Читать книгу The Book of Love - Fionnuala Kearney - Страница 9

THEN – April 1997

‘You’re kidding, right?’

Dom was shaking his head, his expression deadpan.

‘Yes, you are! You’re kidding,’ Erin laughed. ‘Even you wouldn’t suggest strip poker to a woman who’s nine months pregnant and who can no longer see her feet.’

She watched him as he held the tray steady in his hands, almost tripping over the small hospital bag she’d packed weeks ago.

‘What? So, I get a cup of tea and toast in bed if we play “because it’s the weekend and we can”?’

‘Yep,’ he said setting the tray down beside her. ‘And I’ll thrash you. You will be naked first.’

Erin took a bite of toast, flicked the crumbs from her flannel pyjamas, remembering the first outing of naked card games. It was only weeks after they met and they hadn’t left her room for an entire weekend. ‘I have two items of clothing on and I’m not taking them off,’ she said, but he was already pulling a deck of cards from his pocket.

‘Well, you’d better win then, hadn’t you?’

Erin groaned. ‘Dom … I—’ She felt his eyes on her.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he told her. ‘I know you don’t feel it right now but there is nothing sexier than your pregnant body having my baby. And I’m trying to keep your mind off that – the “having the baby” thing.’

Erin rubbed her tongue over her front teeth. She had morning breath. She had crumbs sticking to the creases at the edge of her lips. She’d been hoping for a lie-in, but here he was with his breakfast tray and his infectious way. She smiled, her hand held aloft for some of the cards he was already shuffling. ‘Hang onto your trousers, Dom,’ she said.

‘Won’t need to.’ He took a bite of her toast. ‘Ugh, sorry. It’s a bit cold.’

‘When I win, you can go and make some more.’

‘When I win, after you’ve put some clothes back on, I’ll take you out for an early lunch.’

‘Deal,’ she said, curling her hair around her ears, already practising her best poker face.

Having spent a perfect, lazy day with Dom, Erin leaned against the back doorway and tried to swallow a sense of unease. Her natural anxiety was, of late, worsened by pregnancy hormones.

‘You don’t understand,’ she whispered, her hand making tiny circles around her navel.

‘So, explain it to me.’ Dom stopped her hand moving by taking it in his.

Her voice faltered, unsure. ‘I suppose I’m afraid.’

‘Of what? I mean tell me exactly what you’re afraid of.’

Erin lowered her eyes. Just outside the door by her stockinged feet lay a cluster of late-blooming crocuses still not quite ready for spring. Maybe the next day, she thought, maybe the next day the purple and golden yellow flowers would open and flash their bright stamens proudly. She watched her bump rise and fall with the pull and push of her lungs. And maybe once her baby was born she would feel ready to become a mother.

Sometimes she couldn’t believe that there was another human being alive inside of her. Other times, the ones when the child kicked and complained in the confined space of her stretched womb, she was acutely aware of it. And tonight, as her insides tightened with more Braxton Hicks contractions, ‘teasers’ that could only have been named such by a man – she wondered if now would be a good time to tell Dom that she wasn’t doing this ever again. The thought of having someone else taking over her body again …

‘Talk to me,’ he pressed her.

She closed her eyes, conscious that if she said how she really felt, was truly honest with him, Dom would only worry. She could have confessed she was afraid that becoming parents would change them, that their love might not have space for another person. She might have told him that her hormones seemed to play havoc with old anxieties, fears that had been prodded and poked awake. She might have told him she was afraid she was going to die in childbirth. The sensible part of her brain knew there was nothing logical about the panic that set in when she thought about giving birth, but … She batted away the scary thoughts.

‘Erin?’ Dom said.

Raising his hand to her face, she angled it to cup her cheek, leaning into it. ‘I’m just being silly.’

She felt his lips on her forehead – a kiss that confirmed he was right there with her, that he would listen to her ‘silly’ if she wanted him to. But Erin remained quiet, unable to speak her doubts to her waiting husband who believed he could kiss her fears away.

