When they broke for lunch, Alfredo told Fergal that he was thinking of inviting Brendan and Fintan for dinner the night before they left for London in two days’ time. At that moment the phone rang, and Alfredo answered. ‘Synchronicity is alive and well. Fintan Fiscetti, we were just talking about you and your father. I’m having a dinner party - much smaller this time - the night before you both leave. I was going to call Brendan this afternoon.’ Fergal was dying to know where Fintan was, and if he was lying around in his hotel bed with only his robe on.
‘Yes, of course, Fergal’s just here. See you then.’
Fergal took the receiver. He was flushed in the face and couldn’t stop smiling.
‘Hey, you,’ Fintan said. ‘What are you doing this afternoon?’
‘Nothing. I’m free.’
‘Want to meet in Café degli Artisti in about an hour?’
Alfredo and Daniela were discussing possible menu ideas, trying to hear what Fergal was saying without being too obvious. ‘I’ll meet you there. Great...no problem. See ya.’
‘Well, well,’ said Alfredo, ‘you two seem to have hit it off.’
‘Yeah,’ was all Fergal could manage.
Fintan met his father for a late breakfast on the balcony of Brendan’s suite. Brendan noticed immediately how excited he was for someone who wasn’t normally a morning person - the one thing he had definitely inherited from the Fiscetti side of the family.
‘Fintan, how much coffee have you had already? If you’re not careful, you’ll sprout wings and take flight - or knock over something that will go on the bill.’
‘I’m sorry. I was up late, that’s all. I’m feeling wired today.’
‘Why didn’t you give your old dad a call if you couldn’t sleep? We could’ve played chess or cards. I woke a few times myself and ended up reading. Actually, I nearly rang you.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘I.. . I had some company.’
‘You did? At that hour? But surely you don’t know anybody here...Hang on a minute.’ Brendan started laughing. ‘It wasn’t a certain Irishman, was it?’
Fintan blushed, which was all the answer his father needed. ‘Look at the state of you, Fintan, you’ve gone purple. That can only mean one thing.’
‘Oh stop, Dad.’
Brendan’s voice softened. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing. It’s none of my business, I know, but Fergal is incredibly fragile right now. He’s just lost his father, and they were estranged. Alfredo was telling me.’
‘I really, really like him. It’s only been a few days, but I do.’
‘Well, I’m the last person to tell anybody to take it slowly. You know your mother and I were married after only a few weeks, and I don’t regret it for a second. In fact, I’d do it all again in the morning. I know you’re not about to go rushing off down the aisle, but you will be careful, won’t you? We go home in a few days, and then you’ve got to think about where to study next.’
‘I know, I know, I know. I’m meeting Fergal later.’
‘Oh. I thought we might take the train to Florence for the night.’
‘When did you decide that? That’s typical of you, Dad, just like when I was a kid. I only saw you when it fit into your schedule, and then you expected me to drop everything. You can’t keep doing that.’
Brendan felt as if he had been slapped across the face. ‘Fintan, that’s a monstrous thing to say. You were always our first priority. We don’t have to go to Florence at all - I haven’t bought the tickets - but I was actually thinking of you, and your need to see as much art and architecture as possible. Where did this all come from?’ ‘Oh Dad, sorry. It’s just that I didn’t expect to feel this way about Fergal. I can’t stop thinking about him.’
‘Fintan, do you really think I treated you like that when you were a child? Honestly?’
‘It would’ve been nice to see you a bit more.’
‘But I saw you as often as I could. And I wrote to you, wherever I was.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s hardly the same thing. You can’t tell a postcard that you’ve got a sore ear, or that you’re frightened of thunder during the night in a boarding school in the middle of nowhere.’ Fintan saw the stricken look on his father’s face and his heart sank. He wished he hadn’t said anything. ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he whispered.
Brendan reached over and enfolded him in his arms. ‘Don’t be sorry for being honest. And I’m sorry, too. You know I love you, don’t you?’
