Whose Life is it Anyway?

by Sinéad Moriarty

  My father stood up. His hands were shaking, but his voice was steady. ‘Now, listen very carefully because I’m only going to say this once. We have no intention of abandoning our daughter in her time of need to a bunch of strangers in France and forcing her to give up her child. Your son will clear up this mess, marry my daughter and make an honest woman of her. If he refuses to marry her, I will cause a scene the like of which has never been witnessed. Every man in my employment will go to your golf club, home and office, and patrol up and down with banners shaming you. The choice is yours. If you want the whole country to know that your son made my daughter pregnant and abandoned her, I’m happy to oblige. Otherwise we have a wedding to organize.’

  I have never been more proud of my father. He was wonderful, majestic. I wanted to clap and cheer and jump up and down.

  There was a deathly silence in the room. Eventually Mr O’Loughlin spoke: ‘Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes, Mr O’Flaherty? We’re not used to being threatened, and I’d like to talk this over with my wife and son in private.’

  My parents and Siobhan left the room. I stayed to hear what happened.

  ‘You stupid boy!’ Mr O’Loughlin spat at Liam, his accent raw Irish, not a trace of posh English left. ‘You couldn’t use condoms like normal boys. You had to get that hussy pregnant and cause this bloody mess. We have no choice now. You’ll have to marry her. I won’t have our name dragged through the mud by that tinker O’Flaherty. Well, it’s your mess, you deal with it. Congratulations. You’ve ruined your life, and thrown all the opportunities I gave you in my face.’

  Liam shrank back in the couch.

  Then Mrs O’Loughlin had her say: ‘How could you do this to us, Liam? How could you? To get that girl pregnant is the worst thing you could have done. We’ll never get over this, never.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve let you down,’ Liam mumbled.

  ‘Go and get them back in here. Let’s have this sorry mess over with,’ Mr O’Loughlin said, ignoring his son.

  My family came back in and Mr O’Loughlin said that Liam had agreed to marry Siobhan but he himself wouldn’t be putting a penny towards the wedding or his son’s future. As far as Mr O’Loughlin was concerned, Liam was on his own. And with that they stormed out of our house and our lives.

  Liam stayed behind and apologized. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr and Mrs O’Flaherty, for causing all this trouble. I love Siobhan and I do want to marry her. I’ll leave school and get a job so I can support her and the baby. I promise to look after her. I’m sorry for getting Siobhan into this mess and I’ll do my best to make her happy.’

  My father shook his head. ‘It’s all right, Liam. I don’t want you dropping out of school. You’ll be more use to Siobhan with a decent career instead of rushing out and getting a dead-end job. You’re a bright lad and you should go on to university. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll marry Siobhan and move into the garage. I’ll get the lads in to convert it into a little apartment for the two of you. We’ll help you out with the baby so you can continue your studies. In a couple of years, when you get a decent job, you can get your own place. Until then, to pay your way, you’ll be working for me every weekend on the sites. Treat my daughter well and you’ll not hear a cross word from me. We all make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them and move on. Now, go home and tell your parents the wedding will take place next Saturday in the Church of Our Lady and we’ll have a small reception here afterwards.’

  And with that my father walked out of the room, head held high, followed by my smiling mother.

  15

  By the time I got to school on Tuesday, everyone knew about Siobhan. It was the worst-kept secret in the world. Siobhan had called her best friend Jackie the night before to ask her to be bridesmaid so the secret was out.

  I was surrounded when I arrived and the gory details were demanded. When did it happen? Where? Why didn’t she have an abortion? Was Liam the only boy she’d had sex with? What did she say it was like? Was there loads of blood? What did your parents say? Would the baby go to hell? Would Siobhan?

  I was queen of the moment – not a mention of my fiasco on Saturday night with Frank the octopus. They only wanted to know about Siobhan and the sex. I hadn’t asked Siobhan about it. I really didn’t want to know. But sometimes ignorance is bliss, and I made up for my lack of hard facts with Mills-and-Boonesque descriptions of thrusting manhood, pools of virginal blood and multiple orgasms.

