Authors: Sinead Moriarty

Whose Life is it Anyway? (11 page)

BOOK: Whose Life is it Anyway?

5.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

‘But you didn’t ask me. You told me.’

‘I know. It came out wrong, I’m sorry. I had this big speech prepared but I got nervous. You threw me off guard with the crying and ranting.’

‘So it’s my fault?’

‘Kind of. I just didn’t expect you to react like that about Vancouver. I thought you’d be pleased. I thought you liked adventure.’

‘I only like adventure when it’s been organized by me. You might want to remember that for the future. I’m having a heart-attack here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘I’m sorry, darling. Will you please marry me?’

‘I’ll have to think about it.’

‘OK.’

Silence.

‘Have you made up your mind?’

‘Not yet.’

Silence.

‘Now?’

‘Are you asking because you don’t want to go to Canada on your own?’

‘No! This is supposed to be a romantic moment, not a debate about Canada.’

‘I’m sorry, but it’s all a bit out of the blue. When would we have to go to Vancouver?’

‘I need to be there by June to spend the summer getting set up, so we’ve got over three months.’

‘Do you want to get married before we go?’

‘That’s the general idea, yes.’

‘But it takes ages to organize a wedding.’

‘You said your sister’s was organized in days.’

‘That’s because she was pregnant.’

‘We’ve got three months. I’m sure we can manage.’

‘But my family haven’t even met you yet.’

‘So introduce me to them.’

‘But I need to prepare them first.’

‘Get on with it, then.’

‘You’ve just pounced this on me.’

‘I only got the offer yesterday.’

‘I knew there was something up with you last night. You were behaving very strangely.’

‘I was trying to work up the courage to propose.’

‘Were you nervous?’

‘Terrified.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘In case you said no.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know. Women are weird. I wasn’t sure you’d want to move to Canada.’

‘If I say no to Canada, is the proposal withdrawn?’

‘Of course not. I’ve wanted to marry you since the day we met. I’d like to take this job in Vancouver, but if you don’t want to move there, we’ll come up with a Plan B.’

‘Do the Canadians have a good sense of humour?’

‘I’m sure they do.’

‘Where will we live?’

‘The university will provide us with a house.’

‘Is it nice?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t accepted the job yet. So, will you?’

‘What?’

‘Marry me, come to Vancouver and spend the rest of your life with me.’

‘Yes, yes, and most definitely yes.’ I laughed and leant in to kiss my husband-to-be.

Once the shock of Vancouver and the marriage proposal had worn off, my mind began to de-fog.

‘We really don’t have much time. Your parents are over next week and then I’ll have to go home and do some bomb-dropping. Actually, it could work out well. I’ll go home for St Patrick’s weekend and tell them then.’

‘We’ll go together,’ said Pierre.

‘No. Let me pave the way first, then you fly over and meet everyone.’

‘All right.’

‘I just need to ask you one more time. Are you absolutely sure you want to marry me? You’ll be taking on my family and it’s not going to be easy.’

‘Yes, I am. Besides, I’m marrying you, not your family.’

‘Technically, yes, but in my family’s case they tend to get very involved.’

‘Niamh, we’re getting married and moving to Vancouver, which is a long way away so your family won’t really be a problem.’

‘They’ll come and visit, believe me,’ I said, remembering the time my cousin had moved to New York and a steady stream of relatives, friends of relatives, colleagues of relatives, neighbours of relatives and pretty much anyone his relatives had ever spoken to arrived on his doorstep every week. He’d gone to New York to get away for a while and ended up running an Irish B-and-B.

‘Great. I hope they do,’ said Pierre.

‘Do you know anything about Vancouver?’ I asked.

‘I looked it up last night. It has a population of almost two million people, you can ski and sail in the same day. It has great restaurants, shops and galleries. The population is extremely diverse, so we’ll fit right in.’

‘Does it get to minus forty in the winter? Will we have to live underground for months at a time wearing Puffa jackets to bed?’

Pierre grinned. ‘As attractive as that sounds, no, we won’t. Apparently it rarely goes below zero because it’s on the coast. But it’s close to Whistler, which is supposed to be incredible for skiing.’

‘I don’t know how to ski.’

‘I’ll teach you.’

‘I have really bad co-ordination.’

‘You’ll be fine. I’ll help you.’

‘Pierre.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m scared.’

‘Of what?’

‘Everything.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s all going to be fine.’

‘What if I can’t get a job and I end up sitting in the house all day waiting for you to come home and being resentful of you because my career is down the toilet and I’ve no friends and no one to talk to, while you’re out teaching ski-toned, leggy Canadian young ones about linguistics?’

‘I’ve already asked the dean of the university to put out feelers for you with local editors. Once they read your columns, they’ll snap you up.’

‘I hope so. I’ll go mad with nothing to do.’

‘Actually, darling, I was hoping we could start a family sooner rather than later,’ Pierre admitted.

‘Already?’

‘I’m forty-two. I don’t want to be too old to kick a ball around with my kids. I’ll be sixty-three when they turn twenty-one. That’s old.’

‘So that’s why you’re taking me to Canada. To get me barefoot and pregnant.’

