Being Emily

by Anne Donovan

  No one talked about miscarriages then. Did Mammy ever have a miscarriage? The gaps between us, five year between me and Patrick, four between me and the twins, then the big space afore the last … were they planned, or were there other babies inbetween that never made it through? The booklet they gied me at the hospital says it’s important tae talk but who dae I talk to. The twins? My da? Mammy’s the only one who could of understood what happened and, though I think of her every day, she feels further away than ever.

  Amrik’s the one I should talk with. The booklet says no tae underestimate the father’s feelings, how some men are really traumatised but cannae face it, cannae talk about it.

  Somehow I don’t think Amrik is traumatised. If he feels anything it’s relief. I’ve seen him three times since I came out the hospital. He’s just the same as he ever was; there’s nae special softness in his voice, he doesnae take my airm in a way that shows any recognition of what’s happened. They said nae sex for a month in case of infection, so we went to the movies. Some French film about terrorists blowing up a factory. Then a walk in the park. One night he was playing and I sat in the audience, listening to perfect, beautiful, poignant notes emerge fae his sitar. Melancholy and uplifting at the same time. It’s amazing how he puts so much heart intae it. Mibbe that’s why he has nae heart left over for anything else.

  The month was up but I hadnae said anything cause I was still confused about how I felt. But sitting next tae him at the pictures, his elbow on the armrest between us, I felt closer tae Amrik than I had for ages. It was as if something had been washed clean between us in the time of abstinence. There was an innocence about Amrik when he watched a movie that was never there any other time; he opened hissel like a wean lost in play.

  Back at his flat, in the silence, bare boards and uncurtained windaes, freezing air. We dived beneath the bedcovers, grabbed each other. When Amrik reached for the pack of condoms on the table, I whispered, It’s cool and pulled him back intae the warmth.

  After, lying with his haunds linked behind his heid he said, You sure the timing’s okay?

  Aye.

  Don’t want any more accidents.

  I’m gonnae go on the pill anyway. Saves all that hassle.

  Oh?

  Yeah, got an appointment tomorrow actually.

  He pulled on his jeans and jumper, his haunds closed round the neck of his sitar.

  Cool.

  It was a lie, of course. So big a lie that afterwards I was amazed he seemed to believe me. I’ve never been good at lying, always stammer or look shifty. When we were wee and one of us had done something bad, I was the one the grown ups knew would tell them the truth, no because I’d clype, but because they could tell right away if I was lying. Mibbe he didnae believe me, just heard what he wanted to hear. That way he could satisfy hissel it wasnae his responsibility if anything went wrang.

  It wasnae planned. I hadnae went round with the idea that I’d trick him intae getting me pregnant, just somehow that night the words came out. I had tae take a chance, see if it could happen again. It wasnae logical or rational. Like Doctor Trudi had said, really I was lucky. I was in nae position to bring a baby intae the world, especially wi a father who didnae want it, but somehow, my body couldnae bear no being pregnant. I walked about feeling empty, no emotional emptiness, but literal emptiness. Even though I’d never known I was pregnant in the first place, I felt as if I was missing something, that only a baby inside me would fill the awful gap.

  The nice doctor tried tae get me to talk, made an appointment for the counsellor, but I never went. I’d work late at Art School then went hame tae my da’s or else drifted to wherever Amrik was playing. He’d built up a big following in Glasgow by ths time. Never needed tae advertise, word of mouth meant that no matter how big or wee, how mainstream or out the way the venue was, loads of folk turned up.

  At first the audience had mostly been male, often Asian, but as his music became better known, a mair mixed crowd started to squeeze its way intae the sweaty basements and smoky back rooms. Loads of women stood entranced by his playing and by him. Amrik was golden, a saffron halo fae the lights, his fingers producing a round sweet honey tone.

