From Here to Maternity

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘But it’s just incredible. I’m actually shaking here. After all this time, it’s unbelievable.’

  ‘I know, we’re in total shock.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you,’ she said, voice wobbling. ‘Oh, Emma… it’s… so…’

  ‘I… knooooow…’

  ‘… wonderful…’ she croaked.

  ‘Thanks.’ I sniffled.

  I could hear Donal calling Lucy in the background. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I wish I could see you to hug you. God, Emma, so much is happening, it’s fantastic. Wait until Donal hears – he’ll be chuffed.’

  ‘Go and catch your flight and have a wonderful time, I’ll see you in two weeks. Bon voyage!’

  Lucy ran on to the plane and told Donal the news. He was thrilled. He knew how much Emma and James wanted children and had been instrumental in helping them with the adoption process by acting as one of their referees. ‘We’ll have to start thinking about nippers ourselves,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve been married for twenty-four hours. It can wait,’ said Lucy, and began to blow up a round object.

  ‘I don’t want to leave it too late. Look at how long it took Emma and James,’ said Donal, but he was distracted by the sight of Lucy’s puffed cheeks. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘It’s a neck pillow, vital for long-haul flights. I bought one for you too. Here,’ she said, handing it to him.

  ‘Lucy, there’s no way I’m sitting on a plane full of people with a dinghy wrapped round my neck. Anyway, back to the children issue, I think we should set to.’

  ‘I’m thirty-six, not forty-six, and yes, it’s something we need to address over the next year or two but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy my honeymoon without stressing out about getting pregnant. Now, put these on,’ she said, handing him a pair of knee-high socks.

  ‘Are they pop socks?’ asked Donal.

  ‘No, they’re anti-DVT socks.’

  ‘DVT?’

  ‘Deep-vein thrombosis. It’s a blood clot that develops in your leg, can stop blood flow and kill you. Long-haul flights can trigger it. These socks are preventive.’

  ‘What are the symptoms?’

  ‘Swelling of the leg, redness or just pain that gets worse when you move around.

  ‘Jesus, Lucy, why couldn’t we go to the west of Ireland for two weeks?’

  ‘Because it’s the middle of winter and I don’t fancy getting rained on every day of my honeymoon. Thailand will be amazing.’

  Lucy had booked the honeymoon. She knew that if she hadn’t she’d have ended up in a cottage in the west of Ireland – all very well for two sunny weeks in the middle of July, although in Ireland two sunny weeks would be considered a miracle – but it was winter, and she wanted sun, sand and luxury. So, she’d booked fourteen days in a top hotel on the island of Koh Samui.

  ‘These seats are made for midgets,’ said Donal, trying to get his six-foot-four frame into a comfortable position. ‘Considering I’ve to spend the next twelve hours with my legs wrapped round my neck, in a pair of tights – not to mention the dinghy round my neck – it better be worth it.’

  While Lucy nodded off, nestling into her neck pillow, Donal sat bolt upright, convinced that every twinge was a blood clot in his leg making its way up to his heart. Every half-hour he got up and walked around, stretching his legs this way and that. The elastic at the top of the socks was digging into his calves and he was convinced that it alone would give him a blood clot. Were they swelling? he wondered, as he looked down at his calf muscles bulging out of the socks. Had Lucy said redness was a symptom? He shook her.

  What?’ she grumbled. ‘I was asleep.’

  ‘Did you say redness was a symptom of that DMT thing?’

  ‘DVT. Yes.’

  ‘Right, that’s it. I’m off to have a word with the pilot. My legs are killing me and they’ve definitely swollen up – look, the socks are giving me a blood clot, not preventing it,’ he said, shaking a leg in front of her.

  ‘Shut up and go to sleep. Your leg looks exactly the same to me.’

  ‘Well, if you want to be widowed after one day’s marriage that’s fine with me.’

  ‘Donal,’ hissed Lucy, ‘you’re imagining it. The socks prevent DVT, they don’t cause it. Now blow up your neck pillow and close your eyes.’

