Whose Life is it Anyway? (12 page)

HUSBAND
: ‘Do you want me to get the name of their personal trainer?’

Wife glares at husband in manic, serial-killer type way. Husband makes himself scarce.

The new boyfriend

When a woman’s best friend turns up in the pub with a new young boyfriend, who is drop-dead gorgeous, she whoops. She high-fives her friend, says, where did you meet him, he’s amazing, and goes home that night dying to tell her husband all about him.

WIFE
: ‘You’re not going to believe this. Tara has a new boyfriend and he’s six years younger than her!’

HUSBAND, GLANCING UP FROM WATCHING
Match of the Day
: ‘Cool.’

WIFE
: ‘He looks like Brad Pitt. I swear he’s the image of him.’

HUSBAND
: ‘Bit like myself then.’ He laughs, patting his beer belly.

WIFE
: ‘They want us to go for dinner with them on Friday.’

HUSBAND
: ‘No can do. I’ll be shagging Angelina now she’s a free woman.’

14

London, September 1985

When Liam’s parents found out that Siobhan was pregnant, they went ballistic. Mr O’Loughlin called my father late that night and an emergency meeting was arranged in our house the following morning to discuss the sorry state of affairs.

The O’Loughlins lived in a big, detached house on Brewer Avenue. Mr O’Loughlin was a very successful lawyer and Mrs O’Loughlin was a lady who lunched. They both had fake English accents. They sounded like they were doing really bad imitations of the Queen. They spent their time trying desperately to socialize with other English professionals, but could never shake their Irishness enough to fit in. They had to make do with being king and queen of the Irish professional set.

They were members of the Irish-owned Westbrook Golf Club (having tried unsuccessfully for ten years to gain admission to Greenlawn Golf Club, where all the public-schoolboys hung out smoking cigars and talking about the fun old days at Eton, being buggered in the showers by the upper sixth). The O’Loughlins only deigned to speak to other successful professionals and sneered at those who had not cast off their Irishness. They drank Earl Grey, shopped in Harrods, ate from Wedgwood plates.

Liam was the youngest of four. His love of and natural talent for Irish dancing were a great source of embarrassment for the O’Loughlins, who abhorred Irish dancing and everyone involved in it. Liam’s three older sisters were clones of their mother and the eldest had married a posh English boy, much to her parents’ delight – despite the fact that he had no job, and that although his family claimed to be landed gentry they appeared to have no money at all. He was
bona fide
English and the O’Loughlins were beside themselves. He even had a double-barrelled name! They paid for a lavish wedding, paid for the groom’s suit, paid for his family to be put up at the Savoy, paid for Mr and Mrs Thompson-Black’s wedding outfits, the honeymoon and a house for the happy couple to live in.

The O’Loughlins had done everything in their power to persuade Liam to stop dancing, but he loved it. He was a real natural. His parents never attended any of his performances so mine had felt sorry for him and taken him under their wing. Then he had fallen for Siobhan and the rest is history. My parents were very fond of Liam, but were not fans of his parents. His parents thought Siobhan was a peasant. This was going to be some show-down.

My mother disliked Mrs O’Loughlin intensely. She hated snobs, but she was also a little intimidated by her and her Harrods clothes. She changed ten times and made my father put on his best suit, then change his shirt and tie twice. Finally he exploded. ‘What difference does it bloody well make what I’m wearing? Their son has got my daughter pregnant and he’s going to marry her or I’ll skin him alive.’

‘Is it too much to ask that you look respectable when they arrive, and not answer the door in your dusty workboots? Do we have to look like tinkers?’

‘I’m not dressing up for those snobs. I am what I am and I’m proud of it.’

‘Will you shut up and change that shirt? I won’t have them looking down their noses at us, saying Siobhan isn’t good enough for them.’

‘She’s worth twenty of them and you’re worth fifty of that stupid woman,’ said my father. ‘We’re a respectable, honest family doing its best to get on. We’ve never pretended to be anything we’re not and I’m not going to start now. We’re good people, Annie.’

‘I know, sweetheart, I know. You’re right, we are what we are. To hell with the O’Loughlins.’

My mother never called my father ‘sweetheart’, and he only called her mushy names when he was drunk. It was nice, though. It was comforting.

