A Perfect Match (9 page)

‘So, how’s it going?’ I asked.

‘OK.’

‘Have they asked you about Shadee yet?’

‘Nope.’

‘How long are you staying?’

‘I’m going back tomorrow.’

‘What? But that’s not even forty-eight hours.’

‘I know, but I don’t want to get into an argument with them about my relationship, so the quicker I leave, the less chance we have of coming to blows over it. Besides, I miss her.’

‘Come on, you haven’t even been home a day.’

‘What can I say? I guess I’m in love,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh, Sean, that’s great,’ I said, hugging him.

It was great, but I wasn’t sure how dirilled my parents were going to be – or her parents for that matter. I’d have to find one of those ‘Learning about Iranian culture and religion’ courses in the New Year and book us all in. Basing our knowledge of die country on a film starring Sally Field wasn’t exactly well-informed. I’d look up the Internet when I got home and order some books on Amazon about the history of Iran. It was going to be a busy year – what with learning all about Russia, becoming a fluent Russian speaker in diree months and now having to take on Iran. I’d be able to apply for a job in the department of foreign affairs in no time.

‘Actually,’ said Sean, glowing with happiness, ‘she moved in a few weeks ago and it’s just brilliant.’

What? Moved in, already? It seemed a bit hasty. He’d only known her for a few mondis and I know it’s a terrible thing to admit … but what if she
was
a religious zealot underneath it all and tried to brainwash him into going to live in Iran with her. She’d pretend they were just going to visit her granny who was on her last legs and then, hey presto, before he knew it, Sean’d be living in a commune where all they do all day is pray and burn effigies of American presidents. Thankfully I managed to look happy about it and asked him how Shadee’s parents had reacted to the news.

‘They don’t know yet either,’ he admitted. ‘They’ll probably go mental when they find out. We agreed to go home for Christmas and tell our respective families ourselves.’

‘When are you going to tell Mum and Dad?’

‘Well, I couldn’t face it last night and I’m obviously not going to announce it today and I’m leaving first thing tomorrow so … I was kind of hoping you’d do it for me,’ said Sean, grinning at me.

‘Do what for her?’ asked Babs, barging in before I got a chance to tell Sean exactly what I thought of this bright idea.

‘Nothing,’ we said in unison.

‘Fine, keep your stupid secret,’ said the ever bolshie youngest sibling. ‘Emma, Mum wants you in the kitchen, she needs help.’

‘So go and help her,’ I said.

‘No – she said she wants
you
to help her.’

I went in to find my mother looking very harassed, ramming the stuffing up the turkey’s backside with a vim and vigour that made me wince. Thank God the bird was long dead.

‘Hi, what’s up?’

‘Your bloody auntie Doreen just called to wish us a happy Christmas and to say, wasn’t it well for us having all the family with us while she was alone with her three children living in America. So, I had to invite her for dinner. She’s on her way over – with her rosary beads and the Bible no doubt. Lord, what’ll James’s family think? I hope she doesn’t try to convert them all.’

I laughed at the thought of Doreen trying to convert Imogen. My father’s sister Doreen claimed to have seen an apparition of the Virgin Mary fifteen years ago in a field in the West of Ireland and had since become a pilgrimage junkie and extreme Holy Jo. She was always trying to convert James to the Catholic faith which we all found highly amusing, although James found it a bit trying at times. Doreen’s strongest characteristic was her tenacity.

‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll ply her with drink. She’ll be fine.’

‘Anyway, enough about that, what’s going on with Sean and that girl? Are they still doing a line?’

‘Yes.’

‘A serious line?’

‘Yes.’

‘How serious?’

‘Pretty serious,’ I said, deciding not to tell her about the co-habitation just yet. Judging by the way she was cramming the stuffing up that bird, she was in no mood for surprises.

My mother chose to ignore this piece of information. It was a trick she had – if she heard something she didn’t like, she disregarded it completely.

‘I’ve organized for young Maureen Doherty to come over tomorrow for a drink with her mother and father and Sean tells me he’s off to London first thing in the morning. He must be working very hard. Only two days’ holidays? It’s scandalous. You should see Maureen, she’s skin and bone from the Weight Watchers. Like a super-model she is. She’d be perfect for Sean. Maybe I could get them to call over tonight instead?’ Mum said, her mind working overtime.

