The Personals. Brian O’Connell
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our own place and the story began from there.’
The 1980s were such a different time, when fathers still had that kind of control over their daughters and could refuse to bless a marriage. And now 35 years on Betty has two children with her fiancé. William is 32 and Scott is 22. She wants me to mention her lovely daughter-in-law, Audrey, and the fact that she also has three beautiful grandchildren.
From the age of 17 onwards, Betty had always had it in mind to get married, but life events got in the way. ‘The plan was we’ll do it this time, or we’ll do it that time, but something always came up. So, I think now it’s our time. Food is booked, music is booked and we’re going to have a lovely day.’ I can’t help wondering though, for a couple who have been together so long – for decades, in fact – what difference will it make getting married?
‘I’ll tell you now, he’s my best friend,’ she says, ‘and I’m quite sure I would be his best friend. He understands me and I understand him and we just adore the children and the grandchildren. It has been a lifelong dream of ours and we just want to fulfil it.’ If Betty doesn’t shift the dress, she says she will donate it to a charity. I meet her fiancé briefly as I’m leaving the house, and it’s endearing that he’s not afraid to show his affection for Betty in front of a stranger. She says she’ll tell him all later, as I scuttle towards the exit. Some weeks later I drop in and we laugh and chat about it.
A few months after that, Betty messaged me to say that on 10 February 2017, she and her partner walked to the GAA club opposite their home and had their wedding. All their family were there, including the grandkids, and the bride wore a simple yet classy evening dress. The kind of dress that is timeless. ‘It was,’ Betty says, ‘one of the greatest days of my life.’
Her first wedding dress, by the way, is still for sale.
Hand-wrought platinum wedding and engagement rings for sale. Brilliant cut diamonds in a channel setting. Matching set. €7,500. DoneDeal, August 2018
As a single mother with a busy work life, Paula had originally planned that her brother would sell her two platinum diamond rings and that she would give him a commission in return.
She liked the distance this gave her from the transaction, and couldn’t face the thought of walking into one of those ‘cash for gold’ outlets and handing over her jewellery to be examined and valued. She lives in a small community, and felt doing that would make something deeply personal and traumatic become too public.
Thinking back, one of the signs of deepening recession in 2008 was that ‘cash for gold’ counters began appearing in shopping centres with little by way of screens to protect the privacy of customers. I remember seeing four women queueing up in Merchants Quay in Cork to get their rings valued in late 2009, as the recession was taking hold. Having ruled out that option, Paula’s brother persuaded her to put the rings on DoneDeal.
Initially in the months after her marriage ended, Paula spoke to the shop where the rings were bought, and floated the idea of the shop buying them back. Both rings had been custom made but she had thought she could get them turned into something else, or that the jewellers could recycle them into a ring for another person. These were Celtic Tiger-era rings bought for a significant sum so the materials carried value.
‘I had a fair idea of what they cost,’ she tells me. ‘I didn’t know the exact figure, but it was substantial. They meant much more to me than monetary value. I am not really into jewellery but I suppose they were particularly significant in what they symbolised. Now though, they are the opposite of that. They are just metal and stone and I wouldn’t want to even pass them on to my daughter. I just think now they were given to me under false pretences. People always say, “Love is blind”, but now I know what that means.’
Paula is in her early forties and had been in a relationship with her ex-husband for much of her adult life. When we spoke, the break-up was still quite raw. Her voice fragmented with emotion several times during our conversation. The primary aim for her in selling the rings wasn’t really financial gain, but more an emotional one. ‘My husband had an addiction. He had more than one actually,’ Paula tells me. ‘I discovered there was a lot of unfaithfulness before and during the marriage. I realised this early on into the marriage when I found another phone. He didn’t admit to it 100 per cent, but there was enough evidence to go for counselling. He still didn’t admit to it or anything, he just said it was a bit of texting and fun,’ she explains.
Initially, Paula says her husband was very apologetic and reassured her that the phone messages meant nothing. He was proactive in terms of addressing the issues he had and he seemed genuine about doing whatever it took to keep the relationship going. ‘I thought, OK, we’ll go for counselling and it will be fine. Looking back, I was so stupid,’ she says.
Paula thinks her husband loved her for periods of the time they were together, but that commitment and monogamy weren’t a priority for him. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to continue the infidelity. I think actually, looking back, he probably had a sex addiction. That was just one more addiction to add to his list of them.’
Despite the issues she’d identified their relationship continued and Paula soon became pregnant with the couple’s first child. ‘He was so manipulative,’ she says. ‘I was busy and didn’t notice as much and I was easy-going, so I suppose I let things slide, but his drinking got worse, day by day. His addictions were much worse than the infidelity to deal with. Addiction is the hardest thing I’ve ever dealt with.’
This was something I could relate to personally. Fifteen years ago, I had gone into rehab, mainly for alcohol issues, and I subsequently wrote a book detailing both my relationship with alcohol – and Ireland’s too. My life had gone off-piste when I walked into a rehab centre in west Cork called Tabor Lodge. Through intensive counselling and with the help of some fellow addicts who shared some of their journey with me, I began to piece things back together bit by bit. I have been lucky. The closest I have come to a slip was a Baileys’ cheesecake at a wedding a few years ago, and in the decade and a half since rehab I’ve always been drawn to addicts and their stories. It’s tough being an addict anywhere, but it’s perhaps doubly tough in Ireland, a country which arguably stigmatises sobriety far more than active addiction. The bar is set incredibly high for someone to identify as an addict in Ireland. In fact, if anything, all the societal impulses are telling you that you’re not really that bad. As the writer Conor McPherson once told me, walk into a bar in Ireland and the guy at the counter drinking Ballygowan, that’s the alcoholic!
Since I went public about my fraught relationship with alcohol, many individuals and families have contacted me over the years, asking for advice or help with their own struggles. Many are fearful of the societal response to publicly acknowledging their issue and seeking help. This particularly applies to Irish men over a certain age, for whom a large part of their formative experiences may have been framed using alcohol as a buttress. The difficulty for loved ones around addicts is just how deceptive, manipulative and destructive the addicted person can be.
‘According to him, I was the only problem he had in his life,’ Paula says, reflecting on her ex-husband’s outlook. ‘He would probably sit you down and if you didn’t know he was my ex, you would believe everything he says. He is almost a split person. He can be an amazing, charming and really kind person, and then he is awful. So it’s the total ends of the scale, and unfortunately, there was more of the awful behaviour than the nice person as time went on.’
Paula says she tried everything to get her husband to face up to his addiction, even managing to persuade him to go to a rehab facility for an assessment. This did not end well as he wouldn’t accept the opinion of the professionals. ‘I remember his face,’ she says. ‘He was in complete disbelief and then afterwards, he said it was what I said before the assessment that made them decide he was an alcoholic. He was that much in denial about it. He would deny all the affairs, even when a woman came to me and confessed she was with him and she broke