by Maria Duffy
Also by Maria Duffy
One Wish
The Letter
The Terrace
Any Dream Will Do
Falling Softly
In Search of Us
Copyright © 2015 by Maria Duffy
First published in 2015 by Hachette Books Ireland.
First Skyhorse Publishing edition 2018.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cover design and illustration by Brent Bates
Names: Duffy, Maria, author.
Title: A love like this: a novel / Maria Duffy.
Description: First Skyhorse edition. | New York: Skyhorse Publishing, 2018. Identifiers: LCCN 2018007365 (print) | LCCN 2018009657 (ebook) | ISBN 9781510733701 | ISBN 9781510733688 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781510733701 (ebook)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PR6104.U52836 (ebook) | LCC PR6104.U52836 L68 2018 (print) | DDC 823/.92--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018007365
Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt
Cover photo credit iStock
Printed in the United States of America
For Mam and Dad, with love
Contents
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Two
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Dublin Maternity Hospital
Acknowledgments
‘The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.’
Eleanor Roosevelt
Part One
Chapter 1
Dublin Maternity Hospital
13 August 1985
He was going to be a doctor, a lawyer, a scientist. He was going to find a cure for cancer, a solution to poverty; he was going to rule the world. Vivienne Cooper-Smith looked at her little five-hour-old bundle sleeping soundly in his cot and her head filled with ambition for him. Her own experience had proven that it was never too early to strive for your dreams and she was going to make sure William Cooper-Smith had every opportunity in life.
She lay back on her pillow and winced as the pain down below took her breath away. At thirty-four years old, Vivienne wasn’t a typical Irish mammy. She wasn’t a clucky, doting mother like most of the others in the ward. She didn’t embrace the notion of ‘You forget the pain as soon as you hold your baby in your arms’. In fact, the whole mammy thing didn’t come naturally to her and she’d balked at the idea of allowing the child near her breast. It’s best for baby, one nurse had told her. It’s totally natural, another had said, in a patronising tone that made Vivienne want to slap her. Who cared about natural? She couldn’t understand these women who wanted to be everything to their babies and have them stuck to their nipple twenty-four hours a day. It definitely wasn’t for her. She had a life.
Her eyes grew heavy and she began to doze until a hand on her arm jolted her awake.
‘How’s the pain, Mum? Would you like me to give you something for it?’
Vivienne resisted the urge to scream at the nurse that if she hadn’t woken her up, she wouldn’t need anything. And this ‘Mum’ business was driving her mad. Had she suddenly lost her identity? Was she going to be forever more known as ‘Mum’?
‘So what do you think? Will you take something?’
‘Yes, please. I’ll take whatever you have.’
‘Good girl. No need to suffer.’ The nurse, who looked like a child playing dress-up, peered into the cot as she handed over the drugs. ‘Ah, he’s a little dote. And looks like he’s a sleeper too.’
‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ said Vivienne, popping the two pills into her mouth. ‘And what time can I expect to get into the private wing? The nurse who brought me back here said it could take a while.’
The young nurse shifted uncomfortably and busied herself writing on a chart.
Vivienne’s heart sank. ‘I will get into a private ward, won’t I? I mean, I have ridiculously expensive health cover and there’s no way I can put up with the screaming babies in here.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t guarantee anything at the moment. The babies just keep coming and we’re full to the rafters.’
‘But I’ve paid to go private. I … I don’t understand.’ Vivienne felt a lump form in her throat and tears prick her eyes. The baby was starting to stir and all she really wanted to do was sleep.
The nurse did the head tilt – the one that said ‘I feel your pain but there’s nothing I can do about it’ – before patting her patronisingly on the arm and leaving the room as fast as her feet could take her.
Being her own boss, Vivienne was used to getting her own way, and the injustice of being left in a common public ward when she’d paid for private was almost too much to bear. But William was squirming in his cot now and, judging by the squelching sounds and accompanying aroma, she was going to have to face the inevitable nappy change. Pulling herself out to the side of the bed, she bent to check she had everything she needed before heading to the changing area.
Despite her mood, Vivienne’s heart melted when she lifted her tiny baby onto a changing mat. He was beautiful. They’d said he was a long baby but he was still the tiniest human being she’d ever seen. His whimpering stopped as soon as she opened his nappy and he managed to fill it a little more just as she was about to whip it away. She almost gagged at the sight of the thick black stuff and wondered, not for the first time, if she was cut out for all this. But it was just first-time mother nerves. She was sure of it. As soon as they were home, she’d manage William just as she managed everything else in her life – with confidence, skill and military precision.
