Fleur said nothing.
‘Niamh tells me you’re an interior decorator.’
‘Designer.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, I could probably do with a few tips.’
‘The house reflects the person.’ Fleur shrugged. ‘This is who you are,’ she added, waving a bejewelled hand at the photos of the Pope and JFK and the paintings of green fields.
Mum stood up straighter. ‘Yes, it is who we are and we’re very proud of it. You must be delighted that Pierre met such a wonderful girl. Niamh’s a real gem.’
‘Mu-uum,’ I said, embarrassed.
‘You are,’ she said. ‘He’s a very lucky man. Don’t you think so, Fleur?’
‘Yes, she is a nice girl, but she needs to work on her French and her cooking.’
‘You’ll have to forgive my mother,’ said Pierre, saving Fleur from the wrath of mine. ‘Like all French women she is obsessive about food.’
Fleur put her arm round Pierre adoringly. ‘I have raised the perfect man.’
‘Well, I think so.’ I smiled.
‘They’re well matched, then,’ said Mum, putting her arm round me, ‘because I raised the perfect girl.’
‘I agree with you there,’ said Pierre.
‘Get that into you,’ said Tadhg, filling Fleur’s glass to the brim. ‘It’ll help you relax. You seem a bit uptight. We might do a duet later. I’ve been practising my “Frère Jacques”,’ he said, and roared laughing.
I felt a tug on my dress. I looked down. It was the bad tin-whistle player. ‘Are you really gonna marry that black fella?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘My dad said it was because black fellas have big willies.’
‘Well, you can tell your dad he’s –’
‘Absolutely right,’ said Pierre, cutting across me, laughing.
43
By the time midnight came, everyone was very merry. Even Fleur and Jean – who had tried to leave several times, only to be dragged back in by uncles and aunts to have ‘one for the road’ – were now unsteady on their feet.
I saw Dad make his way over to them. I followed and hid round the corner to listen in. ‘Well, then, what do you make of this marriage stuff?’ he asked.
‘They seem to have made up their minds,’ Jean replied. ‘Pierre’s a fully grown man. He knows what he wants and he seems to be happy with your daughter.’
Good old Jean. At least he could see sense.
‘I’m not sure they have much in common but he seems very taken with her sense of humour,’ he added, slating me in the nicest possible way.
‘She can be funny all right,’ said Dad.
‘I think it’s very hasty,’ said Fleur.
‘I agree with you,’ said Dad.
‘They barely know each other.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But they are determined, so it’s a fait accompli.’ She sighed.
‘Unfortunately, Fleur, it seems to be a done deal.’
‘That’s what I –’
‘Niamh’s very stubborn,’ Dad interrupted. ‘Nothing I can do will change her mind.’
‘Pierre is the same,’ said Jean.
‘He’s not stubborn,’ said Fleur. ‘He’s tenacious.’
Thankfully, before our characters could be assassinated further, Mum arrived with a plate of cheese squares.
‘Can I tempt you?’ Mum asked, offering Fleur a chunk of Cheddar cheese on a cocktail stick. She looked at it in horror and shook her head.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Well, isn’t that something? A French woman who doesn’t eat cheese,’ said Dad, laughing.
I could see from Fleur’s snotty face that she thought the cheese squares were awful. Obviously she was only used to the finest French cheeses and Cheddar probably gave her a rash. Mind you, judging by her tiny frame, I’d say she never ate cheese of any description. Absentmindedly Mum popped one into her mouth.
While they tried to think of something to say, Father Hogan saved the day by bounding in the door. ‘Hello, everybody. I’m so sorry to be arriving late. I’d a wake to go to before this.’
‘Don’t worry, Father, the party’s only just getting going,’ said Dad. Turning to Fleur and Jean, he said, ‘This is our parish priest, Father Hogan, a great friend of the family. These are Pierre’s parents, Flower and John.’
‘Delighted to meet you,’ said Father Hogan, shaking hands. ‘You’ve a grand son. A really fine fellow.’
‘Thank you. We’re very proud of him,’ said Fleur.
‘Did you say you’d just been to a wake?’ asked Jean.
‘I did.’
