Whose Life is it Anyway? (32 page)

‘She’s right, Dad, you’re way out of line,’ said Finn.

‘You’re being very unwelcoming and the Irish are known for their hospitality,’ added Siobhan.

‘I can see I’m not welcome here in my own home, so I’ll leave you to your little tea party, but that man had better be gone by the time I get back,’ he said, stomping out the door.

‘Cake, Pierre?’ asked Mum.

While Dad blew off steam – God knows where – Mum poured tea, cut cake, and tried to excuse Dad’s behaviour to Pierre. ‘You have to understand that Mick has always believed the girls would end up with nice Irish boys, and, to be perfectly honest with you, so have I. Relationships are difficult enough without dragging differences of culture and creed into them.’

‘I agree with you, Mrs O’Flaherty, but you can’t help who you fall in love with. Besides, our differences, apart from the obvious one of colour, are actually very minor. Niamh and I want the same things from life: a good education for our children, a stable home environment for them to grow up in with a strong social conscience alongside good family values.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

‘I totally understand your reservations and your husband’s disappointment. My parents would have preferred Niamh to be French, but in forty-two years I never met anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with until I met your daughter. Within minutes of meeting her I knew she was The One. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how wonderful she is.’

‘No, indeed I don’t. She’s a very special girl and the apple of her father’s eye,’ said Mum, as Siobhan scowled. ‘I have no doubt you both feel very strongly about each other now, but it’s down the road, when things get difficult, that your differences will seem a lot more acute than they are now.’

‘With Niamh by my side, I believe I can get through anything. Look, Mrs O’Flaherty, I’m not a young teenager. This is not as impulsive as it seems. I simply met the woman I wanted to marry and I acted on it. I realize it may seem sudden, but I feel as if I’ve known your daughter all my life and I promise to take great care of her. I know what a precious commodity she is.’

As I basked in his praise, I watched Mum beginning to thaw ever so slightly.

‘How is it a successful man like you is still single at your age?’ Mum asked, as I sank lower into my chair.

‘I was in a relationship with a girl for nine years but it didn’t work out, and when I met Niamh I understood why Brigitte was not the right woman for me.’

‘Nine years and you left her high and dry! The poor girl,’ said Mum.

‘It fizzled out on both sides,’ I added, not wanting Pierre to seem like a cad.

‘As Niamh said, the relationship ran its course and we went our separate ways. She has since met someone else and is much happier too.’

‘Really? How do you know? When were you in touch with her?’ I asked, none too pleased at hearing he’d been in contact with his ex.

‘My mother keeps up with her and she told me last night.’

‘Oh,’ I said, feeling bad for doubting him.

‘That’s all very well, but how do you know that this relationship isn’t a ricochet?’ Mum asked.

Pierre looked confused.

‘Rebound,’ I said.

‘Oh, I see. I know it isn’t because I dated other women between breaking up with Brigitte and meeting Niamh.’

‘I believe you want to take our girl away to Canada,’ Mum said, seemingly determined to continue the interrogation until she knew every thought and plan Pierre had ever had.

‘I’ve been offered a very good position in Vancouver, but the decision to move ultimately lies with Niamh. If she doesn’t want to go, we won’t. I want her to be happy.’

‘I want to go, Mum. It’s a great opportunity for Pierre and it’s supposed to be an amazing city.’

‘What about your job? Your column? You love it.’

‘I’ll find something in Canada. Pierre’s already sourcing contacts for me on the local papers over there.’

‘And we’ve been set up in a house close to the campus with plenty of bedrooms to accommodate family and friends,’ said Pierre, smiling at Mum.

‘You seem to have all the answers,’ she said, as the door flew open and Nuala bustled in.

‘Hello again, Pierre,’ she said, plonking herself down on the couch beside Mum. ‘Well, Annie, I’ve left Mick with Tadhg. Like a bull he is, ranting and raging. I told him to calm down or he’d have another heart-attack.’

‘I know, Nuala, I told him so myself,’ said Mum, sharply. Nuala hadn’t been forgiven for having met Pierre first.

‘Well, I told him he was an old fool. That if he made Niamh choose between him and Pierre, he’d lose his daughter. And what good would that do?’

‘It’s all very well for you to be blasé about it, Nuala, but it’s not your daughter who wants to marry a black man,’ Mum replied sharply.

