Whose Life is it Anyway? (33 page)

‘How many mixed couples do we know?’

‘Harriet and Jason, and Sammy Davis Junior was engaged to Kim Novak,’ said Mum, as I smiled to myself.

‘Sammy Davis Junior?’ said Dad. ‘Is that the best you can come up with?’

‘All right, we don’t know many mixed couples, but that doesn’t mean it can’t work.’

‘Of all the fellas she could have met! Of all the men in Dublin she has to choose a black one! Why does she always have to be different? Why is she so stubborn? Can she not see what she’s doing to me?’

‘This isn’t about you, Mick. It’s about Niamh. She’s in love. If we push her away, we’ll lose her. Don’t make her choose.’

‘Is he right for her, Annie? Can he make her happy? Can he look after her and give her a good life?’

‘Yes, I think he can. He’s a very responsible man. He’s older than her and more mature, which is a good thing. And the way she looks at him when he’s talking, it’s pure adoration. And he’s the same with her. You should see them, Mick. It’s the real deal.’

‘She’ll meet someone else. It might take her a few months to get over him, but we can help her meet a nice Irish lad.’

‘She could marry an Irish man who treats her badly. Is that better than a black man who loves her?’

‘Of course it isn’t, but she could have both. Don’t tell me there isn’t a decent Irish fella out there that would make her happy.’

‘Well, if there is, she hasn’t found him. Have you forgotten, Mick? Has it been so long? Have you forgotten what it feels like when you’re in love? Nothing matters to them at the moment except each other. They’re in their own world.’

‘I should never have left Ballyduff. None of this would have happened. Siobhan wouldn’t have got herself pregnant and Niamh would never be marrying a black man.’

‘Stop your nonsense,’ snapped Mum. ‘We all left Ireland because there was nothing there for us. We wanted to make a better life for ourselves and to give our children choices. We’ve raised three wonderful children and had a good life. We’re not going to start regretting it now. Besides, it was in Ireland that Niamh met Pierre, not here, in case you forgot.’

‘What’ll everyone say when they find out? We’ll be the laughing-stock.’

‘Since when did you care what other people think? The only thing that matters is that Niamh is happy.’

‘We don’t know anything about this lad. He could be a criminal, he could be married already, he could have a violent streak in him… We know nothing about him at all.’

‘The only way to get to know him is to talk to him instead of slamming doors in his face and storming out of the house.’

Well said, Mum. Maybe now Dad would agree to meet Pierre and be civil to him.

‘I was in shock.’

‘I know, Mick. It’s not easy to accept, but from the chat I had with him, he seems a very decent man. I’ll get Niamh to bring him over tomorrow and we can sit down and you can ask him all the questions you want. We need to get this sorted out before they go to Canada.’

‘Canada?’ said Dad. Shit. I’d forgotten he didn’t know. I hadn’t had time to tell him.

‘Yes, Pierre’s got a job in Vancouver and they’re off in a few weeks.’

‘
OVER MY DEAD BODY
.’

I sighed and climbed the stairs to bed. I’d need as much sleep as I could get, so that I could face the music tomorrow.

41

The next morning when I came down for breakfast, Dad was waiting for me. ‘Sit down,’ he said.

I sat.

‘I’ve been up all night. Not a wink of sleep did I get with all this nonsense going on. What’s this about you going off to Canada with that man?’

‘Pierre has been offered a professorship in Vancouver and we’re going there after we get married,’ I said firmly. He wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept all night. At four in the morning, I’d finally decided that Dad needed to understand one thing and one thing only: I was marrying Pierre with or without his approval.

‘Are you trying to put me into an early grave?’ he asked.

‘No, Dad. I fell in love. That’s all. I haven’t committed any crime.’

‘But he’s black, Niamh. You’re chalk and cheese. Your children will be –’

‘Loved by their parents and, I hope, their grandparents. I never meant to cause you any upset, Dad. I didn’t move to Africa and hunt down a black husband. I met Pierre in Dublin and I knew within five minutes that he was The One. Nothing and nobody is going to change that. And I would really appreciate it if you could treat him with a little respect.’

‘I’d like some respect too – telling me about him two seconds before he arrives on my doorstep and me with a bad heart! ’Twas an insult to me.’

‘I tried to tell you earlier but you were in meetings. Just give Pierre a chance, that’s all I’m asking.’