‘I do. I just feel upside down today. I mean, what if Fergal isn’t half as interested in me?’
‘Would you like to invite him over for a drink later?’ Brendan suggested.
‘I’m not sure. He’s quite shy, really, and he has to go to work. We’ll see what happens.’
Their little storm over, they settled themselves again and began eating. ‘What do you think of Alfredo?’ Brendan asked.
‘He seems really nice. It’s funny seeing his face, after all those years of seeing that picture of you, him and that soprano on the mantelpiece at Mum’s.’
‘You mean Marla Davis. Tell me, do you think he knows Fergal is gay?’
‘I don’t know. Did you know when you first met him? I mean, I had my suspicions, but I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure.’
‘I knew you were gay long before you told me, so I think I’m a pretty good judge. To be honest, though, I didn’t really think about it with Fergal. He’s sensitive, yes, but not effeminate. You know Alfredo is, don’t you?’
‘Is he? Well, that’s no great surprise, but he’s quite contained, isn’t he? He doesn’t give much away.’
‘All I’ll say is that you should be very careful with Fergal and Alfredo. Alfredo is investing an incredible amount of his time and energy into Fergal’s career, and he’s fiercely protective of him. Also, until this week, Alfredo and I hadn’t seen each other since before you were born, so he’s feeling vulnerable about all the Fiscettis.’
‘Dad! You didn’t have a thing with him, did you - you know, in your experimental years, before you met Mum? Were you hetero-flexible?’
‘Fintan, what kind of question is that for a son to ask a father? The answer is no! And you made up that word, didn’t you? Hetero-flexible, indeed! I know you think everyone is gay, but I never had any experimental years - although not for the lack of offers, I can assure you.’
‘Actually, Dad, come to think of it, I don’t really want to know.’
‘Hey, you started it! Anyway, Alfredo and I were very close when we toured together, and, well, how can I put it? Alfredo’s boundaries became a little blurred when it came to our friendship.’
‘Beautifully put, Dad. You mean he fancied you rotten and couldn’t have you.’
‘If you must put it like that, yes.’
‘Well, well. Do you think Fergal knows about any of this?’
‘I’d say Alfredo has kept it close to his chest, but you never know. He seems much more relaxed these days. But he was very religious, you know - wherever we went on tour, he was always asking the theatre manager where the nearest church was - and Italy is a very Catholic country. I would imagine he’s still trying to find a balance there.’
‘God, look at the time! I said I’d meet Fergal. Look, I’m so glad you know about everything. Thanks for listening - and for the hug. You never know, we might see you later.’
Brendan loved seeing his son genuinely happy. He knew that no matter how well off they were financially, life hadn’t been easy for their only child, what with Amelia’s long illness and his constant travelling. Fintan’s earlier words had torn at his heart, but he was glad that his son felt he could say them to him.
‘Good luck, my darling, handsome son. Tell Fergal I send my love.’
The two young men met at Café degli Artisti again, and this time there was a new intimacy in their smiles, an intimacy that was only possible because of the previous night. They spent the afternoon wandering the
piazzas. In all his time in Rome, Fergal had never explored so much of it as he had that week. They took the metro to the Colosseum, but a man dressed as a centurion was holding a sign that told them the queue was two hours long. Dumbstruck, they headed back to the Spanish Steps. A tiny man with a Polaroid camera offered to take their picture for a small fee. When they looked at the little image of themselves together, Fergal didn’t know what to say. He hardly recognised his own happy, tanned face smiling back at him.
‘Now we have to fight over who keeps it, eh?’ Fintan laughed. ‘Speaking of fights, I had a bit of a go at my dad earlier, but it was fine in the end.’
Fergal listened intently and thought about how his own da would never have backed down and said he was sorry for anything. He couldn’t help feeling envious of Fintan’s relationship with Brendan, and feeling a deeper and deeper loss at his own lack of any relationship with his father.
