I would be a laughing-stock at school. ‘I’m going to bed. My life is over,’ I said, getting up to make a dramatic exit.
‘You’re not the only one with problems,’ said Siobhan, beginning to cry.
‘Let me guess. You only got an A minus in your latest exam,’ I said, and stormed out.
8
The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and went to Irish dancing, then tap to meet Sarah and dissect the awfulness of what had happened. She was very sweet, as always, and assured me I’d been right to scream. I made her tell me what the others had said after I left, and eventually she admitted that they hadn’t been very nice.
I was devastated. My life at school would be hell now. Sarah said she’d stick by me, but I knew how difficult it would be for her: if she did, she’d be an outcast of the cool group too. It wasn’t fair on her. I told her it was OK, she could hang around with the others. I’d have to ask Noreen O’Reilly if I could hang out with her group. It was the worst day of my life – and then my mother walked into the class as we were mid-tap. She was bawling.
I nearly died. I actually think my heart stopped. My mother very rarely cried. I had broken her heart by lying to her about tap dancing. As she walked towards me I began to cry too. I felt awful. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please forgive me. Don’t cry, please, Mum.’
She looked utterly devastated. She took me by the hand and walked me out of the class.
She didn’t speak to me until we were sitting in the car. When she closed her door, she began to howl. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never seen her like this. My God, she must really hate tap dancing – Granny Byrne should have warned me. This was awful. The weekend was turning out to be a complete nightmare. I wouldn’t have to worry about snogging boys any more. By the looks of things I’d be grounded until I was forty. Then it hit me. If my mother was this upset, imagine what my father would be like.
I panicked. ‘Mum, does Dad know?’
She didn’t answer me, she just kept sobbing. Oh, my God, this was awful! He must have found out, gone mad and sent her down to collect me. He was waiting at home to torture me for lying. Oh God oh God oh God! Stupid bloody tap dancing.
My mother’s crying was really distressing me now. She was almost hysterical. ‘Mum,’ I said, ‘Mum, listen to me. I’m so sorry, I am so very, very sorry. I swear it will never happen again. I’ll never lie again.’
Suddenly she stopped crying and looked at me. Then she hugged me and started bawling again. My mother wasn’t normally a hugger. This was all most irregular. I had clearly pushed her over the edge this time. She’d end up going on ‘holidays’ like Uncle Pat. Oh, God, what had I done?
Eventually she was able to speak. ‘Niamh, I want you to listen to me very carefully,’ she said. She was speaking slowly, as if she was talking to a foreign person. ‘Your sister has done a terrible thing and has brought shame on our family. Our lives will never be the same again. It’s going to be very hard for you and Finn, but especially for you because you’re a girl. Your father is devastated, as am I, but we’re going to have to put our best foot forward. I’ll need you to be very strong. People are going to talk about us and spread nasty rumours. I want you to hold your head up high and ignore them. Remember, Siobhan is your sister, and although she has done a terrible thing, it’s going to be harder for her than anyone else.’
I had no idea what she was talking about. Siobhan bringing shame on the family? What on earth did she mean? Had she come last in the Irish-dancing competition? ‘Mum,’ I said gently – she had started crying again – ‘Mum, I don’t know what you mean. What has Siobhan done?’
My mother stared out of the window. Her mouth was set in a tight hard line. ‘Your fool of a sister has gone and got herself pregnant.’
OH MY GOD. I was gobsmacked. Siobhan! Pregnant! I just couldn’t believe it. No wonder my mother was so upset. This was the worst thing that could happen to an unwed Irish girl. Wow, I thought. So Siobhan was having sex with Liam. I saw her in a whole new light. But to have got caught by getting pregnant! My father would go insane. He’d never get over it.
Then it occurred to me, in my self-obsessed fifteen-year-old way, that this might work in my favour. Clearly my mother hadn’t noticed I was doing tap so my secret was safe. Plus, I’d be in the cool gang again because they’d all want to know about my wild sister. Siobhan a rebel – who would have thought it? And I would no longer be the one who always messed up. I know it’s awful, but that was what I was thinking when my mother interrupted me.