‘I know, Annie,’ said Nuala, patting Mum’s hand. ‘I was shocked at first, too. But if he was white we’d be popping champagne corks. A professor, handsome, clever and mad about Niamh. It’s only his skin colour that has us in a tizzy.’ Nuala was a legend. Why hadn’t I thought of that line? It was brilliant and so true.

‘You can’t ignore it,’ said Mum.

‘No, but you can stop making it the focal point of Pierre’s character,’ I said, jumping to my fiancé’s defence. ‘Look, Mum, I never imagined I’d marry a black man either. It just never crossed my mind. But I met Pierre and realized he was the most amazing person I’d ever met, and when he asked me to marry him, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Not everyone gets to meet the perfect person for them, but I have and I wish you could get past the colour of his skin and see how happy he makes me and how wonderful he is.’

‘OK, I’m out of here,’ said Finn. ‘This is way too mushy for me. Hang in there, Pierre.’

‘I’ve to go home and get the girls their dinner,’ said Siobhan, standing up. ‘Goodbye, Pierre, I hope we’ll see you again soon.’

‘I’ll go and see how Mick’s doing. I’ll ring you to let you know,’ Nuala said to Mum. ‘Goodbye, Pierre, it was lovely to meet you again.’ Then, turning to hug me, she whispered, ‘I’ll work on your dad. Don’t worry, pet, we’ll sort this out. Be strong.’

‘Thanks, Nuala. I need all the help I can get.’

They left and it was just Pierre, Mum and me.

‘Did you show your mother the ring?’ Pierre asked.

I fished it out of my pocket and put it on. Mum turned my hand this way and that. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said quietly. ‘May you wear it well.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, beginning to cry.

Pierre came over to put his arm round me. I nestled into his chest, glad to have him by my side. ‘Mrs O’Flaherty,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry for the commotion we’ve caused. Believe me when I tell you that the last thing I wanted to do was cause problems for you or your family. Please remember that I want the same thing you do – to make Niamh happy.’

Mum sighed and got up. ‘I appreciate that, Pierre. And I’d like to apologize for the awful way you’ve been treated this evening. We were shocked when Niamh told us and I’ve had longer to digest the news than poor Mick. He only found out a couple of minutes before you arrived, which is why you got the brunt of his anger. You seem like a very nice man and I can see how happy Niamh is with you. Let me talk to Mick tonight, and when he’s had time to reflect on the news, the four of us can get together and talk about the wedding.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, hugging her.

‘Thank you, Mrs O’Flaherty,’ said Pierre.

‘We’ve a long rocky road ahead of us,’ Mum said, drying my tears with her tissue. ‘Your father’s as stubborn as you are, but we’ll get through it. Now that I’ve met Pierre I can see why you feel the way you do. Now, stop crying and put a smile on your face. You don’t want to scare him off,’ she said, kissing the top of my head. ‘She can be hard work, but she’s worth it.’ She smiled at Pierre. ‘Just like her dad.’

40

‘Bloody hell,’ said Pierre, sinking back into the couch

‘I told you they’d freak,’ I said, sitting down beside him.

‘I thought you were exaggerating. You’re prone to it.’

‘It went a lot better than I’d thought. It could have been worse.’

‘How exactly?’

‘Dad could have physically chucked you out.’

‘He slammed the door in my face.’

‘He thought you were a Jehovah’s Witness,’ I said, beginning to laugh.

‘I must say that did throw me a bit. I’d no idea what he was talking about.’ Pierre grinned. ‘I thought he was bonkers.’

‘He is a bit.’

‘Why did you leave it so late to tell him?’

‘He kept evading me. I was chasing him round all day.’

‘I thought he was going to have another heart-attack,’ said Pierre. ‘I’m still reeling. I need a stiff drink.’

‘I’ll get you one,’ I said, rummaging in the drinks cabinet and coming up with a bottle of whiskey.

‘Any mixers?’

I shook my head.

‘OK, stick it in the tea. I’m desperate. God, I feel like a schoolboy, not a forty-two-year-old professor,’ he said, gulping whiskey-laden tea.

‘I think the worst is over.’

‘Didn’t you hear your father shouting, “over my dead body”?’ said Pierre.

‘He always says that.’

‘Really?’

‘Doesn’t your father ever shout?’

‘Never.’

‘What?’

‘Never.’

