A Perfect Match (8 page)

‘Well, we were talking about you if that counts for anything,’ said Lucy, ‘and Emma taught me the rudiments of rugby.’

‘Did she really?’ said James, walking over. ‘I’m dying to hear this.’

‘She explained it very well. Numbers one to eight are muck eaters and numbers nine to fifteen are the fairies that run around not getting dirty. Number ten is the main man who kicks all the balls and Donal is important because when his head is out of the muck, he jumps up and catches the ball in the line-ups.’

The two men creased up.

‘Wonderful summary of the game, darling,’ said James, when he finally stopped laughing. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

‘You see,’ I said, beaming at him, ‘and you think I don’t listen.’

9

A few weeks later, James and I were out Christmas shopping. We had bought presents for everyone except Thomas and the twins. James went off to the sports shop to get Thomas a mini rugby ball while I went to get the twins little outfits. As I browsed around the shop looking at the adorable baby clothes, I suddenly realized that I was the only person in the shop without a child. Everyone else had children with them. They were playing Christmas carols in the background and the mother beside me began to sing the song to her little baby in the pram – she positively radiated with love. I turned around to focus on the clothes and picked up a tiny pink cord dress with white embroidered flowers on the collar and cuffs. I stared at the dress and then it hit me, like a kick in the stomach. That all too familiar empty feeling was back – I began to cry.

I had been feeling fine. I had been feeling quite positive about things. I had been focusing all my energies on the adoption and how wonderful it was going to be, but suddenly I felt utterly miserable. Why the hell couldn’t we have our own child? It would be so much easier. We wouldn’t have to go through this torturous waiting period and then embark on a long and arduous assessment process, where everything in our lives would be scrutinized and opened up for examination by strangers. It was so unfair – why did we have to endure being put on trial for parenthood. Why was it so bloody hard? I threw down the dress and hurried out of the shop. I wanted to shout at the mothers and fathers walking around with their children. I wanted to tell them how lucky they were and ask them if they had any idea how hard it was on this side of the fence – looking in. Thankfully I saw James walking towards me before I had the chance to attack some poor unsuspecting family.

‘James,’ I said, sobbing as I reached him.

‘I know,’ he said, handing me a tissue.

‘It’s just so –’

‘– bloody unfair,’ he said, reading my mind. ‘I know, darling, the sports shop was full of proud fathers buying presents for their sons. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘But I haven’t bought anything,’ I sniffed, feeling very weak-willed as I looked at James’s rugby ball. At least he hadn’t bolted out of the shop empty-handed.

‘Sod it, we need a drink. We’ll give the twins money.’

‘Have I told you lately how wonderful you are,’ I said, giving him a watery smile.

‘
Spasiba,
’ he said, hugging me.

The following month, James and I were standing in the airport arrivals lounge waiting for Henry and Imogen. I was feeling a bit grumpy, having spent the last three days re-arranging the bedrooms – one of them stored all my make-up paraphernalia and portfolios. Everything had been shoved under beds and into already overstuffed wardrobes. It was Christmas for goodness sake – I wanted to lie on the couch and watch old movies while polishing off boxes of Quality Street by a roaring log fire. Instead, I had been charging about with dusters and Hoovers and spraying everything with Flash multi-purpose – even the smell of it made the place feel cleaner. I must admit though, the house had been in need of a good scrub. Some of the things lurking under the bed had been there since we first moved in. Next year I was getting a cleaning lady.

As I was thinking about the logistics of sourcing a cleaner, I heard a bloodcurdling scream. I looked up to see Thomas violendy pulling a little girl’s hair, while Henry tried to extract him before the girl’s father slapped him.

‘That’s bold, Thomas. You mustn’t do that,’ said Henry, yanking a clump of hair from Thomas’s fist and handing it to the girl’s father. T’m terribly sorry, sir, is she all right?’

‘Just about, no thanks to your son here,’ said the fuming father, pulling out a handkerchief to dry his daughter’s tears.

James rushed over to help Henry and steer them away, before the father noticed the bald patch on the right side of his daughter’s head. As I watched, trying not to laugh, I heard the all too familiar bark of the lovely Imogen, coming from behind the most enormous pile of suitcases I’ve ever seen.

‘Henry, leave Thomas alone,’ she snapped, moving around to pick up her wailing son. ‘Poor likkle Thom Thorn. Was that nasty man mean to you? Don’t worry, Mummy’s here now.’