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘There are quite enough people here already today. Sean will be fine. Just leave him be. Stop trying to set him up.’

Mum was always worrying about Sean not settling down. Three and a half years ago when he turned thirty, she had decided that as he was obviously incapable of finding himself a nice girl to get hitched to, she’d help him out. Thus began a series of extremely embarrassing set ups. Sean would arrive home for a weekend to see his mates and his family. He’d be sitting down to watch a football match with Dad, when all of a sudden Mum would throw the door open and say, ‘You’ll never guess who was passing by?’ Inevitably it was one of her bridge cronies with one of their unmarried daughters hoping for a union. No doubt Mum had told them Sean was the catch of Dublin – one of the top ten lawyers in the city of London I had heard her boast, and a talented sportsman to boot. Sean and I always giggled about that – the most sport Sean had done since gym class in school was to switch the remote control from one hand to the other. As for top-ten lawyer – he was doing extremely well and we were very proud of him, but it was a gross exaggeration to say the least. Anyway, Mum would drag Sean into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and then she and her friend would suddenly disappear into the garden to see some incredible plant that had, just that minute, sprouted, leaving the mortified daughter and Sean staring at each other across the table. As they desperately tried to make small talk, their mothers kept a keen eye on the proceedings through the kitchen window. So far Mum had subjected Sean to five girls and had no success.

‘Jesus, that child’s a handful,’ said Dad, coming into the kitchen for some peace and quiet as Thomas bellowed outside. ‘Is he always that noisy?’

‘He’s usually a lot worse. Yesterday he –’

The door flew open and we all turned around to see Babs carrying Thomas under one arm. She set him down and shut the door.

‘Right, you little shit,’ she said. ‘If you ever kick me or pull my hair again, I will kick you back. Now say you’re sorry.’

‘No!’ roared Thomas, kicking her again.

‘Barbara, that’s enough,’ said Mum, coming to Thomas’s rescue. ‘He’s only a child.’

Thomas looked at Mum and then kicked her in the shins too.

Babs grabbed him by the arms and shook him until his teeth rattled – this time he was on his own.

‘You little brat, don’t you ever do that again or I will rip your arms and legs off. Do you hear me?’ she hissed.

Thomas nodded, looking terrified.

‘Now, say you’re sorry to me and my mother.’

‘Orry,’ he whispered.

‘Oh, there you are darling,’ said Imogen – thankfully having just missed Babs’s attempts to re-arrange her son’s internal organs. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Are you all right with these strange new people? Was he being shy?’ she asked us.

We all nodded, not trusting ourselves to speak. Babs’s mouth was twitching, but she managed to control herself.

‘Thom Thom’s a very shy little boy, aren’t you? Come with Mummy, Doreen wants to meet you. She’s Emma’s auntie and she has a little grandson just your age.’

As soon as she shut the door, we roared laughing.

‘The poor child will never be the same again after today, especially once Doreen gets her hands on him,’ said Dad, dabbing his eyes with a tissue. ‘I’ve got to see this.’

When we had composed ourselves, we trooped back into the living room where Doreen was telling a very subdued Thomas the story of the birth of Jesus in a manger surrounded by shepherds. She was giving Our Lady pretty much all of the kudos for the whole event.

‘… and then the wonder that is Mary gave birth to baby Jesus and the son of God was born. If it wasn’t for Mary there would be no Jesus …’

James and Henry grinned at each other, but Imogen didn’t seem to notice. She was just delighted that Doreen was paying Thomas so much attention.

‘Watch out, Henry, she’ll have the rosary beads out next,’ said Dad, rolling his eyes. As if on cue, Doreen took out her rosary beads for Thomas to play with while the three men tried not to laugh.

‘There’s a good little boy, you can keep them if you like,’ said Doreen, shoving the beads into Thomas’s hand.

‘Will you have a drink, Doreen?’ asked Dad, trying to distract her from her determined efforts to convert Thomas.

‘No, Dan, not at all. Nothing for me.’

‘Ah, go on, have a drink for the day that’s in it. You have to celebrate the birth of Jesus and all Mary’s hard work.’

‘Well, all right then, just a small one.’

Dad poured Doreen an enormous gin and tonic which she proceeded to knock back. A few minutes later, when she thought no one was looking, she sprinkled Thomas with holy water. He squealed and ran over to his mother. The poor kid was having a bad day – I almost felt sorry for him.

