Whose Life is it Anyway?

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘No problem. I can’t believe he was so rude to you.’

  ‘Ah, sure the young kids today are very aggressive. Not like you lot.’

  I thought back to my days of sitting in mass every Sunday, with a face on me that would curdle milk. I might have been a reluctant worshipper but I’d never have dreamt of telling a priest to eff off. Poor Father Hogan, if that was what he was dealing with.

  ‘I wanted to find you to let you know that Dad’s float is here. Unfortunately, however, Dad’s in hospital. He had a heart-attack trying to get the shamrock on to the cart last night.’

  Father Hogan blessed himself. ‘Sweet Lord above, is he all right?’

  ‘He’s going to be fine, but we all got a bit of a fright.’

  ‘Poor Mick, but sure isn’t it typical of him to put so much effort into everything that he does?. There are no half-measures with him. He’s a great man, so he is. I’ll say a prayer for him and pop in to him later on when all this madness is over.’

  ‘Thanks, Father, he’d appreciate that.’

  ‘Are you home for the celebrations? I thought you’d stay in Dublin for the big parade there.’

  ‘No, I wanted to come home to see the family.’

  ‘Ah, sure aren’t you great? Your father’s always telling me how well you’re doing. The apple of his eye, you are.’

  Was I? Had I really taken over from Siobhan? I began to realize that maybe I had. After Siobhan’s shotgun wedding, things had slowly changed between me and Dad. No longer was I the one he clashed with all the time; the one who was as stubborn as him and determined to do her own thing. I grew up, he mellowed a bit, we argued less and got on. The icing on the cake was definitely when I announced I was going to college in Dublin. Dad thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He wanted Finn to go too, but he’d had no interest. He wanted to go straight into the family business and he was proving to be very good at it.

  Sadly, my days of glory were now numbered. Once the secret of Pierre was out, I’d be flung off the pedestal. It had been nice while it lasted.

  ‘Thanks, Father, it’s good to be back.’

  ‘I’d better go, but thanks for helping me with young Diarmuid. I owe you one.’

  Little did he know that this was music to my ears. Having Father Hogan on-side was something I could really do with.

  ‘Actually, Father, I have a quick question for you.’

  ‘Fire ahead.’

  ‘It’s hypothetical.’

  ‘Aren’t they all?’

  ‘If a Catholic girl wanted to marry an agnostic would that be really bad?’

  ‘Well, obviously the Church would prefer her to marry a fellow Catholic, but if he was a good man and she loved him, I think that would be fine. Her parents might find it difficult, if they had strong faith, like your parents, for instance.’

  ‘Would the girl be excommunicated if she married this non-Catholic?’

  ‘No. If she keeps her faith then the Church would still welcome her. Would there be any chance of this girl’s partner converting?’

  ‘Not a hope in hell,’ I said.

  ‘Pity, but sure that’s life.’

  ‘Could they get married in a church anyway?’

  ‘They could. However, the Catholic girl would have to declare her intention to continue practising the Catholic faith and do all in her power to share that faith with children born of the marriage by having them baptized and raised as Catholics.’

  ‘So she needs to get him to agree to raise their children Catholic?’

  ‘Yes. I think it would also help ease things over with the girl’s family if they knew the grandchildren were going to be raised in the Catholic faith.’

  ‘OK. What if the man was agnostic and black?’

  Father Hogan looked shocked, but rallied well. ‘We’re all God’s children.’

  ‘Do you think the girl’s family would feel that way?’

  ‘I’m not sure they’d find it easy to accept. It’s a lot to address, but one would hope after time, maybe…’ His voice trailed off and he avoided eye contact.

  ‘OK. Well, thanks for your time, Father.’ I turned to walk off, shoulders slumped. If a priest who spent his whole life saying comforting things to people couldn’t help me, I was, in Diarmuid’s word – fucked.

  ‘Niamh!’ Father Hogan called after me. I turned to face him. ‘Does the girl really love this man?’

  ‘Yes, very much.’

