by Pat Rosier
‘I didn’t want to have to get a plumber and involve them at the front,’ Bob explained, almost apologetically. ‘They seem a bit bothered about having babies here.'
No need to worry about that, Isobel told herself. She smiled at Bob, ‘Thank you for doing all this,’ she said, ‘I suppose I should have thought about it beforehand, but somehow I didn’t’
‘I enjoyed it.' Bob smiled back. ‘Come on, there’s more,’ and he put a hand behind her back and guided her into the living room. A drying rack, and a television set.
‘Oh Bob, how thoughtful.' And she put an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek. ‘I can feed on the sofa in the evenings and watch. Some of the nurses talked about, their favourite programmes. You must have spent a fortune …….’
‘Nothing’s too good for my family.' How strange it was, thought Isobel, to be in a family and not one of the children. Andrew was stirring on her shoulder and she could hear Neil.
‘I’d better deal with ….’
‘Of course. I’ll get some lunch, will a sandwich and a cuppa do you?'
Isobel had had a lunch of sorts at the hospital, but this was the first time ever that Bob had offered to get food for her, so she nodded and went to get Neil. She had learnt to scoop up a baby in one arm with her hand under the head. It took a while and a trip to the bedroom for extra pillows to get them all settled on the sofa. Bob brought in cheese sandwiches, offering her the plate. She shook her head and he ate them, sitting on the chair opposite watching. She was glad of the tea. Both their mothers had helped with the shopping, he admitted, he wouldn’t have known what to get on his own, and the drying rack was her mother’s idea. His mother had bought two sets of matching clothes, they were in the drawers, Isobel had better have a look at them because she was coming around to help tomorrow.
Dressing the boys in matching clothes was something else Isobel hadn’t thought about. She supposed it wouldn’t matter while they were small, but she didn’t want them looking the same when they were walking and talking; they weren’t the same and both had to be allowed to be themselves …… ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said Mum will be here for lunch tomorrow and I don’t think there is anything in, so I’ll go and get some groceries from the local shop. I have to be back at work tomorrow. What do you want to cook for tonight?’
Isobel hadn’t thought about groceries and cooking either. She shrugged. ‘Get something easy. Here, burp Andrew first.' Bob took the proffered baby gingerly and held him against his shoulder after looking to see how Isobel was holding Neil. She passed him a nappy to put over his shoulder. There was a knock on the door. Still holding Andrew, Bob went and came back followed by Isobel’s mother.
‘You won’t want to be bothering about cooking tonight,’ she was talking as she came in the door, ‘so I made you a casserole, with vegetables in it and potatoes on top, so you only have to heat it. I’m glad to see you helping out,’ she said to Bob, ‘this girl has her hands full for a while, make sure you don’t ask too much of her.' After a long look at Bob that left him blushing and muttering ‘Of course not,’ she leant over and took Neil off Isobel’s shoulder and put him on hers.
‘You make the most of anyone who is around,’ she told Isobel, ‘for everything except the one thing only you can do. I’ll make you a cup of tea.' And she went off to the kitchen before Isobel could say she already had one, holding Neil on her shoulder with one hand and murmuring to him. She waved away the nappy Isobel offered. ‘Heavens no, baby sick washes out, and I won’t be wearing my best bib and tucker when I come around here for a while.’ Her mother never had dressed up to come and visit … Isobel let the thought drift away.
When the Plunket nurse arrived, Isobel was sitting on the sofa with another cup of tea and her mother and Bob were holding a baby each. He hadn’t been out to the shop yet. Isobel was wondering if she dared ask him to get some cigarettes; she wouldn’t mind one now and then.
Bob had taken Andrew when he went to answer the door. He wants my mother to think he’s good at this, Isobel was thinking, how about that. ‘Well, this is a good start, plenty of help here,’ the nurse said cheerfully, introducing herself as Colleen, then plopping onto the sofa beside Isobel, showing her two baby books, ruled up for dates and weights and immunizations and all manner of records. When Colleen asked for their birth weights Bob gave them before Isobel could open her mouth, and she subsided into the sofa, leaving him and her mother to respond to the nurse. They’re both having such a good time, Isobel thought.
