‘What were you talking to Dad about? Was he giving out about me? What did he say? Do you think he’ll forgive me?’
‘No, I don’t think he will,’ I said grumpily.
She started so howl at this news and I felt a bit guilty. ‘Of course he’ll forgive you. You know what Dad’s like. He always blows his top and rants and raves and then he calms down. He’ll be fine tomorrow. I’m really tired, I need to sleep now.’
Siobhan sighed and blew her nose. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad for him if it was you. He expects you to mess up. He always had me on a pedestal. I’m his favourite, that’s what makes it so bad. I don’t think he’ll ever get over it.’
‘Well, maybe you should have thought about that when you were having sex with Liam.’ I was fed up with Siobhan’s moaning, and her insensitive remarks about being Dad’s favourite child.
‘Liam said he knew what he was doing. He said we didn’t need condoms because he’d pull out early.’
Oh, God, not this – not details. The last thing I wanted to hear was what Liam did and said during sex. Gross! The thought of the two of them at it was making me feel ill. She rambled on about Liam’s early-exit plans and I had to shut her up. ‘Do you love him, Siobh? Do you want to marry him?’
‘Of course I love him. What type of a person do you think I am? I would never have had sex with him if I didn’t love him. That’s why I thought it was OK, because we were always going to get married. Liam said so. As soon as we finished college we were going to get married.’
‘So you don’t mind if you have to marry him now?’
‘No. I love Liam and I want to have his baby. It’s a mortal sin to think of any other options. I never really wanted to go to college. I only said I did to please Mum.’
I knew she was lying because her voice was shaking – and, anyway, I knew how badly she wanted to go to college. She wanted to be the first O’Flaherty to go to university. She had told me so a million times. I was the one who wasn’t interested in going, but not because I wanted to shack up with an Irish dancer who lied about sperm control. Still, if Siobhan was going to play pretend, I would too. ‘Sure college is crap. Who wants to waste three years studying when you could be married and have a family instead?’ I said, mustering as much enthusiasm as I could at three a.m.
‘Yes, but, Niamh, not everyone is lucky enough to meet the man of their dreams at my age. Some girls find it hard to meet boys. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually.’
Condescending cow, after I had been so nice to her.
‘Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry about me, Siobhan, because thanks to you behaving like a cheap tart, I’m being sent to boarding-school in Ireland. Get out now. I’m tired and I want to go to sleep. It may be my last night under this roof.’
I pushed her off the bed and shoved her out of the door before she could think of a bitchy retort. I climbed under the covers and was asleep before my head touched the pillow.
What seemed like a mere thirty seconds later, my mother came to wake me for school. I was exhausted. I begged and pleaded with her to let me stay at home. I told her I’d only had five minutes’ sleep and I felt awful. She looked pretty rough herself. Her face was puffy and her eyes were like two tiny raisins in the back of her head. She felt my forehead and sighed. ‘Well, you do feel a bit hot and you do look tired, pet. Maybe just this once.’
I couldn’t believe my luck. I was never allowed to stay at home from school. Even if my leg had been ripped off in a car crash, I’d have been given two Anadin with a glass of boiled red lemonade and sent off on my merry – or not so merry – way. Nobody stayed home from school in our house. Ever.
‘Thanks, Mum. I really do feel bad. I’m not pretending, I swear.’
I was always prone to dramatics and she normally reprimanded me for it, but that day she just ruffled my hair. ‘Niamh, I want you to listen to me for a minute. Really listen.’
I hoped she wasn’t going to launch into the birds-and-bees chat. I was fifteen, for goodness’ sake.
‘What has happened to Siobhan is awful. It has ruined her chances of going to college, getting a proper education, having a career and the freedom to choose what she wants to do with her life. Women my age would kill for those opportunities. Your generation are so much freer. Don’t waste it, Niamh – make something of your life. Every decision you make affects your future. Siobhan made a mistake and she’s going to pay for it for a long time to come. So be very careful when you make your choices. Think them through first. Weigh up the pros and cons and then decide. The world is your oyster. Study hard, then go out and travel the world, experience different cultures and countries. Live your life to the full. Now, try to sleep and I’ll come in later to check on you.’