  When the playing was over he was surrounded by people, all wanting a piece of him, but after a while, after a few drinks, he’d make his way over to me, and we’d go back tae his place thegether. I knew it was stupid, but I couldnae help mysel. I was obsessed. No because I was in love with him, but because there was something physical that bound us thegether, something I hated and was disgusted by, but there. I didnae need much, but I needed the wee bits of him that I had.

  PATRICK WAS NOW officially Patric. He announced this when he came up tae visit for the Christmas holidays. My da, of course, thought this was hysterical.

  Jeezo, son, they’ll think you cannae spell. Or you’re foreign or somethin.

  Patric seemed no the least bit bothered by my da’s reaction, whereas even a year ago, he’d of flinched as if he’d been nipped by a wee bit of stone chipped up fae the road. I knew that look well in Patric. He always seemed calm, but you could tell when something upset him by that hauf-twitch at the corner of his mouth. I looked for it while my da was ranting, but it never came. Patric was totally relaxed, smiled as if it made nae difference to him what my da thought. Either he had changed a hell of a lot while he’d been in London, or mibbe it was my da who’d lost his power.

  No that he’d ever been a macho man, but somehow since the fire and the drinking, he’d stopped being the da, the adult in the family, and become the one that needed looked after. And Patric, well he was different fae Patrick. No just the superficial stuff, like the clothes, made fae really good, expensive fabrics that were so soft to the touch it took your breath away when you hugged him. No just the fancy watch or the way he spoke, less broad and with an inflection that sounded like someone fae a New York sitcom. No just that he was staying in a hotel even though both my da and me had offered tae sleep on the couch and gie him wur rooms. Something that I couldnae put my finger on.

  Efter he’d gone back to his hotel, I sat on my bed in the tiny room, downie round my shoulders. I knew it was stupid to expect him tae be the same old Patrick but everything else had changed that much, it was as if I was constantly at sea, rocking and moving up and doon with nae solid land beneath me. I’d never really thought about how much Patrick had been like that for me; he was the only one of the family who’d stayed the same – reliable, looking out for me. I knew Janice was too but it was different – she was my auntie, I hadnae grown up with her in the same hoose – and anyway, she had enough on her plate and I didnae want tae burden her with my problems.

  Next day Patric took me out for a drink. Some trendy place doon Byres Road I’d never been in afore. When I asked for a hauf-pint of lager and lime he made a face. Oh go mad, Fiona, have a cocktail, or a G&T or something.

  I never know what to drink. I never go tae pubs.

  Well, I’ll choose for you, will I?

  He came back with cocktails in fancy glasses, paper parasols stuck in them.

  Cheers.

  I took a sip.

  What d’you think?

  Tastes like American Cream Soda – mind we used to get it as a treat?

  I’d forgotten. What was in it anyway?

  God knows.

  So how are things?

  So-so. Da seems a bit better. He’s no drinking as much, the odd binge noo and again, but I think he’s learned a lesson. He’s working steady too. But he’s no happy. I sipped the drink, sweet and sticky. And the twins just dae what they like.

  I can see that. But what about you, Fiona?

  How d’you mean?

  You look awful.

  Thanks.

  I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, you look so tired, your hair needs washed, you look as if you put on the first thing that falls out the cupboard in the morning.

  I’ve never been interested in clothes. No everybody’s like you.

&n
bsp; I don’t expect you to be. It’s internal. There’s something inside you – it’s like you don’t care about yourself any more.

  I wanted tae greet. I wanted to sit in the trendy bar with the cool barman who’s really an actor in his spare time and all the beautiful people who look like Patric, and howl and howl till the snotters run doon my cheeks. But I never. I sat, twirling the parasol round and round the frosted glass.

  I wanted tae tell Patric but the days went by and he returned tae London with nothing said. I felt as though Amrik had trapped me in a spider’s web of shimmering notes, sticky and sweet and addictive. After the miscarriage the web had fragmented, but I still couldnae fight my way out of it entirely. And the desire for a baby, which had come upon me that suddenly, wouldnae go away, no matter how much I tried tae rationalise mysel out of it.

