A Perfect Match Page 17

  I was reeling. My God, by the end of these visits, she’d know more about us than anyone else did. I was worried that James would tell her that I’d been a bit of a lunatic on the fertility drugs the year before. I glanced over at him. He was sipping his coffee and I could tell by his face that he was thinking about the bloody Rugby match. He was miles away. I kicked him under the table.

  Dervla went on to say that one of the home-study sessions would require us to be interviewed separately. I didn’t like the sound of that. I’d have to coach James to make sure we had the same answers to all potential questions. Then Dervla said she’d like to look around the house. As we moved from room to room, she jotted down notes on her pad, which I tried to read, but couldn’t. She didn’t exactly whoop when she saw the spare room with all the cuddly toys and the baby books. She just kept scribbling on her stupid pad and nodding from time to time. Her silence made me nervous so I twittered on about nothing as we walked around the house. I asked her if she had any children of her own.

  ‘No, none.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘No, and I’m really not here to talk about myself. We need to keep focused on you and James,’ she said, turning her back on me to end the conversation.

  Hardly bloody surprising she wasn’t married, I thought, with a personality like that. We went back downstairs and Dervla asked us to talk about why we wanted to adopt. Before I had a chance to open my mouth, James was off. He told her that after trying for two years to get pregnant and undergoing several different types of fertility treatment, we had decided to adopt a child.

  ‘Emma was getting very down as the treatments continued to fail and the drugs she was on were making her very moody and upset, so we decided to pack it in and get back to having a normal life and a sex life that wasn’t ruled by a thermometer,’ said James, laughing as I turned purple from embarrassment and rage. What was he doing? She didn’t need to know all this. Him and his big mouth. I glared at him.

  ‘How’s your sex life now? Would you describe it as healthy?’ asked Dervla.

  I decided to jump in and do some damage control. ‘It’s great actually. Very healthy thanks. It was fine when we were trying to have a baby too, just a bit regimented I suppose. No big deal.’

  ‘How often would you have sex?’

  Nosy cow. Why the hell was she so interested in our sex life? What difference did that make to our child?

  ‘We’re always at it. At least twice a day,’ said the court jester as I rubbed my nose.

  ‘Ha, ha,’ I said, in a lame pretence that I found my husband amusing. ‘No seriously, our sex life is fine,’ I added, trying desperately to decide what a ‘healthy’ amount of sex was. Should we be hanging from the rafters every night? Or should we be only doing it the odd time. Too much would look self-indulgent and she might think we’d be too busy having sex to bring up our child. Too little would make it seem as if we weren’t attracted to each other and that our marriage might be on the rocks. I opted for middle ground. ‘We have sex on average three times a week.’

  On hearing this blatant lie, James began to choke on his coffee as he tried not to laugh. Luckily I was on hand to thump him on the back – which I did with gusto. While James recovered his breath and dodged my thumps, Dervla began to leaf through our file until she came across an all too familiar looking letter.

  ‘I see from your correspondence that you are willing to adopt siblings,’ she said.

  Shit! I had completely forgotten about the letter I’d written to the adoption people shortly after applying, telling them we’d be happy to adopt a whole family of children – I may have even said a whole village, I couldn’t remember. Damn, I hadn’t mentioned it to James and now he was sitting there looking stunned.

  ‘Oh yes, that letter I sent. Well, I was probably being a bit hasty,’ I said, trying to backtrack. ‘It would be nice to have a ready-made family in one go, but I realize now that it might be difficult to manage more than one child at a time, especially if they’re sick or damaged in any way. I see now that it would be better for us to adopt one at a time.’

  ‘How do you feel about adopting more than one child, James?’

  ‘I think perhaps Emma was being over-enthusiastic as is her wont,’ said Judas. ‘I think one child at a time is quite sufficient.’

  Dervla made notes as I silently cursed myself. James looked at me, eyebrows raised. I mouthed, sorry.

  ‘Would you like to adopt a boy or a girl or are you open to either?’