  ‘Fire ahead, Florence Nightingale, get your beauty sleep. Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here with the circulation cut off from my knees upwards,’ said the resident hypochondriac, as his not-so-young bride curled up and went back to sleep.

  They spent the first week with Lucy sizzling herself under the hot sun while Donal sat under a palm tree, swatting flies. He read the newspapers daily, giving Lucy a running commentary on what was going on in the world, something she had specifically travelled halfway across the globe to avoid.

  ‘Donal,’ she said, after a particularly long tirade on the state of Liverpool Football Club had interrupted her daydream of winning the lotto and how she would spent the millions.

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘Would you mind not giving me a blow-by-blow of the sports section today? I’d really like to chill out without having to listen to how Steven Gerrard’s talents are being wasted by that no-good, greasy Spaniard.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll stick to politics.’

  ‘No, thanks all the same, but I don’t want to know anything topical. I want to switch off. That’s why I travelled here to Thailand – to get away from the news.’

  Donal sighed. Lucy could see he was bored. He didn’t like the sun: he just went red and burned. He complained constantly about the humidity, and the fact that every time he got out of the shower he started sweating. She knew he was itching to get back and start training for the new season, which would probably be his last. He was thirty-four now, which was old for a rugby player, particularly a wing forward, and he was beginning to really feel the tackles. But when they won the European Cup last year, it had been the proudest day of his life and he told Lucy that, as captain, he was determined to defend the title this year and keep the Cup at Leinster.

  ‘Why don’t you go for a swim?’ she suggested.

  ‘Maybe later. I’ll go and ring Annie, see how she’s doing. I’ll meet you in the bar in an hour.’

  Lucy sank back on her sun-lounger. Annie was Donal’s niece and the bane of her life. Before Donal’s sister Pam and her husband were killed in a car crash six years earlier, they had named him as Annie’s legal guardian. She was now almost sixteen and was constantly causing havoc between him and Lucy. Last year she had even managed to break them up for a few days, shortly after they’d got engaged.

  Annie hated Lucy because she thought she was going to steal Donal from her. Having been orphaned at ten years of age, Annie had some serious abandonment issues. Lucy had bent over backwards to be kind to her, but Annie had been consistently horrible and eventually told Lucy she wished she’d get cancer and die, at which point Lucy had snapped.

  Unfortunately Donal had only heard Lucy’s side of the conversation and had berated her for losing her temper with an innocent teenager. They’d had a huge argument, which had ended in Lucy packing her bags and going to stay with Emma and James. Donal was so heartbroken that he almost single-handedly lost the semi-final of the Cup by playing the worst match of his life.

  However, when she saw how dejected Donal was without Lucy, Annie had realized her mistake in breaking them up: she had come clean and confessed to Donal what a wench she had been to Lucy behind his back. She had apologized to Lucy, and Lucy and Donal had got back together. Although Lucy was still a little wary of Annie, she had to admit that the girl had made a big effort and had almost managed to crack a smile on their wedding day. She hoped things would improve. She would have liked to be friends with Annie and for them to get on well for Donal’s sake. That was another reason why she didn’t want to get pregnant straight away. She was worried about Annie’s reaction. She wanted to get to know her better first and maybe then introduce
the idea.

  Now Lucy pushed Annie to the back of her mind. She’d worry about all that later. For the moment she wanted to enjoy herself and think of no more than getting a tan. They were a week into the holiday already and she was getting a lovely colour.

  When she went to meet Donal in the bar for lunch, he was waving a brochure at her and beaming. ‘I’ve a great surprise for you.’

  ‘What?’ said Lucy, warily. She hated surprises, especially Donal’s.

  ‘Well, I think we’ve had enough of this lying around so I’ve booked us on a five-day jungle trek in northern Thailand. We fly out the day after tomorrow and head off into the jungle with a guide.’

  ‘Are you insane?’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased. This hotel is lovely but I could tell you were getting restless with all the sunbathing – sure it’s fierce boring. Come on, it’ll be fun and I booked the best one they had.’

