by Cathy Kelly
‘Nothing,’ wailed Katy. ‘Nothing. It’s just, the wedding, and my chance to walk up the aisle in a fitted dress.’
‘With corset ties,’ Leila reminded her.
‘I’ll be in a maternity tent,’ Katy said. ‘Oh, Leila, I wanted to talk it over with someone, but … well, I’d sound like a complete cow if I told Michael I didn’t want to be pregnant for our wedding and that I’d planned for us to have a baby-free year at least so we could travel …’
‘Get a test done,’ Leila said.
She paused.
‘Do you want a baby?’
‘Yes!’ said Katy. ‘It’s our baby.’
‘Right, do a test and if you’re pregnant, the answer’s simple: move the wedding forward a couple of months so you can still wear the fitted dress. As for backpacking … well, that’s another story.’
‘But the wedding date’s set!’ said Katy.
Leila laughed. ‘You’re an organiser par excellence, babe. Nothing is ever set in stone until you’ve put the cash on the table. You’ve talked to the church, sure, but you haven’t sent a single invitation, you haven’t tried on so much as one dress, and you have managed to stop your father painting the pavilion a hideous blue. Get married in March instead of June.’
‘But I love June,’ said Katy, sounding so tearful and unlike herself that Leila figured she must be pregnant and hormonal. No test required.
‘March will be lovely too,’ said Leila gently. ‘Perfect for that old-rose colour you’ve been saying your mum likes.’
‘I’ll be …’ there was a pause for calculations, ‘four months pregnant by then.’
‘We could go the Jane Austen route, get empire-line dresses to hide your bump and my comfort-eating belly. You can be Elizabeth Bennet and Michael can be Darcy, stomping around looking proud and thrilled with his manly duty done.’
Finally Katy laughed. ‘I haven’t even peed on the stick yet. Haven’t got a stick to pee on.’
‘Phone Michael,’ urged Leila. ‘Think of it as an early wedding present.’
‘He’ll be so happy.’ Katy was wistful. ‘I am too, honestly. I only needed to talk it over with someone who wouldn’t judge. I never expected it, you see. Not yet.’
‘Life is what happens when you’re making other plans,’ quoted Leila.
‘We could have that printed on the church ceremony missalettes,’ said Katy, sounding more cheerful by the minute.
‘Good plan. Go on, phone Michael. He needs to know he might be a daddy very soon so he can practise his fainting technique in the delivery room.’
Katy laughed. ‘He’d better be in there with me. If there’s going to be screaming, I want to be holding his hand so I can squeeze it black and blue.’
For a second, Leila stilled, taken back in time to when Jack was born. She had been her sister’s birthing partner. The labour had taken nine hours. By the end, Leila had been shaking so much she’d almost felt unable to hold the seven-pound six-ounce baby in her arms in case she dropped him.
Being at his birth had been such a privilege. And for the first few months of his life, Leila had taken a lot of time off to help Susie deal with looking after a tiny baby on her own. But around that time her own job had got busier; to further her career she found she was working weekends, so she couldn’t drive home as often; and then … then Tynan had come along. Tynan, who’d consumed her to the extent that she’d thought of nothing but him.
She’d seen Jack and her sister so much less since then.
No wonder Susie was full of resentment.
Leila’s ever-present feelings of guilt about her sister melted away, to be replaced by a sense of huge love and sorrow for not having been there when she was needed. Like a sister ought to be.
She reached out to pet Pixie, who was always ready for affection, and who instantly rolled on to her back so her speckled belly could be rubbed.
‘ ’Course Michael will be there,’ she said, managing to sound upbeat for Katy. ‘He adores you. Tell him if he wants to prove it, he’d better be there to hold your hand when you break the news to your dad.’
Katy gasped. ‘I just remembered something Susie told me after she had Jack – the pain of childbirth is supposed to be like breaking nine bones in the body simultaneously. Or is it eleven?’
Leila winced.
‘Ah no, you’re making that up.’
‘No, it’s on the Internet. Makes you wonder how the human race has survived at all,’ Katy said.
