Whose Life is it Anyway?

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘Pierre is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  The kitchen door opened and Siobhan walked in. Seeing Mum’s stormy face she said, ‘I can see Niamh’s told you her news.’

  ‘Yes, she has. Apparently I’m the last to know.’

  ‘Come on, Mum, it was only Siobhan and Nuala, who’s like a surrogate mother,’ I said.

  ‘But she’s not your mother. I am. I should have met him first.’

  ‘I agree with Mum,’ said Siobhan, as I frowned at her. ‘Mum should have met him first. If Muireann introduced her boyfriend to you before me, I’d freak.’

  ‘Were you shocked when you found out he was black?’ Mum asked my sister. ‘Niamh tells me it’s normal nowadays.’

  ‘Normal! Are you mad? I was so shocked I crashed the car.’

  ‘So, I’m not an old fuddy-duddy, then,’ Mum said, glaring at me.

  ‘I never said –’

  ‘What’s he like?’ Mum asked Siobhan.

  ‘He’s totally different from what I thought she’d end up with. He’s really nice – mature, together and good-looking too,’ she said, still sounding surprised.

  ‘Do you think he really loves her?’ Mum asked.

  ‘I’m still here, you know,’ I reminded them, as they talked over me.

  ‘He seems to be mad about her and she’s gooey-eyed about him. They’d make you sick.’

  ‘Who’d make you sick?’ asked Finn, arriving in.

  ‘Niamh and her fiancé,’ said Siobhan.

  ‘Fiancé?’

  ‘Yes, we’re engaged,’ I said.

  ‘I see,’ he said, afraid to give anything away.

  ‘It’s OK, Mum knows about Pierre. She knows he’s from Martinique,’ I said.

  ‘No wonder you kept so quiet about meeting him,’ Mum said, glaring at Finn now. ‘What did you make of him, then?’

  ‘Seems a nice bloke. Just like us, apart from the tan,’ said Finn, grinning.

  ‘Is Dad not with you?’ I interrupted.

  ‘No, he’s stuck in meetings.’

  ‘I told him to take it easy,’ said Mum.

  ‘There’s a problem with our main supplier, nothing major but Dad has a good relationship with him so he’s the best person to smooth it over. He told me to tell you he’d be home by four.’

  ‘What time is your man arriving?’ asked Mum.

  ‘He’ll be here at five,’ I said, panicking. ‘I really wanted to tell Dad now, so he’d have a few hours to digest it.’

  ‘You mean hit the roof.’ Finn laughed.

  ‘This is no laughing matter,’ said Mum. ‘Your poor father has a bad heart. I’m not sure he can take it.’

  ‘She has to tell him now. Nuala knows, which means Tadhg knows, and soon enough he’ll tell the other uncles and everyone will know,’ said Siobhan.

  ‘I’ll break it to him gently,’ I said. ‘I promise to do it as best I can so he doesn’t go off the deep end.’

  ‘And pigs will fly,’ said Finn, winking at me. ‘Rather you than me, sis.’

  When Dad finally arrived home at half past four, I was pretty sure I was the one who was going to have the heart-attack. I had been pacing the hall for an hour waiting for him, trying to formulate the best way to tell him my news, and failing miserably. I felt sick with nerves.

  ‘Hello, Niamh,’ he said. ‘On your way out?’

  ‘No, Dad, I was waiting for you, actually. I need to talk to you about something.’

  ‘I’ll just make myself a cup of tea and I’ll be right with you,’ he said, heading towards the kitchen.

  ‘No, I’ll make it. Go and sit down and I’ll bring one in to you,’ I said, hustling him into the good room. I didn’t want him to see Mum, who was in the kitchen, with lopsided hair, in her best dress, laying out the good china for Pierre’s visit. He’d know something was up. We only ever used this china on Christmas Day, or when Father Hogan came round.

  ‘That looks nice, Mum,’ I said, putting the kettle on for Dad’s tea.

  ‘I won’t have anyone saying we didn’t make an effort.’

  ‘Thanks. Pierre will appreciate it.’

  ‘He’d want to,’ she snipped. ‘Where’s your father?’

  ‘In the good room. I’m making him a cup of tea, then telling him.’

