Do You Want What I Want?

by Denise Deegan

  ‘Cool,’ Jason says, ripping the bright red paper off to reveal a portable DVD player and five of Jason’s favourite movies. ‘Oh my God. Thanks a million, Rory. I better put them in my room.’

  The tiny flat starts to fill with kids. Presents pile up. The noise level builds. Boys, many with zero blades, all with attitude, seem bursting with energy. Jason looks ecstatic. Rory has to distract himself. The bathroom is small and clean, though in need of re-tiling, re-grouting, in fact, replacing. He is tempted to help, but doesn’t want to interfere.

  He walks back into the sitting room – in time to see Louise entering from the hall. He stops, stunned. It is hard. Seeing her, thinking what might have been. She looks radiant, her hair fuller and wavier. She is talking to Naomi, but her eyes are scanning the room. For whom? Jason? He backs away, towards the kitchen, wanting to disappear from sight, when their eyes meet. And he stops. Did she know he’d be here? If so, why hadn’t she stayed away? He would have, if only he’d thought… A kid with an earring bumps into her. She steps back, her hand moving automatically to guard her tummy. Rory looks down. And for a moment, everything else fades. He wouldn’t have noticed. But now he does. He looks up at her, eyes questioning. Hers confirm it. Emotion is rising in him, swamping him, overwhelming him. He starts to walk. Towards her. But now past her. And out. He takes a deep breath. Grips the black railing on the balcony. Behind him, boisterous kids burst from the flat, heading for the yard below. He doesn’t notice.

  She arrives beside him, her hand next to his on the railing. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.’

  He looks at her incredulously. ‘So you thought you’d just surprise me?’

  ‘Maybe that was a mistake.’

  His eyes cut away from her. ‘Is it mine?’

  When she doesn’t answer, he looks back. Sees that he has hurt her.

  ‘Do you really think there’s been anyone else?’ she asks.

  He stares out over the yard. So this is why she was ‘upset’. This is why she needed comfort from his friend. She discovered she was pregnant with his child. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got rid of it,’ he says, voice cold. ‘Must have been a real pain, finding out you were pregnant after you’d left me because I wanted a family.’

  ‘I knew I was pregnant when I left.’

  His head swings in her direction. For the first time, he doesn’t think before speaking. ‘But you knew how much I wanted a baby.’

  ‘Yes.’ She presses her lips together. Then adds, ‘But I didn’t.’

  It feels like a weight has landed on his heart. ‘So you left to abort our baby. Nice one.’ His second unwanted child.

  Her hands move defensively to her tummy. Then she seems to gather herself. ‘No, Rory. I left because I loved you. I couldn’t give you what you wanted, a family. And I didn’t want you to miss out on that.’

  ‘So you were going to have an abortion.’

  ‘At first.’ She looks down to where she has placed her hands, as if she already loves what’s inside. ‘But I couldn’t go through with it. I went to Manchester. I was in theatre, had the gown on.’

  He thinks about Orla. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘But lying there, looking at the white walls, hearing the sounds of medical equipment being prepared…’

  ‘Stop.’

  ‘All I could think about were the people I knew who had been unwanted – Jason, Naomi, me, people who’ve had it tough, but who’ve made it somehow. I finally admitted the truth to myself. This baby was not unwanted; it was wanted very much. All those reasons I gave you, gave myself, for not wanting children were fake. You were right. I was afraid. Afraid I’d lose control. That my life would fall apart like my mother’s did. I’d done everything to avoid that. Been so careful. Built my own business. Worked so hard. And I thought I could go through with it. But this was our baby, part of you and me. And suddenly I wanted it so much. I wanted to know it, touch it, smell it, see it smile, see what it would become. So I left, walked out, caught the first flight home. I pretended I was OK, went to work, tried to forget what I’d nearly done. Then it all hit me, how close I’d got, but also what was ahead. I was going to be a mother, on my own, with the business. What if I couldn’t cope? What if I turned into my mother?’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I wanted to. But I couldn’t. I’d left you. I wasn’t going to go running back just because I’d decided to keep the baby.’