‘Drugs,’ said Leila.
Birdie was on her own in Vineyard Manor, watching television with Thumper squashed up against her on the couch. It was a rerun of a period drama, full of dramatic tension, secrets, sternly romantic men and fabulous bosom-enhancing dresses. Birdie loved period dramas because she found it somehow reassuring that life seemed just as complicated then as it was now.
Previous generations had had to endure the anxiety of wars taking adult children away, the threat of illness, the powerlessness of women at a time when life was far from equal … Seeing all this made her feel as if her own worries weren’t abnormal. Just because Howard didn’t understand her fears, it didn’t mean she was crazy. Other people worried too; that was the way it had always been.
The house phone rang and both Birdie and Thumper jumped at the unexpected noise.
It was probably Howard, telling her how well his meeting had gone in London and what he was up to for dinner. He always told her what he was doing, which was nice. Of course, he knew what she’d be doing because it was what she always did: sitting at home with Thumper.
But it wasn’t Howard. It was Katy.
‘Mum,’ said Katy, ‘I’ve got good news—’
‘You’re pregnant,’ breathed Birdie. She had no idea where it came from, but the words flew out of her mouth.
‘Yes! How did you know?’
‘Your voice,’ Birdie said, eyes wet, heart soaring. ‘You sounded different, softer. My baby having her own baby. Oh, Katy, I’m so happy. But when?’
‘The doctor says I’m about seven weeks,’ said Katy, ‘and we’re scared about telling people so early, but we’ll have to because of the wedding. Are you pleased?’
‘Pleased?’ breathed Birdie into the phone. ‘Pleased doesn’t even go halfway to expressing how happy I am right now.’
Birdie was eager for details and Katy filled her in, including the possibility of moving the wedding forward.
Birdie, worrier extraordinaire, was totally unfazed. ‘When it takes place is neither here nor there,’ she said blithely. ‘Vineyard Manor isn’t going anywhere. It’s only a matter of rearranging the details.’
‘The dress is a bit more than a detail,’ said Katy. ‘I was thinking it might be nice to go all Jane Austen-ish, you know, something flowing and empire line.’
‘Fine, we can start looking next weekend,’ said Birdie. ‘Now, as soon as you hang up on me, I want you to call your dad. He’s in London for a business dinner, but he won’t mind if you drag him out of it. He’d blow the biggest business meeting for you, darling. He’ll be so thrilled.’ Birdie wasn’t sure about the last part. Howard might not be too thrilled at the disruption to his plans, but he’d soon come round: anything involving his daughter got his full attention. She didn’t even reflect that Howard didn’t give her his full attention.
She never expected it in the first place.
‘London?’On the other end of the phone, Katy stilled. Her father was in Kildare; he’d told her the other day that he was taking a bit of time off to play golf with some pals. There’d been no mention of a business meeting in London, she was sure of it.
‘What’s wrong?’ Michael mouthed at her, seeing the confusion flicker across her face.
Katy shook her head and, utilising the ‘fake it till you make it’ mantra, smiled broadly into the receiver. ‘I’ll give him a buzz now, Mum,’ she said.
‘Love you both,’ said Birdie.
‘Love you, Mum,’ said Katy before putting the phone do
wn.
With a groan she uncurled herself from the corner of the couch where she seemed to be spending all her spare time lately. At least now she knew why she was permanently tired. Exhaustion seemed to have permeated her very bones, so that lying down on squashy cushions was the only thing she could bear after a day at the office.
As she headed into the kitchen, Michael got up to follow.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘This is going to sound crazy.’ Katy reached the cupboard with the herbal teas. The chamomile one with spiced apple was nice. And a banana. She wanted a banana so badly. A banana sandwich on white bread, with sugar on the banana.
You want that too, baba, don’t you? she telepathically asked the tiny being inside her.
‘What’s going to sound crazy?’
‘Dad lied to Mum about where he is,’ said Katy, reaching over to flick the kettle switch. ‘I don’t understand it.’
