“You’re her daughter and you usually have plenty to say, with or without permission,” Frankie grinned.
“I think I said rather too much on Friday night when I was sober and just semi-mad and I know I said far too much on Saturday night when I was steaming drunk and my mouth was being controlled by an emotionally unstable Russian answering to the name Vladivar.”
Frankie raised her eyes to heaven. “So what is the actual problem, Rubes? Are you annoyed because you think she’s forgotten about your daddy or did the whole thing just shock you so much that you reacted really badly? Maybe she should have warned you that you’d be having company and then you’d have had time to compose yourself.”
“She was afraid I’d react like a lunatic so she didn’t tell me,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Well, that worked out well for her then, didn’t it?” Frankie said, raising her eyebrows.
“Can we please change the subject?” I pleaded.
“When are we going to see the wedding dressmaker?”
“Can we please change the subject again?”
“No, we can not. This is something you need to be thinking about now, Ruby. You have no idea how much there is to do. You’re getting married in eleven months’ time and there is so much to organise. Don’t you care?”
I thought about the question and decided that I did care because I loved Luke and wanted to marry him but that all the trimmings were just a pain in the arse I could cheerfully do without, but would attend to because I knew they were important to Frankie and my mother and Luke. I knew that I was in a minority as most girls my age had spent their childhoods dreaming of a white wedding and a prince on a white horse but, while they were doing that, I was whipping the local princes’ arses at pool and running rings round them on the football pitch.
“Earth to Ruby! Hello! Don’t you care?”
I sighed. Frankie could be relentless.
“Yes, I care, Frankie. It’s just that all the preparation is so much less important than the act of getting married itself. I’m delighted that Luke wants me and I’m going along with the rest of the palaver just to keep everyone else happy. I’d cheerfully get married in my jeans in a dawn ceremony where nobody else could see me just as long as I knew Luke was going to turn up.”
Frankie looked misty-eyed and I was terrified that she was about to start simpering on me and go all soppy. “That’s so nice, Ruby. Luke is very lucky.”
Is he feck? God help him.
When I got home that evening Luke seemed quiet and pensive and I caught him studying me intently when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“Is there something the matter?” I asked eventually as I felt disconcerted by his constant staring.
“I could ask the same question, love,” he said. “Please tell me what’s wrong and be honest about it. I don’t want to make any more plans if you’re having second thoughts.”
“Second thoughts about what and what exactly are you planning?” I answered in confusion.
“Ruby, stop trying to be coy. I know when someone is in turmoil. I’ve been watching you all weekend and you haven’t been yourself at all and I don’t think that it’s all to do with your mother’s new boyfriend.”
“I wish everyone would stop calling him that,” I grumbled. “People have boyfriends at the respectable age of seventeen. At sixty they have –”
“Gentleman friends,” Luke finished for me.
“Have I said that before?”
“Once or twice,” Luke said, looking strained.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I snapped. “Stop looking at me like that. I’ve just got things on my mind.”
“Do you want me to guess?” Luke enquired.
“Guess what?”
“What’s on your goddamned fecking mind!” he bellowed in bad temper.
“Don’t shout at me. I’m really confused.”
“Should we put the wedding off for a while? Do you need more time or do you want to forget about it altogether? We were happy enough before I proposed so maybe we should just go back to living in sin without the rings.”
I felt the blood drain from my face, only to come rushing back in a flush from my toes up. I felt positively sick and couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Is that how you feel?” I asked miserably, not able to meet his gaze. “Have you felt like this for long?”
Luke began to pace around like a caged lion (a caged lion on speed, I might add).
“You drive me nuts, Ruby. You have the most unfortunate habit of picking things up the wrong way and you do it every time.”
“So you have felt like this for ages and I’ve obviously been too thick to notice.”
Luke wheeled around and I thought for a terrible minute that he might have a tantrum which involved squealing and shouting and much stamping of feet.
“I love you, you silly cow, but I’m starting to think that you don’t feel the same way about me. You’ve been totally preoccupied for days and you’re hiding something from me. I’m not stupid, y’know.”
The penny (a penny the size of a mortar-bomb) just dropped. Straight onto my head. I didn’t think I had been that obvious but being totally transparent was obviously another ‘family’ attribute.
“I haven’t been thinking about you or making plans to leave you, Luke, you great eejit. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”
Relief flooded his face. “Care to share what you have been thinking about then? Please. I’ve been so worried.”
I was torn. Torn between wanting to put Luke at ease and not wanting to expose the muddled thoughts that had been whirring around aimlessly in my head. Luke knew I was adopted but, as I had always been blasé about the fact, he had no idea of what I was feeling at the minute and I didn’t want him thinking that I was doing it out of spite just because Mammy seemed to have moved on. In a funny way Mammy’s actions had forced me to think about it again but I had always known in my heart that it would come back to haunt me some day. Maybe some people could sail through life without ever needing their existence to be acknowledged by the people who brought them into the world but I wasn’t one of them. If I’m honest, I was also slightly afraid that Luke might accuse me of being incredibly greedy. Here I was with a mother who loved me unconditionally no matter what I did or how I embarrassed her, even though I wasn’t her own flesh and blood, yet Luke’s parents who had given birth to him seemingly couldn’t give a damn, preferring to pickle themselves in beer on the Mediterranean.
