Whose Life is it Anyway?

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘Where’s Declan?’ she asked.

  ‘He had to go home early,’ said the diplomatic Teddy.

  ‘Did he see how drunk I was?’

  ‘Not really. You fell asleep early on,’ I said.

  ‘Thank God. Let’s go, Niamh. I need to lie down,’ Sarah said, tugging my arm.

  ‘OK,’ I reluctantly agreed. ‘Well, ’bye, Teddy.’

  ‘Best of luck,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll see you here again some time?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I said, resisting the urge to beg him to call me.

  24

  The garage door swung open and a red-faced Siobhan glared out. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she fumed. ‘Are you crazy, waking me up in the middle of the night? This had better be an emergency.’

  I decided not to point out that it was only ten thirty-five and most normal people would still be up. ‘It is an emergency. I need your help.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Sarah’s plastered and I can’t let her go home. I need to sober her up, but I don’t know how to.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, bring her in. Where is she?’

  ‘I left her in the hedge, in case Mum and Dad saw her out the window. I’ll go and get her,’ I said, running down the path to extract Sarah from the hedge, where she had fallen asleep again.

  ‘Look at the state of her,’ said Siobhan, shocked at how bad Sarah was. ‘What did she drink?’

  ‘A lethal cocktail of everything you can think of with a splash of orange juice.’

  ‘Did you have it too?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, it tasted disgusting. I couldn’t swallow it.’

  ‘You’re lucky you couldn’t. How come you got lumped with looking after her? I thought she had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Had,’ I whispered. ‘He found someone else after she puked on his shoes, but she doesn’t know yet.’

  ‘Typical men,’ said my sister, as if she’d had vast experience of being dumped and cheated on, instead of having a boyfriend who’d stood by her, married her, then put up with her foul moods and mad crying fits.

  Sarah began to slip out of my grasp. I plonked her on the couch where she began to groan.

  ‘She’d better not be sick in here,’ said Siobhan, seemingly oblivious to the pungent smell of baby vomit and dirty nappies that permeated her apartment.

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘If she does, you’re dead. Now, come on, let’s get some coffee into her and see if we can sober her up.’

  ‘What about Mum and Dad?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s OK, they’re watching TV. I’ll go and make some coffee for Sarah now. Just keep her quiet so they don’t hear you.’

  ‘Siobhan.’

  ‘What?’ she snapped.

  ‘Sarah doesn’t like coffee.’

  She sighed. ‘All right, then, I’ll make some toast. That should soak up some of the booze. In the meantime, get her to drink as much water as you can. There’s a glass in the bathroom.’

  ‘Siobhan.’

  ‘What is it now?’ she hissed.

  ‘Thanks.’

  My sister came back five minutes later with a big plate of warm buttered toast and a bucket. She helped me prop up the sleeping Sarah. After several futile attempts to wake her by shaking her, Siobhan slapped her across the face.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Sarah, coming out of her semi-coma. ‘That hurt.’

  ‘You need to wake up, eat this and drink the water,’ ordered Siobhan, shoving the plate into my friend’s lap.

  Sarah looked at the toast. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said, as Siobhan produced the bucket for her to throw up in. She’d thought of everything. I was impressed.

  Being sick again seemed to sober Sarah up. Now that most of the alcohol she’d drunk was on the floor of the disco and in the bucket, she was able to speak without slurring. If it wasn’t for the smell of vomit, her greenish face and the fact that she kept crying, she might have got away with it.

  ‘Take this into the bathroom and rinse it out,’ Siobhan said, and I reluctantly took the stinky bucket from her. My love for Sarah was diminishing by the second.

  Siobhan cleaned Sarah’s clothes with baby wipes – which I have to say were miraculous. Then she brushed her hair and applied makeup to her pasty face. ‘Sarah,’ she said sternly, ‘you’ve got to stop crying. If you don’t want to be grounded for the rest of your life, focus on acting sober and normal. When you get home, try not to talk too much. Just say you had a nice time but you’re tired and you want to go to bed. Don’t stand close to your parents. You smell of drink. Here, this should help,’ she added, drowning Sarah in her favourite perfume, Poison, by Christian Dior. I couldn’t believe it. She never let me use it and kept it locked in her jewellery box. ‘OK, now stand up straight and smile. You should get away with it,’ said my new, sharing, caring sister.

