Jumping in Puddles

by Claire Allan

  As a book evolves I find the characters form into their own people and often would react differently to what I would have planned for them originally.

  For me, seeing a character evolve is one of the most exciting parts of the writing process. It gives me a real buzz to feel the story come to life.

  3) Since your first novel Rainy Days & Tuesdays was published in July 2007 has your life changed much?

  Aspects of my life are very much the same. I still get up the morning, try and make myself look presentable and try to get to work on time and with my sanity intact. I still spend my days working as a journalist and writing in a very factual way and in the evenings I’m still mammy – except now I’m double the mammy as I have a second child in the form of our daughter Cara.

  But in others ways things have changed entirely. I feel more complete now – as if a lifetime’s ambition has been fulfilled and to an extent it has given me more confidence in myself.

  I have done things I could only ever have dreamed of before – appearing on TV, taking part in photoshoots, speaking in public, hosting book signings etc. I’m actually quite a shy person so it has been a challenge to push myself forward and I’m proud that I’ve survived it all – and enjoyed most of it.

  I also think I have improved as a writer with each novel – and I strive to push myself more and more with each book. Jumping in Puddles was certainly my biggest challenge as a writer and I’m very proud of it.

  4) Do you have a favourite character in Jumping in Puddles?

  I’m fond of them all in their own way. I think Niamh is very brave – and wonderfully glam. I covet her house and her kick-ass boots! Liam is a great dad and a strong and hunky character – he was great fun to write. Ruth is an exceptionally strong and witty woman and Ciara is wise beyond her years.

  In a strange way I think of them all as real people – but if I was to pick a favourite from Jumping in Puddles, I would probably opt for Detta O’Neill who brings all four of the lone parents together. She is an enigmatic but golden-hearted creature who is just wonderfully quirky and supportive. She was a delight to write and I especially loved writing in a love interest for her.

  5) What character & scene was most difficult to write for you? Why?

  Ruth was the most difficult character to write – and the scenes in which she is beaten by her husband were very challenging. I wanted and needed to get it right. I didn’t want to patronise anyone who had been through domestic violence and I wanted to make her experiences feel real to the reader.

  Over the years I have interviewed many women who have had abusive partners and who have been brave enough to tell their tale. The perception of domestic violence was also something I researched for my thesis in Journalism as part of my Masters Degree.

  It was therefore exceptionally important for me to do the storyline justice and also to show just how strong and brave a character Ruth was even when she didn’t realise it herself.

  On a lighter note, Liam was challenging as he is a man (obviously!) and I had to get inside the male mind – which is not an easy task.

  6) Who are your favourite authors and favourite novels and why (worldwide and Irish based authors)?

  I have several favourite books I go back to time and time again. The first is Rachel’s Holiday by Marian Keyes which made me roar with laughter one minute and cry buckets of tears the next. It really was a book which made me sit up and think “I could do this” and inspired me to give it a go.

  I also have a great fondness for the early Patricia Scanlan books – especially the City Girl trilogy. I dreamed of opening my own ‘City Woman’, renaming myself Devlin and being so terribly glamorous. I’d say those were the first real Irish chick-lit books and they were fabulous.

  These days I love anything that is witty and sharp. I think my fellow Northern Irish authors – Anne Dunlop and Sharon Owens – carry this off perfectly. Their books are beautifully written, gripping and very funny in places.

  If I want a good cry I’ll re-read Queen Mum by Kate Long which has the most poignant depiction of loss and grief I have ever read.

  7) Tell us a bit about your next book – have you started writing it yet?

  My next book has a working title of Finding Annie and I can’t tell you how much fun I’m having writing it!

  It’s a romantic comedy about a woman who seems set on sabotaging her own life at a time when all she really wants is to have her happy ending. She watches her best friend prepare for her wedding while her own relationship comes crashing around her ears.

  It’s set in the very glamorous world of PR and features a host of really quirky characters and fun situations.

  As with all my books, there is a serious undertone – examining how so many women today feel a little bit lost and unsure of what they should be looking for – but hopefully the reader will enjoy the many laughs along the way.

  8) The support group for lone parents is filled with interesting characters – such a great dynamic! Where did the idea come from?

  Initially I was going to write the book solely about Niamh – the character who is widowed. I wanted to write a book about someone who chased their dream to find it all went wrong and to show that money does not necessarily buy happiness. I also wanted to focus on the fact she was left behind with two young children – and that spawned the idea of having a support group for lone parents.

  People seem to have very set stereotypes of what a single parent is and I thought it would be interesting to show how people can find themselves alone raising kids for a myriad of reasons. The characters kind of formed themselves after that – and it was great fun to write.

  9) You’ve recently had a baby girl – congratulations! Has this influenced your writing or direction the book has taken?