‘Your mother’s been at me all night. On and on she went about love and happiness and choosing sides and losing a daughter if I refused to accept this lad and so on. So what I’ve agreed to do is to sit down with both of you and talk to you. If after that I still don’t like him and I still think it’s the worst decision you could ever make, I’ll do everything in my power to stop the wedding.’

‘Fine.’

‘I want him over here in an hour.’

‘I’ll call him now.’

‘Fine.’

We both stomped back upstairs, equally annoyed with each other for not giving in. Mum was right. We were as stubborn as each other.

Pierre arrived exactly an hour later, wearing a blue shirt and a smile. I brought him into the lounge and we sat down to wait for my parents to come in for the grilling. Five minutes later they entered the room. Pierre stood up, shook hands with Mum and Dad, then everyone sat down.

Silence.

Pierre cleared his throat. ‘Mr O’Flaherty, I’m sorry about the mix-up yesterday. I had presumed you’d been informed of my existence before I arrived on your doorstep to ask for Niamh’s hand in marriage.’

Mum poked Dad in the ribs. ‘Ah, uhm, yes. Well, thank you, and I suppose I should apologize for my reaction. I was taken very much by surprise.’

‘I can imagine, sir,’ said Pierre, formal and respectful. ‘I realize that I’m not the son-in-law you would have hand-picked for your daughter. I know how important your culture and homeland are to you, but I hope I can convince you that I love your daughter more than any other man possibly could and that I will take great care of her.’

‘What does your father make of it?’ Dad asked.

‘He was a little tentative at first because they had hoped I’d marry a French girl, but once they met Niamh and saw how happy she makes me, he supported my decision.’

‘I see,’ said Dad, as I silently cheered my fiancé’s clever and ever so subtly pointed answers.

‘I take it you’re not Catholic,’ Dad said, as I shuddered.

‘No, sir, I’m not.’

The door opened. We looked up. It was Father Hogan. ‘Sorry to barge in, but the kitchen door was open, so I popped in that way.’

‘Welcome, Father,’ said Dad, jumping up. To me he said, ‘I asked Father Hogan to call in today to meet your boyfriend and give us some advice.’

‘Hello, nice to meet you,’ said Father Hogan, shaking Pierre’s hand. Then he bent down to kiss my cheek and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, I’m here to help.’

‘We need it,’ I whispered back.

‘Father Hogan is an old friend of the family,’ said Mum to Pierre, by way of explaining why there was suddenly a priest in the room.

‘How nice,’ said Pierre, looking a little apprehensive.

‘He’s not Catholic,’ said Dad, pointing at Pierre.

‘Are you Christian?’ Father Hogan asked Pierre.

‘Agnostic, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh,’ said Mum, disappointed.

‘But he acts like a Christian,’ I piped up. ‘He’s really kind and always gives money to the homeless people on the street.’

‘How do you feel about Niamh being Catholic?’ Father Hogan asked.

Pierre shrugged. ‘I’m fine with it.’

‘If you were blessed with children, would you object to them being raised Catholic?’ the priest asked.

Pierre paused, then looked at my pleading eyes and said, ‘If Niamh really wanted it, then I’d certainly be open to it.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Father Hogan, beaming.

‘Can they get married in the church?’ Mum asked.

‘They can. As long as Niamh declares her intention to continue practising her faith and do all in her power to share that faith with children born of the marriage, we can go ahead with the church wedding.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Mum, getting emotional. ‘I thought we were going to end up in a register office.’

‘Over my dead body,’ said Dad, as I saw Pierre stifle a smile.

‘Where is it you’re from?’ Father Hogan asked.

‘Born in France, raised mostly in Oxford, but my parents are from Martinique.’

‘It’s in the Caribbean,’ said Mum. ‘Siobhan looked it up on the Internet for me.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Pierre, smiling at Mum.

‘And what is it you do?’ asked the priest. Dad had obviously told him to do the grilling so Mum couldn’t give out to him.

‘I’m a professor of phonetics.’

‘Well, now, a professor,’ said Father Hogan, suitably impressed.

‘He’s very well thought of,’ said Mum. ‘Siobhan read me out some articles this morning from the Internet about you. They were very complimentary. He’s very highly regarded in his field of expertise,’ she added, looking directly at Dad.

‘Hellooo, anyone home?’ called Nuala, popping her head round the door. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll come back later.’

‘Not at all. Come in and sit down,’ said Mum, who had obviously forgiven her.

‘How’s everything going?’ Nuala murmured, as she sat down beside me.

‘Not too bad,’ I mumbled.

