Feels Like Maybe

by Claire Allan

  “I didn’t jump out of a bush,” Tom said.

  “Not this time maybe, but you do seem to have a habit of appearing out of nowhere.”

  “Aah, Aoife, you’ve uncovered my secret. I’m a superhero. Gardener Man!” He flexed his muscles and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Look, Maggie, look at the big eejit!”

  “Eejit,” Tom replied. “I like that. Eejit Man – perhaps that will be my new persona.”

  “Well, for what it is worth I think you would make a pretty fine Eejit Man.”

  “I aim to please,” he said with a bow. “But seriously, in case you do go spreading rumours that I’m a nutcase who stalks women on the streets of Richmond, I’m not. I was just walking back from a job, as it happens. It was a nice evening, so I thought I would grab some fresh air. If you want I’ll walk you back to the shop.”

  “That would nice,” I said with a smile. “You never know who you might meet on these walks. Maggie and I could do with a superhero to make sure we get home okay.”

  “Eejit Man at your service!” said Tom and we set off together.

  Eejit Man walked me home. He even offered to push the pram some of the way and being that some of the way was uphill I let him. I suppose, to people looking at us, we would have looked very much like a proper family. He would have looked like the proud daddy and I was playing the role of the stunningly beautiful wife and mother. (Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?) The conversation was easy. We talked about our days – mine cuddling Maggie, his laying a rockery. I left out the bits about the Big Freeze with Mum, the hangover after my night drinking with Beth and of course all that nasty business with Jake. I don’t know what, if anything, he left out but it wasn’t lost on me that we all have our own secrets that even the people who see us day in and day out know nothing about.

  “Hopefully the night air will have tired her and she will sleep well for you,” Tom said and I yawned.

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking to Maggie or me. We reached the shop and I invited him in for a coffee. It seemed the mannerly thing to do.

  “I’d best be off home, Aoife. I’m aching and in need of a long, hot Radox bath to soothe these muscles.”

  I tried to ignore the shiver of excitement that ran through me at the thought of Tom and his muscles, reminding myself that I did not need a man to complete me. I was an independent woman. And besides, even if the urge was there to drag Tom upstairs and run a bath for him (and lump in there beside him), he didn’t need, or want, me.

  “Well, thanks for walking us home,” I said, letting myself in the side door of the shop.

  “It was a pleasure,” he said with a bow and headed off in the direction of Gardiner Street.

  I watched him as he walked off – and wondered was he the person he really said he was? He seemed genuine and decent, but I couldn’t help but wonder why someone like him would be interested in befriending someone like me. Sure I’d heard Elena’s story, but that just didn’t ring true. Someone like Tom Austin could have women flocking at his feet. I mean he was a handsome, successful, single businessman and he always had flowers. What more could a woman want?

  I thought of Jake – of our raw animal passion – and how he made me feel and I realised that if I could take the two best things about these two wonderful men and mix them together I would be on to a surefire winner.

  ******

  When I opened the door to the flat, the light was flashing on my answerphone. I pressed the button.

  “Aoife, it’s Anna. Can you call me, please?”

  I smiled as I settled down to give Maggie her last feed of the night. Anna would have her flowers by now, she was probably phoning to say thank you. I made a mental note to call her back once Maggie was settled. Of course, Tom had been right, the night air had tired us both out and after I put her in her Moses basket, I closed my eyes and drifted off.

  ******

  I woke to the shrill ringing of the phone. As I tried to open my eyes, Maggie started screaming in a bid to drown out the opposition. My back was aching from lying on the sofa and as I reached for the phone I knocked the lamp over, shattering the coloured glass on the wooden floor. “Shit. Feck. Hello?” I muttered.

  “Aoife, it’s Anna.”

  “Hang on, Anna, I’ve just knocked over the lamp.”

  “Aoife, I need to talk to you.”

  “Sssh, Maggie,” I said, lifting her from her Moses basket, trying to quieten her down. Of course the closeness of her screaming mouth to my ear didn’t help.

