Sowing the Seeds of Love

by Tara Heavey

  ‘Oh, well, it’s a start,’ said her friend.

  10

  It was Thursday night and Emily was mid-conniption. Only twenty more minutes to go, she thought, peering into her bathroom mirror, her breath making little clouds on the glass. What if he stood her up? Her belly lurched. God, what would she do? To be stood up in the college bar of all places, in full view of people she might actually know. Even if the place was full of strangers, she’d still have to report back to the girls. Rebecca had made short shrift of letting all and sundry know about her ‘date’. If, indeed, that was what it was. God, she didn’t think she could handle the humiliation of being stood up.

  She had to adopt a strategy. She’d bring a book. Someone had just lent her The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Better still, she’d arrive ten minutes late. If he wasn’t there, she’d merely keep walking, as if she was just passing through, and nobody there would be any the wiser. Of course, this meant an extra ten minutes in which to lose her mind. How on earth was she to occupy herself? She tried to read, but the pages might as well have been blank. She jumped on to her bed and, in an effort to quell her churning stomach, bounced for a full minute. Then she got down and performed a handstand against the wall. Her giggles were muffled by the maroon fabric of her gypsy skirt, which covered her face and made her feel twelve again. Upside down. A different perspective on the world. And the last time tonight that her underwear would be exposed, of that she was determined. She stood upright, red-faced and breathless, and looked at the clock. The hands appeared to have ground to a halt.

  But time hadn’t stood still, despite appearances to the contrary. Because it was now ten past eight and she was walking into the college bar, head erect, shoulders back, heart in mouth. There he was! At least, she thought it was him. The boy had his back to her. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. The hunched shoulders were wide and his build stocky. His black hair was tightly curled and cut close to his head. As she reached his side, she recognized the dark sideburns and noticed him checking his watch.

  ‘Joe?’

  ‘Emily.’ He stood up, like a well-brought-up young man, and his smile only slightly betrayed his relief. He gestured to the seat across from him, whereupon Emily promptly sat down and crossed her legs neatly.

  ‘You came,’ said Joe.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Bottle of Corona, please.’

  Joe purchased the beers, set them down and grappled for something to say. ‘So. Pure English. You must like to read.’

  ‘I love books.’

  ‘Any particular kind?’

  ‘Anything and everything.’

  She wasn’t giving him much to go on but he ploughed on regardless. ‘I like books too. Mainly thrillers. Dan Brown, John Grisham – that kind of thing.’

  There was no response.

  ‘Do you read thrillers?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What, not at all? You must have read The Da Vinci Code, everyone’s read that.’

  ‘I’ve read that one, yes.’

  ‘And what did you think?’

  ‘That it was badly written.’

  ‘Well, I liked it,’ Joe finished weakly and tried another tack. ‘How are you finding college life?’

  ‘Okay. Yeah. I like it.’

  ‘Do you live on campus?’

  ‘No, I have a bedsit.’

  Emily could almost see the thoughts running through Joe’s head: country girl, doesn’t live at home – a point in her favour, perhaps.

  ‘Where is it you’re from again?’ he said.

  ‘Kilkenny.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Another dead end. Clearly Joe knew diddlysquat about the place.

  Emily sat anxiously in her seat and watched him struggle. She didn’t mean to be such hard work. What other people mistook for aloofness was in fact shyness. And although this impression could be handy at times, at others – such as now – it was a downright nuisance. She had to throw him a lifeline before they drowned in silence and awkwardness.

  ‘What’s your second name, Joe?’

  He was Joseph Francis after his two grandfathers and he’d taken Luke for his confirmation after Skywalker.

  She wondered briefly if he was thick, then instantly dismissed the idea. He couldn’t be if he was studying engineering. He was probably a whiz at physics and maths and that sort of thing. Emily had been terrible at maths in school and therefore had great respect for those who were not.

  ‘I mean your second name. Your surname.’

  ‘Joe Devine.’

  Joe tried not to imagine her imagining his name tacked to the end of hers. He knew what girls were like. ‘And you?’

  ‘Emily Harte.’

  Joe held out his hand and grinned. ‘Pleased to meet you, Emily Harte.’

  Emily took his hand and shook. Their eyes locked and stayed that way, fingers and gazes intertwined for longer than either had intended. They broke away finally and each party took a nervous sip of their drink. But the ice was broken, contact had been made and they smiled.

  Emily threw herself on to her bed and luxuriated in the night that had just been.

  Emily Harte-Devine. Emily Devine-Harte. Oh, it was too good to be true. She wouldn’t even have to change her name if she became a romantic novelist. Although no one would believe that such a name could be real. And she couldn’t believe Joe was real. Joe Devine. Devine Joe. The Devine Mr J. She made a half-hearted attempt to check herself. She was aware of her tendency to imbue the boys she liked with romantic qualities they did not possess. To see past the spots to the Byron within. But she was confident she wasn’t doing that now. She hadn’t felt this way since – well – since ever.

  Emily wondered if Joe was good marriage material.

