Chris gave a wry smile as Suzy stood in an agony of indecision oohing and aahing over this tiny outfit and that one. She hadn’t spoken to him for two days after the party. She’d gone all cold and reserved and wouldn’t let him near her and then he’d got all horny and wanted her and she’d kept him at arm’s length until yesterday. Women knew how to punish you . . . for sure.
‘I wonder if she’s fair-haired or dark?’ Suzy mused aloud as she picked up and discarded two tiny little dresses.
‘Hurry up, will you?’ He tried to keep his tone neutral, but this place was giving him the willies.
I bet Stephanie is dark. Dark and blue-eyed like me and creamy-skinned and soft like Ellen. The thought left him slack-jawed with shock. He wasn’t thinking of her as just a baby now. He was calling her Stephanie. This was dangerous!
‘I’m getting out of here. I’ll meet you downstairs in the men’s department.’ Chris was so agitated he didn’t bother to pick up a pair of little booties he’d knocked down in his haste to get away.
Suzy stared after him. He was like a cat on a griddle lately. She wondered distractedly whether he was seeing another woman. She never knew where she stood with Chris. Deep down, Suzy knew he couldn’t be trusted. She made a hasty selection, paid for the little outfit, and hurried after him.
Chris stared unseeingly along the rows of suits as Suzy chose a Van Heusen cream shirt for her father’s birthday present. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he actually broody? The thought scared the living daylights out of him. Ever since Emma had told him about the baby, he’d been fighting the urge to phone Ellen. He wanted to go to Glenree to see them. It was crazy . . . after all that had happened between them. Even though they’d parted on a bitter note, he was sure Ellen wouldn’t turn him away. But if he went once he might want to go again. It was a risk he couldn’t take.
It was snowing as they left Clerys. Big soft flakes swirled down from a gunmetal-grey sky, dusting the pavements with a white lacy covering. The Christmas lights gladdened the dusky gloom and people hurried home to prepare for a night of revelry.
As they passed McDowell’s Suzy automatically slowed down to glance at the diamond rings and brooches and necklaces that filled the jeweller’s window. Chris followed her gaze.
‘Will you marry me, Suzy?’ he blurted out.
‘What?’ She was stunned.
‘Will you marry me?’ Chris repeated, feeling suddenly calm.
‘Oh Chris! Oh Chris!’ Suzy, radiant, flung her arms around him. Chris hugged her tightly. It was almost a relief to have made the decision. Now there’d be no visits to Glenree. That was the end of it. He was off that particular hook.
‘Let’s go and pick the ring. We can announce it tonight.’ He was committed now, he might as well get it over and done with.
‘Oh my God, Chris. I can’t believe this. You’ve had it all planned. You’ve been thinking about me all along. And I actually thought there was someone else.’
‘Silly girl,’ he chided, glad it was almost dark and that he had his coat collar up so that she couldn’t see his face fully.
‘I love you, darling.’ Suzy reached up and kissed his cheek.
‘I love you, too.’ It was an automatic response. Suzy was right for him. She’d make a good wife. But not as devoted as Ellen. No-one would ever love him like Ellen did. The thought was fleeting. He brushed it aside. That was the past. This was his future. There was no going back.
Chapter Twelve
Miriam groaned as Rebecca’s whimper turned into a full-throated bawl. ‘Ben . . .’ she nudged her husband in the ribs. Ben snored on. She glared at him resentfully as she struggled into a sitting position. How was it that men were able to switch off so completely? She always had a subconscious ear attuned to the children. Deep, untroubled, restful sleep wouldn’t be hers again for a long time.
Miriam was so tired she actually felt dizzy. Her head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool. A sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach and a dull heavy ache in her back announced the imminent arrival of her period. Her periods were desperately heavy these days. She was always exhausted after them. Rebecca howled again. Miriam got out of her warm bed, shivered, leaned into the cot and lifted her daughter. Her nappy was sodden and the wet had leaked up her back, despite the protection of the rubber pants. Her nightclothes were damp.
