Put Out the Fires

by Maureen Lee

  The women in overalls disappeared at that point, though Lord knows what it was they said to Eileen before they went, because they left her in a terrible state, virtually helpless with laughter, to such a degree someone had to rush inside the church in search of a chair and a glass of water.

  They came pouring out of the churchyard, the entire crowd feeling infused with unnaturally high spirits, as if the oddness of the situation and its suddenness had evoked some rarely felt emotion, and marched up the High Street singing “Here comes the bride, fifty inches -wide”. People came out to their gates to watch. Eileen, who was arm in arm with Nick at the head of the unruly procession, protested vainly, “Be quiet, you’re making a show of us!”

  The food was already laid out when they arrived at the cottage and six bottles of wine had miraculously appeared from somewhere. “Perhaps Jesus sent it,” Siobhan said knowledgeably, but it turned out later to be Jack Doyle’s contribution towards his daughter’s wedding.

  “It smells dead lovely here,” Paddy O’Hara said, as everyone spilled out into the garden with their drink and sandwiches. “Take me to a tree someone, I’d like to lean against it. I haven’t leant against a tree with a mug of beer in me hand since I left Ireland when I was a lad.”

  As soon as Paddy had been tanked up sufficiently, he was pressed to play his mouth organ and they all began to dance.

  “Eileen!” Ruth Singerman found Eileen sitting exhausted on a deck chair. “We’ve just arrived. Congratulations! I’ve brought you a present. I’m afraid there wasn’t time to wrap it.”

  “Jacob’s musical box!” Eileen cried, delighted. She opened the little blue and pink enamelled box and The Blue Danube tinkled out. “I always loved this, but how can you bear to give it away?”

  “You were more of a daughter to Jacob than I was for a long time. I think he would have wanted you to have it.”

  “He’s probably up there, watching, y’know, his fingers itching to get at his ould piano!” Eileen clasped Ruth’s hand. “Ta, luv. I’ll treasure it for as long as I live.” She looked at the woman keenly. Ruth had taken Michael’s cruel removal far better than anyone would have expected and the loss seemed to have made her and Matt grow closer than they’d been before, though a keen observer might have noticed they seemed more like great friends than lovers. “We’ve come through, haven’t we, you and I?”

  Ruth glanced at Matt, who was laughing at something Brenda Mahon had just said. He looked thoroughly at home. Perhaps he sensed Ruth was watching, because he smiled and waved. “I think we have,” she said.

  “Are you happy, luv?” Jack Doyle asked his daughter, though it was a silly question to ask. Her radiant face already told him the answer.

  “What do you think, Dad?

  He gave one of his rare smiles. “I reckon you’re happy.

  He’s a fine lad is Nick - and Cal’s the salt of the earth, too.

  Me daughters have both got good husbands. I’m a lucky man in that respect.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s a pity about our Sean.”

  Eileen seized his arm impatiently. “Your son will have a good wife, Dad, I promise. Alice Scully will bring out the best in Sean.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we? I see that Kate woman’s here. I’d like a word with her about those tomato plants she gave me.”

  Oh, yes, she was happy, Eileen thought as she watched him walk away, but there was one thing that would have made her happier. From time to time, she thought she saw a glimpse of Tony’s fair head amongst the children chasing each other across the dappled grass. He’d always wanted to have Nick for a dad . . .

  “What are you staring at?” Nick came up behind and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “A little ghost.”

  “That would have made it perfect, wouldn’t it?”

  Eileen nodded, sighing, “Dead perfect.”

  Paddy O’Hara began to play The Wild Colonial Boy on his mouth organ, and, tired of dancing, everyone sat down on the lawn and began to sing. The sun slipped behind a cloud and a gust of wind suddenly lashed the trees, dislodging a shower of leaves which floated lazily to the ground like red and gold butterflies. Eileen shivered.

  “I hope it’s not a rude question,” Nick said amiably, “but what time are this lot likely to make themselves scarce?”

  “You don’t mind, do you?” She put her hand on his and looked up at him, worried. He’d envisaged a wedding with just the two of them there.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I’ve enjoyed myself tremendously. It’s like belonging to a great big family.”

  “Our Sheila’s already started tidying up.” She could hear the clink of dishes being washed in the back kitchen and Siobhan and Caitlin had been despatched to all four corners of the garden in search of stray glasses. The dad’ll get rid of them all shortly. There’s a bus at half past seven. Anyroad, it looks as if it might rain.”

  “Will he get rid of himself at the same time? I’d like at least a few hours alone with my new wife.”

  “So,” said Nick, “we did it!”

  “So we did.”

  They stood facing each other from the far ends of the room. Everyone had gone, merrily drunk most of them, and the cottage felt abnormally quiet, though the wind had become a gale outside and the trees were rustling wildly. Birds sang and the sound seemed louder than usual, almost angry, as if they were cross at being disturbed or were trying to vie with the noise of the threshing branches.

  Nick had removed his jacket earlier and rolled up his sleeves. His arms were a deep golden brown. He looked tired, Eileen thought with compunction. He’d been on the road all night, and had the journey back ahead of him.

  But then, every time they met he was tired.