  ‘Either,’ we both said in unison. At least we agreed on something.

  ‘We really don’t mind. We just want a healthy little baby,’ I said.

  ‘The child may not be healthy though, you must be aware of that,’ said the voice of doom.

  ‘We know about the pitfalls, but we feel that we’ll be able to cope. We have a lot of family support and we’ll obviously get any medical expertise that is required,’ I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. I was terrified of ending up with a baby who was terminally ill or so emotionally scarred that they spent all day banging their head off the wall like the little boy in the video they had shown us.

  Thankfully, it seemed to be the right answer because Dervla didn’t pursue the line of questioning. I telt as if we were on trial. I was afraid to say anything that might upset our chances.

  ‘Do you get the opportunity to spend much time with children?’ asked Dervla.

  ‘Yes. My brother Henry has three children. Thomas who’s four and twin girls – Sophie and Luisa – who will be two in a couple of months. They spent Christmas with us this year, so we had some good practice. We had great fun, but we were exhausted after they left, weren’t we, darling?’ said James.

  I frowned at him. I didn’t want Dervla to think we were worn out after spending one measly week with three children. She’d think we were pathetic.

  ‘Not really, we were more invigorated than tired,’ I said, attempting to do some damage control. ‘I was particularly pleased to get to spend quality time with my godchild Sophie.’

  ‘How would you describe your relationship with your nephew and nieces?’

  ‘Very good,’ I jumped in before James could tell her how much I loathed Thomas. ‘They are all lovely children, although I must confess I’m particularly attached to Sophie, who I adore. She’s beautiful and very placid. She’s just perfect,’ I said wistfully.

  ‘Tell me, Emma, when you were having fertility treatment did you get very depressed?’

  ‘No, not at all. When James said I got a bit down, he just meant that I was a bit fed up about taking the drugs because the side effects were a bit unpleasant. But I certainly wouldn’t use the word depressed. God, no. I’m a very positive upbeat person. There is no history of depression in my family – none at all.’ I didn’t want her thinking we were all suicidal maniacs.

  ‘OK, well how did the failure to have a child affect your relationship? It’s a very stressful time for couples,’ said Dervla, showing a human side. ‘Did it cause tension between you?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Not tension,’ said James. ‘But it did take over our lives. It was all-encompassing which was difficult at times.’

  At this stage I had practically rubbed my nose off; clearly James was going to ignore our code, so I gave up and let him talk.

  ‘But I can honestly say that the experience has made us closer. In a world where people are having children every day, it can be very isolating when you are struggling with it. I admire Emma so much for what she went through. I would say without a doubt that our relationship has strengthened and deepened because of it.’

  Sometimes you forget how much you love someone. I could feel a lump forming in my throat as James finished speaking. I willed it away. Now was not the time to cry. Even Dervla looked impressed. She actually smiled at him.

  ‘Is that the way you feel too, Emma?’ she asked gently.

  I nodded. It was exactly the wav I felt.

&nbs
p; 24

  James and the team flew to London the day after the home visit. The rest of us flew out two days later, on the eve of the match. Dad collected me and we drove out to the airport. I got into the car and sat beside Babs, who I was still furious with.

  ‘This is all very exciting,’ said Mum, turning around in the front seat. ‘I can’t remember the last time we went away together. How’s poor James? Up to ninety, I suppose.’

  ‘He seems OK,’ I said. ‘He seemed more nervous before the semi-final which is a bit weird.’

  ‘Well, you have to understand, this final is the farthest Leinster have ever got, so he’s already broken a record,’ said Dad. ‘If they win it’ll be fantastic, but even if they don’t, he has achieved an incredible feat in only two years. He’s some coach.’

  ‘Is Peter going to be playing?’ Babs asked, suddenly taking an interest in the team, now that she had shagged both Donal and Peter.

  I ignored her.

  ‘Helloooo, Emma, I’m talking to you.’

  ‘Sod off. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing coming over for the match.’