Four days to go to her due date and the thoughts lined up now, colliding anxiously with one another. What if, she asked him silently in her frightened head, what if I die and leave you alone? What if I live and we have a beautiful child and I can’t love it? What if I love it more than you? What if I stay this weight – will you ever fancy me again? What if we’ve forgotten how to make love? She thought of earlier when he’d beaten her at strip poker and they had lain in the bed naked, just holding each other. She gripped her tightening stomach and breathed through the discomfort.

‘You got those false contraction things again?’ he asked, and she nodded, thinking he too could probably feel them as he held her. ‘Must be the weirdest thing.’

‘Yep,’ she pulled away from him and doubled over placing her hands on her knees. ‘Though these ones haven’t gone away,’ she said, one hand straight away steadying herself in the doorway.

‘Breathe.’ Dom rubbed her back. ‘Slowly.’

And that’s what she was doing, breathing away the uncomfortable ‘teasers’, feeling Dom’s hand massaging her back gently, when she felt a small pop and watched water trickle down her legs onto her socks.

‘Shit!’ Dom reared upwards. ‘Is that …?’

Erin straightened. ‘Get the bag, love.’

‘Right,’ he was staring at her.

‘Dom, the bag?’ She closed the back door, turning the key in the lock, moving the handle up and down to make sure.

‘You alright?’

She nodded. ‘The—’

‘I know, the bag.’ Dom patted his pockets as if the ordered holdall she’d packed six weeks ago could be found in one, and Erin reached for his hand.

‘I’m okay,’ she said, and in that same moment recognised all her own worries in his darting eyes. Of course. Of course, he was frightened too. ‘I’m okay.’ She squeezed his hand.

He nodded before moving at speed to their bedroom.

‘Get me some clean knickers and leggings,’ she called after him.

‘Right.’

She heard him in the next room pulling out drawers, muttering to himself, and she began to peel her lower clothes from her body. With the leggings she’d been wearing, she wiped the tiny puddle of water from the floor, ignoring the thought that she’d expected a torrent, a waterfall, and that if that was all the amniotic fluid in her, it could only mean the rest was all baby. ‘Shit,’ she whispered to no one but herself.

She was stood at the sink, filling the plastic basin with hot water and swishing her soiled clothes with her hands when Dom was suddenly by her side.

‘Okay, let’s get going,’ he laid a gentle arm around her shoulder.

Erin gripped the sink, a wave of pain and nausea overcoming her. ‘Knick-ers,’ she panted.

‘Yes, sorry, I put them in the bag.’ Dom unzipped the bag and bent down, sliding the knickers up over Erin’s legs. She winced as she felt pinching lace and realised he’d obviously picked a pair from the pre-pregnancy drawer she hoped to return to someday.

‘A thong?’ she asked as she felt the useless triangle of material sit somewhere on her lower bump and a thin elastic line wedge between her bum cheeks.

‘God! Sorry.’ He was already pulling her foot through one leg of a pair of black leggings and began to peel it from her again.

Erin tried to smile. ‘Leave it – it’s fine,’ she said gripping hold of his shoulder just as another contraction threatened. ‘It’ll give the nurses a laugh. Now, hospital,’ she said as she pulled the leggings up as far as they would go. ‘And step on it.’

‘Nooooooooo!’ Erin cried out as Susan, a heavy-set midwife from the west of Ireland, whom they had met nine hours earlier, now mentioned the word ‘doctor’. She had read the books, heard other women’s stories. A doctor meant a caesarean. She could do this. Her eyes fixed on Dom’s – deep brown – set beneath a sweaty, worried brow and above a surgical mask. ‘Tell them I can do it.’ She gripped his hand. ‘Ple-ea-se …’

Dom stood, not letting go of her. ‘She says she can do it,’ he announced to the room in some weird ‘I’m in charge’ voice that she had never heard before but loved him for.

‘Okay, Erin,’ Susan looked up at her from between her legs. ‘We’ll give it one more go. Breathe now … then wait for this next one before pushing,’ she said, glancing at the screen to her side. Erin had just a few moments to catch her breath before she could feel it rolling inside her; another pain that would gather speed like a determined tide. She tried to control it, watched the monitor strap across her middle stretch and breathed into it just before a torturous tightening racked her body. Without waiting to be told, Erin pushed to the point that she felt as if her head might explode. This was nothing like any book had told her; nothing like the classes she and Dom had practised simple breathing exercises in. And as she screamed into the final thrust that would give birth to her child, she felt sure her body would snap in two.