  ‘I can’t believe she didn’t have an abortion,’ said Deirdre, that afternoon, as we were walking home. ‘I mean having a baby at seventeen is pathetic. She’ll be tied to the kitchen sink for the rest of her life now. It’s so backward.’

  ‘I think she’s right to have the baby,’ said Sarah, defending Siobhan on my behalf. ‘They love each other and they’re getting married, so why on earth would she have an abortion?’

  ‘Because, Sarah, you fool, she’ll never get out of this community now. She’ll be stuck married to a stupid Irish guy for the rest of her life.’

  ‘Actually,’ I piped up, ‘Siobhan loves the Irish community and everything that goes with it. She’ll be happy to stay here. She’s not like me. She embraces her Irishness.’

  ‘What an idiot,’ said Deirdre. ‘Who the hell could like it here? She must be simple. Mind you, at least she’s not tight like her sister,’ she said, sneering at me.

  I was gutted. I’d really thought that Siobhan’s pregnancy had taken everyone’s mind off Saturday night – and that I’d got away with it. I should have known Deirdre wouldn’t forget. I was beginning to wonder why I wanted to be friendly with her. She was always putting me down and making me feel small. Still, she was the coolest girl in the year and being in her gang gave me status I wouldn’t otherwise have had.

  I tried to talk to Sarah about it but she was totally distracted because she had snogged Declan Andrews on Saturday night. He was half English – English father, Irish mother – and had been there with his cousin Malachy Doherty. Declan went to a public school where he was captain of the rugby team. He was also really good-looking and Sarah was in love, big-time. He’d said he’d meet her after school so she was lashing on the Egypt Wonder as I droned on about hating Deirdre.

  ‘I’m sorry, Niamh, but can we talk about this later? I’ll call you after my date. How do I look? Too much makeup?’

  ‘No, not at all. You look lovely,’ I lied. She had actually brushed a large amount of Egypt Wonder on her shirt, tie and jumper and it was a bit blotchy round the forehead, but it was too late to take it off, so I rubbed it in a bit and told her she was gorgeous. She bounced off to her date and I slumped home, feeling jealous of her and sorry for myself.

  Finn was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk and looking a bit shell-shocked when I came in.

  ‘So you’ve heard, then,’ I said.

  ‘Yep. Not only that, but I was subjected to the birds-and-bees chat from Dad.’

  ‘No! You poor thing.’

  ‘I’m fourteen, for God’s sake! Where does he think I’ve been – in a monastery? Even the priests in school told us when we were twelve.’

  ‘Did he give you the whole ambassador-for-your-country speech?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I got the lot. How I’m responsible for my actions, how we’re all representatives of Ireland here in England – even though I’m a British citizen and have never lived in Ireland. I was told it’s more important for me to behave well than anyone else because I’m an ambassador for my country, blah blah blah. Then he told me how babies are made, which was the worst part. He got hot and bothered and couldn’t look me in the eye – it was painful. Then he said I was to focus on football and not look at girls, especially fast English girls. And all this before I’d even taken my coat off.’

  We went into fits of giggles. I couldn’t stop. The thought of my father waiting in the hall to ambush Finn as he walked in the door to tell him the facts of life was too much. Siobhan came in and demanded to know what
was so funny. But she didn’t laugh when we told her. She started crying again and said that our father obviously considered her a fast girl now too.

  We distracted her by asking how the wedding plans were coming along. She cheered up no end as she described the dresses that she, Mum and Auntie Nuala had seen that day. She told us how the woman in the shop had said she had a fabulous figure, and she had said she was a dancer, and the woman had said she’d known it the minute she saw her because she had such good posture. How all the dresses in the shop fitted her perfectly and how the woman had said she was a real clothes-horse. We heard about veils, silks, duchesse satin, crushed velvet, covered buttons, built-in bras, her tiny waist, her long legs, her elegant neck, until Finn could take no more and asked, ‘So did you get one?’

