Happily Ever After_ - Benison Anne O'Reilly [48]
Can you imagine how delighted my parents were? Over the years I’d heard sporadic and muted grumblings about the condescending attitudes of the Cooper family, but on this occasion the Parkes found they weren’t above a bit of snobbery themselves.
For a time they consoled themselves that this was just a rebellious phase Emma was going through and that she would eventually come to her senses, but it’s been three years now and Emma and Daniel are still together and still, to all appearances, blissfully in love. Mum, I think, is becoming resigned - although she’d like to get them off the motorbike - and to be fair Daniel is totally devoted to Emma and not in a creepy, controlling way either. Emma has taken to wearing matching leather gear on the weekends but my parents were very relieved to hear that Daniel doesn’t like obvious tats on women. He apparently thinks it looks ‘skanky’.
Mum’s description was spot on. Daniel certainly did have a lot of piercings. That got me to thinking.
One evening, when we were alone together, I slyly asked my sister, ‘Daniel seems to have quite a few piercings. Does he have any anyplace interesting?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘Yes, I would. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘I’m not telling you!’
‘Which means yes,’ I said triumphantly.
‘I didn’t say that. Anyway, haven’t you got anything better to do than think about my sex life. I never ask about yours.’
I wasn’t going to admit I didn’t really have much of a one to speak of. And when I thought about it, did I really want to imagine my baby sister - who it seemed only yesterday was a seven year old performing in ballet recitals dressed in a pink tutu and pointe shoes - having sex with a hairy, tattooed man who most likely had a ring in his penis? No, I probably did not.
***
Of all the events that occurred around this time, one, in particular, stands out as important for my recovery. Sadly it was no laughing matter at all.
Even after Isabel was born I remained a member of my miscarriage and stillbirth chat group. Although I’d never met these women some of them were, for a time, amongst the most significant people in my life. Thanks to the Internet, I’d got to know their personal situations and the ups and downs (mostly the latter) of their lives all too well.
One person I’d grown particularly close to was Suzanne, a forty year old software engineer from Portland, Oregon. She might have lived halfway across the world from me but fertility problems don’t recognise geographical barriers and our experiences were remarkably similar: trouble conceiving in the first place and then a late miscarriage. We got on so well that we started emailing each other privately, outside the auspices of the group. When Issy arrived hale and hearty the first thing I did when I got home from hospital was log on to share my happy news - not to gloat, just to give hope, I thought, to others. Suzanne was the very first to congratulate me and was so heartfelt in her sentiments, although I knew underneath that there was probably sadness accompanying her good wishes.
Eventually Suzanne got pregnant again with IVF twins and every week I looked forward to progress updates on her pregnancy. She made it to twenty weeks before miscarrying and losing them both - a boy and a girl. When I first read those words on my computer screen it felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs. Then, just when I thought things couldn’t have gotten any worse for her, her husband walked out, unable to live with her and her blighted womb anymore. He found himself a new - young - girlfriend suspiciously quickly. Suzanne admitted there had been cracks in the marriage beforehand and the loss of the twins was the final straw.
What can you say to comfort someone in that situation? Nothing, is the answer. I tried to compose some sort of message that didn’t sound clichéd and rehearsed but the result