‘Push, love, push,’ Dom urged, and she wanted to thump him. She wanted to yell at him; ask him how exactly he’d shit a melon, but she needed any energy she had and the only sound that left her mouth was a long wail – a piercing cry that lasted the length of time it took for her baby to emerge. And when she finally breathed again, it was to the sound of Dom sobbing. ‘You did it, sweetheart. Jesus, you did it.’

Erin waited for a baby’s cry. She tried to raise herself up on her elbows. ‘Where …’

And then she heard it, a tiny mewling yelp, again, nothing like she’d been led to believe it would sound.

‘You have a little girl,’ Susan smiled at her as she wiped the struggling baby before placing her on Erin’s chest. Erin stared, mute, at the frowning bloodied infant, all wrinkles and wriggling limbs. She pulled her into her arms, checked for fingers and toes. Dom’s face grazed against hers and together they watched as their newborn opened her eyes. The books were wrong again. Because Erin felt that their daughter could really see already – had spotted them, focused on them both as if to say, ‘Hello, Mummy and Daddy. I’m here. Are you the people who’ve been talking to me for so long?’

She clutched her baby, ignored the commotion south of her waist; paid no attention to words like ‘afterbirth’ and ‘stitches’.

‘You were so brave,’ Dom whispered. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

Erin wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure if their child was yet beautiful but was quite sure that one day she would be. She wasn’t sure if she’d been brave or obstinate and wondered if there would be enough dissolvable thread in the ward, in the world, to stitch both halves of her back together again.

She was sure of the clear vision she had of Dom as Daddy with his little girl riding her bike without stabilisers for the first time. She was sure of his voice acting out the characters during many bedtime stories. She was sure of the surge of love she felt for this tiny human being who had claimed her body for so long. It was more powerful than any pain she’d endured, more powerful than any pregnancy magazines had reported. ‘Hello, little one,’ she said. ‘Welcome.’

And Erin Carter was in love for only the second time in her life.

When she woke, she woke to every part of her hurting. She woke to a stomach so bulging that she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole thing, or if the medical staff had left another baby behind. Dom was sitting in the chair next to her bed, feeding the child from a tiny bottle. Erin felt a pulling ache in her breasts. She willed herself to sit up, to say no, that she wanted to feel her baby latch onto her nipple, but the words wouldn’t form.

Dom reached across to her. ‘Sleep, my love, you’re exhausted.’ He stood, holding their baby daughter in one arm and stroking Erin’s forehead with the other hand. She felt the rhythmic swipe of his hand on her brow; hypnotic. Seized by a sudden panic, she whispered his name. ‘Dom …’

‘You need to rest, love. Your blood pressure’s low.’

Erin’s breathing only levelled when she reached out and touched their child.

‘I’ve got this,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’

Erin didn’t tell her eyes to close, but they did and underneath her eyelids, she told herself there would be plenty of time for her to feed her baby. There would be time enough to feel her suckle and to nourish her from her swollen milk ducts. For now, all Erin could feel was a flame like heat surging through the bottom half of her body and for the first time since her waters had broken she thought of herself.

Something was wrong.

You’re not going to die.

But something was wrong.

There’s nothing wrong. Sleep. And stop thinking bad thoughts. You have someone else to think about now.

‘You do.’ From nowhere, her own mother’s voice punctured her thoughts. ‘You’re a Mummy now. I’m so sad I can’t be with you.’

Something’s wrong.

‘Nothing’s wrong, Erin.’

In her mind, she saw her mother smile, from where she stood just beyond Dom and their baby. She was wearing her favourite dungarees and a colourful scarf rested on her shoulders over a white shirt. Erin’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Relax, she’s fine,’ her mum reassured her. ‘You are going to be a wonderful mother but for now, you need to rest. Dom’s got this.’

Since opening her eyes, Erin had been resisting the slide back into sleep, fearful she’d never wake up.

Relax. Dom’s got this.

And as she fought sleep and worry and joy and pain, tears slid from her heavy eyelids because today of all days she really wanted her mother with her.

