From Here to Maternity

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘No, he doesn’t, James. He’s just acting up. I spend twenty-four hours a day with him, in case you’ve forgotten. I know his every mood and need. He’s not hungry or wet, he’s just overtired because he keeps waking himself up. All he needs is sleep, just like his mother.’

  ‘Fine. Go back to bed. Leave this to me.’

  I stomped back to bed, but I was too angry to sleep. I spent the next half an hour tossing and turning while I listened to James trying in vain to put Yuri back in his cot. Now that he had been picked up, he had no intention of going back to bed on his own. He roared every time James attempted to lower him in. I have to confess, I was delighted that he was being so bold. At least now James would know how difficult it was.

  Eventually after another half an hour of trying unsuccessfully to get Yuri back into his cot, James came into our room, looking demented, carrying Yuri in his arms. I pretended to be asleep.

  ‘Emma,’ he whispered, then a little louder: ‘Emma.’ Finally he practically shouted it.

  ‘What?

  ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘Considering the fact that you’ve just shouted in my ear, depriving me of the only sleep I’ve had all night, yes, it would seem that I am awake.’

  ‘Well, he won’t lie down for me so I wondered if you had any tips.’

  ‘I do have one. You may recall it – don’t bloody well pick him up.’

  ‘OK, I admit it might not have been the best idea.’

  ‘Oh, no, James, you were right. Me and my crazy books written by women with decades of child-minding experience are wrong. You and your instinctive parenting are right.’

  ‘Come on, Emma. It’s been an hour – help me out here.’

  ‘Do you promise to listen to me in future?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you swear that you will not second-guess me, ignore my rules or ruin my routines ever again?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Will you appreciate what I do for our son more, now that you’ve had a tiny taste of what it’s like?’

  ‘Darling,’ said James, ‘I will worship you, hang on your every word and even read your books if you will just get him to stop crying. I’ve got a splitting headache.’

  ‘Oh, poor you, how awful. I’ve had one of those since we came back from Russia.’

  ‘I admire you, adore you, am in awe of you – I’ll do anything, but please stop the noise,’ he begged.

  I decided to take pity on him – and on poor Yuri, who was worn out. ‘Follow me, watch and learn,’ I said, taking Yuri from him. We went back to the nursery where I laid Yuri in his cot. I held his hand, and stroked his cheek, singing to him, until he stopped crying and fell into an exhausted slumber twenty minutes later. When I turned round triumphantly, my not-so-attentive student was fast asleep in the rocking-chair.

  We all slept through the alarm. I woke up with a start at half nine and shook James, who bolted out of the door. He had arranged to meet the squad for a training sessions at ten and it would not look good if he was late. While a tired Yuri slept on, I ran around preparing food and packing his knapsack for his first day away from home. I put in enough nappies and food for an army and as many of his favourite toys as I could fit in.

  When I woke Yuri he was clinging, as always, to his little grey elephant. I had hoped he’d grow out of it, with all the lovely new toys we had bought, but he loved that elephant more than anything. Just seeing it reminded me that he had been someone else’s baby once, which I hated thinking about. But it had been his comforter from the day he was abandoned so I just had to accept that he needed it at all times. I dressed him and put the elephant in the front pocket of the bag where he could see it.

  When we arrived, Mum was waiting for us. She told me how awful I looked. ‘Well, I didn’t get much sleep. Someone was up all night acting the maggot.’

  ‘Still, you should smarten yourself up. You can’t go to work looking like a wreck.’

  ‘I’m going to do my makeup in the car. I haven’t had a second to myself this morning, Mum, so please don’t start.’

  ‘I just don’t want you to let yourself go.’

  I couldn’t have an argument with her now – she was doing me a favour and I knew she’d do a great job of minding Yuri. If he was with Mum I wouldn’t worry about him. I counted to ten. ‘I know I look a mess. I’m going to go and do myself up now. I’ll see you later.’

  As I drove to work, I went to point out a dog to Yuri. But his seat was empty and I was suddenly overcome with sadness. I missed him. This was ridiculous: I’d be seeing him again in three hours, but I was lonely without him. As a lump formed in my throat, I told myself to get a grip.