  In a bedsit not very far away, Joe lay on his bed and wondered what colour Emily’s nipples were.

  11

  They’d been together for two whole weeks now. And how deeply in love certain parties had fallen. Emily would have had to be in a very honest mood to admit, not least to herself, that she was partly in love with the image she and Joe presented to the world – or to college life, at least. They looked so well together. He was exactly a head taller than her. Her head fitted exactly into the crook of his neck, should she be so inclined to place it there, which she often was. If he had any objections to her doing so, he never voiced them. For his part, she was exactly the right height for him to sling his arm around her shoulder in a casual yet possessive masculine gesture. And they could walk along in this pose quite comfortably together – he the leading man and she his lady – trying on their new adult roles for size and liking the fit. They each felt they complemented the other, right down to their colouring and the clothes they wore. Emily liked Joe’s style, even if it was a bit rugger-bugger for her taste. And Joe liked Emily’s arty look. He felt it lent them elegance as a couple, and him a touch of panache.

  In other words, they were ideally suited.

  So it was only a matter of time before, you know, they both felt ready to move the relationship to the next level. Certain parties were more ready than others.

  Joe had done it lots of times. He hadn’t told Emily this. He didn’t have to – she felt the pressure of it. She never had: she hadn’t told him but she felt he knew it just the same. How glad she was now that she had waited, until she was an age that many of her contemporaries considered geriatric. She could have chosen to get it over with years earlier, in a sticky, clumsy fumble. But instead she had this precious gift that she and Joe could unwrap together. The prospect thrilled her. It set all her senses jangling. She literally could not think of anything else. Her lectures went by in a wordy blur – even those given by the good tutors, the interesting ones, the leave-you-breathless ones. Her inability to concentrate was complete. Unless, of course, she was thinking about the dress she was going to wear on the night. The night in question being this Friday. Her desi
gnated deflowering night. It was unspoken between them but they both knew.

  The dress was rainbow-coloured and gossamer light and made her feel as if she was wearing butterfly wings.

  Something lurched inside Joe as he watched her walking towards him across the cobblestones. She was smiling shyly, looking beautiful. They didn’t say anything as their hands connected, just gazed at each other deeply. Then Joe bent down and kissed her mouth. ‘Let’s go.’

  They had booked a table at a nearby Chinese restaurant. A rare treat. They sat and looked at each other mostly. Emily ate almost nothing. Joe ate too much, wolfing his food so fast that he couldn’t taste it. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wiped it away with his napkin, embarrassed. He was meant to be the one in control tonight. The one who knew what he was doing. And there was Emily, sitting calmly opposite, staring at him with those eyes of hers. Under the table, he ran his hand up the back of her calf.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said again.

  They had chosen her bedsit, her place, because it was neater, less smelly and had a greater variety of atmospheric candles. Once they were inside, Emily found that she could barely look at Joe, let alone take off her clothes. So she let him do it for her. He undressed her slowly. Reverently. Emily held her arms out, feeling herself open, exposed. This is my body which I have given up for you.

  When it was over, she lay on the bed, the sheet drawn up to her chin – underwhelmed by the physical sensation of what she’d just experienced but overwhelmed by the emotion she felt for Joe.

  Joe took himself off to the bathroom. It was only then that he realized the condom had split. He toyed with the idea of telling her but decided against it. Why spoil the night? The chances of anything happening were minuscule. He flushed the evidence away, wishing he could join the lads in Doyles. But he supposed he’d better go and cuddle her for a bit. Wasn’t that what all the birds wanted?

  Emily felt a little odd. She put it down to stress. Joe-induced stress. Things hadn’t been the same since their night together. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, but she sensed his interest waning, which filled her with panic. She couldn’t have him withdraw from her now. Not after she’d given herself to him, body and soul. Some of the other girls had noticed it too. She’d had to endure a few snide comments about how he never used to keep her waiting. Twenty minutes of torture under the all-seeing eye of the big blue clock. And she could see his mind wandering when she spoke to him, his eyes straying over her shoulder. She did most of the talking nowadays – always trying to engage his ever-elusive attention. She just couldn’t understand it. She’d given him what he wanted, hadn’t she?

  * * *

  The stress of it all was taking its toll, making her physically ill. The very sight of meat or fish made her want to vomit, not to mention the smell of it. Especially in the morning. Especially in the morning.

  Ding.

  Emily went to the chemist.

  How remarkable that the mere act of peeing on a piece of white plastic can alter the trajectory of your life for ever. The thin blue line that separates your old life from the new. A line that might as well have been a yawning chasm. As she stared at the definitive evidence of her condition, Emily felt as if she was falling into such an abyss. Maybe the toilet would just swallow her like a giant mouth.

  Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the improbability of the situation she found herself in. Ohmigod. This isn’t happening. Ohmigod. This isn’t happening. He used a condom. It isn’t happening. Ohmigod.

  She took the second test and it told her the same unpalatable truth. Then she went back to the chemist and blew the rest of her weekly budget on a second pack. The third time wasn’t a charm and neither was the fourth. She paced her bedsit like a big cat in a zoo, sinking on to her bed every now and then, burying her face in her pillow, wrapping herself in her duvet, only to get up and begin pacing again.