‘Now, you listen here, missy. That disco you went to last night is the first and last one you will ever go to. You are not even so much as to look at a boy. Siobhan has ruined her life and I’ll be damned if you’ll go the same way. You’ll put your head down and start working really hard in school. You’re going to college like Siobhan was supposed to and make the most of the opportunities your dad and I could only dream of. There will be no more messing and no more bad reports. I’m warning you.’
Oh, God, my life was over. My mother had one main obsession and it was that we all go to university. My father saw no need for women to study after school. He thought we should focus on getting married and having children – as opposed to having babies unwed at seventeen. But this was one area in which my mother put her foot firmly down. She drilled it into us that we were to go to college, get a proper education, have a career, and then meet someone nice and settle down. But college came first.
That was OK for Siobhan, who was planning to go to university in Ireland and study Gaelic. This was the only option my father would agree to. It was the compromise he and my mother had reached, regarding higher education. You could go to college but only in Ireland.
Well, that had been Siobhan’s Plan A. I was sure Plan B would be a lot different. I, on the other hand, wanted to be an air-stewardess. I wanted to wear a glamorous uniform, bright red lipstick and three-inch heels. It seemed so easy – get dressed up, look beautiful and smile a lot. And you got to travel for free.
Also, I wasn’t very good in school and I didn’t like homework. Apparently at college you had loads of work to do, with massive essays called theses, and I had no interest in that. Besides, I didn’t want to go and live in Ireland. I loved London – it was vibrant and cutting-edge. Rock stars lived in London, for goodness’ sake.
I decided to remain silent for the rest of the journey home. My mother was driving like a lunatic, swerving all over the road as she thumped the steering-wheel and repeated over and over, ‘Stupid girl, stupid girl.’ I actually began to feel sorry for Siobhan. My father must be giving her an awful roasting.
When we got home, he and Siobhan were sitting in the front room. Siobhan’s face was puffy and blotched from crying and she looked shattered. I went over and gave her a hug. It was awkward and I felt a bit embarrassed, but she clung to me like a terrified child, so I was glad I’d made the effort. Eventually I prised her hands off my back and sat down. Finn had gone to Leeds to play in some hurley league, so he was spared the drama.
It was only when I glanced at my father that the magnitude of what was happening hit me. He had aged ten years in one morning. He was utterly deflated, like a man who has lost everything. He sat in his favourite chair, shoulders hunched, head down, sobbing into his big white hankie. I knew then that I might as well pack it all in and join a nunnery. My social life, which hadn’t even begun, was never going to happen now. As I tried to picture myself in a nun’s habit the doorbell rang out ‘Danny Boy’.
It was Uncle Tadhg and Auntie Nuala. They were brilliant. Auntie Nuala hugged my mother, then my father, Siobhan and even me. She said loudly, and a little too cheerfully, ‘It’s like a bloody morgue in here. Come on, now, no one’s dead. We’ll sort this out,’ and squeezed my mother’s hand. Mum smiled gratefully. She needed Auntie Nuala. She was too shell-shocked to think straight.
Uncle Tadhg went over and thumped my father awkwardly on the back – displays of b
rotherly affection were strictly post a tumbler or two of whiskey. ‘Come on now, Mick, don’t be getting yourself into a state. It’ll be OK. We’re all here for you.’
‘It’s a bloody mess,’ said my father. ‘A disgrace. I’ve broken my back working to give my children a better life, a good education, food on the table and a roof over their heads, and what do they do? Bring shame on me.’
I wanted to interrupt and point out that it was only Siobhan who was pregnant, not me, but decided to keep quiet.
‘Thank God my poor mother didn’t live to see this. My eldest and finest pregnant at seventeen out of wedlock. We should never have left Ireland. I’ve sweated and toiled for this family and sent my daughters to convent schools to be educated by the nuns and what do they do? Behave like wanton women.’
‘Ah, now, Mick,’ said my mother.
‘Hussies, I tell you,’ shouted my father. ‘Well, I won’t stand for it. You’re going to marry that young fella and that’s the end of it. You can forget your fancy notions about going to college because you’re spoilt now. You’ll have to leave school without even doing your exams. My God, I’ll be the laughing-stock of the community. How could you be so stupid?’