‘It’d be nice to have children.’

‘Yes, but I’m still trying to get my head round marriage and emigration to another continent. I don’t have the head space for kids.’

‘But you wouldn’t be against having them quickly?’

‘No. But you’re not that old and I’m young, so we don’t need to panic yet. Can I enjoy my honeymoon first?’

‘All right. You can have those two weeks off, but after that it’s down to making babies.’

‘Two weeks? Where are we off to?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Have you booked it yet?’

‘I was waiting to propose first.’

‘Wise move.’

‘Thanks.’

‘A few pointers for you. I don’t like humidity, creepy-crawlies, any kind of trekking, climbing or mountaineering. I don’t like really intense heat because I get heat rash. I’m not a fan of camping. I think spas are overrated. How many massages can a person get? I like a bit of culture but not too much, because then you feel guilty if you haven’t gone to see all the museums and galleries. I prefer pools to beaches – I find sand high maintenance. I prefer small, family-type hotels to big flashy ones. A fishing village an hour’s drive from a cool city would be great.’ I grinned.

‘Could you be more specific?’ said Pierre.

‘Seeing as this is probably my last holiday before I get pregnant and my life is over, I think I’m entitled to be fussy.’

‘No donkey-trekking in the Himalayas?’

‘Not unless you want to go to Vancouver alone.’

‘So, you’re OK about having children soon?’

‘How many were you planning on having?’

‘Six.’

‘Well, you need to propose to someone else.’

‘Four?’

‘Let’s start with one and see how we go.’

‘I don’t want an only child. I’d like them to have siblings.’

‘You turned out OK.’

‘I was lonely.’

‘OK, two kids.’

‘Let’s keep an open mind.’

‘Three is my final offer. Take it or leave it.’

‘I prefer even numbers but I’ll take it.’

‘How magnanimous of you.’

‘I try to be.’

‘Hey.’

‘What?’

‘Thanks for asking.’

‘Isn’t it fairly normal practice for a man to ask his wife-to-be if she wants to have children?’

‘I mean the marriage proposal.’

‘Even though I botched it up?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re very welcome. And thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For saying yes.’

The next day we went to several jewellers and picked out a beautiful solitaire. I couldn’t stop staring at it. The ring made the whole thing so real. I was Pierre’s fiancée! His wife-to-be! I was in seventh heaven and dying to tell my family the good news, but I couldn’t. It would have to wait until St Patrick’s weekend when I went home.

In the meantime I had to starve myself for my in-laws’ imminent visit, keep up with current affairs… and write a column.

Irish Daily News

‘The new girlfriend’

Niamh O’Flaherty

When a man’s best friend turns up in the pub with a new young girlfriend, who is drop-dead gorgeous, his friend whoops. He high-fives him, says how the hell did a dog like you manage to pick up a babe like that, and then he goes home that night dying to tell his wife all about her.

HUSBAND
: ‘I just met Tim’s new girlfriend. She’s a young one.’

WIFE
: ‘How young?’

HUSBAND
: ‘I dunno, about twenty-four, twenty-five. A total fox, fair play to him.’

WIFE, BUTTONING UP HER FLEECY PYJAMAS
: ‘What do you mean “fox”?’

HUSBAND
: ‘A cracking-looking girl.’

WIFE, GETTING GRUMPY
: ‘In what way?What’s so amazing about her?’

HUSBAND
: ‘She’s a six-foot blonde with legs up to her neck. She looks like your one, Cameron Diaz.’

WIFE
: ‘What?There is no way. Tim’s going out with someone who looks like Cameron Diaz? You’ve had too much to drink. You’ve got your beer goggles on.’

HUSBAND
: ‘No, I don’t, I said it to Tim and he said people come up to her and say it all the time. She’s the image of her.’

WIFE, FEELING IRRATIONALLY THREATENED BY A GIRL SHE’S NEVER EVEN MET
: ‘I bet she’s only using him for his money.’

HUSBAND
: ‘Apparently she’s loaded. She runs her own recruitment agency.’

WIFE
: ‘I bet you she’s one of those high-class hookers. They always have good cover stories. I bet you Tim met her on the Internet.’

HUSBAND
: ‘That’s a terrible accusation. He met her in the gym. They have the same personal trainer.’

WIFE, FURIOUS WITH HERSELF FOR BEING SUCH A JEALOUS WENCH, BUT EVEN MORE ANNOYED WITH TIM FOR GOING OUT WITH A YOUNG STICK-INSECT
: ‘So, she has to work at keeping the weight off?’

HUSBAND
: ‘No, she’s training for a triathlon.’

Wife now feels violent hatred for this super-fit, super-rich supermodel.

HUSBAND
: ‘Tim wants us to meet up for a meal on Friday.’

WIFE
: ‘Tell him we’re busy.’

HUSBAND
: ‘I’ve already told him we’re free.’

WIFE
: ‘I’ve nothing to wear, I hate all my clothes.’

HUSBAND
: ‘Wear your red dress, you always look nice in that.’

WIFE
: ‘I can’t bloody well fit into it. I’m not going out with some rich, successful beanpole, who’ll make me look like an old, fat, unsuccessful hag.’