by Claire Allan
Beth and I were great as a working team. We were the best of friends, but we could never be housemates. We tried it once shortly after I’d moved to London – it didn’t work then and it sure as hell wasn’t going to work now.
Our pram, or travel system, could never look right in their minimalist lounge. It would clutter the place. The Chi and the Feng Shui would be fucked and there would be all hell to pay for it. Maggie’s baby blanket could never look right draped over the Italian leather sofa and my mess of auburn hair and colourful clothes would make me stand out like a sore thumb against their chic designer labels and sleek hairstyles.
I knew they genuinely wanted to help, but I didn’t want them to start resenting me. I had already gate-crashed so much of their lives over the last nine months – from the moment I called to tell Beth my period was late and she ordered me over to do a test – and I had to start proving to them and to myself that I could go it alone – well, with the help of Matilda, of course.
Chapter 6
Beth
Dan was quiet the whole way home. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. I didn’t know if he was quiet because he just didn’t know what to say to me, his hormonal madwoman of a wife, or because he had just promised Aoife he would help track down Jake.
Although they had grown up together and had been more like brothers than cousins, there was little chance of a Rolf Harris “Two Little Boys” type tearful reunion when they met again.
I once thought we were inseparable as a foursome. We were young, we weren’t ugly and we were doing pretty well for ourselves career-wise. We were like the brat pack in St Elmo’s Fire or the friends from Friends. We had it all and I’m not ashamed to say I was pretty smug about it. There was me, dating this up-and-coming lawyer, and my best friend and partner in business dating Jake Gibson, the next big thing in the music scene.
Of course, after a couple of years, things started to go wrong for our fantastic foursome. While Dan was doing well – really well – and Aoife and I were becoming more and more in demand, Jake was still the “next big thing” but now it was only in his own mind.
He kept gigging, kept trying for that break but it didn’t come. The more knock-backs he got the shittier he became to Aoife. Of course, she couldn’t see it. She adored him. He treated her like rubbish and she let him.
Dan tried to talk to him, many times. He tried to get him to get his act together. He even offered him an internship at the law firm, but Jake didn’t take it well. He accused Dan of being unsupportive and smug. And I tried to talk to Aoife, to show her she was worth more than that but she wouldn’t listen and when we started having screaming rows about it I learned it was better if I just stayed quiet and helped picked up the pieces each and every time he hurt her.
But neither Dan nor I could see what was going to happen next. We knew Jake wasn’t exactly reliable but we didn’t think he would leave Aoife in the lurch like that.
I remember the day she took the pregnancy test at our flat. I had a secret stash of tests in the bathroom cabinet, but I couldn’t tell Aoife that so I drove her to Tesco and she picked up a couple for herself. The thing is, I knew she was pregnant before she peed on the stick. I knew it because I knew fate had a very sick sense of humour. So as I sat and cried with her as the test turned positive, my tears were real – but for completely different reasons to hers.
Dan sighed as he pulled the car into our parking space and switched off the engine. He rested his hand on my knee – looking straight ahead – and said: “One day, Beth, we will buy one of those prams for our own baby, I promise.”
I blinked back tears, knowing that he was blinking back his own and we walked to the flat in silence. I’m not sure if it was because there was nothing to say, or simply too much.
Chapter 7
Aoife
I had been given the all-clear to go home just before noon. It had felt bizarre to get dressed. For some reason I hadn’t noticed how flabby my still-distended tummy was while it was hidden inside my pyjamas, but dressing in my old maternity clothes I felt like a busted cushion. I had neither shape nor style about me. The heat of the ward made me sweat, bucket-loads of perspiration coursing between my swollen breasts even though it was February and the rain was beating down outside.
When I tried to slip my feet into my shoes they were swollen and I had to shoe-horn them in. I may have been bruised, I may have been stitched and bloated, but I was not walking out of hospital in my slippers.
As we travelled down to the ground floor in the lift, eager eyes staring into the car seat at Maggie, cooing and congratulating, I felt myself wobble, both physically and emotionally.
I wanted to go back inside, to have the nurses come and help me if I needed them. I was not ready for this parenting malarky and once again I told myself it was not meant to be like this.
******
After Jake had left me, swaggering out of my flat with his T-shirt inside out, I had tried to win him back.
I became, I can admit with the fullness of time, a little psychotic over the whole thing. I bombarded him with phone calls and when he changed his number I started with letters and emails.
I wanted him to know that I was as shocked by the whole thing as he was and that I had reacted myself with the same anger and disbelief but that it would and could be okay and sure we hadn’t planned it, but that didn’t mean a baby would have to be a bad thing.
He didn’t reply. I would have handled the whole thing better if he had repeatedly told me to feck off, but he didn’t. He just ignored me and that allowed me to tell my pregnancy-addled, hormone-riddled brain that perhaps he never got the thirty-six letters or forty-nine emails and that his phone must have a fault. Eventually, after I sobbed like a madwoman all over Janice Grayson’s new nursery, Beth sat me down on the luxury rocker and told me that I needed to let go. I needed to realise he didn’t want me or our baby. I nodded, agreed – I mean I hadn’t really wanted our baby myself. So I decided that I had to change my tactics. He might not want us then, but surely that would change when his child was born?
