Authors: Sinead Moriarty
I held the phone away from my ear as she ranted on.
‘Mum … Mum …
Mum
!’ I shouted. ‘Calm down.’
‘You were supposed to be keeping an eye on her, keeping her out of trouble and teaching her how to make people up. And now she tells me that woman wants to pay her to go on national television to get a nose job! Over my dead body, Emma. Over my dead body. I told her she was out on her ear if I heard any more of this nonsense, and then she says I’m trying to ruin her life. She said it’s my fault she has a big nose because if I’d married a man with a small nose she wouldn’t have this problem. Her life has been ruined by this nose apparently and her career can’t take off until it has been reduced. Did you ever hear such nonsense. The child has gone mad. Here’s your father now, he’s just had a word with her.’
‘Jesus, that pair will be the end of me,’ said Dad, sounding wean’. ‘They’ve been roaring at each other for over an hour now.’
‘Are you going to try and stop her?’
‘To be honest I’m delighted someone else is footing the bill, she had me tormented with talk of that nose job. She’s like a broken down record about it. Inheriting my nose is preventing her from having a career as an actress and once she has the new nose she’ll be in great demand she tells me. Your mother of course is going mad altogether. She says we’ll have to emigrate if Barbara goes on television.’
‘Where do you think you’ll be moving to – France? Spain?’
‘We might go out to Iran and stay with Shadee’s relatives,’ said Dad, trying not to laugh.
‘I’ll miss you.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ said Dad, ‘here’s your mother back.’
‘Brat. That’s what she is – a brat. It’s my fault, I should have been stricter with her. I was too lenient. Having a child at forty is not a good idea. You haven’t the energy to discipline them. I was worn out from you and Sean. She got away with murder and look at her now. Mark my words, Emma, when you have children, be firm. Look what happens when you’re not,’ she said, beginning to sniffle. ‘It’s no good trying to put your foot down when they’re older, it’s too late. What did I do to deserve this – one daughter who won’t let nature take its course and is rushing into adoption, a son living in sin with a Muslim and a young pup who’s going on television to have an operation. I tried, Emma, I really tried,’ she said, blowing her nose.
‘Well, this daughter needs to rush off to prepare for her hasty adoption, so goodbye,’ I said, slamming down the phone.
Two days later, James and I were waiting nervously for Dervla to arrive for our one-to-one sessions. When the doorbell rang, we both jumped up to let her in. Dervla came in and sat us down. She explained that there was no need to be nervous and that the important thing was to be honest. She wanted to get a real sense of our personalities from this session, so we were to be natural and say what we really felt, not what we thought she wanted to hear. She asked us who wanted to go first and I said I did. I had to get it over with and I was hoping to get a few minutes in between to brief James.
James left us alone in the kitchen and Dervla took out her notepad. I hadn’t been this nervous since taking my finals in college. I was sweating and shaking inside. I knew this was going to be a really important session and I wanted to do my best. Dervla started off by asking me about my childhood. The house we lived in, my earliest memories …
‘Did you get on well with your parents?’
‘Oh, yes, really well.’
‘Do you think they were good parents?’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Did you go through a rebellious phase at all as a teenager?’
‘No, I didn’t. I was quite boring actually,’ I lied, leaving out the time I dyed my hair black when I was sixteen and ran away from home. I had actually just stayed the night in Jess’s house, but it had seemed wild at the time. Nor did I mention the first time I smoked pot and passed out in a bush in Roger Keegan’s house in a pool of my own vomit. These were stories I really didn’t want Dervla scribbling down in her notebook.
‘Didn’t you ever stay out late, get drunk, mitch off school or do any of those teenage things?’ asked Dervla, clearly not convinced by my angelic childhood.
‘Um, well, I suppose I may have had the odd underage drink, but I never got really drunk or passed out or anything and I did get caught smoking in school once,’ I said, deciding to confess in case she checked my school records – which knowing Dervla was highly likely, ‘and I got suspended for a day, but I learnt my lesson and never smoked again.’
‘What about past relationships? Have you had other boyfriends?’
‘Oh, just one or two,’ I said, failing to mention the scores of snogs, gropes and flings I had had in my twenties.
