On the way home, she talked non-stop from nerves. Alfredo asked her about Belfast and about how she was coping without her husband and she became a little tearful, but she calmed down after a pot of tea. She couldn’t believe that anyone could own a house so big and so full of things.
‘Jesus, I’d hate to have to clean it, Freddie, I’ll tell you that.’
‘It’s Alfredo, Mother,’ Fergal corrected, but Alfredo waved his hand, laughing.
Angela loved her room. Fergal couldn’t help feel strange as he showed it to her; it was meant to be for his lover. His mother knew he was sad, but she thought it had something to do with her husband’s death, so she unpacked her wee travel bag and handed him a package.
‘What is it, Mammy?’
‘Something to remember your da by. I know youse didn’t see eye to eye, but he was your daddy, and you only get one of them. I was clearing out his things, and when I found it I thought you might wear it at your concert thing tomorrow.’
Fergal unwrapped a dark brown silk tie. ‘That’s the one he wore the morning we were married,’ Angela said, ‘twenty-two years ago.’
Fergal didn’t know what to say, but his eyes spoke for him: they filled with tears. His mother reached up to touch his face and he flinched instinctively before realising that the days of her hitting him were over. She couldn’t even reach his head now.
Angela put her arm around him, and they cried together for the first time in their lives. It was exactly what Fergal needed.
Alfredo took them to dinner at Moretti’s, and Arianna made a special fuss of Fergal’s mother. Angela’s accent was so strong and fast that, even though she did her very best, Arianna hadn’t a single clue what she was saying, so she just nodded hopefully. She noticed that Fergal looked a little more at ease than he had in a while.
In one way, the dinner was bad timing. Fintan called the house that evening, and found them gone. When Brendan asked him innocently what he wanted for dinner, Fintan muttered something rude and headed for his room.
Brendan had had enough.
‘Right, Fintan - enough. I have put up with your sarcasm, your moods, your rudeness, but no more!’ He slammed his fist down on the table. ‘Do you hear me?’
Fintan was shocked. He had never seen his father lose his temper before. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just.. .Fergal. I can’t get hold of him.’
‘And what? There are no planes to Rome from Heathrow? You don’t have a credit card with a decent limit? We Fiscettis follow our hearts. Swallow your pride and go find him. I don’t want to hear another bloody word about it until you’ve done something. Do you understand?’
Back at Moretti’s, Arianna innocently asked after Brendan and Fintan, and Fergal’s mood began to plummet again. Alfredo made a face at her and then said that young Fiscetti was due to come back in a few weeks. Angela thought he’d said ‘Fish-heady’, and she giggled like a little girl. She’d had a fair few glasses of Prosecco, and once she got over her initial suspicion of the unfamiliar menu, she had loved everything she tasted.
By nine o’clock, though, she was exhausted, and they took her back to Alfredo’s. When Alfredo asked her if she needed to phone anyone before she went to bed to tell them she had arrived safely, she thought for a second, then said, ‘No, Freddie. Sure, let them worry about me for a change.’
Then she winked at Fergal and went up to bed.
Alfredo put his hand on Fergal’s shoulder. ‘You know how much I admire what you’re doing, don’t you?’
‘What am I doing?’
‘You’re trying to forgive your mother. That’s why she’s here. I can’t imagine how hard that is for you, in the middle of all this other heartache with Fintan.’
Fergal nodded wearily, but he felt a little comforted. At least Alfredo understood. He cleared his throat and asked, ‘Is Salvatore coming to the recital?’
The tone of his voice told Alfredo that Fergal knew more than he had thought. ‘Well, Fergal, you don’t miss much, do you?’
‘No, particularly not when I happen to look out my bedroom window in the direction of the swinging sofa.’
Alfredo’s eyes widened and he blushed, delighted that for once he had something to blush about. ‘It’s very early days and Salvatore is incredibly shy, so it’s our little secret for now, okay?’ Fergal couldn’t help grinning at him. ‘Okay.’
