A Perfect Match Page 10

  ‘Everything all right here?’

  I swivelled around to see Dervla glaring at me. Damn, me and my big mouth.

  14

  Lucy, Jess and I met up to see the ring Donal had proposed with and to discuss the wedding plans. I was interested to see what Donal had chosen in terms of ring, although the fact that Lucy hadn’t changed it meant it must be nice. Lucy had grown up looking at her mother’s large diamonds and, as a result, had expensive taste in jewellery. She put out her hand and grinned at us.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s the rock of Gibraltar!’ I said, staring at the most enormous solitaire I have ever seen.

  ‘The only advantage of getting hitched when you are an old and wrinkled thirty-five year old who has resigned herself to a life on the shelf is that the guy tends to have more dosh than he had at twenty-five,’ laughed Lucy.

  ‘Do you think it’s too late for me to upgrade?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Your ring?’ said Lucy.

  ‘Yep. Tony wanted to buy me a bracelet after I had Roy, but I told him to wait until I’d lost the twenty stone I put on, before buying me anything. Now that I see Lucy’s whopper I wouldn’t mind upgrading my engage­ment ring instead of getting a bracelet. Is it mean, though? Am I being really unsentimental about it?’

  I looked down at my ring. It was three small diamonds in a row. It had been James’s grandmother’s ring and he had handed it to me as if it was the Hope Diamond itself. I was a little disappointed at the size of the diamonds – I’m talking small here, not medium, but I’d never want to change it because of what it meant to him and to me. It was sentimental. I had, I confess, wished his grandmother had opted for larger, sparklier diamonds – but I loved the ring for everything it represented.

  Jess looked at me. ‘Well, Emma, you’re stuck with yours because it was his granny’s, but d’you think I could change mine without upsetting Tony?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think Tony would mind,’ I said.

  ‘Me too,’ Lucy agreed.

  ‘Fuck him, he wouldn’t even notice. Men are all the same – selfish. It’s the mothers that bring up the kids single bloody handedly,’ snapped Jess.

  Lucy and I stared at her. This wasn’t like Jess at all. She looked up and seeing our faces, blushed.

  ‘God, listen to me. I’m like a bitter old witch. Sorry, guys. I’m spending far too much time at home watching daytime TV or having coffee with my baby group mums. All they do is give out about their husbands being lazy, selfish and unhelpful. In the beginning I thought they were really disloyal and negative, but it seems to have rubbed off a bit. I think I need to go back to work or do a course or something. If the conversation isn’t about bad husbands, au-pairs or nannies, it’s about jewellery, designer clothes and cars. I swear last week we spent two hours talking about jeeps – which was the best one to get, blah blah blah. When Tony came home I told him I needed a BMW jeep for the kids. I demanded one.’

  ‘What did he say?’ I asked.

  ‘He handed me the job section of the paper and said he needed a Ferrari.’

  We laughed.

  ‘Seriously, though, I can see myself turning into one of those dissatisfied women who spend all their time wanting more. They become obsessed with material things, using them as some kind of status symbol because it’s the only way they have of being somebody. I need a job.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ said Lucy, ‘and pronto by the sounds of it, before you go off your rocker.’

  ‘Speaking of rocks,’ I said, ‘let’s talk about this rock and this wedding.’ It was Lucy’s night and I wanted to make sure we didn’t end up talking about Jess’s job potential for the rest of the evening. I’d call her tomorrow and discuss it with her then. ‘OK, Lucy, when and where?’

  ‘Well – not that I’ve been thinking about it much or trawling the Internet for wedding venues or buying bridal magazines by the truck-load or anything – but I did happen to come across a lovely country manor about an hour’s drive from Dublin called Perryside Lodge. It looks gorgeous.’

  ‘Oh my God, I did a wedding there last year. It’s an amazing location. It’d be perfect,’ I said.

  ‘And small,’ said Lucy. ‘I want a small wedding. Small and intimate. And … I want you two to be my witnesses. I’m not having bridesmaids, so don’t worry, there’ll be no hideous bridesmaid dresses. You can wear what you want.’

