A Perfect Match

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘They’re a good team all right, but I think you’ve the advantage. Leinster has a bigger pack, that’ll swing it for you. How’s O’Brien’s ankle?’

  ‘Better. He’s fit to play, which I can tell you is a relief. We –’

  ‘– it is vital that you choose the right moment to tell your child that he or she is adopted,’ said Dervla, raising her voice and glaring at James and Gary. ‘I’d like you to break up into groups and discuss how and when you should tell your child they’re adopted. What words will you use? How will you approach it? How will you cope if your child reacts badly to the news?’

  As usual, I was put in Brendan’s group. As usual he took over, appointed himself group leader and began to shove his views down our throats.

  ‘My research tells me that it’s really only when the child reaches eight years of age that they begin to become more aware of being adopted and go through a grieving process. They want to know why they were abandoned by their birth parents and start looking for answers. The way to deal with it, is to be very direct. Just say, “Your mother left you in an orphanage where you would’ve remained for the rest of your life, if we hadn’t come along and saved you.” ’

  Hold on a minute. That didn’t sound very sensitive to me. Carole looked a bit taken aback too.

  ‘What about saying something like, “Your poor mother was very young when she had you and she couldn’t really cope, so we were chosen to look after you and since the day we met you, you’ve brought nothing but happiness to our lives,” ’ said Carole.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ I said, smiling at her.

  ‘You’re not dealing with the problem,’ said Brendan. ‘The child needs to understand that if it wasn’t for you it would still be in the orphanage.’

  ‘That’s not dealing with the problem, that’s nursing your own ego,’ I snapped. ‘The child isn’t supposed to feel that their mother dumped them in the orphanage because she couldn’t be bothered with them. It’ll only make their abandonment issues worse. At least if they think she loved them, but just couldn’t manage to raise them because she was too young, or had no money, or was sick or something – they won’t feel so rejected. You coming along and saving their lives isn’t what we’re talking about here – we’re supposed to be focusing on the child’s feelings, not ours.’

  Brendan glared at me. ‘I hardly think someone who cites losing a tooth as a traumatic experience, is qualified to lecture me on how to handle my child.’

  Before I could tell him that a tosspot like him shouldn’t be inflicted on a child, Yvonne announced that we were now going to watch a video – yet another one – that would give us some insight into the effect that telling your child they are adopted can have. James rolled his eyes and slumped down beside me.

  The video was about a man in his late twenties who was adopted, but never knew. It was only when he was getting a visa to go to Australia, and saw a copy of his birth certificate, that he discovered the truth. When he confronted his parents they told him that not only was he adopted, but that his twin brother was also adopted. So he wasn’t his twin or his brother, or even the same age as him. Needless to say, the man was extremely distressed and had to go to therapy to recover from the shock. He never made it to Australia.

  I have to admit, I found the video a bit hard to swallow. I mean, come on. Who in their right minds would bring up two children who were not related in any way and not the same age – as twins! When the post-video discussion started up and we were asked to analyse how we felt about the video, James jumped up.

  ‘Tremendous viewing. I think we all learnt a lot from it. Very insightful. A great way to end today’s session. Thank you,’ he said, reaching to put on his coat.

  ‘But, James, it was ridiculous. The parents should never have –’

  I stopped as James stood on my toe and glared at me.

  ‘We can discuss this at home,’ he said, shaking his watch in my face. It was twenty-five past one.

  ‘Ludicrous,’ said Brendan. ‘The whole thing was a farce. The parents are clearly stupid and the man should have just gone to Australia and cleared his head over there. No one with an ounce of intelligence would behave that way.’

  ‘Maybe they just never found the right time to tell him and then it was too late,’ suggested Carole.

  ‘Pretending the brother was his twin was a bit off though, you have to admit,’ said Gary.

  James at this point was bright red in the face. I think I actually spotted steam coming out of his ears. It he didn’t get out of there soon, he’d explode.

  ‘I suppose that was a bit silly,’ admitted Carole.

