From Here to Maternity

by Sinéad Moriarty

  Lucy had fainted during the repositioning attempt and was now sitting in a chair beside his bed, her head between her legs.

  Donal smiled when he saw us. ‘Here, lads, you wouldn’t take Florence Nightingale home, would you? She’s no bloody use to me.’

  ‘Sod off, you big lump,’ mumbled Lucy, and lifted her head. ‘I’m going nowhere.’

  ‘What did they say?’ asked James.

  ‘They can’t get it back in position so I’ve no choice but to have the operation,’ said Donal, looking down to hide how gutted he felt. ‘I’m sorry, James, it looks like I’ll be out of action for a while.’

  James went and sat beside his friend. ‘Don’t apologize, you idiot. I’m glad they’re operating on it. It’s long overdue. When you feel better, you can be my assistant coach. I could do with some help training the forwards this year. It’ll be great having you on the sidelines with me.’

  Donal faked a smile. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘OK, folks, Mr Brady needs some rest now,’ said a nurse, coming in to shoo us away. We left Lucy behind and went home. James was gutted. His friend, captain and best player was out of action.

  Lucy sat on the bed and held Donal’s hand. ‘It’ll be OK,’ she said.

  ‘How?’ he asked. ‘My career is over. I play rugby, it’s the only thing I’ve ever been really good at. What the hell am I going to do now?’

  ‘Well, you could coach with James. He offered you the job.’

  ‘He has a coach for the forwards already – he’s just being nice. Jesus, why did this have to happen now when I’d only a year or two left?’

  ‘It’s not so bad. Your playing career was almost over anyway. It’s hardly even been cut short, really.’

  ‘If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a lousy job.’

  ‘Look, Donal, I know it’s awful for you, but you would have had to face the end of your rugby career soon anyway. You need to think about what you want to do with the rest of your life.’

  ‘I’ve only just found out that I have to have a bloody operation. Can I have a few minutes to digest the information before having to choose my new career?’

  ‘Fine. But don’t worry about it. I’m earning good money so you can take your time to decide what you want to do next. There’s no pressure. At least that’s a good thing.’

  Donal groaned. ‘Jesus, Lucy, I don’t want you supporting me. I’m the man, I’ll bring home the bacon.’

  ‘Oh, get over yourself, Rambo. I’ve no intention of supporting you long-term while you sit on your arse. All I’m saying is that you can take your time to recover properly from the operation and figure out what you’d like to do, without worrying about the mortgage repayments. Now, do you want me to get you something to eat?’

  Donal shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry, I’ve no appetite.’

  ‘Not even for a Big Mac meal?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I might be able to manage a few bites.’

  ‘That’s my boy,’ said Lucy, and kissed him. ‘It’ll be OK,’ she whispered, as she went out to get the broken athlete some comfort food.

  Chapter 15

  Within forty-eight hours of the injury, Donal had had key hole surgery to fix his shoulder. The surgeon was pleased with how the operation had gone, but Donal didn’t really care: his days as a rugby star were over and he had no idea what to do next.

  He moved home a day later with a bag full of morphine OxyContin and anti-inflammatory tablets. His arm was in a sling and he was told to move it as little as possible for the next few weeks. After that he’d have physiotherapy and then he could resume light exercise, like swimming, eventually regaining ninety per cent of the movement in his shoulder.

  Lucy had taken a few days off work – something she never did – to look after him. Donal was not a good patient. Now that the reality of his situation had sunk in, he was grumpy as hell and shuffled morosely around the house. When he complained about the pain in his shoulder, Lucy got him some pills and a glass of water. When he moaned that the couch was uncomfortable, she plumped and rearranged the pillows around him until he said grudgingly that it was better. Even though she bought him books, magazines and his favourite series, The Office, on DVD, he grumbled constantly about how bored he was.