‘Shuussh, there’s a good girl,’ Miriam crooned. It was cold in the bedroom, the temperature outside was below freezing. Quietly, she made her way to the bedroom door and slipped out into the hall. She got a complete change of clothes for Rebecca from the hot press and hurried into the warmth of the sitting-room. Ben had left a fire burning all night because it was so cold and the vivid glow of orange-red coals was a welcome sight. Swiftly, expertly, Miriam washed, dried and changed the baby. Her little cheeks were roaring red and she had her thumb jammed into her mouth and was chewing on it frantically. Miriam hoped Rebecca wasn’t starting to teethe early. Teething was so hard on babies, she reflected as she lifted her daughter in her arms and put her to her breast. Rebecca fed contentedly, her eyes drooping with tiredness. Please let her sleep the rest of the night, Miriam offered up the fervent prayer as she watched her daughter’s eyes close and her mouth slacken against her breast. As quietly as she could, she eased herself up into a standing position. Rebecca’s eyes flickered open. Miriam froze. Rebecca tried . . . hard . . . to keep awake but she couldn’t last and it was with weary relief that Miriam placed her back in her cot and covered her up snugly.
She was just dropping off to sleep when a slice of light pierced the dark and she raised her head to see Connie in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall light.
‘Mammy I went blah an’ it’s all over my clothes an’ in the bed an’ I’ve a pain in my tummy.’
Miriam felt like bursting into tears. Why do you keep picking on me? she asked the Almighty, viciously, as she got out of bed for the second time that night. Ben snored serenely in the darkness. Miriam was almost overwhelmed by an urge to thump him. She was as entitled to a night’s sleep as he was. They were his children as well as hers. She restrained her violent impulse and went over to her eldest daughter. The smell of vomit assailed her nostrils.
‘It’s all right, pet,’ she soothed. It wasn’t Connie’s fault, there was no point in taking it out on her. ‘Come on down to the sitting-room and I’ll give you a little wash in Rebecca’s bath in front of the fire, and I’ll put clean pyjamas on you.’
‘In Webecca’s bath?’ Connie immediately cheered up. Getting washed in the small bath Miriam had for the baby was worth going blah for. The small bath was much more exotic and exciting than the cold white enamel one in the bathroom.
Miriam removed Connie’s soiled pyjamas and wrapped her in a blanket. ‘Stay in front of the fire until I get hot water for the bath,’ she instructed. Connie shivered. Her eyes were bright and watery, her forehead was hot to the touch. If she wasn’t better in the morning, Miriam would call Doctor Elliot, she decided.
She nearly got lockjaw, yawning, as she stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. She filled the bath with lukewarm water from the tap, added the kettle of water and carried it into the sitting-room. The weight of it made her back ache. Connie perked up when she saw the bath. She really did look wishy-washy, Miriam thought, feeling a twinge of guilt for her bad humour.
By the time she’d washed Connie, changed the bed, put her and Rebecca’s sheets and clothes to steep, Miriam had developed a thumping headache. She took two Anadin and lay down beside her daughter who was feeling sick again. Eventually they both dozed off. Miriam woke to hear Connie retching over herself, instead of into the potty beside the bed, placed there for such a purpose.
As she went through the whole ritual of washing and changing once more, Miriam felt utterly pissed off. She was dead tired. She had a headache and a backache, in a few hours time she was going to have to get up and face the day ahead. It was now lashing rain, she’d never get her clothes dry. E
mma wanted her to look after Julie Ann for the morning because she was going to a coffee morning in Ballsbridge. Mrs Munroe wanted her to bake a batch of scones for a sale of work in the guild and Ben needed his good suit pressed because some big noise from head office was visiting his department.
The cock on Boyle’s farm crowed loudly in the distance. It was still pitch-dark and his timing was completely off.
‘Shut up, you stupid bird,’ Miriam gritted as she got into bed beside her comatose husband and resentfully tweaked the bedclothes over her, not caring whether she woke him up or not. If Connie got sick once more, he could take care of her. It seemed as though she’d only just got to sleep when Rebecca’s cries, shrill and insistent, woke her.
‘Ben,’ she dug her husband in the ribs, ‘go and see to the baby, I’ve been up all night.’
