by Greg Yevko
“Nah,” said Robert confidently. “I’ve worked in kitchens before; if anything comes back on plates that has hardly been touched then you’ll be amazed how easy it is to spruce it back up ready to go on the next unsuspecting punter’s plate.”
“Just because you’ve worked as washer-upper in some dodgy back street café for a summer vac job, that does not make you The Times culinary critic able to pass judgement on how a half decent restaurant operates,” Maria chided him, then looking at him with a quizzical face, added, “They didn’t really do that, did they?”
“My lips are sealed,” replied Robert, “As should yours have been had you ever had the misfortune to enter some of the places I’ve worked at, desperate for something to eat.”
This time there were no particular complications with the house purchase, so the hotel stay was not overly disheartening and passed reasonably quickly.
They moved in with a minimum amount of fuss, and were quickly establishing what decorating was required for each of the rooms. The fourth bedroom at the front of the house was not particularly large, and the ceiling dropped in one corner to accommodate the slope of the Edwardian roof.
“Do you know what” Maria said in a wistful voice, quietly slipping her right arm around Robert’s waist and pulling him in closer; Robert took half a pace forward to steady himself from this unexpected semi-assault from his wife.
“This room would make a really nice nursery,” she said, looking at Robert with a half-smile. Robert stepped back, raised his eyebrows and gave a slightly shocked, yet at the same time somewhat inane, grin in response.
“Not necessarily right away,” she quickly added, imagining that Robert would take her suggestion rather too literally, requiring that immediate action be taken straight away. Besides which, she and her fellow club runners had planned a new route that they were keen to test out, and they were due to meet up in fifteen minutes to start it.
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be ready,” said Robert, grabbing his crotch and twisting towards her in what he intended to be a supportive gesture. Maria simply rolled her eyes, shook her head and went to get changed into her running gear.
Essex appeared to have improved somewhat in the few years that they had been away, and there definitely seemed to be less of the Me First attitude they had encountered when they first returned from South Africa. There was certainly still an element of London overspill about the place, but the aggressive brashness that used to characterise the way most people behaved had softened slightly. A lot of people attributed this to the change at the top of the ruling political party that had taken place in 1990, but no doubt the fact that Britain had undergone one of its longest periods of sustained economic growth coincident to John Major’s seven years at the top had helped just a little bit. Much to Robert’s relief, John Major had nothing to do with Maria’s next announcement.
“Robert, we’re pregnant.” The words were spoken half in awe, half in trepidation. It had taken quite a while for all the hormones to get back to where they had been in the days before the prolonged period of taking the contraception pill, but now at last they had the news that they had been waiting for.
They didn’t say anything else for the next minute and a half, but merely held each other tightly, gently rocking. Both were inwardly trying to imagine the enormity of the changes that would be coming their way, following such a simple, small statement. Robert lovingly stroked the back of Maria’s hair as she nuzzled her head further into his neck.
“Shit,” said Robert softly into her ear, “I’d better get that bloody nursery decorated.” Maria pulled away from him and gave him a playful push. “Yes,” she agreed, “you bloody well better had, and all that ghastly wall paper needs to come off for a start; you’ll probably need to get a steamer for all that wood-chip crap.”
As Robert knew only too well, his wife once again was proven to be right, and Robert spent four days of his hard-earned vacation battling with many layers of different, elaborately-designed wall paper, each one reflecting in its own way the history of the period when it was put up. He had started with good intentions, but also with an eye on his wallet, so armed only with a bucket of warm, soapy water and a four-inch scraper he had attempted to make some inroads into the resilient wall coverings. Having only managed to expose an area approximately four feet square on the wall under the window by lunchtime on his first day, he had reluctantly agreed to hire a steam-stripper. On the downside, those four days trapped in the relatively small room with the door and windows closed to ensure maximum effectiveness of the steam stripper were the most tedious, sweatiest and unpleasant that he could recall ever having endured; on the upside, he did lose six pounds.
There were not many people who could cope with a step aerobics class at eight and a half months’ pregnant; Maria could.
“It’s good to keep as active as possible for as long as possible,” she had assured her somewhat worried husband as she went off to her final class, large bump in front of her leading the way out through the door. He knew it was pointless arguing.
“Well, just be careful,” he had managed, “I would hate to have to come and rescue you like a life-boat if your waters broke halfway through you stepping along to Boombastic by Shaggy.”
“Oh, you paint such a delectable picture,” retorted Maria as she waddled her way out of the door to her friend’s waiting car. Unbeknown to Robert, her gym bag did indeed contain some extra towels she had put in a week or so back, just in case.
As it turned out, Robert and Maria’s first pregnancy had no intention whatsoever of ending earlier than the full nine months, and then some.
“Robert, Robert; this time is it, I’m sure!” Maria had had a couple of false alarms with the usual Braxton Hicks contractions, but this felt decidedly different. It was now two weeks after the originally forecast birth date. “And I’m pretty sure that that’s my waters gone!”
“Okay, don’t panic,” said Robert, starting to panic. “I’ve got this!” and he rushed to find the bag that had been packed for several weeks ready for the occasion.
