Whose Life is it Anyway? (23 page)

I wondered would Dad disown me when he found out about Pierre. Surely not. He couldn’t be that set against it. Could he? Was I giving up everything to marry Pierre? What was he going to sacrifice to marry me? As if on cue, my phone rang.

‘Hello, darling, how’s your dad?’ asked my fiancé, and my doubts faded away. Just hearing his voice made me smile.

‘He’s OK thanks. I miss you.’ I sighed.

‘Good, because I miss you terribly. When are you coming back?’

‘I’d like to stay until Dad’s out of hospital and spend a few days at home making sure he’s OK. I should be back in a week or so.’

‘Do you want me to come over?’

‘No. When I tell him about you, I’m sure he’ll want to meet you, but until then there’s no point.’

‘When are you thinking of telling him?’

‘As soon as he’s feeling stronger. He only had the heart-attack yesterday. I can’t upset him yet.’

‘Fine. Just remember we leave in ten weeks and you’ve got a wedding to organize.’

‘I’m well aware of what I have to do.’

‘I don’t want to argue, I just want to make sure you’re not having second thoughts.’

‘Of course I’m not. By the way, how do you feel about bringing our children up as Catholics?’

‘Serious?’

‘Deadly.’

‘I’d rather they were brought up with no specific religious beliefs and when they’re eighteen they can decide for themselves.’

‘They have to be Catholic or we can’t get married in a church.’

‘Since when are we getting married in a church?’

‘I’ve always wanted to get married in a church. I want it all – the big family wedding, the meringue dress, the bridesmaids, the three-tiered cake, confetti, everything.’

Pierre laughed. ‘You are funny.’

‘I’m not being funny, I’m serious. I’ve dreamt of this since I was a little girl.’

‘I thought we’d do a register office, then go for a nice lunch somewhere with close family.’

Register office? Was he insane? Didn’t he know me at all? How come we had never discussed this before? Had I just presumed he knew I wanted a church wedding?

‘That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. It’s a sorry excuse for a wedding. How could you not know that I want a big day out?’

‘Because you never said so.’

‘I’ve always said I wanted to get married at home.’

‘I know, darling, but ‘home’ is London and it doesn’t necessarily imply an over-the-top church wedding for hundreds of people, half of whom we won’t know. I’m a bit old for that.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

‘Let’s talk about this later.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’

‘You’re upset and emotional about your father. We’ll discuss it another time.’

‘Pierre, I’m getting married in a big dress in a big church in front of a big crowd. You can either turn up or not.’

‘Don’t you think they’d notice if the groom didn’t arrive?’

‘They’ll be far too busy being dazzled by my dress.’

‘How big?’

‘Think Scarlett O’Hara.’

‘How many guests?’

‘I have eighty-three relations.’

Silence.

‘Pierre?’

‘Why couldn’t I have met a nice quiet girl my own age, who was an only child from a non-religious family?’

‘Because you’re a lecherous old git who likes young ones in short skirts.’

‘Niamh?’

‘Yes?’

‘I love you.’

‘Enough to bring our children up as Catholics?’

‘I don’t believe in any of it. It’s hypocritical.’

‘I believe in it.’

‘You never go to mass.’

‘I did when I was younger and it’s good for children to have direction in life. They need rules and principles and guidance.’

‘The Catholic Church opposes gay marriage, the social acceptance of homosexuality and same-sex relationships.’

‘Yes, but it also says that homosexuals deserve respect.’

‘It condemns the use of contraception, even in Africa where Aids is rife.’

‘It’s the Catholic priests and nuns working in Africa who take care of the victims of Aids. Look, we can argue about this all day. The bottom line is, I was brought up Catholic and you fell in love with me, so obviously it didn’t do me any harm, and I want our children to have religion in their life. It’ll also help smooth things over with my parents.’

‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll agree to them being brought up as Catholics but they have to be allowed to opt out any time they like.’

‘Fine,’ I agreed.

‘Now, hurry up and tell your parents about us and get your cute ass back over here.’

