Whose Life is it Anyway? (22 page)

26

Thankfully the damage to the car wasn’t too bad, but I was blamed for the crash and asked to pay for the repairs.

Siobhan kept staring at me and shaking her head. ‘You must have a screw loose,’ she said. ‘Why would you do this to Dad? You know it’ll kill him.’

I was sorely tempted to remind her that she had nearly pushed him over the brink with her teenage pregnancy, but decided to bite my tongue. She was wound up enough already. ‘I didn’t choose to fall for Pierre, it just happened. You don’t decide who you’re going to love,’ I said, pleased with how it sounded. I’d been practising that line for weeks.

‘If a black man made a pass at me I’d run a mile,’ said my progressive sister. ‘You just don’t entertain it. You marry your own. With all those Irish boys in Dublin, why the hell did you have to find the only fella from Martinee – or wherever it is?’

‘Because he’s special.’

‘It’s so typical of you, Niamh,’ hissed Siobhan. ‘You can never do things normally, like everyone else. You have to be different, you have to push the boundaries and upset Dad. This is just like when he asked you to do Irish dancing and you had to lie to him and do tap. Why can’t you be like everyone else?’

‘Have you got amnesia?’ I snarled. ‘Have you forgotten about your shotgun wedding? Have you chosen to erase the memory of Dad sobbing himself to sleep at night over it?’ I said, twisting the knife. I was sick and tired of Siobhan taking the moral high ground.

‘Liam is one of our own. Dad’s mad about him. He’s like a son to him. I don’t see him feeling the same way about an old black man.’

‘Pierre’s not old, and the fact that he’s black has nothing to do with anything,’ I said.

‘That’s rubbish and you know it. If you didn’t think it was a big deal, you’d have mentioned him before now.’ Sussed.

‘OK, I know it’s not ideal and I do realize Dad’ll go mad, but I was hoping you’d be on my side. I need allies when I tell him. And when you meet Pierre you’ll love him. He’s amazing.’

‘I’m sorry, Niamh, but I don’t approve. I think you’re mad. Everyone’s going to be shocked. No one in the family will support this and Mum and Dad will never accept it, so you’ll just have to break it off, find a guy your own age and make sure he’s white.’

‘Don’t approve? Who the hell do you think you are? Do you have any idea how racist you’re being?’

‘I’m not being racist, I’m being realistic. It won’t work.’

‘It will work because I’ve met the perfect person for me. What he looks like is irrelevant. He’s my soulmate and I’m going to marry him, regardless of what anyone else thinks. And I can’t believe that you, my own sister, won’t support me. I presumed you’d be happy for me. I stupidly thought you’d congratulate me and be thrilled that I’d met a great guy, instead of telling me to dump him.’

‘I’m being honest. You’re living in Fantasy Land if you think this wedding is ever going to happen.’

‘I love him,’ I said, using my best line of defence.

She looked at me. ‘I’m sure you do, but I can’t pretend it’s OK. The truth is that everyone’s going to freak out. You have to be prepared for that. No one is going to consider this a good idea. So you need to think long and hard before you blurt it out to Mum and Dad – particularly Dad in his current condition. He’ll probably have another heart-attack. Just wait a few months and see how you feel then. What’s the rush anyway?’

‘Pierre’s been offered a post as professor of linguistics in Vancouver. He’s moving to Canada in ten weeks’ time. I’m going with him and we want to get married first.’

Siobhan sat back in the crumpled car and groaned. ‘Oh, Niamh, I’d hate to be you right now.’

When we got home, Finn pulled me aside and asked if Dad’s heart-attack was really because of the shamrock or was it because I told him about Pierre?

‘It was the shamrock, and thanks for implying that my news could kill him.’

‘It can and, to be honest, I think it will. Older is bad enough, not Irish is worse, but black… Forget about it, Niamh. He’s going to flip.’

‘You met Pierre, you saw how amazing he is, how can you not be more supportive?’ I asked, completely exasperated that everyone was presuming Dad would die when he found out about Pierre.

‘He’s a good guy and he seems to be mad about you, but none of that will change Dad’s reaction.’

‘Well, he’s just going to have to get over it.’

‘You’re not planning on telling him now, are you?’ asked Finn, looking shocked.

‘Of course not. I’m going to wait a week or two until he’s feeling better and the doctor says his heart is strong again. Then I’ll break the news.’

‘When is Pierre off to Canada?’