Vivienne and her husband, George, had planned well for this baby. With George an underwriter for
a large insurance group and Vivienne a solicitor with her own business, neither was prepared to take any more time off than necessary. Luckily it had been a relatively easy pregnancy and Vivienne had been able to work right up until a week before the birth. The decision to have a child at all had been a difficult one. Vivienne had never really seen herself as a mother and it was only with a gentle nudge from George that she’d even considered the possibility. George had become estranged from his family a long time ago and had felt strongly about having a child of his own. But they’d agreed just one child and then they were done. They knew it wouldn’t be easy but they were confident that they could slot one child into their busy lives without too much disruption. And besides, it would stop the questions and pitying looks from people who assumed that they were having trouble conceiving.
William began to cry so she lifted him into his cot and headed back to the ward. There was no chance of her getting any sleep now. He’d have to be fed and then changed again. She wondered idly if the nurses took a more active role in the private wards. Maybe if she could get herself in there, they might take the baby to let her sleep for a while. It was only hours since he was born and she was already becoming obsessed with sleep. Her friends with children had warned her about that but she’d shook her head, saying that sleep was never a priority for her. But after a twelve-hour labour and a tough delivery, she was bound to be exhausted.
As she walked back into the room she noticed a group of the women sitting on one of the beds chatting. Some had left their sleeping babies in their cots, others had them clamped onto their boobs. Vivienne shuddered. From what she’d heard so far, most of these women were housewives – some with two or three children at home already. They obviously had no ambition – no drive. They probably wore their motherly role as a badge and stated it as their full-time job. She had no time for people like that. She kept her head down for fear of being asked to go and join them and busied herself getting a bottle ready for William.
Half an hour later, William was snoring softly in his cot and Vivienne was ready to take a well-earned nap. She felt smug as she listened to others trying to pacify their screaming babies. Hers had barely cried since he was born and hopefully it would stay that way. She didn’t have time for a difficult baby – it wasn’t in the plan.
‘Here, mind her while I slip outside for a ciggie.’
Vivienne looked up with a start to see a young girl wheeling her baby’s cot over beside William’s. ‘I … what do you mean?’
‘I’ll be back in a jiffy – a few minutes, max. She’s a bit unsettled but if she starts crying, just rock the cot a bit.’
Vivienne was speechless as she watched the back of the young girl disappear out the door. The bloody cheek! They weren’t in some sort of commune where responsibilities were shared. How dare that woman assume she was going to look after her baby. Well, she wasn’t having it. She swung her legs out of the bed. She was going to go and find a nurse and demand she be put into a private ward. She’d tell them she was a solicitor. Threaten them with legal action. That worked in most situations. But just as she stuck her feet into her slippers, a wail came from the baby girl’s cot. God, she had a pair of lungs on her. And now William was waking too. Tears pricked her eyes again and this time she let them flow. Jesus!
* * *
Catherine O’Neill wrapped her dressing gown tighter around herself as she took a long drag of a cigarette. God, she needed that. She could feel herself relaxing straight away and smiled as she thought of the face of the posh woman she’d left her baby with. She’d looked at her as though she was entirely mad. But Catherine didn’t care. In her world, you did what you had to do to survive, and having a cigarette seemed like the most important thing in the world at that moment.
She tapped her ash onto the ground and shifted on the wooden bench. Her nether region felt like it had been put through a cement mixer. It had been an awful birth – nothing like when her other daughter was born two years ago. This time they’d used a forceps and had to make a cut. Jesus, it was no wonder. The bloody baby was the size of a small elephant. Almost ten pounds. She shook her head at the memory of the distorted, cone-shaped head and fat red face they’d thrust upon her that morning. She knew that mothers usually thought their babies were beautiful no matter what, but she just thought that her daughter was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. But the nurse had said the head would go back to a normal size soon so that was something at least.
She sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. She probably should be getting back, but she wished she didn’t have to. It wasn’t that she found motherhood difficult. In fact she was quite good at it. But at twenty-one with a two-year-old, a newborn and a partner in prison, her life wasn’t turning out exactly the way she’d wanted it to. The first baby had been planned. She’d been in love with Del and they were going to be a happy family. And it had seemed to work out that way at first. But then she’d gotten pregnant a second time and everything had changed. It had been a mistake. With neither of them working and just living off social welfare payments, Del had decided that armed robbery was a good idea. So now he was gone down for a ten-year stretch and she wasn’t looking forward to bringing up two babies on her own. But life was shit sometimes so she’d just have to find a way to cope.
