Positively Yours

by Amanda Hearty

  ‘OK, Susan, that is the head, and that’s an arm. Can you see it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Susan, unconvincingly.

  ‘Well what about this one? Surely you can make out a foot? Although it looks huge, which is a complete disaster! I don’t want the baby to be big-footed and too tall like me,’ said Beth, putting the pictures back into her bag.

  ‘You are a brilliant height,’ said Susan encouragingly. ‘I wish I was as tall as you. You can carry the bump so well, and you haven’t put on a pound in weight. I bet whenever I get pregnant I’ll balloon up and have to drag my swollen ankles and legs around!’

  Beth giggled as they continued chatting, but she had already started finding it hard to get long-enough pregnancy trousers, and the pressure was on. The other day Tom had called her into his office, and said that he’d noticed she had worn the same suit three days in a row. Beth had explained that she was struggling to find any nice fitted pregnancy suits that were long enough. Tom had some sympathy, seeing as he was tall himself and couldn’t just buy a suit off the hanger, but he said that he wanted to draw Beth’s attention to it now, before others noticed. Beth knew looking smart was a high priority in Burlington. They paid people good salaries, and expected them to spend some of it on high-quality suits. They wanted their staff to look like employees of one of Ireland’s most successful companies. Beth had seen many a young man, fresh out of college with only one or two suits, being called into management’s offices and told to smarten up or find a job elsewhere. But she had never expected to be told off herself. She was annoyed with Tom, but knew he had only been trying to help her save face and give her time to get some new clothes. And so Beth planned to go shopping after work.

  The day passed quickly enough, and soon Beth found herself in one of Dublin’s most popular clothes stores trying on jeans. She knew she needed to get some work clothes, but she was also tired of wearing the one pair of loose jeans she had every weekend, and now that the weather was getting better she could do with some summer clothes too. She’d heard they had a good maternity range here, so she had high hopes. There were so many outfits, from frilly dresses to huge T-shirts. Beth couldn’t ever imagine being big enough to fit into one of those. For now all she wanted was jeans, though. So she grabbed a few from the rack and headed to the changing room. They looked funny: some had stretchy waistbands, while others had large black elastic inserts that grew with your bump. Beth preferred the more subtle ones that were low rides, yet had waistbands that expanded. She tried on the first pair, and looked in the mirror. She laughed out loud. The legs were so short that she resembled Tom Sawyer. Beth hurried to get them off her. She picked up a pair of nice-looking black jeans and pulled them on. She laughed again. They, too, sat above her ankle. This is ridiculous, she thought, as she put on her own long trousers and headed out to find an assistant. She explained her problem.

  ‘I thought you did a “tall” range,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, we do, we carry plenty of long trousers, jeans and clothes,’ said the young girl enthusiastically. ‘But not in maternity clothes, unfortunately.’

  ‘So you are saying I can either buy maternity jeans or long jeans, but not both together?’ Beth asked, annoyed.

  ‘Yeah, I guess so,’ said the girl, now trying to distance herself.

  Beth went and looked at the maternity jeans again. They were exactly what she needed, but they were so short. She decided to head out to some of Dublin’s leading maternity shops, presuming they would have what she wanted. But she was sorely disappointed. It seemed the fashion world assumed only imps got pregnant, as nowhere had long enough trousers. Beth had never felt comfortable wearing skirts or dresses in her very male-oriented office, so finding some kind of trousers was imperative. There was one shop that kept slightly longer ones, but even they weren’t lengthy enough to cover Beth’s feet.

  ‘You see,’ said Beth, as she looked in the mirror, ‘when you’re tall you need long trousers not just to cover your long legs, but your feet, too. The taller you are the bigger your feet, and as no one carries nice large women’s shoes, I need long trousers to cover my rotten big feet and shoes!’

  The owner of the maternity boutique sympathized, but couldn’t help. ‘Maybe you should try looking online?’ she suggested.