  By the time I arrived at the studio I had gathered myself together. Amanda would not be happy to have a weepy mother on her hands.

  Much to my surprise, when I walked in Amanda hugged me. She was not the touchy-feely type. She looked me up and down and nodded. ‘Just as I expected,’ she said, and sighed dramatically. ‘You look tired but happy in that I-love-my-child-so-much-I-don’t-care-about-sleep-any-more way. You’ve moved over to the dark side.’

  ‘I care about the lack of sleep, believe me. But it is amazing.’

  ‘Oh, God, tell me you’re not going to bore me with tales of feeding and bowel movements.’

  ‘I promise not to.’

  ‘Is it going all right?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s hard work, but it’s worth it. He’s just wonderful. Thanks for asking – and now you’ve done your bit so you’re off the hook.’ I decided not to tell her I was pregnant. I’d wait until I was showing. I didn’t want to push her over the edge and, besides, she’d have to worry about replacing me again. It was only my first day back in work, and she didn’t need to hear that particular gem of information just yet.

  Amanda smiled. ‘Thank God for that. Please make me look stunning. That silly girl they got in to replace you was obsessed with blusher, even though I told her how much I loathe it.’

  ‘How’ve you been? How’s the love life?’

  ‘Not too bad. You heard John Bradley left his wife?’

  I was ashamed to say I hadn’t read a newspaper in weeks. This was big news. Four years ago, John Bradley – former leader of the opposition – and Amanda had had an affair, and when the news broke, Bradley was forced to resign. His wife had stood by him and he had bounced back well. Three years after the affair, his party had won the election and he was currently the minister for health.

  ‘No! Has he been calling?’

  ‘Well, I bumped into him at a Christmas fundraiser but the place was crawling with press so he steered clear of me. However, he did call the next day to tell me how well I was looking,’ she said, twinkling. ‘But I’ve actually met someone else. David Mason-Holmes.’

  ‘The Zillionaire property magnate?’

  ‘The very same,’ she said, laughing wickedly. ‘He’s been whisking me about in his helicopter. We flew to London to have lunch in the Ivy last Saturday, just for the hell of it. It’s all very flash, but great fun.’

  I groaned. ‘Oh, the glamour.’

  ‘You see?’ said Amanda, waving her finger at me, ‘This is what happens when you don’t get married or have children cluttering up your life. And before you tell me how much I’ve missed by not knowing the joy and beauty of motherhood and how empty and shallow my life is, stop. My friends have been telling me for years.’

  ‘I was actually going to ask you to whisk me off with you on the chopper for a few days so I can feel normal again.’ I laughed.

  After I had finished her makeup, a happy Amanda was about to walk on to the set when she turned and handed me a bag. Inside were two beautifully wrapped gifts. ‘Just a token,’ she muttered, and went to tape her show.

  I sat down and opened the first one. Inside an elaborate gift box I found a voucher for a full-day treatment at Butterfly, the top spa in Dublin. The second, a blue Tiffany box, contained a gorgeous silver baby rattle. The card read: ‘I saw this in an ep
isode of Sex and the City. It seems to be the present to give babies, these days. Congratulations on reaching the end of your long journey to motherhood. I’m very proud of you. Just don’t bore me about him! Amanda.’

  Chapter 14

  Having won the European Cup last year, James had been hailed as the best coach Leinster had ever had, a tactical genius and generally a top manager. Several of the big rugby clubs in France and England had tried to poach him with lucrative offers, but James had remained loyal to Leinster. He loved his job and was happy to stay with the team he had so successfully cultivated and nurtured to victory. The only downside to his European win was the pressure he felt now to defend the trophy. He was determined to keep the Cup this year and consolidate his position as the top coach in Europe.

  The squad was all keyed up too. They had enjoyed their taste of victory, not to mention the media attention and pay rises that had followed, and were eager to produce some great rugby again this year. Donal, as captain, was head honcho and loved every minute of it. He was also aware that, at thirty-four, his rugby career was coming to an end. This would probably be his last year at the top of his game and he was keen to make it a memorable one.

