Whose Life is it Anyway? (27 page)

She packs her makeup, moisturizer, three sunscreens (factors twenty, twelve and six), special sun-care hair products – shampoo, conditioner, pre-swimming, and post-swimming and anti-frizz serums. She packs her hair-straightener, curler, dryer, plus three adaptor plugs. She packs cotton wool, cleanser, toner, eye-makeup-remover, anti-fatigue masks, moisture-boost masks, anti-ageing masks, hand cream, nail varnish, nail-varnish remover, eyelash-curler, scissors, deodorant (roll-on and spray). Two jumpers in case the weather is cold, a raincoat in case it rains, six books, and two DVD box-sets in case they don’t meet anyone and end up staying in and chilling out.

Her boyfriend packs a couple of pairs of boxer shorts and a bumper pack of condoms.

33

London, March 1999

As I watched my strong, confident, mature, healed cousin Sally striding towards her car, I began to think that maybe she was right. Maybe Dad wouldn’t react that badly to Pierre being black. Maybe I was underestimating him.

I closed the door and went back in to find Nuala and Mum.

‘Isn’t Sally great?’ Nuala said.

I nodded. ‘She’s so together. That psychiatrist you sent her to must have been really good.’

‘Sheila has to take a lot of credit too. She really turned her life round after Pat died. She never looked back. I should have pushed Tadhg down the stairs years ago and run off with some millionaire.’ She giggled as Mum shook her head.

‘Sally’s a credit to her mother,’ said Mum.

‘Just like Niamh here,’ said my favourite aunt, winking at me. ‘So, tell me all your news. How’s the newspaper world?’ she asked.

‘Good thanks. Still working away on my column.’

‘Any romance?’

‘She’s in love,’ said Mum. ‘She’s very secretive about him. None of us have met him yet.’

‘Oooh, come on, fill me in,’ said Nuala.

‘Well, he’s tall, dark and handsome,’ I said.

‘Who is?’ asked Finn, coming in.

‘Niamh’s boyfriend,’ said Nuala, as Finn froze.

‘Finn met him when he was over,’ I said, hoping my brother would jump in with some high praise of Pierre.

‘You never said a word,’ said Mum, tutting at Finn. ‘What’s he like?’

‘Well, he’s tall, he’s definitely dark and he’s quite handsome,’ said Finn, smirking. ‘Sorry to interrupt this little chat but I need a lift to training. Mum?’

‘I’ll drop you down now on my way to the hospital.’

‘I’ll stay here with Niamh and hear more about the boyfriend,’ said Nuala, as they left. ‘I want all the details,’ she said, smiling.

I took a deep breath. ‘Nuala, when you met Tadhg, did you love him so much it hurt?’

‘Not a bit of it. He was grand-looking, honest, hard-working and a bit of
craic
, so I knew he’d make a good husband. On our wedding night, I remember thinking I really didn’t know him at all. It was different then. You went out on dates and then you married – none of this sex-before-marriage or living together. Sure we were practically strangers. It was only after a few years together that I really fell in love with him.’

‘I think I’d die without Pierre,’ I said passionately.

‘That’ll pass.’

‘No, it won’t, he’s my world.’

‘Give him a year or two and he’ll be driving you mad.’

‘I love everything about him.’

‘Ninety per cent of it will drive you round the bend in no time, but as long as you still have ten per cent you like, you’ll be grand.’

‘Are you determined to ruin my buzz?’

Nuala grinned. ‘I’m only being honest, pet. But I’m delighted you’re mad about him. It’s lovely. Pierre, did you say his name was?’

‘Yes, he’s French, but he spent most of his life in England.’

‘Oh dear, your parents will be disappointed. They were sure you’d find an Irish lad in Dublin.’

‘He’s a little bit older too.’

‘How much?’

‘Fourteen years. He’s forty-two.’

‘They’re definitely not going to like that,’ said Nuala.

‘And there’s one other thing.’ I paused. ‘His parents are from the Caribbean.’

Nuala looked at me blankly.

‘He’s black.’

Nuala blessed herself. She wasn’t religious so this was a really bad sign. ‘Sweet Jesus, if he was a one-legged dwarf from Mongolia it couldn’t be worse. They’re going to hit the roof.’

So much for Sally’s theory about our enlightened family…

‘I know and that’s why I need all the help I can get.’