  Beth promised she would, but not before deciding that she didn’t want the whole shopping trip to be a waste. She picked up a few shirts for work and a bump band. She had never heard of these before, but learnt that the band went under her shirts or tops to cover the gap that her ever-rising bump caused. She didn’t need people at work seeing her belly, so was glad she had found it.

  As Beth drove home she worried about what she was supposed to do about finding long-enough trousers. Surely there were millions of tall women getting pregnant every year? What did they wear for nine months, she wondered? Or was it only elves who procreated? She laughed as she put the key in the door of her apartment, and decided she would need to go online, and find help. She might be man-free having this baby, but still she wanted to look her best.

  32

  ‘WHAT ABOUT THE oak?’ asked William Prendergast.

  Beth looked at the thick oak cot. Her dad preferred more traditional-style cots, while she liked white painted ones.

  ‘I’m not sure if the oak will go with my apartment,’ she said, as she looked at the bed, wondering how she was going to fit all this baby stuff into her small place.

  Beth and her dad had been in Mothercare for over an hour. She had been spending more and more time with him recently. She didn’t know how she would have gotten through some of the weekends without him. Her girlfriends were supportive and excited for her, but once it came to Friday or Saturday night they went out drinking, and Beth couldn’t handle another night of being stone cold sober and sipping water while they got drunk, repeated the same boozy stories to her, and then tried to meet men. No, she was getting sick of it, and with no boyfriend in her life she had started staying over at her dad’s once a week. As the only man in Beth’s life, William was taking the whole pregnancy thing very seriously, and once Beth came through the door of the family house she wasn’t allowed to raise a finger. He cooked her big hearty meals, kept her bedroom spotless and warm, and had even said he would come on her hospital visits with her if she wanted. But Beth had had to draw the line somewhere; she was too old to be bringing her dad to the doctor with her, even if he was dying to see the baby scans.

  Beth had been nervous going for her first visit to Dr O’Connor. Back then, she hadn’t told anyone in work, so she had pretended she had an urgent dentist’s appointment, when really she’d been sneaking out to Holles Street. She had literally run through the doors of the maternity hospital: she hadn’t wanted anyone to spot her going in there, as it would have ruined her secret.

  The midwife had met her before the visit and Beth had filled out the forms and medical questionnaires, but had found herself stuck once the nurse enquired about family history and allergies.

  ‘I don’t know about those,’ she had admitted.

  Yes, she had known most of her own family’s medical history, but nothing of Tom’s. She had cursed him for putting her in this situation. But the nurse had been very kind, and quickly moved on to the next part of the forms, and Beth had suspected she was used to mothers coming in on their own. It was hard, but Beth was realizing she wasn’t alone in this situation. She had had so many questions for the nurse, and as her bloods had been taken she had asked her if she really had to avoid shellfish? And if it was true all first-time mums went overdue? The nurse had patiently answered everything.

  ‘You know, one of the best people to ask advice from is your mum,’ she had said, handing Beth some leaflets about labour. ‘A lot of women end up having a similar pregnancy and labour to their mothers, so she’s a good person to turn to.’

  Beth had felt her mouth go dry. This pregnancy had constantly reminded her how much she missed her mum, and having someone female to turn to for comfort, adv
ice and reassurance. She wished she could ask her mum about the labour, and about the food she’d craved, and how she’d known she was picking the right name for her child. If only Beth could have had her back for even one day!

  ‘My mum’s dead. She died a long time ago,’ she’d said to the nurse.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, pet,’ the nurse had said, looking straight at her. Beth had realized what she was thinking: here she was, raised by only one parent, and now she was going to repeat history.

  ‘Anyway Dr O’Connor will see you now, and he will answer any more questions you have. He’s very kind, you’ll like him.’

  Beth had thanked the nurse, and had discovered she was right, Dr O’Connor was very likeable. He never asked her where the father of the child was. He had only been interested in Beth: asking her how she was feeling, and checking the baby’s development. She’d got very emotional the first time he’d shown her the baby move on the screen. Her happiness had only been slightly marred by the fact that she’d had no one to share it with.