  The first Cup qualifying game was against Glasgow at Leinster’s home ground that Saturday. James was like a cat on a hot tin roof the night before.

  ‘But I thought Glasgow weren’t supposed to be any good,’ I said, as he paced up and down the kitchen.

  ‘Who told you that?’ James asked, surprised that I had an opinion. Rugby was not my forte, although I did try to feign interest, and I was desperately proud of James, and had gone to all the big games last year.

  ‘I read it in the paper today. Tom Brown in the Irish Times said that Glasgow were not up to much because their star player is injured.’ I was delighted to prove that I knew what was going on. Although, truth be told, I had heard it from Dad, who had been at home when I went to pick Yuri up and had read it out to me.

  James looked impressed. ‘Well, he has a point but Collins being out of the game doesn’t mean it’s a sure win. They still have a very strong side and their pack is two stone heavier than ours. I’m a bit worried that Kinsella will have trouble scrumming against their prop –’

  ‘James,’ I interrupted, before he could dissect the entire Glaswegian team, ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Kinsella will prop up as well as the other fellow and you’ll win by a mile. Is pizza OK for dinner? It’s the only thing I can face eating.’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Too much rugby detail?’

  ‘You lost me at pack. You know my knowledge is limited to lineups, tries, conversion and penalties. Oh, and drop goals. I like those.’

  ‘I’ll shut up then.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s important that you switch off when you come home. Otherwise you’d be consumed by rugby.’

  ‘True. How’s Yuri?’

  ‘Fast asleep, thank God. Actually, I have a surprise for you.’ I produced a shopping-bag. James’s face fell. He hated when I bought him clothes. He was only happy in either his Leinster track suit or cords and a V-neck jumper. All of my attempts to make him more chic had ended in disaster. He refused to wear anything that wasn’t a plain colour – navy or grey were keen favourites – and comfortable. My biggest victory so far had been to persuade him to wear a beige V-neck jumper.

  ‘Ta-da!’ I said, holding up a mini Leinster rugby shirt. It was the smallest one they’d had in the shop and far too big for Yuri, but with the sleeves rolled up it didn’t look too bad.

  James grinned. ‘My very own live mascot.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. I’m going to dress him up and bring him down to the game. I tried it on him earlier and he looked as cute as a button. He’ll be your lucky charm. So you don’t need to worry about any packs or props or whatever it is you were talking about.’

  The next morning, a focused James left the house early to go over match tactics and lead a final practice session. I busied myself getting Yuri ready and waited for Lucy to pick us up. It was great having her at the games with me. Going with Dad wasn’t much fun. He spent the whole time shouting at the referee – normally questioning his parenthood – or muttering about the players under his breath. He only ever spoke to me directly at half-time and then got frustrated because I couldn’t analyse the game properly, so he’d end up talking to other Leinster fans seated around us. He always said he thought Leinster was going to lose and at the end of the match when they won he’d say, ‘Didn’t I tell you they’d win?’ Lucy and I kept one eye on the match while we caught up on gossip. Afterwards she’d come into the clubhouse with me to meet the boys and have a few drinks.

  Lucy was impressed with Yuri’s outfit, but when I handed him to her while I got my things together, she watched him warily.

  ‘It’s all right, I gave him toast and cheese for his lunch- he never throws that up,’ I said, laughing as she held him at arms’ length.

  ‘Thank God for that. This coat is cashmere and I’m not sure if you’d ever get vomit out.’

  Twenty minutes later Lucy was still holding Yuri while I gathered nappies, yogurt, Farley’s rusks, soothers and the ever-present grey elephant.

  ‘Come on, Emma, we’re going to be late. How much stuff does a baby need? I thought women were high maintenance,’ she said, as I stuffed a change of clothes into the baby bag.

  ‘I’m ready. I think I’ve got everything.’

  ‘Give me the bag and take your son. He’s wriggling like a lunatic here. I think he recognizes an amateur when he sees one. He wants his mother, the pro.’

  Although it was the first match of the Cup, the stadium was full. The Leinster supporters were out in force to cheer on their winning team. Lucy and I found our seats beside Dad, who was tetchy because we were late. ‘I’ve been holding these bloody seats for over half an hour.’

