He’s going to kill me.
So there we were, dancing at a wedding, ironically to George Michael. Seán smiled at me. I wondered how long his smile would last. I really needed to pee.
I’ll tell him after I pee.
Anne and Richard were now dancing beside us. She caught my eye and mouthed: “Tell him.” I wondered if my bladder would hold. “Spit it out,” she mumbled as they circled us. It was a lot of pressure on both bladder and mind. This song was like that New Year’s Eve cigarette – never-ending.
“Seán,” I said.
He bowed his ear to my mouth.
“I told Anne and Clo about the baby,” I whispered nervously.
He cautiously nodded his head.
“I know we said we’d wait but I’ve got the all clear and –”
“I told Richard and Tom,” he sniffed, spinning me around.
I absorbed this information. “You asshole!”
“What?” he asked innocently.
“I was in bits. I thought that I’d broken this big pact.”
“Well, you did – it just so happens that so did I.”
He was grinning the way he did when he was pleased with himself. And suddenly it was real. I was pregnant, two pairs of shoes for three people. Of course it had been real when I was puking, getting fat and crying for no reason, but now Clo and Anne knew so it was really real. I wasn’t crying but a tear managed to creep down my face and drop to the floor.
“I’m really happy,” I told his feet.
He pulled my face up to meet his. “Me too.”
Our noses met and at such close proximity his eyes appeared to dance. Of course it could have had something to do with the strobe lighting. I gave Anne the thumbs-up and she and Richard descended, closely followed by the bride and groom. We were all hugging and kissing and patting each other on the back and my once broken heart felt mended and full.
* * *
I recognised the garden bursting with exotic flowers emitting from the green soft sand. The burning bush still glowed in the distance and, no longer unsure of where I was or what I was doing, I headed purposefully towards the purple sun dangling above a spidery tree. While climbing the hill I smoothed my skirt and fixed my hair, all the while my eyes fixed firmly upon the purple spinning sun. The hill straightened out as I approached the flowering tree on which the blue poppies danced on cherry-pink branches. Once again an unseen mighty hand threw the purple sun my way. I bounced it and threw it back.
John caught it and smiled. “You’re back,” he said while throwing the sun over his shoulder.
We hugged.
“I needed to see you,” I said as though visiting the dead was normal.
“I’m intrigued.” He sat down under the tree and I joined him, squinting at the light show in the sky.
“Clo got married today.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded.
“The 14th of July 1989 she swore she’d never marry,” he said.
“What’s your point?” I grinned.
“She owes me twenty quid.” He laughed and I gave him a dig.
“She’s really happy. Tom, that’s her husband. He’s a laugh. You would have liked him.”
“Good,” he said and I noticed he was sitting still and staring like Gandhi.
“I still love you,” I reminded him.
“You always will,” he reminded me. I wasn’t ready to tell him about the baby.
“So did you send me down the lane that night to get my head kicked in?”
“I can’t take the credit for that, Xena.” He grinned. “But I bet it made good TV.”
I gave him another dig. We sat in silence while I absorbed some courage.
“You were right,” I said, trying my best to have him face me.
“Oh yeah?” he said, seeming a million miles away.
“Last time, when you said I was falling in love. You were right.” The words out, I bowed my head, no longer wishing to see the colour of his eyes.
“I’m glad.”
“Glad,” I repeated, disgusted. “What kind of a word is ‘glad’?”
He wasn’t following.
“Glad is a Pollyanna word,” I said. “It’s a fifties R-rated movie word, isn’t it?”
“You want another word?” he asked, grinning.
“No, you’re alright,” I admitted, finished with my tiny tirade.
“He loves you as much as I did,” he said, nodding to himself.
Wow! I thought. Of course he didn’t need me to fill him in. He’d known all along.
“So how much is that then?” I ventured but he just laughed me off.
“You want to walk?” he asked and a yellow pathway opened up in front of us.
