Conor surprised her by bravely reaching for the two sticky flaps on the sides of the nappy.
“I’m going in now.”
Emily giggled. But when he opened the nappy she had to turn away.
“How can something so small produce all that?” Conor said in wonder. He seemed to be enjoying this now.
“Wipe him, quick,” Emily said, handing over a bundle of the things.
Conor, with calm, methodical swipes, eventually managed to get him clean. Then he wrapped up the nappy securely and thrust it into the plastic bag he’d brought the Coke in.
“I’ll dig a big hole when I get home and bury it.”
Willy was delighted to be without his nappy, and he kicked about enthusiastically.
“He’s smiling at you, Conor.”
“I should think so too. You were useless.”
She knew his toughness was only a front. Look at the way he was tickling Willy’s foot!
They put on his new nappy and spent ten minutes doing up all the popper-fasteners, zips, buttons and buckles again.
“We’re old pros now,” Conor said. “Ready for anything.”
She felt a great tenderness now as she imagined them with their own baby.
“Why can’t it be like this all the time?” she asked suddenly.
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of an answer is that?”
Conor looked at her, and it was with genuine curiosity. “How did you think it would be? Marriage?”
“Faithful.” It was out before she could stop it.
“So did I.” He looked more puzzled than sorrowful.
“I expected friendship, the odd bit of passion and romance, companionship, sharing the same ideals with someone.”
“Yes.”
“I also thought it would be intimate and close.”
He nodded.
“So if we both expected the same things, what happened?”
“They’re not our God-given right, Emily. They don’t automatically come with the wedding package.”
“You mean I’m being unrealistic?”
“No, I don’t mean that at all. I suppose it’s a question of compromise.”
“So I can have the friendship and the companionship but not the intimacy and closeness?”
“No, I . . .”
“Well, I want those, Conor. I can get companionship and friendship from other people.”
She sounded very hard and unyielding. Conor sat up straighter.
“So you’re prepared to give this a go, then?”
“I’m just saying –”
“No, you haven’t said anything, Emily! Not a thing about a commitment to me or to our marriage. I’m the one who’s been begging and pleading all the way along, for some little bit of reassurance or even the tiniest indication that you love me at all! Instead you draw up lists of requirements and demands, and I always seem to fall short.” He looked at her. “Maybe I always have.”
Tommy looked over, alert to domestic dispute. He was used to it. When Emily eventually spoke, it was low.
“I’m the one who’s had to get used to this affair.”
He looked impatient. “I know that. But, God Almighty, are we going to have it hanging over our heads for the rest of our lives?”
“It takes time to deal with these things, Conor! We’ve hardly talked about it, even!”
“My affair?”
“Yes!”
“What’s there to say? You want me to keep saying sorry, is that it?”
“No!”
“What then?”
“I don’t know . . . if I had an affair, you’d want to talk about it!”
“I wouldn’t,” he said very definitely. “I’d want to put it behind us.”
Emily was very annoyed. “That’s very easy for you to say!”
“What is not easy for me is this constant limbo, with no light on the horizon at all. I don’t even know if I’m going to be there for the birth of my own baby!”
“This, for someone who’s going to be living in a different house when the baby comes home!” Emily hissed back, her anger bubbling to the surface.
“I do not want to live in a house where I’m merely tolerated. If and when I come home, it’ll be because you want me there,” Conor said flatly.
“It’s not down to me.”
“Oh come on, it is.” He looked at her oddly. “You’ve always held the power in our relationship and I’m starting to think that you know it.”
“What? I do not!”
“Stop sitting on the fence then. Say you want me if you do. If you don’t, then I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know as soon as possible so that I can get on with things.”
“Shut up! Shut up! We’re on!”
St Brenda’s Ward, packed to the rafters with nurses, patients, visitors, doctors and Tommy-the-porter, went very quiet. You could have heard a pin drop as the newsreader on the TV looked down at them all sombrely.
“And now we’re going to a special report on the increase in petrol prices . . .”
“Oh, Maggie.”
“Sorry, I thought we were going to be on next – how could petrol prices be more important than pregnant women in active protest?”
They obviously were, and everyone turned away from the television to pick up conversations left in mid-thread.
“Avery. What kind of a name is that for a child?”
“It won’t thank her.”
The doctors were over by the door.
“Said he was out in his vegetable garden when he tripped and fell, and happened to impale himself on a carrot.”
“Was he was the same fellow who was in Casualty last year after a similar accident involving a courgette?”