‘Did Niamh tell you Pierre’s parents had a great Irish family friend, Molly Hanafin?’ asked Nuala, winking at me.

‘No,’ said Dad, perking up.

‘Oh, yes. She was like a second mother to Pierre, apparently,’ said Nuala, laying it on thick, as Pierre shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

‘What part of Ireland was she from?’ Dad asked.

‘Uhm, it was –’ Pierre fumbled.

‘Mayo,’ I jumped in.

‘I knew a Hanafin from Mayo. Was she one of the Ballina Hanafins?’ Dad asked, almost excited.

Pierre looked panic-stricken. He didn’t know how to lie.

‘No,’ said Nuala. ‘Didn’t you tell me she was from Achill Island?’

Pierre nodded.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Father Hogan. ‘My mother was from Achill. I bet you I know Molly’s relatives.’

Bollox. That was the problem with Ireland. Everyone knew everyone else.

‘She died a good while ago now,’ I said.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I’d like to have met her,’ said Dad.

‘How did you come to be such good friends?’ Mum asked.

‘She was the matron in my school, we got on well and then she became a good friend,’ said Pierre, trying to keep as close to the truth as possible.

‘Isn’t that lovely?’ said Mum.

‘The Irish have always made the best nurses,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll bet she looked after you well up in the school.’

‘Yes, she did,’ Pierre agreed.

‘And then when poor Molly got sick, Pierre’s family took her in and nursed her until she died,’ said Nuala.

‘Very Christian of you,’ said Father Hogan.

‘Told you he was,’ I said.

‘Your mother must be a very kind woman,’ said Mum. I grinned at the idea of Florence Nightingale, dressed from head to toe in Chanel, nursing a dying woman.

‘Was there a big funeral back in Achill?’ Dad asked. ‘You must have been impressed with the place. A beautiful part of Ireland it is.’

‘No, actually. Molly was buried in Oxford, as she had wished. She didn’t have any family back in Ireland and she considered Oxford her home,’ said Pierre, who was getting better at bending the truth.

‘I must ring my cousin Tommy and ask him does he remember Molly Hanafin. He’s lived in Achill all his life,’ said Father Hogan.

Jesus, he was like a dog with a bone. I needed to get them off the subject of Molly before they discovered she was, almost, a complete fabrication.

Nuala, obviously thinking the same thing, said, ‘So, when’s the big day going to be? Have you set a date? It’s hard to get good venues, these days. You’d want to think about it.’

‘Actually, we were hoping to have the wedding in the church here, if that’s all right with you?’ I said to Father Hogan.

‘Really?’ said Pierre.

I glared at him.

‘I’d be delighted,’ said the priest. ‘When were you thinking?’

‘In about six weeks,’ I said.

‘Six weeks?’ said Dad. ‘Why the big rush? You’re not –’

‘
No
!’ I said, putting his mind at ease. There wouldn’t be two shotgun weddings from this house. ‘Pierre’s new job starts in eight weeks’ time now, so Nuala’s right, we need to get a move on with our plans.’

‘Would you like to book in for a pre-marriage course?’ Father Hogan asked. ‘They do a very good one down at the community centre.’

‘Well, I’m not sure we’ll have time,’ I said.

‘Make time,’ snapped Dad.

‘OK, book us in,’ I said.

‘Sorry, Father, what exactly is this course?’ Pierre asked.

‘Don’t worry, son, we won’t be trying to convert you.’ Father Hogan laughed. ‘It’s just a day spent in reflection and discussion on the important aspects of a relationship and marriage.’

‘I see,’ said Pierre, sounding decidedly unenthusiastic. I wondered why he didn’t just sprint out the door and leave me behind, with my enormous quantity of family baggage.

‘Lord, there’s so much to do and so little time,’ said Mum. ‘Mick, you’ll have to call Jerry Maher and see can we get the hotel booked for the reception. Nuala, you’ll have to help with the dresses. I’ll get the invitations out double quick. Everyone coming over from Ireland will need to book their flights.’

‘Mum, we were thinking of a smallish wedding.’

‘How small?’

‘Seventy?’

Mum and Nuala laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘It may have escaped everybody’s notice but I haven’t given my blessing to this marriage,’ Dad put in.

Pierre stood up and took a deep breath. I could see he was getting fed up with it all, but he slapped on a smile and said, ‘Mr O’Flaherty, would you please give us your permission and blessing to get married? I promise to do everything possible to ensure Niamh’s happiness and wellbeing.’