by Claire Allan
“No, I said I never said the words. That is completely different – and anyway, there is more to life than love, isn’t there?”
No, I thought, looking at Dan’s stricken face, there isn’t.
Chapter 34
Aoife
My phone rang at 3 a.m., just as Maggie was settling back down to sleep after her feed. The ringing woke her and she was as unimpressed as I was. But much as I would like to be the kind of person who can ignore a ringing phone, I have always been too nosey not to answer. Even though it was most likely to be some drunken eejit looking for their girlfriend or boyfriend, there was a wee part of me that instantly was convinced it would be a call from home telling me someone was dead or dying. Soothing an irate Maggie on my shoulder, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Aoifs. It’s Jake. I’m outside, can you let me in?”
I knew instantly he was drunk. Maggie’s crying stepped up a decibel and I rocked her gently. Looking down at myself, I realised I was in a right state. I was tired, wearing my old maternity PJs which now sagged unattractively at the stomach. My hair was greased back off my face and my daughter – our daughter – was screaming her lungs out and, oh yes, pulling her knees up to her tiny belly letting me know that an almighty rumble was not far away.
“Aoifs!” he called again.
I felt myself well up. I wanted this meeting to be on my terms. I wanted the upper hand for once but if I didn’t let him in now, maybe I would have lost my chance.
I opened a crack of the window and shouted to him that I would be down in a minute. He looked up, bleary-eyed, and unsteady on his feet.
“She’s got a great set of lungs, doesn’t she?” he shouted. “Takes after her old man!”
A part of me really hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
I walked down the stairs, the rhythmic movement settling Maggie into an uneasy slumber, and opened the door.
He was leaning against a lamppost, staring at his shoes. And then he looked up. He was almost beatific – his deep blue eyes, his stubbly face and his smooth head.
His full lips – oh, how I loved those full lips! – parted and he said: “Let me in, Aoifs. I’m dying for a slash.”
He followed me up the stairs and for the first time since knowing Jake I was uncomfortable with him walking behind me, getting a good look at my post-baby butt and that made me walk all the faster.
“You know where the bathroom is,” I said as he darted down the hall.
Shaking with nerves, I placed our daughter back in her Moses basket in the bedroom and sat on the sofa waiting for him to come back.
“Thanks for that, Aoifs,” he said, sitting down and stretching out on the sofa. “I was bursting.”
I nodded. “So?”
“Buttons,” he replied, and fell about laughing as if it were the funniest joke in the world.
I should have known I would get no sense out of him – not in that state anyway. But I persisted for a good twenty minutes before I gave up.
“You wanted to talk,” I said.
“Yes, but you know, Aoifs, I’m shattered. Can’t we talk in the morning?”
My heart sank further. In fact I started to worry it was going to sink right through my feet and land splattered on the daybed in the shop below.
“I’ll call you a taxi,” I said, reaching for the phone.
“Well, I was kind of thinking I could sleep here,” he slurred.
His eyes stared at me, pleading with me to let him into my life again, and even though I wanted him to leave, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
I lifted a throw and tossed it in his direction and then I walked out of the room, head held high, before crawling into bed and crying myself to sleep.
I woke at six to feed Maggie and he was still sleeping, snoring heavily. I woke again at eight and he was still sleeping. I fed Maggie, showered and dressed and still he slept. I felt like a caged lion, unable to do whatever I wanted or needed. It was Saturday. The shop was closed. Beth wasn’t going to come and force open the shutters and climb up the stairs to me for a natter. I was here with my own thoughts. The flat suddenly seemed stifling. Looking out the window, I saw the sun sitting over the roofs across the street. It was going to be a gorgeous day, one of the brisk and sunny March days which signal the end of winter. I wrapped Maggie in a blanket and went downstairs. I let myself out into the musty old yard at the back of the shop. In the warmer weather Beth and I would sit on the wrought-iron fire escape and drink wine, ignoring the concrete around us. I pulled a cushion from the shop and set it on the stairs before sitting down with my daughter in my arms.
I glanced at my watch: it was gone ten. Still a wee bit too early to call Beth on a weekend. She and Dan usually spent the morning in bed before she went out to see clients in the afternoon. Given everything I’d uncovered this week, I certainly did not want to be the person to put demands on their couple time.
I had barely slept. My dreams had been filled with memories of Jake and our courtship. And no matter what lovely moment I’d recalled, the dreams always turned back to that moment when he turned and walked out on me just as I told him he was going to be a father.
And yet it had been a tonic to see him. It felt good to be in the same flat, the same room as him. Good and comfortable. I wished, for just a second, that I could turn back the clock just for one day to have that time with him again. I didn’t want to wish Maggie away. I just wanted a taste of my old uncomplicated life for just one day. Just one lazy morning shag. Just one afternoon in the pub, lost in each other. Just one night watching him sing, listening to his voice and knowing it was for me.
But looking at my girl, of course that wasn’t going to happen. I had to make the most of what I did have. I hugged her close to me, singing “Twinkle Twinkle” to her and rocking slowly back and forward. Being with Jake felt comfortable but this, this gorgeous closeness, felt natural. I didn’t need to play games with my daughter. I was me and me was good enough. She couldn’t talk yet, but I knew if she could she would tell me she loved me. And I wouldn’t have to earn that love, it was there in spades.