  Mum looked at the clock. ‘It’s twenty to five. You’d want to get a move on.’

  ‘I’m going,’ I said, hurrying out of the room with the tea.

  I handed the cup to Dad, who was sitting back in the couch, very relaxed.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked him.

  ‘Not a bother on me. I’m as good as new,’ he said.

  ‘Well, that’s great news, Dad.’

  ‘You know, when something like a heart-attack happens to you, it makes you take stock of your life. I’ve been very lucky, really. I’ve three lovely children, a wonderful wife and a successful business. What more could a man want?’

  ‘You’re right, Dad, there’s a lot to be grateful for.’

  ‘When I moved to London thirty-five years ago, I’d never have imagined that things would turn out so well.’

  ‘You worked hard, you deserve it.’

  ‘Your mother deserves credit too, raising you while I was out setting up the business. She’s been a tower of strength.’

  ‘Yes, Mum’s great. Did you fall in love at first sight?’

  ‘I did. She was the loveliest girl in London. We met at a ceili and I knew the minute I saw her that I’d marry her.’

  ‘Did you ever meet any English girls when you moved over, before Mum?’ I asked, hoping he’d had at least one relationship with a non-Irish Catholic girl.

  ‘No. I didn’t entertain them. I was only interested in marrying a nice Irish girl who’d raise a family with me.’

  ‘Would it have been so terrible to marry a non-Irish girl if you’d fallen in love with her?’

  ‘Why would I do that when I knew I’d find a lovely Irish girl, if I searched hard enough? And I did.’

  ‘Dad, when we were born did you worry that we might end up with English husbands?’ I asked, trying a different tack.

  ‘I did, of course, but when Siobhan met Liam and you moved to Dublin, I knew we’d be all right. Now, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?’

  I took a deep breath and sat on my hands to stop them shaking. ‘I’ve met someone I really like.’

  ‘I knew it. It’s got serious with this fella in Dublin, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it has. Very serious, actually.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that marvellous? I knew you’d find a nice lad over there. Sure you’ve the pick of the crop.’

  ‘Well, the thing is, Dad, he’s not –’

  ‘A brain surgeon? It’s all right, I can live with that,’ he said, finding himself very amusing.

  ‘No, Dad, it’s more than that. He’s not Irish.’

  Deathly silence.

  ‘Not Irish?’ he said. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was brought up in England.’

  ‘That’s OK. So were you,’ he said. ‘Don’t look so worried.’

  ‘His parents aren’t Irish either.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re kind of French.’

  ‘French!’ he spluttered, standing up. ‘I won’t have you stepping out with any French man. They’re a slippery lot, surrendering so quickly during the war. I’m sorry, Niamh, but this lad will have to get himself another girl. Go back to Dublin and find yourself a nice Irish lad.’

  ‘But, Dad, I love Pierre and he’s asked me to marry him and I said yes.’

  ‘Marry him! ’ he shouted, getting all red in the face. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’

  The doorbell rang. I looked at the clock. Shit! It was five already. Dad looked out of the window.

  ‘I bloody well told them to stay away,’ he muttered. Turning to me, he said, ‘Stay here, young lady, I’m not finished with you.’

  He stormed out of
the room and swung open the front door. I followed him. Pierre was standing at the front step, hand outstretched. ‘Mr O’Flaherty, it’s very nice to meet you.’

  ‘Now look here, young man, I thought I was very clear with your friends who called to the door last week. You’re wasting your time here. We’re Catholics in this house and we’ve no interest in becoming Jehovah’s Witnesses.’

  ‘Dad,’ I said, trying to interrupt him.

  ‘Niamh, go back inside, I’ll deal with you in a minute,’ he snapped. Turning back to Pierre, he added, ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t want you coming round here bothering me and my family again. I know you’re only doing your duty, but I don’t come knocking on your door telling you to convert to Catholicism, so please respect my privacy and stay away from my house.’

  ‘Dad!’ I said, grabbing his arm.

  ‘What is it?’ he barked.

  ‘This is Pierre. My fiancé.’

  39

  Dad looked at Pierre, then at me, then back at Pierre, and at me again. He slammed the door in Pierre’s face and bellowed, ‘OVER MY DEAD BODY.’

