A Perfect Match Page 4

  ‘Hello, good day?’ said James, kissing the top of my head.

  ‘Mmmm, yeah, just reading up about the Hague Convention, pretty interesting stuff.’

  ‘Absolutely key to the protection and well-being of children, as is the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child,’ lectured James, as he opened the fridge. Thankfully he was distracted by the meagre sight of a crusty chunk of cheddar cheese and an out of date Miiller light yoghurt. ‘OK, well it looks like it’s going to have to be pizza.’

  ‘Sorry, I meant to go to the shops on the way home, but Amanda asked me to stay on and do her make-up for some dinner she was going to tonight.’

  Amanda Nolan was the host of Afternoon with Amanda, which was Ireland’s version of Oprah – except the guests tended not to be glamorous Hollywood stars. Amanda’s guests were more often than not members of the Irish Country Women’s Association or local politicians and C-list celebs. I had been doing her make-up for the show for the past couple of years. It was regular work and although some people, including my mother, thought Amanda was a brazen Hussy because she had had an affair with the leader of the opposition party John Bradley, I liked her. She was very direct and always said it like it was, which I found very refreshing.

  James ordered pizza and I went off to meet Jess and Lucy for a drink. We caught up on each other’s news which in mine and Jess’s case wasn’t much. I told them about the adoption application and Jess told us that little Sally was now beginning to talk and little Roy was crawling. Unlike other friends with children, Jess had no interest in regaling us with the details of Sally’s eating patterns or the regularity of Roy’s nappy changes. When she was out with us, she liked to switch off and have a laugh. She was also sensitive to the fact that I had been trying desperately to get pregnant, with no success, and that Lucy wanted a family but was still in the early stages of her relationship.

  ‘So, Lucy, what’s it like living with Donal? Tell us all,’ said Jess.

  ‘Apart from our first-night fiasco, it’s been fine. I do find it a bit weird though, sharing everything with someone else. I’m so used to my own space. I find sharing the bathroom the hardest thing to get used to.’

  ‘Pubic hair in the shower, facial hair in the sink and wet towels on the floor,’ said Jess, giggling.

  Lucy laughed, ‘Exactly. But it’s also the privacy thing. I like to hang out in the bathroom and shave my legs and put on face masks in peace. But the other day as I was soaking merrily in a big bubblebath with a face mask on, Donal came in and’ – Lucy leant forward and whispered – ‘peed in front of me!’

  Jess and I roared laughing.

  ‘It’s disgusting. Is it normal? Am I just being a prude? If I let him pee in front of me now do you think he’ll want to pee on me next? Like golden showers and stuff. Is that how it starts? Was it some form of initiation ceremony for me to get used to the smell and sight of his urine?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘No, it’s just that I did it in front of James and he’s the one who freaked,’ I giggled.

  ‘Tony bolts the door so I can’t get in,’ roared Jess.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucy, beginning to laugh herself, more at us than with us.

  I told her about the time when I first moved in with James and he was brushing his teeth one morning, minding his own business, when I walked in, sat down on the loo and peed. He stopped rigid in mid brush and stared into the mirror. Then, covering his eyes with his left hand, he slowly turned to me:

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ he hissed.

  ‘Peeing,’ I said, smiling up at him. ‘Oh, that’s better, I was bursting. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Mind! Emma, there are certain tasks a man does not want to see his girlfriend performing and that is one of them. Really and truly, it’s just too much information,’ he said, getting all hot and bothered.

  I laughed. ‘What? Does it really bother you? For goodness sake, it’s only natural. I don’t mind in the least if you pee in front of me.’

  ‘I can assure you that will never happen.’

  ‘What about all those years in boarding school with the communal showers and toilets?’

  ‘It was an all-male boarding school. It’s totally different.’

  ‘Did your mum never pee in front of your dad?’ I asked, winding him up.

  ‘Of course she didn’t, my mother wouldn’t dream of it. She’s a lady,’ he said, going all stuffed shirt on me.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, it’s no big deal. It’s not as if I’m peeing on you,’ I said, winking at him.

  ‘Emma, a man thinks of his girlfriend like his mother. Ladylike, precious, with a litde mystery. Having you squatting beside me, pissing like a racehorse when I’m trying to brush my teeth in peace is the most almighty turn off. I moved in with you because you’re my girlfriend. If I wanted to move in with someone who I felt comfort­able peeing with, I’d have moved in with Donal.’

  When Jess and Lucy stopped laughing, Jess told us that Tony had bought a lock for the bathroom door so she couldn’t barge in when he was in the shower and pee in front of him. He was of the James frame of mind – toilet habits should be kept secret and private.

  ‘So how come I’m with the only guy who thinks it’s normal?’

  ‘Because you’re the only one of us who thinks it’s gross,’ I laughed. ‘If Jess or I lived with Donal, we’d spend all day in the bathroom, peeing simultaneously.’