‘But it’s quarter past seven – time for her feed – and I can’t breastfeed her,’ Ben said indignantly, as he rubbed his side. ‘And there’s no need to be so vicious.’
‘She’s going on the bottle next week, I’ve had enough of this lark,’ Miriam grumbled as she got out of bed and lifted Rebecca out of her cot.
‘You’re in a very bad humour.’ Ben yawned.
‘So would you be if you’d been up all night with Rebecca and Connie.’
‘What’s wrong with Connie?’
‘I don’t know. She was sick twice, all over herself and the bed, and she’s feverish. If she’s no better I’ll get Doctor Elliot for her today.’
‘You should have called me,’ Ben said as he let Rebecca grip his finger with her little hands.
‘Huh,’ Miriam snorted derisively. ‘I did call you, for all the notice you took. You just turned over and snored. I’m going to bed the minute you come home tonight and you can look after them all. I’ll express some milk for Rebecca and you can try her on the bottle,’ Miriam declared.
‘Well I can’t come home early tonight, remember. I’ve got a union meet—’
‘That’s just typical,’ Miriam snapped. ‘I’m fed up to the back teeth having to do everything myself. Your mother wants me to make scones. I’ve to look after Julie Ann for the morning, on top of having to take care of a baby and a sick child. It’s too much.’
‘For crying out loud, Miriam, why don’t you just say no to Emma and Mam. I’m fed up listening to you moaning about them. Then, when they ask you to do something, you agree immediately. If you say no they won’t keep asking you,’ Ben said crossly.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Miriam muttered. ‘Your mother would go into a huff if I said no.’
‘Well let her go into a huff,’ Ben said irritably as he got out of bed. They’d had this conversation a thousand times, and still Miriam wouldn’t put her foot down with his mother and Emma.
‘Mammy, I’m starving for my flonflakes.’ Daniel appeared at the bedroom door. ‘An’ Connie’s getting sick all over the bed, an’ there’s a smell off it.’
‘I’ll go.’ Ben shuffled into his trousers and hurried out of the bedroom with Daniel trailing in his wake.
Miriam sat against the pillows, feeding Rebecca. She could hear the rain lashing against the window pane. Her bath was full of clothes steeping, she’d have to get them washed today, but Lord knows when she’d get them dry. At the rate Connie was being sick she’d have no bedclothes left, not to mention pyjamas.
She was sorely tempted to phone Emma and tell her that she couldn’t look after Julie Ann today. Her hands were full with her own lot and Julie Ann was a handful at the best of times. She would phone her, she decided. As soon as she’d fed Rebecca.
‘Put the little pink dress and the white cardigan on her, Vincent, and the white socks with the pink bows,’ Emma instructed as she lay back against the pillows sipping the tea and eating the croissants Vincent had brought her earlier.
She marvelled as she watched her husband’s gentle patience with Julie Ann. The baby was almost impossible to dress with all her squirming and wriggling. Emma found it a dreadfully tiresome chore but Vincent had a real knack for it. It helped of course that he was absolutely besotted by his daughter. Emma would have been quite jealous had she not been so relieved to have her husband do most of the babyminding. He always fed her when he was there. He dressed her and bathed her and changed her nappy before he went to work. And then when he came home in the evening he fed her and changed her and put her to bed. If she cried at night, it was Vincent who tended to her. It suited Emma. Even though it meant that she didn’t have one hundred per cent of his attention any more. A mother she was not cut out to be. She’d admitted that to herself from the start.
She’d been petrified out of her wits for the first few weeks that Julie Ann was home. If she gagged on her bottle or went scarlet in the face howling with colic, Emma burst into tears. She’d lived in fear of anything happening while she was on her own with her in the house. It had been a nightmare. Although she was a bit more confident now, Emma did not relish the role of motherhood. Making bottles and changing dirty nappies were not her forte. She liked it when Julie Ann was dressed prettily and looked adorable and everyone oohed and aahed over her. But unfortunately babies dribbled and puked and did other unmentionable things and the pristine state rarely lasted long.
It was all so repetitious, so boring. So time-consuming. Everything had to be planned around Julie Ann. Freedom was something she wouldn’t have for years and years to come.