  Eventually she broke the cycle and left her bedsit. There was only one person who could help her now and he was in the college bar, meeting his mates. She ran down the street, realizing too late that she should have brought her coat, hugging her arms across her chest. Then she stopped abruptly. What if she was hurting the baby by running? She had a terrifying premonition of how her life was going to be from now on. Always putting another person’s needs before her own. She wasn’t ready for that. She was only nineteen. She could scarcely look after herself.

  She began running again and didn’t stop until she reached the entrance to the bar. She was inside now and the music helped to mask the thudding in her head. She looked around wildly for Joe, oblivious to the strange looks she was receiving. At last she found him, not with his friends but sitting in a booth with Rebecca. Emily’s friend. They looked very pally-wally, their heads huddled together, his arm resting across the back of her seat. Emily stood in front of them and stared at Rebecca stonily.

  The other girl gave her an arch look. ‘I’m going to the bar,’ she said, slinking off.

  Emily took her place, the wood still warm. Joe’s body language alarmed her. He didn’t even try to touch her. ‘I have to talk to you,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’ His face, his tone, his manner – all wary.

  She handed him the final test, discreetly, under the table.

  He looked down in confusion. ‘What’s this?’

  She said nothing.

  ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ He brought his hand up to his face and covered his eyes. It was only then that Emily started to cry. She buried her face in his neck, sobbing quietly. She waited a long time for him to gather her up in his arms. It never quite happened. Instead he patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.’

  12

  Joe’s version of all right and Emily’s turned out to be two very different things. It was Emily’s misfortune that she thought of Joe as her saviour.

  They were sitting on a bench in St Stephen’s Green the next day, staring blankly at the ducks. It was a beautiful setting. Leaves rustled gently above their heads. The water rippled. In the distance Emily could see drifts of golden daffodils interspersed with scarlet tulips. The sight salved her soul somewhat.

  The purpose of this meeting was to discuss the position they found themselves in. That was what Joe had said. As if they were running a small corporation. Emily didn’t know what to feel. Joe was still here. That was good. Vital. But where was the joy, the excitement one usually associated with new life? There was none. She understood this logically. But her heart…

  It wasn’t what she’d ever imagined for herself. She had vivid memories of her mother announcing her pregnancies with Emily’s younger siblings. How happy they had all been. The sense of anticipation in the house.

  None of this horrible numbness.

  ‘Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do?’ said Joe, looking at his shoes.

  ‘What do you mean “do”?’

  It was already done.

  ‘I mean, have you thought of all the options?’ His voice was level but she sensed that anger wasn’t far away.

  ‘Such as?’ She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying it for him.

  ‘Come on, Emily. You know what I mean. There are clinics you can go to in England.’

  She said nothing. Her face was impassive, but inside she was falling apart.

  ‘It happened to Niall a couple of years back with a girl from home. She just took a flight over. She was home the next day. All over and done with.’

  The silence screamed between them.

  ‘Don’t you want us?’ She heard her voice, tiny and pathetic. She hated herself for saying it, knew it was the worst thing she could possibly have said, but still she couldn’t help herself.

  Joe sighed, exasperated, and closed his eyes. ‘It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s just… You must see, Emily, what a disaster this is. For both of us. Neither of us has finished college
. I’ve got another year and a half to go. You’ve got three and a half, for fuck’s sake. It’s going to be years before either of us is earning halfway decent money. And what about this course you say means so much to you? How are you going to carry on your studies with a baby to look after?’

  ‘There’s a crèche on campus.’

  He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘What about the rest of the time?’

  ‘We could manage, between the two of us.’

  The words hung suspended in the air.

  The two of us.

  He tried a different tack, his voice newly reasonable. ‘It’s only early days. What are you. Six weeks? It’s not even a baby yet. It’s a pinprick.’

  ‘It has a heartbeat.’

  He looked at her properly for the first time. ‘You’re not going to do this, are you?’

  ‘I won’t have an abortion, no.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why not.’

  ‘You don’t know much about my family, do you?’

  ‘I know there’s six of you.’

  ‘Yes. Six kids. As in, good Catholic family. My father’s a Eucharistic minister and my mother’s always going on about family values and the right to life of the unborn, that kind of stuff.’

  ‘Your family doesn’t have to know a thing. And you don’t even go to mass.’

  ‘Not up here I don’t. But that’s not the point, Joe. They might not know but I would. I couldn’t live with myself.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you’ll be wanting us to get married next.’ He looked at her in alarm. ‘You don’t want…’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that.’

  Her heart plummeted. Now she knew where she stood. Her place in Joe’s affections: Swampland.

  He leaned forward on the bench, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.

  ‘Would you not even consider it?’

  She tried but failed to keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘Joe. This is our baby. Part of you and me. I will not kill it.’ Emily gazed straight ahead. She kept her eyes focused on a weeping willow. The irony wasn’t lost on her as her vision blurred. ‘Are you going to break up with me?’