‘OK. Thanks, Mum.’
‘You’ll be the first O’Flaherty to go to university if I have to sit the exams for you myself. I want you to have those opportunities I could only dream of. So after today you’re to focus on your school work. All right?’
‘Yes, Mum, I will. I promise.’
She patted my hand and as she opened the door she said, over her shoulder, ‘Oh, and, Niamh, there will be no more tap dancing.’
Irish Daily News
‘What women mean when…’
Niamh O’Flaherty
Beware when we say, ‘Fine,’ accompanied by a raised hand: this is a very dangerous area. When a woman says, ‘Fine,’ with a raised hand it means she’s furious with you but doesn’t want to argue with you any more.
When a man says, ‘Fine,’ he means ‘Fine’ (as in OK – no hidden meaning).
When a woman says she’ll be ready in ‘five minutes’ she doesn’t mean five minutes. She means she’ll be ready when she’s ready. If all is going well and she fits into the outfit she wants to wear and her hair turns out OK, you should be looking at twenty minutes. However, if she doesn’t fit into the outfit she wants to wear or her hair frizzes up, you could be looking at a good hour during which there will definitely be tears and vows never to eat again.
When a man says he’ll be ready in five minutes, he’s actually ready but wants to catch five minutes of the football without being nagged.
When a woman is asked what she wants to do for her birthday and she says, ‘Nothing’, beware. ‘Nothing’ is code for ‘I want something really special, but I don’t want to have to tell you. I want you to surprise me with your thoughtful present and romantic gestures.’ It does not mean that she wants nothing. Should you do nothing for her on her birthday, believe me, she will throw all of the toys out of the pram.
A man will never say he wants ‘Nothing’. He’ll ask for sex.
When a woman prefaces a sentence with ‘Oh, by the way’ – run for cover. We only use ‘Oh, by the way’ when we’ve heard something negative about you. ‘Oh, by the way’ means you’re in big trouble.
A man would never say, ‘Oh, by the way,’ unless maybe he was gay.
A loud sigh is often misinterpreted by men as a sign of tiredness in their partner. What it actually means is that she is feeling unloved, unappreciated and undervalued. When you hear the big sigh, pay attention. A storm is brewing.
A loud sigh in a man means he’s just had great sex.
On the other hand if a woman lets out a gentle, soft sigh, it means that she’s happy. Don’t ruin the moment by saying or doing anything. If we’re soft-sighing, we’re content. Don’t think it’s a good time to tell us you’ve booked a five-day rugby trip with the lads.
A gentle sigh in a man means he’s just had good sex.
When a woman says, ‘Thanks a lot,’ it really doesn’t have anything to do with gratitude. A woman will say, ‘Thanks a lot,’ when she’s annoyed. It can often be followed by a ‘loud sigh’, never a soft one. She is not content, she is angry, and you have done something to annoy her. Rack your brains, figure out what it was and apologize before she implodes.
When a man says, ‘Thanks a lot,’ he is grateful for something – usual
ly food, being left in peace to watch sport, or sex.
10
Dublin, December 1998
I was hugely relieved that I had managed to persuade Pierre it was too early to introduce him to my mother. He had no idea how conservative my parents were. I knew they were going to react badly when I told them my boyfriend was black. To get my mind off it all, I went to work to finish my column.
While I was typing, Emily came to read it over my shoulder.
‘So, is the love affair still going well?’
‘Amazingly.’
‘Oh, God, you’re literally glowing with happiness. It’s sickening.’
‘Sorry, I can’t help it.’ I grinned.
‘Is it really that great?’
‘Brace yourself – it’s incredible.’
‘Doesn’t he ever do anything that annoys you?’
‘Nope.’
‘Don’t you get sick of looking at each other?’
‘I can’t get enough of him.’
‘OK, now I’m depressed.’