  “Would you like a little sleep?” she asked.

  He grinned and her heart turned over. “No, I bloody wouldn’t! Come here!”

  She stumbled towards him and they came together in the middle of the room. He caught her in his arms and they stood for a long time wrapped together, not speaking.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered after a while.

  “Christ, I can’t bear to leave you.” His voice broke.

  “Oh, Nick! When will it be over? When will we all lead normal lives again?”

  “I don’t know, my darling, I don’t know.”

  They still stayed together, clasped in each other’s arms.

  “How much time have we got?” Eileen whispered.

  “Not long. Shall we go upstairs?”

  “Yes, please.”

  They lay on the bed, Nick’s arm across her belly. “I think I can feel the baby’s heart beating.”

  “That’s me! I’m throbbing all over,”

  “It’s you who should have the sleep,” he said tenderly.

  “You must be exhausted after today.”

  “I’m all right. I’ll have nothing to do tomorrer, will I?

  Not like you.” She stroked his forehead and he closed his eyes. “Mmm! That’s nice,” he murmured.

  He fell asleep eventually, as she guessed he might, and she lay watching his mobile face, his long lashes blinking from time to time as she continued to stroke his brow. His eyes had scarcely shut, when she began to feel very alone, despite his warm body next to hers.

  “It’s always going to be like this,” she thought, “until he’s home for good.” Outside, the birds were making a terrible racket and the trees were working themselves up into a rage. Through the windows, she could see leaves were no longer fluttering to the ground, but being blown crazily, first one way, then the other. Suddenly, it began to rain and the downpour thundered against the window until it rattled in its frame.

  She didn’t have to live here, in the cottage. She could stay in Pearl Street if she wanted, but she’d always known here was the place where she should be once she had the baby. She didn’t need the street, not like Sheila. She needed peace and quiet, the solitude to dream of Nick
and think of Tony and look after her new child.

  A little nagging pain seemed to roll through her stomach, and she remembered she’d been too excited to eat during the reception, so it was ages since she’d had food. Still, Sheila had left sandwiches and cake downstairs for their supper. As soon as Nick woke up, she’d set the table, switch the wireless on, and they would eat the meal like an ordinary married couple.

  She gasped as another pain rolled through her, this one slightly sharper than the first, and she wondered if there was enough milk to make a drink.

  “I hope I’m not going to be sick,” she thought. She watched Nick sleeping. His mouth twitched and she longed to kiss it. They’d scarcely had any time alone together. Perhaps she should wake him up, but then, he had that long journey back . . .

  “Ouch!” Another pain, even stronger than the others.

  Nick said sleepily, “Whassa matter?”

  “I think the baby’s on its way.” How stupid of her not to realise that the pains were contractions!

  “ WHAT!” He shot off the bed like a bullet and looked at her wild-eyed.

  Eileen had been all set to panic herself, but reckoned one of them should remain clam. “Don’t get in a flap, Nick,” she said tersely. “Put the kettle on and make a cup of tea while I sort meself out.”

  “Tea!” he yelled hysterically. “How can you think of tea!

  Get in the car and I’ll drive you to the nursing home this instant -I take it you’ve booked?”

  “Of course I’ve booked. Oh, but me suitcase with all me things in is at home.”

  “Sod your suitcase and get in the car!”

  “Not until I’ve had a cup of tea,” she said stubbornly.

  Another contraction hit her and she gave a little scream.

  “Oh, all right, forget about the tea, I’m coming!”

  “Hold on, Mrs Costello, until we get you to the delivery room. It’s only at the end of the corridor. Hold on another minute.”

  “It’s not Mrs Costello, it’s Mrs Stephens,” Nick said, as he virtually ran down the corridor with the wheelchair, Eileen clutching the arms precariously.

  “It was Costello when she booked,” the young nurse panted as she tried to keep up. “Turn left here.” “

  “Well, it’s Stephens now.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eileen cried. She’d been holding on for miles, ever since Aintree Racecourse when her waters had broken. Then she’d forgotten the number of the nursing home in Merton Road, and Nick had been forced to drive slowly through the howling wind, looking for the sign outside.

  “I’ve got the number all safe and sound at home,” she groaned.

  “A lot of good that is!” Nick swore.

  She felt herself being lifted onto a table and her clothes were removed, and despite the agony she was in, she managed to say plaintively, “Be careful with me new stockings.”

  “All right, me darling. Spread your legs out, wide now.”

  An Irish voice, a jolly nurse, much older than the first one, with a red face that shone like an apple.

  “As if I’d want to do anything else! Oh, Jaysus!” The worst contraction yet, as if her insides were being split asunder.

  “Is Matron on her way?” the nurse asked.

  “I’ve no idea,” Eileen screamed.

  The younger nurse replied, “She’s coming.”

  A woman in a dark blue dress with a white headdress like a nun’s loomed into view. “Is she ready to push yet?” she enquired in a voice like ice.

  “I’ve been ready to push for bloody hours!”

  “I’m sure so, Matron.”

  “Then let her.”

  “Come on, now, Mrs Stephens,” the Irish nurse said, “Let’s have a real good push!”