28

During Dad’s short stay in hospital recuperating, Mum decided to spring-clean the house and have it really nice for him when he came home. She was like a whirlwind, taking apart every room and throwing out anything that wasn’t ‘useful or practical’. Dad had never been sick before and it was strange to see how lost my mother was without him around. She was upset, and the only way she knew how to deal with this was to scrub the house within an inch of its life and cook, then freeze, batches of Dad’s favourite food, which I tried to tell her wouldn’t be appropriate for a man with a heart condition.

‘And why not?’ she snapped.

‘The doctor said no butter and cream,’ I said, pointing to the chicken breast drowning in a sea of creamy sauce.

‘It’s his favourite.’

‘I know, Mum, but he has to keep his cholesterol down. The doctor said it was vital for his heart.’

‘Well, what am I supposed to cook, then?’

‘Steamed vegetables and chicken on its own. No sauce.’

‘Sure a rabbit wouldn’t eat that, not to mind your father.’

‘It’s for his own good.’

‘I’ll pour some of the sauce out and only give him a small bit,’ she said, spooning half down the sink.

‘But it’s –’

‘I’ve been cooking for him for thirty years. I don’t need advice now. It’s the cigarettes and heavy lifting that gave him the heart-attack, not my cooking,’ she said, highly insulted. ‘A bit of butter never killed anyone. Now, get those gloves on and give the bathroom sink a good scrub.’

‘I did it already this morning.’

‘Well, do it again.’

‘Mum, it’s clean. The whole house is spotless. You’ve done a great job.’

‘I want it perfect for him.’

‘It is perfect.’

‘I need to mow the lawn,’ she said, pulling off her apron and heading towards the door.

I grabbed her. ‘Mum, sit down. You’re going to wear yourself out. Dad needs you to be fresh and rested when he comes home so you can look after him. He doesn’t care if the grass is mown or not.’

‘
I CARE
,’ she shouted. ‘I care! I –’ She began to sob. ‘I didn’t think I’d be so lost without him. This is the first time we’ve ever been apart. In thirty years we never spent a night away from each other. The bed’s awful big without him in it.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, putting my arm round her. ‘Of course you’re upset. It must be awful for you.’

I couldn’t believe they’d never spent a night apart. It was so romantic. I’d never thought of my parents as romantic. They were always just Mum and Dad, not a man and a woman who had fallen in love and got married. I wondered would Pierre and I be like that. I hoped so.

‘Anyway,’ said Mum, recovering her composure, ‘no time to be sitting around moping. Far too much to do. Pass me that butter.’ She scooped half the tub out and proceeded to mash it into the potatoes with a small mountain of salt.

While I was thinking of a new way to approach the need for Dad to have a low-fat, no-salt diet, Nuala came rushing in, flushed with excitement.

‘Throw the kettle on there, Niamh,’ she said, taking her coat off. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’

‘Go on,’ I said.

‘Your auntie Sheila’s getting married again.’

‘No!’ said Mum.

‘To Brendan Hickey.’

‘No!’

‘Yes!’

‘But I thought he was married?’

‘Divorced,’ said Nuala.

‘When?’

‘Last month. He wanted to marry Sheila so he got a quickie divorce.’

‘’Twon’t be a church wedding so,’ said Mum.

‘No,’ said Nuala. ‘They’re getting married in a register office.’

‘Ah, well, never mind. I’m glad she met someone.’

‘And not just any old person. Brendan Hickey’s loaded. She’ll have the life of Riley now.’

‘She deserves it,’ said Mum, ‘after what she went through with Pat. I’m delighted for her. Has he kids?’

‘Two sons, grown-up, married.’

‘You’d have to feel sorry for his wife,’ said Mum.

‘Not a bit of it. She’s an old witch. He’s much better off with Sheila.’

‘She looks fantastic lately – I’m not surprised she met someone.’

‘The day Pat died was the day her life began. It was the best thing that could have happened. And he’s a house in Spain.’

‘Brendan?’

‘Yes. In Marbella, no less.’

‘Lovely,’ said Mum.

‘That’s where he proposed.’

‘Has she a ring?’

‘A whopper.’

‘I wonder what she’ll do with her old one.’

‘Melt it down.’

‘Ah, Nuala, you’re very harsh.’

‘Sure what would she want that old ring for? It’ll only remind her of unhappy times.’

‘Where did you get all this information anyway?’

‘I met Sally for lunch. She’s just popped in to work for a bit and then she’s going to call in. I told her Niamh was home, visiting, so she said she’ll come and say hello.’