“Shit, where’s the fucking bag?” he called over his shoulder from the back bedroom as Maria clung onto the bedpost, slightly hunched over and clutching her swollen belly.
“We moved it to the cupboard by the door so it was easy to grab as we rushed out,” she reminded him through shallow gasps of breath, “If I remember correctly, it was your idea to move it out of the back bedroom.”
“Shit, you’re right,” agreed Robert, dashing down the stairs, then quickly dashing back up the stairs to his wife who was sweating ever so slightly in spite of the February chill.
“Sorry,” he said, “do you need a hand to get downstairs?”
“Robert, don’t get in such a flaff,” she scolded, but grabbed his hand anyway, and they both made their way carefully down the staircase.
“Breathe, breathe,” said Robert, helpfully trying to make the strange puffing noises he had been taught along with four other bewildered fathers in the ante-natal classes, much to Maria’s annoyance.
“For Christ’s sake, Robert, I’m not an idiot. Just get us to the hospital, quick.”
He helped her into the car, dashed around to the driver’s side and started to accelerate away; he suddenly slammed on the brakes.
“The fucking bag!” he said out loud, pulling over to the kerb. Then he ran the thirty yards back to the front door as fast as he had ever covered thirty yards.
“Keys, Robert!” called out Maria from the car, dangling out of the window the house keys which in turn were attached to the car key.
“Shit!” cursed Robert, and sprinted the thirty yards back to the car again.
“Hurry up!” grimaced Maria as she held onto her bump with both hands, face contorting in painful twists at regular intervals.
“Shit!” cursed Robert again, and once again made the thirty-yard dash back to the house, ten seconds later emerging with the all-important holdall.
The la
st thirty-yard dash back to the car was not quite as fast as the previous ones, confirming that Robert was definitely not as good a runner as his wife, but it was still a valiant effort. They arrived at Southend Hospital Maternity Ward twelve minutes later with Robert screeching to a halt in a No Parking area just outside the doors.
“What the hell; where am I supposed to park then!?” cried Robert in an anguished voice. “Bollocks, I’m pulling up here for now,” and with that he flung the door open and guided his wife carefully out of the passenger seat and through the automatic sliding doors to reception.
“Robert – “Maria began, but before she could say anything more, he turned and dived back towards the car.
“I know, I know,” he called, “the fucking bag!” and was soon by her side again with the holdall that was forever referred to after that night as The Fucking Bag whenever it was taken out of the cupboard.
“Thank you, Mr Marley, we’ll take her from here,” the ward sister had said in such a reassuring voice that Robert had immediately felt both relieved and exhilarated at the same time, “and if that is your car out there, may I suggest you put it in visitor car park K which is just a few blocks away on the left hand side; make sure you just follow the signs for Parking Lot K. Come back here after that and a nurse will show you where we’re taking Mrs Marley.”
Robert gratefully relinquished what he considered to be his control of the situation and went to park the car.
“Sorry about him,” Maria started to explain.
“Shush, don’t worry, all the men who come in here are pretty much the same the first time – I’m assuming it’s your first? Now just concentrate on relaxing as best you can and we’ll get you comfortable then take a little look and see what exactly is going on down there,” and with that she whisked Maria away to a bed, around which curtains were quickly pulled to afford some privacy as Maria got changed.
Robert had made his way back from car park K via a footpath sign pointing to MATERNITY. He wasn’t 100% sure, but he felt that he could see a couple of car parks that looked considerably closer to the maternity ward than the one that the ward sister had advised him to use, which would have been much quicker to get to. If he had parked in one of those, he would have been able to get back much more quickly to offer his invaluable assistance in making sure Maria got the right attention; the ward sister must have accidentally forgotten about those two, he reasoned.
By the time Robert got to see Maria, she was tucked up in a single, iron-framed bed with standard issue National Health Service sheets and blankets pulled up tightly under her chin.
“Are you all right, love?” Robert had asked in a concerned tone, though he could clearly see that she looked much more relaxed and comfortable now than she had looked in a long time.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she had responded, now breathing much more evenly than before, and with no sign of the anxiety she had demonstrated as they left the house. “The Sister said that they were just a couple of very early contractions but everything has settled down now and no real dilation to talk of as yet, so just to rest for a bit.”
Robert nodded, pretending to understand. Like all good husbands, in his mind at least, he was determined that he should be present at the birth of their first child, so had come prepared for a long wait regardless, armed with a hard-back version of Thomas Keneally’s “Schindler’s List” at a mere 429 pages.
“Good job I brought this along then,” he said, and promptly settled down in the comfy chair next to Maria’s bed and started to read as she slowly drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Robert had no idea that labour could take more than a full day.
There were several other false alarms along the way, but each one was accompanied by an attentive nurse when summoned by the button that they had been instructed to press should they need assistance for anything at all. Each one was also accompanied by a slightly flustered Robert, who was beginning to wonder whether someone up above with a sense of humour was watching over them who, any time Robert got to a really good bit in the book, would give a little nudge to Maria in the contraction area which would result in him having to drop the book and leap into action with his, “Breathe, breathe,” routine whilst holding her hand and stroking her back.