  ‘Did you say anything to him?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Later on, I said I thought we needed a lock for the bathroom door and he said, “No, we don’t. Annie has her own little bathroom, so you don’t have to worry about her coming in on top of you.” So, realizing I’d have to spell it out, I said that I thought we needed one ourselves, for our own bathroom for going to the toilet, etc. “Don’t worry, Lucy,” he said, “if I’m having a shite I’ll keep you posted so you don’t walk in on me.” I suppose I should be grateful because at least I’ll be spared him pooing in front of me,’ said Lucy, laughing despite herself as Jess and I wiped the tears streaming down our cheeks.

  ‘Apart from the peeing, how’s it going?’ I asked.

  ‘Actually, very well. He has given me free reign to do up the house – except for Annie’s room which I’m not going to touch for fear of upsetting her, but when she gets out of boarding school next weekend, I’m going to ask her if she wants to decorate it and offer to pay for it as a house-warming present. The place is beginning to look less like a rugby club and more like a home. I’ve painted it all cream and I’ve ordered beige couches. So far, Donal seems to like it. He won’t let me pay any rent so it’s my way of contributing. It feels weird not to pay my way.’

  ‘That’s the one thing I hate about not working,’ said Jess. ‘Having to ask Tony for handouts every time I want to buy something.’

  ‘Ooooh, that must be hard,’ I said.

  ‘It’s desperate, because all the things you enjoy spending money on like clothes, make-up, massages and hair, have to be accounted for and guys have no idea how much things cost. Tony can’t understand how my highlights cost ioo Euro every six weeks. So I said, fine, then I’ll stop getting the highlights, but don’t complain when you find yourself married to a mousy brown dog.’

  ‘What about clothes?’ I said, unable to imagine explain­ing to James how much money I spent on clothes and shoes. Even now, when I was paying for them out of my own pocket, I lied to him about the quantities. Whenever he asked, ‘Is that new?’ I said – ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve had this old thing for years.’

  ‘Well, now that I’ve finally got back into shape after a mere eight months of starving myself,’ said Jess, rolling her eyes, ‘I’ve started shopping again. But the joy is taken out of it when you have to justify every purchase. I splashed out on a Donna Karan dress last week and Tony found the receipt in the bottom of the bag. I felt like I was fifteen again, explaining to my dad that I needed that Benetton outfit, because otherwise none of the guys at
the disco would ask me to dance.’

  ‘I remember that outfit. It was luminous pink,’ I said, laughing.

  Jess rolled her eyes at the memory of the pink horror. ‘Tony kept saying how I had to curb my spending because we had two kids now and we needed to tighten our belts and money didn’t grow on trees and we were a one salary family and you never know what’s around the corner … eventually I said, “Look, Tony, here’s the deal. While you’re swarming around in your flash office, going for liquid lunches in fancy restaurants, I’m at home wearing old tracksuits and covered in baby puke. So if I decide for the first time in a year to buy a dress that not only fits me, but looks good on me, then I will buy that shagging dress and not feel guilty about it. You should be delighted to see me taking an interest in my appearance. It can’t be much fun coming home to a blob in a tracksuit every day. That’s how affairs start. I’m stuck here with no budget for my highlights or clothes chasing after our children all day. Eventually, I’ll end up getting depressed, turning to food for comfort and putting on three stone. Meanwhile you’re in the office all day with Suzie and Denise the seccies with the bleached hair, tight skirts and stick thin bodies. You’ll end up having an affair while I’m sitting at home in my old clothes looking like shit, with mousy brown hair. So what’s it going to be, Tony? Me, happy in the nice dress or our marriage falling apart?”’

  ‘You’re unbelievable,’ said Lucy. ‘I should be taking notes. What did he say?’

  ‘He said he’d love to meet Suzie and Denise, they sounded fantastic and did I think they’d go for a threesome?’

  6

  A week later we received a letter back from the adoption people thanking us for sending in our application form and giving us a number – 2,527. They said they were currently dealing with applicant number 2,396, so they hoped to get to our application in eight to twelve months’ time. In the meantime they suggested that we do some research into what country we’d like to adopt from. The more information we had, the easier it would be when we came to do our course.

  I sat down at the kitchen table and cried. It could be a full year before we started the process and then what? Another year? Another two years before we got our baby? Why was it so difficult to have a child? We’d already wasted two years trying naturally and now it’d be another two or three years this way. Maybe we should pack it in. Maybe we just weren’t meant to be parents. I blew my nose and looked down at the letter again. Hang on a second, I thought, there may not be any Irish babies available for adoption but there were definitely foreign children crying out for homes. Every time you turned on the TV there was a war on somewhere, with thousands of little orphans stranded in refugee camps or bleak children’s homes. Why the hell was it taking so long? I wasn’t going to take this lying down. Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I looked down at the name on the bottom of the letter. Julie Logan. Right – be afraid, Julie, I thought, as I dialled the number, be very afraid.

  The grumpy receptionist put me through to Julie.

  ‘Hello,’ I barked. ‘Emma Hamilton here. I’ve just received a very unsatisfactory letter from you claiming that I have to wait up to a year until my application can begin. It’s ludicrous.’

  ‘I know it must seem crazy and extremely frustrating,’ said a very softly and kindly spoken Julie. ‘Unfortunately with recent government cutbacks and an increase in people wanting to adopt, we’re struggling to keep up. We’re trying to reduce the waiting time by a couple of months, but it’s an uphill battle. In some areas it’s a two-year wait.’