‘How is she?’ I asked. ‘Did she finish her psychology degree?’

‘She’s doing brilliant,’ said Nuala. ‘She’s fully qualified now and she specializes in helping people with alcoholic parents.’

‘She’s an amazing girl,’ said Mum.

‘She said the course was very difficult because you have to go through therapy yourself and she had to deal with her own problems with her father. But she’s finished all that now and she’s flying.’

‘She’ll be a real help to people after her experiences,’ said Mum.

‘As long as she doesn’t tell her patients to deal with their fathers the way she did,’ said Nuala, winking at me as Mum bristled.

‘Nuala!’

‘Ah, I’m only joking.’ She laughed.

‘Does she have a boyfriend?’ I asked.

‘She does indeed. An American fella, he’s a psychiatrist too. His mother’s a Kelly from Monaghan.’

Typical! Even bloody Sally had a boyfriend with Irish links. Why couldn’t she be going out with a Chinese Buddhist? As if on cue there was a knock on the kitchen door and in she walked.

I got up and went to greet her. It felt a bit awkward. We hadn’t seen each other in years and we really didn’t know each other. Mum kissed her warmly, then told Nuala she wanted to show her a new coat she’d bought. ‘We’ll leave you two to catch up,’ she said, as they left the room.

I looked at Sally and smiled. ‘So, how are things?’

‘Really good, thanks. My life is finally coming together. I’ve faced my demons and dealt with them head on. It was extremely difficult and emotionally draining but I’m in a good place now. I finally feel healed. Helping others with alcoholic parents has been really cathartic too.’

She sounded like that man Dr Phil on
Oprah
. Clearly the therapy had worked. She seemed so happy.

‘That’s great, Sally. You deserve it.’

She nodded. ‘I owe it to myself to be happy. I owe it to that scared, broken little girl to love myself and live a good life helping others to find inner peace.’

It was like talking to a self-help book. Maybe she could give me some advice on my dilemma. Granted, unlike her patients I wasn’t the abused child of an alcoholic, but she might have a few tips for me about how to handle my announcement.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure, anything.’

‘I’m engaged. I’ve met someone really wonderful and I’m about to tell my parents. But there’s a small catch. He’s black.’

‘I don’t see the problem.’

‘Come on, you know how conservative my parents are. They’re going to freak.’

‘They’re more open-minded than you think. After everything that happened with my father, your parents were the ones who got me into counselling. Your dad spent years telling me I wasn’t to blame and that I deserved to be happy. He said the past didn’t matter, it was the future that was important. He was the one who inspired me to do something with my life, to help other people in similar situations. You’re very lucky to have a dad like him.’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I know how great he is, but sending someone to therapy is different from being happy that your daughter’s fiancé is black.’

‘He’ll probably find it a little difficult to accept at first, but I’m sure that when he sees how happy you are and how in love you are, he’ll welcome your fiancé with open arms.’

Clearly Sally had done a little too much counselling. She appeared to be delusional. No matter how much I would have liked to believe it, I knew fine well that Dad would not be throwing his arms round Pierre and rolling out the red carpet. Still, maybe she was right about him being more open-minded than I gave him credit for. Maybe he wouldn’t go completely mad, just a little bit mad.

I wasn’t going to ruin Sally’s positive bubble, so I just said, ‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘I know I am. Trust me. Now, I have to get back to work. I have patients to treat and lives to transform.’ And with that she gave me a big bear-hug and went off to save the world.

Irish Daily News

‘The break-up’

Niamh O’Flaherty

When Mary breaks up with her boyfriend, she calls her best friend and bawls down the phone. Her best friend listens, lets Mary cry, makes lots of sympathetic noises like, ‘Oh, no, I see, poor you’, etc., but does not interrupt the flow of grief.

When Dave calls his best friend to tell him he’s just broken up with his girlfriend, his best friend panics. He doesn’t do emotion. They go for pints together, play football on a Wednesday night, go to watch rugby matches, but they don’t do emotion. To try to hide his panic, Dave’s best friend says, ‘Do you fancy a few pints later?’ This buys him time to call in the troops and organize a bit of a session where no emotions will be discussed or, worse, displayed.