  ‘They should never have been allowed to adopt – they are obviously not intelligent enough,’ snorted Brendan.

  ‘Well, now let’s look at it from all the angles,’ said Yvonne.

  ‘No!’ shouted James. ‘Let’s not do that. Let’s go home, think it over and talk about it next week. 1 think that’d be much better all round. Can we please not spend any more precious time bickering about this ridiculous video and just wrap this meeting up.’

  Everyone stared at him. James was normally so polite and calm at the meetings and now he was standing there stamping his foot like a child, demanding to be let out of school on time.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, trying to smooth it over. ‘James has a flight to catch and he’s just a bit nervous about missing it.’

  ‘We did stress in the first meeting that you should allow for overtime,’ said Dervla.

  ‘Maybe you should think it over at home and tell us your thoughts next week,’ said Yvonne, our resident peacemaker. ‘Now don’t forget that next week is our last session and we’ll be having lunch afterwards, so you all need to bring in food from the country that you have chosen to adopt from. I hope you won’t be rushing off next week, James?’

  ‘Not only will I not be dashing off, but I will cook a Russian feast for you all,’ said the old James, as he sprinted out the door.

  The next day, Lucy and I arrived in Biarritz in time for dinner. James and Donal were so preoccupied by the game that they just about registered that we’d arrived. After an early meal, James ordered everyone to bed at ten. Lucy and I stayed up drinking wine and she filled me in on Annie’s reaction to their engagement.

  When Annie arrived in from boarding school for the night, Lucy hid in the bedroom to give Donal a chance to break the news to her gently and alone. Annie got a bit upset at first, but he kept telling her that she would always be his priority and he’d never abandon her and that this was her home and that wouldn’t change.

  ‘But what if you have kids? Then what? You won’t have time for me any more.’

  ‘Jesus, Annie, we’re not even married yet, we won’t be having kids for a while. You don’t have to worry about that.’

  ‘I don’t want a new mum.’

  ‘Lucy’s not going to be a new mum, she’ll be more like a big sister or a friend.’

  ‘I don’t need a new friend.’

  ‘Lookit, Annie, give me a break here. I promise you, nothing will change. I’ve finally met a woman I want to marry, so please be happy for me, will you? Lucy’s mad about you, sure she even wants you to be her bridesmaid,’ he announced, grasping at straws.

  Lucy bit her lip. Bloody hell, what did he go and say that for?

  ‘Promise nothing will change?’

  ‘I swear to you.’

  ‘OK, then. Congratulations, I’m glad you’re happy,’ she said, throwing her arms around Donal.

  ‘Lucy!’ hollered Donal. ‘You can come out now, she’s happy for us.’

  Lucy was mortified. She didn’t want Annie to think she had been listening at the door like some sort of spy. It was humiliating. She threw her clothes off and grabbed her towelling robe.

  ‘Sorry, were you calling me?’ she asked, pretending to have just got out of the shower.

  ‘Yes,’ said Donal, looking very pleased with himself. ‘Annie’s got something to say to you.’

&nbs
p; ‘Congratulations, Lucy, and thanks for asking me to be your bridesmaid.’

  Lucy knew she was being insincere, but she played along for Donal’s sake.

  ‘Thank you. We’ll get you something really nice to wear, you can choose it yourself.’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you two ladies to discuss dresses while I make a quick call.’

  ‘– as soon as Donal left the room,’ said Lucy, sighing as she glugged down her wine, ‘Annie attacked me and told me that she hated me and would rather die than be my bridesmaid. She said she wouldn’t let me steal Donal from her and there would be no wedding.’

  ‘Little cow. What did you say?’

  ‘I tried to explain that I wasn’t stealing Donal. I said that I loved Donal and wanted to make him happy and that I totally respected her relationship with him and I wouldn’t dream of interfering with it. But it made no difference; she just can’t bear to share him with anyone.’

