The Problem
Nora and her husband Sean went to dinner with good friends, and met their friends' son, recently returned from abroad. After dinner, when Nora retrieved her handbag from the sitting room, she discovered that the £50 it had contained was missing. It must have been the son. Sean says to say nothing, do nothing. Nora, however, is not entirely willing to do this. She asks our advice.
OH Lord, the number of times we all want to say something, and regret it when we do. Or what about the times when we say nothing and regret the fact that we did not speak? I would love if there were absolutes but, sadly, I have come to believe that each case has to be looked at separately.
I wish I had told the businessman whose wife was drinking vodka out of a perfume bottle because the unfortunate woman was scared rigid of big functions. I didn't tell because it would have been letting her down. A year later she fell down a stairs at one of those functions, totally drunk, and broke her back. So, is there to be a lot of useless handwringing and regret? I think not, in my rational moods, but sometimes when someone reminds me about her injuries, I wonder.
Then once, as teachers, we were anxious that a girl was being picked up from school every day at lunch time by, to our standards, an odd-looking man on a motor bike. We hinted this to her parents. Wrong thing to have done, I think. It helped no-one.
Her parents weren't pleased to be told. The girl dropped out of school shortly afterwards. She wrote a cold letter to the other earnest young teacher and myself, telling us she was going to marry the man concerned and she would never forgive us for having interfered. I remember her words to this day: "Your job was to teach me in class, to try and open up my mind, not to ruin my life."
Since this column began, I have had an amazing number of letters about people wondering whether or not to intervene in some situation or another - in the interpretations of wills, in very expensive wedding plans, in reading diaries and discovering underage sex, in how to tell a tiresome travelling companion that she is no longer welcome on holidays, whether to carry out the dying wishes of someone who is behaving out of character, whether or not to expose a potential conman in someone else's life, how to let loving, conservative parents know you are going to live as lovers but not as a married couple, how to cope with a fatiguing Christmas routine for fear of letting a husband down . . . and now today, whether to alienate good friends or let a boy get away with stealing a sum as big as £50 from your handbag.
I have become less and less sure of any answer as the months have gone on, because for every problem I print, I have read hundreds of conflicting letters offering entirely different advice. I imagine some of those who write in with problems just want to confirm what they think themselves rather than hear a totally objective solution.
When I was teaching Latin many years ago, I used to tell the pupils that there were two ways the Romans would ask a question - one beginning with the word nonne if you expected the answer yes, and the other with the word num if you expected the answer no.
They looked at me blankly and asked what the point was asking a question if you knew already the answer you were going to get. It's a point.
It applies not only to the days of Ancient Rome but to our own. How often have you seen women shopping and one says to another: "This isn't too youthful for me, is it?" That's a num question that's certainly expecting the answer no.
Or you hear a man asking: "Will we have one more for the road before we leave?" You wouldn't need to be Einstein to know that this is a nonne question if ever there was one.
But we do not live as islands. In all of us there is a hopeful suspicion that someone else might have a magic solution, an insight, a way out. Otherwise, why would we go on asking for help? And even writing to columns such as this one?
There's no point, really, in looking at the questions, working out what the writer wants to hear and saying it. It's such a nodding dog response that I wouldn't insult anyone by trying it. And you don't feel that bland agreement with an implied wish is the way to go either. Many of you begin your letters by saying that you know this may be an unpopular answer but you go on to give it all the same. Nora's problem got a very big response and, surprisingly, a great many were from young people about the same age as or younger than the boy who is suspected of having whipped the £50. If only there was an absolute rule!
My Advice
Oh Nora . . . how I wish you could say something about this to your friends, but what on earth could you say? If there's one thing that irritates me it's people like your Sean saying "say nothing, do nothing", as if that was some kind of mission statement. Yet, in my heart, I have the equally irritated feeling that in this case he is quite right.
Doing nothing is so often just a way of keeping your head below the parapet and avoiding a serious, meaningful confrontation but, in this situation, I think it's actually the only action that's going to keep your friendship alive.
If it were my son who had opened that handbag and friends told me, I would be hurt, ashamed, annoyed and embarrassed. And I think it would definitely change the nature of the friendship. Would I have the courage to see that they had done it for his own good? That they had feared it was to feed a drug habit of which I should be made aware? That they felt the same about me and coming to my house from now on? That nothing had changed? I don't think so.
I believe I would always have to explain him away, refer back to it, say he was on a straight path now, prove something about him. It would put an intolerable strain on every level of the friendship.
It's not like a baby getting sick on your new jacket or a dog tearing your best tights. It's a near adult putting his hand into a wallet and removing £50. No home could easily brush that aside, once brought into the open.
I bet you anything this friendship would end, not immediately, but it would be too hard for them to invite you again.
If he was in the house, there would have to be a meeting of eyes; if he was not, then his past actions would hang around the place. A simple question between friends such as: "How are things?" would be overloaded with meaning. You could never ask casually about the boy again. If you like this couple and value their friendship, say nothing, do nothing.
I don't go along with the notion that you might have lost the money, or that it could have been the dog, the budgie or a thief that came in the window. You could look at him fairly beadily any time you meet him. You know the kind of thing - narrowing your eyes slightly, smiling to yourself knowingly.