‘Can you tell me about those?’
‘Nothing to tell, really. I went out with one guy called David for two years,’ I lied, stretching my six-week fling to a serious, steady, two-year relationship. ‘He was a medical student but we grew apart when he went to America. And then there was Ronan, who I was going out with before I met James. He was a successful freelance journalist and writer,’ I said, pushing the truth to its limits. Ronan had written one article in his life and spent the rest of his time working on the first few chapters of his novel that was the biggest load of tripe I had ever read. ‘We broke up shortly before I met James. He was a bit too poetic for me. Not that I don’t appreciate poetry and literature, because I do. I love poetry, but we just weren’t totally suited and then I met James and it was love at first sight. I knew the minute I saw him that he was the man for me.’
‘How would you describe your relationship?’
‘Incredibly stable, loving and nurturing,’ I said, even impressing myself with the nurturing comment. Way to go, Emma.
‘Do you argue?’
‘Oh no. Not at all. No. We never raise our voices to each other.’
Dervla raised her eyebrows. ‘Look, Emma, it’s all right to admit you fight. All couples argue. It doesn’t mean you’re bad people. You don’t have to hide behind this façade of perfectness. I need you to be open and honest.’
Façade? How dare she imply I was lying. I may have been stretching the truth a little, but who was she to accuse me of lying.
‘I’m not hiding behind anything. If I seem stiff, it’s because I’m nervous. This whole process is extremely difficult, you know. It’s not easy having your life dissected by a complete stranger,’ I said, losing my cool for a minute.
‘Look, I know it’s not easy and the questions may appear harsh and probing at times, but you must remember that every couple I approve is my responsibility and if they mistreat a child, then I have that on my conscience. I need to get to know you – the real Emma, so that I can be sure the baby will be properly looked after. If I don’t get to know you, how can I approve you? The welfare of children lies in my hands, so I have to be absolutely certain that all the prospective parents I approve will be good parents. There is no room for error.’
Typical, just when I wanted to throttle her she disarms me. I hadn’t thought of it from her point of view before. It must be a huge responsibility to approve a couple to adopt. If they turned out to be total psychos it was all your fault. I suddenly felt human towards Dervla. I didn’t like her, but I began to understand where she was coming from and why she had to be so thorough.
I nodded. ‘OK, I admit we do argue, occasionally, but only over silly things and we always make up almost immediately.’
‘Did your parents ever strike you in order to discipline you?’
‘No. I mean they didn’t hit us, my mother slapped us on the bottom the odd time, but only if we were very bold, and always gently,’ I said, deciding to omit the episodes where she chased us down around the garden to belt us with her slipper. Honesty in small measures was best.
‘I see that your referees Jessica and Tony Hughes have two children. How do you get on with them.’
‘Very well. I adore little Sally and Roy. I don’t see them every week, but I do spend time with them regularly and I’m extremely fond of them. Jess is my best friend,’ I said, temporarily relegating Lucy to second place, ‘and her children mean the world to me.’
Dervla then asked me about my relationship with my siblings, my parents, my colleagues, my in-laws … everyone I had ever met. I lurched from being honest to lying a little about my close relationship with Imogen and the fact that Babs would make an excellent auntie. Eventually, after what seemed like ten days, she said we were finished.
I went to get James for his grilling, and, as I stood up, I could feel my legs shaking. I was completely drained. I was hugely relieved it was over, but worried about James being too honest. I tried to brief him before he went in.
‘I told her I got on with everyone and that we saw a lot of Sally and Roy.’
‘Who?’ said James, not helping to ease my tension.
‘Jesus, James,’ I hissed. ‘Sally and Roy are Jess’s kids.’
‘OK, OK, I remember now.’
‘I told her we rarely fight and that I get on famously with Imogen. So don’t blow it. Don’t be too honest,’ I said, grabbing his arm as he went to walk out. ‘Say positive things and don’t mention my tendency to lose my temper when stressed. And don’t say that –’
‘Emma! Let go of my arm. It’s OK, it’ll be fine. Now breathe and relax. You can de-brief me afterwards.’