  “Anna, I’m sorry, Maggie has woken. I’ll call you back in five.”

  “Aoife, please, this is important.”

  There was an urgency in her voice. I don’t know how I hadn’t picked up on it before.

  “What’s wrong?” I said, rocking Maggie on my shoulder, the pace of the rocking increasing with the pace of my heartbeat.

  “You need to come home, darling. I’ve booked flights for you and Maggie first thing from Stansted.”

  “Anna, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your mum, darling. She’s in hospital. They think it’s a heart attack. She’s very ill, sweetheart, I tried to phone you earlier. I left a message . . .”

  She chattered on, but I couldn’t hear her any more. My mum was sick. The same mum who hadn’t spoken to me in the best part of a week over a stupid fecking nursery and she was ill. She could be dying and I was here staring at a broken lamp and listening to my baby wail on my shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” Anna asked, her voice breaking.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I answered, my voice weirdly robotic – as if it was saying what it should but I couldn’t think about what we were discussing. “I’ve things to do, Anna. Keep me posted. I’ll see you in the morning,” I repeated.

  I settled Maggie and set about packing our stuff. Bottles, bibs, baby-gros. Nappies, dummies, wipes. A few pairs of jeans for me, a new toothbrush from the cupboard. I threw it all in the case with neither grace nor style. The clock ticked loudly as I worked, and I thought of how my daddy and Joe would be with Mum now. How Jacqueline would be holding my mother’s hand and weeping over her sick body. I felt sick, sore and tired. For the first time in my life, I truly understood what that expression meant.

  “Damn you,” I muttered under my breath. Angry that the last words I’d shared with Mum, just that afternoon, had been stilted and awkward. She was my mother. My mum. My mammy. “Damn you,” I said again and fell to the floor sobbing.

  I didn’t really sleep that night. I dozed occasionally on the sofa, getting up occasionally to stare out the window or at the clock in the kitchen. At about three I went downstairs for a one-to-one with Matilda. I’m not sure if I was imagining it, but her usual sly grin was gone and she seemed to look almost sorry for me.

  “I know she’s a baggage,” I muttered, “but she’s my baggage.”

  I could hear Tom’s voice in my head telling me that talking to myself was the first sign of madness, and it crossed my mind that there was a distinct possibility that I was in fact losing it. I had thought about phoning Beth earlier and getting her to come round, but I figured she had dealt with enough of my crises lately. Besides, I was really going to be leaving her in the shit soon enough, wasn’t I? There was me promising to do more, and be there for her more and there I was fecking off back to Derry again – just when she needed me most. She would need at least one day, if not two, for the dye test. She had been hoping I would keep things ticking over at the shop but now I was going to let her down. That started a whole new bout of crying.

  By the time morning finally came I was almost hallucinating with tiredness. My eyes were out on stalks from crying, my cheeks scourged red from a waterfall of tears. As soon as it was acceptable to do so I phoned the hospital at home to check on my mother.

  “I’m her daughter,” I blubbed as the nurse told me that Sheila McLaughlin remained in a critical condition.

  “I’ll get your father or b
rother to call you when they get a chance,” she soothed.

  I told her there was no need. I would be on a plane in a matter of hours and be there myself. If there was going to be more bad news, I would prefer to be on home soil to hear it.

  At ten past eight I phoned Beth. I needed to leave shortly afterwards and I guessed both Dan and her would be up by now.

  “Beth, I’m sorry,” I started before breaking down yet again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to go home. My mum is sick. They think it was a heart attack. She needs me.”

  “Oh, Aoife! Can we help? Have you booked flights?”

  “Anna has taken care of everything. I fly out at eleven.”

  “Can we drop you to the airport?”

  “No, honestly, it’s fine. I have a taxi ordered. I’ll be fine. I just need to get home, Beth. She needs me.”