Tommy-the-porter was wondering about his future.
“It’s night security work. There’s a TV and a toaster and all.”
“God, I’d take it, Tommy.”
Over by Emily’s bed, Neasa stuffed grapes into her mouth.
“It’s a three-ring circus in here,” she said rather sourly.
“I know, but this is the only television left in the place that actually works. And, naturally, everyone’s excited.”
“I suppose,” Neasa said, very unenthusiastic for one who was actually representing the parties in court. She felt Emily looking at her.
“Look, Neasa, it’s always hard when these things happen, but you’ll bounce back. You always do.”
“I know. I know.” She didn’t want the pep talk, but knew that Emily felt she had to say it.
“Just give it a bit of time. And anyway, from what you’ve said, it’s probably for the best.”
“It is, definitely.” She tried to sound bright and normal.
“The office might be a bit difficult, but people forget very quickly, you know. There’ll be new gossip in no time and nobody will give you and Gary another thought.”
There certainly would be new gossip, gossip that would eclipse anything that had gone before. Neasa couldn’t even think about that right now. It was too awful.
“Neasa . . . you don’t think you might be a bit unrealistic in terms of expectations?”
It seemed that Emily was determined to sort her out, she saw. She’d only come in to Martha’s at all because she knew Emily would be expecting her.
“Yes, probably.”
“I mean, we’d all love for the honeymoon bit to last forever. It’s exciting and great and passionate. But it’s false too in a way. You don’t really know the other person until it has passed.”
“The voice of experience.” This slipped out before she could stop it.
“Oh, go home and sleep your hangover off,” Emily said testily.
Neasa exploded. “Jesus Christ! What is wrong with everyone! Well, I’m sick of it!”
And she stormed out, just as Maggie squealed again at the television.
“Emily! It’s you!”
On the screen, Emily marched right up to the camera, her dressinggown h
anging open to reveal her big round belly. And there was Laura, walking on her own despite the efforts of her two chaperones to contain her. Maggie was next, taking those little dainty steps and looking the picture of pretty motherhood. Dee brought up the rear, shooting a belligerent look out at everyone before marching on. They looked magnificent.
“My nose! My nose,” Maggie moaned.
“Nobody’s looking at your nose,” Christine snapped. She hadn’t been in the shot at all.
The reporter stood in front of the protestors now and did her piece. Nobody was listening. Everyone was busy picking themselves out in the background.
“There’s Yvonne!”
“Oh, and look, Tommy!”
Then it was over and back to the studio. Vera started to clap. The whole ward broke into applause.
“Wasn’t that fantastic, Emily?” Maggie swooned. Now she really had one up on Tiernan’s relatives. “Emily? Where’s she gone?”
Neasa looked up as Emily entered the visitors’ room.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone, Emily?”
Emily was hurt, she saw. “If you want to be alone, why don’t you just go home?”
“I’m waiting for a taxi,” Neasa admitted.
“A taxi?”
“Oh, look, my car’s in the garage, okay? I had a bit of an accident earlier.”
Emily was all sympathy. “Why didn’t you say! No wonder! Jesus, are you all right?”
“Fine, fine.” She might as well tell her – she’d be asking her to represent her when it went to court anyway. She looked at her hands fiercely. “I was arrested for drink-driving, Emily.”
She felt Emily sitting down beside her.
“I mean, it was all so stupid! I just had too much last night – I should have known that I might get caught.”
Oh, how she hated this hunched, defensive feeling, this knot of shame in her stomach. And Emily’s disapproval hitting her like slaps. As if Emily herself had never got drunk and done something foolish in her life!
“It was a minor accident, Emily.”
“Stop it, Neasa!” Emily flared. “This is drink-driving causing an accident. You’re going to be banned. There’s no doubt about that. And you’ll be very lucky if you don’t get a prison sentence. You know what Judge Morrissey is like about drink-driving.”
“He’ll just fine me – anyway, I mightn’t even get him.” Neasa was frightened now. “Will you represent me? Please? I couldn’t ask anybody in the office. I just couldn’t.” If she still had a job there, that was.
“Yes,” Emily said, without putting her through anything more. Emily stood up to go and her upset with Neasa was clear.
“Emily,” she said after her. “I would never get into a car knowingly under the influence. Come on, you know that. But nobody thinks they’re over the limit the morning after. It doesn’t occur to them.”
“I suppose not,” Emily said.
Neasa was relieved. “I know I had a lucky escape. This’ll teach me a lesson.”