  She sounded so genuinely sorry and sympathetic that I couldn’t shout at her.

  ‘But it’s so frustrating,’ I groaned.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry about that. The only thing I would suggest is that you decide what country you are going to adopt your child from and do as much research into it as possible. It will be a huge help when you start your course.’

  ‘OK, but what if lots of people suddenly drop out, or if the finance minister gives you loads of dosh in the next budget, will you let me know?’

  ‘I will of course,’ said Julie, laughing, ‘but don’t hold your breath.’

  I’ve been holding my breath for two years I thought glumly. I hung up and sat down. I had two choices: spend the next year feeling frustrated and upset – which is pretty much how I had spent the last two years – or become an expert in my country of choice so that when we got on to the course, we flew through it and would be singled out as the most eager adopters and thus get the nicest baby. We needed to pick a country and start doing our homework.

  I spent the next two hours on the Internet. I logged on to the International Adoption Association of Ireland website and scrolled down through the information. There was a long piece on the Hague Convention which I skipped and then information on the various countries. I chose Russia and China because they seemed to have the most information on those two, and let’s face it they were the two most densely populated countries of choice. If we couldn’t find babies to adopt there, we never would. Besides, if we went through all the countries on the list, we’d never decide.

  When James came in I pounced.

  ‘Listen, we got a letter from the adoption people – it’s up to a year’s wait which is a total pain. It’s because they have no budget. Anyway, in the meantime we have to choose a country – so it’s Russia or China. Which one do you want? Come on, decide now. We haven’t time to be over-analysing it. We need to do loads of research on the country we choose.’

  ‘Hello to you too. If we have a year to wait, why do we need to decide now? It’s not a decision to be taken lightly.’

  ‘China or Russia – which?’ I said, ignoring him.

  ‘Emma,’ said James, taking me by the arm and leading me to the couch, ‘calm down. We’ve loads of time and we need to look at all our options. What about other countries like South America or Vietnam? Why have you narrowed it down to China and Russia?’

  ‘I knew you’d do this,’ I roared, taking all my frustrations out on him. ‘I bloody well knew you’d come home and stick your stupid oar in and start trying to introduce other countries to complicate the issue. I’ve looked at the websites and they are the two most popular countries and they’re jam-packed full of people, plus China has a bi-lingual agreement with Ireland.’

  ‘Bi-lateral.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think you meant bi-lateral agreement.’

  ‘I know what I meant. Why are you trying to confuse the issue? It’s bad enough to have stupid crappy eggs that won’t produce our own baby, without you coming home and trying to force me to adopt a child from some country I’ve never heard of. Choose – Russia or China?’

  ‘China.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the bi-lateral agreement.’

  ‘And what about the fact that there are no other Chinese people in Ireland?’

  ‘Did I miss something here – I thought China was one of your two choices?’

  ‘It is, but when Sean announced he was seeing someone from Iran and I saw my parents’ reaction, I started thinking about the amount of Asian people you see in Ireland. And the bottom line is – there aren’t many at all. Dublin may like to claim it’s very cosmopolitan, but an Asian child would be in a very small minority.’

  Despite what people liked to think, the Celtic Tiger had not made Dublin a melting pot of creeds and cultures. A sprinkling of Asian and Romanian immigrants did not add up to a lively multi-racial society. Besides, I’d grown up looking like everyone else, and had still found it hard to fit in sometimes, so God knows how difficult it would be for an Asian child.

  ‘So, Russia or China?’ I asked again.

  ‘Let’s see, well, of a choice of two you have just ruled out one. So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say Russia.’

  ‘Excellent, we agree then,’ I said smiling.

  ‘It would appear we do,’ said my sarcastic husband. ‘Seeing as how you’re being s
o decisive, who should I play on the wing in next month’s European Cup game – Jeff Mooney or William Murphy?’

  ‘Jeff.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Nicer legs.’

  ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘James.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry for being a bit hyper. I just didn’t want, you to start dissecting every country in the world. I want to focus on one country and just get on with our research. And I’m totally wound up about the long wait.’

  ‘It’s OK, darling. Russia’s a good choice, so is Jeff.’

  Later that night I called Sean to see how he was getting on and to tell him that he would soon have a Russian niece or nephew. I also wanted ta see how his relationship was going.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hey, sis, how are you?’

  ‘Good, thanks. You?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘So, how’s the romance going?’

  ‘Very well. I think it’s the first normal relationship I’ve ever been in and it feels great. We spend pretty much every night together. I’m thinking of asking her to move in.’

  Oh God, I thought. How the hell am I going to break this to Mum?

  Wow, diat’s pretty quick.’

  ‘Hardly,’ bristled Sean. We’ve been seeing each other for four months.’

  ‘Fair enough. So, anyway, we’re going to adopt a Russian baby. We were thinking Chinese or Russian, but I think Russian is probably better for Ireland,’ I said, changing the subject.

  What do you mean? Why not Chinese?’

  ‘I think it’d be difficult for an Asian child to grow up in Ireland.’