  ‘Well, yes, I did. But I’m not sure –’

  ‘Good for you. I’d say you’ll be gorgeous. I’ve got to go – see you later.’ He bolted out of the room, leaving me alone with the bride of the year.

  ‘Well,’ she said, turning on me, ‘what did everyone say in school?’

  ‘Nothing, really. Just that they heard you were getting married and that you were a good couple cos of the dancing and all that.’

  ‘What did they say about me being pregnant?’

  ‘Not much. I think people were surprised because you don’t look like a slapper.’

  ‘What?’

  I hadn’t meant to say that. I really hadn’t.

  ‘I mean because you look so prim and proper and are never in trouble, so people wouldn’t have thought that you’d be, you know, doing it with Liam.’

  ‘They’re jealous because I’m the first to get married and because Liam’s so good-looking.’

  ‘Yeah. By the way, how was it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know – it.’

  ‘Are you referring to making love?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was beautiful, very romantic, just like in the movies.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, it was a bit sore, but it felt very natural. When you love someone it’s a beautiful experience.’

  ‘Was there much blood?’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘I’m not. Was there?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Where did you do it?’

  Siobhan giggled. ‘Actually, we did it in the back of Dad’s car in the garage.’

  ‘Siobhan! That’s disgusting.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Besides, I brought a towel.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘No – what was the towel for? Tell me!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘For wiping up the sperm.’

  ‘Urgggg – gross! I’m never sitting in the back again.’

  We giggled. Two sisters who hadn’t laughed at the same thing at the same time in about ten years giggled about wiping sperm off the back seat of their father’s car.

  I spent the rest of the week running around like a headless chicken doing messages for my mother. The minute I came home from school I was given a list of things to collect, clean, buy, mix, chop, whip, whisk or iron. My mother was like a lunatic trying to organize a wedding in six days. All the aunties pitched in. Our house was full of frantic women, sewing, cooking, cleaning, telling my mother she was a saint and bossing the rest of us about. They were so generous and kind. That week, I began to understand the true meaning of community.

  Within six days, those formidable women had convinced my mother that this wedding was a blessing in disguise, made dresses for two bridesmaids and my mother, cooked enough food for sixty guests, transformed our house into a wedding shrine and, best of all, made my mother laugh.

  The day before the wedding, Granny and Granddad Byrne arrived over from Dublin. They were, as always, wonderful. They bounced into the house and said all the right things. How wonderful we looked, how stunning the house was with the wedding decorations up, what a great day this was going to be for them, their first grandchild getting married… When they hugged my mother she started crying so Granny took her into the kitchen for a heart-to-heart. When they emerged an hour later, my mother looked as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and I loved Granny Byrne just a little bit more.

  Meanwhile Granddad Byrne was meeting Liam and telling him how he had heard what a great lad he was and how delighted he was that his wonderful granddaughter Siobhan had made such a good choice. It was as if the wedding wasn’t rushed, as if Siobhan wasn’t pregnant. Everything seemed nice and normal once they’d arrived, and so much better.

  Later that night when I went in to say goodnight to my grandparents, they hugged me and told me I was a great girl and a wonderful help to my mother.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re both here,’ I said, suddenly tearful. ‘Everything’s so much nicer now and even Mum’s happy.’ I kissed them both and they told me I wasn’t to worry about Siobhan. Everything would be fine.

  16

  Liam’s parents boycotted the wedding. They were taking the line that Siobhan had trapped their son into marriage by getting pregnant. Granddad Byrne and Tadhg had to pin my father to the floor when he found out, to stop him going to kill Mr O’Loughlin. They calmed him down and talked some sense into him. He was not to ruin the wedding day by involving himself in a brawl.

  I was woken up at the crack of dawn by an excited Siobhan to run her a bath with the special little Body Shop balls to make her skin smell gorgeous for Liam. I was going to ask her what her last slave had died of when I remembered that it was the last time she’d boss me around – she’d have Liam to boss around from now on in their apartment in the garage – so I climbed out of bed and turned on the taps. As I was getting back into bed, Finn came in and told me we had to put tricolour bows on our father’s car and on the trees in the front garden.