‘Look, if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone. This should be giving you hope.’
‘If only he had a brother.’ She groaned. ‘Have you told your family yet?’
‘No, and my mum’s flying in tonight for the weekend.’
‘So she’ll meet Pierre?’
‘Not exactly. I’ve decided to wait a bit. I want to have another few months of this cocooned bliss before I tell my parents.’
‘How do you think they’ll react to him being black?’
‘How would yours react?’ I asked.
‘Not well. My mother still clutches her bag when she sees a black fella walking towards her,’ she said, giggling. ‘Ireland’s only recently come out of the dark ages. But I’m sure your parents will be more enlightened, having lived in England for so long.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’ I sighed. ‘I’d better go, I don’t want to be late for dinner.’
‘Good luck!’ my friend called after me.
I arrived at my grandparents’ house to find Granny Byrne on her own, preparing the meal. Granddad had gone to collect Mum from the airport. Granny was worried about him. ‘He shouldn’t really be driving. His eyesight’s got very bad, but he wanted to pick up his little girl, so I let him at it.’
I smiled at the idea of my mother still being referred to as a little girl. It was sweet. You never stopped being a parent and you never stopped being a child.
‘Sorry I haven’t called in for a while. Work’s been hectic. How have you been?’ I asked, taking my coat off.
‘Not too bad, thanks. We’re keeping busy going to our friends’ funerals. They’re dropping like flies.’
‘Oh, Granny, that’s awful.’
‘That’s life.’ She shrugged. ‘We give them marks out of ten for turnout, quality of coffin and post-funeral refreshments. The best so far has been May Mespil’s. They had a sit-down lunch at the Four Seasons. Can you imagine? It was very swanky altogether. I said to your granddad, we’ll have to remortgage the house to pay for our send-offs. It’s got very competitive and we don’t want to be letting the side down.’ She winked.
‘Isn’t it a bit morbid?’
‘You have to laugh, pet. Your granddad’s eighty-three and I’m eighty-one. We’re not getting any younger.’
I shuddered. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to either of my grandparents. They were the loveliest people I knew and for some reason had always had that soft spot for me, possibly because I was the underdog in the family. It had been wonderful to grow up basking in their support.
‘And for the record,’ Granny added, ‘if I get Alzheimer’s, put a pillow over my face.’
‘Your request is noted. Now, can we please change the subject? What shall I do to help?’
‘You can chop these carrots,’ said Granny, handing me a knife. ‘How are things with you?’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Brilliant?’ she repeated. ‘You’ve never said that in your life. What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, turning a deep shade of red. Damn. I should have been more careful.
‘Niamh O’Flaherty, are you in love?’
‘No!’ I protested.
‘You are too. It’s written all over your face.’
‘I’m not. Seriously, Granny, I’m just hot,’ I said, beginning to sweat under the scrutiny.
‘Don’t lie to me, young lady,’ she said, waving a carrot at me. ‘I know you far too well. Who is he?’
‘No one… I… It’s just someone I met a few weeks ago,’ I said, shaving a few months off the relationship. ‘It’s very early days, nothing to make a fuss about. I don’t want to talk about it. There’s nothing to say. Honestly.’
Granny put her arm round my shoulders. ‘Oh dear, it’s worse than I thought, you’re completely smitten. It’s all right, I won’t ask you any more questions. I just hope he’s a nice boy and worthy of you.’
‘He is, believe me. He really is.’
‘I’m so pleased for you, pet, you deserve it.’
I wanted desperately to spill my heart out to her about Pierre, but for once in my life I took the sensible option, clamped my mouth shut and kept busy helping with dinner. By the time Granddad and Mum had arrived in from the airport, I’d managed to steer Granny away from talk of my romance.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Granny said, giving Mum a kiss.
‘Hello, pet,’ Mum said, giving me a kiss.
‘Happy birthday,’ I said, giving Granddad a kiss.
‘Haven’t seen you in a while,’ he said. ‘That newspaper must be keeping you very busy. That, or you’ve a new lad who’s taking up your time.’ He grinned.