  I confess I was put out. I had expected to have a starring role, not a joint one with Jess. After all I was Lucy’s best friend and I had set her up with Donal. I know it’s ridiculous at this age to be huffy about jobs at weddings, but I couldn’t help it. James was the best man and I had expected to be the best woman. I was the gel in this threesome. I was the one who was more friendly with both Jess and Lucy. They rarely met up on their own. I was best friend to both, specifically Lucy, and I didn’t fancy sharing centre stage with Jess. As Lucy talked about the guest list, I told myself to get a grip and stop being so pathetic. I smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘… so it’ll be just sixty people, mostly friends.’

  ‘Have you told Annie yet?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Nope. I asked Donal to wait a while, so I could enjoy it all before he tells her and she goes ballistic. He agreed straight away, so he’s obviously nervous about telling her himself. To be honest I’m just blocking that little problem out at the moment. It’s going to be a nightmare. Anyway, we’re thinking of getting hitched end of November/December time. What d’you reckon?’

  ‘Sounds great. Another bottle?’ said Jess, getting up to buy more wine.

  While she was gone, Lucy leant over. ‘You know you’re my best woman. I just didn’t want Jess to feel left out. I want you to say a few words on my behalf. I owe all this to you. If it wasn’t for you pushing me to go on that date with Donal, I’d still be sitting at home, alone and miserable.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said, thrilled. ‘As for Donal, you made it work all on your own and you deserve every bit of happiness that comes’ your way. Are you sure you want me to speak? I’m not very good at public speaking. I told you what a disaster I was at the adoption meeting.’

  ‘Positive. You’ll be great. And thanks for being such a brilliant friend,’ said Lucy, getting a bit weepy.

  I hugged her. This was great. James and I could do a double act. Best man and best woman speech combined. He could say a few words, then I’d come in with a funny one-liner and so on. We’d have them rolling in the aisles.

  Jess came back with the drinks and we discussed the wedding dress. Lucy didn’t want anything flouncy. She wanted cream and streamlined. With her figure she could wear a white sheet and still look good.

  ‘So has your mum met him yet?’ asked Jess, grinning.

  Lucy’s mother was an appalling snob. If ever a woman had delusions of grandeur it was Mrs Hogan. As an only child whose father had done a runner when she was five, Lucy should have been close to her mother – but she wasn’t. Her mother drove her bananas. Mrs Hogan was desperate for Lucy to marry some polo-playing toff with a summer house in St Tropez. Due to the substantial alimony she received from Lucy’s father, Mrs Hogan lived in a large house on the outskirts of Dublin and spent most of her time lunching with other like-minded snobs. Lucy had kept Donal a secret from her mother, not even telling her when she moved in with him. So to say that Mrs Hogan was in for a shock when her only child turned up engaged to an unknown entity, was an understatement.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucy, cringing at the memory, ‘it was horrendous.’

  Lucy told us she had called in to her mother to fill her in on the romance after they got engaged. Before asking her anything about Donal, Mrs Hogan had grabbed Lucy’s hand to see the size and quality of the ring and was suitably impressed. Only then did she ask her daugh­ter about her fiance. Who was he? Who were his parents? What did he do for a living?

  ‘… you can imagine how that went. I told her his name was Donal Brady and he was a professional athlete. She, of course, living in lala land,
thought I meant he was a polo player. When I told her he was a rugby player and his parents were Mr and Mrs Brady from Ballydrum, she nearly passed out.’

  ‘Ballydrum?’ whispered Mrs Hogan. ‘What is that? A village?’

  ‘It’s a town outside limerick.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucy, this has got to be a joke. Over my dead body are you marrying a small town boy who plays rugby for a living.’

  ‘Mum, I’m marrying Donal whether you like it or not. So you better take that look off your face and start being happy for me,’ said Lucy, as firmly as she could, trying not to shout. She didn’t want her mother thinking there was any room for manoeuvre. She needed to stress that this was a done deal.

  ‘There’s no need to raise your voice, it’s very unladylike. What do you mean by professional rugby player? What does he do exactly?’ she said, wrinkling up her nose.

  ‘He plays rugby. He’s the captain of the Leinster team. He’s really good. The team are really well thought of.’

  If he’s so good, why isn’t he playing for the Irish team?’