  Lucy realized that this was the first test of her marriage. Donal was restless and he wanted to do this trek. She could be selfish and tell him to sod off, or she could agree to go and try to enjoy it. After all, he had spent a week doing what she liked. She took a deep breath. ‘OK, but it’d better be a nice trek – no sleeping under the stars or anything.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  Four days later, Lucy was cycling through the jungle with three Australian tourists and Donal, feeling exceedingly grumpy. In the past few days she had endured having snakes wrapped round her neck, she had trekked for five hours through a jungle full of nasty creepy-crawlies, and now she was cycling uphill in the sweltering midday sun, having been savaged by mosquitoes in the hut they had slept in the night before. The three Aussie blokes were in their early twenties and mad keen to do everything. Donal, in a testosteronefuelled attempt to keep up with them, had turned into Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, and was outdoing himself. The day before, despite the fact that he was sunburnt and exhausted, he had insisted on staying up all night drinking with them and playing cards while Lucy lay awake under a torn mosquito net and watched herself being eaten alive. This was not her idea of a honeymoon.

  When she finally reached the top of a particularly steep hill, Donal was waiting for her alone. ‘Hurry up, slowcoach, the others have gone on ahead. We’ve been waiting for you for at least twenty minutes. Come on, it’s all downhill from here.’ With that he turned his bicycle round and took off down the hill.

  Lucy followed him and tried to keep up, but she was going too quickly and when she hit a large crater in the road her bicycle wheel buckled and she fell over the handlebars, landing with a thud. At first she thought she was dead, but when she got her breath back and managed to sit up, she realized that no permanent damage had been done and nothing was broken – although the cuts and grazes on her arms and legs were extremely painful. She could see a navy dot in the distance – Donal was miles ahead: he’d never hear her. She’d have to walk the rest of the way.

  Half an hour later, she limped into the campsite. Donal was drinking beer with the Australians. He jumped up when he saw her. ‘There you are! I was wondering what was keeping you. Beer?’

  ‘Donal!’ Lucy snapped. ‘A word in private, please.’

  ‘Looks like you’re in trouble, mate,’ said one of the Australians, laughing. If Lucy had had the energy she’d have thumped him.

  Donal came over to her. ‘Where’s your bike?’

  ‘My fucking bike is in a paddy-field where I threw it after it threw me over the handlebars. The blood running down my legs and arms is the result of that fall and if you do not get me out of this hell-hole and into a ten-star hotel by nightfall we’ll be annulling the shortest marriage in history.’

  ‘Thank God for that. I’m too old to be Tarzan. Come here to me, beautiful,’ said Donal, lifted her up and carried her back to the hut to clean her grazes and pack their bags.

  Chapter 3

  I read through my checklist one more time: bottles and teats (I had an array of sizes because I didn’t have a clue which would be right for Yuri as he was small for his age), blankets, vests, Babygros, socks, pyjamas, warm jacket, hats, gloves, a range of outfits in powder blue, navy and red; stripy outfits, denim dungarees, white snowsuit, hundreds of nappies, a small changing mat, baby wipes, powdered formula milk, baby shampoo, soap, lotion, powder, baby toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, thermometer, baby Tylenol, Calpol, small plastic cups, bowls, spoons and bibs, not to mention a suitcase full of toys and a travel cot. This obviously did not include any of my or James’s things, which were in a pile in the corner.

  James came into the room – which I had painted in an attempt to turn it into a nursery – and surveyed the mess surrounding me on the floor. ‘We can’t take it all, Emma.’

  ‘We have to,’ I said firmly. ‘Alexander said we needed to be prepared for all eventualities.’

  Alexander ran an agency called Help Is At Hand based in Georgia, in America. When the Irish Health Board finally approved us to adopt, I had gone looking for an agency to match us up with a Russian child and Help Is At Hand appeared to be the most highly regarded. Alexander had matched us with Yuri and given me all the information for our trips to Russia.

  James picked up my Jimmy Choos – my beloved only pair. ‘I really don’t think you’re going to need these.’

  ‘I want to look my best when we go to court.’

