Pack Up the Moon

by Anna McPartlin

  Here we go again.

  I got home to find that Seán had still not returned from the office. I went to the bathroom, opened the box, struggled with the foil wrapping and peed on the stick.

  Three minutes.

  Initially my mind was blank and this I guessed was due to the fact that I had killed millions of brain cells the evening before.

  Two minutes.

  Holy crap, that minute passed really quickly.

  I thought about Seán and I smiled because even though I’d been sick as a pig when he left that morning, he had managed to make me laugh and I couldn’t even remember how.

  One minute. Jesus, time is flying.

  I wondered how he’d feel if I was pregnant but it was a fleeting thought and surprisingly I couldn’t manage to muster concern.

  Odd.

  I looked at my watch. Three minutes had passed. I didn’t hang around. I turned the stick over to reveal the thickest bluest line I ever saw. I sat mesmerised by this line for a long time.

  I’m pregnant.

  I let this new information sink in. The word “wow” would best describe how I felt. I wasn’t worried, but I should have been freaking out. Let’s be honest, it’s pretty obvious that I have a tendency to freak out, but on this momentous occasion I was completely relaxed. I felt in control and happy and then I remembered I had drunk a ridiculous amount the previous evening. I was slightly perturbed, but that lasted a mere minute. I had known a girl in college who was six months gone before she realised that she was with child and she drank like a fish for all of those six months. The little one emerged intact and was declared healthy. One night wasn’t going to do much damage and I’d ensure that there wouldn’t be a repeat performance.

  I’m pregnant.

  I phoned Doreen and she was around almost before I’d managed to replace the receiver.

  “I told you,” she said, hugging me. “Are you alright?” She pulled back and pushed the hair out of my face so that I couldn’t hide.

  “Aside from a bloody headache I’m fine,” I admitted.

  “Oh, this is so exciting!”

  Suddenly I was smiling because she was right. It was exciting.

  “I love babies. Their smell, their little feet, the way they feel when they lie sleeping on your chest. Oh, I miss my babies,” she lamented.

  I was now grinning so hard that my face started to hurt. I was having a baby and I was looking forward to it. We hugged and she nearly suffocated me. She made me something to eat even though I insisted I wasn’t hungry. She wouldn’t hear of it – apparently I was now eating for two. I did ask her about what I would say to Seán. When it actually dawned on me that I hadn’t told him I confessed I felt guilty that she was the first to know.

  “Rings around your nipples!” she said. “I knew before you did, you bloody eejit!”

  Good point. She was laughing.

  I’m such an idiot.

  * * *

  It was after seven when Seán eventually made it home. I was lying on the couch watching Blind Date, screaming for Number Two. He plonked down beside me, glad that I had recovered sufficiently to care who the slapper in the tiger print chose for her date in an amusement park in Scarborough. I felt a little nervous, but not as nervous as I should have. He grabbed the remote and switched channel.

  “Did you eat?” I asked without thought.

  “I grabbed something on the way home.”

  I concentrated on the TV. Madonna was singing about sex.

  He got up. “Do you want a beer?”

  “No,” I smiled.

  He left for the kitchen and I wondered when I was going to tell him. It’s hard to explain, but all the feelings that I would have expected to feel, like shock and fear, just weren’t there. I did care about his reaction, but something deep down inside couldn’t let me worry about it. It was definitely not in line with my usual behaviour and this alone should have caused alarm, but I was locked inside a weird place, a blissful place.

  He arrived back with a beer and sat down, putting my legs across his lap. He winked at me and I smiled.

  “I did a test today.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said while staring at the TV.

  A young blonde presenter was talking animatedly about the top-ten hits.

  “Yeah,” I said while silently admiring her boots.

  “What kind of test?” he asked, probably admiring her tits.

  “A pregnancy test.”

  He choked on his beer; foam was escaping from his mouth and rapidly making its way to his chin. His head flicked in my direction.

  “I’ve been feeling kind of crap lately.”

  “I know, and?” he responded. He didn’t appear alarmed or even that shocked, just inquisitive like possibly it could be a good thing.

