Guilty

by Siobhan MacDonald

  Three weeks after finding out about Alison’s Marfan syndrome, Luke found himself walking into a private clinic in South County Dublin. He felt clammy and squeamish. When he left again a few hours later, he felt a mixture of relief and sadness. He also felt very bloody sore. He would, however, no longer have to worry about Alison falling pregnant. Weighing it all up, the vasectomy had been the only way to go.

  ‘That was a brave decision, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  Wisps of steam curled up from Terence’s soup, which had remained untouched these past few minutes. The therapist had crossed his legs, his usual rosy colour deserting him. Talk of the vasectomy had left him looking squeamish.

  ‘In the circumstances, I really didn’t see that I had much option. That was the easy part.’

  Terence directed him to continue.

  ‘After the vasectomy,’ said Luke, whereupon Terence winced again, ‘I had to set my mind to dealing with the trickier part of our problem.’

  Sensitive to Alison’s feelings, Luke would wait until the time was right. To his surprise, it was Alison who broached the subject.

  ‘How about adopting?’ she asked one evening after Cornelius had retired to bed.

  ‘Really? You’d be up for that?’

  He was quietly delighted.

  ‘Of course. Why not? But we haven’t got a hope here at home. No one gives their children up for adoption here these days. We’d have to look abroad, somewhere like Russia.’

  And so they embarked on the process. Social workers warned them it would be invasive, long and difficult. They were cautioned that many couples ended up abandoning the adoption process, unable to deal with the added strain on what might already be a strained relationship. Against all this, Alison remained undaunted. The more barriers that were put in their way, the more she enjoyed tearing them down.

  The initial meetings with the social workers were interrogations. As if the social work department was seeking a flaw or chink in their relationship or in their backgrounds to hamper them adopting. Unlike Alison, who was unperturbed by this, Luke became uneasy. He proceeded carefully, treating each personal question with the utmost caution.

  Alison arranged things so that any disruption to his rosters would be minimised. The social worker met them at Luke’s office at times that were convenient to Luke. Alison didn’t want the process to interfere with his work.

  Wherever possible, he let Alison do the talking. He listened closely as she made their case. They were an educated couple. They had means. They had a stable relationship. They could offer a child a wonderful life. Work had already started on their new home on the shores of Lough Carberry. Then, much to his surprise, the proposed adoption was met with a resistance from unexpected quarters.

  ‘Your sister, Wendy?’ Terence ventured.

  ‘Oh God, no. Wendy was delighted at the prospect. But you’re right. It was someone close to home.’

  Luke shuddered as he recounted what had happened.

  ‘So what class of a foreigner will it be?’ asked Cornelius Thompson one Saturday morning, a frown on his brow.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Alison answered.

  She was hosing a horsebox out in the yard. Luke was having an early morning cup of tea before heading off to check progress on the new build. He was looking forward to having their own home, to there being just the two of them. And hopefully, soon, three of them.

  ‘This child … it’s not going to be one of those … one of those …’ Cornelius again directed this at Alison. Luke often found himself invisible in their conversations.

  ‘One of those what, Cornelius?’ Luke asked.

  ‘You know, Alison …’ Cornelius ignored him. ‘It’s not going to be one of those … one of those indigents. Not one of those darkies now, is it?’

  ‘Dad!’

  Water sprayed everywhere as Alison dropped the hose. To Luke’s astonishment, she burst out laughing.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Dad. In this day and age! You can’t possibly go around using language like that or saying stuff like that. It’s racist.’

  Cornelius threw the dregs of his tea on the cobbled ground. ‘Now, Alison. You know me. I speak my mind. I can’t have a coloured child kicking about here with the Thompson name.’

  Alison was giggling.

  ‘Well, that’s certainly not going to happen for a start, Cornelius,’ Luke said sharply. Heart attack or no heart attack, Cornelius was not getting away with that. ‘Any child that Alison and I choose to adopt – whatever colour – will not be taking the Thompson name. The child will be taking the Forde surname.’