  ‘And do you think that’s fair, for you to make all the decisions – get rid of it, not get rid of it, not tell me until it suits you?’

  ‘No. I don’t think it’s fair. That’s why I’m here.’

  Bitterness engulfs him. Doesn’t the father have any role? ‘Not for child support then?’

  She stands up straight, lets go of the railing. ‘I want nothing from you, except for you to know.’

  ‘Well, now I do.’ He looks straight ahead. Whatever hoop she is holding up for him, he is not jumping through it.

  ‘I didn’t expect such bitterness.’

  ‘Sorry to be such a disappointment.’

  She says nothing for a moment, then, ‘You’ve changed.’

  His jaw moves out of alignment. ‘You’re right. I have.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ she says, and starts to walk away.

  He watches her coldly as she reaches the top of the steps. Which is when he sees Orla, coming up. Her eyes are level with Louise’s bump, when her face pales. She grips the railing. The two women greet each other flatly, neither stopping. Then Orla sees Rory. And seems to crumple. But straightens herself, face determined. Then she turns and hurries back down the stairs.

  ‘Coward,’ he says quietly to her back.

  34

  Later that afternoon, still reeling from the shock of Louise’s announcement, Rory arrives at his mother’s house to take her to an urgent chiropodist’s appointment. He lets himself in with his new key. She is carefully strapping on open-toed sandals.

  ‘Just ready,’ she says, looking up at him with a smile. Her face changes when she sees his and she stops what she’s doing. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah. Fine. I’ll get your coat.’ He disappears.

  She says nothing until they’re in the car. ‘You’re very pale, Rory.’

  ‘Just tired. Work’s been busy.’

  The woman who never interferes says, ‘You should take a few days off. You’ve been through a lot in the past few months.’

  Which brings it all back. The attack, the break-up with Louise, his father’s death, the baby’s, and now another pregnancy. His chest constricts, his breathing rapid and shallow. A cold sweat breaks and he feels he’s going to pass out. He pulls in at a petrol station and cuts the engine. He can’t do it. He can’t keep everything together any longer. Something’s going to give. ‘How do you do it; how do you keep going?’ he asks, unaware that he has spoken aloud.

  His mother doesn’t look up from where she’s getting her purse from her bag to pay for petrol she thinks is being purchased. ‘You mean since your father died?’

  He stares at her. ‘What?’

  She looks up, confused. ‘You asked me how I keep going. I thought you meant since Dad died.’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t.’

  Even more confused now. ‘You mean generally?’

  Oh, God. ‘No.’ He hadn’t meant to speak.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rory. What do you mean? How did I keep going when he was alive?’

  ‘Yes.’ Since she’s asked. ‘How did you put up with it, him making all the decisions, you having no control.’ The way Rory has no control.

  She fiddles with the clasp on her handbag. ‘In my day, when you got married, it was for ever. That’s the way it was.’

  ‘Are you saying it was easy?’ he snorts.

  ‘No, Rory. It wasn’t easy.’

  ‘But you got through.’ Sarcastic now.

  ‘All right, if you want me to be honest, it was hard. Very hard. There were ti
mes I felt I couldn’t go on, times I wanted to run away, go back to being the person I was before I married, free again, young. But. All I had to do was look at you, my three beautiful children, to know that I was never going to do that. Being your mother was the most important thing in my life. And the best.’ Her voice changes, regret creeping in. ‘I know things weren’t easy for you. I know you missed out on a lot. There were things I wanted so much for you to have. That train set. I tried so hard to convince him. Your face that Christmas. It broke my heart. You have no idea.’

  ‘So we kept you there.’

  ‘It was where I wanted to be. With my children, before anything else.’ Her voice fills with strength. ‘And for all his gruffness, I did love him. You probably don’t understand that.’ She looks down. ‘I don’t always understand it myself. He was hard on you and there were times I hated him for it. But we were a family. And we muddled through.’