  ‘Well, then, I’d be happy to make myself available for advice and so forth when she decides to tell her family. I’m presuming she hasn’t already done so.’

  ‘No, Father, she hasn’t found the right time yet. But when she does, I’ll make sure to get her to call you. I think she’s going to need all the help she can get.’

  ‘Wish her good luck from me. She sounds like a lovely girl.’

  I went to find Liam, Siobhan and the girls. Finn was still working on the repaint. Watching my nieces grinning from ear to ear, dancing about, their hair in perfect ringlets, made me smile. They were adorable. Siobhan and Liam were practising a few steps with them and they looked, from a distance, like the perfect family – except for Muireann who seemed a bit sulky. It was nice that, after a difficult start, they had managed to stay together and create a lovely family unit. Liam still didn’t speak to his mother. He had never forgiven her for throwing him out and disowning him when she found out Siobhan was pregnant. But his father regularly came to see his granddaughters and catch up with his son.

  I wondered would Dad disown me when he found out about Pierre. Surely not. He couldn’t be that set against it. Could he? Was I giving up everything to marry Pierre? What was he going to sacrifice to marry me? As if on cue, my phone rang.

  ‘Hello, darling, how’s your dad?’ asked my fiancé, and my doubts faded away. Just hearing his voice made me smile.

  ‘He’s OK thanks. I miss you.’ I sighed.

  ‘Good, because I miss you terribly. When are you coming back?’

  ‘I’d like to stay until Dad’s out of hospital and spend a few days at home making sure he’s OK. I should be back in a week or so.’

  ‘Do you want me to come over?’

  ‘No. When I tell him about you, I’m sure he’ll want to meet you, but until then there’s no point.’

  ‘When are you thinking of telling him?’

  ‘As soon as he’s feeling stronger. He only had the heart-attack yesterday. I can’t upset him yet.’

  ‘Fine. Just remember we leave in ten weeks and you’ve got a wedding to organize.’

  ‘I’m well aware of what I have to do.’

  ‘I don’t want to argue, I just want to make sure you’re not having second thoughts.’

  ‘Of course I’m not. By the way, how do you feel about bringing our children up as Catholics?’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘Deadly.’

  ‘I’d rather they were brought up with no specific religious beliefs and when they’re eighteen they can decide for themselves.’

  ‘They have to be Catholic or we can’t get married in a church.’

  ‘Since when are we getting married in a church?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to get married in a church. I want it all – the big family wedding, the meringue dress, the bridesmaids, the three-tiered cake, confetti, everything.’

  Pierre laughed. ‘You are funny.’

  ‘I’m not being funny, I’m serious. I’ve dreamt of this since I was a little girl.’

  ‘I thought we’d do a register office, then go for a nice lunch somewhere with close family.’

  Register office? Was he insane? Didn’t he know me at all? How come we had never discussed this before? Had I just presumed he knew I wanted a church wedding?

  ‘That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. It’s a sorry excuse for a wedding. How could you not know that I want a big day out?’

  ‘Because you never said so.’

  ‘I’ve always said I wanted to get married at h
ome.’

  ‘I know, darling, but ‘home’ is London and it doesn’t necessarily imply an over-the-top church wedding for hundreds of people, half of whom we won’t know. I’m a bit old for that.’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’

  ‘Let’s talk about this later.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind.’

  ‘You’re upset and emotional about your father. We’ll discuss it another time.’

  ‘Pierre, I’m getting married in a big dress in a big church in front of a big crowd. You can either turn up or not.’

  ‘Don’t you think they’d notice if the groom didn’t arrive?’

  ‘They’ll be far too busy being dazzled by my dress.’

  ‘How big?’

  ‘Think Scarlett O’Hara.’

  ‘How many guests?’

  ‘I have eighty-three relations.’

  Silence.

  ‘Pierre?’

  ‘Why couldn’t I have met a nice quiet girl my own age, who was an only child from a non-religious family?’

  ‘Because you’re a lecherous old git who likes young ones in short skirts.’