‘Come on, he must have roared at you when you were younger and did something bold.’

‘Nope.’

‘So what did he do?’

‘He’d sit me down and talk to me about why I’d behaved that way and what the consequences were…’

‘And he never raised his voice?’

‘No. Did yours shout a lot?’

I started to laugh. ‘Only about fifty times a day.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. He roared when the phone bills arrived, if we were rude to Mum, if we refused to eat while the children in Africa were dying, if we slagged off Ireland… He’s a very passionate man. He wears his emotions on his sleeve.’

‘I noticed. Did he ever hit you?’

‘God, yes. We were chased up and down the street with his slipper. If we were bold we got slapped with it on the backs of the legs. Did your dad hit you?’

‘Never. He thinks it’s the wrong way to raise children. Violence begets violence.’

‘A tap on the back of the legs with a slipper isn’t violent. We used to laugh about it.’

‘I dunno, your family seems like a bunch of nutters. I should reconsider my position.’

‘Back out?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Leave me high and dry at the altar?’

‘The madness could be genetic.’

‘Do you want to die at the hands of a slipper?’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Want to bet?’

‘Actually, it sounds a bit kinky. Maybe we should give it a try.’

‘Pervert.’

‘I prefer “randy professor”,’ he said, kissing me. Suddenly he stopped. ‘I’m finding the Pope staring down at me a little disconcerting,’ he said, pointing to the large picture of him behind my head.

‘He’s seen worse.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Confession. I have snogged boys in this room before and even gone to second base.’

‘You little slut,’ he said, laughing.

‘Ssh – listen.’ I jumped up. ‘Dad’s back,’ I whispered. ‘You have to go. I don’t think he should see you again tonight. Let Mum talk to him and let him sleep on it. Quick, I’ll sneak you out this way,’ I said, opening the window.

‘You’re not seriously suggesting I climb out of that?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Now go, before he hears you and starts getting worked up again.’

‘This is insane.’

‘I know, but I promise you I’m worth it. Things will be better tomorrow.’

‘You mean I might actually be able to use the front door?’

‘As long as Dad hasn’t got a barring order.’

‘Hilarious.’

‘I try.’

‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight. I love you.’

‘I love you too, but I’m not so sure about your family.’

‘They’ll grow on you, I promise, and if they don’t we’ll elope to Vegas.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ he said, leaning through the window to kiss me.

‘Isn’t this very
Romeo and Juliet
!’

‘
OVER MY DEAD BODY
,’ we heard, from the other side of the door.

‘Suddenly Vancouver doesn’t seem far enough!’ said Pierre.

‘I wish we were there now.’ I sighed. ‘I’d better go. I’ll call you first thing.’

‘’Bye… Ouch – fuck,’ he said, tripping.

‘Mind the leprechaun gnomes!’

I snuck out of the good room and went down to the kitchen. The door was closed but I could hear Mum and Dad inside, arguing.

‘You have to calm down and stop shouting,’ Mum said. ‘You’re getting yourself into a state and the doctor said it’s very bad for you to get wound up.’

‘Wound up! I’ve never been more bloody wound up. How can she do this to me? Bringing that man in here and telling me she’s getting married. It won’t work, Annie, they’re too different.’

‘He’s a very nice man, Mick. You should talk to him before making up your mind. We’re not racists in this house. Everyone deserves a fair chance.’

Good on you, Mum, I cheered silently, from my childhood seat on the stairs.

‘He didn’t even have the decency to ask me for her hand in marriage, like a proper young man should.’

‘To be fair, he didn’t get the chance. You slammed the door in his face.’

‘How was I to know he wasn’t one of those bloody Jehovah’s fellas again?’

‘He really loves her, Mick, and she’s as happy as I’ve ever seen her. You should see them together. They’re totally smitten with each other.’

‘That won’t last. What happens when they run up against trouble, financial or health or children? That’s when the rot will set in and that’s when they’ll realize they’re too different to make it work.’

‘Maybe the only difference is their skin colour. He has the same principles and morals she does. He wants the same kind of life she does. They’re not so different, Mick.’

‘What about their children? They’ll be half white, half black. Sure they won’t know if they’re coming or going.’

‘Times have changed, Mick. Look around you. Even Dublin is multicultural now. They’re not so unusual.’

So, Mum had been listening. She was quoting almost word for word what I had said to her.