  ‘Thanks, Siobhan,’ said Sarah, beginning to cry again. ‘I always thought you were a pain. Niamh said you can be a real bitch sometimes, but you’ve been great tonight.’

  I wondered if I wanted to hang around with Sarah any more. She was a liability.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, grabbing my ex-best-friend’s arm. ‘It’s getting late.’

  I walked her down the road to her front garden. She gushed about how wonderful Siobhan was, not once bothering to mention that I had saved her from total humiliation at the disco. Neither did she apologize for ruining my first decent snog. I said nothing until we got to her gate, where I reminded her not to talk or stand too close to her mother. It was vital that she got away with it. If she was caught drunk, I’d be implicated too, and if my father got wind of it, I’d be on the next plane to boarding-school.

  I walked home, changed back into my jeans behind the hedge and let myself in the front door.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ my father said, tapping his watch.

  ‘Five past eleven,’ I answered.

  ‘Exactly, and did I not tell you to be home by eleven on the dot?’

  ‘Ah, Mick, will you leave her alone?’ said Mum. ‘Well, pet, did you have a nice time?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Did you get a dance?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Technically it wasn’t exactly true, but a snog was probably the same as a dance in Dad’s era, so I didn’t feel I was lying.

  ‘Oh, good.’ Mum looked relieved. Clearly she’d been worried that I’d be left in the corner like a big wallflower. It was bad enough knowing your chances were slim – you really didn’t need to be faced with your parents’ doubts too.

  ‘Well, goodnight, I’m off to bed,’ I said, suddenly very tired.

  As I was snuggling up in bed, Mum popped her head round the door. ‘You didn’t sing “The Foggy Dew” tonight, did you?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m leaving the history aside for now. It’s exhausting feeling passionately about everything. I need to save my energy for discos.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said, patting my arm. ‘Was he a nice boy?’ she asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know right well who. The boy you danced with.’

  ‘Very.’ I grinned, despite myself.

  ‘Good. And you didn’t let anything happen that –’

  ‘No, Mum,’ I interrupted, before she could embarrass me. ‘No octopus carry-on, I promise.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that,’ she said, leaning down to turn off the lamp. She kissed my forehead. ‘I’m glad you had a nice time, pet. It’s wonderful to be young. Enjoy it,’ she added wistfully.

  ‘Did you have fun when you were my age?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes, but I got married and had children very early, so I wasn’t young for long.’

  ‘Like Siobhan.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I think I’ll wait until I’m thirty to get married.’

  ‘That’s a very sensible idea. Now go to sleep. Sweet dreams.’

  I closed my eyes and pictured Teddy… mmmm…
/>   Sarah phoned the next day to say that when she’d got home her parents were in the middle of a big argument and barely noticed her. She’d been able to stumble upstairs and fall into bed without getting into trouble. I was delighted to hear it as it meant my coast was clear. She apologized for being such a mess and thanked me for being such a loyal, trustworthy, reliable, brilliant friend. Then she asked me to fill in the blanks about the disco and I had to tell her about Declan, which kind of ruined the best-friend love-in. She was devastated. But then I told her about Teddy, and although she was still crying about Declan, she did seem pleased for me.

  I decided to keep her as my very best friend. They weren’t queuing round the block for the position, and she was a really nice person when she wasn’t drinking and falling into bushes, so we made up and spent the afternoon locked in my bedroom discussing Teddy and slating Declan. By the time she left, we’d decided Declan didn’t deserve her in the first place and that Teddy was my future husband.

  At the crack of dawn the next day – Monday – a very nervous Liam stood at the front door waiting for his exam results. Having spent the summer working on building sites for Dad, he was now hoping to get a place to study law. Since Muireann’s birth his relationship with his father had improved. They met up about once a month and Liam wanted to follow in his footsteps.

