‘What do you mean?’
‘Obstetrician.’
‘Oh. Iris Black.’
He doesn’t know the name. ‘Is she good?’
‘Seems to be. I wanted a woman.’
‘Are you on folic acid?’
‘Yes.’
‘Iron?’
‘No. My levels are OK.’
‘How’re you feeling?’
‘Fine. Doctor.’ She widens her eyes, teasing, the way she used to.
It seems forced to him. Fake. And he doesn’t respond. ‘Have you had a scan?’
She looks hurt. In silence, she opens her bag and produces an envelope. From it she takes a black and white grainy picture. He’s not prepared for this. But it’s already in his hands. He looks down. Smiles at the magic of it. Foetus in foetal position, is the title he gives it, as though it’s a work of art. He touches it with a finger, already feeling love for it. His voice, grainy like the photo, asks, ‘How many weeks?’
‘It was taken at twelve. But I’m twenty-two now.’ Her voice is more business-like. Her shell has been replaced.
And he wonders if he should have pretended, let on they were still natural with each other, and not feeling around cautiously like they had lost all sense of each other.
Over the next few days, Rory develops an overwhelming urge to protect this baby, to make sure nothing happens to it. He checks out Iris Black. A fine obstetrician by all accounts. Still, he wants to be on top of everything. He borrows books from the medical library. Starts to read up. Rings Louise to tell her he’ll come to antenatal classes.
‘I don’t think the fathers’ ones are till near the end,’ she says.
‘I’ll come anyway.’
One of the first things he investigates is at what age a baby is capable of survival outside its mother’s body. Twenty-eight weeks. He won’t relax until then. In fact, he won’t truly relax until it is born full-term and declared one hundred per cent healthy. But twenty-eight weeks is the first hurdle. At twenty-two, the baby is almost thirty centimetres long and weighs about four hundred grammes – almost half a pack of sugar, Rory thinks. It’s learning about its body and surroundings through touch, frequently stroking its face. Its fingernails are fully grown. All this blows Rory away. Still, he’s not making the same mistakes twice. He’s not going to imagine it as a child, boy or girl. He’s not going to name it. He’s not going to plan its life. And he is telling no one.
On his parents’ wedding anniversary, Rory decides to take his mother out.
‘I don’t feel much like socializing,’ she says, when he invites her to dinner.
‘Well, then I won’t tell you my news,’ he teases, deciding on the spur of the moment that it’s time she had something to look forward to.
‘What news?’ Already her spirits have lifted.
‘Now that would be telling.’
‘Is it relationship news?’
‘Ah, ah. Dinner first, news second.’
‘All right, all right. You win.’
‘I’m still waiting for the news,’ she says, over dessert.
He smiles at her.
‘Well?’
‘You’re going to be a grandmother.’
Her face lights up. She clasps her hands together.
‘Louise is pregnant.’
‘Louise? Are you and Louise back together? Oh, Rory, I’d hoped –’
‘No, Mum. We’re not.’
‘Oh.’ She seems to be working through the implications of that.
He knows that she’d have liked her grandchild to be born into a loving relationship. He is sorry he can’t give her that. He is sorry he can’t give himself that.
‘But Louise isn’t going out with anyone else?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘So there’s hope?’
He doesn’t want to let her down. ‘Mum. Things have changed between us. A lot has happened –’
‘But a baby could bring you back together.’
‘Look, Mum, I’m going to be totally involved. I’m going to be a good father. I’ll be there for the baby. But please don’t expect anything else.’
She nods.
‘I’ll bring it over to visit. We’ll go out together, the three of us.’
‘It will be great,’ she says.
‘I’m not telling anyone else. Not for the moment. Just in case, you know, anything goes wrong.’
‘How many weeks is the baby?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Twenty-two? My goodness. I think you should be safe enough.’
‘Well, just in case.’
