembering his and Fintan’s first kiss. Just then the phone rang, and to his surprise Daniela called out, saying that it was for him.
Father Mac’s voice was a nice surprise. ‘Fergal, you sound completely exhausted. Are you sure you didn’t go back to work too soon?’
‘No, no. I’m fine.’
‘Maybe you’re doing too much. I know how hard you work - the lessons with Alfredo, the Italian lessons and theTeatro job... Do you want me to have a word? If it’s about money, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement.’
‘No, it’s not that. I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all. My lesson doesn’t start till noon.’
‘At least that’s something. Alfredo seems in good enough form about your recital. I was thinking maybe that would be a good time for Angela to arrive - unless it would be too much extra pressure?’
‘It’s funny you say that, I was thinking the same thing. Do you think she’ll still come, Father Mac?’ Instinctively, now that they were officially ex-lovers, Fergal had stopped calling him by his first name.
‘She’ll go to Rome, all right. I think she’s told the whole street she’s going to meet the Pope himself!’ Fergal felt a sudden little pang. Somehow, he had hoped that he himself might be enough of a reason for his mother to visit Rome. ‘Listen, Alfredo was worried because you weren’t home. Did he wait up for you?’
‘Yes, he did. I was much later than I thought, but he told me you’d phoned.’
Father Mac sighed heavily. ‘Fergal, I’m not stupid. Are you going to tell me about it?’
Fergal knew he had to tell someone, and Father Mac was the person he trusted most in the world. So he told him everything that had happened between him and Fintan. Father Mac listened, almost forgetting to breathe as he heard how alive Fergal sounded, how his voice lit up at the mere mention of Fintan’s name. In that moment, he knew he had lost that part of him forever.
‘But I’m worried that I’m not good enough for him, Father Mac. We come from such different backgrounds, and Fintan’s so much more sophisticated - he’s travelled all over the place, and he knows all about art and books...’
The silence was long enough that Fergal started to worry about what Father Mac’s reaction would be, but finally he said softly, ‘Fergal, you shouldn’t worry about things like that. I’m sure your very difference is exactly what attracts him to you - and maybe you to him. When will you learn to value yourself? I know you had a hard start in life, but it’s not who you love that matters. Rearrange those three little letters: it’s how you love that’s important. Anyway, I think it’s brilliant news. Thank you for trusting me. And please, be careful.’
‘Oh, I will, I will.’ Fergal sighed with relief. He had told the truth to the only other man in the world who he had ever truly loved. He also knew that their intimate days were over, once and for all. He only wanted Fintan now, but he was still scared that Fintan might not want him as much.
‘Is he not going back to England with his father?’ Father Mac asked.
Fergal explained that, in fact, Fintan was thinking of staying in Rome, but he didn’t know what was going to happen. He was too scared to even think about it much. When Alfredo called out that he was willing to start the lesson early and Fergal said goodbye, he was actually glad of the distraction.
The lessons were growing more and more intense as they concentrated on building the right repertoire for Fergal’s forthcoming recital. Alfredo reminded him that it never hurt anyone to be overprepared. They also listened to a few recordings by Tito Schipa and Jussi Bjorli
ng while Alfredo discussed tone, but Fergal found it hard to concentrate. He wondered what Fintan was doing at that very moment, what he was feeling about the previous night. Did he have a friend he could call, to talk to about it? Was he thinking about it at all? Fergal got more and more paranoid as the day progressed. Finally Alfredo slammed his hand down on top of the piano in frustration.
‘Fergal Flynn, is there somewhere else you’d rather be?’
‘What? No, of course not.’
‘Your concentration is all over the place. I’m not surprised, given how little sleep you must have had.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And Father Mac rang. My mother is telling anyone who’ll listen that she’s going to Rome to meet the Pope.’
‘And?’
‘I was just...oh, never mind.’
‘No, come on. Better out than in. What we need from you, Fergal, is what’s in your soul, and that will inform your singing at the deepest level. So out with it, don’t be embarrassed. Tell me what you’re feeling.’
‘I was kind of hoping that I was a good enough reason for her to visit Rome. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to compete with the Pope or anything, I was just hoping she might be...well, you know.. .proud of me. I know I’ve not really done much yet, but...’
‘Let me stop you there. Firstly, you have done an incredible amount so far. Your voice has improved immeasurably. You must believe that. And if your mother isn’t proud of you by now, then the recital is the perfect opportunity to blow her away. Fergal, I only wish you would stop placing so much store in what other people think of you. Never mind trying to impress your mother, you’re not an infant learning how to talk. All this hard work is about being the best you can be, for yourself and for the music. So stop feeling so sorry for yourself, it’s a waste of energy.’
Roman Song Page 26