Julie Ann upchucked her breakfast all over her good pink dress.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Vincent, look what she’s done now. And it’s all over the quilt as well!’
‘Calm down, I’ll wipe it off.’ Vincent loped into the bathroom and got a damp cloth.
‘I wanted her to wear that pink dress today,’ Emma said petulantly.
‘I’ll put the lemon one on her.’ Vincent tickled his daughter under her chin and she gave a dainty little chuckle.
‘Well make sure to change her socks and put the white ones with the lemon bows on,’ Emma said crossly as she marched into the bathroom. No child of hers was going out in public with clashing socks. Colour co-ordination was everything.
It was with immense relief that she stood at the front door and watched Vincent drive off to Miriam’s with Julie Ann tucked snugly in her wicker basket, accompanied by three made-up Cow & Gate bottles, two nappies, three bibs, a sponge, Savlon and talc and a plethora of cuddly toys.
Emma had persuaded Vincent to drop Julie Ann off at Miriam’s on his way to work. Vincent protested that it was too early, but Emma insisted that she wouldn’t have time to do it herself as she had to be in town early. Actually, she didn’t want to see Miriam.
Her sister-in-law had phoned first thing to say that she couldn’t take care of Julie Ann because Connie was sick and she was getting the doctor for her.
Fortunately, Emma had answered the phone. Vincent was in the shower. Vincent would have immediately assured Miriam not to worry, they’d make other arrangements, and Emma would have had to either bring the baby with her, or cancel her morning out altogether.
Emma had put on her most woebegone voice and said that the coffee morning she’d planned to go to was incidental. She really needed to have Julie Ann minded because she had to go and see her doctor as her anaemia seemed to have come back again. This was a bit of a fib. Her blood count, while still not perfect, was much higher than when she’d given birth. Miriam, who sounded quite frazzled, sympathized and said if that was the case she’d manage somehow.
‘I’ll get Vincent to drop her over, but don’t say anything to him about me going to the doctor. I don’t want to worry him, he’s so good to me,’ Emma murmured down the line, one ear cocked to make sure the shower was still on.
‘Oh I won’t. I hope you’ll be OK. I feel desperate myself. I’ve just got the curse as well as everything else. The things us women have to put up with.’
‘I know.’ Emma sighed. She felt a little guilty, but hell, she needed a break too. Miriam was a born mother. She was
used to looking after children. One more wouldn’t make much difference. And it would only be for a couple of hours. Emma would look after her lot some day and give Miriam a morning off. Just then Julie Ann let out a howl giving Emma the perfect excuse to end the conversation. Which was just as well as Emma could hear that Vincent had turned off the shower.
‘I better go,’ she said hastily. ‘Talk to you later.’
It had been a close shave. If Vincent had answered the phone there was no way she’d have been able to loll in the bath as she intended to now before dressing and putting on the glam.
She certainly couldn’t have deposited Julie Ann at Miriam’s looking a million dollars with all her make-up on when she was supposed to be suffering from anaemia.
Emma brushed aside her niggles of guilt. She deserved a morning to herself. She’d had an extremely stressful few months. Toxaemia, a premature birth, where she’d nearly died. All the traipsing in and out of the hospital for two months while Julie Ann was in the incubator had been horrific. Vincent had promised her he’d get a nanny, but unfortunately the property market was having one of its periodic slumps and business wasn’t great. He couldn’t afford it right now and Emma couldn’t possibly whinge about it, because Vincent was truly a husband in a million. Deep down, she knew she was an extremely lucky girl.
There was no way her friends’ husbands would muck in and do all the chores Vincent did, uncomplainingly. Larry Kelly and Declan Mitchell were as lazy as sin. Declan wouldn’t even put the loo seat down after him, he was so lazy, according to Lorna, his wife. It drove her nuts. Neither would he put his dirty clothes in the linen basket. And as for helping around the house . . . He wouldn’t know one end of a sweeping brush from the other, Lorna’d scoffed one evening after a few glasses of wine had loosened her tongue and she’d given vent to resentful feelings. They’d only been married six months and all was not a bed of roses.
Promises, Promises Page 22
