“And that child not nine weeks old yet!”
“Nine weeks and two days actually,” Emily said proudly. “Doesn’t he look great?”
“Yes,” Pauline was forced to concede. “But listen, about Conor –”
“You’d better go on up, Mammy. All the best seats are nearly taken.”
This had the desired effect. Pauline set off up the church at a gallop, lest someone usurped her from the position of honour in the front row. Now Liz was on her way down, dragging a red-faced Robbie by his blazer.
“I told you to go to the toilet before we came!”
“He can go in the bushes outside,” Emily said, trying to spare Robbie further embarrassment.
“And don’t wet your shoes!” Liz warned, sending him off through the doors smartly. But she didn’t look that annoyed. In fact, she looked great. Her hair was shiny and well cut, and she was wearing a lovely blue trouser suit that made her look very sophisticated.
“I hope Robert doesn’t bring the roof down during the ceremony,” Emily whispered nervously.
“Not at all. And if he does, so what? They’re used to it at christenings.”
Liz was being great these days. Emily didn’t know whether it was the shared experience of motherhood, or whether it was down to Liz’s new job in the chemist, which had given her great confidence.
Either way, Emily was glad for these brief interludes of companionship. Lord knows they didn’t last long. This one didn’t either.
“Tell us, are you going to keep paying rent on that house, even when Conor’s gone?”
“He is coming back eventually, Liz. And he’ll be flying home some weekends.”
“I suppose.” Liz looked at her as though the pair of them were quite mad. Maybe we are, Emily thought. But everything had happened so fast. There was no time for dithering or indecision. In the end, it had been Emily who had made up their minds for both of them.
Liz leaned in now, and lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “I know this isn’t the time or place, but Eamon was wondering if you had any news for him.”
“I only filed for bankruptcy on Tuesday, Liz. These things take time.”
“But they won’t take the house on us, will they?” Liz betrayed her worry now. “I’ve read stories in the papers.”
“They won’t take the house on you. But all his equipment and machinery will be seized to pay off the creditors. He probably won’t have anything left, Liz. To start again with.”
Liz didn’t seem too put out by this. “No harm. Anyway – between us – he’s been offered some work by Paudie Coyle.”
“That cowboy,” Emily murmured.
“Maybe he’s a bit economical with his raw materials, but isn’t that why he has a thriving business while Eamon’s has gone to the wall? Eamon was too generous with his customers; that’s what I tell him.”
Emily said nothing. The patio stones lay beautifully now that Eamon had had another look at them, and you’d hardly notice the four extra ones that had been laid by the hedge at all, and that should have been laid in the first place.
“At least he has something lined up,” she told Liz.
“But he said this morning that he won’t take it!” Liz said indignantly. “Says he’s happy at home looking after the boys, says he hasn’t spent as much time with them in years!” And she rolled her eyes as though Eamon had lost his marbles.
“Well, I suppose you’re earning now,”Emily pointed out.
“I know, I know, and it’s good money too. And to be honest it’s great to have a bit of freedom from the boys.” But there was something else bothering her.
“If Eamon doesn’t mind being at home for a while, then what’s the problem, Liz?”
“I don’t know . . . I feel a terrible pressure on me sometimes, with them all at home depending on my wage. What if I lose my job? What if my hours are cut? What happens then?”
“You’ve been there before, Liz, yourself and Eamon would cope.”
“Maybe . . . I never thought I’d say this, but I feel bad now that I was so hard on Eamon. He was carrying the can the same way as I am now.”
“True,” Emily said. “It’s funny how things turn, isn’t it?”
Liz looked around impatiently for Robbie, anxious to get back to her seat before Emily got more philosophical. But she’d always been like that. You could be having a perfectly decent conversation and she’d get all airy-fairy on you.
“I hope I don’t do anything wrong up there,” she told Emily nervously.
“Come on, Liz. You’ve been through it five times before.”
“Not as godmother.”
Christenings had always been a bit of a trial for Liz, because she’d had to go through so many of them, and towards the end had run out of suitable friends and relatives to prevail upon to be godmothers or godfathers. They’d had to resort to a second cousin of Eamon’s for Willy last year, and she had turned up in a most unsuitable outfit.
But being on the receiving end of the dreaded request was very different. Liz was totally amazed that Emily had chosen her over all her legal colleagues and fashionable friends. She felt honoured, and had bought a new outfit especially for the occasion, and let Eamon gripe. Anyway, he liked the way she looked these days. He never said anything, of course, but he noticed all right.
“Robbie! Close the door quickly. You’re blowing out all the candles! Emily, are you coming up to sit down?”
“In a minute,” Emily said.
