“James, I’ve got James,”
“Of course, I see the hats now. Okay, well if you could take James for a little walk, so he doesn’t disturb Jasmine, we’ll get this little lady having a snack, then he can have his turn. If you wander to the end of the corridor and back, that should be fine.”
Helen looked down at the tiny scrunched up red face of her daughter and marvelled at the miracle of life. She made this tiny being. Not just one, but two tiny beings. They grew inside her, and now here Jasmine was, taking her first drink. The sensation was odd and slightly uncomfortable. Helen knew it would be even painful at times for the first week or so, and she was glad that she still had some of the epidural in her system to numb the pain. It was worth it though, to have the tiny warm body resting so tranquilly on hers.
Soon both babies were fed, and she lay peacefully with them both nestled asleep on her chest. She too nodded off, and Marcio and Maggie exchanged glances. They crept from the room, asking the midwife to contact them should Helen wake before they returned. Then they both went up to the canteen for some dinner. Marcio hadn’t wanted to leave Helen, but Maggie insisted.
“You will need all your energy over the next couple of weeks. The birth might have been uneventful, but she will still be exhausted, and the babies will feed round the clock until they put on some weight. Have they said when you’ll go home?”
“They want to monitor the babies for at least 48 hours, because they’re so tiny.” They had weighed in at just over 5lb each, which was amazing for twins at 37 weeks, but was still small.
“I’ll take you back to the flat with me later; it’s a bit chaotic so you’ll have to have our bed. We only moved in last week and we haven’t brought the other bed over yet.”
“It’ll be fine. I can make myself useful getting the place straight before Helen and the twins come home. Will you be coming back to the hospital tonight? Does Helen need anything?”
“No, I won’t be coming back. I wanted to stay overnight, but there are no facilities available and we can’t afford the private room.” His voice betrayed how much he wished he could pay for Helen to have her own room.
“She’ll be fine. She’s in good hands; the midwives will care for the babies while she gets some sleep. They don’t feed much in the first 24 hours. You’ll be much more help after you get some sleep yourself, which you will be having in your own bed. I am quite capable of sleeping on the floor or the couch; it won’t be the first time.”
“Mum knows best,” Marcio smiled.
It was strange back at the apartment without Helen. Even though they’d only been there for a week, it was so perfect; their space. Marcio looked at the moses baskets set up by the bed. He couldn’t wait to bring the babies home, but equally he was scared about how they would cope. He knew from talking with Benita how much work twins were, particularly if they didn’t sleep. Still, there was no point worrying about it now. He and Helen would deal with whatever happened, and know that each difficult time would pass and they would just grow stronger together.
He showed Maggie to the spare room, which would be decorated as a nursery once they had some money and energy. They had hoped to get it done before the babies came, but the early arrival had scuppered that idea.
Looking round the room, Maggie thought secretly that that might be her gift to her daughter. It wouldn’t take much, over the next couple of days while she was still in hospital, to freshen the room up and decorate it with some baby things. She didn’t say anything to Marcio, she thought it would be a nice surprise for them both.
By mutual agreement they went straight to bed, neither having the energy for conversation. Maggie took some of the sofa cushions into the spare room and made them up into a serviceable bed. She was so tired she could probably have slept in the bath if the apartment had had one.
Marcio remembered Helen’s instruction for him to send an email out to her baby group with the news. “Best do it now,” he muttered to himself, “bound to forget otherwise.”
He flipped open the laptop that was never far from his side, and sent a quick note declaring the arrival of James and Jasmine Morley at 6.33pm and 6.51pm respectively, weighing 5lb 3oz and 5lb 1oz.
His task done, he closed the laptop and sank back gratefully into his bed. Something nagged at him, stopping him from falling asleep immediately. His exhausted brain couldn’t figure it out, and eventually he slipped into a fitful slumber.
In the morning Marcio realised what had bothered him the night before. It was writing James and Jasmine Morley. It seemed strange that they weren’t James and Jasmine Thomson. He knew in the twenty-first century even married women didn’t always take their husband’s name, but the children generally still took their father’s. At least Helen hadn’t given the children Daniel’s surname. Marcio wondered if he would feel more secure if they had his.
Did that mean he was ready to marry Helen? The thought terrified him. Not because he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with her, but because he was still clearing debts from his last special day. What if Helen also changed her mind as the organ was playing? He couldn’t live through that rejection again.
After Marcio and Maggie left, Helen tried to get some sleep, aware that it might be the last time she slept without the babies beside her for a long time. Instead she lay awake listening to the sounds of the ward. Someone was snoring in the cubicle next to her, a terrible rasping, resonating sound that she was shocked could come from a woman.
Itching to give them a shove, like she would if it were Marcio, Helen lay fuming in the dark.
How can she be sleeping that deeply? Surely she must still be drugged. They should have a separate ward for people who snore. I really can’t imagine sleeping that deeply while my children might need me.
The twins were in intensive care for the night for observation, but still Helen felt conscious of their presence somewhere in the hospital. It pulled at her like an invisible thread, keeping her from drifting off. That, and the noise of course.