I paced up and down the living room like a cat on a hot tin roof. I wanted to tiptoe up to the door to listen in, but I was afraid if Dervla suddenly got up to go to the bathroom and found me lurking outside, that she’d black mark us for good. After what seemed like for ever, they appeared out of the kitchen and after Dervla said her goodbyes and left, I pounced on James.
‘Well? How was it? What did you say? Come on, tell me? What did you say when she asked about previous relationships?’
‘I said I moved to Ireland because I’d shagged everyone in England and needed new meat.’
‘James! I am too stressed for jokes.’
‘Relax, I said I’d gone out with a few girls, but nothing serious until I met you.’
‘Did she ask about when you were young?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And I said I had a normal childhood and while I had enjoyed boarding school, I wouldn’t necessarily send my children there.’
‘OK, good, what else?’
‘She asked if I was as keen on adopting as you were and I admitted I hadn’t been totally enthusiastic about it all in the beginning, but that it was a means to an end and I wanted to support you.’
‘Means to an end? Please tell me you’re winding me up? Means to an end sounds like something you’ve been dragged into. Why the hell didn’t you tell her you were mad keen on adopting? Jesus, James, that could blow our chances. It sounds really unenthusiastic. For God’s sake, it sounds like I bullied you into the whole thing.’
‘No, it doesn’t, stop being so dramatic. Besides, I was being honest. I wasn’t one hundred per cent keen on adopting initially, but now I’m all for it.’
‘But did you say that? Did you make it clear that now you really want to? Did you?’
‘God, Emma, I can’t remember every little thing I said. I’m sure I did say something to that effect.’
‘James,’ I said, getting really angry, ‘this is really important. Focus. Did you tell her you were really keen to adopt now? Did you?’
‘I think so.’
‘For God’s sake, that’s a vital point. If she thinks you’re still not keen, we’ll never get approved. Jesus, James, think – what exactly did you say?’
‘Christ, Emma, I can’t remember the words, but believe it or not I didn’t thwart our chances of adopting by revealing my annual trips to Thailand to roger underage boys senseless,’ roared James, getting very red in the face.
We heard someone clearing their throat behind us. We swung round. It was Dervla, standing by the front door, that in my haste to de-brief James I hadn’t closed properly.
‘Sorry, I forgot my car keys and the door was open, so …’
27
I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for an hour after Dervla left. As far as I was concerned that was it. We had blown it. Not only had she heard us shouting at each other, but now she thought James was a paedophile. Eventually, after much persuasion from an apologetic James, I came out of the bathroom, puffy-faced and slitty-eyed.
‘It’s not that bad,’ he said.
I glared at him – or rather squinted at him through swollen eyes. ‘She thinks you’re a child molester. Somehow, I don’t think that paedophiles are top of the list for approval’
‘She knows I was joking. Come on, Emma, don’t overreact.’
‘Jesus, James, she gave me this whole speech about how every child was her responsibility and she could only ever approve parents she was one hundred per cent sure of. She just saw us having a huge row and you shouting about rogering young boys. It’s not exactly the perfect set up.’
‘Look, I agree it wasn’t ideal tor her to see us arguing, but that’s all it was – a silly argument. All couples fight, she knows that.’
‘Yeah, but now she probably thinks you were molested in boarding school by the chaps in upper sixth, or what-ever it’s called, and as a result you can’t help yourself with little boys. Everyone thinks public school boys spend all their spare time having sex in the showers or shoving soap up their bums.’
‘First of all that is a gross exaggeration, not everyone thinks that. Secondly, it wasn’t soap, it was ferrets.’
‘Am I laughing? Do you see my lips twitching? This is serious, James.’
‘Look, darling, stop getting yourself into a state and calm down. Dervla is perfectly aware that we are a normal, healthy, solid couple who will make great parents, she can see that. One silly argument means nothing. Next time though, close the door properly.’
‘Next time, I’ll bolt the door along with your big gob.’
The phone rang. Thankfully it was Sean, who was the only person I felt like talking to.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked. ‘I’ve had Mum on the phone ranting on about Babs having some operation on TV.’
‘You know Babs. I took her to work, as a favour to Dad, to learn the ropes about make-up and somehow she managed to wangle herself a starring role on the show and a free nose job.’