“No,” I said. Even asleep and dreaming I was exhausted. I had one more thing to say. “So there’s no need to tell you that I’m pregnant then?”
He shook his head. “No need at all.”
“So are you glad?” I asked in my best sarcastic voice.
He nodded, laughing. “Very.”
Suddenly we were walking away from the tree and upon the yellow path despite my weary legs.
“The Wizard of Oz,” I said, smiling at the yellow bricks beneath me and at the memory of Judy Garland in her beautiful ruby slippers.
John stopped and looked at me seriously. “Do you want ruby slippers?” he asked like a father would of a spoilt child.
“No, it would be too much,” I whispered sheepishly.
He was laughing again and seeing his wide smile and big eyes reminded me of how we used to be.
Suddenly there was nothing but a doorway.
“Time for you to go,” he said and I panicked a little.
“No,” I complained. “I just got here.”
But it was too late. I was awake in my own bed. Seán was passed out beside me with Leonard asleep curled around his head.
Yellow brick road, I thought. Christ, who knew I was such a bloody sap?
* * *
We were to break the news to my parents the next day and, although I was a grown woman in a strong relationship, I have to admit I was a little scared. After all there was the issue of marriage. Seán was great, mostly because he was now a resident of Cloud Nine and didn’t give a toss what other mere earth-dwelling mortals thought of our situation or indeed us. He was going to be a dad and already he had decided that he was going to be the best dad in the world. We were in the car driving towards my parents’ house and I was biting my nails.
“Stop biting your nails,” he said without taking his eyes from the road.
“I’m not,” I denied.
“It’s going to be fine. I bet your dad cries.” He grinned.
“I hope not,” I said, playing with my hands.
“I bet it’s a girl,” he said, turning the corner onto our road.
I smiled and then I saw our house and I felt sick. He passed me the sick bag.
“Thanks,” I managed, grey and attempting to imbue myself with a sense of steely determination. It wasn’t working.
He parked the car outside the house.
“Are you ready?” he smiled, seeming bizarrely excited.
“No,” I said, getting out.
“Right then.”
I rang the doorbell, forgetting I had a key. My mother answered the door, instantly recognising I hadn’t used my key and worrying about the implications.
“Hi,” I said as breezily as the situation would allow.
“Hi, yourself.” She eyed us suspiciously.
Seán waved from behind me, grinning like a clown on acid.
“What?” she said, still holding the door.
“Can we come in?” Seán’s voice asked from behind me.
She let us in. We followed her to the kitchen.
“OK,” she announced.
“I’m pregnant.” I smiled hopefully, not wishing to drag the matter out. She sat down and remained silent.
Oh crap, we’re for it!
�
�Are you OK?” Seán asked her, while automatically reaching for a glass of water.
She lifted her head and she was smiling.
“Well, I would have liked a wedding first but then again your brother did give himself to God so I suppose it all balances up.”
“So you’re OK with this?”
“I’m fine with it,” she said, taking me in her arms before crying. My father reacted pretty much the same way, although Seán lost ten quid because he didn’t actually cry.
* * *
Seán’s own father was a breeze. He was an easygoing man. I suppose he had to be – his wife had walked out on him when Seán was a kid and he was left to bring up Seán and his younger brother James. He was proud and he shared a cigar with his first-born.
“I knew you had it in you, son,” he said proudly.
I rang Noel. He was in New York completing some sort of aid-worker induction course. Seán insisted upon being put on speakerphone.
“So when are you two going to tie the knot?” Noel asked after the preliminary congratulating was completed.
I hadn’t thought about it.
“Whenever,” Seán piped up.
“Whenever?” Noel questioned.
I remained silent, as we had never discussed marriage.
“OK,” Noel said thoughtfully. “But you are going to get married, right?”
“Of course,” Seán said breezily.
I smiled.
Oh, OK. Baby, marriage, this is fine. I’m not having difficulty breathing. Groovy.
Noel was excited and already making plans for the service.
