Whose Life is it Anyway? (8 page)

I wanted to interrupt and point out that it was only Siobhan who was pregnant, not me, but decided to keep quiet.

‘Thank God my poor mother didn’t live to see this. My eldest and finest pregnant at seventeen out of wedlock. We should never have left Ireland. I’ve sweated and toiled for this family and sent my daughters to convent schools to be educated by the nuns and what do they do? Behave like wanton women.’

‘Ah, now, Mick,’ said my mother.

‘Hussies, I tell you,’ shouted my father. ‘Well, I won’t stand for it. You’re going to marry that young fella and that’s the end of it. You can forget your fancy notions about going to college because you’re spoilt now. You’ll have to leave school without even doing your exams. My God, I’ll be the laughing-stock of the community. How could you be so stupid?’

‘Stop it now, Mick,’ said Auntie Nuala, coming over to comfort Siobhan, who was shaking and sobbing. ‘Siobhan’s life is not ruined and it’s not over. I’m not saying this is an ideal situation and she has been silly, but these things can be fixed.’

As she said ‘fixed’, she raised her eyebrows at my mother, who shook her head. Auntie Nuala stood up and said she could murder a cup of tea, and the two women went into the kitchen, leaving my father to rant about this country having no morals and how it had rubbed off on his daughters. I was sick of being tarred with Siobhan’s brush so I followed my mother and Auntie Nuala and took up my position under the stairs where I could hear everything.

‘Annie, listen to me,’ said Auntie Nuala, firmly. ‘She doesn’t have to have this baby. How far gone is she?’

‘Two months. Nuala, you know as well as I do that Mick would never agree to it. And I don’t think I would either. It’s wrong. It’s murder.’

‘Oh, come on, Annie. It’s the twentieth century. The poor girl’s life doesn’t have to be ruined. If she has this baby and marries that spotty youngster she’ll never go to college and have the life you want for her. Getting married at seventeen is what people did in the old days. We’ve moved on from that. Think about it.’

‘It’s murder, Nuala. It goes against everything we’ve been brought up to believe. The Church is very clear on abortion.’

ABORTION
! I fell back on to the coats. I couldn’t believe Auntie Nuala was suggesting that Siobhan get an abortion. She couldn’t! She’d be struck down by God! Everyone knew that abortion was killing. Only prostitutes had abortions. Even women who were raped had to have the baby: it was a gift from God. Sister Patricia had told us so. I was shocked at Auntie Nuala. Siobhan would go to hell and the baby would too.

‘Annie,’ said Auntie Nuala, sharply, cutting across my mother, ‘Mick wouldn’t have to know. We could just say she lost it naturally. It’s perfectly feasible. Women have miscarriages every day.’

My mother was silent. I couldn’t believe how devious Auntie Nuala was. I wondered did Uncle Tadhg know she thought this way. She must be watching too much
Dallas.
Sister Patricia said programmes like
Dallas
were the scourge of modern society.

‘Think of Siobhan. She’s been brought up to believe that abortion is murder. She’d never get over it,’ whispered Mum.

‘Yes, she would. We could organize for her to get some counselling afterwards. Then she could go off to college in Dublin and have all the wonderful opportunities you want her to have.’

‘But where would we go?’

‘I have a friend who had one and she knows a good clinic. At least give her the option. Will you do that? Just ask Siobhan what she wants instead of railroading her into a wedding at seventeen.’

My mother came out and called Siobhan. Then Auntie Nuala explained calmly to my sister that she had options and laid them out for her. My mother said nothing. I held my breath. What would Siobhan say? I could hear her crying softly and then she said, in a very steady voice, which sounded like someone much older was speaking, ‘I’m very grateful to you for offering me a way out, but I could never forgive myself if I had an abortion. I love Liam and I’m happy to marry him. I’m sorry not to be going to college and for letting everyone down, but I know I’d be more unhappy if I murdered this child.’

Sister Patricia had done a good job on Siobhan. She didn’t even take a few minutes to think it over.

‘Are you sure, pet?’ said Auntie Nuala. ‘You’re such a bright girl, you’ve your whole life ahead of you.’

‘I’m sure.’