  The clatter of hooves abruptly sounded in the yard, the heated exchange interrupted by Roddy Gilligan’s arrival on horseback. In an instant, Cornelius’s bullishness disappeared.

  ‘Here to take my lovely daughter for a well-earned gallop?’ He patted Roddy’s mount.

  ‘If you fancy, Alison?’ Roddy shouted to her across the yard.

  Alison nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘You coming too, Luke?’ This was more of an afterthought on Roddy’s part.

  ‘Things to do,’ Luke replied. He’d rather stab himself in the eyeballs. The guy was an arse. ‘Have to check on the new house. We’re expecting a delivery of glass panels. Then I’m heading to the hospital.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Roddy.

  Luke made a lingering display of kissing Alison full on the mouth.

  ‘We’ll talk about all this later,’ he said, ‘when I get home this evening.’

  Cornelius brushed past Luke on his way back to the house.

  ‘Enjoy the ride,’ he said to his daughter. ‘I doubt that Gilligan is shooting blanks,’ he muttered, looking at Luke.

  Luke stared at the retreating bulk of his father-in-law. Alison blushed. How could she have shared news of the vasectomy with her father? That stuff was personal, something between husband and wife. Not for wider consumption, no matter how close she was to her father.

  Cornelius should be grateful to Luke. He certainly hadn’t expected mocking jibes for his trouble. At that point Luke began to suspect that Cornelius only knew half the story. As familiarity took hold, Luke became more and more unsure about his father-in-law. Alison indulged the man. She doted on him, and Luke had to be careful not to be seen to drive a wedge between them. That said, there was no way on earth he was allowing Cornelius to meddle in their adoption.

  During the pre-assessment, Luke and Alison became painfully acquainted with the anomalies and problems with bilateral adoption treaties with other countries. Many countries that were open to adoption had signed the Hague Convention, a treaty supposed to minimise exposure to corruption in the adoption process and to stop money changing hands.

  Other countries such as Russia with large state orphanages weren’t bound by the Hague Convention. Luke couldn’t help but feel dispirited by the stories of other couples in their support group. Most couples had been waiting years to clear the legal requirements. But, miraculously, within a few months Luke and Alison found themselves in the company of other prospective parents on a plane bound for Moscow.

  As other adopters headed for Belorussky train station to complete their journeys to orphanages many miles away, Luke and Alison were met by a shiny black diplomatic car to take them to their nearby orphanage.

  Despite all Luke’s efforts to keep Cornelius at arm’s length, he couldn’t help but feel the hand of his father-in-law tinkering with the process. When he queried Alison about their preferential treatment, she explained that Cornelius had made some overtures to his Irish trade contacts in Moscow. Luke could no longer delude himself that luck had featured in the process.

  Only as they sped through the grey Moscow streets did Luke begin to appreciate the full weight of the Thompson political machine. With a shiver of disgust, he thought back to Cornelius’s parting words.

  ‘Do you know what my father-in-law said to Alison and I before we left for Russia?’ Luke asked Terence.

  ‘
I have no idea,’ Terence answered. ‘But I’m guessing it wasn’t complimentary.’

  ‘Don’t bring home a dud,’ he said. ‘Don’t bring home a dud.’

  Terence raised an eyebrow. ‘A racist, to boot, your father-in-law?’

  ‘Racist is one of the kinder epithets I’d attribute to Cornelius Thompson,’ Luke replied. ‘I’ll tell you why.’ He could hear office employees returning from lunch and, seen through the Venetian blinds, cars were pulling up outside.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if we kept on track and spoke about the adoption.’ Terence drained his soup. ‘We can come back to Cornelius if you like, at a later stage.’

  Luke was happy to agree. He’d already prepared what he would say. Though it had all happened fifteen years ago, he remembered the first day in the Russian orphanage with razor clarity. He closed his eyes and cast his mind back.

