A Perfect Match (13 page)

‘Yes,’ said Lucy, cringing at the memory, ‘it was horrendous.’

Lucy told us she had called in to her mother to fill her in on the romance after they got engaged. Before asking her anything about Donal, Mrs Hogan had grabbed Lucy’s hand to see the size and quality of the ring and was suitably impressed. Only then did she ask her daughter about her fiance. Who was he? Who were his parents? What did he do for a living?

‘… you can imagine how that went. I told her his name was Donal Brady and he was a professional athlete. She, of course, living in lala land, thought I meant he was a polo player. When I told her he was a rugby player and his parents were Mr and Mrs Brady from Ballydrum, she nearly passed out.’

‘Ballydrum?’ whispered Mrs Hogan. ‘What is that? A village?’

‘It’s a town outside limerick.’

‘I’m sorry, Lucy, this has got to be a joke. Over my dead body are you marrying a small town boy who plays rugby for a living.’

‘Mum, I’m marrying Donal whether you like it or not. So you better take that look off your face and start being happy for me,’ said Lucy, as firmly as she could, trying not to shout. She didn’t want her mother thinking there was any room for manoeuvre. She needed to stress that this was a done deal.

‘There’s no need to raise your voice, it’s very unladylike. What do you mean by professional rugby player? What does he do exactly?’ she said, wrinkling up her nose.

‘He plays rugby. He’s the captain of the Leinster team. He’s really good. The team are really well thought of.’

If he’s so good, why isn’t he playing for the Irish team?’

‘Because there’s a younger guy who is just a bit better than him that plays the same position.’

‘How much does he earn?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘How does he plan to support you? He can’t play rugby for ever.’

‘He’ll probably become a coach or maybe get into sports broadcasting.’

‘It all sounds a bit vague, Lucy. Is he handsome at least?’

‘He’s really tall and has a brilliant personality and I think he’s very attractive.’

‘What does his father do? Is he a rugby player too?’

‘He owns a shop.’

‘What kind of shop?’

‘A sweet shop.’

‘Is there something you’re not telling me? Are you pregnant? Is that it? Tell me the truth.’

‘No, I am not. Look, Mum, I’m in love with a guy who thinks I’m fantastic too.’

‘Does he realize who you are?’

‘Who am I?’

‘Gerald Hogan’s daughter and heiress to a substantial fortune. Mark my words it’s your money he’s interested in. This boy’s career is almost over and suddenly he wants to get married.’

‘Is it really so hard to believe that a man wants to marry me because of me?’

‘Lucy, you’re beautiful and successful. You come from a highly regarded family and you must realize you’re quite a catch. Don’t settle for second best.’

‘If I’m such a catch, then how come it took me thirty-five years to find the guy I want to marry? As for our highly regarded family – really, Mum, look in the mirror. I come from a broken home where my mother still lives in the past and my father lives with his girlfriend on a different continent. I’m the lucky one – Donal comes from a normal, stable and loving family.’

‘You deserve more. I want more for you, Lucy, I always have.’

‘No, Mum, you want more for yourself. I’ve found what I was looking for and I’m going home to be with him. I’d like you to come up for dinner on Friday to meet him, but only if you promise to be nice. Think about it and call me.’

Lucy finished telling the story and shook her head.

‘So what happened when they met?’ I asked.

‘Well, Mum arrived up, dressed from head to toe in Chanel, dripping in diamonds, fur coat – the lot. Donal answered the door, “Lucy, your twin sister is here.” ’

‘Oh God, he didn’t!’ said Jess and I in unison.

‘Oh, yes he did,’ said Lucy, rolling her eyes.

Mrs Hogan glared at Donal.

‘Aren’t you a bit old for that nonsense?’

‘Come on in, Mrs Hogan, you’re very welcome. Can I take your coat?’ said Donal, trying a less cheesy approach.

‘So you’re Donal, the rugby player,’ she said, loftily. ‘And you imagine you’re going to marry my daughter? I gather you’re from some town near Limerick.’

Donal was, for once, speechless. He could see that no matter what he did, he wasn’t going to change this woman’s pre-conceived opinion of him – she clearly thought he was pond scum.

‘Yes, Ballydrum. Will you have a drink?’

‘A dry white wine – if you have such a thing.’