She waited until Liz and Robbie went off up the aisle, then she picked up the car seat and went outside in search of Conor.
Honestly, wouldn’t you think he’d have made the effort to be early? There was no sign of him, just a lone man walking up the churchyard towards her, tall and lithe. For a moment Emily didn’t know he was. He was wearing a very fashionable grey suit and tie, and a dazzling white shirt. His hair was very short and stylishly gelled and he bounded casually up the church steps two at a time.
“Conor?” She nearly fell over.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing her face.
“Um, nothing. You look . . .” She nearly said ‘like a ride’. It was quite a shock to discover that she was still in possession of sexual feelings. She’d thought they had come out with her placenta. Even more surprising, it was Conor who had provoked them. Her husband, for God’s sake. Surely this wasn’t natural?
“You look very dapper,” she said, a bit embarrassed.
“So do you,” he said warmly. She was furious with herself all over again for not buying a new outfit, for slipping up on her diet. He was just being nice.
“I’m not late, am I?” he asked. “I couldn’t get parking.”
Emily looked suitably amazed. “Most unusual for you.”
“I know. But I’m trying to stop being so predictable.”
“Really.”
“Mind you, I saw your car parked in the priest’s spot.”
“Yes, well, I was just being assertive,” she said airily.
They joked quite a bit like this, about each other changing. Emily would sometimes roar at him to put the kettle on for a cup of tea, and tell him she was just making him aware of her needs. Both of them lightly accused the other of avoiding issues when it came to who would change one of Robert’s pooey nappies.
These jokes were the only real allusion they made to that long night spent together in the labour ward all those weeks ago. They were both very raw yet, Emily felt, and she had no desire to go poking around again in the murky depths of their marriage. Besides, where would they find the time, what with feeding, bathing, burping, soothing and generally trying to keep Robert alive?
Emily did not think that it was necessary in any case. The admissions made that night, of fear and insecurity and loneliness, were things that surely only needed to be said once in any marriage. What they were dealing with now were the gaps that had been exposed, the struggle to find their feet once again. As themselves, and as a couple.
�
�How’s my man?” Conor said, swooping down to pick up Robert. “Jesus Christ, Emily, he looks like a girl in that dress.”
“It’s not a dress. It’s a christening shawl,” she explained patiently.
She watched as Conor tickled, nuzzled, kissed and pretended to drop Robert in a determined effort to make him smile.
“Conor, please, we don’t want him to be sick.” But she only said it half-heartedly. She did not want to do anything to discourage this particular change in Conor. She never mentioned it at all, in fact. There were some things that they did not joke about.
She wondered did he even see it himself. He would be ringing the doorbell at nine o’clock every morning, shifting from foot to foot impatiently to be let in. Then he would get dug in straightaway with Robert, hoisting him up on his shoulder and taking him out to see the dogs. As if the child even knew what a dog was! Emily would have to fight hard to get a look-in at all. Then Conor would usually have the bonus of changing a dirty nappy. Conor loved dirty nappies. The whole cleaning process, the disposal of the nappy, the applying of Sudocream, the fresh new nappy, all appealed hugely to his practical side, his sense of enjoyment in a job well done, and he would positively glow as he descended the stairs with a spanking clean Robert.
Emily had not seen this side of Conor before. She would like to think that it was primarily to do with her. But it was Robert, of course. No one, not even Conor, could resist him.
“Is it time to go in?” Conor asked. The openness he’d displayed with Robert was gone now, and that careful, questioning look was back on his face. Maybe she looked at him that way too. It was like they both knew each other’s frailties and failings now, and were trying hard not to touch on them.
Instead they delicately felt their way around things, through things, hopefully both moving in the same direction. Last week for instance they had talked tentatively about Conor’s family, and Emily’s family, and the place of fear and control in their backgrounds. That was how they were working it. It was a long, slow, intricate process, and it was a shame that it was about to be interrupted with this Belgium thing.
“It’s five to one,” Emily said, checking her watch. “I supposed we’d better head in.”
“Neasa’s not here yet,” Conor said.
“She can’t come, remember?”
“Oh yes, of course,” he said quickly. “Still, I suppose you’ll see her this afternoon anyway.”
The final judgement on the closure of Martha’s would be announced today. Emily felt her place should be with Neasa and the rest of the staff in the office who had worked so hard on this case, even if it meant leaving the christening party of Robert halfway through.
“You’ll be all right without me, won’t you?”
“Stop fussing, Emily.”
Of course she was going to fuss! She’d never left Robert, even for an hour, since the day he’d been born! And in a house where a party would be in full swing?
“I’ll manage,” Conor said, seeing her face. “That’s if your mother doesn’t attack me.”
“She won’t.”