‘Ten weeks.’

‘And you still want to get married before then?’

I nodded.

‘Why not say you’re going to Canada to study and tell Dad about Pierre later?’

‘Because Pierre wants to get married now and have kids straight away. He doesn’t want to be too old to pick them up and I don’t want to have kids unless I’m married. I guess it’s the Irish Catholic guilt. Some of it’s obviously sunk in. I’m traditional about marriage and kids. Besides, I know Mum and Dad would be even more upset if I did that.’

‘I wouldn’t describe an inter-race marriage as traditional.’

‘You can’t help who you fall for. Come on, Finn, I need your help with Mum and Dad. I need you to sing Pierre’s praises, tell them how wonderful he is.’

‘I’ll do my best, but if you get excommunicated, I’m jumping ship,’ he said, grinning at me.

‘Do you think it’ll be that bad?’

‘Worse.’

27

Having promised Dad we’d finish the float, Finn and I woke up early on St Patrick’s Day and went out to the garden to salvage the shamrock. We somehow managed to lift it on to the cart, while Tadhg – who, having seen his brother’s heart give out, wasn’t taking any chances himself in case it was hereditary – shouted instructions. Then we painted it three times for good measure. It looked utterly ridiculous and wonderful at the same time.

We wheeled it down to the parish hall where we were met with a startling array of floats, marching bands, baton twirlers and dancing curtains. Siobhan’s five daughters – Muireann, eleven, Saibhe, nine, Morag, seven, Blathnaid, five and Ailbhe, three – were all dressed in green Irish-dancing dresses and were leaping about, high as kites with excitement. They were going to be dancing on a float that Liam’s law firm was sponsoring. As a former Irish-dancing champion, Liam was keen that his daughters enjoy jigs and reels as much as he and Siobhan had done. Within five years of setting up his own law firm, he had made a name for himself within the Irish community. He was highly respected as a lawyer, although my regard for him stemmed from the fact that he was able to put up with my sister on a daily basis without strangling her.

‘Is that it?’ Siobhan asked, pointing to the shamrock.

‘Yes,’ I said, proud of our achievement.

‘You didn’t do a very good job. The paint’s all streaky.’

‘We’ve been up since seven after four hours’ sleep. It’s a bloody miracle we managed to get here at all,’ growled Finn.

‘No need to be so grumpy. I’m just saying Dad wouldn’t like to see his hard work displayed like that.’

Finn sighed, pulled out a paint pot and began to smooth the streaky parts, while Siobhan ordered him around.

I went to find Father Hogan amid the chaos to tell him that the shamrock had made it but Dad hadn’t. I eventually found him crouched down, trying to persuade a young boy that wearing a green velvet jacket didn’t mean he was gay.

‘I won’t wear it, it’s a fag’s jacket,’ insisted the boy.

‘Not at all, Diarmuid, it’s a big man’s jacket. It’s not girly at all.’

‘I’m not putting it on.’

‘But your poor mother spent weeks making it for you.’

‘I’ll be slagged in school for looking like a gay leprechaun.’

‘But you were specially chosen to portray St Patrick as a youngster.’

‘I don’t want to be him.’

‘But he’s our patron saint. It’s an honour. Sure didn’t he banish all the snakes from Ireland?’

‘Fuck Ireland, fuck St Patrick and fuck his stupid snakes,’ shouted Diarmuid.

‘Don’t speak to Father Hogan like that,’ I interrupted. ‘And if you really think St Patrick’s so lame, give the jacket to someone else and let them be a star for the day.’

‘Fine, take it,’ he said, throwing it at me.

‘Are you blind? Haven’t you seen how gorgeous the girls are out there? They’ll all want to talk to the guy playing St Patrick on the main float. You must be mad not to want to wear the jacket and get loads of attention from girls.’

Diarmuid glanced around at the array of girls dancing, twirling batons and playing musical instruments.

I held out the jacket.

‘OK. I suppose a few hours wouldn’t kill me,’ he said, putting it on and strutting over to a group of girls.

‘Well done, Niamh,’ said Father Hogan. ‘Before you arrived I was definitely losing that battle.’

‘No problem. I can’t believe he was so rude to you.’

‘Ah, sure the young kids today are very aggressive. Not like you lot.’

I thought back to my days of sitting in mass every Sunday, with a face on me that would curdle milk. I might have been a reluctant worshipper but I’d never have dreamt of telling a priest to eff off. Poor Father Hogan, if that was what he was dealing with.