‘Was it an open casket?’
‘It was, and between ourselves it shouldn’t have been. Mrs Jones was not a good-looking woman when she was alive and in the prime of her youth. At ninety-six she really wasn’t a pretty sight. Besides, she’d been lying there for five days waiting for the eldest grandson to get back from Australia. He was off on some desert trek and they couldn’t get in touch with him, so she was beginning to go off, if you get my drift.’
‘My God!’ said Fleur, horrified.
‘You need a drink,’ said Dad, pouring the priest a large whiskey.
‘I hope you’re not going to try to convert us,’ said Jean, smiling. ‘We’re diehard agnostics.’
‘No, not at all. I’m here as a guest. Ignore the collar. I must say your son’s marrying into a wonderful family.’
‘So everyone keeps telling us,’ slurred Fleur. ‘They’re a very enthusiastic group of people.’
‘Did you know that Mick here came to London with only –’
‘The shirt on his back,’ said Jean. ‘Yes, we’ve heard all about it. It’s similar to my story, actually. I moved from Martinique to France with very little too.’
‘You had me!’ said Fleur. ‘I was with you.’
‘Oh, you’re in trouble now,’ said Tadhg, grinning. ‘You forgot about your wife.’
‘The wife who worked two jobs while you studied for your degree,’ she grumbled.
‘Did you?’ asked Nuala, looking as shocked as I felt at the idea of Fleur slaving away while Jean studied.
She nodded. ‘It was a difficult time, but look at what we achieved.’
‘Aren’t you a great wife?’ said Father Hogan.
‘I thought you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, the way you dress and carry on,’ said Nuala.
‘You do look very posh,’ Tadhg agreed.
Fleur laughed. ‘All of this came about over years of trying to fit into Parisian society. We were complete outcasts, so we worked hard, watched and learnt. Eventually we were accepted.’
‘Was it worth it?’ Mum asked
She shrugged. ‘We had no family and no friends, so at least we now had a social life. But we never really felt as though we fitted in.’
‘Well, you fit in here,’ said Dad. ‘We welcome everyone with open arms,’ he added, as I choked on my drink. ‘Top them up there, Tadhg, and we’ll have a sing-song.’
‘No, thank you, I really think we’ve had enough,’ said Jean, who had gone a bit green. ‘We’re not used to such generous hospitality. We must go soon.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, it’s only half twelve,’ said Tadhg, foisting the drinks on to them. ‘Sláinte,’ he said, as everyone drank.
‘Get that into you, Flower, it’ll put hairs on your chest,’ said Dad, winking at Fleur.
‘Have you got a dress for the wedding yet?’ Nuala asked her.
‘No. I’ll pick something up in Paris a week before so it’s not out of season.’
‘Paris!’ said Nuala. Then to Mum, she said, ‘Well, Annie, we’ll have to get you something really special for the big day. We can’t have you being upstaged by the groom’s mother. That wouldn’t do at all.’
‘I’ll wear my good suit. It’ll be grand,’ said Mum.
‘Grand, my arse,’ said Nuala. ‘Get your cheque book out, Mick. We’re going to be doing some serious shopping.�
��
‘Have they set a date?’ asked Jean.
I stepped out from behind the door frame. ‘Yes, actually, we have. It’s May the fifteenth.’
‘It’s so soon.’ Mum sighed.
‘I know, but we have to be in Vancouver on June the first and we want to go on honeymoon before then.’
‘Don’t worry, Annie, we’ll all chip in,’ said Nuala. ‘We did Siobhan’s in six days, so six weeks will seem like an eternity.’
Dad went rigid at the mention of Siobhan’s shotgun wedding. Wisely Father Hogan stepped in. ‘Isn’t it an awful pity poor Molly couldn’t be here for the celebrations? I’ll bet she would have been delighted with Pierre’s choice of bride,’ he said.
Jean and Fleur gazed at him blankly.
‘And I believe you nursed her at home to the very end,’ said Dad, as Pierre’s parents looked increasingly confused.
‘A truly Christian act,’ said Father Hogan.
‘From Achill Island, I believe?’ Dad said.
‘A beautiful spot,’ said the priest.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I –’ said Jean.