Time seemed to pass in an unusually hazy fashion as Robert fluctuated between reading his book, dozing in the chair, stroking his wife’s back, going to the loo, and on several occasions popping to the machine that gave out semi-edible sausage rolls or slightly dried out sandwiches if an extortionate amount of change was first put into it. Every now and again a nurse would come and check on something Robert eventually understood to be an indication of how near to delivery Maria was getting.
Finally, at the start of the morning shift, somebody who the nurse later referred to as The OBG specialist when Robert asked about him once he had swept back out of the ward, came and spoke to Maria, completely ignoring Robert.
“Well Mrs Marley, I think baby has been hanging around long enough now, don’t you? How about we help things along a little?” Then turning directly to the nurse, muttered in a quieter voice, “Maybe try oxytocin, and definitely get the Ventouse ready as well as forceps,” then turning back to Maria with a big smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll soon have baby out,” and with that disappeared onto the next bed occupant in need of his speciality.
Robert had never heard of oxy-whatever and was confused by his engineering knowledge of Venturi Tubes as to how they might help in childbirth, but he knew what forceps were.
“Shit,” he said. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”
However, clearly it had had a desirable effect on Maria – as she reached for the button again, clasping her bulge one more time. “Robert! This time is it, I can really feel it coming now!”
Four hours later after much screaming, plenty of gas and air, and finger-nail imprints embedded deep into Robert’s left arm, the Marleys were the proud parents of a beautiful, newly born girl.
Two great achievements in the space of twenty-seven hours, thought Robert to himself. A beautiful new baby brought into the world, and a fully blown literary masterpiece read cover to cover. It doesn’t get much better than that.
Marlene was absolutely thrilled with the arrival of the latest grandchild, especially as she had been on to Robert ever since he had got married to Maria that their happiness would definitely be complete with the addition of a little one. Robert had always joked to her that the problem with having a little one was that eventually it would grow into a bigger one and cause nothing but trouble, but inside he had always been keen on the idea of having a family. Stanley was of course over the moon, since his married daughters had taken the surname of their respective husbands as was the more usual custom, so as far as he was concerned, it was only through Robert that he could see his lineage via the family name carry forward into the years to come. As far as Robert was concerned, a name was just a name; it was what the person did in life that was important.
Stanley and Marlene loved to see their latest grand-child as often as they could, so rather than waiting for the next window in which Robert and Maria could get to them, they decided to visit Robert and Marlene, “In the wilds of Essex,” as Stanley insisted on calling it. They took the train, which involved a couple of changes before they picked up the final leg of the journey from Fenchurch Street to Westcliff-on-Sea. As they passed through Tilbury Town and East Tilbury railway stations, Stanley saturated Marlene with reminisces from his arrival in the country all those years ago, and she couldn’t help but notice how faraway the look in his eyes became as the memories came flooding back. She had also noticed that his regular morning cough, “Just the normal smoker’s cough,” as he half-heartedly used to refer to it, was lasting a little longer these days, and certainly seemed to be getting a lot more guttural in her opinion. Still, a rare visit to Robert and his family would perk him up, she reasoned.
Stanley certainly was perked up by the visit. He loved holding ‘His Little
Marley’, and would spend long periods with her, going through her large, colourful books with detailed pictures of everyday scenes. It struck him as being mildly ironic that whilst every tractor in the colourful farmyard scenes was inevitably red, in all his years he had never actually seen a red tractor on a real farm; he resolved to discuss it with some of Marlene’s family who had been in the farming business for many years next time he was with them.
The other thing that he liked about visiting somewhere away from home, was that he and Marlene operated more in a holiday mode than a normal ‘at home’ mode. This meant that he could enjoy a pint, albeit without his beloved rum chaser, in a relaxed atmosphere in the house.
“Come on, dad!” called Robert, as Stanley sat on the grass in the shade of a tree in their garden, socks and sandals removed, blue checked shirt open at the neck exposing his white vest underneath, one of many that he insisted on wearing since coming to England, no matter how warm the weather. In his right hand, held in his characteristic style between slightly bent, yellowing fingers, was his favourite Woodbine; at his side, balanced carefully in the grass so as not to fall over, a pint glass now containing the remaining half of a well-enjoyed dark stout. “Come on, let me take a photo. I haven’t got many of you, dad. And definitely not many of you with a glass half-empty,” Robert joked.
Stanley looked at his son, then looked at his glass.
“I think you’ll find it’s half-full, son,” he said, gazing back up to his son with a wry smile and a wistful look, as Robert took the picture.
Golland 5.2 Freezeday, very little bit later on
“Yu-Yu, Yu-Yu, come and see this!” Bondje had excitedly called the other god over to their observation area to see for herself this momentous occasion; at least, as far as Bondje was concerned, it appeared to be a momentous occasion.
“Look! Just see how cute this new little two-leg is,” Bondje was staring down with what would have been big, doe-like eyes. Yu-Yu looked at him, then down at the baby, then back to Bondje.