  ‘My boyfriend, Peter, is on the team.’

  ‘Boyfriend!’ I snorted. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since the semi-final. We’ve been out every night, he’s mad about me.’

  ‘Are you talking about Barbara’s new boyfriend?’ said Mum, looking very pleased. ‘He seems like a lovely young lad. Very talented too. Will he be playing d’you think?’

  ‘No. Donal will,’ I snapped.

  ‘Yeah, well, if he plays as badly as he did in the semis James’ll have to take him off again and Peter will get on,’ said Babs.

  ‘If Donal hadn’t been so riddled with guilt, he wouldn’t have played so badly.’

  ‘What was he guilty about?’ asked Mum.

  ‘He just did something silly,’ I said.

  ‘He had the best night of his life,’ said Babs, ‘that’s why he was so distracted.’

  ‘What did he do?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, glaring at Babs, who was smirking at me.

  ‘Isn’t he engaged to your Lucy?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Yes, he is, Mum, and they are very happy and very in love.’

  ‘Ah, that’s nice to hear.’

  Babs made sick noises.

  ‘Even you’ll fall in love someday, Barbara,’ said Mum. ‘Look at Lucy and Donal.’

  ‘I’d love to end up with a guy like Donal. He’s so … what’s the word, Emma?’ she said beaming at me. ‘Oh yeah, faithful. He’s so faithful and loyal.’

  ‘Enough,’ said Dad. ‘Where is my son when I need him? I can’t listen to any more of this drivel. Can we please talk about the match?’

  ‘OK, Dad. Who’s going to win?’ I asked.

  ‘I think Leinster will do it. Edinburgh have a slight advantage in that their backrow is quicker, but I think –’

  ‘Has Lucy got her dress yet?’ asked Mum as Dad thumped the steering wheel in frustration.

  Lucy was waiting for us when we got to the airport. I was nervous about leaving Babs alone with her, so I glued myself to Lucy’s side and ordered Babs to sit at the other end of the plane. Dad rushed into the bar and had a testosterone filled thirty minutes talking to other Leinster supporters about the game.

  We landed and went straight to the hotel. Sean was going to meet us there for a drink. Dad was delighted to be staying in the team hotel. He was getting a lot of kudos from the supporters for being father-in-law to the coach. He was in his element. James and Donal were with Sean in the bar when we arrived. They were drinking orange juices and looking nervous. Dad plonked himself down between them to get the inside track into the planned tactics for the final. When Donal saw Babs strut into the lounge with Lucy, he nearly passed out. He looked at me, panic stricken, and I tilted my head towards Peter. Relief flooded his face when Babs went and wrapped herself around Peter. Poor old Peter, he was clearly besotted with her. I could see him hanging on her every word. Still, I thought, at least he was keeping her away from Donal.

  Every time I tried to talk to James a supporter would come up and thump him on the back to wish him luck or quiz him on the game-plan or proffer advice. His phone rang constantly as everyone he had ever known called to wish him luck. The atmosphere in the hotel bar was fantastic. Word had got out where the team were staying and supporters arrived in their droves. At tenthirty James ordered the team to bed. They left to the sound of cheers and whoops. I followed James upstairs as Dad, Sean and the other supporters got stuck in for a long night of singing and drinking.

  Donal and Lucy got the litt up with us and as we parted to go to our rooms, Donal and James shook hands grimly.

  ‘Sleep well, captain, big day tomorrow.’

  ‘You too, coach, and, don’t worry, the lads are all fired up. We’re going to win it for you.’

  Lucy and I had to look away. Donal and James were not the touchy-feely emotional types … it was a bit like in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid when Robert Redford (how good did he look in that movie!) and Paul Newman (likewise) jumped off the cliff together. I suppose the female equivalent was when Thelma and Louise drove over the cliff in the car – except that Donal and James weren’t in a life-threatening situation.

  When we got to the room, James collapsed on the bed. He looked shattered.