  Eventually Lucy hid in the kitchen and busied herself cooking him dinner – his favourite, home-made lasagne. She was not naturally talented in the culinary field and spent ages trying to get it right, following the cookbook instructions to the letter. When she served it to him, Donal poked at it with his fork.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Lucy, trying not to snap.

  ‘There’s too much of that white stuff on it. I prefer it with more meat and less sauce. I can’t eat it, it’s all runny. I’ll make myself some toast.’ He sighed as he struggled to get up.

  ‘No, you won’t. Sit there and don’t move. I’ll make it,’ said the perfect wife.

  When she came back with the toast, he said there was too much butter on it. ‘I like it with just a thin layer of butter. You’ve drowned it in the stuff,’ he complained, scraping the butter off with his good hand.

  ‘Oh, shove it up your arse, you grumpy old fucker,’ she snapped, her patience finally running out.

  ‘Charming! I come home after major surgery and get roared at. Where’s my sympathy, my comfort and pampering?’

  ‘Pampering? I’m killing myself here to make things easier for you. I know it’s difficult, but you’d drive a saint to drink. All you’ve done so far is complain.’

  ‘Can a man not get a few days’ grace? I’m in agony here, so excuse me if I’m not cracking jokes and dancing jigs.’

  ‘I know you’re in pain and I don’t expect you to be full of the joys of spring. I just think that a positive attitude will help speed up your recovery.’

  ‘What difference does it make how quickly I recover? I won’t be playing rugby again regardless, so where’s the rush?’

  ‘Come on, Donal, stop being so negative. You’ve your whole life ahead of you. The world is your oyster – you can do anything you want now. You just have to figure out what that is.’

  ‘I want to captain Leinster to their second European Cup victory,’ said Mr Morose.

  ‘Fine. If you’re going to be like that, I’ll leave you to it,’ said Lucy, getting up and clearing the dinner plates.

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m going to work on a proposal I’m behind on.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘That’s the general idea, unless you need me to wipe your brow while you sit on the couch.’

  ‘What’ll I do?’

  ‘Watch a movie, read a book, sort out your future, take a bath… I don’t know, Donal. I can’t make all your decisions for you.’

  ‘I thought you were staying home from work to look after and entertain me.’

  ‘Which is exactly what I have been doing, and while it’s been a real blast and I hate to tear myself away from your wonderful company, I really need to spend an hour or two working.’

  ‘Well, will you at least get me some socks? My feet are frozen. A cup of tea and some of those chocolate biscuits would be nice too. And put the DVD into the machine for me, will you?’

  Lucy bit her tongue and fetched him all of the above. ‘Are you all right now? Got everything you need?’ she asked, handing him the tea and a plate of biscuits.

  ‘No, not those, I prefer the ones with the chocolate chunks in them. Did you not get any?’

  ‘Donal, chocolate digestives are your favourite.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since I decided to drive you mad. Now, come here and sit down,’ he said, grinning at her as he patted the couch. ‘That old proposal can wait. You need to put your feet up after your long day playing nursemaid.’

  Lucy flopped down beside him. ‘Thank God for that. I was about to ram the digestives up your nose.’

  ‘I do have one final request.�
�

  ‘Oh, God, what now?’

  ‘Any chance you could wear a little nurse’s uniform tomorrow? It’s a fantasy of mine.’

  ‘You’re obviously feeling better,’ she grinned, ‘but the answer is no. As of this moment I’m resigning from my role as carer. You’re on your own.’

  That Saturday afternoon when Lucy came in from grocery shopping, she found Donal shouting at the television from his semi-permanent position on the couch. He was hurling abuse at the rugby commentators who were analysing the Munster versus Bath game at half-time.

  ‘That useless fecker Tierney hasn’t a clue what he’s on about. He keeps getting the players’ names wrong and he just said that Andrews transferred to Bath from Harlequins, when even the dog on the street knows he used to play for London-Irish.’