They spent the rest of the evening going over some final notes and the running order for the recital. When Fergal finally got into bed, he felt touched that Alfredo had trusted him enough to tell him about Salvatore and a little startled by the fact that his own mother was asleep in the same house, but it was Fintan he thought of as he drifted into a deep, dark sleep.
Alfredo, ever the host, woke early and had breakfast ready when the Flynns arrived downstairs. Angela was dying to see the Vatican, so Fergal agreed to take her, although he would have to be back in time for lunch, before they went to the seminary building for the last run-through before that night’s recital. The nerves were multiplying in his chest. He hadn’t needed his asthma inhaler in a long time, but he had to puff on it that morning before he and his mother left the house.
Alfredo watched them go, smiling. He knew they should spend what little time they had together, and he also wanted to see if Salvatore could sneak away from the shop for lunch. He almost fainted with delight when the butcher showed up with a bag of pork chops. Alfredo fried them in garlic, and they fed each other at the little table in the garden before kissing on the swinging sofa again.
Fergal and his mother wandered the piazzas and he bought them ice creams. When they finally queued in St Peter’s Square to go into the basilica, she blessed herself and pulled out Noreen’s little laminated mass card. She kissed it and then held it up to the basilica. ‘Here, Mammy, look - me and our Fergal’s in Rome! We’re going to light a candle for you and for my Paddy, God rest him. I hope youse are getting on better up there than youse did down here.’ Fergal smiled. She was still more concerned about dead people than she was about her own living self.
When they finally got inside the vast church, the first thing Angela did was light two candles at the altar of the Virgin Mary. Only then could she relax and take in the magnificence around her.
‘Fergal,’ she asked as they left the basilica, ‘do you think you’ll ever live in Belfast again?’
‘Never say never, but...I can’t see it, Mammy. I want to travel the whole world and sing.’
‘Yes, I know. I’m looking forward to tonight. Are you going to wear your da’s tie?’
‘The strange thing is, I was going to wear my brown linen suit that Alfredo and Arianna gave me for my last birthday. Da’s tie will be perfect with it.’
‘Ah, good. At least a wee bit of him will be with you.’
They walked around for an hour or so and then stopped for coffee. Angela didn’t have a strong back, so she was glad to take what little weight she had off her legs.
Out of the blue, at the café, she said, ‘If Paddy and John get married soon, will you come?’
‘Why on earth would they invite me?’
‘Fergal, they’re your brothers.’
‘Let’s not rake over all that, eh? Let’s just have a good time.’ She looked at him for a silent moment and asked, ‘Is that Freddie fella married?’
‘No, Mammy, of course not, otherwise you would’ve met his wife.’ Angela nodded, and Fergal knew what was coming next. ‘Fergal, do you think you’ll ever get married?’
‘It’s not for everybody.’
‘Jesus, don’t say that! And us at the Vatican and all.’ She blessed herself automatically.
‘Tell me honestly, Mammy,’ Fergal said. ‘If you had your time over again, would you marry Da? Truthfully?’
She looked down at her hands and thought for a long time. ‘No, I don’t think I would, son.’
‘At least you’re honest. And by the way, I don’t blame you.’
‘Do you have a girlfriend coming tonight?’ An
gela asked. ‘Someone you want me to meet?’
Fergal hadn’t seen that question coming. ‘What? No - no. I’m far too busy, and...oh, God.’ He turned away from her.
‘What? What is it?’
‘I can’t, Mammy. Not now - not here.’
‘Jesus, Fergal, what is it? Are you sick? Is that why you’ve changed so much? Oh, Holy Mother and all her saints, I knew it was too good to be—’
‘Mammy, stop. I’m not sick. I don’t have a girlfriend because.. .because...’
‘Because you like fellas.’
Fergal thought the sky had collapsed on top of him. ‘What? Mammy, how did...? ’ He was stammering badly with shock.
‘Ah Jesus, Fergal. Sure, I might not have gone to school, but I’m not that stupid. Even when you were a wee boy, sure, you weren’t like the rest of them.’