“Please,” he repeated, now kneeling in front of me and holding both my hands.
“Oh Luke, how could you ever think I could bear to be without you? If I tell you, will you promise not to be judgemental or try and talk me out of it?”
“Whatever you want, love, but make it quick as I’m getting a dead leg down here.”
I pulled him up to his feet, gave him a hug and prepared to bare my soul. (God, I hated being a girl sometimes.)
Chapter 8
We were still sitting on the living-room floor at two o’clock the following morning, surrounded by a growing collection of coffee-stained mugs. I had to admit (begrudgingly, as I hated conversations which involved my feelings) that I felt better and more determined than ever after talking to Luke about what had been troubling me. He was very supportive and going to help me in whatever way he could.
“One mother-in-law isn’t enough. Why have one when you could have two?” he remarked, once I had explained the situation.
“Hold on a minute, Luke!” I said fiercely. “Just because I’m going to search for her doesn’t mean that she’ll want to know me or that I’m going to bloody start calling her ‘Mammy’ either. If she had wanted that title she should have thought harder about her actions all those years ago. Besides, Isobel is and always will be my mother. We mightn’t be related by blood but she’s the one who bandaged my knees, tucked me up in bed, cuddled me and kicked my arse when I needed it. She is irreplaceable. This isn’t about
finding a new mother. This is simply an exercise in getting answers once and for all.”
I took a deep breath and continued to finger the document in my hand. Its contents had been superimposed in my head for many years and I didn’t have to look at it to see what was written on the parchment-type paper in bold black ink.
Surname:Delaney
Name:Ruby Rose
Sex:Female
Date of Birth:16 December 1975
District of Birth:Belfast
Place of Birth:Royal Maternity Hospital
Father:Unknown
Surname:_
Name:_
Occupation:_
Mother:
Surname:Delaney
Name:Georgina Elspeth
Address:Mulroy Cove
Kerrycar
Co Donegal
Informant Qualification: Mother
Address:As above
Signature:Georgina Delaney
Date of Registration: 17 December1975
I continued to hold the piece of paper to my chest and allowed my mind to wander back to the day when I had been given the information all those years ago.
Belfast had presented quite a colourful picture with its bizarrely dressed students, black taxis, white-collar workers and never-ceasing sirens, and I’d stared in amazement at all the people and the sheer volume of traffic in the city (you’d never guess I was a country hick who only got out occasionally, would you?).
On arriving at my destination (after three hours as I had got lost six times) I had surveyed the building before entering it, knowing that it could provide me with vital information. Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages, the sign said.
The ageing security guard looked at me through the glass doors and nodded at me to approach.
“It’s a cold day for standin’ about, love,” he had said in a fatherly voice which was accompanied by a broad Belfast accent. “Come in and sit down. The girls’ll be back from lunch shortly.”
Ruby Delaney . . . Ruby Delaney . . . Ruby Delaney . . . I repeated the name like a personal mantra over and over again in my head until I was called forward. My birth mother had given me the name Ruby and as it was the first and probably last thing she ever gave me, my adoptive parents had explained that they didn’t want to take it from me or change it in any way. They also knew ‘her’ surname and as I was in possession of a great pair of ears which sprang to attention if the subject was mentioned, it wasn’t too long before I overheard a hushed conversation which told me that her second name was Delaney and a plan had formed in my head that would lead me to finding out more.
“Hi there, can I help you?” The lady behind the counter looked expectantly at me.
Shit! This was it. There was no going back.
Tentatively (not a trait I displayed often) I approached the desk. “I was wondering if I could get a full copy of my long birth certificate, please.”
“No problem, love, what’s the name?”
“Ruby Delaney.”
I had looked around me at that point to ensure that I hadn’t been found out. However, everyone seemed to be going about their business as usual unperturbed (even though I had just told a ginormous lie and could now be on Northern Ireland’s most-wanted list for identity fraud).
“Date of birth?”
“The 16th of December, 1975.”
“Right, love. It’ll be a few minutes. That’ll be ten pounds, please,” the assistant said pleasantly.
I wondered if this lady realised that this could be the most important ten pounds she would ever receive or indeed that I might ever spend. I could hardly contain my curiosity for long enough to extract the crisp note, fresh from the bank machine for this purpose, from my purse.
“Thanks a million,” I whispered and I really meant it. One million pounds would not be too much to pay for the secrets which were about to be revealed. I had thought for a split second about the impact of my actions and how life-shattering (shit-splattering) they could be for God knows how many people but then shrugged my shoulders. This was a situation not of my making. I hadn’t asked to be born (and if I had, I would have asked to be a normal regular child born into a family, preferably with the parents I had, who wanted me, and not a feckin outcast with mad hair).
