A Perfect Match Page 7

  ‘I would like nothing better than to have a Caesarean. If I was ever lucky enough to get pregnant I would never complain about childbirth. But the thing is, Imogen, I can’t get pregnant so I’m going to adopt and I really don’t appreciate you telling me I’m not trying hard enough.’

  ‘Oh dear, Thorn Thorn, Auntie Emma is very touchy-wouchy today. Isn’t she?’

  ‘Out!’ roared Thomas. ‘I want out, Mummy,’ he said, squirming to loosen his seat belt, kicking me in the process.

  ‘We’re nearly there, darling, just a few more minutes.’

  ‘Now Mummy! I want out now!’ he screamed, throwing a fit with his legs.

  ‘Thomas,’ I bellowed, reaching back to grab his legs, ‘if you kick me once more, I will smack you black and blue.’

  Thomas, shocked at having a voice raised to him for the first time in his life, was stunned into silence. His mother, however, was not.

  ‘Mean nasty Auntie Emma, shouting at little Thomas like a fishwife. Will I smack her for you? Yes, I think I will,’ she said, belting me on the arm. ‘We’d better stay out of her way, darling. Auntie Emma’s in a very bad mood.’

  When we got home, Henry and Imogen went upstairs to unpack and put the children to bed. I took the opportunity to call Lucy. I knew if I told James what had happened in the car that he’d just tell me I was exaggerating and I must have misunderstood what Imogen was saying – which would only have wound me up even further.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’

  ‘A friendly voice,’ said Lucy, sounding like I felt.

  ‘Uh oh, that doesn’t sound too good. How’s it going?’

  ‘Annie is being a complete nightmare. When Donal’s around she is nice as pie to me and the minute he leaves the room she turns into a little psycho. She keeps telling me I’m going to get dumped. Happy bloody Christmas. How are you? Have they arrived?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve already had a fight with Imogen – she told me I haven’t tried hard enough to get pregnant. God, she’s a cow, and as for that little shit of a son of hers, he must have 666 written on his scalp. I’m going to check later, you should probably check Annie’s head too,’ I said, laughing despite myself. ‘Don’t let that little wench get you down. Remember – Donal loves you.’

  ‘Thanks and don’t you mind that bitch of a sister-in-law of yours. How dare she …’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, you little bastard,’ I hissed, as I stared down at Thomas who was covered from head to toe in foundation and lipstick. ‘Gotta go, Lucy, emergency,’ I said, hanging up.

  I took a deep breath and grabbed Thomas, frogmarching him back to the spare room, where Henry was desperately trying to do some damage control. He was on his hands and knees, screwing the caps back on to bottles and trying to rub the lipstick marks off the walls and carpet. My make-up bags were strewn all over the room. In a short space of time, Thomas had managed to do a huge amount of damage.

  Henry looked up, ‘Oh God, Emma, what can I say? I’m so sorry. We’ve barely been here an hour and already managed to cause havoc. I insist on replacing everything, just let me know where to buy it and I’ll get it for you tomorrow. Thomas – apologize to Auntie Emma.’

  ‘Will not. Hate nasty Auntie Emma. She said I am bastod.’

  ‘Bold,’ I said loudly, ‘I said he was bold. Sorry, Henry, I just got a fright when I saw him covered in my make-up.’

  ‘Not at all, Emma, he was bold. Thomas, you’re very bold. This is Auntie Emma’s work and you have messed it all up. Apologize at once.’

  ‘Nooooooo,’ said Thomas, stamping his foot.

  ‘Right, excuse me, Emma, this calls for some action,’ said Henry, smacking his son on the bottom.

  ‘Henry!’ shouted Imogen, who appeared out of nowhere just at the wrong moment. ‘We don’t smack our children.’

  ‘We bloody well do when they are being insolent. Excuse us, Emma,’ said Henry, taking his wife and son with him into the other spare bedroom and closing the door.

  I could hear them arguing as I tried to clean up the mess. The carpet was covered in foundation and eye-shadow. Half-open lipsticks lay smudged on the floor. I reckon the little brat had done about €500 worth of damage. I took the rest of my products out from under the bed and stashed them away in the wardrobe in my bedroom, locking them in safely. If this is what happened after an hour, how the hell was I going to put up with them for a week?