*****
Dan had carried Maggie in her new Bugaboo car seat over the threshold into Instant Karma. As I followed I wanted to close the door to the shop behind me, lie down on the daybed and stay there until my heart and body were healed.
Matilda stood on guard, that Mona Lisa smile on her lips, staring down at me and my child as we walked past. “It will be all right,” she seemed to whisper as I climbed the stairs and I wanted to believe her.
Having settled myself onto my sofa I held Maggie in my arms while Dan made us all tea.
“I’ve put the crib by your bed,” Beth soothed and I wondered when I had got a crib. Pointing to a box on the floor she added that it contained nappies, creams, burp clothes, wipes and dummies. “We got you a baby bath too, on our Parent World account – I felt it was time we treated ourselves for a change. They said just to ring with whatever else you might need.”
Do Parent World sell fathers? I wondered.
Dan appeared with tea and chocolate biscuits and we sat down staring at each other, a glorious whiff of “What now?” in the air. I nibbled my biscuit, cautious of spilling crumbs onto Maggie’s head and wondered would it be too crazy to ask if Sarah had come up with the goods about Jake yet?
“Right,” Beth said, taking a gulp of her tea. “This is what is going to happen. Heather is going to help out with the shop until you are ready to come back. If you don’t mind, I’ll pop in and consult with you but you can spend all the time you need with Maggie.”
I nodded. I didn’t know why Beth was telling me this. We had arranged this long before I’d gone into labour, but I liked her reassurance that some things were going to remain the same – Heather part-time in the shop, Beth and I sitting together dreaming up colour schemes and grand designs.
“You look tired,” she said.
Again I nodded. I seemed, through exhaustion or whatever,
to have lost the power of speech.
“Go to bed, sweetie. I’ll look after this little one. Dan has to get back to work and I’ve no intention of opening up at this time of the day.”
Gratefully I stood up and made my way into my bedroom. It had always been my sanctuary. I lay down on my bed, fully dressed, not even finding the energy to move the ten cushions I insisted had to live on top of my bedspread and fell into a deep sleep.
When I woke I could hear Beth singing softly to Maggie and the sound of her footsteps as she walked back and forth across the living-room floor. It was dark and cool as I went out and interrupted their moment – reaching my arms out for my child.
There were tears in Beth’s eyes. “She’s perfect, Aoife, I hope you realise that.”
“I do.”
****
Babies don’t do an awful lot. Beth had left at around eight and I had started to realise just how strange this motherhood thing was. Yes, Maggie needed feeding, and changing and burping but she didn’t actually “do” anything all that entertaining.
Our life was a constant routine of feed, sleep, feed, burp, poop (her not me), feed, sleep, and cry (me not her).
I dialled Jake’s number – the old number, the one he hadn’t answered in six months – but of course there was no answer. Then I called Heather and left a message on her answerphone to remind her to bring some milk when she arrived for work in the morning and then I crawled back to bed, leaving the light on and being scared to sleep properly in case I wouldn’t hear Maggie when she cried even though she was in the same room as me.
We lay there, dozing and waking until dawn when I could at least make a decent effort to get my life back together.
*****
It was still dark when I gave up the ghost and got up. Delicate fairy lights hung around the two sash windows in my bedroom and I switched them on and allowed them to twinkle softly. I was physically exhausted but my mind didn’t want to switch off. Maggie was still asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling. Her arms were above her head, her hands two perfect fists. I knew I was supposed to sleep when she slept – even with my limited knowledge of parenthood I knew they advised that – but I couldn’t and that added to the pressure. The not knowing when she would wake, or what she would want, seemed to switch on my “awake” button. Someone really should have made an instruction manual for early motherhood.
I made myself a cup of milky tea and poured the remainder of the chocolate biscuits from yesterday onto a plate before diving back under my duvet. Who cared that it was 6 a.m.? I had just created life – I was entitled to a chocolate biscuit or two. I switched the TV on, listening to the quiet hum of the morning news programme and I lifted my laptop onto my knee. It was time to take some action – of course in hindsight I know that less than forty-eight hours after giving birth with about ten hours’ sleep was not the best time for taking any kind of action.
Clicking into my email I saw a message from Jacqueline – of course I already knew what it was going to say.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Guess What?
Hi Aoife,
I’m hoping to get you before your mum does. I’ve been trying your phone but it’s always off or just rings out. The life of a single girl, eh? Not that I would swap what I have for the world.
Anyway, thought you should know you are going to be an auntie again. I thought maybe you could think about a few new ideas for the nursery as a present for the baby.
There is a nice nursery in Homes and Gardens this month (March edition). Have a little look and let me know what you think?