Over the way someone was chatting surreptitiously to her partner on her mobile, too low for eavesdropping, too loud to be ignored. It was clear by the tone of her voice she was in for the long haul. At first Helen thought it was sweet; although she was shocked the woman hadn’t yet been told off by a midwife. The “No Mobile Phone” signs were everywhere.
Gosh, I felt bad just texting Sharni and Dawn! The cheek of the woman. I wish she would just shut up.
After twenty minutes of sweet nothings, Helen was ready to wring the girl’s neck.
This is not really the warm glow of motherhood I was expecting. Helen felt exhausted and emotional yet still unable to sleep.
Sometime in the early morning a midwife wheeled the twins into her so that she could feed them. It was all rather physical, trying to get them latched on. The midwife didn’t hesitate to grab hold of her and force her boob on James.
Pregnancy and motherhood seem to come with an end to dignity, Helen thought wryly, pleased nonetheless to be feeding her child at last. The miracle of the female body. She remembered reading on a sign somewhere the words I am a Superhero, I can make milk. It did seem impressive, but she had never felt less like a superhero. More like a milking machine. She missed her flat and she missed Marcio.
As she sat gazing at her tiny babies the tears began to fall.
“Flowers for you, Helen,” a nurse announced, flinging back the curtain of her cubicle, making her jump.
Helen looked up from her silent contemplation of Jasmine’s face, as James slept in his plastic crib next to the bed. Her little nose was so perfect, Helen felt she could gaze at it forever. Wrenching her eyes away, she looked up at the flowers. They were magnificent, White lilies and deep red roses. Strange flowers to celebrate a birth though, she thought. Don’t people normally send pink and blue chrysanthemums?
She reached sleepily for the card, wondering which of her friends was so on the ball.
“Congratulations,” the card read, “I ca
n’t wait to meet my children. Please let me know when it will be okay for me to visit. Daniel.”
She resisted the urge to throw the flowers out the window only because it would disturb Jasmine if she moved. How had he managed to find out so soon? Then she remembered asking Marcio to email her baby group with the news. Karen must have been under instruction to tell Daniel as soon as she found out the twins had arrived. Helen was swiftly going off her new friend.
She stared at the card in her hand for a long time, wondering what to do next. Much as she might wish it, she couldn’t pretend that Daniel didn’t exist, or that he wasn’t the father of her children. In her mind Marcio was the only father they required, but the children needed to know where their genes came from. It might even be important one day. She couldn’t face Daniel though, not now. He didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t interested in having him actively involved with her or the children. Her life, all their lives, now belonged with Marcio.
She put the card in her drawer and tried not to think about it. Time enough to deal with Daniel when she was back on her feet.
By the time her mother and Marcio arrived at the hospital, Helen had showered and was sitting up in bed. James lay tucked in her arm, while Jasmine slept in the crib next to the bed. The children were both dressed in the early baby outfits, with the little hand-knitted hats on. Jasmine’s pink hat clashed terribly with her fiery red hair. When the midwife had helped bathe the babies first thing in the morning, they had discovered under the vernix that both babies had inherited Helen’s hair. She hoped for both their sakes that the colour softened as they got older. Particularly for Jasmine. Every little girl loved pink, and Helen knew from experience it was a colour she wouldn’t be able to carry off.
“Wow, look at that hair!” Marcio had picked Jasmine up from the crib, and her little hat had fallen off to reveal the vibrant mop. “There’s no mistaking they’re yours!”
“Yes, your hair was that red at that age darling.” Maggie’s eyes were a little misty with the memory. “Luckily for you it softened into the copper it is now before you started school. Unfortunately kids can be mean about ginger as they like to call it.”
“Let’s say titian,” Helen suggested with a twinkle. It was a long running joke between her and her mother.
“They wouldn’t be teased in Spain; every woman tries to get her hair that colour at some point in their lives.”
“They would fry in Spain, though, if they have my skin as well as my hair.”
“We’d best make sure they have plenty of summers there to get themselves used to it. Toughen them up.”
Helen imagined long summer holidays at the vineyard, the kids roaming free over the hills, as she and Simon had over the Devon moors. With Barcelona and Devon for freedom and London for culture, the children really would have an idyllic childhood. Provided her or Marcio figured out a way to earn a decent living of course.
Thinking about money made the fluttery panic rise in Helen’s stomach. She pushed the thought aside for another time. For now, Marcio’s advance was paying the rent, and with any luck the novel would bring royalties too when it was released. She hadn’t given up hope that some of her work would pay its way in the not too distant future. She didn’t want to be a kept woman.
“Who are the flowers from?” Marcio’s voice was merely curious, but Helen instantly felt defensive, almost furtive.
“They’re from Daniel. Karen must have told him the news.” She expected Marcio to be angry.
“Oh well, he would have to have been told eventually. They are his children.”
Helen looked up at Marcio’s face. She hadn’t heard him say that before, and wondered if he were having doubts himself about being their father. He was looking down at Jasmine, and if he felt Helen’s gaze on him, he didn’t look up to meet her eyes.