‘I won’t tell a soul. Well, maybe a soul, but not a body.’ She pauses. ‘He would have been happy for you, Rory.’
Rory fakes a smile, to keep her happy.
‘I’m trying to work out when it’s due,’ she says.
‘November.’
She smiles. ‘You’ll make a great dad.’
If he ever gets there.
35
Rory takes time off to go with Louise to her next antenatal check-up. In the plush waiting room, shared by a number of consultants, there are about ten women. Only one man. There was another, but he left with his partner, their visit over. Rory watches the remaining couple carefully. Instinct tells him this is their first. It’s their enthusiasm. The way they look so united, as if embarking on some great adventure together. Which, he supposes, they are. Judging by the energetic toddlers running, climbing and playing with toys owned by the hospital, many of the other women are veterans. And they’re taking this in their stride. No big deal. No need for partners to miss work.
The doctor’s door opens and she calls a name. The firsttimers look at each other, but only she gets up. Rory wonders why he’s not going in. Same thing happened with the other couple. What’s the point in coming if you don’t go in? Haven’t they any questions? Don’t they want to be part of the process? Rory imagines what happens in the consultation room. Blood pressure, weight, palpating the abdomen, urine sample (already collected). Nothing to shy away from. Unless of course there’s some reason for an internal examination. He thinks of Louise. On second thoughts…
When her name is called, Louise stands. She looks at Rory, expecting him to come, as he’d said he would. He stays sitting, just smiles up at her.
‘See you when you get out,’ he says. As the door closes behind her, Rory thinks of internal examinations, and is glad she picked a female obstetrician. He looks around the room, feeling redundant.
Louise reappears in under ten minutes. Her doctor calls the next patient. As they walk along the corridor, Rory is anxious to know how it went.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah, fine.’
‘Blood pressure?’
‘Yep.’
‘Urine?’
‘Yes, Rory.’
He decides to skip weight. They get to the door of the hospital. For Rory, it’s all over too quickly. He hasn’t learnt anything. He wonders if he should suggest coffee.
Louise says, ‘I’d better get back to work.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’
‘OK. Well, thanks for coming.’ She starts to walk away.
Suddenly he is gripped by worry, the same kind of worry his father must have felt for his children. What if she trips? Gets hit by a car? He doesn’t even like the idea of her driving. He catches up with her. ‘So, you’ll give me a shout when the next antenatal class is due?’
‘Yeah. I’ll text.’
‘OK.’ He stands back while she gets into her car. He wonders if he should remind her of the safety belt. But then she puts it on. And he relaxes a bit. Watching her drive away, he tells himself to loosen up. The last thing he needs is to turn into his father.
Two weeks and a lot of research later, Rory has grown very familiar with words like trimester, primigravida and lanugo. He thinks it right that pregnancy has its own vocabulary, words that have no use in everyday language. The more he becomes familiar with pregnancy, the more in awe of i
t he becomes, how by a certain time certain things happen in every pregnancy, how nature gives a baby a deadline – nine months and everything has to be developed by then, ready. He wonders why he never gave obstetrics a second thought when choosing his specialty. But he knows. He had considered it unchallenging, a production factory rather than life-or-death. Boring.
He was a different man then.
At the next antenatal class, he sits with Louise, surrounded by pregnant women. A plump, over-animated midwife in a tight blue uniform is talking about pain relief options. Rory is up to speed on all of that now and his mind takes a detour to an ad on the mother and baby watch website, very American and completely mad. A ‘belly cast’. You can have a cast made of the entire front of the mother’s pregnant body. There’s a picture of one on the site – the cast, not the body. Rory must be losing it, because to him, it’s as good as any sculpture. Beautiful, in fact. Even if they were still together, they’d never have gone for anything like that though. They’re too sensible, too Irish. Though the Irish are changing. He imagines a lot of couples opting for belly casts. Something new. Something no one else has. Hard enough, given the booming economy. He imagines a cast of Louise. Imagines her naked. Imagines the soap on its journey down her body. He stops thinking. Is aware of her beside him, so calm, so easy with the whole thing. When he’s with her, this calm transmits to him and he worries less about the baby. It seems a contradiction that this is the same person who left him because she didn’t want to be a mother.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ she says, when they’re outside, other women spilling out around them.