  ‘I’ll print out copies of some of the stills for you. So you can pore over them at home!’ Dr O’Connor had said, helping Beth up from the table and passing her a tissue to clean the sticky gel off her stomach.

  Those scan pictures were now proudly displayed on the fridge in William’s kitchen. Every time Beth went to get a drink, or some food, she said hello to her child. She was still amazed at how well her father was taking her impending single motherhood, but Beth suspected it wasn’t just the baby William was happy about, it was her new, closer relationship with him, too. And so now, many hospital visits and scans later, Beth and William stood in a packed Mothercare, amidst screaming babies, lively children, heavily pregnant women and exhausted looking dads.

  ‘There is so much to get,’ said Beth, exhausted. ‘It’s overwhelming.’

  William put down a dirty-nappy disposal-unit, and looked at his only daughter.

  ‘If you were able to work out how to get all As in your Leaving Cert, get a First in Commerce, and handle millions of euros’ worth of client money in work, I think you’ll be equal to deciding which car seat, Moses basket and cot to buy.’

  Beth went a little red; she had been put in her place. And her dad was right, it wasn’t rocket science, even if baby apparatus was alien to her. She looked at the rack of Babygros and realized she should try to enjoy choosing her baby’s bed and clothes.

  ‘OK,’ she said, more enthusiastically. ‘Let’s have a look at the buggies. It’s a little early to buy one yet, but I hear they take weeks to order in, anyway.’

  Just as Beth was trying to practise folding a very complicated-looking buggy, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  ‘So this is where you spend all your hard-earned cash.’

  Beth looked up. It was Eoin McSweeney, one of the traders in Burlington. Beth couldn’t stand him. He was the kind of guy who gave stockbrokers a bad name. He spent his evenings in the various bars in Dawson Street boasting about how much profit he had made, and how important he was to all the big-named clients he had. He blew money on expensive champagne and overpriced fast cars. Last year he had hit the jackpot by marrying the daughter of one of Ireland’s wealthiest property developers. He never stopped talking about his trophy wife, her pad in Marbella and how much she liked to party. Although Beth suspected Eoin’s party days were going to be curtailed, now that his wife, Astrid, was pregnant and due in two months’ time.

  Beth studied Astrid. Even though she had a large bump, she didn’t seem to have gained a pound. Beth was instantly jealous: some people made pregnancy look so easy.

  ‘You’re not going to buy that buggy, are you?’ she asked Beth accusingly.

  Beth stared at the navy buggy. It looked the same as all the other ones. How could Astrid even tell the difference?

  ‘I’m not sure, yet,’ she said, placing it back on the stand.

  ‘Well, everyone knows that brand is too basic. What you need is what we got, the Bugster. It’s the most expensive, of course, but only the best for our baby!’

  Beth gazed at Eoin, who was smiling at her smugly. Suddenly William reappeared at Beth’s side.

  ‘The assistant said she could show us the car seats now, if we want to go over and look. There’s a lot to choose from, and we will need two, of course. One for your car and one for mine.’

  Eoin looked at William and smiled. Suddenly Astrid’s phone rang.

  ‘We need to go,’ she said to Eoin as she began to walk off.

  ‘I’ll see you in the office on Monday,’ Eoin said to Beth, casting another glance at William. Beth’s dad was too busy feeling the weight of the buggies to be interested in Eoin.

  Beth said goodbye to her work colleague, and made her way over to the car seats.

  On Monday morning Beth arrived in work early and knuckled down to a report she needed to finish for a 9 a.m. meeting with an important client. Just before the meeting she headed into Tom’s office; as he was her boss, she had reports she needed to give him. He needed to make sure all his SPMs were meeting their targets. As she approached his door Caroline, Tom’s personal assistant, greeted Beth with her usual cross face. Beth ignored her, and was just making her way into Tom’s huge office when she caught Caroline eyeing her ever-growing bump.

  ‘Well, I hear the father is an older man. A much older man.’