My mother finally spoke. ‘I think you’ve made the right decision, love. We’ll all help you. Don’t take your father’s outburst to heart. He’s just very upset. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He thinks the world of you and he’s disappointed, that’s all, but he’ll get over it. We all will. Don’t worry, pet,’ she said, hugging Siobhan, and stroking her hair. ‘Now, Nuala, in God’s name will you open that bottle of wine? I’m in need of a drink.’

9

I couldn’t sleep that night. My head was spinning. I felt as if I’d aged at least three years. Having tossed and turned for hours, I finally got up and went downstairs for some hot chocolate. As I was walking past the lounge, I could hear my father crying softly. My first instinct was to bolt back to bed – I’d had quite enough emotion for one day. But I knew that would be mean and selfish. Sister Patricia always said that compassion and kindness would lead you to heaven. You only had to look at Mother Teresa, she said, to see a living example of what miracles compassion and kindness could perform. I decided on a compromise. I’d go and make my hot chocolate, and if I could still hear him crying on my way back to bed, I’d go in and be saintly.

After a nice hot cup of Nesquik I felt decidedly better and very sleepy. I tiptoed past the lounge, praying to anyone who’d listen for the crying to have stopped. But it hadn’t. It had got worse. Shit, I was knackered and a fifteen-year-old needs her sleep, I thought. But then I looked up and saw one of the fifteen pictures of the Pope staring down at me and knew I had to go in.

My father was sitting in his big green velvet chair (all our furniture was green, our national colour) and crying into his hankie. He looked old and distraught. I took a deep breath and went over to him. ‘Dad? Are you OK?’

I realized it wasn’t the most intelligent or comforting thing to say, but I was new at this.

He tried to talk and I made out, ‘… ruined… work… for nothing… shame… eldest… beautiful…’

‘It’s OK, Dad. It’ll be all right. They’ll get married and everything will be OK.’

‘It’ll be a sham of a marriage,’ he wailed. ‘I’ve always dreamt of having a big wedding. The best of everything, all the relations over from Ireland… Me walking her up the aisle, as proud as Punch. I’ve been saving for it for years. Now it’ll be a fiasco. My beautiful Siobhan, how did it all go so wrong? I blame myself. I should never have moved to this country with its wayward morals. But what could I do? I had to get out of Ireland and make a life for myself, and sure haven’t I helped out my brothers? What a mess. I’ll never have a lovely wedding now…’

As my father debated with himself on the pros and cons of moving to England, I fumed. How dare he say he’d never have a lovely wedding? What about me? What about dreaming of walking me up the aisle? Where was I in his matrimonial savings plan? He’d obviously taken one look at me when I was born and said, ‘Stuff that for a game of soldiers. No point putting my hard-earned cash away for that one. She’ll never get a guy to marry her.’

Mind you, I thought, suddenly remembering my fiasco on Friday night, he was right. I never would get married. I couldn’t even snog a guy without causing mayhem. I began to cry as the image of my life of loneliness rolled out before me. Even my own father didn’t think I had a hope in hell.

He handed me his hankie and smiled at me. ‘Poor old Niamh. It’s been a shock for you too,’ he said, patting my head. ‘Come on, it’s way past your bedtime and you’ve school tomorrow.’

‘School? I can’t go to school tomorrow, Dad. Everyone will be looking at me. Besides, I’m suffering from traumatic shock. I want to stay at home tomorrow with Siobhan and Mum. I’ll go in on Tuesday.’

‘You’ll go to school tomorrow and act as if nothing has happened. Nobody knows anything yet, and until we speak to Liam’s parents no decision will be made. I’ve one daughter with her future ruined, I won’t have another. You’ll go to school and concentrate on your books. I want no nonsense out of you, Niamh. I’m going to ask Sister Patricia to keep an extra eye on you. I’ll be damned if this happens again. In fact, I’ve a good mind to send you to boarding-school in Ireland.’

‘
Nooooo
, Dad, don’t do that. I promise I’ll be good. I swear I will!’

‘Go on now, off to bed with you. I’m too tired to argue. I’ll see you in the morning.’ And with that he shuffled upstairs in his slippers, shoulders slumped.

Could this day get any worse? Now I was to be banished to boarding-school in Bally-go-sideways because Siobhan was an old slapper. The injustice of it!

First I was always in the wrong because the perfect Siobhan was always in the right, and now that she’d gone and got herself up the duff, I was being punished too. I couldn’t win. No matter what she did, I suffered. My sympathy for her was fading rapidly.