‘I thought you’d want to know about pain relief.’
‘I know all I need to – there’s such a thing as an epidural.’
She always was decisive. ‘What’s the next one on?’ he asks.
‘Breast feeding.’
He imagines himself amongst all those women and feels his enthusiasm drain away.
‘You coming?’ she asks, teasingly, sensing his discomfort.
‘I might give that one a skip.’
Her face is serious. ‘I’d like your support.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I’m messing. I was thinking of giving that one a skip myself.’
She’s not going to breastfeed?
‘I’m going to be working, Rory.’
‘So soon?’
‘I run my own business.’
He’s familiar with all the benefits of breastfeeding now. He’d like the baby to get the best. But then, it is Louise’s body. An argument that reminds him of Orla. It was her body. Yes, but his child too. Why couldn’t it have been easier, more straightforward? Why did the rights of mother, baby and father have to be so at odds? He wonders how Orla is doing now. Has it been straightforward for her? Has she moved on with her life as planned? He remembers her face on seeing Louise and knows the answer to that. ‘Have you thought about childcare?’ he asks Louise to stop this train of thought.
‘If I can afford it, I was thinking of a childminder.’
What other option is there, a crèche? He’d like to argue for that, just so he can have some input, but he likes the idea of the baby having one-to-one care. ‘I’ll help financially.’
She starts to object, but checks herself. ‘Thanks.’
‘Should we start looking now?’ he asks.
‘I’ve put my name down with a few agencies. But they won’t be able to send anyone for interviews until closer to the time.’ Suddenly, she stops walking and her hand alights on the gentle curve of her belly. ‘The baby’s moving,’ she says, smiling. ‘Do you want to feel it?’
He does, of course he does, but putting his palm against her tummy seems too intimate. He looks at her hands, pressed against the bump and imagines what it might feel like. He is so curious that, without realizing it, his hand automatically travels towards her. Gently, she takes it and guides it to where the movement is taking place.
‘Oh my God, I feel it. It’s so weird.’
She laughs at his face. ‘I know.’
‘God.’
All becomes still again and he takes his hand away.
‘Wow.’
That evening Jenna calls him. He braces himself for a monologue on how she’s doing now that she’s home from her residential programme.
But he doesn’t get that.
‘I’m worried about Mum,’ she says. ‘There’s something wrong. She’s depressed or something. Like a zombie, ignoring the phone, ignoring everything. She wasn’t even this bad when Dad left. She won’t tell me what’s wrong. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know who else to call.’
‘What about her friend?’ He tries to remember her name. ‘Sal.’
‘She’s away.’
He’s not going to suggest Owen. ‘What about her doctor?’
‘Aren’t you going to help?’ She sounds amazed. ‘You always help.’
‘I’m not sure what I could do.’
‘Come over, talk to her… She always listens to you.’
‘Not always.’
‘Rory, please. I can’t handle this. I’m sixteen.’
So now sixteen is young?
‘She’s drinking.’ Jenna’s voice cracks. ‘All that booze around. Mum depressed. Trying to settle back into my old school. I’m afraid.’ She breaks off. He hears her sob.
Shit. ‘OK.’ Piss. ‘I’ll come over. But I don’t think it’s going to make a difference.’
‘Oh, God, thanks Rory. It will. I know it will. Can you come now?’
‘Now?’
‘Please?’
He looks down at the steak he’s just fried. ‘All right,’ he says, closing his eyes. ‘I’m on my way.’