  ‘What did Donal say when you told him?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No point. He was delighted because he thought it was all sorted out and, in fairness, there’s nothing he can do about it. Hopefully when we get married she’ll chill out. I dunno though, Emma, she’s a handful.’

  ‘Thank God for boarding school. Look, in two years’ time she’ll go off to college and you’ll hardly ever see her. Besides, at fifteen your hormones are all over the place. She’ll mellow.’

  ‘Any tips from your course on how to bring up children who hate you?’

  ‘Well, I can tell you how to detect diseases, how and when to tell her she’s adopted, how to deal with racism, how to talk to her in pidgin Russian and tell her how to behave if she gets invited for dinner in Moscow. Apart from that, I’m useless.’

  Lucy asked the barman for another bottle of red wine for two desperate, clueless, about-to-become mothers.

  By the time I got to bed, I was a bit unsteady on my feet. After knocking over the bedside lamp and stubbing my toe on the side of the bed, I eventually fell over, landing on top of James.

  ‘For goodness sake, Emma, I am trying to get some sleep here.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I giggled, trying to extricate myself from the bed sheet. ‘Too much red wine.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Oh, relax. Are you being stuffy wuffy. Is Jamesy wamesy being stuffy wuffy?’ I giggled, squeezing his cheeks.

  ‘No, he is not. Now get into bed and shut up.’

  ‘Does Jamesy’s little sausage roll want to come out to play?’ I said, snorting at my own joke.

  ‘Emma!’

  ‘Come on, you know you want to,’ I said, lying on top of him.

  ‘Get off me, you lunatic,’ said James, pushing me aside.

  ‘Come on, it’ll be good for you. It’ll distract you and you always sleep well after sex,’ I said, tugging at his boxer shorts.

  ‘Tempting though the thought of having sex with you right now as you breathe red wine and garlic fumes all over me is, I think I can live without it. Now go to sleep,’ he said, shoving me aside.

  I rolled off the bed and fell on to the floor.

  ‘Ouch. No need to be so aggressive. Most guys would be delighted if their wives came home and begged them for sex.’

  ‘Darling, if Jennifer Lopez was standing naked in front of me right now, I’d say no. I’m too tense about the game. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my sausage roll, or rather my hot dog and I, are going to try and get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.’

  *

  I woke up the next day feeling very groggy. James was striding about the room muttering to himself. He looked very tired and very nervous. I kissed him and wished him luck. ‘Don’t worry, James, whatever happens I’m really proud of you. Go Leinster.’

  He didn’t even smile. The man was a wreck.

  Biarritz came out guns blazing. By half time they were up ten points.

  ‘Shit,’ said Lucy. ‘How bad is ten points?’

  ‘Not good,’ said the die-hard Leinster supporter beside us. ‘Not good at all. That coach had better come up with some new tactics. They’re killing us up front and we’ve the bigger pack.’

  ‘Pack of what?’

  ‘The pack is number one to eight. When they all huddle together they’re called the pack,’ I explained.

  ‘So would you say Donal Brady’s having a good game?’ Lucy asked our new friend.

  ‘Brutal. That’s three line-outs in a row he’s lost. He’s too old.’

  ‘He is not too old, and he’s doing his best, don’t knock him. I’m sure he’ll jump higher after the interval,’ said Lucy.

  ‘And I can assure you that the coach has plenty of other tactics to choose from, our house is a treasure trove of tactical options,’ I said defensively.

  ‘Birds,’ snorted the die-hard fan.

  Thankfully, James did come up with some new plays – namely not to let the other team have the ball at all. And Donal did jump higher in the second half – a lot higher and he scored the winning try with a great break from the line-out.

  ‘Did you see that? Did you see him?’ shouted Lucy. ‘Too old, my arse.’