I sat there for a short time, until it got a little chilly and I got tired of the view. There was only so much staring at concrete you could do with a month-old baby on your knee and only so many verses of “Twinkle Twinkle” you could sing. I made a mental note to learn more nursery rhymes. Surely there was a class, or a book or an online resource I could use. I snorted to myself – of course – there was always Beth’s online resource. I’m sure those motherly types knew every nursery rhyme going. There was, I knew, no point in asking my mother. She didn’t do nursery rhymes. They were “twee and juvenile”.
Walking back to the flat, the first thing I noticed was the absence of snoring. The second was the smell of stale beer. The third thing I noticed was Jake pulling on his trousers and buckling his belt. It was all too familiar.
“You wanted to talk,” I started, a feeling of panic rising.
“I do,” he said, sleepy and sexy, “but I have to be somewhere. You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late . . .”
“I thought you needed it. You were out of it last night.”
“Look, I’ll come back later and we’ll talk. Promise.”
And he was gone. And it was only then that it dawned on me he hadn’t even looked at the baby in my arms.
*****
“Don’t let the fucker hurt you, sweetheart.”
You’ve got to love Auntie Anna. Always to the point. Her first reaction to my news that Jake had stayed over (on the sofa) and would be returning later, was to let rip a series of expletives so vitriolic she would need to spend a month in confession for it.
“I won’t, Anna. I’m stronger now,” I said with conviction, although in my head I wondered what exactly he wanted to talk about. Could he have come to his senses? Yes, well, I knew he hadn’t looked at Maggie as he left but he probably didn’t want to have that grand meeting with her
when he was rushing out the door to something. He would want to do it right – savour the moment. I made a mental note to dress her in the gorgeous wee romper from Next I’d picked up in Derry for his return visit.
“Aoife, are you there?”
“Sorry. I was a little distracted.”
“It’s no wonder but, darling, I know you think you’re stronger but chances are your head is still pretty messed up. I remember after I had Maeve, my head was mince for months. I thought I was losing the plot. I made all kinds of rash decisions. I even threw a chair at poor Billy once.”
I laughed a little, to hide my discomfort. “I’ll be fine, Anna. You don’t have to worry about me. And anyways, aren’t I too scared of you to do anything stupid?”
“Damn right, lady. I’ll be on the first cheap flight to London to kick your arse.”
*****
I held the coffee cup in my hand while Beth rocked Maggie back and forth. Mrs Morelli bustled around us, tidying up the shop and getting ready to go home. She was kind enough not to lift the coffee cups from us and shoo us out. Perhaps she knew this was proper serious conversation.
“I’m sorry. I should have phoned and warned you but I didn’t actually think he would just show up like that. He was pretty wasted by the time he left ours and I knew you would be sleeping . . .”
Poor Beth looked distraught.
“It’s fine, Beth. You weren’t to know he would actually go through with it. He hasn’t really gone through with anything much in his life lately – unless you count his super-successful music career.” I was proud of myself that I managed a snort at that point. Perhaps I was stronger than I thought.
I sipped from my cup and she looked down at my daughter. For the first time I could see the longing in my friend’s eyes and it almost took my breath away. I felt a bubble of emotion try to force itself up from my throat and quickly I patted it back down. Beth didn’t want this sympathy. Support? Yes, but tears and pity? Never. And besides, if I started to feel sorry for her would it mean that I believed it was never going to happen for her? I didn’t think I could allow myself to contemplate that.
“Promise you won’t let him hurt you,” Beth said.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Who’s everyone?”
“Well, Auntie Anna, and you . . . and Anna . . .”
“It’s only because we care about you,” Beth offered.
“I know, but I’m a big girl. I’m able to protect myself.”
She glanced down at Maggie again.
“And I’ll protect her too, Beth. I won’t let anyone hurt her,” I said.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
****
Jake had phoned to say he would call over after eight. I fed Maggie and showered for the second time that day. For the first time in what felt like years, I shaved my legs and the suspect bikini area.
I didn’t want him to want me, but I wanted him to know what he was missing. Not that he would get to see the delightful topiary in my pants, but I would know it was there and it would make me feel stronger in myself. I would feel like a proper woman and not just a bruised fandango with leaking boobs.
I even put some make-up on, dusting some bronzer along my collar-bones and between my breasts. Not that he would see my breasts. No way.
I dressed in nice underwear, wearing a thong for the first time since early pregnancy and a lilac lace Elle MacPherson nursing bra. I pulled on some indigo boot-cut jeans and a V-neck white T-shirt. I wanted to create the alluring, but not slutty, look of a woman ready to tramp on the heart of the man who had trampled on her heart.
Not that I was going to let him see just how much he had trampled on my heart. No way.
****
Maggie was sleeping when the doorbell rang and I was halfway through a glass of Pinot Grigio to steady my nerves. The TV had been on for some time, but if pressed there was no way I could tell you what was actually showing on it. It seemed I had been lost in a blur of memories, hopes, fears and promises that I would be strong – that and running around cleaning, tidying, hiding packets of nappies under the chairs.
