‘So, what you’re saying is, number six is a crap position because you spend the whole time face down at the bottom of a pile-up,’ said Lucy, looking disappointed that Donal’s position wasn’t a bit more glamorous.
Well, James says it’s a key position, but personally I think number fifteen has the best spot, he just jogs around at the back and catches the odd ball when it’s hoofed down his end of the pitch. Donal’s position is more dangerous. You have to be tough and strong which is why he’s so good at it,’ I said, trying to build Donal up. ‘Look, they’re doing a line-up. Watch Donal jump.’
Lucy peered down the pitch and watched as Donal jumped up and caught the ball.
‘Hey, he didn’t jump, the other guy lifted him up. Isn’t that cheating?’ asked Lucy.
‘No, they do that all the time, it seems to be OK.’
‘I hope he doesn’t get injured again. You should see the scars on his body, he’s a wreck. He reckons he’s only got two more years left. He says he’s pretty old to still be playing.’
‘What age is he?’
‘Thirty-two,’ mumbled Lucy.
‘What? Toy boy! I never knew he was younger than you. I always presumed he was the same age as James,’ I said, laughing.
‘There’s only thirty months in the difference. It’s not exactly cradle snatching.’
‘Ivana Trump – eat your heart out. So, anyway, how’s living with the younger man going? Has he peed on you yet?’
‘Very funny. Thankfully we’ve come to an understanding on that one.’
‘How did you manage that?’
‘Simple. I bought a lock for the door, which he never uses, but I do. So I can now bathe in peace. I must say, living together takes a while to get used to. Dealing with smelly jocks and socks and toenails is a bit gross,’ she said, squirming at the thought.
‘Tell me about it. And you get lumped with their mad families. James has taken it upon himself to invite Henry, Imogen and the three kids over to stay with us for Christmas.’
‘Oh God, for how long?’
‘A week. Speaking of relations, you never told me how you got on with Annie when she was home from boarding school.’
‘I didn’t tell you because I don’t even want to admit to myself what a total nightmare it was. I’ve been trying to convince myself it wasn’t that bad.’
‘Oh no, Lucy, what happened?’
Lucy said that she had stayed in work late on the Friday night, so Annie and Donal could have some time together. She had checked with Donal to see what Annie’s favourite foods were, and had duly stocked the fridge full of them. When she arrived home, Donal and Annie were watching MTV and discussing Justin Timberlake’s assets. Annie said he was the most divine creature she had ever seen and Donal said he thought he was a mangy looking yoke with eyes that were far too small for his head.
‘I have to agree with Annie,’ said Lucy, trying to start on the right foot. ‘Justin is a fine thing.’
Donal got up to kiss her, while Annie made sick noises.
‘Oh God, you’re not going to start snogging are you?’ she said grumpily.
‘No, although I can’t say I’m not tempted,’ said Donal, winking at Lucy. ‘I’m going to go and book the cinema tickets and let you girls chat.’
‘So,’ said Lucy, ‘how’s school?’
‘Fine,’ said the bolshie teenager.
‘Great. Uhm, I was wondering if you’d like to do up your bedroom. It’d be a kind of house-warming present from me. If you pick the colours and fabrics, I can organize for it to be finished for the next time you come home. I was thinking we could go into town tomorrow and have a look around so you can see what you like.’
‘Do you really think I want to spend my free weekend going around bedroom shops with a forty-year-old woman? I always spend the day with Donal on our own.’
‘OK, well, it was just an idea. Don’t worry, I won’t interfere with your time with Donal. Now, would you like lasagne? I picked some up on the way home in a great delicatessen beside me in work. Donal said it’s your favourite.’
‘I only like the lasagne Mary used to make for me. She was an amazing cook – she’d never buy ready-made food from a shop.’
‘Who’s Mary?’ said Lucy, beginning to lose patience.
‘Donal’s girlfriend. She was amazing, I loved her. They were nearly married until you came along,’ she snapped.