  ‘The match hasn’t even started yet,’ I said.

  ‘Turning up just before kick-off! You should be here for the build-up. They need all the support they can get. Glasgow are a good side,’ said Dad, with his usual pre-match pessimism.

  ‘Dad, you’re the one who told me yesterday that Leinster would walk this, so stop worrying. Now, say hello to your gorgeous grandson,’ I said, holding Yuri up so Dad could see his Leinster shirt.

  Dad smiled and tickled him. But within seconds he was back in grim-rugby mode. ‘There’s a lot of pressure on the lads as Cup-holders. It won’t be easy.’

  ‘Don’t mind Granddad,’ I said to Yuri. ‘He always gets like this before a game. It’s his nerves.’

  Dad ignored me and turned to focus on the match.

  At half-time, Leinster were up by seven points. The team were playing really well and everyone was happy. Donal was having a great game and had scored a fantastic try in the first minute, much to Lucy’s delight. Yuri had been very quiet throughout. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by the crowds of cheering fans. I was worried that he might be frightened by the noise, but he seemed happy to gaze at the coloured scarves and waving flags.

  The second half went Leinster’s way and they stormed ahead, stretching the lead to thirteen points. With ten minutes to go, Glasgow intercepted a pass and the centre ran down the middle of the field. Donal threw himself at the Scottish player and tackled him to the ground with a thud. Everyone cheered. But Donal remained on the ground, not moving. Lucy jumped up and screamed. James ran on to the pitch with the team doctor. I held Lucy’s hand as they rolled Donal over and spoke to him. He was as white as a sheet and clearly in a lot of pain. They stretchered him off.

  Lucy was beside herself. ‘What do you think it is?’ she asked Dad, our rugby expert.

  ‘Looks bad,’ said Mr Optimistic. ‘Broken collarbone, I’d say.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Lucy. ‘Will that mean he’ll be out for the rest of the season?’

  ‘At least.’

  ‘Hold on,’ I interrupted, before we all wrote Donal off. ‘We don’t know. It could be a sprain or something. Let’s wait and see bef
ore we assume the worst.’

  Lucy, Yuri and I went down to the dressing room where we found James, Donal and the doctor. Donal was lying on his back with his limp right arm resting on his chest and a bag of ice on his shoulder. Lucy kissed him. ‘Is it bad?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve dislocated my shoulder again and the doc can’t pop it back. I’ll have to go to hospital to have it done there.’

  ‘Oh, Donal,’ she said hugging him.

  ‘Jesus, Lucy, I’m in agony here, don’t go hugging me now.’ He yelped as she leant on his sore shoulder.

  ‘Shit, sorry. Will it heal quickly?’ she asked.

  The doctor shook his head. ‘It’s a bad dislocation, I’m afraid, and it’s a recurring injury. He really needs to have an operation.’

  Donal was gritting his teeth. ‘I’ll be grand. I just need to get it popped back in and get some physio on it and I’ll be back playing in a few weeks’ time.’ Despite his bravado, we could see how upset he was. Even he knew he was out for the season.

  Lucy went to the hospital with him in the ambulance. James, Yuri and I followed in the car. ‘How bad?’ I asked a very grim-faced James.

  ‘Disaster,’ he said, thumping the steering-wheel. ‘It’s over for Donal. He won’t play again, not at top level.’

  I presumed James was doing a Dad on it by being over-pessimistic. ‘Oh, come on, Donal’s a big fit guy. Surely he’ll bounce back.’

  ‘No, Emma, he won’t. This is the third time he’s dislocated his shoulder over the last six years. The fact that the doc couldn’t pop it back is a bad sign. He’ll be out for the rest of the season anyway – his shoulder is in tatters.’

  By the time we had arrived at the hospital and parked the car, Donal had been given a local anaesthetic and they had tried to reposition the shoulder – again unsuccessfully. A surgeon had been called and had told Donal that the shoulder had to be operated on if it was ever to function properly again. Donal was devastated but the surgeon said he had no choice.