‘I’ll be back in two days and then twice a week. And you must ring me if you have any problems. Get some routines going and you’ll be right as rain. Don’t get up I can see myself out,’ said Colleen, smiling at Bob as she went.
Bob and her mother were exchanging comments about the nurse’s efficiency and helpfulness when Isobel startled them both, saying ‘I don’t like her. She’s too jolly.’ They both stared at her. ‘And she didn’t once talk directly to me.’ That had made Isobel feel childish. She looked at them each in turn. ‘Oh, never mind, she can come and weigh and all that and fill in her silly books.’
‘My mother’s still got mine.' Bob was defensive. ‘I don’t think they’re silly, they’re an important record of how well the boys are doing.’
‘Do you think we won’t know if something’s wrong?’ Isobel stopped herself. ‘Yes, all right,’ she said, and put the books on the arm of the sofa.
‘Well, I’ll be off.' And her mother stood up and passed a sleeping baby down to Isobel who had not got up from the sofa since she first sat down. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ she turned to Bob, ‘Isobel’s father thinks you should have a phone of your own and he wants to pay for one to be put in. Will you check with them,’ she nodded towards the front of the house, ‘that it will be all right? Joe will make the arrangements, he’s sure he can get you put on a priority with having twins and it shouldn’t take long. You won’t want to be running around to them if you need help,’ she was talking to Isobel now, ‘especially at night. And I’ll come around any time.’
‘Thanks, Mum.' Isobel had to stand up to show she wasn’t helpless. ‘It would be great to have a phone, wouldn’t it Bob? I hadn’t thought about it, but I think it will be great. Thank Dad for m… us, won’t you.’
Bob was a bit pink. ‘Very generous,’ he said, and went to pass Andrew to Isobel, stopping awkwardly when he realised she was already holding Neil. She laid Neil down on the sofa lengthwise and gestured to Bob to do the same with Andrew so they were head to head and turned to say goodbye to her mother but she’d gone. Then Bob was saying, ‘I’d better go to the shop, what shall I get for lunch tomorrow?’
‘Whatever you like,’ Isobel’s attention was on the babies; she thought she could smell something.
The next few hours were completely taken up with crying babies and feeding and washing and changing, with the sound of the television in the background. Bob had turned it on ‘to show how it works,’ and left it going. He gave her a plate of lukewarm casserole and she ate it with a spoon, a baby at each breast, one under each arm, lying on the cushions and pillows she was learning to arrange just right and wondered about the in and out of food, into her and out into the babies. A drop of gravy fell onto a small head and then she was glad it wasn’t hot. She wiped it off with her finger and looked up to see Bob watching her. He looked away quickly.
‘I don’t mind you watching,’ she said. ‘It’s all a bit of a mystery and a miracle isn’t it? Do you think they’ll be having my mother’s casserole for breakfast?’
He shook his head. ‘Well, they did say that I should stay away from spicy foods because they sometimes upset the babies,’ she persisted. Bob put down his plate. ‘There’s a programme on later,’ he said, ‘The Avengers, it’s supposed to be quite good, shall we watch it?’
‘Yes, if you like, what’s it about?’
It turned out that Isobel loved The Avengers. It was like the books she read, full of action and events and
people that had nothing to do with her life. She could care about them, briefly, laugh at them or with them, even be scared, and then forget them. When it finished she was suddenly exhausted. She changed each baby, marveling at the fluids that came out of such small beings, and put them in their cribs. They looked so far from each other on opposite sides of the big bed, she moved Neil over to Andrew’s. With their feet nearly touching they could fit in one crib. A wash, a cursory brush of her teeth, a peck on Bob’s cheek as he watched something else on television, she was too tired to notice what it was, and she fell into bed and immediately asleep.
In the morning she had no idea how many times she had woken or when she had fed which baby; she knew she had lifted each boy out of the crib at least a couple of times and Neil was sleeping with his head against her arm. Bob came in, with a towel around his waist and wet hair. ‘Hello all,’ he said, sitting on the bed. ‘What sort of night did you have?’