I opened the door and saw him walk up the stairs to me. He looked up and he broke into his trademark smile. He seemed impressed.
“Wow, Aoifs! You are looking good. Motherhood obviously suits you.”
Yes, by the way his eyes were drawn to my swollen breasts I could tell he was very, very impressed with just how much motherhood agreed with me. I pulled my arms across my chest, but not quick enough to stop that frisson of excitement in my core at having him look at me with lust in his eyes.
“Come in, Jake,” I said, lifting a glass from the kitchen and walking back towards him. Automatically I poured him a glass of wine and sat down beside him. “Your daughter is sleeping in the other room.”
“I’ll see her after we talk,” he said and I wondered for a moment how he could resist the urge to run straight in to her and scoop her up into his arms. “I want to see you first.” And he looked deep into my eyes.
Oh, I could sense this wasn’t going to end well. Someone was going to be hurt by the time this was over and, if the pounding of my heart was anything to go by, it was going to be Anna and Beth.
I tried to speak, honestly I did, but the words just wouldn’t come out. So I sipped my wine and met his gaze again.
“I really was a bastard. Wasn’t I?”
“Something like that,” I muttered. I noticed he was still staring at my breasts, and I caught myself looking at his hands – his strong, passionate hands which could leave me trembling. No, I reminded myself inwardly, this is a very, very bad man who hurt you and left you to give birth alone in a strange hospital.
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his glass of wine on the floor and reaching out for my hands. “I should have given you more of a chance. I just freaked out. I wasn’t ready for a baby.”
“Wasn’t?” I repeated, as a small flicker of hope lit in me that perhaps a leopard really could change his spots.
He smiled. “I’m ready to have you in my life again, Aoifs. I’ve missed you.” His subtle glances downwards at my breasts became less subtle and I took a deep breath.
“Jake, you can’t just walk in and out of my life when you want. This is about more than me and you now. I have a daughter. We have a daughter.”
He stroked my hand. “I know that, Aoifs.”
“Well, she is my number-one responsibility now, Jake, not you.”
“Hey, I understand,” he said, running his forefinger gently along my wrists, circling erogenous zones I had long since forgotten about.
My breath deepened and my head spun. I wasn’t sure what was happening. This was not the Jake I knew and hated, or loved, or cried myself to sleep over. This was some strange creature who was showing empathy and concern and telling me he wanted me in his life.
Me. He was ready to be in my life again.
But he didn’t say our lives. Me and Maggie – the McLaughlin girls. Mother and daughter.
“Do you want to hold her?” I asked, withdrawing my hand from his and standing up.
“My mum always said never wake a sleeping baby,” he replied, reaching for my hand again.
“She sleeps a lot, Jake, and you don’t have to wake her to hold her.”
I walked away, aware he was watching me as I left, and lifted our perfect little girl into my arms. Not sure whether or not I could trust him not to hurt her, either physically or emotionally, I walked back into the room and handed her to him. He sat down, cradling her in his strong arms. I expected him to look awkward, to look disgusted, but he looked for all intents and purposes as if he had done this a thousand times – as if the crook of his arm was made for the curve of her spine.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
“She’s a cracker, isn’t she?” he said, looking back at me.
And it was in that moment that I knew no matter what we would always be a family. He was her father and no amount of me wishing
him in her life or wishing him out of her life was going to change that. We three were intrinsically linked.
He began to sing, crooning so quietly I could barely hear it. The words were so familiar and yet I’d never heard them sung like this before – like a ballad. This was our song, but now it was his and Maggie’s and my heart melted just as it did every time Jake Gibson walked into my life and, just as with every time he walked in, I started to fool myself that he would never walk back out again.
“Signed, Sealed, Delivered”. Surely that had to mean something?
I walked to the kitchen just to steady my nerve, looking out the window at my concrete garden – into the blackness – and I tried to quell the thudding in my chest. I stood there for five, maybe ten minutes and then I walked back into the room. Jake had placed Maggie back in her Moses basket and was staring into the bottom of his wine-glass.
“Don’t you think she looks like me?” he asked eventually.
“Yes,” I replied, looking into his eyes and seeing the same slope of nose that I had seen on Maggie’s face, the same shape of eye, the fullness of lips.
I realised I might already have had too much to drink. Damn pregnancy – makes you a fecking lightweight.
He looked at me then, at my boobs and my face, and he reached his hand to my cheek. The roughness of his skin felt sublime against my face and my eyes closed as I drank in the feel of him. I had missed this. Missed him.
“Aoifs,” he said, only it was more of a gentle moan and he reached towards me, brushing his lips against mine.
My whole body felt alive as I responded, slowly at first, tasting him, feeling him respond in turn. It had been nine months – nine very long and very lonely months – since I had been kissed by Jake Gibson and every part of my body felt suddenly alive.
In fact some of my body felt a little too much alive.
It was with a mixture of alarm of “oh holy fuck, what is this?” that I realised that not only were my nipples standing proud (which I expected) but they were also leaking breast-milk all over my pristine cotton T-shirt (which I did not expect).