Authors: Sinead Moriarty
‘Are you nervous at all about going under the knife?’ Amanda asked.
‘Are you mad? I’ve been waiting to have this done since the first day I ever looked in the mirror. I can’t wait to get to London and have the operation. Bring it on!’
‘How does your family feel about you going through with this operation on national television?’
Babs laughed. ‘My mother’s planning on entering the witness protection programme because of the shame of it all. But my dad’s happy enough because he doesn’t have to foot the bill.’
I stood to the side of the set and watched as my little sister encouraged the daytime TV viewers to go under the knife. The girl was a law unto herself. I knew Mum would be watching at home, having a seizure. Amanda, on the other hand, was thrilled. Babs was exactly the kind of person she wanted on her show – outspoken, controversial and blunt. She knew the media would pick up on the story and that the papers would be full of debate about Babs’s forthcoming plastic surgery. Her ratings would go through the roof. A controversial guest was every presenter’s dream. Amanda did however warn Babs about her cursing – she’d have to be more careful about that.
When I got home, Mum was parked outside the house, in a pair of dark glasses and a scarf. She darted through the front door after me and hissed at me to pull down the blinds.
‘Mum, what is going on?’ I asked as I turned the light on in the now pitch-dark kitchen.
‘What did I do, Emma? What did I do to deserve this? Did you see that sister of yours on the programme today? Did you? Did you see her?’
‘Yes, Mum, of course I saw her. I work on the show – remember.’
‘Telling all the young girls in the country to go out and get plastic surgery. I’ve already had Nuala on about it. Needless to say, I pretended I wasn’t home, but she left a long message on the machine. Delighted she is. Gloating.’
Nuala was my mother’s best friend. They’d been pals since they met in secretarial school at the age of eighteen and they drove each other insane. Whenever any of us were in trouble, Nuala was the first to call over to offer her condolences – but she was really only coming over to gloat and make herself feel better about her own brood, according to my mother. When Nuala’s son, Terry, had come out of the closet and announced he was gay, my mother had been over like a shot, armed with self-help books for parents of gay children. Although, having spent most of his teenage years wearing mascara and worshipping Liza Minnelli, it was more of a surprise to everyone that it had taken Terry so long to admit it, than anything else. Anyway, suffice it to say that Mum and Nuala had a love–hate relationship, based on one-upmanship.
‘ “I just saw Barbara on the television”, says Nuala,’ recounted my mother, tapping her fingers on the table. ‘ “Isn’t it well for her, getting a new nose and heading off to Hollywood. You must be very proud. It’s lovely to see the young people today being so open about themselves. But then again, Barbara was always outspoken. She looked well, sure, why wouldn’t she wear a short little skirt if she has the legs. Anyway, you’re probably out celebrating your daughter’s new fame. I’ll try you again later.” The cheek of her,’ Mum fumed.
I wasn’t sure if she was furious now about Nuala or Babs. Probably both.
‘Ringing me up to laugh at me, she was. And who could blame her, with my wild daughter half-naked on the television making a show of herself. She may laugh about her poor mother entering the witness programme, but it won’t be so funny when I do disappear and go off to Canada with a false name. You won’t all be laughing then.’
‘Canada?’
‘I saw a programme on it the other night; it’s supposed to be a beautiful country. Anyway, what’s all this nonsense about Barbara going to Hollywood? Over my dead body is she going over there, sure those film people are well known to be out of their minds on drugs the whole time. She’ll end up a drug addict or in that cult they’re all in – the Scientistologists. They may pretend they’re normal but I’ve read about it – they’re just like the Moonies. They brainwash all the famous stars to join the sect and then get them to make big donations …’
How we had jumped from the nose job to the Moonies was beyond me, but I decided to jump in before we ended up talking about the possibility of Babs being abducted by aliens.
‘Mum, it’ll be fine. Babs is all talk. She’s not going to go to Hollywood because she has no money, knows no one and couldn’t act her way out of a plastic bag. She’ll come back from London with a new nose and continue to sponge off you and Dad until she lands herself a rich guy to look after her.’
