The Book of Love

by Fionnuala Kearney

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Dad?’ Erin’s eyes filled at the edges. ‘We love being together. We’re meant to be together. Just sometimes, we’re not great at actually talking.’ She bounced a restless Maisie on her knee. ‘So, like I said when I called – that leather book you gave us when we got married – how does it actually work?’

  ‘In only fourteen months since the wedding,’ Dom raised a glass to her across the table, ‘we’re new parents, and I’m newly qualified.’ He sipped from his glass. ‘You not drinking?’ he asked as he began to slice into the roast chicken she’d prepared.

  ‘Tummy’s a bit upset,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ He put down his cutlery. ‘You alright?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, probably Fitz’s pâté sandwich.’ She made a face and then instantly smiled. ‘I didn’t tell you – Maisie tried to stand up today! I had her down on the floor and one moment she was there, grabbing my legs and the next she was pulling herself up! Fitz loved it.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Dom’s eyes were wistful, ‘sometimes, I wish I could stay at home all day and just watch her.’

  Erin sliced her meat and nibbled on a piece. ‘No, you don’t,’ she said. ‘You’d last a day of shitty nappies and baby talk before you went scrambling back to the office for some peace.’

  ‘I do know what you do for her, you know. I do know that there’ll come a day when maybe you want more.’

  Erin stared at the vegetables on her plate. She should eat the broccoli. ‘Tell me about work,’ she said. ‘What’s going on in the Carter Empire?’

  ‘My father’s empire is doing great and his one and only son and heir is being made to work from the bottom up.’ He waved a knife. ‘I don’t mind. It’s the right thing but there’re moments where …’ Dom hesitated. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s as if I’m penalised for being his son.’

  ‘By him or others?’ Erin asked.

  ‘Gah,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing. At least nothing I shouldn’t expect. I am his son and I am only there because of that.’

  ‘You’re there because you got a first in Architecture after studying for six years, Dom.’

  ‘Yeah, along with the hundreds of other applicants for entry-level jobs.’ His eyes widened. ‘I’m there because I’m his son and everyone, including me, knows that.’

  Erin stood and came to sit on his lap. ‘If anyone can make it work, you can.’

  ‘Mrs Carter, if you’re trying to seduce me, could you please wait until I’ve eaten?’

  ‘I’m on my way to get a soft drink, actually, need the bubbles …’ She traced the line of his five o’clock shadow with her fingertips before grazing his lips with hers. ‘And it could be worse,’ she said before heading to the fridge.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ he asked, cutlery in hand again.

  ‘You could be working for your mother,’ she grinned as her eyes scanned the inside shelves and she heard him laugh loudly as she popped open a can of lemonade.

  Dom’s snore, aided by the bottle of red which he’d got from a grateful client and had almost finished, prompted her out of bed. Tying her robe around herself, she slid her feet into slippers and first checked on Maisie.

  Running her fingers along the top of the radiator, she made sure it was hot. There was a heavy frost outside, the threat of snow and Maisie hated being cold; she was the only baby that Erin had ever seen shiver. Leaning into the cot, she felt her forehead briefly and Maisie stirred, pursing her bud lips in her sleep. Not for the first time, Erin stayed a minute staring at the child’s features. Her pale skin was flawless, velvet to the touch. A hint of strawberry could be seen in her straight golden hair, but only in certain lights. As Erin pressed a few strands between her thumb and fingers, marvelled at its softness, then traced the arch of her daughter’s brow with the slightest of touches, she convinced herself that somehow, she and Dom could stay this lucky.

  In the living room, she wrapped herself up in a blanket on the sofa and took the leather book from the changing bag. Remembering what Fitz had said, and without thinking about it too much, Erin began to write.

  18th January 1998

  My darling Dom,

  I can’t sleep, so I thought I might as well do this! Fitz says it works; that it helps people focus on exactly what they want to say without any fluff.

  I’m not sure what to do, how to do it, other than I start things by being first. And the first thing I need to say is that I love you. All of you, despite the fact that you’re snoring away in bed after drinking wine I can’t drink and I’m here awake again.

  Yep. Sleepless nights, insomnia again. For about another six months.