I stared at her in shock. Imogen – who I had seen a year ago at the twins’ christening carrying at least three extra stone – was a stick insect. She was skin and bone. I was furious. The only thing that had got me through the Christening had been the fact that Imogen was fat. I know it’s bitchy and horrible, but I was childless, pumped full of hormone-inducing drugs and utterly miserable. The only thing I had going for me that day was that I was thinner than her. And now, here she was, looking like she hadn’t had a good meal in twelve months.

‘Hi, Imogen, you look great,’ I said, leaning over awkwardly to kiss her.

‘Thanks. Here, take Sophie for me,’ she said, thrusting my goddaughter into my arms and running after Thomas.

I looked down at the soft blonde wisps of hair on Sophie’s head and smelt her lovely baby smell. She stared up at me, her round face and big blue eyes taking me in as she smiled, displaying her first tooth. My heart skipped a beat. She was so beautiful. I wanted desperately for her to be mine. For a few seconds I considered legging it up the stairs to the departure lounge and hopping on a flight to Cuba – where I would dye my hair, change my name and bring Sophie up as my own. I’d call her Carmen or …

‘Emma,’ said James, tugging my arm, ‘what are you doing? Come on, we’re all waiting for you.’

I decided not to tell him about my kidnapping plans. Switching the bonny Sophie on to my other hip, I followed him out. Henry, James, the twins and the three enormous suitcases went in James’s jeep. Imogen, Thomas and I went in my car. Thomas sat behind me and kicked the back of my seat repeatedly.

‘Thomas, sweetheart,’ I said, gritting my teeth. ‘Would you mind not kicking the chair, it’s hurting my back? Thanks.’

‘Noooooo,’ said the brat, sticking his tongue out at me, as he tried to dislocate several vertebrae with his mini-hiking boots.

‘Thomas, be a good boy now. Stop that,’ I said, getting a little hot under the collar.

‘Oh, leave him be, Emma, he’s only having a little fun, aren’t you, Thorn Thorn?’ said his thin and even more intensely annoying mother. ‘You’re just tiredy-wiredy after that long flight.’

‘So how are things?’ I asked, as her son kicked me again and I struggled to (a) not crash the car and (b) keep myself from turning around and walloping him.

‘Hectic. Three children under the age of four is hard work. People who don’t have children have no idea how difficult it is. You’re on the go all day, you never get a minute to yourself. All the baby weight just fell off me. I didn’t even try to lose it – running after my three little angels just keeps me fit. And how are things with you? James looks wonderful as always,’ she said, pointedly not telling me I looked well.

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘Henry tells me you’re thinking of adopting.’

She said it as if adopting was a dirty word.

‘We’re not thinking about it, we are going to adopt. We’re just waiting to hear from the adoption board when the course starts,’ I said.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Imogen, sounding horrified. ‘Isn’t it rather like wearing someone else’s clothes?’

‘What do you mean?’ I said, blood boiling to the surface.

‘The child is never going to be really yours, is it? It already has parents. It’s just not the same thing as having your own children. Why don’t you try fertility treatment? I’m sure James would love to have a little boy of his own like Thomas.’

‘I’ve had treatment, Imogen,’ I said, gripping the steering wheel and willing myself to stay calm. ‘I spent all of last year having treatment and nothing worked. That’s why we’re adopting.’

‘But you only tried IVF once. That’s hardly really trying. A friend of mine from the pony club had her baby after six attempts.’

‘No offence, but unless you’ve had fertility treatment, you’ve no idea how awful it is.’

‘It can’t be that bad.’

‘It is.’

‘Ha, try childbirth, Emma. Try having a Caesarean – that’s real pain.’

‘I would like nothing better than to have a Caesarean. If I was ever lucky enough to get pregnant I would never complain about childbirth. But the thing is, Imogen, I can’t get pregnant so I’m going to adopt and I really don’t appreciate you telling me I’m not trying hard enough.’

‘Oh dear, Thorn Thorn, Auntie Emma is very touchy-wouchy today. Isn’t she?’

‘
Out
!’ roared Thomas. ‘I want out, Mummy,’ he said, squirming to loosen his seat belt, kicking me in the process.

‘We’re nearly there, darling, just a few more minutes.’

‘
Now
Mummy! I want out
now
!’ he screamed, throwing a fit with his legs.