  Liam’s mother still hadn’t forgiven or spoken to Liam since he’d got Siobhan pregnant. Liam said he didn’t mind but you could see he was heartbroken that his witch of a mother hadn’t even had the decency to come and see her grandchild.

  The postman finally arrived and Liam grabbed the envelope. He ran into the garage to open it alone. We all waited outside the door, listening. We heard a whoop, the door burst open and a very happy Liam hugged Siobhan and Muireann – who began to cry because he was squashing her.

  ‘Straight As!’ he shouted. ‘I got straight As! I did it! I bloody did it!’

  ‘Well done, son,’ said Dad, beaming at him.

  ‘You deserve every one of those As,’ said Mum, hugging him. ‘I never saw a fella study so hard.’

  ‘Nice one,’ said Finn, thumping Liam on the back.

  ‘Congratulations,’ I said, and backed away quickly, because Liam had started to cry. It wasn’t just a few tears either. It was total shoulder-heaving sobs.

  ‘It’s all right, Liam,’ Mum said, going over to him. ‘Let it out. You’ve had a very difficult year. You poor old thing. You’ve been so brave and hard-working. Never a complaint out of you about anything. It’s an emotional day. We’re very proud of you. I know you wish your parents were here for you, but I’m afraid life can be cruel sometimes. But look at what you’ve achieved. Muireann will be very proud of her daddy.’

  This made him cry even more and Siobhan joined in, followed shortly by Muireann, who grabbed any opportunity to show us her lung capacity. We shuffled about uncomfortably when the doorbell rang.

  Finn charged out to see who it was, delighted to have an excuse to get out of the room. It was Liam’s father, and we heard Finn showing him into the good room. Mum grabbed a cloth and wiped Liam’s face.

  ‘Stand up, son, and hold your head high. You’re a credit to yourself and this family,’ said Dad.

  We marched into the good room where Mr O’Loughlin was nervously pacing the floor. When he saw Liam’s blotchy face he looked crestfallen. ‘You didn’t get enough for law, did you?’ he asked.

  ‘Didn’t my eye!’ snapped Dad. ‘This young lad got straight As. He’s a genius, so he is. You should be very proud of him. We are,’ he added pointedly.

  Mr O’Loughlin looked at his son. Liam nodded and handed his father the results.

  ‘My God, Liam, this is incredible. I’ve never known anyone to get straight As. You’ll go to King’s College, of course, and then you can work for me. Your mother will come round when she sees these results. She might even come to see you.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Liam, firmly. ‘I don’t need your help, Dad. I’ll be choosing what university I go to and what firm I work for and it won’t be yours. If Mum does decide to talk to me again because of my results, please tell her that she will not be welcome. I never want her to darken my door. This is my family. These are the people who stood by me and gave me the freedom to study. They are the only people I care about impressing. I have to go now, I’m late for work.’

  Mr O’Loughlin seemed taken aback by his son’s steely attitude.

  ‘Don’t worry about work today, Liam,’ said Dad.

  ‘I’ll look after Muireann,’ said Mum. ‘Take Siobhan out and celebrate.’

  ‘I’d like to take you for lunch at the club,’ said Mr O’Loughlin, recovering his composure.

  ‘Sorry, Dad, I’ve got a date with my beautiful wife,’ said Liam, smiling at Siobhan. With that they headed off hand in hand out of the door, looking, for the first time since Muireann’s conception, like a carefree young couple.

  Irish Daily News

  ‘Shoe shopping’

  Niamh O’Flaherty

  When Alice goes shoe shopping to find the perfect pair to go with the new dress she’s bought for a wedding, she knows it’s going to be an experience. She has spent weeks flicking through fashion magazines looking for the right match.

  She gets all dressed up, carefully folds her new dress into a big bag and sets off. She is on a high. Shoe shopping is her drug of choice.

  She goes into the first shoe shop where, lo and behold, she finds a pair of shoes that matches her dress. With the shoes on, she takes the dress out of the bag and holds it up to herself in the mirror. The shoes are the exact same colour. Perfect.