  Beth stopped dead in her tracks. Had Tom told someone? She couldn’t believe he would have done that without talking to her first. She was lost for words.

  ‘I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. You always were a little too serious for the young guys in here. It must have been hard being the only female SPM in the office. But at least now you’ve got your older man. Good for you,’ said Caroline smugly, as she walked off, clipping her expensive shoes along the ground. She was one of those girls who loved the sound of her own high heels. You would think she was CEO of the company, and not just some assistant. She was a complete cow. Beth felt like hitting her over the head with her stupid travel cappuccino cup.

  Instead she took a deep breath and stormed into Tom’s office, determined to get to the bottom of this. Just as she was about to berate him, she saw they were not alone and that two of the senior partners were also sitting in on the briefing. Beth fumed. How could Tom tell the office about their relationship and impending parenthood without talking to her first? Yes, she’d hated everyone gossiping and wondering who the father was, but she had felt it was better than them all knowing the truth. That news could hurt her career, and she had spent too long building it up for someone like Caroline to go and ruin it all with rumour and innuendo.

  Beth found it almost impossible to sit through her two-hour client meeting. The minute it was over she tried to find Tom, but was told he had gone to another conference across town in the Central Bank. Beth then tried to make her way back to her office as quickly as possible, as she felt paranoid about everyone talking about her and Tom. And her fears were confirmed when three different people stopped to enquire about her older man. People are so nosy, she thought, as she texted Tom saying she needed to talk to him urgently.

  She tried not to leave the sanctuary of her work station all day. She hid behind her large computer screen, but even within that shelter people kept plaguing her. She actually had an email from one of the desperate single girls who worked in marketing, asking if Beth had always been attracted to older men or whether she’d done it out of desperation? The girl’s email was lengthy, and went on to explain that she had dated practically every single thirty-year-old in Dublin, and now felt the more mature man might be able to provide her with what she wanted, which, like Beth, was a child. Beth ignored the email and tried to focus on work. She wished her friend Susan had been in, so she could have found out exactly what everyone was saying, but Susan had taken the day off to go to the final dress-fitting for her wedding, and to meet her caterers and florist. Beth was happy for her friend, but wished desperately that she’d been there to help.

  Beth te
xted Tom again, asking him to call her when he was free. She got no response, and so tried to get back to work. At one stage she ran down to the canteen to get some tea, only to be stared at by the big group of mean girls who worked in HR. She could tell they were delighted to have some gossip about her. Beth decided to get her tea to go and walked as quickly as she could back to her floor.

  Just as she reached the top of the stairs she bumped into Graham O’Reilly, a fellow SPM. Beth found him to be one of the nicest men on her floor. He was slightly older than her, and had two kids. Unlike the majority of the young men, who were eager to prove themselves to everyone who worked in Burlington, Graham knew his work was less important than being a father and working to pay for his house and holiday home, and so, while some might think he was a steady Eddy, Beth thought he was more down to earth than the rest. She found him sweet, and enjoyed his company any time they had to travel together.

  ‘What time is our flight on Friday? I was hoping we would have time to make it into the office before check-in. I have so much work to do, it would be great to get it finished before we have to go away.’

  Beth looked at Graham, a little confused. ‘What flight? To where?’

  ‘To Cheltenham, of course. For another three days of wining, dining and getting money out of our wealthy clients!’

  Graham saw Beth still looked perplexed.

  ‘Tom said to me a few weeks ago that he’d got the go-ahead for a few of us to invite special clients to the races, and that the company had arranged flights, hotels and restaurants. I just presumed you were coming too, seeing as how you came last time.’

  Beth was furious; she knew she should be going on this trip. Part of her job was to entertain her clients. She’d helped fly some of Ireland’s wealthiest businessmen in helicopters down to the annual summer races in Galway, and to English football games, and even to rugby matches across Europe. She was well used to showing her clients that Burlington appreciated their business, and that the company were willing to spend money giving them a good time. She should have been invited to Cheltenham, but she didn’t want Graham to see her disappointment.