‘Oh Danny Boy…’ The doorbell tinkled. My father stood on the stairs for a few minutes until my mother hissed at him to stop being so childish and let them in.

They stood in the hall, Mr O’Loughlin looking furious, Liam looking terrified and Mrs O’Loughlin looking around with her nose turned up like she’d smelt something nasty.

‘Come in and sit down,’ my mother urged, in a stilted voice.

They went into the good room. Siobhan came downstairs in her best green dress, her hair tied back in a green bow. She looked really young and really scared. I wished her luck as she went in to face the scary O’Loughlins.

I snuck round the back through the dining room and glued my eye to the crack in the folding doors. I could see Mrs O’Loughlin perched on the edge of the good chair in her expensive suit, reeking of perfume and plastered with makeup.

My father was pouring drinks into the good glasses we only ever used on Christmas Day. Liam and Siobhan were sitting on the couch holding hands, and my mother was beside them, very stiff and awkward. Mr O’Loughlin was standing by the fire. My father handed him a drink.

‘Well, Mr O’Flaherty, what’s to be done about this terrible situation?’ said Mr O’Loughlin, in his finest English accent.

My father took a sip of his drink and said firmly, ‘There is only one solution, as I see it. Your son marries my daughter and makes an honest woman of her.’

‘Over my dead body,’ said Mrs O’Loughlin. ‘I have a friend who knows of a place in France where Siobhan can go and have the baby. They’ll find a nice home for the child, she can come back here and no one will ever find out what happened. It’ll be expensive, they don’t take just any girls, but you needn’t worry about money. We’ll look after it.’

I could see my mother’s face slowly turning scarlet.

‘Yes, well, we think it’s for the best,’ said Mr O’Loughlin. ‘It will cause the least fuss and disruption and Liam can get on with his studies. As my wife said, we’ll be happy to cover the expenses.’

‘I don’t want Siobhan to be sent to France,’ Liam blurted out, coming to life at last.

‘Liam.’ Mr O’Loughlin scowled at his son. ‘We discussed this last night. It’s the best solution all round. It will save us a lot of embarrassment.’

‘It seems to me that your solution is a little subjective,’ my mother said, a little too loudly. I could see she was struggling to keep calm. ‘You are suggesting that we send our seventeen-year-old daughter away to some strange place in France to give birth to a child, then hand it over for adoption, come back and pretend nothing has happened. Why don’t we ask Siobhan what she thinks of this wonderful idea?’

Siobhan was glaring at Liam. ‘How could you? You promised you wouldn’t leave me. I don’t want to go to France on my own and give up our baby. You promised we’d get married, Liam. You promised.’ She started to cry. ‘Don’t send me away, Dad, please.’

My father stood up. His hands were shaking, but his voice was steady. ‘Now, listen very carefully because I’m only going to say this once. We have no intention of abandoning our daughter in her time of need to a bunch of strangers in France and forcing her to give up her child. Your son will clear up this mess, marry my daughter and make an honest woman of her. If he refuses to marry her, I will cause a scene the like of which has never been witnessed. Every man in my employment will go to your golf club, home and office, and patrol up and down with banners shaming you. The choice is yours. If you want the whole country to know that your son made my daughter pregnant and abandoned her, I’m happy to oblige. Otherwise we have a wedding to organize.’

I have never been more proud of my father. He was wonderful, majestic. I wanted to clap and cheer and jump up and down.

There was a deathly silence in the room. Eventually Mr O’Loughlin spoke: ‘Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes, Mr O’Flaherty? We’re not used to being threatened, and I’d like to talk this over with my wife and son in private.’

My parents and Siobhan left the room. I stayed to hear what happened.

‘You stupid boy!’ Mr O’Loughlin spat at Liam, his accent raw Irish, not a trace of posh English left. ‘You couldn’t use condoms like normal boys. You had to get that hussy pregnant and cause this bloody mess. We have no choice now. You’ll have to marry her. I won’t have our name dragged through the mud by that tinker O’Flaherty. Well, it’s your mess, you deal with it. Congratulations. You’ve ruined your life, and thrown all the opportunities I gave you in my face.’