  ‘Because there’s a younger guy who is just a bit better than him that plays the same position.’

  ‘How much does he earn?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘How does he plan to support you? He can’t play rugby for ever.’

  ‘He’ll probably become a coach or maybe get into sports broadcasting.’

  ‘It all sounds a bit vague, Lucy. Is he handsome at least?’

  ‘He’s really tall and has a brilliant personality and I think he’s very attractive.’

  ‘What does his father do? Is he a rugby player too?’

  ‘He owns a shop.’

  ‘What kind of shop?’

  ‘A sweet shop.’

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me? Are you pregnant? Is that it? Tell me the truth.’

  ‘No, I am not. Look, Mum, I’m in love with a guy who thinks I’m fantastic too.’

  ‘Does he realize who you are?’

  ‘Who am I?’

  ‘Gerald Hogan’s daughter and heiress to a substantial fortune. Mark my words it’s your money he’s interested in. This boy’s career is almost over and suddenly he wants to get married.’

  ‘Is it really so hard to believe that a man wants to marry me because of me?’

  ‘Lucy, you’re beautiful and successful. You come from a highly regarded family and you must realize you’re quite a catch. Don’t settle for second best.’

  ‘If I’m such a catch, then how come it took me thirty-five years to find the guy I want to marry? As for our highly regarded family – really, Mum, look in the mirror. I come from a broken home where my mother still lives in the past and my father lives with his girlfriend on a different continent. I’m the lucky one – Donal comes from a normal, stable and loving family.’

  ‘You deserve more. I want more for you, Lucy, I always have.’

  ‘No, Mum, you want more for yourself. I’ve found what I was looking for and I’m going home to be with him. I’d like you to come up for dinner on Friday to meet him, but only if you promise to be nice. Think about it and call me.’

  Lucy finished telling the story and shook her head.

  ‘So what happened when they met?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, Mum arrived up, dressed from head to toe in Chanel, dripping in diamonds, fur coat – the lot. Donal answered the door, “Lucy, your twin sister is here.” ’

  ‘Oh God, he didn’t!’ said Jess and I in unison.

  ‘Oh, yes he did,’ said Lucy, rolling her eyes.

  Mrs Hogan glared at Donal.

  ‘Aren’t you a bit old for that nonsense?’

  ‘Come on in, Mrs Hogan, you’re very welcome. Can I take your coat?’ said Donal, trying a less cheesy approach.

  ‘So you’re Donal, the rugby player,’ she said, loftily. ‘And you imagine you’re going to marry my daughter? I gather you’re from some town near Limerick.’

  Donal was, for once, speechless. He could see that no matter what he did, he wasn’t going to change this woman’s pre-conceived opinion of him – she clearly thought he was pond scum.

  ‘Yes, Ballydrum. Will you have a drink?’

  ‘A dry white wine – if you have such a thing.’

  ‘I think I might have an old bottle of Blue Nun out the back,’ said Donal, hamming it up.

  ‘I have one or two questions I’d like answers to. How do you expect to support my daughter when your rugby career ends?’

  ‘Oh, that’s all sorted out, I’m going to stay at home and mind the kids while Lucy goes to work. I’m a big fan of daytime television,’ said Donal, as he left to find Lucy who was hiding in the kitchen.

  ‘Well? How’s it going?’ she asked.

  ‘I think she’d rather you contracted leprosy than marry me.’

  ‘… and that’s pretty much how the evening went. Mum needling Donal, and Donal playing it up. So I think it’s safe to say we won’t be going on family holidays together,’ said Lucy, shrugging.

  ‘Are you OK about it?’ I asked.

  ‘Let’s face it, Mum wasn’t going to approve of anyone I married – unless it was Prince Charles. She’ll get over it and when she gets to know him, she’ll like him. It’s just going to take a while and Donal doesn’t make the best first impression either.’

  ‘What about your dad, what did he say?’

  ‘Dad thinks it’s brilliant. He can’t believe I’m marrying a rugby player. Donal is the son he always dreamt of having. They’ve been on the phone a couple of times already analysing matches. They’re best of buddies, so at least he’s happy. And I’m happy so what the hell … Mum’ll come around eventually.’