  ‘Are you all right? You look exhausted,’ I said, snuggling up to him.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, I just haven’t been sleeping much. I’m completely wired. I can’t believe we’re in the final. The final, Emma. Who would have thought when I took over in the middle of the season last year that we’d make it this far.’

  ‘It’s amazing, James. I’m really proud of you. You deserve every bit of it, you’ve worked so hard.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s been worth it. Look what the boys gave me tonight at dinner,’ he said, fishing a package out of his pocket. It was a silver stopwatch and on the back it said: To Coach – use this to time our victory lap tomorrow. From the Squad.

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely.’

  ‘Yes, it is rather. I was chuffed to get it. Right, I better work on my speech. I need to really get them going tomorrow before the game. It has to hit the right note,’ he said, settling down with his notepad.

  I knew he’d take ages over it and I wasn’t sleepy so I went back down to the lounge to see Sean. He was sitting with Dad and a crowd of supporters singing ‘Dublin in the Rare Auld Times’. I pulled him away and we sat up at the bar.

  ‘So, how are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Great. You?’

  ‘Fine. How’s Shadee?’

  ‘Very well. Things are really good.’

  ‘Have her parents come round to the idea of an Irish boyfriend?’

  ‘I haven’t managed to totally convert them yet, but I’m working on it. We had them over for dinner last week and it went fairly well.’

  ‘Define “fairly”.’

  ‘Put it this way – I managed to persuade them that I am not an alcoholic, that I didn’t come over to London to plant bombs, that I think all terrorists should be locked up, that I’m not going out with their daughter to shock my family, that I have never been a priest or wanted to be one and that I won’t force Shadee to convert to Catholicism, worship the Pope or change anything about herself.’

  ‘Wow, it must have been a long night.’

  ‘It was. They almost made Mum seem reasonable,’ said Sean, grinning.

  I looked up and saw Babs chatting up some young supporter. ‘She’s unbelievable, Peter has only just gone to bed.’

  ‘Ah, she’s just young and carefree … and a vixen.’

  ‘She’s getting out of control, Sean. She needs to get a job. She has far too much time on her hands,’ I said, sounding alarmingly like my mother.

  ‘Not for long,’ said Sean laughing. ‘Dad told her yesterday that he’s cutting off her allowance as or this month, so she’s going to have to start working.’

  ‘About time. She’s
been sitting on her arse since she graduated.’

  ‘I’m glad you reel that way because she told me she was going to work for you as your assistant. To quote her “slapping make-up on people is easy and pays well, so I’ll just hang around with Emma and learn the ropes before going out on my own”.’

  ‘WHAT? Over my dead body is that little cow coming to work with me,’ I said, raging at the cheek of her to even suggest it.

  ‘What are you giving out about,’ asked Dad, joining us.

  ‘Babs thinking she’s going to work with me.’

  ‘I see. Actually, Emma, I think it’s a very good idea. She looks up to you and it’ll only be for a few weeks until she’s learnt what to do. After that she tells me, she’s off to Hollywood to make up the film stars.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad, but (a) you should have consulted me first and (b) it’s my job we’re talking about here and there is no way I am having that lunatic meeting my clients.’

  ‘She has promised to behave. As a favour to me will you let her do it for a couple of weeks? She has us driven mad at home,’ begged Dad, who had never in his life asked me to do anything for him. ‘Barbara, come over here,’ he shouted.

  ‘What?’ she asked, hands on hips.

  ‘I’ve told Emma that you want to work with her and that you promised to behave yourself and just stay quietly in the background to observe and learn. She’s a bit dubious and who can blame her. Tell her what you told me.’

  ‘Now that Dad’s decided to let me starve I have to get a job. So I’ve decided to learn how to be a make-up artist and it seems stupid to waste money on a course when you do it for a living, so I just want to work with you for a few weeks. It’s no big deal. It’s not like it’s rocket science, I’ll pick it up in no time. And, don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you or show you up.’