It was almost time for Fergal to leave for work, so they had one last coffee and talked about the dinner that Alfredo was planning
‘Alfredo is a man for the food, isn’t he?’ Fintan said. ‘God, I love Italy. Hey, Fergal, you did realise Alfredo was one of us, didn’t you? You know, the pink pound? Or what would they call it here, the Liza lira?’
Fergal laughed. ‘Yeah, I knew Alfredo was gay. He told me a while back. I told him about me, too, but he’d already guessed. He’s pretty private about himself, though.’
‘Hey, you can’t tell anyone, but did you know he was in love with my dad, years ago, before we were born? But with Dad being straight old Dad, the feeling wasn’t mutual.’
‘He told me that too. Did you ever see those old pictures of them? They weren’t exactly ugly - and your da’s still a fine-looking man. It must be awful to be in love with someone who doesn’t want you.’
‘Yeah. The scourge of unrequited love, isn’t that what it’s called?’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Dad was telling me about it over breakfast - actually, I was so late getting up that it was more like brunch. You must be knackered, Fergal. We didn’t half go for it last night. God, I wish you could’ve stayed the night!’
Fergal blushed and nodded. Then he asked, ‘So...your da knows about you?’
‘What? Being gay, you mean? Oh God, yes. I came out to him when I was sixteen - to them both, in fact.’
‘What did they say?’
‘They said they already knew. I was expecting a bit of drama, at least, but I suppose a lot of Dad’s friends in the theatre world are gay, so it wasn’t a big deal. I was a bit disappointed. Actually, they were lovely about it. Mum’s theory is that we’re like plants -there are variations within any species, and they’re all equally special and in need of care. How about your parents? Did your father know? Does your mum know yet?’
‘Jesus, no!' Fergal half shouted. He composed himself and continued, ‘My ma is very Catholic, and my da was...God, it’s weird talking about him in the past tense. Let’s just say he was a law unto himself. I don’t even think they really knew what heterosexuality was, never mind any other kind. There’s four of us - the twins, me and then Ciaran - so I’d say they did it a total of three times. Jesus, I really don’t want to picture my ma and da doing it!’They both laughed.
‘I’m glad you’ve got a sense of humour about it, at least. Fergal, I should tell you that Brendan knows about us.’
‘What? How?’
‘Please don’t be angry. He just took one look at me this morning and guessed it wasn’t insomnia that kept me up. He knows I don’t know anyone here but you, and he put two and two together - it wasn’t hard. And I blabbed. I’m sorry. There was no point in trying to deny it. When I lie, I change colour completely. And I don’t lie to my father - well, not often, anyway.’
‘Oh shit, Fintan. What if he tells Alfredo?’
‘Hey, calm down. You don’t have to worry about my dad being discreet. Anyway, Alfredo’s not the bloody Pope! It’s our business.’ They looked at each other, unblinking.
‘Fintan, what’s happening here?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I know we only met the other day, but I really feel like I can talk to you - really talk to you.’ Fergal dropped his head and half whispered, ‘I wish...oh, never mind.’
‘Tell me, please.’
‘Well, we’ve just met, and you’re about to leave again. I just wish you weren’t going, that’s all.’
‘Ah, Fergal. I thought about you all last night, that’s why I hardly slept. I’m supposed to be thinking about where to study next. I could reapply to Paris, I could go back to London and live at Dad’s. I know how privileged I am to have those choices, but you’ve put a spanner in the works, you really have. There, I’ve said it. Fergal Flynn, look what you’ve done to me.’
They sat with their legs interlocked like vines, not able to say any more.
Finally the church bell interrupted their thoughts, and Fergal saw that it was time to go to work. ‘Even though I don’t want to,’ he said, ‘I should probably go home tonight after work. I’ll be knackered, to be honest, and Alfredo was still up when I got back last night. I couldn’t do it again without him asking loads of questions.’
‘You’re probably right. Will you ring me at least before you leave the theatre? Or when you get home?’