‘Are you sure he’s the right man for you? Maybe you should take some time to reconsider.’

‘I’ve never felt this way before. I never thought it was possible to be so in love,’ I said.

‘He’s very old. Fourteen years is a big difference. He’s only five years younger than me.’

‘I like that he’s older. All the guys I’ve gone out with before were my own age and it never worked out. Pierre’s taught me so much. I look up to him, I respect him, I adore him,’ I gushed.

‘If he’s so wonderful how come he’s still single?’

‘He was with a girl for nine years but they broke up last spring. They were living in different countries for the last three years and it fizzled out. And then he met me and knew I was the one.’

‘Are you pregnant? Because if you are I can help you. No one needs to know.’

‘No! I’m not pregnant but I
am
engaged and I’m going to marry him.’

‘Was he engaged to his ex too?’

‘No.’ I bristled. ‘I’m the only person he’s ever proposed to.’

‘I presume he’s not Catholic.’

‘No, Pierre doesn’t believe in religion. He says it’s difficult to credit any one religion as being true when there have been so many throughout history. None appears to have any greater claim to being more credible than any other,’ I said, sounding like a brainwashed disciple of the god Pierre. I was doing a really bad job of selling him.

‘That’ll go down well with your dad,’ said Nuala, rolling her eyes. ‘What does this Pierre do then?’ she asked.

I could tell she hated the sound of him. ‘He’s a professor of phonetics and he’s really wonderful and good fun too.’

‘I’m going to be honest with you here, Niamh. He sounds like a dirty old man and a pompous git.’

‘No, he’s not. He’s clever but he’s also kind and caring and generous and he really loves me. He makes me feel ten feet tall. I never thought I could feel so good about myself. Until I met Pierre I thought I was ordinary, but he makes me feel really special. I know you’d like him if you met him.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

‘Please, Nuala, I’m begging you, give him a chance. Meet him before you write him off.’

Nuala looked at my flushed face. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to meet him and then, if I like him and if I think he’s worthy of you, I’ll help smooth the way. But if I don’t like him and I don’t think he’s any good for you I’ll do everything in my power to stop the marriage.’

I hugged her. ‘Thanks, Nuala. This means a lot to me.’

‘I hope you really love him, Niamh, because it’s going to be an uphill battle.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m not sure you do, pet. I’m not sure you really understand how difficult this is going to be for your parents to swallow. I’m the most liberal of your relations and I’m shocked. Anyway, lookit, set up a meeting and we’ll take it from there. You’re like a second daughter to me and I won’t have you making the wrong decisions. So, be prepared for honesty.’

I smiled. ‘I know you’re going to love him, so I’m not worried at all.’

‘Ah, the confidence of youth,’ said Nuala, shaking her head.

34

A few days later Dad was being discharged and I went in to collect him, while Mum was busy preparing a high-cholesterol welcome-home lunch. Dad was dressed and sitting on the bed, talking to four nurses.

‘Ah, here she is,’ he said, smiling when he saw me. ‘This is my daughter Niamh, the one I was telling you about. The first O’Flaherty to go to university. We’re very proud of her.’

‘Your dad’s been telling us all about you,’ said one of the nurses.

‘Poor you!’ I said.

‘It’s lovely to hear a father praising his daughter. You’re very lucky. Mine didn’t even hang around for my birth,’ she said, with a half-laugh.

‘I know he’s great,’ I said, sitting down beside Dad. ‘I’m so glad he’s better.’

‘He’s a real charmer,’ said one of the other nurses. ‘I’d wrap him up and take him home.’

‘Go away out of that,’ said Dad, thrilled.

‘Well, we’d better be off. Mind yourself, Mick,’ they said, and one by one they hugged him.

‘Good luck with the exams,’ Dad said to the first.

‘Send your young fella down to me. I’ll give him some honest work and we’ll keep an eye on him for you. You need to get him away from bad influences,’ he said to the second.

‘Tell your husband-to-be he’s a very lucky man,’ he told the third.

‘Don’t worry about getting pregnant. I’ll say a prayer for you,’ he said to the fourth.

‘Thanks.’ She smiled.

‘You’re all like angels sent from heaven,’ added Dad. ‘It’s because of you that I got better so quickly. Don’t mind the doctors. It’s you nurses that are the backbone of this hospital.’