  I did try. When I was working or reading a book or just lying in bed, I reminded mysel how impossible this would be if I had a baby to look after. Once I’d finished Art School, when I had a job or met someone else who had, that was the time to get pregnant.

  But some nights, lying in my bed on the verge of sleep, it was as if I could sense deep inside my body, my ovaries and my womb longing for a baby. No me, no Fiona, the art student, but my body. And though on the surface the relationship between me and Amrik was casual, there was nothing casual about the way I checked my dates, made sure I seen him the times I thought I’d be most fertile, bought pregnancy tests at the chemist. But nothing happened.

  IN JAS’S HOUSE was a box full of Barbie bits. They’d been stored there after the exams, because by then my house was an empty shell. When I’d moved out I left them, but I knew they’d still be there. Jas’s ma is allergic to throwing anything out. Now I wanted them back, but dreaded gaun round tae collect them. I wasnae sure what she knew about me and Amrik but she’d know how much I’d hurt Jas by splitting fae him. I couldnae forgive mysel for that, so I could hardly expect his ma to forgive me. And I didnae want to run the risk of bumping intae Jas, hame fae Aberdeen.

  But there was nothing else for it, so the next day I found mysel on her doorstep. When she opened the door, at first there was a look of shock, as if she’d just seen a dead person, then a hauf-smile.

  Come in, Fiona.

  I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Kaur.

  You are always welcome, dear.

  I stood looking doon at the doormat. It had a pattern of tulips, woven in brilliant colours of magenta, orange and green.

  I left a box here and I’d like to take it back.

  Come in, come in – do you know where it is?

  I stepped inside hesitantly. I think it’s mibbe still in the room I … stayed in.

  Off you go and see, dear. I’ll put the kettle on – you have time for a cup of tea?

  The box was sitting where I’d left it in the wardrobe. The room felt quiet, as if it was waiting for someone to come and stay in it and, for a moment, I wished it was me.

  In the kitchen there were mugs of tea and chocolate biscuits piled high on the plate.

  So dear, how are things. How is your daddy?

  I don’t know, really. He doesnae say much.

  That is to be expected. It is hard, very hard, for him. Tell him to come round and visit. He could come to the Scrabble club with me.

  Aye.

  I mean it. He and I have things in common, being on our own. But I have had time to get used to it.

  Right, I’ll tell him.

  And your little sisters?

  No so little. Mona has a boyfriend now.

  And is he a nice boy?

  I sipped my tea. It was too hot and I felt it burn my throat. I had tae think for a minute. With his trackies and baseball cap he was just no my type, it was as if he came fae another planet. Rona was right. I was a snob.

  Aye, he is, I said. He’s a very nice boy.

  Over the next few weeks I worked and worked and worked with the doll parts, tried everything. Taking photies of them, painting them, arranging and rearranging them in every way possible.

  Obvious: A papier-mâché womb with the parts spilling out, covered in red paint.

  Subtle: Ghostly grey nets with bits hanging from wires. Barbie Limbo.

  The tutor quite liked that one.

  As far as I was concerned, it was all crap.

  The one good thing was that it kept me occupied. As long as I could obsess over bits of plastic dolls I didnae have tae think about the bits of real baby that had come out of me. Spent every moment possible at the Art School, thrown out by the jannie when he was closing up. No that that was unusual, there were a lot of us obsessives there. Nuala with her beads, tiny ones she laid in delicate roads, interwoven with wee poems, James with his video installations about pandas – though they were in fourth year, clear on their path, their way of daeing things. Maist of the other first year were out partying and when they were working they were playing too, trying different forms and ideas. But mainly drinking, gaun to the movies and talking, talking, endlessly talking about art, about their art.

  No me. Why talk about it if everything you tried to dae was crap? Mibbe afterwards, mibbe you could analyse it then, but what was the point in having an explanation for something incomplete, hauf-finished, something that made nae sense?

  * * *

  Hauf-term arrived and the jannie came round tae chuck the sad obsessives out.