  I bet you’re scratching your head now. I can see you; your face is wrinkled, you’re trying to work out what the hell I’m saying and how the hell you should respond and whether I expect you to reply. Do I really expect you to write back? Well, yes – I’m going to leave this book on the hall table. I’ll stick a big post-it with your name and instructions on the mirror above, so you’ll see it first thing in the morning, when you’re up with the birds and I’m finally asleep. Read Fitz’s card again – it’s just on the inside flap and it explains what this is about. And when you write back, please be honest. Be brutal. No, don’t be brutal, I’m not sure I could take it. I’ll take honest though.

  And just because honesty is what this is about. Here it is, the fluff-free version, written down because I’m not sure your poker face is good enough to hide your feelings and I can’t bear to see if I’m right:

  I’m pregnant again. Over three months, I reckon. It must have happened during that time I was ill in October, probably didn’t keep the pill down for a few days. I’ve only just found out because, since Maisie, it’s quite normal for me to miss a period. Or two. But not three …

  I love you with all the love in my heart but according to Fitz I’m supposed to end anything I write with a reason why, so …

  I love you because you’re a brilliant father and I hope that being a father again won’t faze you. And I love you because you iron my jeans, and because you run a bath for me when I’m tired and because I heard you apologise to a snail yesterday when you accidentally stood on it.

  Erin x

  19th January 1998

  Beautiful Erin,

  This is just the second of our many un-planned plans. You ARE the most beautiful woman in the world. And you’re mine and I’m yours and we’ll work it out. We will.

  Love you mightily,

  Dom x

  6. Erin

  THEN – April 1998

  ‘Tea with your mother. Alone. Can’t you take the day off?’

  Dom laughed.

  ‘I’m serious. You won’t be there. Your dad won’t be there. The two of you will be huddled by a desk probably both worrying about who’s killed who.’ Erin stopped folding the laundry. ‘What if we have an argument, I mean—’

  ‘Erin, you’re overthinking it. Stop. Mum’s just asking you and Maisie over for a cup of tea and a slab of Teletubbies cake for Maisie’s birthday. That’s it.’

  ‘She has a Teletubbies cake?’

  ‘Not only,’ Dom stood and took his jacket from the back of his chair, ‘has she got one. She made the cake.’

  Erin closed her eyes, felt his gentle kiss on her lips. ‘Shit, I’m going to have to go, aren’t I?’ she sighed, knowing that there was no way out.

  ‘You are, and who knows, you might enjoy yourself.’ He waved a backward wave.

  ‘I’d rather pull my toenails off with pliers!’ she called after him. ‘I’d rather poke my eyes out with cocktail sticks!’ she yelled louder.

  ‘Give her a kiss for me!’ he called back and moments after Erin heard the sound of the front door close, she heard the sound of Maisie’s voice. She flicked the kettle on to heat her bottle. ‘I’d rather have surgery with no anaesthetic,’ she said aloud to no one before walking down the hallway and peering around Maisie’s door.

  ‘Good morning, birthday girl!’

  Maisie
stood at the edge of the cot, her arms already in the air, and when Erin picked her up, she balanced her on the edge of her growing bump and danced around the room singing ‘Happy Birthday’. She grabbed Maisie’s favourite furry toy, an elephant with one ear and, heading back to the kitchen, she cooed the words ‘Yes! I’d rather have a real elephant stand on my toe, yes, I would!’

  Maisie chuckled, and Erin felt a couple of well-placed kicks just above her bladder. In the kitchen, she placed Maisie’s bottle in a jug of boiling water and made a coffee she knew she’d only drink half of.

  ‘What shall we do today?’ she whispered into her daughter’s tiny ear. ‘Shall we go and eat special cake with Nanny?’ Maisie began to jump in her arms. ‘Okay, okay, I’m outvoted, we’ll go and eat cake with Nanny. Mummy would rather eat raw offal but hey, we’ll go anyway, eh?’

  Erin sipped tea from a china cup and placed it back on a matching saucer on the dining table that Dom would have had so many Sunday dinners at when growing up. She found it easy to picture him there; a boy tall for his age, shy, with hair combed to one side, and short trousers. Looking around the room, at the mass of heavy brocade curtains, the wood store cupboard beside the imposing fireplace, she could see the places that he and Lydia might have played hide and seek as children. It was a grand room, in a grand four-storey Victorian villa, nothing like Fitz’s place.