‘I think I might have an old bottle of Blue Nun out the back,’ said Donal, hamming it up.

‘I have one or two questions I’d like answers to. How do you expect to support my daughter when your rugby career ends?’

‘Oh, that’s all sorted out, I’m going to stay at home and mind the kids while Lucy goes to work. I’m a big fan of daytime television,’ said Donal, as he left to find Lucy who was hiding in the kitchen.

‘Well? How’s it going?’ she asked.

‘I think she’d rather you contracted leprosy than marry me.’

‘… and that’s pretty much how the evening went. Mum needling Donal, and Donal playing it up. So I think it’s safe to say we won’t be going on family holidays together,’ said Lucy, shrugging.

‘Are you OK about it?’ I asked.

‘Let’s face it, Mum wasn’t going to approve of anyone I married – unless it was Prince Charles. She’ll get over it and when she gets to know him, she’ll like him. It’s just going to take a while and Donal doesn’t make the best first impression either.’

‘What about your dad, what did he say?’

‘Dad thinks it’s brilliant. He can’t believe I’m marrying a rugby player. Donal is the son he always dreamt of having. They’ve been on the phone a couple of times already analysing matches. They’re best of buddies, so at least he’s happy. And I’m happy so what the hell … Mum’ll come around eventually.’

‘A toast,’ I said, raising my glass. ‘To Lucy’s six foot four toy boy from Ballydrum.’

15

Three weeks after our first adoption meeting, we were back for session two. I had cut out several articles I’d seen in magazines and newspapers about adoption and racism. I was determined to impress Dervla and Yvonne with my diligence. I wanted us to be the number one couple in the class so that there was no chance of us getting turned down.

When everyone had arrived and settled down, Dervla asked us if we had seen anything in the media that we’d like to discuss. Before I had the chance to say ‘yes’, Brendan shot out of his chair and said he’d like to share some of his findings with the class. With the help of Joy and his laptop computer, he gave us a power point presentation on the relevant articles that had featured in die news. He had pie charts comparing and contrasting television media coverage with radio and print media. He had bar charts that demonstrated the different demographics being targeted by the various media forms. Relevant headlines flashed before us as Joy handed out summaries of their findings in personalized colour-coded folders. Dervla looked impressed, while the rest of us sank back in our chairs, stuffing our newspaper cuttings into our pockets, feeling deflated. Brendan and Joy were a formidable team.

We were then shown a video. This time it was about race and culture. Black and Asian children who had been adopted by white couples spoke about their experiences. They explained that although as a child you may not be aware of how different you are, as an adult, things can become very complicated. Your sense of belonging is taken away and you feel different everywhere – both in the place you were brought up in and in the place you came from originally. They spoke about adoption bereavement – being taken from your birth parents, your country and your culture and thrown into a new society.

When the video ended, Yvonne and Dervla asked us to think about loss in our own lives. They asked us to do up a loss chart of all the loved ones we had lost or of the loss we already felt because we weren’t able to have children or any losses we had felt strongly in our youth.

‘Don’t worry about your loss seeming insignificant. Everyone has different levels of loss. Just be honest and put down what you feel,’ said Yvonne, smiling at us as we stared blankly at her. ‘OK, start writing whatever comes into your head. It can be any kind of loss at all.’

I chewed the end of my pen and concentrated. All my grandparents died before I was born except my Granny Burke. But she had suffered from Alzheimer’s and died when I was four. My only memory of her is going with Dad to visit her in the home she was in. She kept saying, ‘Hello, my name’s Gretta’ over and over again. At four this seemed hilarious instead of sad. So, in terms of people, I hadn’t really lost anyone close to me. Garfield kept springing to mind. I know he was just a cat, but I had loved him and he’d been around for most of my youth. We got him when I was six and he got smushed by a truck when I was seventeen and just beginning to lose interest in him. I had been upset when he died. I remember the night very well. Garfield got run over and, despite my grief, I bravely carried on and went to Rory Lawlor’s party, where I smoked pot for the first time. It was a great night, I thought I was mad – a regular sex, drugs and rock’n’roll chick. The other loss I remembered feeling was the day of my first Holy Communion. I was seven and Mum had pulled out all the stops with my dress. It was snow white with puff sleeves and a big hoop skirt. I had gloves and a bag to match. I thought I was hot to trot. As I was coming down the stairs and Dad was whistling at me while he took photos, I slipped and hit my mouth off the banisters, knocking out my two front teeth. I ended up arriving at my Holy Communion – late, with bloodstains all over my dress and no front teeth. Now I realize it may seem a bit lame in light of what I had just been watching on the video, but I couldn’t think of anything else, so I scribbled those two down.