Jacqueline
It wasn’t so much that Jacqueline was annoying. It was that she was exceptionally annoying. She assumed that her nursery would be created for her – gratis. And she would expect all the fittings at cost too. Her first child, a chubby little thing called Odhran was a lovely child but spoiled rotten. I was pretty sure this second baby was heading for the same fate.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jacqueline would have a ball with my news. She would become my mother’s confidante in her hour of need and yet I knew that the time was coming when I would have to break the news and allow them their little happy dance at my failure.
I did what I always do in times of extreme crises – emailed Auntie Anna. She would know what to do. She always had before. When I’d stormed out of the house in a teenage rage she had been my refuge. Surely she would be there for me now?
I should have told her before now. I realised that. Anna would have been fine with this. She was one of those cool aunties who bought you the odd drink and allowed you to swear. Having a baby out of wedlock would have been wee buns to her.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Help!
Hi Anna,
Hope all is well with you. Sorry to do an Aoife and land a bombshell on you but I have some news. I hope you will okay be with this because the thing is, I have no one else to turn to.
I have kind of found myself in the family way – except, and I could die for telling you this – she is already here.
I gave birth two days ago to Maggie McLaughlin, the most perfect little baby you could ever hope to lay your eyes on.
I know your jaw has probably hit the floor by now, but I didn’t mean to keep her a secret. It just kind of happened. I’m not sure how to handle it.
Please, please, please don’t tell Joe or Mum. I know that is asking a lot but you know they will only go off their heads.
Hugs to you,
Sorry for telling you by email,
Aoife
x I sat and stared at the words before me for what seemed like forever. Would I be wise to send this email? It would mean Maggie wouldn’t be my dirty little secret any more and yet I just wasn’t sure I was ready for the inevitable shockwaves this little gem of information would send through my life.
My fingers hovered between the delete button and the return key and then, as my daughter woke – her mewling cry calling for my attention – I did what I had to do.
In precisely two hours and six minutes my auntie would switch on her computer over her morning cup of tea and find out all about Maggie.
*****
The walls crowded in around me and as much as I loved my flat I knew I had to keep myself busy or drive myself to distraction. When Maggie was fed and changed and sleeping again I showered, each drop of water pounding against my skin in time with the thudding of my heart, making me wonder what I had let myself in for.
I dressed, my body hardly recognisable from the size 10 figure it had once been, and sore from the physical exertion not only of childbirth but of pregnancy. Nonetheless I found a pair of baggy trousers and a cream woollen jumper to slip on before ramming my still fat feet into a pair of loafers.
It was eight seventeen. I needed to get out.
I dressed my daughter in her snowsuit and we made our way downstairs to where the Bugaboo thingummy was waiting. It was raining outside, grey and cold on this February morning and Matilda gave me a look which let me know she was unhappy with my plans to take my child out into this rotten day.
“I won’t be long,” I muttered and pushed the pram (sorry, travel system) out of the little side door and through the lane into the main street. It seemed like London was waking up and cars were starting to crawl along the road, sleepy drivers with blurry eyes at the wheel.
Walking slowly I breathed in the damp morning air and made my way to Morelli’s Home Bakery for a coffee and cream cake.
“Ooooh, you’ve had the bambino!” Mrs Morelli squealed, squeezing her ample frame out from behind the counter for a peek. Her doughy hands reached into the pram and she traced a small sign of the cross on Maggie’s forehead. “Bella, bella bambina!” she said, pulling me into a vice-like grip of a hug.
“Her name is Maggie,” I offered when I freed myself, lifting
my daughter from where she was sleeping soundly and offering her to the jolly woman who smothered her in kisses.
“Eeva,” she mispronounced my name, “she is an angel sent from God. You must be so very proud.”
I nodded.
“And your parents? Are they coming to see her? I bet they are booking flights right now!”
“Maybe,” I muttered, taking Maggie back in my arms and sitting down, grimacing slightly as my bruised bits hit the hard wooden chair.
A look of confusion flashed across her face. “I’m sure they will love her,” she said sagely before offering me a latte on the house with whatever cake took my fancy.
“Better make it a decaf,” I said as she bustled back behind the counter. I looked at the clock, it was eight fifty-five. In fifteen minutes Anna would open her email. My stomach tied itself in knots. Kissing Maggie’s head I put her back in her carrycot and took the cup of warm coffee from Mrs Morelli.
She sat down opposite me. “Eeva, you know that if you need anything for you or your bambina then you can come to me, okay?” I nodded, a grateful tear sliding down my cheek and slap bang onto my vanilla square.
“Darling, don’t cry,” Mrs Morelli said, rubbing my hand. Her own hands – so soft, so warm and motherly made me cry harder. I may not have liked my mum all that much but I so wanted her here now, with her soft hands that smelled of Palmolive soap. “If your daughter had a baby and didn’t tell you, would you forgive her?” I asked.
Her eyes widened – only a minute amount – and then she composed herself again. “I would forgive my daughter the world,” she answered. “Wouldn’t you forgive Maggie if she did the same?” I looked at my innocent child, asleep, her perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth pursed in a quiet dream and, yes, I realised I would forgive her.