  ‘A toast,’ I said, raising my glass. ‘To Lucy’s six foot four toy boy from Ballydrum.’

  15

  Three weeks after our first adoption meeting, we were back for session two. I had cut out several articles I’d seen in magazines and newspapers about adoption and racism. I was determined to impress Dervla and Yvonne with my diligence. I wanted us to be the number one couple in the class so that there was no chance of us getting turned down.

  When everyone had arrived and settled down, Dervla asked us if we had seen anything in the media that we’d like to discuss. Before I had the chance to say ‘yes’, Brendan shot out of his chair and said he’d like to share some of his findings with the class. With the help of Joy and his laptop computer, he gave us a power point presentation on the relevant articles that had featured in die news. He had pie charts comparing and contrasting television media coverage with radio and print media. He had bar charts that demonstrated the different demographics being targeted by the various media forms. Relevant headlines flashed before us as Joy handed out summaries of their findings in personalized colour-coded folders. Dervla looked impressed, while the rest of us sank back in our chairs, stuffing our newspaper cuttings into our pockets, feeling deflated. Brendan and Joy were a formidable team.

  We were then shown a video. This time it was about race and culture. Black and Asian children who had been adopted by white couples spoke about their experiences. They explained that although as a child you may not be aware of how different you are, as an adult, things can become very complicated. Your sense of belonging is taken away and you feel different everywhere – both in the place you were brought up in and in the place you came from originally. They spoke about adoption bereavement – being taken from your birth parents, your country and your culture and thrown into a new society.

  When the video ended, Yvonne and Dervla asked us to think about loss in our own lives. They asked us to do up a loss chart of all the loved ones we had lost or of the loss we already felt because we weren’t able to have children or any losses we had felt strongly in our youth.

  ‘Don’t worry about your loss seeming insignificant. Everyone has different levels of loss. Just be honest and put down what you feel,’ said Yvonne, smiling at us as we stared blankly at her. ‘OK, start writing wha
tever comes into your head. It can be any kind of loss at all.’

  I chewed the end of my pen and concentrated. All my grandparents died before I was born except my Granny Burke. But she had suffered from Alzheimer’s and died when I was four. My only memory of her is going with Dad to visit her in the home she was in. She kept saying, ‘Hello, my name’s Gretta’ over and over again. At four this seemed hilarious instead of sad. So, in terms of people, I hadn’t really lost anyone close to me. Garfield kept springing to mind. I know he was just a cat, but I had loved him and he’d been around for most of my youth. We got him when I was six and he got smushed by a truck when I was seventeen and just beginning to lose interest in him. I had been upset when he died. I remember the night very well. Garfield got run over and, despite my grief, I bravely carried on and went to Rory Lawlor’s party, where I smoked pot for the first time. It was a great night, I thought I was mad – a regular sex, drugs and rock’n’roll chick. The other loss I remembered feeling was the day of my first Holy Communion. I was seven and Mum had pulled out all the stops with my dress. It was snow white with puff sleeves and a big hoop skirt. I had gloves and a bag to match. I thought I was hot to trot. As I was coming down the stairs and Dad was whistling at me while he took photos, I slipped and hit my mouth off the banisters, knocking out my two front teeth. I ended up arriving at my Holy Communion – late, with bloodstains all over my dress and no front teeth. Now I realize it may seem a bit lame in light of what I had just been watching on the video, but I couldn’t think of anything else, so I scribbled those two down.

  Never, in my wildest dreams did I think we would then be swapping ‘loss charts’ and reading each other’s out. Dervla collected them and then one by one chose someone to read another person’s chart. Carole’s losses were read out first by Denis. Carole had had a shocker – she had lost her mother when she was twelve. Then, on the eve of her twenty-first birthday her best friend suffered a brain tumour and died. She had also endured three miscarriages.

  Jesus Christ, I had to get my loss chart out of there. I began to sweat. I couldn’t let anyone see mine. They were ridiculous. I thought it was only for ourselves. Oh God, how was I going to get out of this one? I’d faint. I’d pretend to have a dizzy spell and then hopefully that would distract them. Just as I began to swoon, Dervla called Gary up to read my chart and everyone turned to smile at me and give nods of encouragement. Shit!