When you're on your own with him, ask meaningful questions such as how much pocket money he gets or what he earns in his job and nod sagely when he tells you. Don't do it in front of Sean, because he will shuffle and change the subject. It doesn't matter if the boy thinks you have become odd and aggressive. It doesn't matter what he thinks, he should just know that you're on his case.
You could ask him about his tastes - are CDs very expensive these days? Do trainers cost a lot of money? Does it cost a fortune to get into night clubs? Do it in a perfectly pleasant manner but with an undertone of menace in it all the same. You'll frighten the wits out of him and that will give you some satisfaction.
I know it's not what you wanted me to say, I know you think there was a way the friendship would have survived and possibly become even stronger. You think I'm weak-willed and irresponsible, and that boy may well be on a downward spiral which I am not trying to prevent. In your case I would try to bring the conversation around generally, not specifically, to the problems young people have today, and without sounding like a social documentary on television, try to raise their awareness of the world we live in.
Please write back sometime Nora, and tell me what you did.
Your Advice
If you want to say anything, say nothing. You may be sure the parents are already aware of their adult son's light-fingered propensity. Unless they decide to discuss the problem with you, to bring it up will only hurt them further.
M. Hilton, Annascaul, Co Kerry
This is a very awkward situation she has found herself in. If she confronts her friends she might get into an argument and lose her friends. It is a risky situation because, after all, it might not have been the son who stole the money.
If she wants to find out for sure she could firstly listen more carefully during conversation and see if her friend mentions her son has bought something new. She could also mention, within hearing distance of the son, how she has just got some money from the bank. She should then leave the bag in an area accessible to the son and before she leaves she should check her bag. If the money is missing again, it is most likely the son.
She could ask the mother if she has found a £50 note around because she lost one, though this is risky because her friend might suspect she is accusing her.
Brian Cushen, Tullamore, Co Offaly (aged 14)
I think that you should say something. Maybe you should take this boy to one side and ask him politely, without accusing him, whether he took the money. It's obvious he is going to deny it but maybe you can wriggle it out of him, maybe trick him into saying he took it. If this doesn't work she can tell her friends that while she was at their house £50 went missing from her purse. She can maybe say it fell out and that the boy thought it was his and kept it.
By doing this she is not accusing him and the parents won't end up in a fight. If she doesn't say something, and it was the boy, he might think he can get away with more robbery. So really, she would be helping the boy by saying something, rather than just letting it go and letting him get away with it. Good luck!
Ita Hogan, Tullamore, Co Offaly (aged 13)
Nora, here is my advice, for what it is worth. I do not think Sean is right - you cannot really blank out the whole thing and watch your bag in future, because you will always have the incident in your mind every time you visit. I think you should be a little devious.
You could approach your friend, the boy's mother, and tell her you are worried about something - you think you are losing your memory, forgetting things, important things. For instance, that night you visited her, you could have sworn you had worn your gold bracelet, you remembered taking it out of its box and putting it on - yet when you arrived back home, there it was in its box, never opened.
Another thing - this is the devious bit - you always take some money in your bag when going out in case the car breaks down etc, and you do remember putting £50 in your bag that night, and yet when you got home there was actually no money in it. You are desperately worried in case you are getting some dreadful disease, losing your memory. This is just an idea, perhaps you could embroider it a bit.
Anne White, Stillorgan, Co Dublin
Nora and her husband Sean went to dinner with close friends. Close friends - these are the two important words to remember. Nora was at fault for not bringing her handbag into the dining room. She left temptation in the son's way. She should thank her lucky stars that there was only £50 in her handbag and not a great deal more. So say absolutely nothing and never mention it to anyone. Forget it ever happened.
Rhoda Davis, Goatstown Road, Dublin 14
My advice is to phone him and tell him that you know he took the money and that you are giving him a week to return it and if he doesn't you will then take further action. Put the phone down immediately before he has time to say anything. I think he will return the money.
Anne Gray, Monkstown, Co Dublin
I think a personal letter to the son might do the trick - Dear . . . We really did enjoy the evening over with your parents and it was such a pleasure to see their happiness at your return to work at home. When your job gets going and your finances ease, do return the £50 to me - when you don't need it, I'm sure I will. Good luck with your future career. Yours . . .
Brenda O'Driscoll, Skibbereen, Co Cork
Next Month's Problem
This is Maureen's letter: Dear Maeve and all the experts,
I'll tell you what I don't want - advice about joining a gym losing a stone, taking up embroidery, finding a toy boy or going on a world cruise.
I am 42 and six months ago my husband told me he didn't love me any more. He ended 14 years of marriage, has gone to live with a woman of 25 and is not coming back. We have no children. I have a job - it's only a job, now, not a career. He is selling the house and I will have half the proceeds. I have stopped trying to get him back, I have almost stopped hating him. But I am left without hope, without spirit as a new century dawns. Can any people out there spend a little time trying to tell me some way of recovering my life, something that worked for them? I don't think I'm talking about meditation, or prayer. I don't think I'm talking about finding a new husband . . . I don't think that I need a shrink . . . but actually I'm open to anything. I'd love to read what you all could say to take away this feeling that there's no real life ahead. I know someone out there will say something to help.
So please, a letter for Maureen as soon as possible to PO Box 6737, Dun Laoghaire, Co Dublin. Writers of letters published will receive a £25 book token. This problem will be dealt with in Maeve's column on February 12th.