Gemini Rain

by Lj McEvoy

  ‘Don’t worry son,’ attempting some reassurance to help him, ‘women cry out like that when they are having a baby, it’s normal and no harm. Would you like a little walk in the woods?’

  But before Joel could respond the larger than life Veronique, the local mid-wife and five months pregnant herself bounds into the room. ‘It’s a boy Monsieur Corvasieur and you,’ the well built, tall woman smiled down to Joel as he held his hand carved soldiers tightly to his chest, ‘you now have a little brother to play with’ clapping her hands together, ‘my sincerest congratulations to you both,’ Veronique’s pride was as tall as she because yet another successful delivery was secured under her belt. ‘Mother and baby will be ready for visiting in a few minutes.’

  Retracing her steps Veronique returned to the bedroom and Jean-Pierre smiled at Joel as he leaned forward in the chair, ‘Now I must make two sets of toys and work double time on the farm. What shall we call him?’ Although David was already picked he still wanted to include Joel in everything and decided to ask anyhow, ‘if he chooses something we’ll simply use it as our new son’s middle name’ he informed Gabrielle earlier in the pregnancy.

  ‘Maman will decide,’ Joel happily responded now knowing his mother’s horrible cries were finished.

  ‘Good idea,’ Jena-Pierre winks as he cleaned out his pipe. Waiting a few more minutes before rising from his rocking chair and walking towards the bedroom door, gently he knocked then turned back to Joel, ‘Are you ready to meet your new brother? Come on, let’s go in.’

  Chapter 2

  It’s March 2011 and in Dublin the young baby girl born previously is now a grown woman - Lauren Maguire Connolly. Curled up in her bed she is listening to hushed voices outside her bedroom door, wishing she were still asleep Lauren keeps her eyes closed tightly. Not that she got much sleep, the last time Lauren squinted at the clock it said 4.20am but as per usual when she did eventually drift into the arms of Morpheus the alarm clock sounded in what seemed like a time frame of two seconds, now it was 8am with her dread becoming a reality needing to be endured no matter what.

  ‘What is she going to do now?’ the voice outside whispers. Lauren recognised the voice as her dad’s hushed tone.

  ‘Shh, she’s probably awake we’ll talk later,’ the other voice softly responds. Lauren hears a gentle knock, ‘Lauren, Lauren it’s time love are you awake?’

  ‘Debbie, I knew it would be Debbie,’ Lauren sighed to herself. Go away! She wants to scream but her voice only croaks when answering, ‘Yeah, I’m going to have a shower, I’ll be out in a few minutes then I’ll get Emma and Keith ready.’

  ‘Don’t worry about them we’re seeing to them now,’ the woman’s naturally optimistic, reassuringly soft voice fades away from the bedroom door as she speaks.

  Rising from the bed and looking in the dresser mirror Lauren lightly asks her reflection the same question, ‘And what are you going to do now?’ Staring at the image that confronts her despondently she covers her face with her hands rubbing her eyes, thirty-eight years old but feeling her age reversed and she was eighty-three. Looking back up at her reflection she protests, ‘I didn’t want to be a widow you know. Separated – yes, divorced perhaps when I got used to the separated bit, but a widow – shite I’m only 38!’

  The mirror image was increasingly depressing her - it’s the same reflection every morning for the last three months. Dark shadows encircling her eyes and that gaunt look was annoying – ‘okay so I have high cheekbones but they were always full and rosy never hollow like now.’

  ‘It’ll take numerous amounts of teabags and cucumbers to get rid of those,’ she light-heartedly stated to Emma as her daughter watched her putting on make-up yesterday. Emma raised her eyebrows to question but Lauren got in there first, ‘it’s an old wives tale, I’ll explain another time,’ she answered softly. Normally she didn’t like Emma watching as she put on her mask as Lauren liked to call it but now everything’s different she just accepted her daughter’s stares and questions sympathetically and with a patience Lauren never knew or couldn’t remember existing inside her before.