She looked up at her husband-to-be and was stunned to see that his face didn’t show confusion at all. His eyes met hers steadily, but he was hiding something from her, she was sure of it.
‘What?’
Michael shrugged. ‘Must be a misunderstanding,’ he said easily. ‘You lie down and I’ll make the tea.’
‘Don’t. Do. That.’ Katy glared at him. ‘You know something, don’t you?’
‘Katy, I love you and you love your father. I don’t want to fight over him. Please,’ he begged.
‘But you know something,’ she said.
‘I don’t know anything, I promise,’ Michael said, sighing heavily. ‘But if you were to ask me whether he tells your mother the truth about where he is all the time, I’d have to say no.’
‘How do you know this?’ she demanded.
‘I can see it,’ Michael said, exasperated. ‘Katy, let’s not get into this—’
‘We’re in it!’
‘Listen, this is a conversation that can’t end well. I love you, I don’t want to start our married life with you thinking I don’t like your father.’
‘It doesn’t sound like you do!’
‘See? It’s not ending well,’ he groaned, ‘and we’ve only just started. Let’s forget it. Your father is wonderful, we get on fine. It’s a misunderstanding.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, honey.’ He enfolded her in his arms. ‘Pregnant women need no stress in their lives,’ he murmured into the cloud of her hair.
‘Dad can be tricky, I know that,’ Katy said. ‘But he’s a good man.’
‘ ’Course he is – how else could he have had you?’ Michael asked.
Katy laughed gently. There was no point continuing. She’d always known there was mild friction between Dad and Michael, but then there was friction between Dad and lots of people. He was the best dad in the world, but not everyone understood his little ways. When they were married and Michael was properly part of the family, things would be better.
And Mum probably got things mixed up. She was inclined to live in her own little world, as Dad often said.
It would all be fine. She was reading too much into a mix-up.
Dad had told her he’d be in Kildare playing golf and Mum had thought he’d said London. Simple.
Michael leaned into his fiancée and thought of all the notions that had passed through his head about her father’s golfing holidays and business trips. For some time he had suspected that Howard had female company on his various jaunts. Not that he had a shred of proof. He’d never seen him with another woman, but all the same he had a gut instinct about his future father-in-law. An instinct that told him Howard Desmond was not the most faithful of men.
Still, it was none of his business. Best to steer clear, keep out of it. Because if what Howard was up to ever came to light, it definitely wouldn’t end well.
‘Michael, darling!’ Grace cradled the portable phone in her shoulder and continued stirring her soup with the other hand. ‘How are you and Katy? How are the wedding plans coming along?’
‘Well …’
Michael’s hesitation threw her. She knew immediately that something was wrong. Turning off the gas, she pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.
‘What is it – what’s happened?’
‘Nothing,’ said Michael and this time she heard him with total clarity: the only wrongness was in her interpretation. ‘I’ve good news, in fact.’
Grace held her breath.
‘Katy’s pregnant. You’re going to be a granny.’
‘Oh, Michael,’ she said, and she didn’t know where the tears had come from – or why, for that matter – but they were there, streaming down her cheeks. ‘That’s the most wonderful news in the world, darling. I am so happy for both of you – so happy for me!’ she added joyfully. ‘I’m dying to be a granny.’
‘You never said,’ Michael pointed out, with the faintest hint of irritation.
‘What sort of madwoman would you both think I was if I started demanding grandchildren?’ she laughed. ‘You have to make your own choices.’
‘Sorry, yes,’ he agreed. ‘But you’re going to be a granny now in …’ he was counting, ‘late August.’
‘Michael, it’s wonderful,’ Grace breathed again. ‘The most wonderful news ever. Late August. So Katy will be seven months pregnant at the wedding.’
‘That’s the thing,’ Michael went on. ‘We’re going to move the wedding forward to March. Katy has her heart set on walking down the aisle in a slinky sort of dress, and they don’t do them in maternity sizes, apparently.’
Grace laughed loudly again. It felt glorious to be laughing with sheer joy.