“I could be anywhere in the world,” he said. “But I’ll be back. You just give me a date and I’ll be there,” he promised.
* * *
Yeah, it was all great back then of course – that’s before I got really heavy and swollen. Later, Seán and I lay in bed daydreaming about what our child would look like and thinking up exotic and pretty, but rubbish, names. We laughed and he stroked my tummy, which was really beginning to thicken, reminding me of a rotund basketball player in third year who had attempted to bully me once. Clo had drop-kicked her and she steered clear after that. I smiled while I lay there wondering if she’d ever lost the puppy fat that I was now gaining.
* * *
Two months later I was very fat and my clothes were straining under the pressure. Clo and Anne took me shopping for maternity wear. We went from shop to shop to shop and through endless rails of sailor suits and flower-filled frilly dresses that emphasised every lump and growing bump. I was sinking into a depression and, although Anne remained upbeat, Clo was sharing my devastation.
“I’m never getting pregnant,” she muttered when I exited the dressing-room in a fuchsia-pink top and trousers that were tight up top yet ballooned around the thighs.
“You look fine,” Anne said while attempting to give Clo a furtive dirty look.
I was beside myself. “I’m ugly, ugly, ugly,” I repeated, returning to the dressing-room to strip off the vile concoction. It seemed to take me forever to find the strength to remove the garment. I was so tired all the time. I’d expected pregnancy to be difficult but this kind of exhaustion was beyond my wildest expectations.
“Are you OK?” came Clodagh’s query but it was her knocking that woke me.
“I’m fine,” I said, struggling to come to terms with how I managed to fall asleep with one arm out of the God-awful fuchsia-pink top and one arm in.
Later in the coffee shop Clodagh was rambling on about the state of maternity fashion and daydreaming about designing some functional yet attractive clothing, despite not having a clue about it. I looked at Anne and smiled, always conscious that my growing stomach was a constant reminder of her failure to get pregnant.
“Are you OK?”
She nodded. “I’m fine, Em. Actually I have some news of my own.”
I braced myself. I hated when people had news as it usually meant change and that usually upset me. Clodagh was all ears.
“Richard and I are going for IVF,” she said.
“IVF?” Clodagh repeated, unsure.
“His sperm count is low. It looks like we’ll never get pregnant the obvious way, so instead we’re going for insemination.”
My face fell.
Clodagh leaned in. “Are we talking about a test tube?” she asked conspiratorially.
Anne sighed. “No.”
“What then?” Clo asked fascinated.
“Richard provides a sperm sample and if it’s good quality the doctor inserts it through some sort of catheter. It’s not sore or anything, maybe a little uncomfortable.”
“Wow. How long before you know if it’s taken?” I asked.
“The same amount of time as it takes anyone else. I miss a period – I take a test.”
“Exciting,” Clo said. “Just think this time next year you both could be mothers.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not counting my chickens yet. It might not work.”
“Don’t be so negative. You’ve got to be positive to be positive,” Clo said laughing at herself.
“You really are a bloody moron,” Anne laughed.
“Seriously, what are your chances?” Clo asked.
“Who knows?” Anne answered with her hands in the air.
Clodagh nudged her. “So is the doctor cute?”
Anne laughed. “Old and fat. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know.”
“You know we’ll be there for you, right?” I asked.
“I know,” she smiled.
“You, Richard, the doctor and the turkey baster.”
She smiled and we laughed together. What else could we do?
Chapter 24
In the Name of the Father
It was a Saturday and feeling unusually sprightly I decided upon going into town to look for baby clothes. I had no intention of buying, as my mother and Doreen had been adamant when advising that buying for a baby not yet born would bring untold bad luck. Although not usually superstitious, I wasn’t about to take any chances and they had both agreed that there was no harm in looking. I looked through rails of little dresses, pink and yellow tops, little blue shorts and jumpers with every kind of zoo animal imprint. I looked at runners, shoes, sandals, all tiny and cute, little gloves, little hats, little vests and socks that were so small I had trouble fitting my thumb into them. I’ll admit that although I didn’t know whether I was having a boy or a girl, I did spend most of my time in the girls’ section. This was mainly due to the fact that everything was so pretty and my recent discovery that I had a weakness for all things pretty.
