It started out as a joke. Just pub talk. Yet, as he made his way home that night, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. There was a horse fair in Ballymore that weekend and the lads in the pub were planning to go. “I am sure the fillies will be there, as usual,” one of the lads said, raising his pint and winking. “Surely,” the other lads had replied, laughing. He knew what they meant. He had seen blokes queuing up outside tents at fairs over the years. It was not for him; he had always believed – but now? He knew he was no great shakes with the girls. He just had to look in the mirror. There was only so much talk of football and farming the girls wanted to hear. Yet, he wanted to settle down and get married, raise a family. Like a normal person. He needed help. That he knew.
So, that Sunday afternoon, he queued up with the other blokes. His turn came. Inside, a middle-aged lady took his money. She introduced the two girls doing business that day. Pipa, small, blond, very pretty, and Joy, taller, dark haired, friendlier looking. Joy it was. She led him to a smaller room at the back. “Have you ever been aggressive with girls?” she asked. “I have never been anything with girls,” he replied. “What about boys?” He was confused by the question before realising what she meant. “Boys? You mean… No, never”. He was taken aback by the direct questioning. “You have never seen a girl naked, have you?” her voice was gentler now. He shook his head, staring at the floor. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” she told him quietly “I can help you”. She was so kind and helpful, so patient with him, those beautiful thirty minutes slipped away too quickly. And that was that. He did not get one second extra. She had a good business head on her. He got dressed and left the tent. Euphoric. He went back again, of course. Many times. That type of training cannot be completed in one session. Always Joy. Always so kind and gentle.
Now, he sits quietly in his armchair beside the fire; “grandad’s chair” as it is called in the family. His daughter has arrived for her usual Sunday afternoon visit. He can hear her with Patricia in the kitchen, chatting and laughing as they prepare dinner. Her two boys are outside, kicking football. He closes his eyes; listening to their playful shouting. He knows how lucky he is. He knows things could have worked out very differently. Meeting Patricia was the making of him. They have had a good life together. But it took courage to approach her at the dance that first night. To ask her out. Courage he would never have if that lady had not given him the confidence. What was her name again? Joy. He smiles to himself. “Joy by name…”