  A lightbulb went on in Lucy’s head. From her office the following Monday morning, she called the producer of the Saturday sports show on RTÉ. Pretending she was Donal’s agent, she brokered a deal for him to be on the regular Saturday rugby panel, commentating on the Cup matches. The producer had met Donal a few times and thought he’d make a colourful addition to the team. Lucy used her finely tuned negotiating skills to land him a very good package. When she hung up, Donal had a new job that she knew he’d like. Delighted, she called him.

  ‘Hello.’ He yawned into the phone.

  ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Let’s see now… So far today I’ve got out of bed and shuffled to the couch where I’ve been watching some hound of a woman being made over by a team of experts and the end result is nearly worse. They’re all telling her she’s gorgeous but she still looks a fright to me.’

  ‘I’ve got some good news for you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘RTÉ wants you to be on their rugby panel for the whole season.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They want you to commentate on the games. The producer thinks you’d be great. You’re young, you know most of the players and you certainly know your rugby. He’s mad keen for you to come on board. His name is Colin Dylan and he’ll be calling you later to confirm the details. They want you to start this Saturday.’

  ‘And this fella just happened to call you out of the blue to offer me a job? Would it not have been easier for him to call me directly? My number’s in the directory.’

  ‘Well, I kind of approached him. I said that now you were injured you were looking to get involved in commentating. He jumped at the chance to hire you.’

  ‘I don’t need my wife ringing around begging people to hire me, Lucy. I do have some pride left.’

  ‘I didn’t say I was your wife, you dope. I pretended I was your agent and I’ve negotiated a very good deal for you, so stop being so bloody macho and be grateful.’

  ‘I’d rather get my own jobs.’

  ‘Fine, well, then, call him and tell him you don’t want it because you’re too busy sitting on the couch watching day-time TV and feeling sorry for yourself,’ barked Lucy, and hung up.

  Her phone rang. ‘I’d like to speak to Donal Brady’s agent.’

  ‘She’s resigned because her client is an unappreciative arsehole.’

  ‘Any chance you could remind me of her name? As well as being a prize arsehole I’ve also got a bad memory and I can’t remember it. I’ve to talk to some guy in RTÉ about a job and I don’t know what made-up name she used.’

  ‘Caroline Plum.’

  ‘Like the fruit?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any chance Ms Plum would consider forgiving her client for being an ungrateful oaf and represent me again in the near future? I’d make it worth her while.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, how?’

  ‘By offering her the best sex of her life.’

  ‘Rumour has it you’re laid up in bed and can barely make yourself a cup of tea, never mind thrash about having sex.’

  ‘I always rise to the occasion. In fact, I’m rising to it now just thinking about it. Any chance you could nip home at lunchtime?’

  ‘I’ll consider it.’

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Donal went on the panel that Saturday wearing a smart new shirt that Lucy had bought him, his arm in a sling. The other two men were in their fifties. One was a former Irish international player, Pat Tierney, who had the memory of a goldfish and constantly got everyone’s names wrong. He spent the afternoon calling Donal David. The other man, Gerry O’Reilly, was a freelance sports journalist and never had anything positive to say about anything. They were commentating on Leinster’s second game against Harlequins. Donal was nervous for his team mates: Harlequins were a good side and Leinster needed to win this game.

  ‘So, David, who do you think will win?’ asked Pat.

  ‘It’s Donal. Leinster have a great chance. James Hamilton has proven himself to be a world-class coach and he’s continuing with the same winning tactics he used last year – aggressive play upfront and some new set-plays for the back line.’

  ‘Hamilton is the most overrated coach in the competition,’ sneered Gerry. ‘One Cup win can be as much fluke as talent.’

  ‘Well, Gerry, having played on the team last year, I can tell you it was no fluke. James’s influence on the team and the way we played was enormous. He’s a master tactician and the analysis he does on every opponent is phenomenal. I’ve never worked with a coach I respected so much.’

  ‘Well, obviously you’re going to say that – you were the captain until a few weeks ago. Unlike you, I’m coming from an unbiased angle.’