  “Doreen said I should take the test.”

  He didn’t flinch. “And?” He really wasn’t one for beating around the bush.

  “And she was right.”

  “She was right?” he questioned and I could see excitement build in his eyes.

  “I’m pregnant,” I said and I couldn’t help smiling because I knew his face, I knew his eyes and I knew that he was happy.

  He put down his beer and he turned to face me. “Are you absolutely sure,” he asked and the fear in his voice was the good kind.

  “It was blue,” I said, my voice filled with sudden emotion. I started to cry but my tears were the happy kind.

  He cupped my face in his hands. “Are we going to have a baby?” he asked and I briefly thought about putting it in writing.

  “Well, I hope it’s not two,” I laughed.

  “I’m going to be a father,” he said and then he was crying and we were hugging. “I’m going to be a dad,” he repeated and then we both cried like babies, which was ironic considering that I had one living in my belly.

  A while later we went upstairs and carried out a second test just to be sure it was blue just like the first one and we sat together on the bathroom floor looking at this blue line and dreaming about all it meant. That night we lay together in one another’s arms making plans. We were definitely going to have to get a mortgage and that wouldn’t be a problem. We had steady jobs and a few quid put away. We decided not to tell anyone, at least not until I was three months gone and besides Clo was getting married and neither of us wanted to take from her limelight. Doreen could be trusted as long as we kept her away from everyone. A lot of people lost their first baby but neither of us was willing to think about that. We both wanted this baby. We hadn’t realised it, but now it was clear this was the best thing that could ever have happened. The joy I felt filled my once weakened heart and made it whole.

  Of course we thought about John, how could we not? I told Seán about the test I’d carried out the day that he died and for the first time I admitted to myself and to him how badly I had felt. But this was different. We were older and wiser. We were better prepared and stronger. It didn’t mean I didn’t love John. It just meant that I wasn’t ready then. I did feel bad, but then Seán squeezed me tight and the guilt melted away.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you too, Mammy,” he grinned.

  “OK, seriously, don’t call me Mammy,” I said. “I prefer Mom, Mum, Mam or even Ma.”

  Oh God, I’m so excited I need to pee.

  Chapter 23

  Love, Marriage and Baby in a Carriage

  It was 9:30 a.m. on the day that Clo was to marry. I was kneeling on the bathroom floor chucking my guts up. I wiped my mouth and cursed Seán and his healthy sperm. I was bridesmaid, which was distressing because my last fitting had been two weeks previously leaving the dress a little tight. My Wonderbra, having given up the ghost, remained in my underwear drawer and I briefly wondered if I could get away with big knickers. Unfortunately the fact that my dress was grafted on meant that big or even medium-sized knickers were an option I didn’t have. I fixed my hair, slapped on some make-up and waddled into the kitchen where Seán stoo
d, looking fabulous in a suit, making breakfast.

  Bastard.

  I had kept my word and not told anyone else about the baby and it had been harder than I could ever have imagined, especially since it appeared to all who knew me that I was merely gaining weight. I didn’t even look pregnant – instead I looked kind of podgy. Clodagh had returned the bridesmaids’ dresses afraid that Anne would continue to starve herself in a bid to fit into hers. She’d decided on a pattern and hired a dressmaker who was not oblivious to my ever-changing size, as the dress fittings acted like a kind of cruel monitor. While I was increasing in size Anne was decreasing and poor Clodagh and her hardworking dressmaker were getting quietly distressed. The dress was silk and a further insult to my burgeoning hips. I had briefly toyed with the notion of pulling out, but I quickly returned to my senses and instead resigned myself to the fact that I would have to carry out my duty, thick or thin.

  Now I pulled at my new silk skin and worried that breathing would become difficult after a feed. I pretended to smile.

  Seán laughed. “You look great.”

  “Shut up,” I moaned. “I look like a pig.”

  “I always had a thing for bacon.” He pretended to smell the air and although it was childish I couldn’t help but laugh along. Suddenly I felt hungry and he was so yummy I wanted desperately to strip him, jump him and wrestle him to the ground, which made me wonder if, under the circumstances, I was a tad weird.