  ‘Niamh?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Enough to bring our children up as Catholics?’

  ‘I don’t believe in any of it. It’s hypocritical.’

  ‘I believe in it.’

  ‘You never go to mass.’

  ‘I did when I was younger and it’s good for children to have direction in life. They need rules and principles and guidance.’

  ‘The Catholic Church opposes gay marriage, the social acceptance of homosexuality and same-sex relationships.’

  ‘Yes, but it also says that homosexuals deserve respect.’

  ‘It condemns the use of contraception, even in Africa where Aids is rife.’

  ‘It’s the Catholic priests and nuns working in Africa who take care of the victims of Aids. Look, we can argue about this all day. The bottom line is, I was brought up Catholic and you fell in love with me, so obviously it didn’t do me any harm, and I want our children to have religion in their life. It’ll also help smooth things over with my parents.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll agree to them being brought up as Catholics but they have to be allowed to opt out any time they like.’

  ‘Fine,’ I agreed.

  ‘Now, hurry up and tell your parents about us and get your cute ass back over here.’

  28

  During Dad’s short stay in hospital recuperating, Mum decided to spring-clean the house and have it really nice for him when he came home. She was like a whirlwind, taking apart every room and throwing out anything that wasn’t ‘useful or practical’. Dad had never been sick before and it was strange to see how lost my mother was without him around. She was upset, and the only way she knew how to deal with this was to scrub the house within an inch of its life and cook, then freeze, batches of Dad’s favourite food, which I tried to tell her wouldn’t be appropriate for a man with a heart condition.

  ‘And why not?’ she snapped.

  ‘The doctor said no butter and cream,’ I said, pointing to the chicken breast drowning in a sea of creamy sauce.

  ‘It’s his favourite.’

  ‘I know, Mum, but he has to keep his cholesterol down. The doctor said it was vital for his heart.’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to cook, then?’

  ‘Steamed vegetables and chicken on its own. No sauce.’

  ‘Sure a rabbit wouldn’t eat that, not to mind your father.’

  ‘It’s for his own good.’

  ‘I’ll pour some of the sauce out and only give him a small bit,’ she said, spooning half down the sink.

  ‘But it’s –’

  ‘I’ve been cooking for him for thirty years. I don’t need advice now. It’s the cigarettes and heavy lifting that gave him the heart-attack, not my cooking,’ she said, highly insulted. ‘A bit of butter never killed anyone. Now, get those gloves on and give the bathroom sink a good scrub.’

  ‘I did it already this morning.’

  ‘Well, do it again.’

  ‘Mum, it’s clean. The whole house is spotless. You’ve done a great job.’

  ‘I want it perfect for him.’

  ‘It is perfect.’

  ‘I need to mow the lawn,’ she said, pulling off her apron and heading towards the door.

  I grabbed her. ‘Mum, sit down. You’re going to wear yourself out. Dad needs you to be fresh and rested when he comes home so you can look after him. He doesn’t care if the grass is mown or not.’

  ‘I CARE,’ she shouted. ‘I care! I –’ She began to sob. ‘I didn’t think I’d be so lost without him. This is the first time we’ve ever been apart. In thirty years we never spent a night away from each other. The bed’s awful big without him in it.’

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, putting my arm round her. ‘Of course you’re upset. It must be awful for you.’

  I couldn’t believe they’d never spent a night apart. It was so romantic. I’d never thought of my parents as romantic. They were always just Mum and Dad, not a man and a woman who had fallen in love and got married. I wondered would Pierre and I be like that. I hoped so.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mum, recovering her composure, ‘no time to be sitting around moping. Far too much to do. Pass me that butter.’ She scooped half the tub out and proceeded to mash it into the potatoes with a small mountain of salt.

  While I was thinking of a new way to approach the need for Dad to have a low-fat, no-salt diet, Nuala came rushing in, flushed with excitement.

  ‘Throw the kettle on there, Niamh,’ she said, taking her coat off. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘Your auntie Sheila’s getting married again.’