Forty-eight hours later, two days of antibiotics inside her to deal with a postpartum infection, Erin was showered and about to dress when Dom appeared at the end of the bed, his head poking around the curtain. Their daughter slept peacefully, swaddled in a bright lemon woollen blanket.

‘Hey, gorgeous.’ Dom came in and leant into the clear hospital cot to kiss their child.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, hugging her gently.

‘The nurses fed her in the night so I’m not too bad. I managed a feed yesterday evening and first thing today and we did alright. We need to choose a name,’ she kept her voice low as she pulled on a T-shirt over her maternity bra. ‘And stop ogling my boobs,’ she grinned at her husband.

‘I can’t help myself. They’re like one of the wonders of the world.’

‘For now, they’re Rachel’s,’ she nodded towards their baby.

‘You mean Maisie’s,’ he replied, both hands on his hips. ‘And we should teach her to share from the get-go. Don’t you think Maisie suits her face?’

Erin smiled. ‘What about Rachel, with Maisie as the middle name?’

‘Or just Maisie,’ he grinned. ‘Look there’s something—’

‘What?’ Erin’s hand rooted in the bag for some underwear she’d packed right at the bottom, but her hand landed on the thong from the day she’d arrived.

‘I know you’re exhausted and I promise it won’t be for long.’

She frowned, turned her eyes on her husband, sensing what was coming immediately.

‘She’s their first grandchild. They haven’t wanted to intrude so far and just want a quick peek, so they’re going to pop in for ten minutes when we get home.

Erin flopped onto the bed, sighed loudly before placing the thong on her head.

Dom narrowed his eyes and she sensed him watching as she put on a pair of bigger knickers and bent down to pull the leggings back up her body. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’ she said grabbing hold of her middle and jiggling it. ‘I packed my jeans in the bag. A little optimistic, I now realise.’

‘You did hear me saying Mum and Dad are popping in?’

Erin locked eyes with him. ‘I heard you. Ten minutes.’

‘That’s all. You do know you have a thong on your head?’ he asked as he sat beside her.

‘I do.’ She pulled it down around her neck. ‘I’ll wear it as a necklace until it fits my huge ass again.’ She rested her head on his shoulder and together they stared at their baby.

‘You think she’ll always be this quiet?’ he tucked a corner of the blanket that had loosened into its fold.

‘In your dreams … She just likes to be swaddled.’

Dom smiled, and she stared up at him. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘You know this already,’ he said. ‘Swaddling stuff. You are going to be brilliant.’

‘Flattery … I’m still wearing a thong around my neck when your mother calls.’

Dom laughed, stood and pulled her upright. ‘She either won’t notice, or she won’t say a word. Overnight you’ve been elevated to superstar. No pain relief except gas and air, a healthy eight-and-a-half-pound baby girl. According to Dad, Mum’s knitting needles have been clacking all night – all pink wool, of course.’

Erin grimaced. She couldn’t imagine Sophie wanting to do anything for her with a knitting needle other than stab her through the heart, but she nodded obligingly, willing to, once again, give her mother-in-law the benefit of the doubt for the sake of her husband.

‘I’ll just go and check they’re ready to let you out of here.’ Dom was beyond the curtain before she could tell him she already knew the paperwork had been signed off. They were waiting for her to go. There was likely another woman already screaming in the labour ward who’d need her bed. Erin laid another blanket from her bag on the bed; multi-coloured, made up of small crochet squares – something her own mother had made for her. She had washed it carefully in soft soap, and now halved the square blanket into a triangle.

Gently she lifted the baby from the cot and placed her in the centre, pulling each corner across her tiny body, thinking Dom was right, she did look like a ‘Maisie’. The child stirred in her sleep, wrinkled her nose and Erin held her breath for a moment before raising her to her chest. She inhaled the heady scent from her dark brown, downy, hair.

You can do this.

‘Everything’s good to go.’ Dom swished the curtain aside. ‘All the paperwork’s been done. You alright, got everything?’ he asked.

You can do this. Mum’s not here but with Dom by your side, you can do this.

‘Everything that matters.’ Erin breathed deep and kissed Maisie’s head.