‘Stop it now, Mick,’ said Auntie Nuala, coming over to comfort Siobhan, who was shaking and sobbing. ‘Siobhan’s life is not ruined and it’s not over. I’m not saying this is an ideal situation and she has been silly, but these things can be fixed.’
As she said ‘fixed’, she raised her eyebrows at my mother, who shook her head. Auntie Nuala stood up and said she could murder a cup of tea, and the two women went into the kitchen, leaving my father to rant about this country having no morals and how it had rubbed off on his daughters. I was sick of being tarred with Siobhan’s brush so I followed my mother and Auntie Nuala and took up my position under the stairs where I could hear everything.
‘Annie, listen to me,’ said Auntie Nuala, firmly. ‘She doesn’t have to have this baby. How far gone is she?’
‘Two months. Nuala, you know as well as I do that Mick would never agree to it. And I don’t think I would either. It’s wrong. It’s murder.’
‘Oh, come on, Annie. It’s the twentieth century. The poor girl’s life doesn’t have to be ruined. If she has this baby and marries that spotty youngster she’ll never go to college and have the life you want for her. Getting married at seventeen is what people did in the old days. We’ve moved on from that. Think about it.’
‘It’s murder, Nuala. It goes against everything we’ve been brought up to believe. The Church is very clear on abortion.’
ABORTION! I fell back on to the coats. I couldn’t believe Auntie Nuala was suggesting that Siobhan get an abortion. She couldn’t! She’d be struck down by God! Everyone knew that abortion was killing. Only prostitutes had abortions. Even women who were raped had to have the baby: it was a gift from God. Sister Patricia had told us so. I was shocked at Auntie Nuala. Siobhan would go to hell and the baby would too.
‘Annie,’ said Auntie Nuala, sharply, cutting across my mother, ‘Mick wouldn’t have to know. We could just say she lost it naturally. It’s perfectly feasible. Women have miscarriages every day.’
My mother was silent. I couldn’t believe how devious Auntie Nuala was. I wondered did Uncle Tadhg know she thought this way. She must be watching too much Dallas. Sister Patricia said programmes like Dallas were the scourge of modern society.
‘Think of Siobhan. She’s been brought up to believe that abortion is murder. She’d never get over it,’ whispered Mum.
‘Yes, she would. We could organize for her to get some counselling afterwards. Then she could go off to college in Dublin and have all the wonderful opportunities you want her to have.’
‘But where would we go?’
‘I have a friend who had one and she knows a good clinic. At least give her the option. Will you do that? Just ask Siobhan what she wants instead of railroading her into a wedding at seventeen.’
My mother came out and called Siobhan. Then Auntie Nuala explained calmly to my sister that she had options and laid them out for her. My mother said nothing. I held my breath. What would Siobhan say? I could hear her crying softly and then she said, in a very steady voice, which sounded like someone much older was speaking, ‘I’m very grateful to you for offering me a way out, but I could never forgive myself if I had an abortion. I love Liam and I’m happy to marry him. I’m sorry not to be going to college and for letting everyone down, but I know I’d be more unhappy if I murdered this child.’
Sister Patricia had done a good job on Siobhan. She didn’t even take a few minutes to think it over.
‘Are you sure, pet?’ said Auntie Nuala. ‘You’re such a bright girl, you’ve your whole life ahead of you.’
‘I’m sure.’
My mother finally spoke. ‘I think you’ve made the right decision, love. We’ll all help you. Don’t take your father’s outburst to heart. He’s just very upset. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He thinks the world of you and he’s disappointed, that’s all, but he’ll get over it. We all will. Don’t worry, pet,’ she said, hugging Siobhan, and stroking her hair. ‘Now, Nuala, in God’s name will you open that bottle of wine? I’m in need of a drink.’