  ‘So that’s what we’re supposed to do, muddle through regardless?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rory. All I know is that if I’d run away, I wouldn’t have what I do now. I wouldn’t have you, my son, here, driving me to have my poor toe rooted at.’ She smiles. ‘I wouldn’t have Siofra, Owen, or any of my precious grandchildren. I have so much. Because I muddled through.’ She pauses. ‘Mind you, I would like you to be happier. What’s wrong, Rory?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He wouldn’t know where to start.

  He doesn’t tell Johnny he won’t be turning up. He just doesn’t show. It might be Saturday night, but after the day he’s had the last thing he needs is Hottie Patrol. What’s he getting from all this anyway? Temporary oblivion. Not solutions, that’s for sure. The pressure keeps building, despite the booze, despite the women. He’s had enough.

  Hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, he sits out on the balcony, looking towards the glow of the city by night. He inhales deeply. He mightn’t own this apartment, but he loves it; the view, the salty air, the simple pleasure of living by the sea. He will always be able to afford to rent this place or somewhere like it. He has a good job that pays well. Whatever about the cost of buying property, rents are still affordable. And markets fluctuate. His time will come. In one way, at least, he has a little more control over his life than he’d thought.

  The lighthouse at the end of the pier flashes green. A plane flies overhead, its white, green and red lights winking. Growing up, the view from Rory’s room was the road outside and the line of houses opposite. His home was landlocked. Like his mother. At least, that’s how he saw it. He needs to revise that now. She’d a lot more control over her life than he’d given her credit for. She could have left, and chose not to. She was where she wanted to be – with her family. It wasn’t ideal, but life rarely is and she made the most of it. Her secret was simple. She knew what was important and made sacrifices to keep it.

  What is important to him?

  He frowns while he contemplates this.

  A lot of things actually.

  His health. Which he’s lucky to have, considering the attack.

  His job. Ditto.

  His personal life. Scratch that. It’s a mess.

  He could make it better, though. He could be more like his mother, decide what he wants and let nothing get in his way.

  He puts down the mug and stands. Arms folded, he looks out towards the horizon. Inside the phone rings. He doesn’t turn. He is not going in.

  In the morning, he wakes early. He’d planned on going into the hospital, as he has been doing a lot lately. But decides against it. Work isn’t the solution either. He needs to sort out what is. He gazes out at the pier and decides to walk it.

  Hands in the pockets of his black khaki chinos, he climbs the pedestrian bridge that crosses the DART line. The buzz of summer sailing courses is over now and the harbour is quieter. He still loves it. Loves the way it’s never the same; how every day, every hour, it’s different. He chooses the lower level of the pier and walks close to its edge. Below him, a canoeist paddles a red canoe. He wears a yellow helmet. Rory wonders at the point of it. Aren’t they for going through rapids? Maybe he wants to keep his ears warm or be seen in case of emergency. Maybe he just likes yellow. Or the helmet. Rory likes his style. Out alone. Doing his own thing. Enjoying the water. Enjoying life. He’s right to make the most of it. It can be over so soon, so suddenly. He thinks of his father, his son, Tadgh O’Driscoll. And he thinks of how close he came himself. A breeze stirs the surface of the otherwise calm sea and it looks like a thousand tiny silver fish just below the surface. It reminds Rory of new life. Of Louise and the baby. Their baby.

  He thinks back. To the shock discovery. And how he’d lashed out. Angry that he’d been, as usual, left out. But there is something he has ignored, and that is that the woman he loves is pregnant with his child. Still pregnant. Despite her fears. She wants their baby. And was telling him that, in the only way she could. He was being offered everything he’d wished for, and, like a fool, he had swatted it away. Not only that, but in doing so, he had been deliberately hurtful, deliberately cold.

  Will she ever forgive him?

  He stops walking. Whips out his phone. Dials her number.

  ‘Louise?’

  A beat. Followed by a wary, ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He waits for her to say something, but she doesn’t. ‘I’m sorry I reacted so badly. It was such a shock.’ Again, nothing. ‘Can we talk? Please.’

  He hears her take a deep breath. Then she says, ‘OK.’