  10

  Four days – one broken phone, two broken picture frames, three broken plates and a broken teapot – later it was Christmas Day. I almost jogged to my parents’ house. I have never been so glad to see my family in my life. Anything to get away from Thomas’s destructive prowess and Imogen’s constant bitching. When Sean answered the door I threw myself at him.

  ‘Hey, sis, happy Christmas! That bad, huh?’ he whispered in my ear.

  ‘Worse,’ I groaned.

  ‘Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Addams Family Christmas dinner,’ said Sean, shaking hands, kissing babies and taking coats. We all trooped into the living room where Dad and Babs were sprawled in front of a roaring log fire watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Well, Dad was trying to watch it as Babs groaned about how boring it was. They greeted the visitors and I left them to it and went to help Sean get drinks.

  ‘So, how’s it going?’ I asked.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Have they asked you about Shadee yet?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘I’m going back tomorrow.’

  ‘What? But that’s not even forty-eight hours.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t want to get into an argument with them about my relationship, so the quicker I leave, the less chance we have of coming to blows over it. Besides, I miss her.’

  ‘Come on, you haven’t even been home a day.’

  ‘What can I say? I guess I’m in love,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Oh, Sean, that’s great,’ I said, hugging him.

  It was great, but I wasn’t sure how dirilled my parents were going to be – or her parents for that matter. I’d have to find one of those ‘Learning about Iranian culture and religion’ courses in the New Year and book us all in. Basing our knowledge of die country on a film starring Sally Field wasn’t exactly well-informed. I’d look up the Internet when I got home and order some books on Amazon about the history of Iran. It was going to be a busy year – what with learning all about Russia, becoming a fluent Russian speaker in diree months and now having to take on Iran. I’d be able to apply for a job in the department of foreign affairs in no time.

  ‘Actually,’ said Sean, glowing with happiness, ‘she moved in a few weeks ago and it’s just brilliant.’

  What? Moved in, already? It seemed a bit hasty. He’d only known her for a few mondis and I know it’s a terrible thing to admit … but what if she was a religious zealot underneath it all and tried to brainwash him into going to live in Iran with her. She’d pretend they were just going to visit her granny who was on her last legs and then, hey presto, before he knew it, Sean’d be living in a commune where all they do all day is pray and burn effigies of American presidents. Thankfully I managed to look happy about it and asked him how Shadee’s parents had reacted to the news.

  ‘They don’t know yet either,’ he admitted. ‘They’ll probably go mental when they find out. We agreed to go home for Christmas and tell our respective families ourselves.’

  ‘When are you going to tell Mum and Dad?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t face it last night and I’m obviously not going to announce it today and I’m leaving first thing tomorrow so … I was kind of hoping you’d do it for me,’ said Sean, grinning at me.

  ‘Do what for her?’ asked Babs, barging in before I got a chance to tell Sean exactly what I thought of this bright idea.

  ‘Nothing,’ we said in unison.

  ‘Fine, keep your stupid secret,’ said the ever
bolshie youngest sibling. ‘Emma, Mum wants you in the kitchen, she needs help.’

  ‘So go and help her,’ I said.

  ‘No – she said she wants you to help her.’

  I went in to find my mother looking very harassed, ramming the stuffing up the turkey’s backside with a vim and vigour that made me wince. Thank God the bird was long dead.

  ‘Hi, what’s up?’

  ‘Your bloody auntie Doreen just called to wish us a happy Christmas and to say, wasn’t it well for us having all the family with us while she was alone with her three children living in America. So, I had to invite her for dinner. She’s on her way over – with her rosary beads and the Bible no doubt. Lord, what’ll James’s family think? I hope she doesn’t try to convert them all.’

  I laughed at the thought of Doreen trying to convert Imogen. My father’s sister Doreen claimed to have seen an apparition of the Virgin Mary fifteen years ago in a field in the West of Ireland and had since become a pil­grimage junkie and extreme Holy Jo. She was always trying to convert James to the Catholic faith which we all found highly amusing, although James found it a bit trying at times. Doreen’s strongest characteristic was her tenacity.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll ply her with drink. She’ll be fine.’