‘She needs a nice boyfriend to calm her down all right. It’s a pity the relationship with Peter from James’s team didn’t work out. Is there anyone else on the team that might be nice for her?’ Mum asked innocently as I choked on my tea.
‘No.’
‘There must be someone you could set her up with. I think she needs an older lad. Someone mature who’ll steer her in the right direction and get her to behave like an adult, instead of a young hussy. It’s a pity Donal’s taken, he’s a nice responsible fellow.’
‘Mmmm,’ I said, not trusting myself to speak.
‘Anyway, pet, how are things with you? I’ve been so distracted with that sister of yours I haven’t even asked you about the adoption. Any word?’
I shook my head. ‘No. Nothing yet. It’ll be four weeks the day after tomorrow. They said it’d take a month, but I’m really worried that we’re going to get turned down. I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if we are, Mum. I just don’t think I could face it. It’s our only hope,’ I said, my eyes welling up.
‘Now, now,’ said Mum, patting my arm. ‘Of course you’ll get accepted. Sure they only turn away lunatics and paedophiles, not good honest people like James and yourself. Don’t be getting yourself into a state. You’re no good to anyone in a state. I have to admit, I thought you’d get pregnant naturally while you were doing the course. With all the distractions of the meetings, I was sure that you’d get pregnant because you wouldn’t be thinking about it. Still, never mind, sure a little Russian baby is nearly the same.’
‘It is the same, Mum,’ I said sternly. ‘It’s exactly the same as having a baby of our own, as far as we’re concerned – it just took a lot longer than a natural pregnancy.’
‘Well, Emma, it isn’t quite the same. The child might want to meet its parents in the future and you’ll have to deal with that.’
‘Mum,’ I snapped, ‘don’t even think about telling me what I may or may not have to face. I have spent the last six months having the horrors of all the things that can go wrong with adopting a baby shoved down my throat. I really don’t need you sticking your oar in now. If I allow myself to think about all the bad things that could happen, I’ll lose my nerve and back out. Adoption is a huge leap of faith and we need support from everyone. I only want to hear positive things. OK?’
‘Lord, Emma, I was only saying …’
‘Mum, it’s bad enough having my sister – who I told the adoption people was an extremely responsible adult who would be a great help to me when I brought the baby home – making a fool of herself on TV. I really don’t need you telling me the baby’s going to piss off back to Russia as soon as it can walk.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have lied to them about Barbara. I’ve told you before about lying to people. No good comes of it.’
‘
Mum!
’
‘But, as I was going to say before you roared at me, I am quite sure that your sister being silly will have no effect on your application and your social worker would hardly be watching daytime television now would she?’
‘Suppose not,’ I grumbled.
‘Right, well I better go and contact the police or MI
5
or whoever it is that I need to get in touch with to get my new identity. Maybe I should go to Russia and you could come to visit me with the baby. Your father suggested Afghanistan because of the big blue sheets the women wear over there. He said even Nuala wouldn’t be able to track me down. He’s a real comedian, I can see where Barbara gets it. Anyway, I’ll say a prayer for the adoption. Let me know. And don’t take your frustrations out on James. It’s bad enough his sister-in-law is making a show of him on television without his wife shouting at him when he comes home. What must he think of us? The English are so much more reserved. Right, well, I’ll go then. Bye now.’
Three days later, as I was driving down to Wexford to do a wedding party’s make-up, my mobile rang. It was James. A letter had arrived from the Adoption Board. We had been accepted. I pulled over and sobbed.
30
Now that we’d been approved by the Adoption and Health Board and added the twenty thousand Euro loan on to our already substantial mortgage – which at least spread the repayments over twenty years – we had to find an agency. According to my research the agency was the most vital part of the process. If you went with some bandit agency you could end up with a very sick child, or else they’d just do a runner with your money and you’d have no child at all. A good agency would not only match you with a baby, but also get all your documents translated for you and authorized by the Ministry of Education and Health in Russia, organize a court date for you and have a facilitator meet you on your arrival in Moscow and guide you through your visit, translating and interpreting for you. Two visits to Russia were required. The first visit is when you go to meet the child you have been matched with, the second is when you go back – once the court date has been set up – to legally adopt your baby and bring him or her home.