  * * *

  The wedding service was going beautifully. Clo was stunning in white silk with dark skin, a long veil and a smile that lasted. Tom, originally nauseous, saw her and then relaxed. The vows were done. They went without a hitch. They lit the candle and the church didn’t burn down. When the singer was supposed to sing, she did and she did a fine job. Everything was going so well. I was standing on the altar beside the bride. It was hot, my dress was beginning to pinch, my feet hurt and my head was spinning. I really needed to sit down but the priest was a talker.

  Just keep it together for five more minutes. Don’t faint. Do not faint. Please do not faint.

  I was sweating and couldn’t work out what the priest was saying, but it must have been good because the crowd clapped. Clo and Tom began walking down the steps of the altar, the rest of the wedding party following. The photographer was snapping photos of the happy couple.

  Just walk down the steps, I told myself.

  Unfortunately my luck had run out. Just as the photographer shouted the word, “Cheese!” I crumpled only to wake up on my back looking up at the priest, bride, groom and Seán.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, attempting to get to my feet. “Church is hot,” I mumbled again. Seán was helping me up when the back of the dress split. The crowd remained silent as I was helped out the side door with a jacket wrapped around my waist. Air helped me but not the dress – there was no cure for the dress. Clo and Tom were fussing, but I begged them to go back to their wedding day.

  “I’m fine. I swear. I’m so sorry.”

  Clo just smiled. “You’re just a limelight hogger, Em.”

  I laughed and added sincerely that nothing could steal the limelight from her. She truly was stunning, the day was going great and I was a mere blip that should be ignored. She laughed at my embarrassment and agreed with Seán that it was best if I went straight to the hotel. Once inside our hotel room and with what was left of my dress off, I felt considerably better. I looked in the mirror and everything seemed to be a little bigger than it had been earlier that morning. I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining it. Seán was lying on the bed waiting for me to join him.

  “You need to lie down,” he kept saying.

  “Do I look heavy?” I asked.

  “No,” he almost snorted. “I told you, you look great.”

  I sighed.

  His smile turned to a frown. “Is that what this was about? Are you on some stupid diet? You know you can’t diet while pregnant.”

  I joined him on the bed. “No. Of course not – if I was on a diet I wouldn’t have eaten half a bucket of chicken, a large fries and a side order of onion rings last night, now would I?”

  He had to think about it for a moment before he agreed. He had taken off his shirt. The room was warm, his skin was hot and he looked hotter. I suddenly felt a lot better. I kissed him, he smiled and I kissed him again and untied his pants. His smile grew and suddenly I was on my back and my tits didn’t feel so sore anymore. He stopped to put on a condom and I wondered why, but then he was a creature of habit and I didn’t want to ruin the momentum. We’d moved and were up against the wall when the door opened and Anne and Richard were in the room. We didn’t notice until we heard Anne’s scream. Richard said a delicate, “Excuse us,” and he pushed her out the door. Fortunately for me, Seán acted as coverage which was a good thing. I would have died if Richard had seen my newly acquired wads. We heard the door close, looked at one another and burst out laughing. Seán briefly worried that Anne had seen his arse but when I reminded him that everyone had seen his arse when Ireland beat Italy in the ’94 World Cup, he relaxed. We got dressed. He was back into his suit. I got into a black knitted and blissfully stretchy dress.

  We met Richard and Anne in the lobby.

  “Feeling better then?” Anne asked brightly.

  “Yes, thanks,” I agreed, blushing.

  Richard and Seán grinned at one another and went to the bar. I ordered water. Anne ordered something stiffer.