‘Dad, Father Hogan, could I borrow you for a minute?’ I interrupted. Then, pulling them aside, I whispered, ‘Don’t bring up Molly. They’re still really upset about it and Pierre said it’s best not to ask them about her. It’s too raw.’
‘OK, not another word,’ they agreed.
I hurried over to find Pierre, who was sandwiched between three aunties.
‘The head cut off Harry Belafonte. Nuala was right,’ Auntie Pauline said.
‘Better-looking,’ said Auntie Katie.
‘Ladies, please, you’re embarrassing me now.’ Pierre laughed.
‘Do we call you “Professor”?’ asked Auntie Teresa, giggling like a schoolgirl. My fiancé had certainly made a strong impression on them.
He saw me. ‘There she is, the love of my life. Am I a lucky man or what?’
‘You don’t need to lay it on quite so thick,’ I said, rolling my eyes.
‘He’s a ticket,’ said Auntie Pauline.
‘Very easy on the eye,’ said Auntie Katie.
‘Intelligent too,’ said Auntie Teresa.
‘You forget he’s black after a while,’ said Auntie Pauline, as I cringed.
‘Pauline!’ said the other two aunties. ‘You can’t say that.’
‘It’s OK, I’ll take it as the compliment it was meant to be,’ said Pierre.
‘Sorry to interrupt but I need to borrow Pierre,’ I said, grabbing his arm.
‘Ah, she can’t keep her hands off you,’ said Auntie Katie.
‘Sorry about that,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘The thing my aunt just said.’
‘She meant it as a compliment. Their generation says what our generation thinks but is afraid to say. Now, what’s up?’
‘You’ve got to get your parents out of here. Dad and Father Hogan are giving them the third degree about Molly.’
‘Bloody hell, not that again.’
‘They’re really confused. They must think Dad and Father Hogan are bonkers.’ I giggled.
‘I think they’ll be too pissed to notice. I’ve never seen them so drunk. Come on, let’s rescue them.’ Pierre and I swooped in, then steered Fleur and Jean to the front door.
While we were waiting for their taxi to arrive, Jean passed out in a chair, and Fleur said, ‘You’re very lucky to have such a big warm family, Niamh. It makes life easier when you have back-up support like that. If anything happened to Jean I’d be alone in the world.’
‘Maman, don’t be silly, you’d come and live with me and Niamh,’ said Pierre, as I froze.
She might have shown a human side tonight but there was no way in hell she was moving in with us.
‘Thank you, darling, you’re such a wonderful son. I’m going to miss you so much. I really did a terrific job raising you,’ said the self-congratulator.
Thankfully, before Pierre could start booking one-way tickets to Vancouver for his mother, the taxi arrived. While my fiancé helped his father into one side, I helped Fleur into the other. As I was closing the car door she said, ‘Grey is really not your colour. You’re too pale for it. I suggest you stick to pastels.’
I closed the door firmly on her and breathed a sigh of relief as they were driven away.
‘Well, at least the first meeting of the parents is over with,’ said Pierre, putting his arm round me. ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘It’s only twenty to one,’ I said.
‘That’s the latest my parents have been out in about ten years,’ said Pierre. ‘To be honest, darling, I think I might go too. It’s been a long few days of interrogation.’
‘Pierre, if you leave now, you’ll be for ever branded a party-pooper. No matter how hard you throw yourself into parties down the line, you’ll always be known as the guy who left his own engagement party early. And that’s worse than being agnostic. You have to stick it out. In about five minutes the sing-song will begin and you’ll be forced to sing a song.’
‘I can’t sing.’
‘That’s irrelevant. No one cares how bad your voice is as long as you take part with enthusiasm.’
‘Oh, God,’ he moaned. ‘It’s like an endurance test. By the way, my parents are completely confused about the Molly thing. We’re going to have to come up with a solution to it.’
‘Sorted. I told everyone that your parents were still grieving and not to ask any questions.’
‘Nice work, partner.’
‘I aim to please.’
As Pierre leant in to kiss me, Uncle Neil grabbed our shoulders. ‘Come on in here for a sing-song,’ he said.