The sound of babies crying filled the air as she walked slowly back towards the ward. As she passed the nurses’ station, a middle-aged nurse was humming the tune to Madonna’s ‘Papa Don’t Preach’. That was it! Madonna. She’d call her baby Madonna – Donna for short. Donna O’Neill. It was perfect. She’d struggled with a name for the baby and her mother had said that maybe it was because, in the back of her mind, she didn’t want her. She was probably right. But now that her little girl had a name, maybe she could start to bond with her. She walked back into the ward with a little more spring in her step but stopped dead at the scene that met her.
Chapter 2
‘I just didn’t know what else to do,’ said a frazzled Vivienne. ‘They were both crying and I couldn’t pick them both up and I just thought … and anyway, you shouldn’t have left me with the two of them like that.’
Catherine grinned. ‘Relax, will you? How do you think people with twins do it? And I think they look really cute.’
Vivienne had to bite her tongue. She couldn’t get over the cheek of the other woman, leaving her baby like that. Within minutes the two babies had been screaming the place down so she’d resorted to sticking them both in the same cot. She had to admit, it did look pretty cute and it had miraculously quietened them down, but that wasn’t the point.
Catherine was still talking. ‘So they look pretty settled there. Maybe I’ll go and have a quick shower while all is quiet.’
‘No. You. Will. Not.’ Vivienne was incensed. She was aware of the stares of other mothers on the ward, but she didn’t care. ‘You can take your baby away with you. It’s hard enough to get used to one baby, let alone look after someone else’s.’
‘Ah, so you’re a newbie, are you? First baby?’
‘Well, yes. But I don’t see how that makes any—’
‘What’s his name?’
Vivienne sighed. She obviously wasn’t going to get through to this woman. ‘It’s William. After my husband’s father who died last year.’
‘Lovely. My girl is Donna – after the pop star, Madonna. And my two-year-old is Tina.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Vivienne sneered. ‘After Tina Turner.’
‘How did you know?’ She looked impressed. ‘I’m a big fan of pop music so it seemed like a good idea. I toyed with “Whitney” but, to be honest, I thought it sounded a bit common.’
Vivienne was about to respond when the other woman stuck out her hand.
‘We haven’t properly met yet. I’m Catherine O’Neill.’
‘Vivienne Cooper-Smith.’ She thought briefly about saying ‘nice to meet you’ but the truth was, it wasn’t. ‘Now would you mind taking your baby away – I need to feed my son.’
‘No problem, Vivienne Cooper-Smith. I’ll leave you to it.’ She picked up her daughter with the deftness of someone who knew what she was doing and returned to her bed.
Thank God it was almost visiting time. She’d get George to have a word with the nurses about a private room because if she had to put up with this for the next few days, she’d go insane. At least William was sleeping now. But in fairness, when she’d put the little baby girl down beside him earlier, he’d stopped crying straight away. She wasn’t saying she’d be repeating it, but it was worth bearing in mind.
* * *
‘Come on, William. Please just take the bottle.’ Vivienne was at her wits’ end. It was the middle of the night and she’d been trying to get her son to feed for the last half hour but he didn’t seem to want to latch on to the bottle. And yet, when she took it away he screamed the place down. She didn’t know what to do.
She looked around the ward at the other mothers all conked out, their exemplary babies fast asleep in their cots beside them. What on earth was she doing wrong? It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
Suddenly there was a whimper from another baby and Vivienne felt relieved. Someone else was going to have to get up and do a feed too. Catherine stirred in the bed beside her and she realised the noise had been coming from Donna’s cot. She hoped the woman wouldn’t be looking for a chat. It was the last thing she needed at the moment. But it seemed a chat was the last thing on Catherine’s mind too. She rolled over and deftly lifted Donna from her cot. Without any fuss, she opened her nightshirt and the baby latched on straight away. Vivienne watched in envy as Catherine closed her eyes and relaxed completely as her baby fed. It seemed like a much easier option but Vivienne just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t for her. No, she’d keep persevering with the bottles because once she was home, George would be taking the night feeds to allow her some well-earned sleep.
* * *
‘It’s great to get a bit of quiet time, isn’t it?’ said Catherine, dipping a biscuit into her tea. It was mid-morning and, miraculously, all the babies on the ward seemed to be sleeping. ‘I’d forgotten how hard it can be with no sleep.’