‘No,’ said Red, but he was smiling. ‘Limitations. We all have them.’
‘Limitations are all in the mind. So, I need a stick but that’s not going to stop me. And if you have an active mind, you’re more than half-way there.’
‘I was asking Tabitha about the bowls club,’ went on Christy. ‘It was quite the blowfor us oldies when it closed. But I know it hasn’t got anything to do with her. But we still haven’t found a place to convene. I suppose that’s why we enjoy the writer’s group so much. Oldies United.’ He chuckled.
‘The last thing Tab needs is you banging on about things. Anyway, it’s not good for you, getting excited. And you should stop watching the news.’ He turned to me, making proper eyecontact for the first time. ‘He just shouts at it. Thought he was going to have another stroke last night.’
‘It’s keeping me going,’ said Christy. ‘I’d go to an early grave watchingCash in the AtticorPointless.’
I shouldn’t have come, I thought, suddenly, a wave of nostalgia washing over me, and loss, loss for the person I once was. And by coming here I was trying to recapture. But it hadbeen a mistake. You don’t just drop in on your old life and you can’t just be the person you once were.
‘I’d better go,’ I said, standing up. ‘I’ll be back in to see you, okay, Christy?’
‘But you’ve just got here,’ said Christy. ‘Stay for some more of Peggy’s cake. You can have an even bigger slice this time.’
‘No, I’ve got to go. But I’ll come back.’
‘Promise?’
I nodded.
‘Well, then, I’llsee you out.’ Christy began to stand up. ‘And you’ll take some of the cake, won’t you? She’ll be delighted when I tell her that a slice went to Michael Fogarty’s home. She’ll like that, she will.’ He chuckled again. Peggy obviously wasn’t someone Michael could rely on for her vote.
‘Sorry,’ mouthed Red as Christy wrapped up a large slice in greaseproof paper.
‘Michael’s more of a Mr Kiplingman,’ I said. ‘He’s suspicious of home-made.’ We all laughed, and I thought how a receptive audience always made disloyalty easier.
‘You haven’t changed, Tabitha,’ said Christy, passing me the package. ‘Not one little bit. Still got that beautiful smile.’
‘I’ll see her out, Dad,’ said Red. ‘You stay there, you have enough going up and down as it is.’
As he followed me up the stairs, his bodyclose behind mine, the closest we had been, physically, for years and I could feel this magnetic tug that in a moment I would turn around mid-step and we would touch as though some kind of bodily memory compelled me to. At the front door, I stood aside while he opened it.
‘He’s looking well,’ I said.
‘When I first got home, he wasn’t his usual self. Tired, thin, that kind of thing. He was doingstrange things. In hospital, I found him reading a copy of theDaily Mail.’
‘That must have been quite a shock. Which was worse, hearing he’d had a stroke or seeing him reading theDaily Mail?’
‘TheDaily Mail, obviously. I mean for a life-long, actual card-carrying socialist, a man who writes poems about the unequal tax systems of this country and wrote an epic poem based on a night in an A&Edepartment, to see him reading a right-wing paper was the far bigger scare.’ And he grinned right at me. And for a moment there was Red again.MyRed. ‘But I think it did him the power of good. Like electric shock treatment. He had to get well. Put the world to rights again. Write his poems. Give out about things.’
‘I hope he’s onto more edifying newspapers these days.’
‘Yes, it’s grand. Thedoctor prescribed him a combination of theIrish Timesand theGuardian, so he’s on the road to making a full recovery.’
‘Let me know if Christy wants a copy of theNew Statesman. I hear it’s like EPO for socialists.’ I was rewarded with that grin again, the one that brought me right back to a different age. ‘He must be happy you’re back?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah and I’m glad to be back. Didn’t thinkI would be. But it’s good to be home.’
‘So, what did you miss?’ I knew I was stalling, not wanting to say goodbye. ‘When you were away?’
‘Barry’s tea. That was my number one. And proper chocolate. Irish Cadbury’s. A nice quiet pub. With no television on and an auld fella at the bar.’ He smiled. ‘The usual expat longings. And having a laugh.’
‘Have you not laughed in all the time you’ve beenaway?’ I said, pretending to be shocked.
‘There’s a particular way of having fun that we Irish do. I missed it.’ We made eye contact for a moment but he looked away, quickly.
‘So…’ I said. ‘Nice seeing you both together.’