‘
Thomas,
’ I bellowed, reaching back to grab his legs, ‘if you kick me once more, I will smack you black and blue.’

Thomas, shocked at having a voice raised to him for the first time in his life, was stunned into silence. His mother, however, was not.

‘Mean nasty Auntie Emma, shouting at little Thomas like a fishwife. Will I smack her for you? Yes, I think I will,’ she said, belting me on the arm. ‘We’d better stay out of her way, darling. Auntie Emma’s in a very bad mood.’

When we got home, Henry and Imogen went upstairs to unpack and put the children to bed. I took the opportunity to call Lucy. I knew if I told James what had happened in the car that he’d just tell me I was exaggerating and I must have misunderstood what Imogen was saying – which would only have wound me up even further.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, it’s me.’

‘A friendly voice,’ said Lucy, sounding like I felt.

‘Uh oh, that doesn’t sound too good. How’s it going?’

‘Annie is being a complete nightmare. When Donal’s around she is nice as pie to me and the minute he leaves the room she turns into a little psycho. She keeps telling me I’m going to get dumped. Happy bloody Christmas. How are you? Have they arrived?’

‘Yes, and I’ve already had a fight with Imogen – she told me I haven’t tried hard enough to get pregnant. God, she’s a cow, and as for that little shit of a son of hers, he must have 666 written on his scalp. I’m going to check later, you should probably check Annie’s head too,’ I said, laughing despite myself. ‘Don’t let that little wench get you down. Remember – Donal loves you.’

‘Thanks and don’t you mind that bitch of a sister-in-law of yours. How dare she …’

‘Jesus Christ!’

‘What?’

‘Oh, you little bastard,’ I hissed, as I stared down at Thomas who was covered from head to toe in foundation and lipstick. ‘Gotta go, Lucy, emergency,’ I said, hanging up.

I took a deep breath and grabbed Thomas, frogmarching him back to the spare room, where Henry was desperately trying to do some damage control. He was on his hands and knees, screwing the caps back on to bottles and trying to rub the lipstick marks off the walls and carpet. My make-up bags were strewn all over the room. In a short space of time, Thomas had managed to do a huge amount of damage.

Henry looked up, ‘Oh God, Emma, what can I say? I’m so sorry. We’ve barely been here an hour and already managed to cause havoc. I insist on replacing everything, just let me know where to buy it and I’ll get it for you tomorrow. Thomas – apologize to Auntie Emma.’

‘Will not. Hate nasty Auntie Emma. She said I am bastod.’

‘Bold,’ I said loudly, ‘I said he was bold. Sorry, Henry, I just got a fright when I saw him covered in my make-up.’

‘Not at all, Emma, he was bold. Thomas, you’re very bold. This is Auntie Emma’s work and you have messed it all up. Apologize at once.’

‘Nooooooo,’ said Thomas, stamping his foot.

‘Right, excuse me, Emma, this calls for some action,’ said Henry, smacking his son on the bottom.

‘Henry!’ shouted Imogen, who appeared out of nowhere just at the wrong moment. ‘We don’t smack our children.’

‘We bloody well do when they are being insolent. Excuse us, Emma,’ said Henry, taking his wife and son with him into the other spare bedroom and closing the door.

I could hear them arguing as I tried to clean up the mess. The carpet was covered in foundation and eye-shadow. Half-open lipsticks lay smudged on the floor. I reckon the little brat had done about €500 worth of damage. I took the rest of my products out from under the bed and stashed them away in the wardrobe in my bedroom, locking them in safely. If this is what happened after an hour, how the hell was I going to put up with them for a week?

10

Four days – one broken phone, two broken picture frames, three broken plates and a broken teapot – later it was Christmas Day. I almost jogged to my parents’ house. I have never been so glad to see my family in my life. Anything to get away from Thomas’s destructive prowess and Imogen’s constant bitching. When Sean answered the door I threw myself at him.

‘Hey, sis, happy Christmas! That bad, huh?’ he whispered in my ear.

‘Worse,’ I groaned.

‘Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Addams Family Christmas dinner,’ said Sean, shaking hands, kissing babies and taking coats. We all trooped into the living room where Dad and Babs were sprawled in front of a roaring log fire watching
It’s a Wonderful Life.
Well, Dad was trying to watch it as Babs groaned about how boring it was. They greeted the visitors and I left them to it and went to help Sean get drinks.