  Beth’s voice started to wobble a little. “Of course she does, darling. Go home, take care of your mum and we’ll see you soon. Stay in touch. I’ll light a candle beside Matilda for her and hope for the best.”

  “Thanks,” I choked and hung up just as the taxi beeped its horn outside.

  “Come on, Maggie, time to go home,” I said, lifting our suitcase and heading down the stairs.

  

  Chapter 43

  Beth

  “Is something wrong?” Dan asked as he straightened his tie.

  “Aoife’s mum is sick – a heart attack. She has flown home to Derry to be with her. It sounds serious.”

  “Shit,” said Dan. “Is there anything we can do?”

  I shook my head. “She said no. Oh, Dan, I hope her mum is okay. I don’t think she could bear it if anything happened. Not now when she is getting in control of her life.”

  I sat down at our table and took a deep breath. Today was going to be tricky enough but now I would be worrying about Aoife and her mother as well.

  *****

  I’d only met Sheila twice, once when I went back to Derry for a week one summer when we were still at university, and again at graduation.

  She had marked my card from early on. When I had greeted her as Sheila she had sniffed. “You can call me Mrs McLaughlin,” she said, putting a coaster under my glass of water and straightening the cushion at my side.

  “Sorry, Mrs McLaughlin,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I could see why Aoife thought her cold and aloof, so when she became pregnant and decided to keep the news from the folks back home, I kind of understood. In her position I would have been in no rush to tell my mother either. Funny that – how different things were. If I told my mother that I was pregnant she would dance a merry dance and take a full-page ad out in The Times.

  But having said all that, I knew Aoife loved her mother. Even though there had been a Big Freeze lately, she had returned from Derry a few weeks ago sure that some sort of slow progress was being made. She told me she’d had a conversation with her father which had explained a lot and when she spoke of Sheila now there was sometimes the oddest hint of affection.

  With the exception of Jake, and now Maggie, and indeed me, there was little that Aoife was openly affectionate about. If she was nice about her mother, it meant she really, truly cared about her.

  And, just as with the last nine months of her life, there was little I could do to help her. That was a shit part of growing up into responsible adulthood, I thought, not being able to take the pain away from friends. Now I just had to sit back and watch what they went through without being able to run to a teacher, parent or youth club leader and demand they make it all better.

  Then again, if I was still a teenager, I very much doubt I’d be getting ready to go to a doctor to have radioactive dye flushed into my uterus.

  Yes, it would nice to have someone to make it all better for a while.

  Dan kissed the top of my head. “I’m sure Aoife will be fine. Hopefully her mother will be okay, but there’s nothing you can do about it now, Betsy. Let’s go to our appointment. I’m sure Aoife will phone you if she needs you. If you really want we can try and get you over there to help her, but we should really keep this appointment.”

  I nodded.

  Dan sat down opposite me and took my hand.

  “It will be all right,” he said, “and if it isn’t all right then we have options. This isn’t the end of the world for us.”

  I nodded, grateful for his tenderness. Who knew what was ahead. I certainly didn’t. Maybe we would be fine and we would just have to continue our monthly dance. Maybe we would need IVF or some other intervention. And maybe, although I’m not sure I wanted to contemplate it just yet, if all that failed we could adopt. We would make great parents. There were children out there who needed a happy home and we could be the people to provide it. But for now, I didn’t really want to think about that. I wanted to think about my baby. Our baby. I wanted to feel the nauseous waves of morning-sickness. I wanted my trousers to tighten and my bra to get uncomfortable. I wanted to buy trousers with elasticated waistbands or those funny tummy panels which go up under your boobs. I wanted to curse heartburn and drink Gaviscon by the bucketload. I wanted to feel those first magical bubbles Aoife had spoken off. And I wanted them to get stronger and stronger and turn into thumping great kicks. I wanted to gasp, hold my tummy and say with a smile “That was a big kick.” I wanted to sit on the Tube and rub my bump and when I got home I wanted Dan to rub Cocoa Butter cream into my stretching tummy and laugh as it jumped about. I wanted my waters to break in Tesco and I wanted to make a frantic call to Dan telling him “It’s time.” I wanted to suck on gas and air and cringe as a doctor did an internal. I wanted to watch the contractions ebb and flow on the monitor by my bed. I wanted to swear at Dan and tell him he was never, ever getting near me again before pushing with all my might. I wanted to hear a moment’s silence, a pause for an intake of breath and then a shrill cry. I wanted the midwife to tell us we had a son or a daughter and then hand him or her to me and for me to cuddle my baby – our baby – close and look at my husband and see love in his eyes like nothing I had ever seen before.