Liam shrank back in the couch.

Then Mrs O’Loughlin had her say: ‘How could you do this to us, Liam? How could you? To get that girl pregnant is the worst thing you could have done. We’ll never get over this, never.’

‘I’m sorry I’ve let you down,’ Liam mumbled.

‘Go and get them back in here. Let’s have this sorry mess over with,’ Mr O’Loughlin said, ignoring his son.

My family came back in and Mr O’Loughlin said that Liam had agreed to marry Siobhan but he himself wouldn’t be putting a penny towards the wedding or his son’s future. As far as Mr O’Loughlin was concerned, Liam was on his own. And with that they stormed out of our house and our lives.

Liam stayed behind and apologized. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr and Mrs O’Flaherty, for causing all this trouble. I love Siobhan and I do want to marry her. I’ll leave school and get a job so I can support her and the baby. I promise to look after her. I’m sorry for getting Siobhan into this mess and I’ll do my best to make her happy.’

My father shook his head. ‘It’s all right, Liam. I don’t want you dropping out of school. You’ll be more use to Siobhan with a decent career instead of rushing out and getting a dead-end job. You’re a bright lad and you should go on to university. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll marry Siobhan and move into the garage. I’ll get the lads in to convert it into a little apartment for the two of you. We’ll help you out with the baby so you can continue your studies. In a couple of years, when you get a decent job, you can get your own place. Until then, to pay your way, you’ll be working for me every weekend on the sites. Treat my daughter well and you’ll not hear a cross word from me. We all make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them and move on. Now, go home and tell your parents the wedding will take place next Saturday in the Church of Our Lady and we’ll have a small reception here afterwards.’

And with that my father walked out of the room, head held high, followed by my smiling mother.

15

By the time I got to school on Tuesday, everyone knew about Siobhan. It was the worst-kept secret in the world. Siobhan had called her best friend Jackie the night before to ask her to be bridesmaid so the secret was out.

I was surrounded when I arrived and the gory details were demanded. When did it happen? Where? Why didn’t she have an abortion? Was Liam the only boy she’d had sex with? What did she say it was like? Was there loads of blood? What did your parents say? Would the baby go to hell? Would Siobhan?

I was queen of the moment – not a mention of my fiasco on Saturday night with Frank the octopus. They only wanted to know about Siobhan and the sex. I hadn’t asked Siobhan about it. I really didn’t want to know. But sometimes ignorance is bliss, and I made up for my lack of hard facts with Mills-and-Boonesque descriptions of thrusting manhood, pools of virginal blood and multiple orgasms.

‘I can’t believe she didn’t have an abortion,’ said Deirdre, that afternoon, as we were walking home. ‘I mean having a baby at seventeen is pathetic. She’ll be tied to the kitchen sink for the rest of her life now. It’s so backward.’

‘I think she’s right to have the baby,’ said Sarah, defending Siobhan on my behalf. ‘They love each other and they’re getting married, so why on earth would she have an abortion?’

‘Because, Sarah, you fool, she’ll never get out of this community now. She’ll be stuck married to a stupid Irish guy for the rest of her life.’

‘Actually,’ I piped up, ‘Siobhan loves the Irish community and everything that goes with it. She’ll be happy to stay here. She’s not like me. She embraces her Irishness.’

‘What an idiot,’ said Deirdre. ‘Who the hell could like it here? She must be simple. Mind you, at least she’s not tight like her sister,’ she said, sneering at me.

I was gutted. I’d really thought that Siobhan’s pregnancy had taken everyone’s mind off Saturday night – and that I’d got away with it. I should have known Deirdre wouldn’t forget. I was beginning to wonder why I wanted to be friendly with her. She was always putting me down and making me feel small. Still, she was the coolest girl in the year and being in her gang gave me status I wouldn’t otherwise have had.

I tried to talk to Sarah about it but she was totally distracted because she had snogged Declan Andrews on Saturday night. He was half English – English father, Irish mother – and had been there with his cousin Malachy Doherty. Declan went to a public school where he was captain of the rugby team. He was also really good-looking and Sarah was in love, big-time. He’d said he’d meet her after school so she was lashing on the Egypt Wonder as I droned on about hating Deirdre.