  The Chosen One

  Luke was standing watching a bundle in the folds of a grey coat, crouched in a corner of the open-air yard of the orphanage. The little girl was playing on her own, making shapes with stones. Alison was beside Luke, her gloved hand in his, and he could feel her shiver in the raw winter air. They’d already seen three children and the supervisor was introducing a fourth to them.

  ‘This is Raisa. Say hello to Dr and Mrs Forde, Raisa.’

  Appraising children in an open yard like this lacked dignity. As with the three other children they had seen, Alison went down on one knee to make eye contact. This time, Alison turned her head and looked up at Luke with raised eyebrows. The child’s eyes were azure blue and she had the makings of a dimple if only she would smile. Alison smoothed her hand over the child’s blonde hair. ‘Raisa, what a lovely name,’ she said.

  They were watched by huddles of other children. Luke took in their guarded looks. Another sweep of the yard confirmed his suspicions. He and Alison were being presented with children who were free from any physical defects. Psychological problems were not as obvious. Those type of problems would manifest later, long after any adoption was completed.

  ‘Raisa has a lovely voice,’ the supervisor said. She then said something in Russian. Raisa opened her mouth and started to sing. It sounded like a lullaby. ‘Oh, her poor little teeth,’ said Alison softly. Luke had also noticed the decay.

  As Raisa sang, Luke became aware of someone moving towards them. It was the girl who’d been playing with the stones in the corner. At a guess, she was three years old or four. With poor nutrition, it was difficult to tell. Two lank curtains of dark hair hung on either side of her thin face.

  ‘Yes?’ said the supervisor impatiently.

  Alison got to her feet, her hand resting on Raisa’s head as she stared at the intruder.

  The dark-haired child edged closer and pointed to the undone lace on her old-fashioned shoe that looked much too large for her foot. The supervisor clicked her tongue and muttered as she bent to do the lace.

  ‘Niet.’ The dark-haired child pulled her foot away. She pointed to Luke. Then she pointed to the lace once more. Luke realised that the little girl with the purposeful face and the oversized coat didn’t want the supervisor to do up her lace. She wanted Luke to do it. The supervisor shook her head. She was not amused.

  ‘This is how I do it.’ Luke fell to one knee and recited:

  Build a tee pee,

  come inside,

  close it tight so we can hide,

  over the mountain,

  and around we go,

  here’s my arrow,

  and here’s my bow.

  The rhyme tripped from his tongue before he even had time to think. Where he’d come by it he couldn’t recall, but this little girl had triggered his memory and the rhyme popped out. Now at eye level, he could see that one of her eyes had a squint.

  ‘Spasiba,’ said the child.

  Luke guessed she was thanking him. He stood up.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replied.

  He hoped the little girl would understand what he meant from his tone. He’d signed up to do classes in basic Russian but he and Alison had found themselves in Russia sooner than expected. The child slipped her hand into her pocket and took it out in a fist. Unfurling her fingers, she examined the stones in the cup of her hand and with a look of fierce concentration, she carefully picked out a pebble.

  It was ringed with three white concentric circles. She presented it to Luke. It was by far the prettiest pebble in her palm. Then she turned and skipped back to her corner, stopping twice on her journey to look over her shoulder at Luke.

  ‘What a strange little girl,’ said Alison.

  Raisa was still standing beside her, looking blankly into the distance.

  ‘That one …’ The supervisor shook her head. ‘I don’t know what she was thinking. Nina Yelena knows how to do her laces. She’s one of the cleverest ones here.’

  Back in their Moscow hotel room, Luke found it difficult to enjoy the luxury hotel that Cornelius’s contact had arranged. Five miles away, 180 children were living a bleak and spartan existence in an orphanage.

  He lay on the bed, glazing over as he stared at a basic Russian phrasebook. Alison was in the bathroom talking animatedly on the phone. She was talking loudly. The bathroom door was ajar.

  ‘… a little girl, Dad. We thought that would be best … yes … yes, I know that.’

  A little girl. They thought it would be best. Really? Luke couldn’t recall any such conversation. His ears pricked up even more.