  Thank you! Baby Cara was born on March 4 and she has changed our lives completely. I suffered from hyperemesis throughout my pregnancy with her – which meant I was physically sick every day, right until she was born! It was hard going I can tell you but I think it also gave me a new sense of get up and go. If I could get through hyperemesis I can get through anything. I have pushed myself writing this book – dealing with very serious topics but trying to keep humour involved. I think the overdose of hormones helped me write the more emotional scenes!

  Since she was born I have been working on my fourth book – and my writing time has become even more important to me. It is my time to be Claire, not just Cara and Joseph’s mummy – although being their mummy is the very best job in the world!

  10) The village/ rural setting adds so much to the atmosphere of the novel. Why did you pick this setting?

  I love Donegal. Some of my happiest memories are holidaying in small coastal villages with my husband and son. I love the village dynamic – how in so many ways these villages have moved with the times but there is something very traditional in their outlook.

  I thought it would be interesting to take an issue which is still, in some circles, taboo and put it in a very close-knit community and see what happens.

  I also have a dream of relocating to a village just like Rathinch – where I can spend my days writing by the sea, taking the kids for long walks and enjoying a more relaxed lifestyle.

  It was also the perfect excuse for many daytrips to the seaside in the name of research!

  If you enjoyed Jumping in Puddles try

  Feels Like Maybe also published by Poolbeg

  Here’s a sneak preview of Chapter one

  1

  Aoife

  When I die someone will write “Aoife McLaughlin was very good at going it alone” on my headstone. Then again, I will probably have to come back from the dead and write it myself.

  That thought crossed my mind as I took yet another shallow breath and felt yet another contraction rip across my rounded, swollen belly. It shouldn’t have been like this.

  I should have had a loving husband mopping my brow and encouraging me through every wave of increasing pain. We should have join
tly decided on a name and painted a nursery together – pausing only to leaf through the Yellow Pages and order pizzas with tuna and banana on them – and yet, here I was alone in a room where everyone spoke in a different accent to my own and struggled to pronounce my name.

  There was no husband. There wasn’t even a significant other. There was just me and my cervix which, much to my annoyance, was dilating at a painfully slow rate.

  The pain came again and I breathed deeply on the gas and air that was my only salvation. The anaesthetist was busy, or so they had told me, so here I was with not so much as an epidural to make the whole experience more bearable.

  All I had was a radio that was blasting out what seemed like the same four songs on a loop. I swore that if I heard the Outhere Brothers sing “Boom, boom, boom, let me hear ya say weyoh” one more time I was going to boom-fecking-boom the radio out the window.

  A very cheerful midwife by the name of Peggy walked into the room just as the contraction reached its excruciating crescendo. “How are you doing, my lovely?” she asked, looking at the jumble of peaks and troughs on the monitor beside my bed.

  I wondered did she want the honest answer or the polite answer? Was this similar to when you go to the hairdresser’s and don’t like the disaster they’ve made of your barnet but you feel compelled to give a thumbs-up anyway?

  But I have never been one for bullshit, it was one of the things my clients admired so much about me, so I decided to opt for the honest approach.

  “You mean apart from this baby trying to squeeze its way out of my fandango while I lie here twenty hours into labour with no epidural? Just fucking peachy, thanks!”

  “Oooh, if you’re starting to swear, it must mean Baby is nearly here!” Peggy chirped, disappearing between my splayed legs for a quick look.

  I was tempted to point out I had been swearing for most of the last twenty hours – being Irish it was as in-built in me as breathing. I wasn’t about to stop now when my genitals were being shredded by a supposedly natural force.

  “How far?” I asked, panting as the pain subsided.

  Peggy held up a gloved hand, slightly stained with blood, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Throwing up what was left of my breakfast I swore I would never, ever, believe anything that I saw in the movies again. You didn’t get bloodstained hands in Hollywood.

  “Seven centimetres, my lovely. Shouldn’t be too long now. You should have this little one by morning.”

  I looked at the clock, it was 11.15 p.m. Damn fecking right I would have this baby by morning – even if I had to do the Caesarean myself. Another contraction hit and I sucked hard on the gas and air, sinking my teeth into the plastic mouthpiece, imagining it to be Jake’s undersized penis.

  “Sweet” – gasp – “Jesus” – gasp – “make” – gasp – “this” – gasp – “fucking” – gasp – “stop!”

  Peggy, still smiling despite my clatter of swear-words tapped my knee, as if her gentle tapping held some magic anaesthetic quality.

  “There, there, lovely! It will all be worth it when Baby is here.” She smiled and walked out of the room, leaving me alone to my growing sense of panic.

  Would it be okay when “Baby” – this nameless wriggling creature fighting to get out – was here? Somehow I doubted it. I had made some pretty major mistakes in my life before but this was a fuck-up of immense proportions and as my tummy tightened I knew it was too late to change my mind. What goes up must come down, I thought with a wry smile. I promised myself nothing was ever going up again.