I eventually pried myself away from pink and proceeded towards the blue section when I saw a familiar face going through a rail of boys’ trousers. I couldn’t quite place the face, wondering if it was the face of a parent I should be avoiding. She didn’t notice me as she was too engrossed measuring the size of trousers against her child who was struggling to get out of his buggy. I continued viewing little shirts hoping that the woman would give me as wide a berth as I was giving her.
She was at the counter paying for her shopping when the little boy turned his head and faced me. I inhaled audibly and the woman next to me, noticing my condition and possibly my pallid colour, politely asked if I was OK. I quickly said I was, but I was lying.
The child was Noel – he had his eyes, his face, his curly hair – and the woman was the woman I had met in the bar two years previously. It was Laura, Noel’s lover. I was rooted to the spot rather like a beached whale waiting to be shifted. She looked up as she was leaving and saw me. Our eyes met and when indifference turned to terror I knew that she had recognised me. She almost ran to the door and before I knew it I was following her and calling her name. She stopped halfway down the shopping-centre mall. She didn’t turn; instead she just stood there waiting for me to catch up. When I did I could see that she wore the same red face that I myself often did. She was rocking the buggy and looking straight ahead as though she was in front of an invi
sible firing squad. We both knew the game was up, but unfortunately neither one of us knew where to go from there.
Noel’s child was restless, wondering why he was being pushed back and forth rather than travelling to a new and more interesting destination. We stood together side by side for only a few seconds, but they lasted three lifetimes.
Eventually I uttered her name. “Laura.”
“Emma.”
“I think we should go for coffee,” I said.
“Look, Emma, we really don’t have anything to say,” she mumbled.
“I think we do,” I pushed, knowing by the tone of her previous statement that deep down she agreed.
* * *
Later in the coffee shop her son, my nephew, relaxed in his pram but we adults were like little bombs about to explode with information overload. We ordered coffees and sat.
“What’s his name?” I asked, looking at my nephew.
“Noel,” she said, sighing and possibly berating herself for being such a sap as to call her son after the man who’d abandoned her.
“He’s beautiful,” I said, meaning it. Noel was a handsome man and his son was adorable.
“Thank you,” she responded, although I doubt the compliment meant much in light of the situation she had found herself in.
“Does Noel know?” I asked.
“No,” she said simply.
“Why not?” I had to ask.
“Are you going to tell him?” she asked, not afraid of getting to the point.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” My mind was in a daze. “Why haven’t you told him?” I ventured again, hoping for an answer.
Tears filled her eyes and threatened to trickle down her pink-stained face. My heart bled for her. Maybe it was because I was pregnant and hormonal, or that she was a mother and soon I would be one too. Either way, when I saw her cry any brewing animosity dissipated. I squeezed her hand and it acted like a tear-release. The tears poured and I waited until they too dissipated. Noel Junior was too busy eating a carrot stick to notice his mother’s anguish. She explained that she had only found out about the pregnancy after Noel had decided to end the relationship. She had often thought about telling him, but decided that he had picked the Church over her, knowing that he loved her and knowing that he felt he had no choice but to follow a path that would never include her or their child. She had felt it cruel to further complicate his life, having borne witness to the many nights of suffering and torment that he had endured during their affair. She was happy to have been given a child as, at the age of thirty-eight, time had been running out. She had always wanted to be a mother and had long ago reasoned that if God had to take away her lover maybe he had compensated her with their child. I wasn’t so sure and although it was evident that she loved Noel and felt she was doing the best for all concerned, I couldn’t hide from the fact that my brother had a child and, if I knew, how could I keep it from him? And although her argument was a convincing one, despite any pain it would bring, didn’t he have a right to know?
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