I waited to look until I had got back out into the street. I went to a thick window ledge and used it as a support as I hugged the sealed envelope to my chest. Slowly and carefully I opened the flap, trying not to tear the wrapping which encased the information I had been wondering about for so long.
I stared at the page so hard that the print began to blur with the eyestrain. I had fantasised about what this moment would be like. They were only words but, for me, they represented years of unanswered questions which finally might be put to rest.
Of course, I already had an adoptive birth certificate which stated that Albert and Isobel were my parents. It wasn’t that I had ever wanted to replace them, it was just that I wanted to know ‘why’. Why had I been given up? Why could she not keep me? Why did she not want me?
“You look like you’re miles away,” Luke said as he stood up and stretched his legs.
“I was,” I murmured. “I just got caught in a time warp.”
“Come to bed, love,” he said gently. “Tomorrow is a new day and we can make plans.”
“Luke, are you angry with me?”
He looked perplexed and confused. “Ruby, why on earth would I be angry? I love you and what you’re going through is terrible.”
“You haven’t had it easy yourself,” I muttered with one eye shut, willing him not to react badly which normally happened when his parents were mentioned.
“Ahhhh,” he said slowly. “You thought I’d be annoyed because my parents are a waste of space who shouldn’t have had children they quite obviously didn’t want.”
I winced and continued to look at him with one eye.
He took my face in his hands and kissed me tenderly on the nose. “Ruby, I love the fact that you care enough to want to find out and will support you every step of the way. As for my parents, they’ve made their choices and it’s better that they are where they are and not annoying the rest of us here. It might be useful if you were to have two mothers – perhaps you could lend me one as a surrogate.”
It saddened me to hear him talking this way and my heart went out to him and it must have showed in my expression.
“Ruby, stop dwelling on it. I try not to. I hate talking about it as it only serves to remind me what I’m missing. It still hurts but, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it’s that if you don’t strive to make the best of things yourself no one else will do it for you. You’re my family now and I’m so thankful that I have you in my life every day.”
He kissed me and I sighed with contentment and prepared to go to bed and fall into the deepest sleep I’d had all week.
Chapter 9
“Hey, Rubes.” Owen grinned at me and handed me a mug of coffee and put a packet of my favourite chocolate-mint biscuits at my feet.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t be tempting you,” he said, eyes twinkling in amusement. “You’re probably on a diet like all other brides-to-be.”
“Sure I am,” I proclaimed before ripping the green and silver paper off one and taking a big bite.
Owen (our best-man-to-be) was tall and good-looking with dark hair and glasses and I always called him Clark Kent (Superman minus the manky Y-fronts) . . . long story that thankfully doesn’t involve him jumping off any wardrobes but rather refers to the fact that he is in fact a ‘super man’ who just happens to wear glasses and would swallow kryptonite to make Frankie happy, so great is his love for her.
He left and went outside and I looked towards Frankie who was still apparently trying to collect her thoughts on what I had told her moments before. I thought that since talking to Luke had felt so good, I might as well confide in my best friend as well but was now not so sure I had done the right thing.
Frankie sta
red at me in the manner of a goldfish, opening and closing her mouth at rapid speed.
“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s no big deal,” I said in exasperation when she continued to move her mouth round but made no comment.
“Why now?” she said eventually. “You have so much to do in the next few months that I’m just worried that you’re taking on too much and that you’ll stress yourself out. May I remind you that in less than eleven months you’ll be –”
“Mention the word ‘wedding’ and you die. Instantly,” I growled. “The world isn’t going to stop turning just because I’m taking a dander up the aisle, y’know. I’ve made up my mind and that’s it.”
“Oh God, well, that is it then,” she sighed. “I’ll help whatever way I can, Ruby, but you do realise that this mightn’t have a fairytale ending?”
“Yes, I do, Frankie. I’m not expecting to hear Cilla singing ‘Surprise Surprise’ in the background, whilst tearfully hugging my long-lost mother in front of an audience.” (I never watched that show . . . I only knew because other people told me . . . really . . .)
“But you might find out things you don’t want to know,” she continued in a voice that was sounding increasingly desperate.
“Frankie –”
“Okay. Okay. Your mind’s made up ‘and that’s it’,” she mimicked me in a growling voice.
We were continuing to sip our coffee in companionable silence when Angelica (stepdaughter with an attitude) sailed passed us.
“Hi, Ruby. I hear you’re getting one of these,” she said with a nod in Frankie’s direction. “An evil step-parent, I mean,” she clarified.
I was about to say something hotly in defence of my friend when I noticed that Frankie was looking at her in quite a tender and un-evil-step-parent-like fashion so I held my tongue.
Anyone for Me? Page 5