Authors: Sinead Moriarty
After the initial pleasantries, we were paired off with new partners and asked to introduce ourselves to each other for a few minutes and then we would introduce the other person to the group. I was lumped with Mr Confident, strider of the room – Brendan. Before I had a chance to open my mouth, Brendan jumped in and told me his life story. He was the managing director of DFG Advertising – the most successful advertising company in Ireland. He played golf off six and had recently shot seventy-three in the Western Club. He was here because his wife had problems; his sperm were fine and healthy. Nothing wrong with them at all – he said over and over again.
When we came to introducing each other, I was chosen to go first. Although Brendan had bored me rigid, I decided to be super-nice as I wanted to start on the best of terms with everyone. I was nervous about speaking in front of the group. I took a deep breath and launched.
‘This is Brendan, he is very successful and runs the advertising agency GFD. He loves golf and plays to seventy-three and hit six the other day in a top golf club (my mind went blank and I couldn’t remember the club). He also plays squash and he wants to make it very clear that he isn’t here because he’s shooting blanks.’
I could see James trying his best not to crack up; his face was turning purple with effort. Dervla looked appalled, but Yvonne was smiling. Brendan then got up to introduce me.
‘Emma here’s a beautician and doesn’t have a very good memory,’ he said. ‘My ad agency is called DFG, I play off six and shot a round of seventy-three in the Western Club on Saturday.’
Before I could defend myself from this slander, Yvonne piped up, ‘Thank you, Brendan. Now, James, will you introduce Joy to us.’
James stood up, looking utterly relaxed and at home and proceeded to introduce Joy in an articulate and calm fashion. I was very proud of him. It soon became clear why Joy and Brendan were married –they were cut from the same cloth.
‘Joy recently sold the recruitment agency she founded ten years ago, to focus her energies on the adoption process and devote more time to her many other interests. She plays off twelve and recently shot eighty-two in the Western Club. She is also an accomplished pianist and chef. She speaks fluent French and German. Since applying to adopt a year ago, she has spent over six weeks in Moscow perfecting her Russian, which she now speaks like a native.’
As James turned to sit down he winked at me and we tried not to laugh. Joy and Brendan were a formidable duo. The other pairs introduced each other and they all seemed very nice and normal. Some had children already, some, like us, had none. Some were older than us, some were younger. But we all had one thing in common –we all desperately wanted a baby.
Yvonne and Dervla then talked us through the subjects we would be covering over the next five sessions. Every session would last half a day. We would be covering all the angles of the adoption process. Each person was then given a big A4 size workbook which contained essays and exercises which would help us reflect on issues between sessions and highlight areas that we may need more time to resolve or that we’d like to come back to at the home study stage.
The issues we’d be dealing with were going to include: Exploring the adoption family tree; adoption bereavement – the impact of loss and separation; child development and medical matters; identity, difference and belonging; talking about adoption – telling the adoption story and the adoption life cycle … They also told us that media-watching is key.
‘You need to become very aware of everything to do with adoption. If you see anything in the papers about adoption or racism, cut it out and bring it to the next session for discussion. It is vital that you keep your ears and eyes open to all media coverage. The more aware you are of the frustrations and difficulties that go hand in hand with adopting a child from a foreign country, the better chances you have of being accepted. Racism is the scourge of our society. You must be aware of it – your child may face it on a daily basis,’ ranted Dervla.
She seemed very wound up about it for someone who was white, Irish and living in Ireland. It’s not as if she’d spent twenty-nine years in captivity with Nelson and the gang on Robben Island. Yvonne then told us – in a calm and normal fashion – that we were now going to be shown a video called
All about Betty.
The film turned out to be just about the most depressing thing I have ever seen. We all sat around in shock when it ended. It was basically the story of a baby called Betty who was about sixteen months old. Betty’s mother fell ill and her father couldn’t cope with looking after her, so he put her in a home. She was only in there for ten days but in those ten days the fun-loving, outgoing Betty became introverted and depressed.
What were they trying to do to us? The children we were going to adopt will have been in homes for months, years even. And this documentary was telling us that in ten days a child completely changed personality! For God’s sake, give a prospective parent a break. Was this how they separated the men from the mice? I glanced over at James – he looked a bit stunned. Sod them; they weren’t going to scare us that easily. I was not going to let this nasty film frighten me off my path to motherhood. Maybe Betty was just weak and soft and, besides, our little orphans probably never had a happy home to start with, so they had nothing to compare the orphanage to and therefore they wouldn’t be all miserable and unhappy. They’d be delighted to see us coming – thrilled that we were going to save them. They’d bounce on to the plane with us to Ireland and a new life. Stuff Betty and her attachment deficit disorder, I wasn’t budging.
We were split up into two groups and asked to talk about ‘How the video made you feel’. Brendan was in my group and immediately took on the role of team leader. He told us all that he thought Betty just needed a good dose of love and she’d be grand. Denis disagreed – he felt that the damage could be irreversible. Nonsense, said Brendan, everything can be changed, it just takes the know-how. Carole said she was very disturbed by the video and was wondering if she’d be able to cope with a child that had problems like that. It would break her heart to see such sadness.
‘Every problem is really an opportunity in disguise, Carole,’ said Brendan, using his advertising spiel to try to impress us. ‘You just need to look into the problem and get to the root of it. Then you seek professional advice and send the child to therapy. It’s all about your attitude. If you’re going to let a twenty-minute documentary put you off adopting, then maybe this is not for you. You need to be strong and confident in your parenting skills to become an adoptive parent, clearly it’s not for everyone.’
‘Just hold on a minute there,’ I snapped. ‘First of all Carole is entitled to her opinion and I agree with her that it was extremely distressing to watch. A problem is a problem and not an opportunity and whoever made up that ridiculous phrase is a gobshite. Second of all, I’m a make-up artist not a beautician and I have an extremely good memory, I just tend to switch off when I’m being bored to death.’
‘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.