“I hope so, Neasa.”
Neasa had that hot feeling in her face again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that –”
But Neasa didn’t let her finish. “Jesus Christ! Just because you’re pregnant and you haven’t had a decent drink in nine months! Are we all supposed to go on the dry with you?”
“I’m not saying that –”
“But you’re thinking it! You think I’ve got a problem with drink, don’t you?”
Emily looked at her. “You told me the truth about Conor when I asked you. So I’m going to tell you the truth. Yes, I think you drink too much.”
“Thank you very much for your truthfulness, Emily. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to wait for my taxi in peace.”
When she looked up again, Emily was gone. Neasa curled up on the shabby armchair and she was shaking.
Conor didn’t come in the next day. Or the next. In fact, he did not come in that whole long week. He was waiting, obviously, for her to make her decision.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to make that decision. Certainly she didn’t appreciate being dealt an ultimatum, but she did not let her minor annoyance cloud the issue. And it wasn’t that she did not have feelings for Conor any more. She did, and she admitted this now. In fact, she would very much like this whole thing settled and sorted. Like Conor, she too had felt the impatience and tension building in recent days. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to decide this thing once and for all.
But she still couldn’t make that decision. Every time she tried to think about it, she was distracted by a nagging, persistent disquiet, a hangover from their row in the visitors’ room. It was nothing that she could immediately put her finger on. It seemed silly, and she tried to figure out what it was that was bothering her.
Eventually it came to her. It was Conor saying that she held the power in their marriage and always had. This seemed to Emily to be so utterly off the mark that she couldn’t even begin to make sense of it. Her, have power over Conor? The most self-sufficient person she had ever met? A person who gave her reassurance and support only when she begged for it? Now, who held the power there?
She could not understand it. And it continued to nag at her.
“The baby’s heartbeat is fine,” Mr Chapman announced.
Emily looked down, mildly startled. She was so used to Mr Chapman now that she had completely forgotten that he was somewhere under her nightdress. She had to resist the urge to reach down and pat him affectionately on the head, like he were one of the dogs at home. She really had become very fond of him.
“That’s great,” she said.
He straightened up and put away his stethoscope. Emily thought that he looked different. Tired or something. And it was Sunday and everything – you’d have thought he’d have taken the day off.
“And how are you feeling yourself?” he enquired.
“Oh, grand.”
“Good, good. Eating well?”
“Yes.”
“Getting a bit of exercise? A bit of fresh air?” He couldn’t resist getting the dig in. It seemed that the whole country had seen the TV piece last week. The pressure on the Health Board and Martha’s management had been building all week. The showdown was tomorrow morning in Court No. 3. Duggie Moran and the rest of them had organised someone to phone straightaway from the court with the outcome. Mr Chapman found that he did not actually care.
He really was taking this court thing badly, Emily thought, as he pushed up her nightdress another few inches and began to feel the baby’s position with his hands. Emily had on a pair of pink knickers, quite racy really, but the supply of white nun’s bloomers with the different coloured trims had rapidly dried up due to the lack of handwashing facilities in the hospital.
“The baby’s head is fairly well down in the pelvis,” Mr Chapman intoned.
“When do you think it’ll be born?”
“I never give predictions.”
“Oh.”
He proceeded to do so anyway. “Your due date is not for another ten days. Women often go over on their first child.”
Mr Chapman felt he was acting out a part he had played hundreds, thousands of times before, that of the concerned professional who would facilitate a most momentous occasion in so many women’s lives. Women who were at the end of the day strangers to him, and he to them.
Andrea had had her abortion on Friday afternoon. Not that Killian had phoned or anything. Mr Chapman had been reduced to ringing up Patrick Marcus, the contact of his who had carried out the operation. It was only out of concern, for God’s sake, but Marcus seemed to think that this was a great invasion of Andrea and Killian’s privacy and had told Mr Chapman in no uncertain terms that it had nothing to do with him and that he had no rights whatsoever to any information. He had then hung up on a stunned Mr Chapman.
“Good luck,” he said to Emily unexpectedly now, and he meant it. But he saw that he had scared her. Consultants were suppo
sed to pretend that luck had absolutely nothing to do with it; that medical science would win out at the end of the day.
“I’ll call by Tuesday or Wednesday,” he said more briskly. Why not? He had already worked all weekend, just for something to occupy his mind. And at least she couldn’t complain that he was neglecting her.
Expecting Emily Page 33