Fergal smiled. ‘Of course I will.’
They hugged and kissed each other on the cheek. In that crowded square, it would have been more unusual for two young men not to.
27
Alfredo’s world had gone into overdrive. Not only was his diary full of private lessons - Salvatore, the singing butcher, was coming every week now - but he had been on the phone to Father Mac, making sure that Angela was definitely coming in the next few weeks. The seminary had called about publicity for the recital and he was trying to get hold of Brendan to organise the farewell dinner party. It would be a small gathering, just the four of them and Arianna. It was all too much and very stressful - just the way he liked it.
Alfredo and Brendan met for a late lunch at the Café degli Artisti. Brendan had exhausted the hotel menu some weeks earlier. Alfredo was still amazed at how things had turned around in only a week - not a word for over two decades, and now, for the third time in a few days, they were sitting down to eat and talk together.
‘Brendan, forgive me for repeating myself, but it’s just so good to see you so much, after all that silence.’
‘Yes, it is amazing. Alfredo, I know we can’t get back the time we lost, but will you come to London as soon as you can? I have a big house that hardly ever gets any visitors. Promise you will?’ ‘Of course. I’m delighted that you ask. Will Amelia join us? I’d love to see her.’
‘You never know. After this week, I’d say anything is possible.’ They took their time over the menu, ordered plenty of food and drank a fair bit of wine. They talked about the operas they’d seen and the recordings of the newest generation of tenors that they favoured. Brendan said that as much as he had loved the performances, it was sheer luxury not to have to be aware of the clock and of whether his voice was sufficiently warmed up. The conversation was lubricated by countless glasses of wine, and over coffee and cognac the subject matter moved naturally into more personal waters.
‘Alfredo, did you never fall in love, you know, after you left Venice that time?’
‘Not really; not properly. If we’re going to be honest, it took me a long time to get over you. I’m sure it sounds odd for you to hear this, but unrequited love has to be one of the most painful things in the world. Can you imagine if Amelia hadn’t felt the same way as you? How heartbroken you would have been?’
‘My God, Alfredo. I can’t imagine it, I really can’t.’
‘I never want to go through that again. I was so jealous of Amelia, and it was made harder by the fact that she was so nice. I was poisoned by my own need, and there was no antidote in sight. I struggled for a very long time after that. I didn’t even want t
o be gay, but it’s who I truly am. It’s been strange, meeting someone like Fergal.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In some ways, I think I was trying to heal that part of myself that was still damaged from my time with you. Why else would I go into the world and find a tenor who did need me, albeit only musically?’
‘You don’t fancy Fergal, do you?’
‘No, no. He’s handsome, of course, and that voice is to die for, but he’s far too young. I prefer older men any day. The bigger and hairier, the better.’
Brendan burst out laughing. ‘Good for you! Horses for courses, I suppose.’
They had had several liqueurs at this point, on top of all the wine, so Brendan was a lot less discreet than usual. ‘Fergal and Fintan really seem to have hit it off, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Alfredo, did you know that my son is gay? And I think - well, I know - they’ve become very friendly since they first set eyes on each other in my dressing room.’
‘Really?’
‘You should have seen Fintan at breakfast this morning! They’d been up half the night. Too much information for any father, but I gather they’re at the talking-all-night stage.’
Alfredo’s eyes had widened. ‘You mean they’ve become lovers? Are you sure?’
‘Alfredo, one of the only good things about boarding school education is that Fintan grew up very fast. He’s more like my friend than my son.’
‘Yes, I noticed that he sometimes calls you Brendan and sometimes Dad.’
‘Exactly. We’re very close, and he came out to us when he was only sixteen, which was very brave, although Amelia and I knew all along.’
‘That was brave. How ironic that you have a gay son, after what you and I...went through.’
‘I know. I often thought of you. You could have been a great role model for him, and advised him in matters I have no experience of, but you did make it easier for me to understand him.’
‘Did I? How?’
Roman Song Page 27