‘You mean you always knew?’
‘Well, I did and I didn’t. That’s not to say I agree with it, you know.’
‘Ah, Mammy, don’t say that.’
‘So...do you have a fella here, then?’
Fergal went purple. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I really can’t.’
‘Well, I can’t believe your da’s dead and I’m sitting beside the Vatican, but he is and I am.’
‘No, I don’t have a fella here.’ Fergal wanted to tell her about Fintan, but he couldn’t - not while he had no idea what was going to happen.
They sat in silence for another while, until Fergal realised it was time for them to go back to Alfredo’s. ‘We should get back, Mammy. I’m.. . I’m glad you know.’
‘Ah, sure, at least you won’t have any kids to drive you round the bend with worry. Live and let live; we’ll all be dead soon enough.’
At Alfredo’s gate, Angela turned to Fergal and said, ‘I suppose Freddie is a poof as well, is he?’
Fergal laughed. ‘Mammy, you’re unbelievable. No, he’s not a poof, he’s gay'
She shrugged. ‘Here, he’s not your fella, is he?’
‘What? God, no! He’s far too old.’
‘Aye, but he’s loaded.’
Fergal just shook his head and opened the front door. Salvatore was just leaving, and when Angela saw this giant of a man coming towards her, she blessed herself. Salvatore smiled, said hello and kissed her on both cheeks. All she could say in response as she looked his bulk up and down was, ‘Jesus on the cross, your poor mother - that’s all I have to say! The size of you!’
Even though he didn’t really understand, Salvatore laughed as he left, saying he’d see them later.
When Angela went upstairs, Alfredo asked Fergal how his day with his mother had gone. He looked at the ceiling intently and then lowered his voice, saying nonchalantly, ‘Oh, you know, nothing out of the ordinary. Walked, took in the sights, told her I’m gay...’
‘What? You’re joking! What did she say?’
‘Not too much. I couldn’t believe it, but she seemed to take it in her stride, even though she doesn’t really approve. She also asked if you and me were, you know, but I put her right. I didn’t say anything about Fintan.’
Alfredo was wide-eyed and wondering if the day could get any stranger. ‘Well, Fergal, one less thing to worry about. Well done. I would never have been so brave with my mother.’
32
Daniela volunteered to take the delighted Angela to the markets for the rest of the day while Alfredo put Fergal through his paces at the seminary building. The music hall was a long wooden structure where the seminarians’ choir rehearsed, and it had a beautiful grand piano. It was warm and wide, and as Fergal and Alfredo positioned the piano and warmed up, there were several volunteers discreetly setting out chairs, as well as one man making sure Fergal didn’t notice him testing the levels of the microphones. The seminary choir was regularly recorded, and their microphones, hanging from the rafters not far above Fergal’s head, were the latest in technology.
As his voice took flight, Fergal was unaware of the red recording light. Alfredo quietly noticed a difference in his tone and thought that Angela’s presence had been good for him, in her own way.
The day seemed to be vanishing before their very eyes, and Fergal’s nerves were mounting. Back at the house, he stayed under the heat of the shower jets longer than usual. Then he climbed into his linen suit and did up his father’s wedding tie as best he could. He looked in the mirror and tried to imagine what his father, Patrick Flynn, had been thinking about as he put on that tie all those years ago, when he was still single and, technically, childless. Had he had cold feet? One thing was certain - had Patrick Flynn not gone through with his wedding, Fergal wouldn’t have been standing there. Somewhere in his heart, his anger towards his father dropped a degree or two.
He stroked the brown silk and headed downstairs. When Angela saw him come into the living room her eyes filled up, and Daniela gave her a little glass of wine to calm her.