I had heard about an agency called
Help Is At Hand
run by a man named Alexander. He had been mentioned on a number of the websites I had been browsing, as the best in the business. The agency was based in Georgia in the US, so I emailed him a list of questions that I had compiled from reference books and Internet adoption chat rooms.
What’s the age range of the children available for adoption?
How many children did you place last year? What is the breakdown of costs? What is the average time between submitting a dossier and receiving a referral? How long between accepting the referral and our first trip over? How long between the first and second trips? How long will we get to spend with the child on the first trip? Will we have a translator on hand when we get to Russia? Will you be translating all documents into and out of Russian?
I sent them off and while I was waiting for a response, set about compiling all our documents – known as our dossier. The paper trail for adoption was a never-ending nightmare. I looked down at the long list of documents required: copies of our birth and marriage certificates and passports; a statement of income provided by our employers, documents certifying ownership of our home, a letter from the adoption agency giving commitment to provide post-placement supervision and post-placement reports to the Russian authorities; a medical letter from our doctor drafted in the format prescribed by the Russian Ministry of Health which includes the need for a HIV test; a letter giving power of attorney to the agency; written statements that we will register the adopted child at the consular office of the Russian Federation in Ireland; photographs of us; Home Study assessment report; Department of Health’s certificate of Eligibility; police reports for both of us and a letter confirming that the application complies with both Irish and Russian adoption laws.
I sighed as I put the list down on the table. These adoption people really knew how to ruin a girl’s buzz. Just when I thought that things were going to get easier, they were actually becoming even more of a headache. ‘OK, come on, Emma,’ I said to myself. ‘Chop, chop. There is no point sitting around feeling weary, get up off your arse and start sorting out the paperwork.’
I spent the next three weeks galloping around Dublin – with James in tow some of the time – sorting out documents, having Aids tests and stalking Alexander. I was determined to have my dossier completed before going to London with Amanda to film Babs’s cosmetic surgery. Alexander came back to me with answers to all my questions – including a breakdown of the costs. We decided to go with him, because he had been running his agency for over ten years, he seemed very professional and because the pictures of the children on his website were very sweet. They all looked very cute and very happy. The day before we flew to London, I Fed-Exed our paperwork to the US with a large cheque.
James came with us to London as he was meeting up with one or two players he was hoping to persuade to move to Leinster next season. I was glad to have him with me, because Babs was driving me insane. She seemed to be under some illusion that she was a celebrity and insisted on wearing sunglasses in the airport and on the plane. After we had landed and checked into our hotel, we went to meet Sean and Shadee for dinner. Babs was still wearing the sunglasses when we arrived to the restaurant.
‘What’s with the dark glasses, Seabiscuit?’ Sean asked.
‘Enjoy your final slag, Sean,’ said Babs, smirking, ‘because in two days’ time you won’t be able to call me that any more.’
‘You can take the nose off the girl, but you can’t take the girl off the nose,’ laughed Sean, as Babs whipped off her sunglasses to glare at him.
While they bickered, I was staring at the enormous rock on Shadee’s finger.
‘Wow,’ I exclaimed, ‘it’s stunning.’
Shadee smiled and lifted her hand so I could get a closer look.
‘It’s gorgeous, Sean,’ I said. ‘Congratulations to both of you.’
‘What? You’re engaged?’ said our C-celeb. ‘Since when? Have you told Mum and Dad? Come on, let’s call them now, it’ll take the heat off me. They’ll go mad when they hear this,’ she said, subtle as always.
‘No, they won’t,’ snapped Sean. ‘They’ll be fine about it. We’ve been together for a year, they’re hardly going to be surprised.’
‘Want a bet?’ said Babs.
‘Have you told your parents?’ I asked Shadee.
She nodded and sighed. ‘Yes. It was difficult, but they are very fond of Sean and they can see how happy I am, so they’re coming around to the idea.’