And so the singing began. Two hours later Pierre was finally allowed to leave, having been forced to sing every song that was ever written with a mention of Ireland in it. He was hoarse, tired, a little drunk, but happy. ‘I think it went quite well,’ he croaked.
‘They loved you,’ I said. ‘They only let the keepers sing!’
44
Three weeks later, after sitting through four hours of the pre-marriage course, Pierre flipped when they came to the section about family planning.
‘You have got to be joking,’ he hissed, as I studiously ignored him. ‘Seriously, darling, I can’t take any more. I can’t sit here and listen to this pair telling me how to procreate. Can we please leave?’
‘I think it’s really interesting.’ I smirked.
‘It’s torture. Now, come on, I’ve done my bit. Surely you won’t get excommunicated for leaving a bit early?’
‘OK, pretend you’re feeling sick,’ I whispered, as Pierre stood up abruptly, saying he was feeling unwell and needed some fresh air.
‘I’ll come with you to make sure you’re OK,’ I said, bustling out.
We ran straight into Father Hogan.
‘Is it over already?’ he asked, peering at his watch.
‘Uhm, not quite. We just had to pop out. Pierre was feeling a bit –’
‘Claustrophobic.’ The priest laughed.
‘Actually, yes,’ he admitted.
‘It can be a bit intense in a one-day session, but there’s no harm in having some time to reflect on the journey ahead.’
‘We enjoyed it, Father, it was worth coming to. Thanks for organizing it,’ I jumped in, not wanting him to think we were ungrateful heathens.
‘It was very enlightening,’ said Pierre.
‘Excellent. That’s all we can hope for,’ said the priest. ‘Well, I’d best be off. I’ll see you both soon to discuss the ceremony.’
As he walked away, Pierre sighed. ‘Why didn’t we go to Vegas?’
‘Because you’re a good guy, you want to make me happy, and you didn’t want to incur the wrath of my father and his three mad brothers.’
‘OK, but that’s it. I’m done with the religious side.’
‘Fine. Now we just need to run through a few of the wedding details.’
‘Can’t they
wait until later? I’d like to have a non-wedding afternoon, watching sport and drinking a couple of beers.’
‘We’re getting married in three weeks. We don’t have time to lounge around,’ I said, dragging him up the driveway of our house.
‘I’m happy to leave the flowers and all that up to you.’
‘Well, we need to talk about the guest list.’
‘I gave you mine last week.’
‘Yes, I know. I wondered if you wanted to add a few people to it.’
‘I thought we were keeping it small.’
I studied my shoes. ‘Yes, we are, but Mum and Dad have invited a few more than expected, so if you or your parents wanted to add some names to the list that would be fine.’
‘How many people have your parents invited?’ he asked, sitting down in the kitchen as I put the kettle on.
‘About eighty,’ I said, blushing.
‘Lying to your fiancé is not conducive to a good marriage,’ Pierre said, wagging a finger at me. ‘Give me the real figure. I can take it.’
‘Two hundred and twenty-three,’ I admitted.
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘One of my cousins mightn’t be able to make it.’
‘That’s a relief. For a minute there I thought it was going to be a circus.’
‘They’ve always wanted a big wedding and Siobhan’s was such a rush that they only got to invite a small number. They want everyone this time.’
‘Everyone they’ve ever met,’ he grumbled. ‘It’ll look ridiculous – twenty people on my side of the church and two hundred and twenty-three on yours.’
‘I’ll lend you some of mine.’
Siobhan came in. ‘I’ve just been to pick up the bridesmaid’s dress. It’s gorgeous. She’ll have the flower girls’ ones ready in a few days’ time.’
My sister had volunteered herself as my bridesmaid and her five daughters as my flower girls. She had also taken it upon herself to organize the dresses without consulting me. She had asked in passing if I liked pink, and when I said, ‘Not really,’ she ordered it anyway.
‘Let me see,’ I said, handing Pierre his coffee.
She pulled the dress out of the bag. It was a big meringuelike creation made of fuchsia pink satin. The underskirts were pale pink netting and the bodice was covered with pale pink lace.
Whose Life is it Anyway? Page 28