  ‘It’s really warm for April, don’t you think?’

  Erin nodded politely, pushing aside all thoughts of the previous week’s relentless rain and the fact she’d worn a woollen sweater this morning. She fixed her eyes on Maisie who crawled around her feet.

  Sophie’s head shook suddenly. ‘Though you must know I didn’t ask you here to talk about the weather.’

  Erin remained silent.

  ‘I owe you an apology,’ Sophie said, her eyes moving from the child to Erin. ‘I was most unfair to you when I met you first … and … for a while afterwards.’

  ‘“She’s shameless”,’ Erin quoted, as she helped herself to a purple slice of Tinky-Winky’s hand. It was probably a good idea to eat, probably a good idea to stop herself talking.

  ‘You heard that?’ Her mother-in-law’s cheeks blushed puce. ‘I was out of order and I was wrong. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sophie—’

  ‘No, Erin, let me say this. I was afraid,’ Sophie said, reaching down and plucking Maisie from where she’d crawled under the table. She bounced her gently on her knee. ‘I thought I’d lose Dom and that you and he wouldn’t last, that you were … well … it doesn’t matter. We sometimes act stupidly when we’re afraid, don’t you think?’

  Erin wasn’t sure. She could count the times on one hand where she thought she’d really acted stupidly but couldn’t begin to count the far too many times when she’d been afraid. She inhaled deeply. Sophie was apologising, and not just a quick ‘I’m sorry’. Sophie was apologising in style, and immediately Erin felt guilty.

  ‘Sophie,’ she eyeballed her. ‘Don’t give it another thought. Please. It feels like it’s already a long time ago.’

  ‘I even thought that she wasn’t his …’ Sophie hugged Maisie and the child grimaced. ‘But you only have to look at her …’ She was doing exactly that, staring at Maisie who had Dom’s walnut brown eyes, his fair hair, rangy limbs and already, his calm nature. ‘Do you think you can forgive me?’ Sophie handed over Maisie, who was stretching her arms in Erin’s direction, cooing an ‘M’ sound that Erin hoped would grow into ‘Mama’.

  ‘Of course, I—’ She had been twenty minutes away from her planned exit when the apology had started. And now, it wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate her mother-in-law’s words, far from it, it meant a huge amount to her, but, it was Maisie’s first birthday and she and Dom had bought their own cake, had planned a silly blow-out-the-single-candle ceremony.

  ‘Gerard, he’s been telling me for ages I should just come out with it and talk to you and …’ Sophie scooped some crumbs from the table into her hand. ‘Have you had enough to eat, Erin? What about Maisie?’

  Erin watched her scan the table, laden with enough sandwiches to feed a mid-size family for a week. Some part of her was touched at the effort Sophie had gone to. ‘We’ve had plenty, thank you,’ she replied.

  ‘Why don’t you take some of these and some cake for Dom and you later? Saves you cooking?’ Without waiting for a reply, Sophie left the room, calling back that she’d just wrap them up for her. Erin kissed Maisie’s cheek and began to do it repeatedly as the child giggled, then she caught Sophie watching from the doorway, a roll of tin foil in her hands. ‘She’s a total delight you know,’ she said. ‘A total delight.’

  Erin grinned. She was. She placed Maisie on the floor next to her bag, kept one eye on her as she helped Sophie wrap the sandwiches. Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck here for a while with her new best friend and she and Dom were having soggy egg butties and Tinky-Winky’s lower body for supper.

  ‘Wow,’ Dom looked up from his position lying, stomach down, on the floor.

  ‘I know, right?’

  ‘Wow,’ he repeated. ‘I don’t ever remember Mum saying she was sorry.’

  ‘Well, she seemed to mean it, so …’ They both looked at Maisie next to them. In the last few weeks, she had been trying to walk and was managing to find her way around the room by clutching the edges of furniture. When she reached Dom, she smiled and sat down on him heavily. The sounds made Erin smile – first the high-pitched chuckle of Maisie followed by a breathless squeal and then Dom’s deeper laugh as he took hold of her and tickled her. ‘I’m going to GET you!’ he crawled on all fours as she scrambled away, giggling. It was contagious, and she was laughing to herself as she went to fetch the cake.

