Authors: Sinead Moriarty
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.’
Dad was looking at me with pleading eyes. I sighed and nodded.
‘OK, I’ll give you three weeks. Thankfully all my clients are women so at least I won’t have to worry about
that
side of things. But if you open your mouth or annoy me in any way – you’re out. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir, sergeant major, I do,’ said Babs, standing to attention.
‘What’s going on over here?’ asked Mum, looking a bit flushed after a few gin and tonics.
‘Dad, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to fob Babs off on me for a few weeks’ work experience.’
‘You don’t really mind do you, pet? It’ll be good for the two of you to spend more time together.’
‘You’re really selling it to me now,’ I huffed.
‘Oh, stop being such a drama queen,’ said Babs.
‘Pot … kettle … black?’ said Sean.
‘Put a sock in it, Barbara,’ snapped Dad. ‘Now, who’d like a drink? Emma, what can I get you?’
‘Isn’t this lovely,’ said Mum. ‘The family out together having fun.’
I slept very little that night because James seemed intent on playing the match in bed. He kicked and tossed and flung his arms about in his fitful attempts at sleeping. Eventually at six, we fell into deep, exhausted comas. What seemed like seconds later, we were woken by the phone. Henry and Mr Hamilton had arrived and were waiting downstairs to see James before the big game. They cheered when they saw James and pointed to the Leinster jerseys they were wearing. James was thrilled. Mr Hamilton, looking decidedly emotional for a man who normally kept his emotions in check, kept patting James on the back and saying ‘terribly proud of you, son’ and ‘tremendous achievement to have come so far’. Henry practised the words of
Molly Malone
with me until he was word perfect. The hotel began to fill with supporters and a sing-song broke out. James went to gather the team and I wished him all the luck in the world. ‘And, remember, it doesn’t matter what happens, just being here is an incredible achievement.’
‘Fuck that, we’re going to win,’ said James, grinning at me.
We arrived in Twickenham to the sound ot the Leinster fans. They had taken over the east side of the stadium. Opposite us sat the Edinburgh supporters – equally loud and boisterous. Mr Hamilton and Henry sat beside us and looked around. They were clearly impressed by the huge support Leinster had. I sat between Sean and Lucy. I watched James pacing up and down the sidelines, talking to his assistant coach. The teams came out and the stadium erupted. Emotions were running very high. Edinburgh had been beaten in the final the vear before and they were determined to win … but so were Leinster.
The match began and for the first twenty minutes Leinster had most of the possession, but did nothing with it. For the rest of the first half, Edinburgh had the majority ot the ball and with two minutes to go, they scored a try. Suddenly the Leinster supporters weren’t so buoyant. Seven–nil to Edinburgh at half time.
The second half began with Edinburgh camped on Leinster’s line. But the lads defended well and pushed the Scottish team right back to their own twenty-two. Scrum to Leinster. Sean squeezed my hand. ‘We have to use this, we have to score here,’ he said. Donal picked the ball up from the scrum and bolted for the line. As he got within scoring distance, he could see the Edinburgh full back coming from behind to tackJe him, he put his head down and as he was tackled, he threw himself over the line, landing awkwardly. The Leinster supporters went wild. We jumped up and down, roaring and shouting. Donal remained on the ground, his dislocated shoulder drooping to one side. As he was helped off the pitch by the physio, the Leinster crowd gave him a standing ovation while his fiancée screamed death threats at the player who had tackled him.
Peter O’Hare came on as Donal’s replacement, much to Babs’ delight. But it was short lived, as the supporters around us – having figured out from Lucy’s screaming that she was Brady’s bird – assured us that while Peter was a good player, he was no Donal Brady. You only get one of those every decade, they agreed. Courage and dedication like that were the things of legends. Lucy glowed and Babs sulked. She wasn’t happy being second best. I could see Peter was going to get dumped. I just hoped she’d move on to soccer players next and stay out of my territory. Between her sex test with the Leinster squad and now coming to work with me, I was beginning to feel as if I was being stalked.
Seven points all and ten minutes to go. Edinburgh got a penalty which they converted. Ten points to seven with five minutes to go. The noise in the stadium was so loud I thought my ears would burst. Three minutes to go and Leinster had a line-out close to the Scottish team’s line. Peter jumped in the air and caught the ball. He passed it out quickly. The scrum-half spun it out wide to the winger. He ran, kicked it over the opposition’s head and catching it on the bounce, flung himself down, ball in hand, grinning all the way. Leinster had won.
25
After a week of celebrations, back slapping, framing of articles and watching re-runs of the match over and over again – I managed to get James and the injured Donal to sit down and go through the adoption reference form.
‘I’ve a problem with question four,’ said Donal.
James and I read:
Please comment on the applicants’ lifestyle in the context of these capacities as they relate to their health, stability/ continuity/security of their home lite, etc. – these comments should include reference to the applicants’ sobriety and any history of substance abuse.
We looked up. ‘Where’s the problem?’ I asked.
‘It may have escaped your notice, but your husband here has been drunk as a skunk for the last week and I’m worried he might be a closet dipso. I won’t lie to these good people.’
‘Very funny. I think if anyone here has a drink problem it’s the guy who blacked out and had sex with my baby sister.’
‘I hope, Emma, that you’re not trying to blackmail me here?’ said Donal.
‘Certainly not, I’m just jogging your memory.’
‘OK,’ he said, moving swiftly along, ‘question five asks me to comment on your personal qualities – honesty and trustworthiness.’
‘It’s a good thing you’re not the applicant, what would we put for shagging a minor and forgetting to tell your fiancée,’ said James, finding himself very entertaining. Donal thumped him wealdy, with the arm that wasn’t in a sling.
‘OK, come on, no more messing. We need to get this right,’ I said.
‘Sorry, darling. OK, question six: “Please comment on the applicants’ relationship with their children (if they have any) and members of their extended family,”’ read James.
‘You’re both very close to your families, so that’s an easy one,’ said Donal.
‘Not as close to some members as you though,’ I said, unable to resist, as James roared laughing.
‘Am I going to be abused all night?’ groaned Donal.
‘That’s what happens when you stick it where it doesn’t belong,’ I said, grinning at him. ‘OK, moving along. Next question: “Please comment on the applicants’, their children’s and extended family’s acceptance, knowledge and experience of people from other cultures, both from within Ireland and abroad.”’
‘Well, that’s easy, my young sister-in-law has excellent carnal knowledge of a bog man from Ballydrum,’ said James, unable to resist.
‘And Emma here has experience of living with an English tosser, who moved to Ireland to torment the locals,’ said Donal, trying to keep a straight face.
‘OK, come on now, no more slagging,’ I said. ‘The last main question is: “Please comment on your experience of the applicants’ personal qualities related to – the capacity to understand, recognize and empathize with the needs of another, to seek and access support either on their own behalf or the behalf of others when it is needed.”’
‘I know, I know, you had the capacity to understand that Lucy didn’t need to know about Babs, you don’t have to spell it out,’ said Donal, pre-empting the answer. ‘Look, leave it with me tonight and I’ll do up a first draft. I can’t do it here with you both looking over my shoulder and reminding me ot that awful night. I’ll give it to you tomorrow to look over and then we’ll finalize it,’ said Donal, struggling with his coat.
I helped him put it on and James gave him a lift home. When he arrived back I said we needed to talk about the one-on-one sessions we were going to have at the end of the week with Dervla. I was worried that if our answers were different at all, she’d black mark us and we’d blow our chances. We needed to practise, so a reluctant James sat down with me to go over our responses.