  19

  As James had so eagerly volunteered himself to cook a Russian meal, I decided to let him do the work. My contribution was a bottle of Russian vodka from the local off-licence. I busied myself with researching our family trees. We each had to do a detailed family tree, noting who died of what, when and where. I was a bit hazy about the exact causes of my grandparents’ deaths, so I called Mum.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hello, love, how are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. I need to ask you a few questions for the course.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, I do not regret smacking you on the bottom when you were bold. I think children today would be a lot better behaved if they got a few smacks on the backsides. All this mumbo jumbo about reasoning with them is poppycock. If a child is roaring in the middle of a supermarket because you won’t buy it jellies that’ll rot its teeth, you’re hardly going to start up a debate. A quick smack will sort it out for you. I’m sure the social workers say it’s the wrong thing to do, but I stand by it. Besides, it never did you any harm.’

  ‘Right, OK. Well, thanks for that, but actually I need to ask vou about the family medical history.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What did Granny and Grandad die of?’

  ‘My poor mother – God rest her soul – died of kidney failure and my father died of a heart attack.’

  ‘What about Dad’s parents?’

  ‘His mother died of Alzheimer’s and his father died of lung cancer.’

  ‘OK, thanks,’ I said, scribbling down the details.

  ‘How’s it all going anyway?’

  ‘All right, it’s tough going. They seem to be intent on freaking us out by showing us videos of horrible orphanages and children who’ve been adopted and have had really big problems coming to terms with it.’

  ‘Those bloody social workers are a scourge on society. Interfering in decent people’s lives and claiming that everyone’s a child molester …’

  My mother had no time for social workers. She had a friend who had a friend whose sister’s cousin had been accused of abusing her daughter because she had gone to school with bruises on her legs. The parents had been investigated and put through hell until it was established that the daughter had got the bruises while playing hockey. Ever since then, Mum had been and all social workers. It was a good thing your family couldn’t be your adoption referees, there was no way I’d want Mum let loose on them.

  ‘– it’s just plain ridiculous. Any child would be blessed to end up in a nice home with two good parents.’

  ‘Do you think I’ll be a good mother?’ I asked, fishing for compliments.

  ‘I think you’re going to get a shock,’ said Mum.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Having children isn’t easy.
It’s a full-time job. You won’t have any time for yourself. Your life as you know it will be turned upside down.’

  ‘God, I’m so sick of people saying that. All I keep hearing is how when you have children your life changes so much and it’s so hard and you never get time alone, blah blah blah. I’m ready for change. I’m so ready it’s a joke. Not having kids is bloody hard work too. My life as I knew it hasn’t been the same since I started trying to have children. I’ve been in limbo hell for nearly three years. Believe me, I am ready for the next stage. It’s so patronizing to be told how hard it is all the time. I don’t go around telling people what a nightmare it is to be infertile,’ I fumed.

  ‘Lord, I hope you haven’t been ranting like that in front of the social workers. They’ll be sending you to anger management classes instead of adoption ones. You need to calm down. It’s not good for you to be so stressed.’

  ‘I know, it just gets up my nose sometimes,’ I grumbled.

  ‘How’s James after his big win?’ asked Mum, changing the subject.

  ‘He was thrilled for about a day and now he’s totally uptight about the semi-final against Ulster. It’s like living with someone with an obsessive disorder. I can’t have a proper conversation with him, because he can’t concentrate on anything for more than five minutes. He keeps jumping up and making notes or drawing diagrams of new moves.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re being supportive. His career is very important to him. Are you cooking him nice meals when he comes in and listening to him? You need to mind your man, Emma. There are plenty of young blondes out there only dying to run off with him.’

  ‘Fantastic. Thanks, Mum. I knew I could count on you to make me feel better. On the one hand you tell me that I need to relax and then in the same breath you tell me that my husband’s going to leave me – in the middle of the adoption process – for a young blonde. Well, I better go and get the cookery books out so I can make James something really special tonight to try and keep him from leaving me.’

  When James came home that night, I greeted him at the front door wielding a saucepan in one hand and Jamie Oliver’s cook book in the other.

  ‘If you want to run off with a young one then just sod off and go. I haven’t time to be cooking you feasts, I have to learn Russian, finish my family tree, fill out my workbook, hold down my job …’