  ‘Anyway, enough about that, what’s going on with Sean and that girl? Are they still doing a line?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A serious line?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How serious?’

  ‘Pretty serious,’ I said, deciding not to tell her about the co-habitation just yet. Judging by the way she was cramming the stuffing up that bird, she was in no mood for surprises.

  My mother chose to ignore this piece of information. It was a trick she had – if she heard something she didn’t like, she disregarded it completely.

  ‘I’ve organized for young Maureen Doherty to come over tomorrow for a drink with her mother and father and Sean tells me he’s off to London first thing in the morning. He must be working very hard. Only two days’ holidays? It’s scandalous. You should see Maureen, she’s skin and bone from the Weight Watchers. Like a super-model she is. She’d be perfect for Sean. Maybe I could get them to call over tonight instead?’ Mum said, her mind working overtime.

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘There are quite enough people here already today. Sean will be fine. Just leave him be. Stop trying to set him up.’

  Mum was always worrying about Sean not settling down. Three and a half years ago when he turned thirty, she had decided that as he was obviously incapable of finding himself a nice girl to get hitched to, she’d help him out. Thus began a series of extremely embarrassing set ups. Sean would arrive home for a weekend to see his mates and his family. He’d be sitting down to watch a football match with Dad, when all of a sudden Mum would throw the door open and say, ‘You’ll never guess who was passing by?’ Inevitably it was one of her bridge cronies with one of their unmarried daughters hoping for a union. No doubt Mum had told them Sean was the catch of Dublin – one of the top ten lawyers in the city of London I had heard her boast, and a talented sportsman to boot. Sean and I always giggled about that – the most sport Sean had done since gym class in school was to switch the remote control from one hand to the other. As for top-ten lawyer – he was doing extremely well and we were very proud of him, but it was a gross exaggeration to say the least. Anyway, Mum would drag Sean into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and then she and her friend would suddenly disappear into the garden to see some incredible plant that had, just that minute, sprouted, leaving the mortified daughter and Sean staring at each other across the table. As they desperately tried to make small talk, their mothers kept a keen eye on the proceedings through the kitchen window. So far Mum had subjected Sean to five girls and had no success.

  ‘Jesus, that child’s a handful,’ said Dad, coming into the kitchen for some peace and quiet as Thomas bellowed outside. ‘Is he always that noisy?’

  ‘He’s usually a lot worse. Yesterday he –’

  The door flew open and we all turned around to see Babs carrying Thomas under one arm. She set him down and shut the door.

  ‘Right, you little shit,’ she said. ‘If you ever kick me or pull my hair again, I will kick you back. Now say you’re sorry.’

  ‘No!’ roared Thomas, kicking her again.

  ‘Barbara, that’s enough,’ said Mum, coming to Thomas’s rescue. ‘He’s only a child.’

  Thomas looked at Mum and then kicked her in the shins too.

  Babs grabbed him by the arms and shook him until his teeth rattled – this time he was on his own.

  ‘You little brat, don’t you ever do that again or I will rip your arms and legs off. Do you hear me?’ she hissed.

  Thomas nodded, looking terrified.

  ‘Now, say you’re sorry to me and my mother.’

  ‘Orry,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh, there you are darling,’ said Imogen – thankfully having just missed Babs’s attempts to re-arrange her son’s internal organs. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Are you all right with these strange new people? Was he being shy?’ she asked us.

  We all nodded, not trusting ourselves to speak. Babs’s mouth was twitching, but she managed to control herself.

  ‘Thom Thom’s a very shy little boy, aren’t you? Come with Mummy, Doreen wants to meet you. She’s Emma’s auntie and she has a little grandson just your age.’

  As soon as she shut the door, we roared laughing.

  ‘The poor child will never be the same again after today, especially once Doreen gets her hands on him,’ said Dad, dabbing his eyes with a tissue. ‘I’ve got to see this.’

  When we had composed ourselves, we trooped back into the living room where Doreen was telling a very subdued Thomas the story of the birth of Jesus in a manger surrounded by shepherds. She was giving Our Lady pretty much all of the kudos for the whole event.