  The sales assistant smiles. ‘Shall I pop those in a box for you, madam?’

  Alice shakes her head. ‘No. I’m not sure they’re quite right. I’m going to look around before making my decision.’

  Alice then goes into every shoe shop in town trying on shoes – none of which match the dress. After two hours, with sore, swollen feet, she goes back to the first shop to buy the first shoes she tried on. They have been sold. Alice is devastated. She tries not to cry and ends up buying silver shoes that don’t match anything.

  Mike needs a pair of shoes to go with his new brown suit. He goes shopping in his comfy jeans and sweatshirt. He has ten minutes before Man United v. Arsenal kicks off. He charges into the first shoe shop he sees. It’s small, with a limited selection.

  He grabs an assistant and says, ‘I need a pair of brown shoes, size eleven.’

  ‘Did you have any particular style in mind?’ she asks.

  Mike laughs. ‘Style! No, just brown, size eleven.’

  The assistant comes back and says she’s really sorry but they don’t have any brown shoes in size eleven. They only have brown boots.

  ‘Have you any size eleven shoes?’ Mike asks.

  ‘We have these burgundy ones,’ she says.

  ‘Grand, yeah, I’ll take those.’

  ‘Would you like to try them on?’

  ‘No time, got to catch the game,’ says Mike, handing over his credit card.

  Mike and Alice go to the wedding. Mike’s shoes match Alice’s dress perfectly.

  25

  London, 16 March 1999

  The taxi-man peered at me in the mirror. ‘Home or holiday?’

  I really didn’t feel like talking, but I didn’t want to be rude. ‘Home. Well, I don’t live here but I’m back to see my family.’

  ‘Where do you live, then?’

  ‘Ireland – Dublin.’

  ‘That makes a change, English people going to live in Ireland after all the Paddies that have come over here. What made you go there?’

  ‘My parents,’ I said. ‘They’re Irish and always wanted me to go and study there, so I did.’

  ‘Like it, do you?’

  ‘At first I hated it, but now I like it.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Met a nice local lad, did you?’ he said, grinning at me in the mirror.

  ‘Something like that,’ I said.
‘Actually, I’m engaged.’

  ‘Your dad’ll be made up, you ending up with a nice Irish boy.’

  ‘The thing is, he’s not Irish,’ I said, wishing for the millionth time that Pierre was Irish with bright red hair and freckles. It would have made my life so much easier.

  When I got home, Dad rushed out to pay the taxi for me and help me with my bags. He hugged me, and I sank into his arms, a bit tearful. The stress of having to tell him about Pierre was killing me. I was a nervous wreck. ‘What’s wrong? Has something happened to you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Dad, just glad to be home,’ I said, giving him a watery smile.

  ‘Are you sure? You don’t seem fine to me. Did you break up with another boyfriend?’

  ‘No, the opposite, actually. I’ve met someone.’

  ‘Your mother mentioned something about that. She didn’t give much away though. Is he a nice lad?’

  I nodded, smiling. ‘Yes, Dad, he is.’

  ‘Ah, sure didn’t I tell you Irish lads were the best of them all? Annie,’ he said, calling my mother who was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, ‘Niamh’s all emotional about her new boyfriend.’

  ‘Hello, love, ‘said Mum, kissing me. ‘You do look a bit weepy – are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘She’s missing the new lad,’ said Dad, on cloud nine now that he thought his daughter was paired up with an Irish boy.

  ‘What boyfriend?’ asked Siobhan, shoving a large slice of buttery toast into her mouth. ‘I thought you were still heartbroken about Sean.’

  ‘I broke up with him a year ago,’ I reminded her.

  ‘You kept saying you’d never get over it,’ she reminded me, as I winced. I really didn’t want to think about the time I’d wasted mourning that tosser.

  ‘Well, I have and I’ve met someone else now.’

  ‘So it’s still going strong, then,’ Mum said.

  ‘Yes, very,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh dear, she’s smitten, all right,’ said Mum, smiling.