Chapter Twelve
Helen looked blearily at the beside clock. It took a while for her eyes to bring the green numbers into focus. She reached over for a notepad by the bed and scribbled “2.46am Jaz Feed”. Then she inhaled deeply two or three times, before pulling back the covers. Her legs goose-bumped through the flannelette pyjamas she had bought within days of arriving home. The hospital had been warm, too warm sometimes, and had given her a false sense of what it meant to get up in the night in winter.
Shivering, she looked back to check she hadn’t woken Marcio, then picked up the bundle that was crying fitfully, and stumbled over to the chair in the corner.
Once she had got Jasmine latched and feeding, Helen pulled the blanket from the arm of the chair and covered herself as best she could. She really wished she was still in bed, but Marcio had persuaded her to get up to feed after she had fallen asleep with James one night. He’d woken to find James tucked under Helen’s arm as she lay slumped over the pillow. It had terrified them both and Helen hadn’t needed much convincing that the babies were safer in the chair.
Easy for him, though, Helen thought bitterly, watching Marcio’s form rise and fall gently under the duvet. I don’t see him sat in a stupid uncomfortable chair for ages having something suck the life out of him.
Looking down to make sure Jasmine was still feeding, she wondered when breastfeeding would become the wonderful bonding experience they talked of in antenatal classes. Her babies didn’t look longingly up at her; they sucked and guzzled and grizzled if they couldn’t get latched.
I feel like a milk cow. I’m the size of a bloody cow, even without these stupid udders. She shifted herself and felt how full the other boob was under the savoy cabbage leaf that was meant to ease the soreness but just seemed to leave vein patterns on her skin. She wondered whether to switch Jasmine over or save that one for James. At least they had decided to wake individually for a change.
As if sensing his mother’s dilemma, James began to stir and then to mew quietly. A quick glance confirmed that Jasmine had gone back to sleep. Raising a small prayer to the goddess of parenting, Helen eased her little finger into Jasmine’s mouth to release the latch, then laid her gently back in her moses basket before retrieving James.
Once he was snuffling happily, Helen laid her head on the back of the nursing chair and thought over the last ten days. It was a blur of worry and pain. She ached all over from the delivery, her stitches itching and pulling in a way that was more painful than the severest contraction. Her breasts were engorged and swollen until she looked like Jordon but without the flat stomach. She suspected her stomach might never be flat again.
Fighting the urge to close her eyes, Helen thought over the visit from the health visitor that morning. She had come to make sure Helen was coping okay back home from hospital, and to check the babies were thriving. It had been such a relief to have her come. They’d sent her home from hospital after only a couple of days, once they were happy the twins weren’t suffering from jaundice and were feeding properly. Helen had been horrified. What did she know about looking after these two tiny, helpless bundles?
The first visit from the health visitor had been the day after she got home and everything was still hazy. She vaguely remembered being asked if Marcio ever hurt her, and how her laughter had offended the health visitor. Aside from that the rest was hazy.
Looking over at Marcio again she thanked god that he was here. Even though her mother was still in the spare room, it was taking all three of them to care for the twins in these early days. She wasn’t sure her mother could have coped by herself. She would have been fine with the twins; her mother was brilliant. It was more dealing with Helen herself.
Remembering made the tears start again. She felt as if she hadn’t stopped crying since the birth. The health visitor had been lovely about that too.
“Baby blues, my love,” she explained. “Your placentas were full of lovely hormones that kept you calm, happy and relaxed. When you delivered the babies you delivered their placentas too. You’re effectively going through cold turkey. Add to that very little sleep and huge responsibility and it’s no wonder you’re a
bit teary.”
A bit teary. Helen laughed at the understatement, even as the tears fell. Still, it was good to know it was normal. None of the baby group had delivered yet, and her mum didn’t remember.
The sound of a minor explosion dragged Helen’s thoughts away from the morning and back to the present. The drifting aroma of freshly baked bread wafted up to her; one of the side-effects of motherhood was apparently an enhanced sense of smell. Helen could detect a soiled nappy three rooms away. From this close distance it was overpowering, although not especially unpleasant. The health visitor had had an explanation for that too. Apparently the upside of choosing to breastfeed rather than formula feed was that the nappies smelt nicer. As nappies were Marcio’s domain it was scant compensation. Still, better than nothing.
“Nappy.” Helen’s voice rang loud in the still room. The effect was instantaneous. Marcio went from deeply asleep to alert and upright in the space of a heartbeat. It still amused Helen. Occasionally she said the word just to wake him for company at 2am, not that she would admit that to him. She would just muse loudly “I wonder if you need a nappy change Jazzy,” and Marcio would stand to attention like a soldier.
Cruel.
But funny.
She checked to see if James had finished feeding before handing him over to Marcio, who carried him gingerly at arm’s length out to the lounge. With her mum still in the spare room they had set the changing table up in the living area so that nappies could be done with the light on without disturbing anyone.
Crawling gratefully back under the duvet, Helen was almost asleep before her head nestled into the feather pillow.
“Breastfeeding makes you sleepy,” the health visitor had said. “Nature has its compensations.” It seemed she had an answer for everything.
Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes Page 28