Never, in my wildest dreams did I think we would then be swapping ‘loss charts’ and reading each other’s out. Dervla collected them and then one by one chose someone to read another person’s chart. Carole’s losses were read out first by Denis. Carole had had a shocker – she had lost her mother when she was twelve. Then, on the eve of her twenty-first birthday her best friend suffered a brain tumour and died. She had also endured three miscarriages.

Jesus Christ, I had to get my loss chart out of there. I began to sweat. I couldn’t let anyone see mine. They were ridiculous. I thought it was only for ourselves. Oh God, how was I going to get out of this one? I’d faint. I’d pretend to have a dizzy spell and then hopefully that would distract them. Just as I began to swoon, Dervla called Gary up to read my chart and everyone turned to smile at me and give nods of encouragement. Shit!

Gary began to read:

‘Emma has two losses here. The first is when Garfield was run over by a truck and she had to go and scrape his flattened body off the road.’ Gary’s lips were beginning to twitch. I turned purple. ‘The second is when she lost her two front teeth the day of her first … ha ha … her first Holy … ha ha … Communion,’ he said, shaking with laughter as everyone else joined in.

I wanted to die.

‘Well done, darling,’ whispered James. ‘You’ve really put us ahead of the bunch now.’

Dervla was not amused. ‘This is not a subject to be taken lighdy,’ she fumed.

‘I wasn’t making fun, honestly, I just couldn’t think of anything – I’m really sorry. I guess I’ve been very lucky on the loss front, nobody has died on me yet and I haven’t had any miscarriages, I just have crappy old eggs,’ I said, fighting back tears. God, I’d really blown it this time.

‘It’s OK, Emma. It can be a difficult exercise. Don’t worry, everyone has different levels of loss,’ said Yvonne, patting me on the arm. ‘Now, who’s next?’

The next hour was the longest of my life. I couldn’t wait to get out of the place. I was so humiliated.

As we were leaving, Brendan waved. ‘Good luck, Emma, I hope no more tragedies strike you. Be careful not to break a nail or something,’ he said, laughing as he squeezed his fat arse into his sports car.

‘Oh God, James, how bad was it?’

‘To be honest, darling, I think you outdid yourself today. I particularly enjoyed the toothless Holy Communion.’

‘I saw everyone scribbling away and I panicked. The only thing I could think of was Garfield and my teeth. I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Not your finest hour, perhaps, although it did give us all a good laugh.’

‘Well, I don’t think putting down losing the semi-final of last year’s Rugby Cup was much better,’ I grumbled at him.

‘Did you see the guys’ faces? They all agreed that that was a very big loss. The match, teamed with my grandfather – who was like a third parent to me – dying when I was ten, was relevant to the exercise. Scraping your cat’s body off the road was just a little off the mark.’

‘Stop, please. I feel bad enough as it is. Do you think I blew it? Do they all think I’m shallow and ridiculous and not fit to be a mother? Should I go back in and explain that I panicked? Oh God, James, what have I done?’ I said, beginning to hyperventilate.

‘Emma, hey. It’s all right. It wasn’t that bad. They thought it was funny and sweet. Of course they’re not going to reject us because your family didn’t die in a car crash when you were two. Some people have more losses than others. You were just honest about it. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’

When we got home I took out the list of questions we had been given to answer for the next session. I wanted to make myself feel better by doing something positive, so I decided to tackle the questions then and there. I read the introduction:

Here are fifty questions you might consider about the country and culture you are thinking of adopting from … when you have answered the following fifty questions, you may consider yourself to be well beyond the beginner stage … there will be questions that you cannot answer … as a comparison, consider how you would find out the answers if they were questions about Ireland.

Right. I was going to answer every one of these questions before the next session if it killed me. I’d prove my dedication to the adoption process by tracking down all the information. I’d fly to Moscow if I had to. Watch out Brendan and Joy, your time in the limelight is coming to an end.