  Glancing in the mirror once more, sighing at the fact that the image was in fact her own and not a bad drawing of a witch the kids pinned up as a practical joke she heads for the en-suite. ‘Wake up it’s just a dream’ scolding herself, ‘you’re not even able to cry for him’. But she did cry, the tears flowed once again like the water sprinkling on her body as she scrubbed herself harder, quicker.

  Once she finished with the shower Lauren sat in front of the dresser mirror commencing with the chore of trying to look normal. Usually her eyes were a bright sky blue but now they look dull and bloodshot from lack of sleep, putting in her contact lenses and using some eye drops to try to brighten them she hoped the action would disguise what they really said. Remembering her medication for her high blood pressure (a little present she got from her line of work and her two pregnancies). ‘That’s weird,’ she shivered at the thought ‘usually Peter was the one to remember, always checking if I’ve taken them, now it’s as if…. No, that’s stupid Lauren,’ she shook her head despondently.

  Combing her dark brown hair her mind travelled from the reality of the morning to thinking how quickly her hair had grown, slightly below shoulder length now and so straight not even a small kink. Lauren was slightly disappointed about that fact – ‘but then again if it had kinks or curls you’d probably want it straight Lauren’ - often wondering why women never took advantage of their own natural looks always wanting something different. Luckily Lauren possessed the type of soft features and slight oval face that both long and short hair suits and now she doesn’t know why that even as a teenager she kept her hair short, extremely short. With the lighter auburn glint that usually appeared in the summer now beginning to show again it made her think about getting highlights to add to the effect.

  ‘Should I wear it up or leave it flowing?’ taking in a side view in the mirror. Then realisation dawned and she shook her head, ‘Christ what am I thinking, it’s not a night out Lauren,’ quickly tying it up into a simple ponytail, a sharp contrast to the fashionable styles she usually chose.

  Suddenly the door bursts open with Lauren jumping at the loud bang as it hit off the wall, ‘that dent in the wall is getting deeper every time he does that,’ she cringed knowing exactly who her noisy intruder was.

  ‘Mammy! I’m not wearing this! Just…just look at what Auntie Debbie wants me to wear! Why can’t I wear my tracksuit?’ The young boy held out his arms to display the clothes he was wearing, his small expectant face blatantly expressing that his hard earned street-cred was about to be destroyed in one foul swoop of a knitting needle, ‘all the lads from school are going to be there.’

  ‘Oh shite he’s in one of those moods’, Lauren stared at his reflection in the mirror then closed her eyes – ‘now keep calm girl’ she reminded herself.

  ‘Well good morning mister,’ she lightly replied turning around at the same time to face her son, ‘today is a very important day Keith you can’t wear a tracksuit, remember we’ve talked about this already.’ Looking at the hideous pattern cris-crossing her young son’s small chest she attempted gentle persuasion, ‘anyhow that’s a beautiful jumper and Auntie Debbie bought it especially for you.’ The pattern was a bit too much Lauren admitted to herself, Lord some designers should be shot – she glanced again at the pattern. What other way have I to persuade an extremely stubborn five-year-old but be straightforward, direct -yep it’s the only way, Lauren felt it was now her only option, she was about to attempt another explanation but she was stopped by a small hand raised.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he stated solemnly, this was not a word he wanted his clothes to be described as, in his world ‘beautiful’ was a word for girl’s pink dresses and the Groovy Girl dolls his sister played with. ‘But Mammy!’ he cried his frustration beginning to overflow, ‘Wwwhy?’

  ‘No buts today mister and definitely no whys,’ Lauren calmly interceding, surpris
ed she was able to control her temper which she usually lost by the time he started on the why moaning, ‘listen I promise you can change into your favourite Man. U track suit later, okay?’

  Keith, particularly in his stubborn moods reminded her so much of his dad, the small but cute round shape of his face, his big, soft brown eyes even his boyish wavy hair was slowly changing to Peter’s dark colouring. He didn’t contain one facial characteristic similar to her - his nose, maybe his nose is the same. Shite he’s going to be a constant reminder of what will never be - Lauren’s indecisiveness was creeping back into the picture. What am I going to do now? Feeling scared her eyes glazed over but were still fixed on Keith.