  ‘No!’ said Mum.

  ‘To Brendan Hickey.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘But I thought he was married?’

  ‘Divorced,’ said Nuala.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last month. He wanted to marry Sheila so he got a quickie divorce.’

  ‘’Twon’t be a church wedding so,’ said Mum.

  ‘No,’ said Nuala. ‘They’re getting married in a register office.’

  ‘Ah, well, never mind. I’m glad she met someone.’

  ‘And not just any old person. Brendan Hickey’s loaded. She’ll have the life of Riley now.’

  ‘She deserves it,’ said Mum, ‘after what she went through with Pat. I’m delighted for her. Has he kids?’

  ‘Two sons, grown-up, married.’

  ‘You’d have to feel sorry for his wife,’ said Mum.

  ‘Not a bit of it. She’s an old witch. He’s much better off with Sheila.’

  ‘She looks fantastic lately – I’m not surprised she met someone.’

  ‘The day Pat died was the day her life began. It was the best thing that could have happened. And he’s a house in Spain.’

  ‘Brendan?’

  ‘Yes. In Marbella, no less.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Mum.

  ‘That’s where he proposed.’

  ‘Has she a ring?’

  ‘A whopper.’

  ‘I wonder what she’ll do with her old one.’

  ‘Melt it down.’

  ‘Ah, Nuala, you’re very harsh.’

  ‘Sure what would she want that old ring for? It’ll only remind her of unhappy times.’

  ‘Where did you get all this information anyway?’

  ‘I met Sally for lunch. She’s just popped in to work for a bit and then she’s going to call in. I told her Niamh was home, visiting, so she said she’ll come and say hello.’

  ‘How is she?’ I asked. ‘Did she finish her psychology degree?’

  ‘She’s doing brilliant,’ said Nuala. ‘She’s fully qualified now and she specializes in helping people with alcoholic parents.’

  ‘She’s an amazing girl,’ said Mum.

  ‘Sh
e said the course was very difficult because you have to go through therapy yourself and she had to deal with her own problems with her father. But she’s finished all that now and she’s flying.’

  ‘She’ll be a real help to people after her experiences,’ said Mum.

  ‘As long as she doesn’t tell her patients to deal with their fathers the way she did,’ said Nuala, winking at me as Mum bristled.

  ‘Nuala!’

  ‘Ah, I’m only joking.’ She laughed.

  ‘Does she have a boyfriend?’ I asked.

  ‘She does indeed. An American fella, he’s a psychiatrist too. His mother’s a Kelly from Monaghan.’

  Typical! Even bloody Sally had a boyfriend with Irish links. Why couldn’t she be going out with a Chinese Buddhist? As if on cue there was a knock on the kitchen door and in she walked.

  I got up and went to greet her. It felt a bit awkward. We hadn’t seen each other in years and we really didn’t know each other. Mum kissed her warmly, then told Nuala she wanted to show her a new coat she’d bought. ‘We’ll leave you two to catch up,’ she said, as they left the room.

  I looked at Sally and smiled. ‘So, how are things?’

  ‘Really good, thanks. My life is finally coming together. I’ve faced my demons and dealt with them head on. It was extremely difficult and emotionally draining but I’m in a good place now. I finally feel healed. Helping others with alcoholic parents has been really cathartic too.’

  She sounded like that man Dr Phil on Oprah. Clearly the therapy had worked. She seemed so happy.

  ‘That’s great, Sally. You deserve it.’

  She nodded. ‘I owe it to myself to be happy. I owe it to that scared, broken little girl to love myself and live a good life helping others to find inner peace.’

  It was like talking to a self-help book. Maybe she could give me some advice on my dilemma. Granted, unlike her patients I wasn’t the abused child of an alcoholic, but she might have a few tips for me about how to handle my announcement.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure, anything.’

  ‘I’m engaged. I’ve met someone really wonderful and I’m about to tell my parents. But there’s a small catch. He’s black.’

  ‘I don’t see the problem.’