  Mum came running out of the kitchen. ‘Calm down,’ she said, rushing to his side.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Niamh only told me this morning. I’m as upset as you are.’

  I opened the door and Pierre stepped tentatively into the hall.

  ‘Mum, Dad, I’d like you to meet Pierre,’ I said, as firmly as I could, trying to salvage some kind of manners. His parents may not have liked me, but they hadn’t slammed a door in my face.

  ‘Mr and Mrs O’Flaherty, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,’ said Pierre, managing to remain calm amid the madness.

  Mum shook his hand. ‘You’ll have to excuse us, Pierre. Niamh only informed us of your existence a short time ago and we’re still trying to get used to the idea.’

  ‘I understand completely. I can come back later if you’d like some time alone.’

  ‘If I were you, son, I’d take a very long walk. Maybe the longest walk of your life,’ said Dad, ‘because there is no way in hell you’re going to marry my daughter.’

  ‘Dad!’ I snapped. ‘Don’t be so rude. Pierre’s here now and he’s not going anywhere.’

  Siobhan and Finn appeared. ‘Hi, Pierre,’ they said. He looked relieved to see them.

  ‘Come on in and have some tea. Mum has it all prepared,’ I said, ushering him into the good room.

  ‘Tea!’ said Dad. ‘Tea! Have you all gone mad? Sidney Poitier here is not coming in for tea.’

  ‘Mick,’ hissed Mum, ‘don’t be so rude.’

  ‘Nuala thinks he looks like Harry – what’s his name?’ said Siobhan.

  ‘Belafonte,’ I said.

  ‘He’s the head cut off him,’ said Mum.

  ‘Can we please stop talking as if Pierre wasn’t standing here beside us?’ I begged, mortified by my family’s rudeness. They were making Pierre’s parents seem like the king and queen of decorum.

  ‘I don’t care if he looks like Martin Luther bloody King. He’s not marrying my daughter and that’s the END OF IT,’ roared Dad.

  ‘Calm down. Shouting’s bad for your heart,’ said Mum.

  ‘So is shock,’ he snapped.

  ‘Come on in and have a seat, Pierre. We all just need to calm down,’ said Mum, showing Pierre to a chair. ‘How do you like your tea?’

  ‘Just milk, thanks. You have a lovely home,’ said Pierre, somehow managing to block out my father’s ranting.

  ‘Thank you. Mick? Will you have some?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Is everybody DEAF?’ shouted Dad. ‘I said, over my dead body will that lad be marrying my daughter!’

  ‘Dad! Will you please stop being so bloody ignorant?’ I barked. ‘Give Pierre a chance.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that,’ he said.

  ‘She’s right, Dad, you’re way out of line,’ said Finn.

  ‘You’re being very unwelcoming and the Irish are known for their hospitality,’ added Siobhan.

  ‘I can see I’m not welcome here in my own home, so I’ll leave you to your little tea party, but that man had better be gone by the time I get back,’ he said, stomping out the door.

  ‘Cake, Pierre?’ asked Mum.

  While Dad blew off steam – God knows where – Mum poured tea, cut cake, and tried to excuse Dad’s behaviour to Pierre. ‘You have to understand that Mick has always believed the girls would end up with nice Irish boys, and, to be perfectly honest with you, so have I. Relationships are difficult enough without dragging differences of culture and creed into them.’

  ‘I agree with you, Mrs O’Flaherty, but you can’t help who you fall in love with. Besides, our differences, apart from the obvious one of colour, are actually very minor. Niamh and I want the same things from life: a good education for our children, a stable home environment for them to grow up in with a strong social conscience alongside good family values.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘I totally understand your reservations and your husband’s disappointment. My parents would have preferred Niamh to be French, but in forty-two years I never met anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with until I met your daughter. Within minutes of meeting her I knew she was The One. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how wonderful she is.’

  ‘No, indeed I don’t. She’s a very special girl and the apple of her father’s eye,’ said Mum, as Siobhan scowled. ‘I have no doubt you both feel very strongly about each other now, but it’s down the road, when things get difficult, that your differences will seem a lot more acute than they are now.’