  “Just try and stop me!” She screamed again and a wave of pain engulfed her as the tiny being she’d been nurturing for nine whole months slid out into the world. Then the pain stopped and Eileen sank back onto the pillow, feeling shattered and triumphant.

  It was over!

  She heard a slap and there was an almighty and indignant yell from the baby. The Irish nurse said, “You have a lovely little boy, Mrs Costello, and he’s got a fine pair of lungs on him, I must say.”

  “It’s not Costello,” Eileen whispered, “It’s Stephens.”

  “Are they always so ugly?” Nick was looking at her in an awed way, as if she’d just done something totally unique.

  It was several hours later; Eileen had needed three stitches after the birth, and poor Nick had been left to pace the corridor, nerve-racked and impatient. She’d booked a single room, so there were just the three of them, Eileen and Nick and their baby.

  “He’s not ugly, he’s beautiful,” she protested, smiling.

  She forgot entirely she had wanted a girl. “In fact, he’s the image of you!”

  Nick looked alarmed. “Is he?”

  “The spitting image. He’s got your hair, see?” She stroked the tight dark curls. “And your mouth and your nose.”

  The baby was curled up, wide awake, like a white ball in her arms. As they watched, he yawned crookedly and waved his fists. Nick laughed. “He’s got no manners. Why is he wearing a dress?”

  “It’s a nightgown, silly. Babies always wear them.”

  “I’ve got a son!” Nick said incredulously. “Can I hold him?”

  “Of course you can. Put your hand under his neck.”

  Nick took the baby gingerly. “God! This feels peculiar.

  My son!” He touched the tiny nose, the mouth, the hands, with his finger. “He’s perfect!” He smiled at Eileen. “We’ve got a child! We’re a proper family.”

  “I know, luv.”

  Their eyes met and Eileen knew he was about to say the words she’d been dreading. “I have to go,” he sighed.

  “It’s long past midnight and I’m already late. I shall have to put my foot down the whole way.”

  She wasn’t sure if she could bear it. “Be careful, promise?” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact and sensible.

  “I will. Here, take him back, our son, and look after him for me, won’t you?” Eileen nodded wordlessly as she took the baby in her arms.

  “He is beautiful.” She could tell Nick was doing his damnedest not to cry.

  “Like you,” she said.

  “Well, I’ll be off now.” He bent and kissed her fiercely on the lips. “Goodbye, my darling girl. Goodbye, son.”

  He stroked the curly head briefly.

  “Goodbye, Nick.”

  He stood at the doorway for several seconds, staring intently, as if he was trying to take in the picture of his wife and son and impress it permanently on his brain.

  “We’ll meet again, eh?”

  He left, and Eileen lay there listening to the sound of his footsteps as they became fainter and fainter. She heard him go down the stairs, and a few seconds later, the front door closed. A car engine started up . . .

  “Nick!”

  Somehow, she managed to struggle out of bed, though she could hardly walk, the stitches hurt so much. She staggered to the window, clutching the baby, and pulled the curtains back.

  The wind was still howling and the full yellow moon was veiled by dark clouds, so she could scarcely see the car as it crawled out of the drive into the road. Then the car stopped, and she knew that Nick had seen her at the window and was waving.

  She waved back frantically. “Goodbye, darling,” she cried. “Goodbye, my darling Nick. I love you, I love you.”

  She held their son up to the window and shook his tiny hand in Nick’s direction. “Wave to your dad, there’s a good boy.”

  The car started up again. Within seconds, it had gone. Eileen pressed her face against the cold glass and felt a searing pain rip through her entire body, a pain far worse, far greater than anything she’d felt throughout the birth.

  She cried out loud, a cry of despair and loneliness and longing, a cry of terror. How could she get through the rest of her lif
e without him?

  The door opened and the matron came in. “I thought I heard a noise . . . ” She stopped, shocked to the core, when she saw Eileen at the window. “Get back into bed this minute,” she snapped. “You’re not allowed on your feet for seven days. And look at these curtains! You’ll have the warden after us.”

  “He’s gone!” Eileen said hopelessly. “He’s gone forever.”

  The woman’s face softened slightly as she closed the curtains. “You’ll feel better about things in the morning,” she said awkwardly, as if she wasn’t used to being kind.

  She clapped her hands together briskly. “Come on now, Mrs Costello, back into bed. I’ll put baby down in the nursery.”

  “It’s Mrs Stephens.”

  “But I thought

  “I know, it was Costello, now it’s Stephens.” Eileen winced as she tried to hoist her legs onto the bed. Matron tut-tutted, grabbed hold of her feet and swung them under the covers none too gently.

  “That’ll teach you not to get out of bed again!” she said tartly. “Let me have baby and I’ll tuck you in.”

  Eileen handed her son to the woman with unconcealed reluctance.

  Matron’s expression changed completely when she looked down at the baby in her arms. “He’s a lovely little boy.” She was actually smiling. “What are you going to call him?”

  “Nick.”

  “Well, Nick Stephens, it’s about time you went to bed.”

  She switched the light off. “Goodnight, Mrs Stephens. I hope you sleep well.”

  The door closed, and Eileen was left alone in the darkness.