They arrived at the back of the seminary. hall, and all of a sudden Fergal thought about Father Mac. He wished he had been able to come, but in another way, he was glad not to have any more of Belfast in the room than there already was. They were led backstage to a little changing room, while outside the entrance doors the air began to fill with the bustle of the gathering, curious audience. Fergal paced up and down nervously, checking the clock every few minutes. He knew how important this recital was, and he wanted more than anything to obliterate the bad memory of the exam. He hoped silently that Granny Noreen could prise his da away from the sports channel in the sky, so they might be able to hear him somehow.
Alfredo looked out from behind the curtain and saw that the hall was filling quickly. He saw many familiar faces, including his sister’s, and he was just in time to notice Signore Arnelli discreetly slipping into his seat. Alfredo hadn’t been sure whether the legendary examiner would come, and it made him glad - and extra nervous - that he had.
Fergal’s stomach was churning, and when he held out his hands to check his nerves he saw that they were trembling. Alfredo took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes.
‘Fergal, remember that you are more than capable of this performance. I urge you to take your time, breathe properly and, above all, try to enjoy yourself.’ .
Fergal swallowed hard and nodded. ‘I’m ready, Alfredo. I’m ready. Let’s do it.’
Daniela took Angela to her special seat, and at eight o’clock precisely the house lights were dimmed and Fergal stepped into the main spotlight. The full room welcomed him with applause.
Alfredo’s first chords rang out, and Fergal glanced at his music stand. Then his voice commanded the room.
Angela was looking at the boy to whom she had given birth, but she was hearing a strange man’s voice come out of his throat. Fergal sang two arias and two Irish songs, then he paused. ‘I’m very nervous,’ he told the audience, ‘for lots of reasons. One of them is that my mother is in the audience tonight.’ Everyone clapped, and Daniela made the mortified Angela wave from her seat. ‘I’d like to dedicate the next song to her and to my late grandmother. My grandfather, who I was named after, used to sing it for her.’
As the first few lines of‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen’ floated into the room, a few Irish people exhaled in bittersweet pleasure as their own memories joined the invisible queue. When Fergal finished the last line, it got the first standing ovation of the night.
He sang selections from Puccini’s La Bohème and Verdi’s Otello and gave them everything he had, but time and time again, thoughts of Fintan Fiscetti pulled at his heart. His grandmother’s face crowded his head and his father floated there; at one point he glanced at Alfredo and saw him looking worried, holding a chord down and waiting for Fergal to come in. He realised just in time to recover well and not lose his place. Alfredo threw him a look that said, Concentrate!
There was a fifteen-minute interval, and when the two of them got back to the little makeshift dressing room, Alfredo grabbed Fergal by the shoulders agai
n.
‘Fergal, you have sung some pieces tonight better than you ever have, but towards the end I lost you. Where did you go?’
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘See that it doesn’t. I shouldn’t tell you this, but Arnelli is in the audience. I know you can do this.’
Something inside Fergal shifted. He looked at Alfredo and said earnestly, ‘I don’t care who’s out there. I can’t wait to get back on and sing.’
Alfredo smiled. ‘That’s the spirit, Fergal. That’s what I want to hear.’
Angela wanted to go back to the dressing room, but Daniela read the situation well and convinced her to have a glass of wine instead. As they queued for the wine, Daniela could have sworn she spotted a young man she knew, disappearing into the men’s toilets, but she said nothing.
The second half, a mixture of classical pieces and traditional Irish songs, was even more intense. Alfredo had asked Fergal to find something he could sing unaccompanied, and he had chosen a lament. As he started the first verse, the whole room seemed to hold its breath.
I wonder what is keeping my true love tonight,
I wonder what is keeping you out of my sight,
For it’s little you know the pain I endure,
Or you wouldn’t stay from me this night, I am sure.
The hairs on the back of Alfredo’s neck stood to attention.
Oh, love, are you coming our cause to advance,
Or, love, are you waiting for a far better chance?
You know you have my whole life placed by yours in store,
And I can’t bear to think that I’ll see you no more.
Fergal opened his eyes and nearly lost his balance. The unmistakable face of Fintan Fiscetti shifted at the side of the audience, where he had to stand. He had bought the very last standing-room ticket that afternoon.
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