  Keith knew by his mother’s gaze that he should leave. It was that look again it was happening for a few days now and her eyes made him feel weird in his tummy, he could understand she was talking to him he knew that for sure but she wasn’t looking at him. Well yeah she was looking at him but it was different to the normal way, was there something wrong with his face? ‘Maybe I should check in the bathroom mirror,’ thinking something horrible was beginning to grow on his face that he didn’t notice the last time he looked – the horror! ‘I’ll be one of the weirdoes in class, they’ll slag me for wearing this jumper and I’ll never be one of the pickers for the football team!’ Resisting the urge to stay to argue the matter more he thought for a second, ‘maybe I should’ve listened to Emma an’ just do as I’m told, just for today mind.’

  Looking up at Lauren with his typical under-the-eyebrows smirk ‘Ohh I suppose sooo,’ he drawled out the words, ‘but just for you.’ Pointing his small index finger at her he attempted a wink, ‘and good morning to you too Mammy.’ With that light statement he ran out, slamming the door shut behind him and heading straight for the bathroom mirror to check up on this horrible growth that no-one was telling him about.

  ‘Christ that was easier than expected,’ Lauren sat amazed still staring at the empty space where her young son originally stood, ‘his moods change like the friggin’ clouds in the friggin’ sky!’ She and Peter could rarely manage him only getting around the stubborn git with bribes, guiltily admitting that neither gave the time to their children to actually sit down and talk things through with them. Buying toys and sweets to make up for lost time with them, her sister-in-law Debbie was employed to take care of Emma and Keith because of the long hours she and Peter put into their work.

  ‘But that wasn’t how you had planned it, was it?’ questioning her reflection trying to force back that sharp feeling rising in her throat she closed her eyes for a minute to try and stop the tears from forming yet again.

  Continuing with her make-up she could just barely hear the voices downstairs busy in their work making her think of another morning, another world ago when the voices throughout her parents house was one of excitement, of bridesmaids panicking because the dressmakers hadn’t arrived yet. A frantic father and a calming mother attempting to fix his bow tie while she casually, no intentionally informed Lauren that the order from the florist was wrong. The telephone was constantly ringing which led to one of the caterers stating that she wasn’t an answering service and promptly unplugged the phone cable.

  While all the bedlam surrounded Lauren the hairdresser whispered in her ear, ‘in all my times doing weddings I’ve never seen such a calm bride, you’re enjoying every minute of this aren’t you?’

  Lauren coyly smiled, yes she was enjoying the pandemonium her special day was causing and confidently dreamt of how perfect her marriage was going to be – coming back to the reality of present day she sarcastically dismissed that thought, ‘Yeah right!’.

  There was no panic now, no excitement from the voices below which only enhanced her feeling of loneliness, is this how she would feel in the future? The future, it made her whole body shudder. ‘Oh Christ Lauren cop on,’ rubbing her forehead hard, ‘just stop it you know what you’re going to do!’

  Quickly finishing, she put on her sharp black Hugo Boss suit and Dune court shoes glancing one last time in the mirror checking all was in order Lauren turned leaving the room and hoping to leave those qualms and apprehensions behind.

  The other bedrooms were now empty and silent so she followed the trail of voices coming from below, while descending the expected happened as the level of sound lowered matching her decent down the stairs. Even though she couldn’t see them the feeling of eyes turning in her direction was immediate, a wave of nausea rose from her stomach to her throat. They were all in the kitchen making preparations for the afternoon, Lauren couldn’t face those eyes so head bowed down she turned in the direction of the sitting room knowing Emma and Keith would be there watching television, keeping out of everybody’s way.

  Lauren and Peter’s home was exteriorly designed similar to the other large houses within the small estate of forty upper middle class residences - typical 5 bedrooms detached with garage, but inside the builders gave the option to each new owner of how they would like their interior styled. Just before the start of the Irish boom in the building industry the top builders and architects were trying to outdo one another with new ideas. Then with houses at their highest prices ever in 2006, the saving of space to build as many houses as the planning laws would allow (and of course increase profit - one never knows when the bubble will burst!) was the main theme of those crazy days.