  ‘I’m not being biased, I’m being honest. I played for him and I think I know how good he is.’

  Before they could get into a real argument, the match kicked off. Forty minutes later, at half-time, the programme returned to the studio for the panel’s opinions. Leinster were down, 10–5.

  ‘They weren’t great in that half, were they, David? You’d have to say they don’t look like champions today,’ said Pat.

  ‘It’s Donal – and I think it’s a bit early to be writing them off. They had a slow start, but they’ll come out guns blazing after the half-time talk. James’ll change the tactics to give Leinster the advantage. Just wait and see. I’m not a bit worried about the outcome. They’ll win this game.’

  ‘I admire your optimism, but it’s totally misplaced,’ said Gerry. ‘Leinster haven’t got what it takes. The out-half is having a terrible game. He’s missed two easy penalties and his place-kicking is a joke. He should never have been picked.’

  ‘Ray Phelan is considered to be the best out-half in Europe,’ said Donal.

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘By anyone who knows anything about rugby.’

  ‘I’ve been writing about rugby for thirty years and I can tell you he’s overrated.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been playing with him for six years and I can tell you he’s the best I’ve seen. No one plays at the top of their game for eighty minutes of every match. He’ll come out in the second half and kick everything over.’

  ‘The guy should have been dropped months ago. He’s useless.’

  ‘Have you ever played rugby?’ Donal asked Gerry.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, maybe if you had you wouldn’t be so judgemental and negative about it.’

  ‘It’s my job to be judgemental, and I’m sick of players like you thinking they can become expert commentators overnight. The whole premise of being on a panel is to be non-partisan. You’re supposed to be able to analyse a match without bias.’

  ‘It’s a lot easier to slate players than to give them credit. I don’t think Ray should be dropped just because he’s had an average first half in this game – it’s the first time he hasn’t played out of his skin in ten months. I’ve never heard such horseshit in my life.’

  ‘Language, David,’ warned Pat.

  ‘It’s Donal,’ snapped Donal. ‘My name is Donal and the scrum-half for Harlequins used to play for Edinburgh, not B
ath.’

  The second half kicked off before Donal could list all the other mistakes Pat had made. As he had predicted, Leinster came out firing and won the match comfortably 25–13. Ray Phelan kicked over four penalties and a conversion. Donal was standing on his chair cheering out of the window, ‘Well done, lads,’ when the cameras switched back to the panel. He climbed down and, grinning at Gerry, said, ‘Well, do you still think Ray should be dropped?’

  ‘Yeah, I do, actually. So he kicked a few balls over. Big deal, he missed a few in the first half.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that kicking a penalty from the corner of the pitch in a gale-force wind is actually a big deal, Gerry. Leinster had an incredible second half. They looked like champions to me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get ahead of myself, if I was you,’ said Gerry. ‘It’s early days and they had a bad first half.’

  ‘So you’ve nothing positive to say about Leinster’s win?’

  Gerry shrugged. ‘They did all right, but it’s nothing to get excited about.’

  ‘Well, I am excited. I’m very bloody excited after that performance. I refuse to let you dampen my enthusiasm. It’s a great win and I think Leinster are going all the way. Up Leinster,’ roared Donal, into the camera.

  The phone lines were jammed with people calling in to say how refreshing it was to see a panellist who was genuinely enthusiastic and positive. Donal was a hit – although there was one complaint about his language.

  Chapter 16

  Although I missed Yuri, I soon began to enjoy being back at work. It felt great to be doing something I was good at again, and to feel useful and confident. I was so unsure of myself all the time as a mother that it was a constant struggle not to feel like a failure. Every time Yuri threw up something I’d fed him, or didn’t sleep, or cried for no apparent reason, I blamed myself. Mum seemed happy enough minding him and raking in the cash, and Yuri thrived in her care. Sometimes I even felt a bit jealous – I knew it was ridiculous, but she seemed better with him than I was, and because I lacked self-belief in the mother department I was a bit touchy about it.