  ‘She’s three-and-a-half they think. Yeah – they’re not sure of the exact birth date but that’s not unusual here. Way beyond the nappy stage.’ Alison laughed. ‘She’s a beautiful little girl. What’s that?’

  Alison laughed again.

  ‘No, Dad. Of course not. No, she doesn’t look Mongolian or Chinese or have slanty eyes in any way.’

  Luke bristled.

  ‘She’s got the most beautiful eyes … yes … big bright blue eyes. And blonde hair. What’s that? The line is bad … yeah, yeah, Dad – don’t worry – you’ll love her. We’re going back for another visit tomorrow. Just to become more familiar and to explain the process to her and what will be happening next. What’s that? Oh, sure, the hotel is great, yes … so handy to have a driver. You must thank Seanie Higgins for us. He did a great job. Just a pity about the five-month thing … I know, I know. Yes, yes of course I will. Her name? Oh, didn’t I say? No, no – it’s really easy to pronounce. Her name’s Raisa.’

  So that was it.

  Without so much as a word or any form of consultation, Alison had made a decision. There’d been no discussion with Luke. He’d eavesdropped and she’d probably discuss it with him later, after she had her bath. But he was seething. Why would she choose to share her thoughts first with Cornelius on something that would change their married life for ever?

  Recounting the events to Terence rekindled the feelings of anger and frustration he’d felt at the time.

  ‘What I’m hearing from you is that it was hard to stomach Cornelius being kept in the loop. Is that right?’ The therapist lifted his tie to inspect the soup stains. He frowned.

  ‘It got on my wick,’ Luke confirmed. ‘It felt like my father-in-law was always there lurking in the background in a creepy, medieval kind of way. Like those heads of families who used to demand to see the bedsheets after a wedding to satisfy themselves that the marriage had been consummated.’

  Terence shook his head.

  Luke continued. ‘Up until that time in Russia I guess I never understood how much Alison looked to Cornelius for guidance. I had to up my game to deal with that.’

  ‘Tell me some more.’ Terence checked the clock. ‘We have time.’

  Luke took a sip of water. He went back to the Moscow hotel room. To the conversation he’d had with Alison.

  ‘Ah, that’s better,’ Alison said, reappearing from the bathroom, her hair newly washed, dressed in a bathrobe. ‘I just had to scrub the depressing smell of that awful orphanage away.’ S
he patted her hair with a white fluffy towel.

  While she’d finished in the bathroom, Luke had had time to consider. He’d play the longer game. He wouldn’t let on that he’d overheard her conversation with Cornelius.

  ‘It’s a grim life for those poor kids,’ he agreed.

  The children he’d encountered in Tanzania and Thailand suffered equal deprivation, but were somehow sunnier in their outlook. He wondered if his view was coloured by the bleakness of the Russian winter, thinking poverty and deprivation possibly more tolerable under a hot sky.

  ‘It seems wrong with all we have that we’re only taking a single child to a better life,’ he mused aloud.

  ‘You’re not suggesting that we adopt more than one?’

  There was a note of alarm in Alison’s voice.

  ‘I think we’ll see how we get on with one child before we turn into the Waltons.’ He laughed. ‘However connected your father’s contact is here in Moscow, I doubt even he could rustle up a second set of declaration papers.’

  ‘That’s true enough.’

  Alison undid her robe and turned to admire herself in the full-length mirror.

  ‘Pity he can’t get them to waive that five-month wait though,’ she said, sighing.

  ‘It’s going to be tough.’

  Luke appreciated that it was going to be difficult for all of them. Him, Alison, and their new child.

  ‘Like consumer protection, I guess.’ Alison slinked into tight-fitting jeans. ‘In case you choose the wrong child in the heat of the moment, I suppose.’

  ‘What?’

  He looked at her, askance.

  ‘I mean you could arrive home and think differently about the child you thought you wanted.’ She pulled a cashmere sweater over her head, smoothing it approvingly over her flat stomach. ‘I know the waiting period is in case a Russian family may want to adopt the same child as you,’ she added. ‘But you could always think of it as a cooling-off period.’