They beamed and left the room. I’d forgotten what an impact Dad made on people. He was always so interested in everyone else. He asked questions, and if he could help or give advice, he would. He was a kind and Christian man. He’d made an impression on the nurses and you could see they were fond of him. He had a way of listening that made people want to confide in him, and when they did, he always said something comforting. Maybe I was worrying about nothing. He was as concerned about those four black nurses as he would have been about four white ones. He’d always been nice to people, regardless of their skin colour. He always invited Mr Chow in for a drink when he delivered our Christmas tree and he was very fond of Mrs Singh in the dry cleaner’s – he’d hired her son to work for him when he left school. Maybe he’d accept Pierre and not mind about the agnostic and black part.

‘Did you see that little nurse there?’ he asked me. ‘Her son’s got into a bad crowd and is doing drugs.’

‘Oh, God, poor her.’

‘She’s sending him off to counsellors. I told her to stop wasting her money and send him down to me. He needs a good kick up the arse and an honest day’s work. That’ll sort him out,’ said the tolerant Christian.

I was delusional – he’d go bananas about Pierre.

I helped him pack a few final things into his bag and then the doctor arrived. ‘Now, Mr O’Flaherty, we need to have a little chat before you head home,’ he said.

‘OK, fire ahead,’ said Dad.

‘You might like to do it in private.’

‘Not at all, I’d prefer Niamh to be here. She’ll remember all the bits I don’t.’

‘OK. Well, first and foremost, you are never to smoke again. It will kill you.’

Dad groaned. ‘I’ve been smoking for thirty years. It’s a comfort to me.’

‘Sorry, Mr O’Flaherty, that’s non-negotiable. I’ve mentioned a change of diet, and you need to stay away from salt, cream, butter and all high-cholesterol foods. Now, you may find that you feel a bit depressed when you go home, which is normal after having surgery. But you have a very supportive family so I’m sure you’ll recover quickly.’

Bloody hell – depressed! I needed him in full health and on top form before I landed my bombshell on him. Now he had a dodgy heart and a bad case of the blues.

‘You’ll need to rest and try not to do too much. Listen to your body. If you feel tired go and lie down for a while,’ the doctor advised.

‘Can I get back to work?’ Dad asked.

‘I’d like you to take a week of complete rest, then ease yourself into it. Now, on the subject of resuming sexual relations with your wife, again, I’d advise that you take it slowly. There’s a saying that if you can climb a flight of stairs without feeling out of breath, you’re ready for intercourse and –’

I was purple with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I was in the middle of a conversation about my father’s sex life. I didn’t know where to look.

‘That’s enough information for one day,’ said a horrified Dad, cutting across the surgeon before he could say any more. ‘I think we’ll go now.’

‘Any questions or queries, call me and I’ll talk you through it.’

‘No, that was all crystal clear,’ said Dad. Then, turning to me, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

We drove most of the way home in awkward silence until Dad broke the ice by asking me how long I’d be home for.

‘I was thinking I’d stay until you’re back on your feet,’ I answered, hoping he didn’t think I was implying I’d stay until he was back having sex with my mother.

‘Haven’t you deadlines for the paper?’

‘Yes, but I can work from here on my laptop.’

‘What about your lad? Won’t you miss him?’

‘Uhm, yes, but it’s only a week or two. I’ll survive.’

‘I suppose he could always come over and see you. I’d like to meet him. You seem very keen.’

‘I am.’

‘I’m glad for you, pet,’ he said, patting my arm.

Thankfully, before he asked any more questions, found out about Pierre, and I had to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, we pulled up outside our house, where Mum was waiting for us. She rushed over to help Dad out of the car.

‘Don’t fuss,’ he grumbled, as she supported his arm.

‘I’m only helping. You need to take it easy,’ she said.

‘I’m grand.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re after having a heart-attack, so just behave yourself.’

They bickered all the way into the kitchen, delighted to be together again.

Mum served up the food and Dad declared it was the best meal he’d ever had. She reminded him that the best meal he’d ever had was their thirtieth wedding anniversary meal that she’d spent four days preparing.

After lunch, Dad went to sit in the good room, read the papers and rest. But the doorbell rang all day as a steady stream of family and friends trooped in to wish him well and welcome him home. Before long a party was taking place in the front room with everyone smoking and Dad taking the odd, clandestine puff when he thought no one was looking. Food was produced and drinks were poured as the crowd settled in for the night.