  Minutes later, she sang the length of the hallway. ‘Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you!’ She peered, wide-eyed, around the door. ‘Happy birthday, our Maisie!’ Bending down to where Maisie was sat on Dom’s stomach, she held the cake she’d bought in front of her daughter’s face. ‘Blow, darling, look Daddy will show you. Blow!’ Dom obliged by pursing his lips and blowing gently. When Maisie followed suit and tried without success, both of them helped. ‘Happy birthday to you!’ she sang the final line just as her daughter put her fist in the cake.

  ‘That’s right, darling, you tell her,’ Dom said as he sat up and looked sideways at Erin. ‘Mummy should never sing, should she?’

  Erin licked some chocolate icing from a finger. ‘What’s wrong with Mummy singing?’

  Maisie laughed and suddenly realising it was chocolate on her own hand, she began to lick it too.

  ‘Yum, yum,’ Dom pretended to chase her. ‘Daddy wants some!’

  More squeals from them left Erin holding the plate of cake. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my singing,’ she yelled above them both.

  When bedtime came, Erin listened from the hallway as Dom began to read Maisie’s favourite picture book one more time. While he sounded out the phonics for the words and accompanied each farmyard animal with a suitable noise, Erin folded linen into the airing cupboard. Smiling at his braying donkey, she entered the bedroom, lowered herself down beside them on the large beanbag. And amidst the farmyard sounds, Maisie’s eyes began to droop.

  ‘She’s tired,’ Erin whispered. ‘She didn’t have a nap today.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Dom said, his eyes closing.

  She grabbed his hand and let it lie on her stomach as she felt one of the babies move and wondered yet again how they’d stack three children into one room. ‘You ever get afraid?’ she asked Dom suddenly, replaying her conversation with Sophie in her head.

  ‘Afraid?’ He said the word as if it weren’t in his vocabulary.

  ‘Yes, scared, afraid.’ She remembered the same time last year being overcome with worry just before giving birth.

  ‘Not since I was a kid. Didn’t like the dark much. Ghoulies and ghosties.’

  ‘You’ve never felt frightened as an adult, not at all? Not even when the scan sh
owed two babies?’

  ‘Nope,’ he confirmed, turning towards her, a sleeping Maisie crooked under his right arm. ‘Only when I hear you sing. That scares me.’ He shuddered.

  She snuggled against him.

  Ghoulies and ghosties and things that might possibly bump in the night had never bothered her. Three children. Five of them in a two-bedroom flat. One income. They all sort of scared her.

  2nd April 1998

  My darling Dom,

  Here’s the thing.

  My mother died when I was only eighteen. I can’t explain how devastated I was, more at having to watch her die slowly, than the fact that I lost her. When she passed, I felt relief and then huge shame that I felt relieved. And her death changed me.

  And since then I’ve never been able to take a single thing for granted.

  You and I are so alike in what we both want from life, but so different when it comes to believing we can get it. I’m a worry wart and wanted to say to you earlier, wanted to ask you (again) how we’re going to manage with three children on your income with so little space? I said nothing, I couldn’t, but I can’t shake it from my head, which is how I find myself in here.

  Dom, I love you because of your absolute certainty that nothing can touch us. You believe that love will make everything alright and your faith in that makes me believe it too.

  Erin xx

  P.S. And what’s wrong with my singing? It sounds perfectly fine in my head.

  3rd April 1998

  Erin, my love,

  What’s the problem?

  Old Mother Hubbard did it, didn’t she?!! Wait it wasn’t her – was it some ‘old woman who lived in a shoe’? Who cares? We’ll stack them, top and tail them. We’ll be fine.

  Is this the part where I have to write down why I love you?

  I love you because you want me to write to you when we live together, because when I’ve finished writing, you want me to put the book away in the hall table where ‘it will live’ apparently, and then I have to put your name on a post-it, place it on the mirror above, so you know I’ve written to you.