  I started to wonder if the gas and air was working any more. It made me feel woozy, that was for sure, but the pain didn’t seem relieved in any way. What I really needed – really, really needed – was a king-size Nurofen and a bottle of vodka. That had always killed any pain I had before.

  I mean, how much harm could a wee drink of vodka do to the baby now? Surely by the time the alcohol made its way down into my uterus, through the placenta and into the umbilical cord, the baby would be separated from me anyway?

  A cigarette would be good too, or a nice big juicy joint. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply on the Entenox and imagined I could feel the warmth of sweet smoke fill my lungs. Momentarily there was relief from the pain and then, bam, back at point zero. Tummy tightening. Back aching. Fandango fanning. Baby burrowing its way towards the light. There has got to be a more humane way to bring new life into this world. Beam me up, Scotty, I’m in trouble . . .

  Much as I’m averse to crying, I started to wail, crying big gulping, snottery tears born of fear, tiredness and pain the like of which I had never known. I’d heard giving birth was at best like having a big poo and at worst like a bad period. What utter shite! I would have cried out for my mother, if she wasn’t the most annoying fecker on the planet – so instead I just cried.

  Peggy stuck her head back round the corner. “Now what’s the matter, lovely? No need for tears.”

  I tried to tell her what was wrong. How it had all gone horribly pear-shaped and that I had never asked for this – never wanted it. It wasn’t in the game plan. I was doing pretty damn okay before this, thank-you-very-much.

  But all that came out was a muffled scream.

  “I need to push!” I gasped, as soon as the power of speech returned to me.

  It’s hard to explain, but the feeling was beyond my control. I suddenly understood what bearing down meant. Every inch of my body, from the tips of my toes to the split ends of my auburn mop wanted to bear down and to push.

  “No, dearie, you don’t. You’re only seven centimetres,” Peggy replied.

  “Yes, I do. I need to fucking push!”

  “Now, now, lovely. Baby will come when Baby is ready to come.”

  “My name is not fucking ‘Lovely’ it’s Aoife – Eee-fa!” I said, emphasising the pronunciation in the hope she would at last get it right. “And I’m telling you this baby is ready to fucking come now!”

  I grimaced as my body contorted with pain and pressure. This was beyond my control and yet I felt strangely okay about it. This was my body and, by Christ, this was really happening and I was powerless to stop it.

  “I’ll go and get someone to check,” Peggy said, making for the door.

  “No! I need to push now!” I gasped, my body taking over and forcing me to push with every muscle available. “Aaaaarrghhh!” I could feel something move down to my pelvis, could see Peggy’s eyes widen as she rushed to the end of the bed.

  “I can see Baby’s head!” Peggy said.

  I took this as encouragement to keep going, and going, and going.

  It wasn’t so much that I longed to cradle the baby, I just longed for this pain to be over. My tummy tightened and I instinctively pushed again – my exhaustion gone as this primeval force took over.

  “Pant now for me,” Peggy said and I forced myself to stop pushing, to take small gasping breaths, as I felt this new life emerge from me.

  Suddenly, although it had taken twenty-one hours, I felt a surge of relief. The pressure was gone and this little mewling creature was staring at me. The most perfect little girl in the world.

  I cried again, but this time it was because I knew that no matter how I had planned not to let this happen, I had already fallen madly in love with my daughter. My baby.

  * * *

  Ten perfect little fingers, with nails that needed trimming already. Those fragile little hands, curled up close to that button nose. I wondered had I ever felt skin so soft? Rubbing my nose against Maggie’s cheek, I whispered my apologies to her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t want you before but now that I know you, now that I’ve seen you, I want you more than anything.” No one else could hear our conversation but then it wasn’t for anyone else’s ears. It was our moment alone and I could hardly believe how fulfilled I felt when just an hour ago I had felt more alone than ever before. I knew, I guessed, that I would never be alone again.

  Peggy came back into the room, smiling now, the look of
shock at Maggie’s speedy arrival replaced by her usual calm demeanour.

  “Do you want me to bring the phone in? You can let people know this little poppet is here.”

  I shook my head. There wasn’t really anyone to tell. Beth would find the note in the morning when she returned from her break to Brighton. No one else really mattered, not now anyway.

  “I’m okay, thanks,” I said, never for one second lifting my gaze from my daughter.

  “Well,” said Peggy, “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  “Yes, thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  “All in a day’s work, lovely, all in a day’s work.”

  Peggy was clearly baffled by my reluctance to announce my new arrival. She had seen enough of me for one day. Letting her see my fandango was one thing, explaining my complicated set of circumstances was another. Some things were private.

  Exhausted, I placed Maggie in her little plastic crib by the bed and lay down, desperate for sleep but reluctant to let this little one out of my sight. All I could see now was a patch of pink skin, swaddled in blankets with a white hat on her tiny head. I put my hand to my stomach, now a gelatinous mass – like a balloon that has been partially deflated – and wondered had this little creature really been inside me just a few hours ago?