An au pair’s tale reflects an unfair world – and illness, chance and debt drive that reality home
WHY THE hell is a sense of justice, of fair play, absent in so many? He wonders this as he listens to his au pair and her friends discussing so-called “host” families.
One family lies about the fact that a toddler (their fourth child) would be off-premises all afternoon; they further fail to engage in any conversation that’s not about housework or childcare. Another family grants little time to study, less to socialise. The worst offenders – a perma-tanned couple in Alan Partidge-style yachting outfits – stare blankly when their au pair fails to make herself understood. They vanish for the weekend, leaving the 19-year-old without the alarm code; she ends up sleeping in the unemployed man’s house. (Parasite, he thinks, might be more appropriate than host).
***
Cutbacks. His wife is having a very hard time promoting their business. She begins to lose weight. They suspect her thyroid is hyperactive. This is confirmed by blood tests (covered, thankfully, by the medical card). But even with a decrease in the dosage of thyroxin, she continues to suffer. At night she sweats so much she has to wrap up in towels.
***
Too ill to go public, delays too long. A consultant at a private clinic advises that the diagnosis of hypothyroidism, made nine long months after the birth of their first child, was incorrect. It was simply a knock-on from the real, underlying cause: adrenal fatigue. This is what should have been detected, and treated. From day one.
Jesus. €180 for the consultation (€40 of which they can claim back), a further €160 for vitamins, minerals (none of which they can). They drive home in silence, her weary from the condition, him from worry, irritation.
***
Whereas she used to spend afternoons on the phone pitching, she is now forced back to bed. He is not as skilled in terms of selling. With each nervous phone call, opportunity seems to be slipping away. But he remembers the shrink’s mantra, “‘self reliance, perseverance”, and calls the non-committals: no way are they giving up now.
***
He borrows €300 from his Romanian friend, updates his swimming qualifications, gets Garda-vetted, then permission to post an ad on the gym noticeboard. He signs three teenage clients. After practice one of them announces, apropos of nothing, that her father said the new coach mustn’t be very bright if he’s ended up working in a gym at nearly 50.
He thinks of giving her his CV to bring home. To hell with it: Tell your Dad to come down and have a chat some evening. We’ll see who’s smart then, he says. She never returns; he loses €10 a session, twice a week. It dawns on him that the teenager may have been gushing about her new coach to her father, who probably spends minimal time with her.
Still, dissing a man because of his occupation? (Big houses. Small minds).
***
Forget negative equity, rash investments, lost pensions. They owe €11,000 on the credit card, €9,000 to the credit union, €5,000 to relatives, €2,000 to friends. They are overdrawn, the bank is charging a ludicrous €10 per transaction. The rise in interest rates means the rent on their inner-city house – already €450 shy of what they pay for their new accommodation – falls short by a further €31 per month; they’ll have to take in a student.
Over dinner, his wife says no, she’d prefer to take some shifts at a local restaurant. (She did the interview without telling him).
How? he asks. You’re already exhausted.
I’ll get over it, she says. If you can teach swimming lessons to spoiled brats, I can wait tables. There’s nothing further to discuss. (Especially with the au pair sitting beside them).
***
He watches her, faltering. Feels familiar desperation rising. Was the shrink right? A false lull? No.
An Irish Times reader writes in, wondering if he might be able to help her with a new venture. To be working at what he trained at, what he’s good at, feels lovely. He can’t help but dream of providing enough to pay bills, loans, of being able to knock off even the interest on the credit card, of telling his wife to head away for a week, to forget the kids. Him.
The writer of this column wishes to remain anonymous. His identity is known to the editor