  ‘With Niamh by my side, I believe I can get through anything. Look, Mrs O’Flaherty, I’m not a young teenager. This is not as impulsive as it seems. I simply met the woman I wanted to marry and I acted on it. I realize it may seem sudden, but I feel as if I’ve known your daughter all my life and I promise to take great care of her. I know what a precious commodity she is.’

  As I basked in his praise, I watched Mum beginning to thaw ever so slightly.

  ‘How is it a successful man like you is still single at your age?’ Mum asked, as I sank lower into my chair.

  ‘I was in a relationship with a girl for nine years but it didn’t work out, and when I met Niamh I understood why Brigitte was not the right woman for me.’

  ‘Nine years and you left her high and dry! The poor girl,’ said Mum.

  ‘It fizzled out on both sides,’ I added, not wanting Pierre to seem like a cad.

  ‘As Niamh said, the relationship ran its course and we went our separate ways. She has since met someone else and is much happier too.’

  ‘Really? How do you know? When were you in touch with her?’ I asked, none too pleased at hearing he’d been in contact with his ex.

  ‘My mother keeps up with her and she told me last night.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, feeling bad for doubting him.

  ‘That’s all very well, but how do you know that this relationship isn’t a ricochet?’ Mum asked.

  Pierre looked confused.

  ‘Rebound,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I see. I know it isn’t because I dated other women between breaking up with Brigitte and meeting Niamh.’

  ‘I believe you want to take our girl away to Canada,’ Mum said, seemingly determined to continue the interrogation until she knew every thought and plan Pierre had ever had.

  ‘I’ve been offered a very good position in Vancouver, but the decision to move ultimately lies with Niamh. If she doesn’t want to go, we won’t. I want her to be happy.’

  ‘I want to go, Mum. It’s a great opportunity for Pierre and it’s supposed to be an amazing city.’

  ‘What about your job? Your column? You love it.’

  ‘I’ll find something in Canada. Pierre’s already sourcing contacts for me on the local papers over there.’

  ‘And we’ve been set up in a house close to the campus with plenty
of bedrooms to accommodate family and friends,’ said Pierre, smiling at Mum.

  ‘You seem to have all the answers,’ she said, as the door flew open and Nuala bustled in.

  ‘Hello again, Pierre,’ she said, plonking herself down on the couch beside Mum. ‘Well, Annie, I’ve left Mick with Tadhg. Like a bull he is, ranting and raging. I told him to calm down or he’d have another heart-attack.’

  ‘I know, Nuala, I told him so myself,’ said Mum, sharply. Nuala hadn’t been forgiven for having met Pierre first.

  ‘Well, I told him he was an old fool. That if he made Niamh choose between him and Pierre, he’d lose his daughter. And what good would that do?’

  ‘It’s all very well for you to be blasé about it, Nuala, but it’s not your daughter who wants to marry a black man,’ Mum replied sharply.

  ‘I know, Annie,’ said Nuala, patting Mum’s hand. ‘I was shocked at first, too. But if he was white we’d be popping champagne corks. A professor, handsome, clever and mad about Niamh. It’s only his skin colour that has us in a tizzy.’ Nuala was a legend. Why hadn’t I thought of that line? It was brilliant and so true.

  ‘You can’t ignore it,’ said Mum.

  ‘No, but you can stop making it the focal point of Pierre’s character,’ I said, jumping to my fiancé’s defence. ‘Look, Mum, I never imagined I’d marry a black man either. It just never crossed my mind. But I met Pierre and realized he was the most amazing person I’d ever met, and when he asked me to marry him, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Not everyone gets to meet the perfect person for them, but I have and I wish you could get past the colour of his skin and see how happy he makes me and how wonderful he is.’

  ‘OK, I’m out of here,’ said Finn. ‘This is way too mushy for me. Hang in there, Pierre.’

  ‘I’ve to go home and get the girls their dinner,’ said Siobhan, standing up. ‘Goodbye, Pierre, I hope we’ll see you again soon.’

  ‘I’ll go and see how Mick’s doing. I’ll ring you to let you know,’ Nuala said to Mum. ‘Goodbye, Pierre, it was lovely to meet you again.’ Then, turning to hug me, she whispered, ‘I’ll work on your dad. Don’t worry, pet, we’ll sort this out. Be strong.’

  ‘Thanks, Nuala. I need all the help I can get.’