  ‘… and then the wonder that is Mary gave birth to baby Jesus and the son of God was born. If it wasn’t for Mary there would be no Jesus …’

  James and Henry grinned at each other, but Imogen didn’t seem to notice. She was just delighted that Doreen was paying Thomas so much attention.

  ‘Watch out, Henry, she’ll have the rosary beads out next,’ said Dad, rolling his eyes. As if on cue, Doreen took out her rosary beads for Thomas to play with while the three men tried not to laugh.

  ‘There’s a good little boy, you can keep them if you like,’ said Doreen, shoving the beads into Thomas’s hand.

  ‘Will you have a drink, Doreen?’ asked Dad, trying to distract her from her determined efforts to convert Thomas.

  ‘No, Dan, not at all. Nothing for me.’

  ‘Ah, go on, have a drink for the day that’s in it. You have to celebrate the birth of Jesus and all Mary’s hard work.’

  ‘Well, all right then, just a small one.’

  Dad poured Doreen an enormous gin and tonic which she proceeded to knock back. A few minutes later, when she thought no one was looking, she sprinkled Thomas with holy water. He squealed and ran over to his mother. The poor kid was having a bad day – I almost felt sorry for him.

  Mum came in and we sat around to open our presents. Henry gave me a box, filled with all the make-up products Thomas had ruined. I hugged him for his thoughtful-ness. I gave the twins little matching pink duffle coats that I had bought the day before when I had gone for a walk to get out of the mad house that had formerly been my home. I was so distracted by the mayhem at home that I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself in the shop. Besides, the coats were so adorable that I really wanted to give them to the girls. James gave Thomas the rugby ball which he proceeded to kick into the TV, much to Dad’s horror – the little monster was obviously recovering. Mum gave Sean a travel voucher for Aer Lingus.

  ‘You’ve no excuse now. You’re to come home more regularly and go out socializing with your pals and meet nice Irish girls,’ she said.

  Sean, ignoring her
pointed remark, handed her his present. It was a book: Modern Iran: Roots and Results of Revolution by Nikki R. Keddie. Mum fixed a smile on her face and pushed it under the couch, but Doreen caught a glimpse of it and pulled it out.

  ‘Iran? Why are you buying your mother a book on Iran?’

  ‘It’s nothing, Doreen. Now come on, Barbara, open your present,’ snapped Mum.

  ‘I bought it for her because my girlfriend is from Iran and I want Mum to know more about the country,’ said Sean, glaring at Mum.

  ‘Iran?’ said Doreen, sounding appalled. ‘Did I see a film about …’

  ‘Yes, Doreen, you did – Not Without My Daughter,’ said Babs, loving the drama. ‘Sean still hasn’t seen his girlfriend’s face, she wears one of those mad black capes over her head, and they have to have sex through a hole in the sheet,’ she added, giggling as she stirred things up.

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, pinching her. ‘She doesn’t wear a yashmak and she was born and bred in England.’

  ‘Is she Catholic, Sean?’

  ‘No, Doreen, she’s Muslim.’

  ‘Muslim!’ said Doreen, blessing herself.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Mum. ‘She’s just a pal.’

  ‘It’s not nothing, Mum. It’s serious and we’ve just moved in together,’ said Sean, choosing the worst moment possible to announce his news. A deathly silence ensued.

  ‘Living in sin with a Muslim!’ squealed Doreen, grabbing her rosary beads back from Thomas to pray for Sean’s lost soul.

  ‘There was a really nice bloke in class with James who was from Iran. He was six foot five, a really good cricketer,’ said Henry, trying to help Sean out as James shook his head and whispered, ‘I tried that one already – didn’t help much.’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t want Thomas marrying a Muslim,’ said Imogen, bringing the conversation around to her children as always.

  ‘You’d be lucky if Helen Keller wanted to marry him. Only a blind deaf and dumb person could put up with that brat,’ said Babs, subtle as always.

  ‘Thank you, Barbara, very delicately put,’ said Dad, jumping in before a fight broke out. ‘Now I think we’ll have some carols. Oh holy night…’ he sang, drowning out the whingeing Thomas, gurgling twins, praying Doreen and fuming Imogen.