‘Katy will look fabulous even if she walks down the aisle in a bin bag!’ she told him. ‘But I can see her point.’
‘We’ve decided on six weeks’ time or thereabouts,’ Michael said. ‘It will probably be early in the week, because there’s no way we’ll get a church on a Thursday or Friday now, or we might go for register office, but think six weeks. I know it won’t suit term-wise, Mum, but we can’t get a weekend wedding at this stage.’
‘Right,’ said Grace. ‘I shall start the mother-of-the-groom dress search right away. Tell me,’ she joked, ‘am I to wear the gigantic flying saucer hat, or is that Birdie’s job?’
‘Oh hell, neither of you, please,’ he begged. ‘No teasing.’
A thought occurred to Grace.
‘What does Howard say about this change to his great plans? I heard he was going to have the garden totally renovated for the occasion, even though Birdie has worked tirelessly on it for years and you couldn’t find a more beautiful spot in Bridgeport. There won’t be time for all that with a six-week turnaround.’
‘He never told Katy he was doing that,’ Michael said, an edge to his voice. ‘She specifically said that she didn’t want her mum’s garden touched.’
‘You know Howard.’
‘I sure do. We haven’t told him yet.’
‘Right.’
Grace kept her voice neutral. It was on the tip of her tongue to warn him to expect fireworks, but she knew that Michael already had the measure of Howard. Plus she was mindful that interference, no matter how well meaning, was the kiss of death to families joined by marriage. If Michael were to let on to Katy that Grace had said something negative about her father, it might cause her to feel very differently about her future mother-in-law. She’d managed to hold her tongue all the years they’d been going out, and she wasn’t about to slip now. Blood was thicker than marriage vows.
‘Is Katy there? Can I talk to her?’
‘She’s lying down – she’s really tired, keeps having to flop on the couch,’ Michael said.
‘It’s called growing a little person inside you,’ his mother informed him, ‘and it can be exhausting. Get her to give me a buzz when she’s up to it – I want to tell her how thrilled I am.’
Howard was in the car on his way home. He was tired. Sometimes it was tough being all things to all people, he thought wearily. People expected him
to be immune to exhaustion, but he was only human – he just didn’t show it. No, never let them see the fear or any sign of weakness: that was his motto.
The driver had tuned the radio to a classical music station. Howard liked classical music. Birdie had turned him into a fan; she was a mine of information when it came to symphonies and overtures and the composers who wrote them. She was the one who’d told him about the fabled Ninth Symphony Syndrome, listing all the famous composers who’d died after their ninth symphony. And it had been Birdie who told him how you had to imagine a little boy running in between the legs of the elephants in Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’. It was the sort of knowledge Howard had never had time to learn in his fierce quest for success.
But he liked to know it all the same.
His phone rang and his gaze shifted listlessly towards it, wondering whether he could be bothered to answer.
The moment he saw Katy’s name on caller ID, his energy was magically restored. ‘Hello, love.’
The driver, eyes fixed on the road, face expressionless, had driven Howard Desmond often enough to know that the caller could only be his daughter. There was a gentleness and fondness in his voice that was reserved for Katy alone.
‘Dad,’ said Katy. ‘I’ve got some news.’
‘Work, honey?’ Howard asked, straightening up in his seat and reaching into his jacket for a pen and the small notepad he carried everywhere. Gadgets and technology were fine, but you couldn’t beat the feel of paper and pen; it helped the ideas to flow better.
‘No, Dad, not work,’ said Katy, and he could hear excitement bubbling in her voice. ‘Big news. I know you might think you’re too young to be a grandfather, but you’re going to be one all the same.’
She got no further.
‘Darling! A baby! Oh …’
Michael, standing beside Katy, strained to hear what Howard was saying, but there was no more conversation. Just a muffled noise.
‘Dad, are you all right?’ asked Katy.
‘Yes,’ said Howard.
Katy looked at her fiancé in astonishment.
‘He’s crying,’ she whispered.
‘So wonderful,’ croaked Howard, barely able to speak.