  ‘It’s winter in Russia too. You do realize that they’re also in the northern hemisphere? Snowboots would probably be more appropriate. I think the judge will be rather alarmed to see Yuri’s mother in strappy sandals in the snow. It could work against us.’

  ‘The judge will appreciate my efforts to look nice in his courtroom. Besides, I looked up the weather in Novorossiysk and, because it’s two thousand miles south of Moscow, it’s actually quite mild at the moment. Now I’m packing your good suit and shoes too. I want us both to look our best for the judge. I’m going to wear this,’ I said, holding up a cream wrap dress.

  ‘Emma, you’ll catch pneumonia and what good will you be then?’

  ‘Alexander said that the Russians consider the woman as the primary care-giver so most of the court’s attention will be on me. I have to look nice. Besides, women are used to freezing for fashion.’

  We were both nervous about the trip but neither of us wanted to admit it so we spent the next two hours focusing on trying to squeeze five suitcase-loads of baggage into two. Things came to a head when I jumped on the case to help James close it.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he roared, ‘what are you doing?’ He held up a throbbing index finger.

  ‘I’m trying to help, you grumpy old fart.’

  ‘Maiming me is not helping. I asked you to lean on the case, not leap on it.’

  ‘Well, it’s closed, isn’t it?’

  ‘With half my finger in the lock.’

  ‘Oh, stop being so dramatic.’

  James began to breathe deeply via his nostrils – it was a really annoying habit he had when he was angry. He sounded like a rhinoceros. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you left the packing to me,’ he growled.

  ‘No, I want to help.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

  ‘Well, tough, because I’m going to.’

  ‘Emma, just let me do it alone. You’re not helping.’

  ‘Not helping?’ I wailed – I was the hyena to his rhino. ‘After everything I’ve done! Who found Alexander? Who sprinted round Dublin getting all our documents together for the adoption? Who went out and bought all the things Yuri will need when we pick him up? Who bloody well started this whole adoption thing in the first place? I think, James, you’ll find it was me.’

  James sighed. ‘OK, darling, you’re right, it was you, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t helpful. Now, calm down. You shouldn’t be getting yourself into a state. It’s bad for the baby.’

  ‘And that’s another thing,’ I said, crying now. ‘I’m worried that Yuri will feel left out when the baby comes. What if he feels like an outsider becau
se he’s adopted and the baby isn’t?’

  ‘He’s ten months old. He won’t know he’s an outsider.’

  ‘But later on when we tell him he’s adopted? What if he feels it then and runs back to Russia when he’s eighteen to find his real mother?’

  ‘Are we going to worry about this for the next seventeen years?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘By the time he’s eighteen Yuri’ll be more interested in getting laid than finding his biological parents – so will you please not get yourself into a state about it now?’

  ‘Do you think he’s going to be a heartbreaker?’

  ‘A total stud, just like his father.’

  ‘James?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’ll be OK, won’t it? We’ll make it work out with Yuri and the baby, won’t we?’

  ‘Of course we will, darling. Now, come on, I’m putting you to bed. You need to get a good night’s sleep before the flight tomorrow.’

  ‘James?’ I said, as he tucked me into bed. ‘Do you think Yuri will remember us? A month is a long time in a baby’s life.’

  ‘I don’t know about me, but there’s no way he could forget the first foxy redhead he ever saw,’ he said, ruffling my hair.

  The next day, Mum and Dad came to drive us to the airport. I felt sick – I don’t know if it was morning sickness, pre-adoption sickness or just plain nerves, but I hadn’t slept a wink and couldn’t face breakfast. I was a wreck.

  ‘You look wonderful, James. Emma, on the other hand, is very peaky,’ said Mum, turning around in her seat to examine me.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Very peaky – isn’t she, Dan?’

  Dad glanced at me in the rear-view mirror and winked. ‘She looks all right to me. It’s not as if she was ever sallow,’ he said, chuckling.

  ‘She doesn’t look well, James. I’m not sure about this long flight to Russia,’ continued Mum, acting as if I were deaf or had been abducted by aliens and was no longer sitting in the car.