He was unconvinced. “She probably thinks I’m skipping town and leaving you holding the baby. Literally.”
“She’s already accused me of driving you away.”
“Which you are,” he said, wearing that jokey face again.
“I am not.” Emily did not smile back. “We’ve been over this, Conor.”
“And we both agree that the timing could be better. With Robert. With us.”
“And we both agree that this is an opportunity you won’t get again,” Emily pointed out.
“There’ll be other chances.”
But they knew that there was no guarantee. It was a fluke that Conor had landed the gig in the first place. Billy Middlemiss had seen the piece of music that Conor had dug out of the attic and had finally completed. Billy had connections in the film industry and Conor had received a call out of the blue on Monday last from the director of a European film just completing shooting in Belgium. The composer originally hired had left due to ‘artistic differences’ – would Conor be available to write the film score instead? The film was small and independent but a huge toehold into the business. And it was paid. It was also urgent.
“Do you want to do it?” Emily asked baldly. She did not need to remind him that the alternative was playing two nights a week in a smelly, smoky restaurant with no prospects and no hope.
She saw the hunger in his face, the need to strike out on his own, to fulfil some essential part of him. Hadn’t she the same needs herself? She only understood now how necessary it was to be utterly selfish before there was any hope of making anybody else happy.
“Yes,” he said finally, but he didn’t look excited, or pleased.
“We’ll manage,” she said brightly. “You’ll fly back when you can and Robert and I will fly over and it’ll be fine. And you’ll only be gone a couple of months!”
But it all sounded a bit empty and second-rate, and Emily felt defensive. She was trying to do her best here; to keep everybody happy, even organising the christening at a moment’s notice so that he wouldn’t miss it! You’d think he’d look a tiny bit grateful that she was encouraging him to do what he needed to do!
“Robert might say his first word and I won’t be there to hear it,” Conor hedged.
“Conor, rest assured, he won’t be saying his first word for a good year yet.”
“Well, he might forget who I am.”
“How will he forget who you are when he’ll be seeing you nearly every weekend?”
It seemed easier somehow to concentrate on Robert. Robert, after all, was a definite in the equation; neither of them was in any doubt about their feelings about him.
It was the ‘us’ that hung in the air between them. Just as the lack of a definite decision on Emily’s part had hung in the air, for the past two months now. The decision had been made, of course. They both knew it, they were both working hard at those changes that needed to be made, even if all they could do at this point was joke about them.
“And when you come back, maybe you’ll move back in,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” he said.
No bells rang. No fireworks went off overhead. Emily wondered why it all felt so flat. Like a compromise or something.
“It’ll pass very quickly,” she said cheerily. “You’ll be busy and I’ll be going back to work before I know it. The time will fly!”
“Yes,” he repeated, giving her another funny, disappointed look.
She felt very defensive again. Would he be any happier if she declared that she couldn’t possibly live without him and that he must stay? Why could he not see, as she did, that if the balance in their marriage were to be redressed, they had to start somewhere?
“If you have a better idea, Conor, then I’d like to hear it.”
He hesitated. “No. I suppose this is the best we can do for the moment.”
“Well, then,” she said. “Let’s go in.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t bring the baby!” Mandy at reception squealed.
“He just got christened. He’s at his own party,” Emily said.
“Oh,” Mandy said, as though this were no excuse.
“Aren’t you glad to see me anyway?” Emily enquired.
“I suppose,” Mandy said. Emily still looked very fat, she thought. “Most people have gone to Milo’s already to wait for the news. Phil got a new mobile phone just for the occasion!”
“Let’s not get too confident, Mandy.”
“Everyone knows we’re going to win,” Mandy said breezily, gathering her bag. “Oh, and when are you coming back to work?”
“Who knows?” Emily said lightly.
Mandy left. Emily walked quietly down the deserted open-plan office for the first time in three months. They’d had a new carpet put down. And the broken photocopier had finally been replaced with a very swanky new one. Someone had put up a rota for coffee making on the notice boar
d.
She could not believe now that she had worked here for six years. Six years! A tenth of her life, if she croaked it at sixty. And now she felt a total stranger to the place, a misfit almost.
Just how much of a misfit became clear to her when she saw that there was a new nameplate up on the door of her office. It said Gary Gilmartin. Who the hell was he?
She peeked in the door, wondering what changes had been wrought in her little office. But the room was as sterile as she had left it, and even more devoid of personality. Not a single file was out of place, and the desk was bare except for a coffee-making rota.
She forgot about her annoyance now and felt only pity for this poor Gilmartin creature. Crawley Dunne & O’Reilly was leaving its stamp on him just as surely as it had on her. Only she had realised it before it was too late.
Expecting Emily Page 39