  The bride and groom arrived shortly thereafter. I had missed the photos outside the church, but Clo didn’t mind. I apologised about the dress but she couldn’t have cared less. She was delirious and had the J-Lo glow. She was just glad that I was feeling better. Anne remained silent, which I remained very grateful for. The photographer beckoned us and we smiled for the camera, swapping places with the in-laws, outlaws, friends and neighbours until eventually our photo duties were completed and it was time to eat. Again I was grateful, as I was hungry enough to eat a Grand National winner. The food came and went. The speeches were hysterical. Tom’s brother Rupert actually managed to be warm, even a little funny, and I wondered if I had misjudged him in the hospital – after all he had been merely concerned about his brother undergoing surgery. Then he told a joke about women having no brains and I realised my gut feeling had been the correct one. Clo’s mother and her stepfather wore proud smiles as they laughed at the stories told about their daughter.

  * * *

  After the meal Anne, Clo and I went up to the bridal suite. Clo was putting on make-up. Anne was fixing her dress and I nipped into the loo for a quick puke. I turned on the taps so as to cover the sound but they were those sprinkler ones, a lot of power, very little sound. I threw up and then I threw up again and again and again. I could hear talking outside. I retched loudly and it stopped.

  “Em?”

  It was Clo.

  “Yeah?” I called out as brightly as possible.

  “Are you OK?”

  I started to say “Great” but it started with “Gre-” and ended in vomit.

  Anne was at the door. “Let us in!” she yelled dramatically.

  “It’s open,” I said with head in loo.

  They walked in, both with concerned looks on their faces.

  Clo appeared terrified. “Oh my God, did you have the mussels to start?”

  “Yeah, they were lovely,” I said from the bowl.

  “Oh Jesus! It’s food poisoning! Half the wedding ate the bloody mussels!” she cried out.

  I attempted to argue but my mouth was full. Clo looked like she was about to cry. Anne was quiet. I stopped vomiting.

  Oh, the relief!

  I was washing my face while adamantly denying the charge of food poisoning. The two girls were eyeing me carefully.

  “Emma, are you on drugs?” Clo asked seriously.

  I took time out from the sink to look at her in her face, just to ensure she wasn’t joking. “What?” I asked incredulously.

  “Well, one minut
e you’re fainting, the next it’s wanton sex and now you’re throwing up. You remember that one time I took coke? Exactly the same.”

  “I’m not on coke,” I said, embarrassed that Clo was now aware that I had forgone the church photos in favour of a shag against a hotel wall. “I was feeling better,” I added lamely.

  Clo thought about it for a split second. “Fair enough,” she nodded happily. “So it’s not coke and it’s not food poisoning.”

  I agreed it wasn’t either of those two things.

  “So when are you going to tell us you’re pregnant, Em?”

  I sighed, relieved. “Now,” I said weakly, not really sure whether to laugh or cry.

  “You’re pregnant!” Anne squealed.

  “I’m three months,” I admitted.

  Clo said, “Oh my God!” a lot before asking if I was sure.

  “Positive,” I replied. “I took a test.”

  Anne said that sometimes the test can be wrong, but seemed content when I said that I’d taken two, followed by a hospital visit, which had further confirmed my status. Anne asked if Seán knew and I confirmed that he did and that he was as happy as I was. Clo hugged me, but I pushed her away, terrified that some puke would find its way onto her dress. She laughed and Anne hugged me while dismissing my fears. I held her tight, comforted by her positive response.

  How many books have Anne and Richard read on pregnancy and how much effort is it taking them to get to a place Sean and I came to by accident?

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said selflessly and when she pulled back she was smiling genuinely, but it was hard to ignore the tears forming in the corner of each eye.

  Clo was jumping up and down. “I’m going to be an auntie!”

  Anne and I dared not argue. We finished making ourselves up and headed for the party.

  * * *

  Seán and I were on the dance-floor swaying to one of George Michael’s slow ones. He was holding me close and I could feel Anne’s stare burn through my back. She wanted me to admit I’d spilled the proverbial beans so that she could hug him and drag me into a corner so that we could talk about babies all night. I had begged them to keep their mouths shut. I knew this directive would be exceptionally difficult for Anne. Having said all that, Seán and I had agreed that we would tell our parents first and I had promised to hold my tongue until then. Then again I had promised Anne that I’d tell him that I’d told them on the way down from the rooms. It was getting a little complicated.