‘I wanted to find you to let you know that Dad’s float is here. Unfortunately, however, Dad’s in hospital. He had a heart-attack trying to get the shamrock on to the cart last night.’

Father Hogan blessed himself. ‘Sweet Lord above, is he all right?’

‘He’s going to be fine, but we all got a bit of a fright.’

‘Poor Mick, but sure isn’t it typical of him to put so much effort into everything that he does?. There are no half-measures with him. He’s a great man, so he is. I’ll say a prayer for him and pop in to him later on when all this madness is over.’

‘Thanks, Father, he’d appreciate that.’

‘Are you home for the celebrations? I thought you’d stay in Dublin for the big parade there.’

‘No, I wanted to come home to see the family.’

‘Ah, sure aren’t you great? Your father’s always telling me how well you’re doing. The apple of his eye, you are.’

Was I? Had I really taken over from Siobhan? I began to realize that maybe I had. After Siobhan’s shotgun wedding, things had slowly changed between me and Dad. No longer was I the one he clashed with all the time; the one who was as stubborn as him and determined to do her own thing. I grew up, he mellowed a bit, we argued less and got on. The icing on the cake was definitely when I announced I was going to college in Dublin. Dad thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He wanted Finn to go too, but he’d had no interest. He wanted to go straight into the family business and he was proving to be very good at it.

Sadly, my days of glory were now numbered. Once the secret of Pierre was out, I’d be flung off the pedestal. It had been nice while it lasted.

‘Thanks, Father, it’s good to be back.’

‘I’d better go, but thanks for helping me with young Diarmuid. I owe you one.’

Little did he know that this was music to my ears. Having Father Hogan on-side was something I could really do with.

‘Actually, Father, I have a quick question for you.’

‘Fire ahead.’

‘It’s hypothetical.’

‘Aren’t they all?’

‘If a Catholic girl wanted to marry an agnostic would that be really bad?’

‘Well, obviously the Church would prefer her to marry a fellow Catholic, but if he was a good man and she loved him, I think that would be fine. Her parents might find it difficult, if they had strong faith, like your parents, for instance.’

‘Would the girl be excommunicated if she married this non-Catholic?’

‘No. If she keeps her faith then the Church would still welcome her. Would there be any chance of this girl’s partner converting?’

‘Not a hope in hell,’ I said.

‘Pity, but sure that’s life.’

‘Could they get married in a church anyway?’

‘They could. However, the Catholic girl would have to declare her intention to continue practising the Catholic faith and do all in her power to share that faith with children born of the marriage by having them baptized and raised as Catholics.’

‘So she needs to get him to agree to raise their children Catholic?’

‘Yes. I think it would also help ease things over with the girl’s family if they knew the grandchildren were going to be raised in the Catholic faith.’

‘OK. What if the man was agnostic and black?’

Father Hogan looked shocked, but rallied well. ‘We’re all God’s children.’

‘Do you think the girl’s family would feel that way?’

‘I’m not sure they’d find it easy to accept. It’s a lot to address, but one would hope after time, maybe…’ His voice trailed off and he avoided eye contact.

‘OK. Well, thanks for your time, Father.’ I turned to walk off, shoulders slumped. If a priest who spent his whole life saying comforting things to people couldn’t help me, I was, in Diarmuid’s word – fucked.

‘Niamh!’ Father Hogan called after me. I turned to face him. ‘Does the girl really love this man?’

‘Yes, very much.’

‘Well, then, I’d be happy to make myself available for advice and so forth when she decides to tell her family. I’m presuming she hasn’t already done so.’

‘No, Father, she hasn’t found the right time yet. But when she does, I’ll make sure to get her to call you. I think she’s going to need all the help she can get.’

‘Wish her good luck from me. She sounds like a lovely girl.’

I went to find Liam, Siobhan and the girls. Finn was still working on the repaint. Watching my nieces grinning from ear to ear, dancing about, their hair in perfect ringlets, made me smile. They were adorable. Siobhan and Liam were practising a few steps with them and they looked, from a distance, like the perfect family – except for Muireann who seemed a bit sulky. It was nice that, after a difficult start, they had managed to stay together and create a lovely family unit. Liam still didn’t speak to his mother. He had never forgiven her for throwing him out and disowning him when she found out Siobhan was pregnant. But his father regularly came to see his granddaughters and catch up with his son.