Orla is huddled in a corner of the couch, hugging a cushion and staring into space. An almost empty bottle of wine is on the floor beside her. The room’s a mess. Rory moves a heap of clothes off the chair opposite, and sits. Jenna lingers at the door. For a few minutes, Rory sits in silence, looking mostly at his hands. Eventually, he turns to Jenna and asks her to give them a moment. She shrugs, reaches for the doorknob and pulls the door shut. When he has heard her go upstairs, he finally speaks.
‘Orla.’
Her eyes turn to his. But her face remains blank.
He is not going to pity her. ‘Jenna’s worried about you.’
She raises her chin. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I can see that,’ he says, eyeing the bottle of wine.
‘I’ve nothing to say to you. Except that I’m fine.’
‘Fine,’ he says. He folds his arms.
They sit in deadlocked silence. Minutes pass. When he finally speaks, it is to move it forward, get the hell out. ‘You’ve a responsibility to Jenna. Think of what she’s been through. This is not fair on her. She’s only sixteen, Orla. And she’s struggling as it is. She needs you to be well.’
When she looks at him, he sees a sadness that seems to come from deep inside. ‘I had a responsibility to that baby.’
A bit late for that now, he thinks, jaw set.
‘I keep thinking of him,’ she says.
Him? Rory can’t help himself. ‘Was it a boy? Did they tell you?’
‘No. But I knew.’
‘James,’ he says.
Her eyes focus in on him. And tears well over. ‘I hear him. I hear him cry. I see him in my dreams, dead.’ Tears are flooding her face. ‘If I could bring him back. If I could swap places –’
He feels his heart soften. He knew her better than she knew herself. Now she, like him, is haunted.
‘You were right. We could have managed it. Somehow. But I didn’t believe that. It was all too complicated.’ She puts her hands to her temples. Then she takes them down, and looks at him as though willing him to understand. ‘I thought it was a solution. I thought I’d be able to carry on.’
He swallows.
‘I didn’t think of it as a baby. I didn’t think of it as a unique little person with so much potential. Until it was t
oo late. Until it was gone.’
He doesn’t want to hear any more. Can’t. ‘You need to talk to someone.’
‘What’s that going to do? Bring him back?’
This is Orla, agony aunt, future counsellor. ‘OK. You’re going to have to stop this. You did this for a reason, remember? And it has worked out. Jenna is great now. She’s stopped drinking. She has a chance. A really good chance. Do you want to blow it for her? Because you’re putting too much pressure on her, Orla. You can’t drink around her. She’ll start drinking again. And then you’ll have failed. Lost everything.’
She looks at him.
‘You did it for a reason,’ he says again.
‘You’ll never be able to forgive me, will you?’
He looks at her in all her wretchedness and understands her pain as his. Worse than his. ‘I’m trying,’ he lies, because no one should feel this pain.
‘Then you’ll fail,’ she says. ‘If I were you, I’d never forgive me.’ She looks right into his eyes. ‘How you must hate me.’
And at that moment, he feels his hatred burn out. She has so much hatred for herself that he doesn’t owe it to the baby any more. ‘I don’t hate you. Please call someone. You know people. Call someone good.’
‘Are you?’
‘What?’
‘Seeing someone?’
‘No.’
‘I could give you a name.’
And he feels like laughing.
36
A few days later, Rory calls Jenna, not Orla.
‘How are things?’ he asks.
‘Better.’
He hesitates. ‘How’s she doing?’
‘Not drinking. That was the scariest thing, Mum drinking.’
He hopes it might act as aversion therapy. ‘Has she been to see someone?’
‘Yeah. Some counsellor.’
‘Good.’
‘What happened, Rory? What upset her? I can’t figure it out. Did Dad do something? Did he say something? Is it because he’s going to have a new family? Or is it me, the way I’ve been, the drinking?’
‘It’s not you.’
He sounds so sure that she asks, ‘Then what is it?’
He hesitates. ‘I don’t know.’
Do You Want What I Want? Page 27