  He and I tied bows until my mother called for me to come in and have my hair done. Mrs Keane, who ran the hairdresser’s, had arrived to do our hair. My auntie Sheila was doing the makeup. She had volunteered and my mother didn’t have the heart to say no.

  Auntie Sheila was ‘poor Pat’s’ wife so we had to be especially nice to her. The only problem was that she looked like a drag queen most of the time. She was a great believer in pillar-box-red lipstick, blue eye-shadow and bright orange blusher. She was actually pretty scary-looking. Siobhan had gone mad when she’d found out Auntie Sheila was doing her makeup. But my mother had made us both promise to say nothing, smile and then, when Auntie Sheila had left, she’d tone it down for us.

  Mrs Keane was not blessed with the gentlest hands. She yanked my hair into curlers, then shoved me under the hairdryer – which was a shower cap with a bendy tube coming out the side of it blowing scalding air at one side of my head. By the time she had finished Siobhan and my mother’s hair, we knew every tragic story in our neighbourhood. Nothing was too gruesome or private for Mrs Keane. We heard about young Tony Ryan being struck down by leukaemia, Mrs Wall having a hysterectomy, Jessica Tunney being arrested for stabbing her father, though apparently that was because he had been interfering with her, so he’d had it coming. My mother interrupted at this point and said maybe Mrs Keane would like to go downstairs and have a cup of tea while our hair dried.

  ‘What does she mean, interfering?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing, love. Don’t pay any heed. She’s an awful woman for telling sad stories.’

  ‘Yeah, but what did she mean? Interfering how?’

  ‘Niamh, don’t wind me up today. Drop it,’ my mother said sharply.

  What did she mean, ‘interfering’? Checking her homework every night? My mother did that and I wasn’t planning on stabbing her, although I was annoyed at her for snapping at me. Maybe she meant that Mr Tunney was always asking her questions about school and stuff. But she’d said he’d it coming to him. He must have been a real pain if he’d had a stabbing coming to him, or maybe Mrs Keane just had a very short fuse and
could relate to attacking someone who was annoying her. I’d better be enthusiastic about my hair. I didn’t want to give her any excuse to knife me.

  Once our hair was done – that being a flattering way to describe the bird’s nest I ended up with – Auntie Sheila set to work. She plastered me in thick wet makeup, then drew two large blue lines across my brown eyes. My mother said I was too young for lipstick, so at least I was spared a big red mouth like Siobhan’s. When she was finished, my mother thanked her profusely for making us look like models (how did she manage to keep a straight face?) and ushered her out of the door.

  Within five minutes we were scrubbed clean and my mother redid our makeup, with her fancy French foundation and mascara that she only used on very special occasions. I have to admit that even I looked quite nice. But she had to put some blue eye-shadow back on so Auntie Sheila wouldn’t notice. I hated it, but then again, Auntie Sheila wasn’t the most stable because ‘poor Pat’ had her driven round the bend and so, for once, I didn’t moan.

  After hair and makeup, Auntie Katie came in with my bridesmaid’s dress. It was a baby blue meringue – at least it’d match my eye-shadow. She had spent day and night making it so I smiled enthusiastically and told her I loved it.

  We gathered in the hall and waited for Siobhan to come down the stairs. Only my mother and Auntie Nuala had seen her dress. There was more secrecy over it than there had been over Princess Diana’s. We were left waiting in the hall for fifteen minutes, and just as my father was about to explode, she appeared at the top of the stairs. And I have to say she looked lovely. It helps to be tall, slim and gorgeous, but the dress was perfect on her and she was beaming. We oohed and aahed, and my father’s eyes filled with tears as he went up to kiss her and escort her to the car.

  ‘You’re magnificent,’ he said, smiling at her, his big, open face full of love and pride.