‘Surprisingly good, I think. I’m pleased I took on breast feeding, I only have to wake up enough to plug one in, and he falls asleep again sucking.’
‘Mum says you shouldn’t have a baby in bed with you, it sets up bad habits…,’ he paused at the look on her face, then went on, ‘… and you can, you know, rollover and suffocate ….' Isobel was nodding, knowing that he knew that she wasn’t going to take any notice. She patted the bed and Bob climbed in beside her. ‘They must both be pretty wet by now, though, I’d better get up and change them.’ She could see him trying not to edge away, and smiled and passed him Neil. ‘He’s not that bad, and anyway you’re bound to get peed on a few times.' Bob cradled Neil in his arms, rocking him from side to side, humming a tune. This was going to be fine, Isobel thought, she didn’t know he could be so gentle and careful. There was just that little niggle about them not actually being married, maybe this was a time to raise it. No, she decided, leave well alone. She rubbed her thumb against the cheap gold band she had bought herself when she was looking for flats. She supposed Bob had noticed but he’d never said anything.
‘I’ll register their births this week,’ he was saying. ‘Do you want second names?’ Isobel started to shake her head then changed to a nod. ‘Yes, let’s have Joe, no, Joseph for my father and Daniel for my brother. Would that be all right?’ Even though Bob had no siblings himself, maybe he would think that was a bit much. He was pulling his finger against Neil’s grip, a silly grin on his face. ‘No, hon, that’s fine. Which way around.’
‘Neil Daniel and Andrew Joseph,’ she said for no particular reason, picking up a squirming Andrew from the crib and carrying him to the changing table. She was still a bit awkward with nappies, and needed to get a bucket with a lid for the soiled ones. A big bucket. A list, she must make a list as she thought of things. Leaving Andrew kicking his bare legs she went out to find pen and paper. When she came back Bob said, ‘Should you, you know, leave him on the table like that?’
‘Uh huh, it’s fine for a little while until they can roll over. And you were here to grab him, Daddy.’
‘Yeah, Daddy, eh, how about that?. Shit look at the time, I’ll be late for work, any chance of a cuppa before I go?’
‘Sure is, if you make it yourself.' Isobel surprised herself, then pulled a rueful face. ‘Sorry, I need to …… ‘ she gestured.
‘Of course you do. I’ll make us both one.’
‘Ta’. She was struggling to get the pins out of Neil’s very wet nappy — somehow the wetness made the pin stick.
By ten-thirty her mother had bustled in, done two loads of washing, hung them out and offered to come back at four and bring it all in.
‘You are such a help,’ Isobel told her, though she had been looking forward to putting the first load through the machine herself, ‘but Bob’s mother is coming over this afternoon and I’m sure she will do it if I’m, you know …,’ she gestured at her breasts.
Bob’s mother’s visit was tiring. She brought in the washing, making a fuss about the woollen singlets, which Isobel had put on the boys to bring them home so she could say she had, and then put in the washing machine which had shrunk them. They really needed to be washed by hand, with Lux flakes she said, smoothing them on the back of the sofa, then tugging them back into shape. Isobel managed to not ask why she gave her clothes for the boys that needed separate washing for heaven’s sake. But the hardest thing was Andrew. Whenever his paternal grandmother paid him attention or picked him up or tried to play with or talk to him, he cried. Loudly. Until she moved away or put him down and then he stopped. Isobel could hand over a happy baby and within seconds he was bawling. It was embarrassing, given how often she said how good she was with babies. Thank heavens Neil went to her happily and took a half bottle of expressed milk and burped satisfactorily on her shoulder. Isobel was managing to call her Nana, but all the go to Nana’s in the world did not make any difference to Andrew. So Nana spent the afternoon paying attention to Neil, calling him my boy, and saying how like his father he was. She never got the washing folded and when Bob’s father arrived to pick her up hurried him off as Isobel was about to hand him Andrew, saying, ‘That wee one is unsettled today, better not over-stimulate him.’
‘Don’t be uncharitable,’ Isobel said to herself, looking at the heap of washing spilling over from the basket. ‘No-one is as practical and busy as your mother, and Nana is doing her best.’