I turned round quickly and went to get some wine so they wouldn’t see me going red again. My God, what was wrong with me? I hadn’t blushed so much since Siobhan was breastfeeding and had made me go down and ask the cute chemist for nipple cream.
We sat down and, after an off-tune rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, had dinner. Granny Byrne did a great roast chicken. It was comfort food at its best, lashings of stuffing and roast potatoes lathered in butter.
‘How’s everyone at home?’ Granny asked Mum.
‘Not too bad, thanks. Apparently Finn is making a big difference to the business. Mick says he can’t believe how good he is with numbers. He’s come up with all these new ways to cut costs and improve efficiency. Mick says he’ll be able to retire soon and hand it over to him.’
‘That’s great news,’ said Granddad.
‘I don’t know about that. What would I do with my husband under my feet all day? I prefer him out at work,’ said Mum.
‘Men need to be out and about,’ Granny said. ‘When your dad retired, it was a total nightmare. He followed me round all day asking what I was doing and complaining about the house being a mess. I was driven demented.’
‘I did not,’ Granddad objected.
‘Yes, you did, I remember it all too well. You were very grumpy for the first few months until you took up golf,’ said Mum.
‘Slanderous accusations to be making on my birthday,’ muttered Granddad.
‘Maybe that’s what Dad needs to do,’ I suggested.
‘You need patience to play golf,’ Mum said, ‘and that’s one virtue your father is not blessed with.’
‘True,’ we all agreed.
‘How’s Siobhan getting on?’ Granny asked.
‘You know Siobhan. She wants to get pregnant again. I told her five children is enough. She’s worn out chasing after them and Muireann can be a handful at times. She’s very stubborn.’
‘She just knows what she wants. I don’t think she’s stubborn,’ I said, defending my niece.
‘Of course you don’t because she takes after you,’ laughed Mum.
‘I’m not stubborn!’ I said, shocked at the accusation.
‘Niamh,’ said Mum, ‘remember the tap-dancing lessons? You’re the most stubborn person I know, apart fr
om your father.’
‘Being stubborn isn’t necessarily a bad thing,’ said Granddad. ‘As long as you channel it correctly.’
‘Like how?’ I asked.
‘Standing by your convictions when other people disagree with you. Not being swayed by the crowd… that kind of thing.’
Little did he know how much my stubbornness was going to be tested when word of my black boyfriend got out. It was a good thing I’d inherited this gene. I’d need to lean on it very soon.
‘Anyway, Miss Stubborn, what have you been up to? Any news?’ Mum asked.
‘She’s in love,’ Granny burst out.
‘Granny!’ I couldn’t believe she’d blabbed. Shit! Now I was going to get the bloody Spanish Inquisition.
‘Sorry, pet, I’m just excited for you and I know your mum’ll be delighted to hear you’ve met a nice man.’
‘Niamh?’ Mum turned to me.
‘It’s nothing. It’s only just started, and we’re still getting to know each other.’
‘What’s his name? Where did you meet him? What does he do?’ Mum demanded.
‘We met in a coffee shop, he’s an academic and his name is… uhm… Pierre.’
‘Pierre?’ said Mum.
‘French,’ said Granddad.
‘How romantic!’ said Granny.
‘Your father won’t like that,’ said Mum. ‘He thinks the French are a slippery lot.’
‘Why?’ I asked, beginning to panic. His Frenchness was the least of my worries.
‘Because they surrendered to the Germans in the Second World War.’
The Second World War? Was she kidding me? ‘Well, he’s more English than French because he was brought up in Oxford,’ I said, trying to distance Pierre and his family from the Vichy government of 1940. Give a girl a break!
‘Lovely,’ said Granny.
‘Nice part of the world, Oxford,’ said Granddad.
‘Hmmm,’ said Mum, decidedly unimpressed.
‘More wine?’ I asked, pouring myself a large glass.
Whose Life is it Anyway? Page 7