When I got back to my room the fallen woman was waiting for me, weeping into my pillow, making it wet and soggy and snotty – yuck. I was all out of compassion so I grunted at her to move over and climbed in, grabbing my pillow and turning it snotty side down.

‘What were you talking to Dad about? Was he giving out about me? What did he say? Do you think he’ll forgive me?’

‘No, I don’t think he will,’ I said grumpily.

She started so howl at this news and I felt a bit guilty. ‘Of course he’ll forgive you. You know what Dad’s like. He always blows his top and rants and raves and then he calms down. He’ll be fine tomorrow. I’m really tired, I need to sleep now.’

Siobhan sighed and blew her nose. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad for him if it was you. He expects you to mess up. He always had me on a pedestal. I’m his favourite, that’s what makes it so bad. I don’t think he’ll ever get over it.’

‘Well, maybe you should have thought about that when you were having sex with Liam.’ I was fed up with Siobhan’s moaning, and her insensitive remarks about being Dad’s favourite child.

‘Liam said he knew what he was doing. He said we didn’t need condoms because he’d pull out early.’

Oh, God, not this – not details. The last thing I wanted to hear was what Liam did and said during sex. Gross! The thought of the two of them at it was making me feel ill. She rambled on about Liam’s early-exit plans and I had to shut her up. ‘Do you love him, Siobh? Do you want to marry him?’

‘Of course I love him. What type of a person do you think I am? I would never have had sex with him if I didn’t love him. That’s why I thought it was OK, because we were always going to get married. Liam said so. As soon as we finished college we were going to get married.’

‘So you don’t mind if you have to marry him now?’

‘No. I love Liam and I want to have his baby. It’s a mortal sin to think of any other options. I never really wanted to go to college. I only said I did to please Mum.’

I knew she was lying because her voice was shaking – and, anyway, I knew how badly she wanted to go to college. She wanted to be the first O’Flaherty to go to university. She had told me so a million times. I was the one who wasn’t interested in going, but not because I wanted to shack up with an Irish dancer who lied about sperm control. Still, if Siobhan was going to play pretend, I would too. ‘Sure college is crap. Who wants to waste three years studying when you could be married and have a family instead?’ I said, mustering as much enthusiasm as I could at three a.m.

‘Yes, but, Niamh, not everyone is lucky enough to meet the man of their dreams at my age. Some girls find it hard to meet boys. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually.’

Condescending cow, after I had been so nice to her.

‘Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry about me, Siobhan, because thanks to you behaving like a cheap tart, I’m being sent to boarding-school in Ireland. Get out now. I’m tired and I want to go to sleep. It may be my last night under this roof.’

I pushed her off the bed and shoved her out of the door before she could think of a bitchy retort. I climbed under the covers and was asleep before my head touched the pillow.

What seemed like a mere thirty seconds later, my mother came to wake me for school. I was exhausted. I begged and pleaded with her to let me stay at home. I told her I’d only had five minutes’ sleep and I felt awful. She looked pretty rough herself. Her face was puffy and her eyes were like two tiny raisins in the back of her head. She felt my forehead and sighed. ‘Well, you do feel a bit hot and you do look tired, pet. Maybe just this once.’

I couldn’t believe my luck. I was never allowed to stay at home from school. Even if my leg had been ripped off in a car crash, I’d have been given two Anadin with a glass of boiled red lemonade and sent off on my merry – or not so merry – way. Nobody stayed home from school in our house. Ever.

‘Thanks, Mum. I really do feel bad. I’m not pretending, I swear.’

I was always prone to dramatics and she normally reprimanded me for it, but that day she just ruffled my hair. ‘Niamh, I want you to listen to me for a minute. Really listen.’

I hoped she wasn’t going to launch into the birds-and-bees chat. I was fifteen, for goodness’ sake.

‘What has happened to Siobhan is awful. It has ruined her chances of going to college, getting a proper education, having a career and the freedom to choose what she wants to do with her life. Women my age would kill for those opportunities. Your generation are so much freer. Don’t waste it, Niamh – make something of your life. Every decision you make affects your future. Siobhan made a mistake and she’s going to pay for it for a long time to come. So be very careful when you make your choices. Think them through first. Weigh up the pros and cons and then decide. The world is your oyster. Study hard, then go out and travel the world, experience different cultures and countries. Live your life to the full. Now, try to sleep and I’ll come in later to check on you.’