Mum came in and we sat around to open our presents. Henry gave me a box, filled with all the make-up products Thomas had ruined. I hugged him for his thoughtful-ness. I gave the twins little matching pink duffle coats that I had bought the day before when I had gone for a walk to get out of the mad house that had formerly been my home. I was so distracted by the mayhem at home that I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself in the shop. Besides, the coats were so adorable that I really wanted to give them to the girls. James gave Thomas the rugby ball which he proceeded to kick into the TV, much to Dad’s horror – the little monster was obviously recovering. Mum gave Sean a travel voucher for Aer Lingus.

‘You’ve no excuse now. You’re to come home more regularly and go out socializing with your pals and meet nice Irish girls,’ she said.

Sean, ignoring her pointed remark, handed her his present. It was a book:
Modern Iran: Roots and Results of Revolution
by Nikki R. Keddie. Mum fixed a smile on her face and pushed it under the couch, but Doreen caught a glimpse of it and pulled it out.

‘Iran? Why are you buying your mother a book on Iran?’

‘It’s nothing, Doreen. Now come on, Barbara, open your present,’ snapped Mum.

‘I bought it for her because my girlfriend is from Iran and I want Mum to know more about the country,’ said Sean, glaring at Mum.

‘Iran?’ said Doreen, sounding appalled. ‘Did I see a film about …’

‘Yes, Doreen, you did –
Not Without My Daughter,
’ said Babs, loving the drama. ‘Sean still hasn’t seen his girlfriend’s face, she wears one of those mad black capes over her head, and they have to have sex through a hole in the sheet,’ she added, giggling as she stirred things up.

‘Shut up,’ I said, pinching her. ‘She doesn’t wear a yashmak and she was born and bred in England.’

‘Is she Catholic, Sean?’

‘No, Doreen, she’s Muslim.’

‘Muslim!’ said Doreen, blessing herself.

‘It’s nothing,’ said Mum. ‘She’s just a pal.’

‘It’s not nothing, Mum. It’s serious and we’ve just moved in together,’ said Sean, choosing the worst moment possible to announce his news. A deathly silence ensued.

‘Living in sin with a Muslim!’ squealed Doreen, grabbing her rosary beads back from Thomas to pray for Sean’s lost soul.

‘There was a really nice bloke in class with James who was from Iran. He was six foot five, a really good cricketer,’ said Henry, trying to help Sean out as James shook his head and whispered, ‘I tried that one already – didn’t help much.’

‘I certainly wouldn’t want Thomas marrying a Muslim,’ said Imogen, bringing the conversation around to her children as always.

‘You’d be lucky if Helen Keller wanted to marry him. Only a blind deaf and dumb person could put up with that brat,’ said Babs, subtle as always.

‘Thank you, Barbara, very delicately put,’ said Dad, jumping in before a fight broke out. ‘Now I think we’ll have some carols.
Oh holy night
…’ he sang, drowning out the whingeing Thomas, gurgling twins, praying Doreen and fuming Imogen.

11

We rang in the New Year, drinking wine on the couch, while watching some dreadful programme on the ‘year that was’. We had planned to go out, but after a week of Henry, Imogen and the kids, we were exhausted.

‘This doesn’t bode well for when we have our own children,’ I said, fishing about in the box of Quality Street for the sweet with the strawberry centre. ‘If we are this worn out after a week, what’ll we be like when we come back from Russia with a baby of our own, who we have to look after twenty-four/seven?’

‘It’ll be easier with just one, and Thomas can be a bit of a handful.’

‘Do my ears deceive me? Did you just admit that Thomas is a brat?’

‘No, darling, I said handful. I was very careful not to use the word brat. It’s not as if you need any encouragement to give out about him.’

‘I know, but he really is awful. What if we get a mini-Russian Thomas? What will we do? We can’t send him back, can we?’

‘No, we definitely can’t do that. Boarding school should sort him out.’

‘You can’t send a toddler to boarding school.’

‘OK then, we’ll just get Auntie Babs to come over and frighten the life out of him,’ he said, with one eye on the television, as they announced the upcoming sports highlights of the year.

‘I hope we don’t have to wait too much longer.’

‘Mmmm, me too. Excellent, they’re showing the rugby.’

‘James?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think you’ll be a brilliant dad.’