  So Lauren opted for an open plan with the American Ash stairs being the central point of her home sweeping up to the surrounding bedrooms and bathrooms, the house looked and smelled new even though it was now eleven years old. While the furniture expressed a modern and chic taste it was something people would expect to see in an expensive show house rather than a home, even the light beige suede sofa and matching armchairs looked smooth and untouched like the day Lauren purchased them two years ago.

  The sitting room was designed simply in pastel shades and with thanks to her cleaner Mrs. Bridges, it smelled clean. Last night Lauren just sat in the kitchen in a comatose state with her brother-in-law Pat trying to spark up some conversation with her, Mrs. Bridges and Debbie slaved to make the place even cleaner than it was.

  Her love of timber was elegantly aired throughout the house, teak sheeted doors, parquet flooring and of course that stairway, it was a typical expression of Lauren – I love it just don’t overdo it in case I get bored.

  ‘Hello you two, have you eaten yet?’ The children turned to their mother quickly running to her.

  ‘It’s this morning, isn’t it Mammy?’ seven year old Emma anxiously asked even though she already knew the answer.

  Lauren knelt down hugging them both, ‘There there, it’s going to be all right you wait and see. Be good for Mammy and soon it will be over and we can get back to normal, okay.’ Hugging them she knew the last three days, no the last three months was a mixture of confusion and anxiety for them but holding her children Lauren somehow found determination to face the day ahead.

  ‘But will it ever return to normal’ she questioned herself, ‘should I let it slide back to the way it was, that was normal to us?’ Once again her thoughts rolled on to the future.

  She was concerned that the children would not understand the irreversibility of their father’s death she doubted if they even realized the universal nature of death. Her doctor briefly told her what to look out for when she expressed her concerns to him yesterday - Depressed mood, poor appetite or overeating, insomnia, low energy, low self-esteem, poor concentration, feelings of hopelessness. Would the changes she was proposing only expediate the process for them or perhaps be something of a deterrent, something to take their little thoughts away from their missing daddy, that empty void now in their small world.

  Interrupting Lauren’s thoughts the woman who knocked on Lauren’s bedroom door earlier entered the living room, ‘Would you like something to eat? The car will arrive in 20 minutes, there’s plenty of time.’

  ‘No thanks, Debbie just a cup of coffee and a cigarette,’ she started smoking again three months ag
o. ‘I don’t think I could eat - not yet anyhow,’ the thought of having cereal or toast made her stomach churn yet again.

  ‘But you’ve got to eat something, it’s going to be a long morning,’ her sister-in-law softly insisted, she understood how Lauren was feeling but felt the need to emphasize the importance of being strong, fainting through hunger wouldn’t be a good start. Debbie was so worried, she could see the puffiness and dark circles around her friend’s eyes but she also didn’t want to push her too much. Gentle persuasion she hoped was the call for today.

  Lauren’s mother Patricia then arrived with a tray of coffee, toast and cigarettes. ‘Sit and eat,’ was her stern greeting, ‘We can’t have you collapsing half way through the morning, can we?’

  Debbie’s head turned sharply to Patricia but then she felt Lauren’s hand resting on her arm making Debbie’s anger go into hibernation one more time, perhaps for the hundredth time in the past three days. ‘How these two women could be related,’ Debbie shook her head as she retraced her steps towards the kitchen.

  Not wanting to acknowledge the continuing presence of her mother Lauren quietly sat down picking up the coffee cup then reaching for the cigarettes. The children, never ones to miss the chance of nourishment ate the toast, silently watching cartoons until the car arrived. Emma quickly side-glanced her Mammy as she lit her cigarette, ‘she never smoked in the house before,’ she thought, ‘I don’t like the smell and Keith said so too. When will she start going outside again I wonder, when will she ever stop again, I don’t like her smoking,’ Emma decided to talk to Auntie Debbie later to see if they could make a plan to save Mammy.

  The drive to St. Canice’s church was familiar with the limousine smoothly moving through the mixture of large private semi red-brick and small Dublin Corporation grey housing estates, then past the girl’s primary school stuck between the houses and the main shopping areas. It didn’t take long before the entourage glided silently up the hilly drive to the large imposing granite church.