  It’s Thursday before she can meet him and he wonders if she’s playing it cool. He wouldn’t blame her if she was. They’ve arranged to meet in the café opposite her shop. He thinks it a good sign that she’s there before him. But changes his mind when he sees her face. Closed.

  He orders a coffee from a passing waiter and takes a seat opposite her.

  ‘Thanks for seeing me,’ he says.

  ‘It’s OK.’ She tucks her hair behind her ears. And it reminds him of the day she left.

  He scratches his forehead. ‘Sorry, you know, for… the other day. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have landed it on you.’

  ‘I needed to know.’

  For a moment, neither speaks. Then Rory does so suddenly. ‘I’m going to honour my responsibilities to the baby, Louise.’

  ‘I was the one who left, Rory. You don’t have responsibilities.’

  Is that a fob off? ‘I’m the father. Of course I’ve responsibilities. I want to be there for it.’ His voice softens, ‘Whether you want me to or not.’

  She holds his eyes with hers. ‘I want you to.’ He almost deflates with relief. But then she ruins it by adding, ‘Children need their fathers.’

  He’d hoped she might need him too. ‘When is it due?’ he asks, to hide his disappointment.

  ‘November.’

  ‘I’ll take time off.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘I don’t want you to feel you owe me anything.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he snaps. He doesn’t owe her; he loves her. ‘But I owe the baby,’ is what he says.

  ‘Oh.’ She sounds disappointed. But nods as if she understands.

  He feels at sea, out of sync with the one person he was always in time with. He wants to fix it. Maybe if they started over. He stands. ‘Want another smoothie?’

  ‘No. Thanks.’ She hasn’t touched the one she has.

  He leaves the table to order a coffee, but in reality to gather himself. He gets to the counter and asks for a latte. The waiter says he’ll bring it to him. Rory says he’ll wait.

  Too soon, he returns to Louise.

  They smile uneasily at each other.

  He fiddles with a sachet of sugar. Maybe they should try to forget the past, just plan for the future. But to do that, he needs to know how things stand. ‘Is it a secret, the pregnancy?’

  She looks surprised. ‘No.’

  ‘You mean you’ve been telling
people?’ Before him?

  ‘No. I haven’t,’ she says, sounding frustrated. ‘I just haven’t been hiding it.’

  A group of teenage girls alight at the table beside them, setting their mobiles in front of them like doctors-on-call. Bleeping heralds the arrival of a text. A handset is picked up. Four heads merge. A burst of laughter.

  Rory is barely aware of them. There’s so much he needs to know. ‘When did you find out you were pregnant?’

  ‘When you were in Cambridge.’

  Cambridge! He rewinds his mind. Remembers how quiet she was, how offhand on the phone. He’d thought she was jealous of Orla. He feels a fool.

  ‘You told Mark and Lesley, didn’t you, when I was away?’

  ‘I told Lesley. I had to talk to someone.’

  Not him, though. Hurt by that and a vision of her sobbing into Lesley’s lap, regretting their child, he says, ‘And was she very comforting?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘I don’t understand how you even got pregnant. You were always so careful.’ He doesn’t mean that positively.

  She looks at him as if to say, ‘Do I even know you?’

  And suddenly, he’s afraid she’ll up and leave. ‘I’m sorry. I just want to know how it happened.’ His voice softens. ‘Tell me how it happened, Lou.’

  For a moment, she says nothing, then takes a deep breath. ‘It was the night you got the test results. I wasn’t back on the pill long enough. I was only short a day. I thought it’d be OK. You were so happy. We were so happy. I couldn’t not.’

  It was on his recommendation that she’d taken a break from the pill while they weren’t having sex. He was thinking about her health. He remembers the night, the meal, the hotel. At least the baby was conceived when they were both happy and in love – before he’d asked her to marry him, before he’d suggested a family. It’s as if the baby had its own agenda, a mind of its own. He smiles at that.

  ‘What?’ she asks, for a brief moment, hopeful.

  He shakes his head. It’s stupid. ‘Nothing.’ He stirs his untouched, almost cold coffee and drinks from it. ‘Who are you seeing?’