What the hell is going on, thought Lucy. She had met Mary six months before at a dog-racing meet that Donal had taken her to. Mary had been really rude to Lucy and very flirty with Donal, but he had made out that he’d only dated her briefly. Had he been lying? If she was living in the house making lasagne for Annie, she must have been more than a casual fling. Before she could think of anything to say, Donal strolled back in.
‘OK, we’re booked in for the nine-thirty show. I’ve put the lasagne in the oven.’
‘Actually, Donal, can you help me in the kitchen for a minute?’ asked Lucy.
He followed her in and looked around.
‘What do you need me to do?’
‘How long did you go out with Mary the cordon bleu chef for?’
‘Jesus, where did that come from? I thought you wanted me to chop tomatoes.’
‘How long?’
‘I dunno, a few months.’
‘A few, meaning two, or a few, meaning twenty?’
‘Eight, maybe ten, I can’t remember.’
‘Were you serious about her?’
‘Serious enough to shag her,’ said Donal, grinning.
‘Donal!’
‘No, I wasn’t serious about her.’
‘How come she was hanging out here making lasagne for Annie if it was such a casual relationship?’
‘She stayed over the odd time and liked to cook. What’s all this about? Is it really about her cooking?’
‘Not really,’ sighed Lucy. ‘It’s about Annie not liking me very much and thinking Mary was wonderful. I’m going to let the two of you go to the cinema alone. She likes to have you to herself and I don’t mind.’
‘Hold on a minute, you’re coming to the cinema and that’s the end of it. As for Mary, Annie never seemed all that keen on her before, maybe she was just talking about her cooking,’ said Donal. Kissing Lucy, he added, ‘Annie’s going to love you – as much as I do. She just needs to get to know you better.’
Lucy smiled. Sod it, she thought, as long as Donal loves me, the rest doesn’t matter. Annie will come around; she’s just at a difficult age.
During dinner, Annie behaved politely and was almost nice to Lucy. So when Donal went to get the popcorn at the cinema and Annie turned on her, Lucy was shocked.
‘I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I was you. Painting the house cream and trying to lick up to me isn’t going to work. Donal doesn’t want to get married and have children. He told me himself before you came back. He doesn’t like having someone around nagging him all the time. So, don’t bother spending any more money painting the house because it’s a waste of time. You won’t last till Christmas.’
Lucy wanted to slap her – but restrained herself. For once in her life she had met a guy she really loved. Someone she was completely herself with and now this little brat was trying to ruin it.
‘It’s awful, Emma,’ said Lucy, half laughing, half crying. ‘I keep having to remind myself that this poor child lost her parents in a horrible car crash and is obviously affected very badly by it, but, right there and then in the cinema, I really wanted to slap her. I’m an adult, I should know better. I should be more sympathetic and not take it personally, but I do. I can’t help it.’
‘little cow,’ I said, furious at Annie for upsetting Lucy. ‘She’s just trying to wind you up. She’s obviously terrified of losing Donal and thinks if he marries you and has kids she’ll get left out.’
‘Yeah, but she seemed to be fine about him going out with Mary.’
‘Mary schMary. I bet she only said that to wind you up. You
know Donal loves you. You just need to find a way to deal with his baggage. Maybe you could suggest a truce. Just say, “Look, Annie, we both live here now so let’s try to get on.” Or something like that.’
‘I’ll have to sort it out soon. She’s coming for two weeks at Christmas. I never thought I’d say it, but I’ll be glad to go home to my mother’s house for Christmas Day. At least I’ll have one day off.’
‘I’d invite you to mine if it wasn’t going to be equally awful. God, look at the two of us – lumped with our other halves’ dodgy families.’
‘Yap, yap, yap,’ said Donal, coming up behind us. ‘Well, what did you think of my try?’ he asked Lucy.
‘Fantastic. An ama2ing feat of athleticism,’ she said, smiling.
‘It’s a pity I didn’t score one so.’
‘Did you win?’ I asked, looking around for James.
‘We did and I wanted to come over and thank you both personally for your great support. It was your voices that I heard soaring above the others all afternoon cheering us on.’
‘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.’
A Perfect Match Page 6