  Come on, noo, some of us have got hames to go tae.

  Sorry, I’ll just be a minute. I knew I couldnae move all my stuff but I flung some paper and pencils in my bag. Mibbe I could dae a few sketches over the long weekend. When does Art School open again?

  Tuesday morning, nine o’clock. Jeezo, hen, you’re a teenager – could you no go out clubbing or somethin?

  Da was sitting at the kitchen table wi a dictionary and a bit of paper, writing a list. I looked over his shoulder.

  zo, zho, dzo – Tibetan breed of cattle, cross between common cattle and yak

  zebu – domesticated ox with humped back, long ears and large dewlap

  What you daeing, Da?

  It’s this Scrabble, hen. They all know these mad words tae use up your letters.

  Did you go to the club with Mrs Kaur then?

  Aye, it was brilliant. But ah feel like a right numpty. That’s how ah’m tryin tae swot up a bit afore Monday.

  It’s good, but. Gets you out the house.

  Gets yer brain workin and all.

  Use it or lose it.

  Aye. Hey, did you know that en and em are terms used in printing? Dead handy for wee odd spaces on the board.

  Cool.

  Over the weekend I tried a few drawings but it was useless. Released fae their place in the artwork, the babies began to invade my dreams and I’d wake, lashing with sweat, the pillow twisted and out its case fae God knows how much tossing and turning, chased by babies. Babies dropped fae multistorey buildings, smashed intae brick walls, drowning in glue seas.

  I dialled the number Dr Harrison had given me.

  She took me intae a wee office, like a cupboard under the stair. Her hair was shorter, blonder.

  Thanks for seeing me, Doctor.

  It’s fine, Fiona. Now, what’s the trouble?

  I don’t know, it’s daft.

  Anything that worries you isn’t daft. Are your periods normal?

  Normal for me.

  Good. Any unusual symptoms?

  No.

  So it’s more emotional?

  I nodded.

  Miscarriage is a bereavement, Fiona. You have to grieve.

  It’s just … I cannae get the idea of having a baby out my mind. I know it’s daft but I really want to be pregnant again. It’s as if nothing else will make me complete.

  Are you having sex at the moment?

  Yes.

  Using protection?

  No. That was another thing I wanted tae ask you. Could the miscarriage affect my fertility?

  Absolutely not. Listen, Fiona, you need to get clear. If you let
your heart rule your head you will end up pregnant and I honestly don’t think this is what you want or need just now. She turned to the computer. I think I should make you an appointment with the counsellor.

  I don’t want one.

  Women find it really helps to talk to someone who’s experienced the same thing.

  I shook my heid.

  Fiona, there’s plenty of time for you to have a baby. She put her haund on my airm. Just give yourself time.

  That didnae stop me going to Amrik’s flat that night. It looked emptier than usual; between the drifts of clothing and debris you could even glimpse patches of bare floor.

  Tidying up?

  Amrik smiled. Getting rid of things. I think I’m gonna split soon.

  What – go back to London?

  Aye. If there’s anything you want, just take it.

  I couldnae help laughing. I don’t think your stuff would be much use to me.

  That night we made love with a fierceness and passion I hadnae felt for a long time. I knew it might be the last time, my last chance. Lying in the dark, Amrik beside me, I felt a tenderness towards him that I never felt when he was awake. Three days later, when I went round to the flat, he was gone.

  Three weeks later, I peed on the test I had unwrapped fae its plastic. It said on the instructions to dae it for five seconds but I left at least ten afore setting the test on the shelf and waiting, my eyes hauf on the test and hauf on the minutes passing on my phone. The red colour seeped through the windae.

  ‘If, after four minutes, the red line remains in the box, you are pregnant.’

  The red faded tae pink, then washed away tae nothing.

  MONA’S EXPECTIN.

  Rona planted a cuppa tea in fronty ma da just as he shouted, Immoral.

  That’s a bit heavy, Da.

  Immoral – it’s the only seven-letter word you can get fae they letters. God, that was hard.