  It was the most natural thing in the world to want, wasn’t it? And if I had to switch that off, I would switch it off – but I didn’t want to yet. Just please, God, not yet.

  *****

  Dan was holding my hand while a dazzling white light shone between my legs. I felt drowsy – just a little sedated. I was told this procedure wouldn’t hurt. I had been assured it was no more painful than a smear test, but to be honest I’m not the biggest fan of smear tests anyway.

  “We’ll inject this dye now, Beth. It might feel cool, but it shouldn’t be anything more than uncomfortable.”

  I looked at Dan and he stroked my hair. His eyes told me this would be okay, so I breathed deeply as my uterus was filled and cramps started to take over. Breathing through the pain, I bit back tears. This was all for the greater good, I told myself.

  It was over quite quickly, and I was given a couple of painkillers. I dressed, my legs wobbling slightly, and Dan and I took our seats in Dr Browne’s office for the results. We didn’t talk, because there was nothing either of us could say that would make a difference.

  “Right, let’s have a look at what we have here,” Dr Browne said, his face giving nothing away.

  I took a deep breath and crossed my fingers.

  

  Chapter 44

  Aoife

  It was sunny when we arrived in Derry. People were smiling all around us, happy to be home. They stood, three deep, at the luggage carousel vying for pole position to pick up their bags and get out onto prime Irish soil, and down the road for Dohertys’ baps, a strong cup of tea and a copy of the Journal. I stood, my baby in a sling at my chest, willing them to stop their cheery chatter and get out of my way. I wanted our bags too, but not for a happy reunion with Derry’s finest traditions. I wanted to get out through the arrivals’ doors and see Anna. I wanted her to tell me everything was okay and
then to whisk me off up the road to the hospital where my mother would be sitting up in bed, telling everyone to stop making a fuss and that she was perfectly fine, thank you.

  I switched my phone on: no messages. Surely no news was good news. But then again, would they have left a message on the phone to tell me she was gone? “Hi, Aoife, it’s Joe. Mum’s dead. Call me back!” No, they wouldn’t do that. They would wait to tell me in person. A sob bubbled up my chest, the pain of it doubling me over. People looked at me, annoyed that I was disturbing their joyous homecomings. One wee woman walked over and put her arms around me. “There, there, dear,” she soothed, “it will be okay.” She didn’t ask what was making me cry, which I was grateful for, she just offered me a crumpled tissue and stood beside me until the carousel whirred into life. “God bless, sweetheart,” she said as I lifted off our cases and headed for the white doors that would bring me to Anna.

  *****

  Anna, Maggie and I drove in silence to the hospital. I stared out the window at how the landscape of my home city had changed. There were large shopping developments, dual carriageways – a modern city. Why had I not noticed this a few weeks ago? As we drove I felt a certain longing for Derry of old, with no shops to speak of. It was a boring place but a safe place. My mother wasn’t sick in the Derry of old.

  We parked at the hospital and I strapped Maggie back into her sling. Walking towards the doors I hesitated.

  “You’re not keeping anything from me, are you, Anna? I’m not going to walk in here and find her already dead or anything? I don’t think I could bear it.”

  Anna rubbed my arm. She looked tired, I thought. “No, Aoife, I’m not keeping anything from you. Your mother is very sick but she is alive.”

  Walking into the ward, a frazzled-looking nurse gazed at my bundle in her sling.