Whose Life is it Anyway? by Sinéad Moriarty

tell us you’ve booked a five-day rugby trip with the lads.
A gentle sigh in a man means he’s just had good sex.
When a woman says, ‘Thanks a lot,’ it really doesn’t have anything to do with gratitude. A woman will say, ‘Thanks a lot,’ when she’s annoyed. It can often be followed by a ‘loud sigh’, never a soft one. She is not content, she is angry, and you have done something to annoy her. Rack your brains, figure out what it was and apologize before she implodes.
When a man says, ‘Thanks a lot,’ he is grateful for something – usually food, being left in peace to watch sport, or sex.

10
    Dublin, December 1998
    I was hugely relieved that I had managed to persuade Pierre it was too early to introduce him to my mother. He had no idea how conservative my parents were. I knew they were going to react badly when I told them my boyfriend was black. To get my mind off it all, I went to work to finish my column.
    While I was typing, Emily came to read it over my shoulder.
    ‘So, is the love affair still going well?’
    ‘Amazingly.’
    ‘Oh, God, you’re literally glowing with happiness. It’s sickening.’
    ‘Sorry, I can’t help it.’ I grinned.
    ‘Is it really that great?’
    ‘Brace yourself – it’s incredible.’
    ‘Doesn’t he ever do anything that annoys you?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Don’t you get sick of looking at each other?’
    ‘I can’t get enough of him.’
    ‘OK, now I’m depressed.’
    ‘Look, if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone. This should be giving you hope.’
    ‘If only he had a brother.’ She groaned. ‘Have you told your family yet?’
    ‘No, and my mum’s flying in tonight for the weekend.’
    ‘So she’ll meet Pierre?’
    ‘Not exactly. I’ve decided to wait a bit. I want to have another few months of this cocooned bliss before I tell my parents.’
    ‘How do you think they’ll react to him being black?’
    ‘How would yours react?’ I asked.
    ‘Not well. My mother still clutches her bag when she sees a black fella walking towards her,’ she said, giggling. ‘Ireland’s only recently come out of the dark ages. But I’m sure your parents will be more enlightened, having lived in England for so long.’
    ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’ I sighed. ‘I’d better go, I don’t want to be late for dinner.’
    ‘Good luck!’ my friend called after me.
    I arrived at my grandparents’ house to find Granny Byrne on her own, preparing the meal. Granddad had gone to collect Mum from the airport. Granny was worried about him. ‘He shouldn’t really be driving. His eyesight’s got very bad, but he wanted to pick up his little girl, so I let him at it.’
    I smiled at the idea of my mother still being referred to as a little girl. It was sweet. You never stopped being a parent and you never stopped being a child.
    ‘Sorry I haven’t called in for a while. Work’s been hectic. How have you been?’ I asked, taking my coat off.
    ‘Not too bad, thanks. We’re keeping busy going to our friends’ funerals. They’re dropping like flies.’
    ‘Oh, Granny, that’s awful.’
    ‘That’s life.’ She shrugged. ‘We give them marks out of ten for turnout, quality of coffin and post-funeral refreshments. The best so far has been May Mespil’s. They had a sit-down lunch at the Four Seasons. Can you imagine? It was very swanky altogether. I said to your granddad, we’ll have to remortgage the house to pay for our send-offs. It’s got very competitive and we don’t want to be letting the side down.’ She winked.
    ‘Isn’t it a bit morbid?’
    ‘You have to laugh, pet. Your granddad’s eighty-three and I’m eighty-one. We’re not getting any younger.’
    I shuddered. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to either of my grandparents. They were the loveliest people I knew and for some reason had always had that soft spot for me, possibly because I was the underdog in the family. It had been wonderful to grow up basking in their