9
I couldn’t sleep that night. My head was spinning. I felt as if I’d aged at least three years. Having tossed and turned for hours, I finally got up and went downstairs for some hot chocolate. As I was walking past the lounge, I could hear my father crying softly. My first instinct was to bolt back to bed – I’d had quite enough emotion for one day. But I knew that would be mean and selfish. Sister Patricia always said that compassion and kindness would lead you to heaven. You only had to look at Mother Teresa, she said, to see a living example of what miracles compassion and kindness could perform. I decided on a compromise. I’d go and make my hot chocolate, and if I could still hear him crying on my way back to bed, I’d go in and be saintly.
After a nice hot cup of Nesquik I felt decidedly better and very sleepy. I tiptoed past the lounge, praying to anyone who’d listen for the crying to have stopped. But it hadn’t. It had got worse. Shit, I was knackered and a fifteen-year-old needs her sleep, I thought. But then I looked up and saw one of the fifteen pictures of the Pope staring down at me and knew I had to go in.
My father was sitting in his big green velvet chair (all our furniture was green, our national colour) and crying into his hankie. He looked old and distraught. I took a deep breath and went over to him. ‘Dad? Are you OK?’
I realized it wasn’t the most intelligent or comforting thing to say, but I was new at this.
He tried to talk and I made out, ‘… ruined… work… for nothing… shame… eldest… beautiful…’
‘It’s OK, Dad. It’ll be all right. They’ll get married and everything will be OK.’
‘It’ll be a sham of a marriage,’ he wailed. ‘I’ve always dreamt of having a big wedding. The best of everything, all the relations over from Ireland… Me walking her up the aisle, as proud as Punch. I’ve been saving for it for years. Now it’ll be a fiasco. My beautiful Siobhan, how did it all go so wrong? I blame myself. I should never have moved to this country with its wayward morals. But what could I do? I had to get out of Ireland and make a life for myself, and sure haven’t I helped out my brothers? What a mess. I’ll never have a lovely wedding now…’
As my father debated with himself on the pros and cons of moving to England, I fumed. How dare he say he’d never have a lovely wedding? What about me? What about dreaming of walking me up the aisle? Where was I in his matrimonial savings plan? He’d obviously taken one look at me when I was born and said, ‘Stuff that for a game of soldiers. No point putting my hard-earned cash away for that one. She’ll never get a guy to marry her.’
Mind you, I thought, suddenly remembering my fiasco on Friday night, he was right. I never would get married. I couldn’t even snog a guy without causing mayhem. I began to cry as the image of my life of loneline
ss rolled out before me. Even my own father didn’t think I had a hope in hell.
He handed me his hankie and smiled at me. ‘Poor old Niamh. It’s been a shock for you too,’ he said, patting my head. ‘Come on, it’s way past your bedtime and you’ve school tomorrow.’
‘School? I can’t go to school tomorrow, Dad. Everyone will be looking at me. Besides, I’m suffering from traumatic shock. I want to stay at home tomorrow with Siobhan and Mum. I’ll go in on Tuesday.’
‘You’ll go to school tomorrow and act as if nothing has happened. Nobody knows anything yet, and until we speak to Liam’s parents no decision will be made. I’ve one daughter with her future ruined, I won’t have another. You’ll go to school and concentrate on your books. I want no nonsense out of you, Niamh. I’m going to ask Sister Patricia to keep an extra eye on you. I’ll be damned if this happens again. In fact, I’ve a good mind to send you to boarding-school in Ireland.’
‘Nooooo, Dad, don’t do that. I promise I’ll be good. I swear I will!’
‘Go on now, off to bed with you. I’m too tired to argue. I’ll see you in the morning.’ And with that he shuffled upstairs in his slippers, shoulders slumped.
Could this day get any worse? Now I was to be banished to boarding-school in Bally-go-sideways because Siobhan was an old slapper. The injustice of it!
First I was always in the wrong because the perfect Siobhan was always in the right, and now that she’d gone and got herself up the duff, I was being punished too. I couldn’t win. No matter what she did, I suffered. My sympathy for her was fading rapidly.
When I got back to my room the fallen woman was waiting for me, weeping into my pillow, making it wet and soggy and snotty – yuck. I was all out of compassion so I grunted at her to move over and climbed in, grabbing my pillow and turning it snotty side down.
Whose Life is it Anyway? Page 6