After four days at home she was dying to get out. It was actually guy fawkes day, but she couldn’t think about that — next year the boys would be old enough — no, she wasn’t going to think that far ahead. Bob would be at work all day the next day even though it was Saturday and he would no doubt spend most of Sunday reading something very important for his job. She wished they had a car and that she could drive it. When her mother was getting ready to leave after her usual daily visit, Isobel asked if she would come early on Monday morning. They could go to the town shops and library together. Her mother hesitated, ‘It might be a bit soon for you and the babies …’
‘No,’ Isobel said, ‘I need to learn how to get about and catching the bus with the boys on my own is a bit too daunting.' And I haven’t flooded down there for two days, she didn’t say, I’m only likely to leak on top and I’ll wear a jacket.
‘All right then. About nine-thirty.' She’s dying to take them out and show them off, Isobel thought, seeing her mother’s face soften. Here I am focused on managing all this and she’s loving it.
She wished she’d thought of getting in something to read for the weekend. The news on the radio was full of Vietnam and anti-Vietnam protests, which were all very far away from her and the babies and also somehow unsettling. There was a small second-hand bookshop next to the grocer’s, actually the front room of someone’s house, but she thought it only stocked romances. But by the afternoon, feeling the two days of the weekend stretching ahead of her, she was walking briskly down the road, noting the best places to cross with the bulky pram. There were five steps to get into the bookshop, which were a struggle and then the door was only just wide enough. Once she was inside she saw with relief there was a small crime section, and found a Ngaio Marsh she hadn’t read and a couple of Agatha Christies. Ten shillings each, she thought, was exorbitant, but she didn’t have any to exchange, a process the disinterested woman at the desk explained incomprehensibly, that still appeared to involve paying for any books you took.
On Monday morning she was ready early and watched her mother walking down the road towards the house at her usual brisk pace. She had never learned to drive. ‘Never needed to, with buses and a good set of legs,’ she would say, ‘and one bad driver in the family is enough,’ referring to her husband. She firmly believed that if you didn’t learn to drive young you would never be good at it, and Joe’s performance behind the wheel certainly reinforced that. I’d better hurry up and learn then, Isobel thought, if we ever get a car. She knew Bob was doing well in his work but not how much he earned. He’d given her two hundred pounds when she came home from the hospital, awkwardly
, saying, ‘When you get a chance, get yourself something nice.’ She wanted to throw it back at him for a moment, then put it in her pocket, managing half a smile but unable to say thank you.
Until a few months ago she was earning her own money; she resented being doled out something for a treat even if it was generous Bob paid the rent and the bills and left money on the bench for housekeeping every Thursday. Plenty of money, she usually had some over and put it in her own bank account. She didn’t know what she would do with the two hundred pounds, except she was sure she was not going to buy a nice dress or shoes. It could go in the bank too, while she decided.
She couldn’t bring herself to ask Bob about money, anticipating that he would tell her not to bother herself or something similar and she couldn’t get over the feeling that it really was his money and she had no right to even knowing how much there was. She was waiting for him to get the births registered, then she would apply for the family benefit, that would be paid to her, and she wasn’t going to talk to Bob about how she used it.
At the library, she ran her hand along a shelf of books, giving herself a moment to enjoy being there. It wasn’t so long, really, not much more than a couple of weeks, since she had been, though that time seemed a whole world away. It didn’t seem possible to ever manage the bus and the big pram and both babies on her own, so she would have to walk. That would be all right if it was fine, but what about all those weeks of winter rain? By then the boys would be bigger, would that be better or worse? ‘Not now,’ she told herself, ‘you don’t have to sort that out right now, concentrate on the books.’
Her mind wouldn’t focus on finding crime fiction she hadn’t read, so in the end she took four, almost at random, disappointed that dissatisfaction had so quickly displaced her pleasure at being there. She hesitated on her way back to where she had left her mother with the pram, the sound of her mother’s voice – hushed of course – and that of the librarian. They would be talking about the babies, her mother would be jiggling the pram in that way she had that she was sure helped them sleep, and maybe it did, Isobel had caught herself doing it a few times. There was no need to hurry, she couldn’t hear any pre-waking sounds.
