From Here to Maternity (19 page)

I laughed. ‘Oh, well, good to see nothing’s changed. I’ll give her a call to see how she’s doing. You better phone Mum and nip her invitations in the bud before the bridge-club women charter a plane for the wedding.’

Sean groaned. ‘I’ll have to have a stiff drink before facing that.’

Later that night, when Yuri was in bed, I called Babs.

‘Yeah?’

‘Charming way to answer the phone.’

‘Oh, hi,’ she said, sounding exceedingly unenthusiastic to hear my voice.

‘How are you?’

‘Grand.’

‘I’m good too, thanks for asking.’

‘So, what’s up? Did Mum tell you to call me and make sure I’m not living under a bridge in a cardboard box, mainlining heroin?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m just ringing to see how you are. It’s something sisters do from time to time. It’s not that unusual in civilized society.’

‘Well, I’m fine.’

‘Sean said your new place is really nice. Are you OK living on your own? Is it not a bit lonely?’

‘Unlike you and Sean, I have a life. I actually like going out after sundown and partying, so no, Emma, I’m not lonely. In fact, I’m having a ball over here. Living in Sean’s was doing my head in. Now that I have my own place things have got much better.’

‘I hope you’re not going mental, are you?’

‘Mental?’

‘Yes, mental. Overdoing it. Drinking too much. Partying too hard.’

‘Jesus, you sound like Mum.’

‘Is that a denial?’

‘It’s more of a sod-off-and-mind-your-own-business.’

‘Are you seeing anyone?’

‘Seeing anyone?
What are you? Seventy years old? No, Emma, I don’t have a significant other, if that’s what you mean.’

‘I’m shocked. You’re such a charmer – how can they resist you?’

‘Hilarious.’

‘How’s work?’

‘Very good, actually, I’m due a promotion soon. My contract’s up for renegotiation next month. I’ll start earning real money then.’

‘How come you’re so sure?’

‘I just am.’

‘Did your boss say it to you?’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Well, what did he say?’

‘Look, I just know he’s going to promote me.’

‘Well, you must be doing something right.’

‘You can safely say I’m the most dedicated employee he’s ever had.’

Chapter 21

Leinster was due to play Bath in another of the qualifying rounds of the European Cup and James, as usual, was up to high-do. With Donal out of the team, James had appointed Ben Casey as captain but he didn’t seem too sure of Ben’s leadership skills. ‘I just don’t know if he’ll be able to fire the boys up,’ he said, chewing on his steak at dinner.

‘Well, why did you make him captain then?’ I asked.

‘Because he’s the best player we have and I’m hoping he’ll lead by example, if not by rousing speeches.’

‘Did Donal really give inspiring team talks?’ I asked. ‘I thought that was your forte.’ I somehow doubted that Donal would be the type to quote Churchill or Lincoln, as James had done when he wrote his pre-Final speech last year. He had spent hours poring over books of quotes. Personally I thought a more direct approach would have been better, but it seemed to have worked: the team came out and played brilliantly.

‘I talk to them before they go on to the pitch, but it was Donal who kept them focused during the games. I don’t know if Ben has that skill.’

‘Well, you could shout from the sidelines. Get one of those megaphone things and roar encouragement through that.’

‘I hardly think that’s appropriate. Have you ever seen a coach do that?’

‘No,’ I admitted. ‘But, hey, I could start a cheerleading team if you like. Myself and Lucy could come out with pom-poms and dance up and down the sidelines like those American girls at the football games. I’ve always quite fancied being a cheerleader. I bet you that’d get the boys going.’

James glanced pointedly at my bump and raised his eyebrows. ‘Much as I love the idea of my wife swinging her legs about on the sidelines of the games, I’m not sure you’re quite cheerleading material in your present condition.’

‘Good point. I’ll just have to be the coach and Lucy and the other girlfriends could do the dancing. I’d say I’d be a good choreographer.’

I imagined six girls lined up in a row, all dressed in red and blue shouting, ‘Give me an L, give me an E… Whadda you got?
LEINSTER
!’ and waving their pom-poms in the air. I could watch American football on Sky Sports and copy down some of the routines. It was bound to be easy enough.

‘Earth to Emma,’ said James, bringing me back to reality. ‘I can see you’re already planning the first cheerleader session, and while I appreciate the support, I think it might be best left to the Americans.’

‘The Leinster Lovelies – isn’t that perfect?’

‘Tell me you’re joking,’ said James, beginning to look worried.

‘Deadly serious.’

‘Darling, it’s just not the done thing.’

‘Stuff the done thing! Let’s have some fun. I’ll call myself Busty Hamilton and Luscious Lucy will be the chief cheerleader. Come on, James, give me an L…’ I said, waving my napkin in the air and giggling as I saw the look of horror on his face.

A few days later we were in Dr Philips’s clinic to have a check-up and an ultrasound. I was just over six months pregnant and had heard that I’d be able to see the baby really clearly on this scan so I was very excited. We chatted as Dr Philips took my blood pressure. He asked James about the upcoming game against Bath. Dr Philips, it seemed, was a big Leinster fan and the two men talked of strategy and players’ form. Eventually I interrupted them and said I’d like to have my scan.

I lay down on the bed and Dr Philips squirted gel on to my tummy and took out the scanner. The screen was pretty blurry, but we could make out the shape of a baby and the doctor began to point to his/her hands and feet. A huge lump formed in my throat as I stared at my baby wriggling about on the screen. It felt like a miracle. Having given up all hope, I still found it hard to believe I was pregnant and that I was going to have a baby. I beamed up at James, who was hovering in the background peering at the screen. But just as I caught my husband’s eye, Dr Philips interrupted: ‘So, Donal Brady’s out for good, is he?’ he asked.

‘Afraid so,’ said James. ‘That shoulder injury has been with him a long time. He should really have had the surgery years ago, but he kept playing.’

‘You’ll miss him, I’d say. He was a great player.’

‘And a great captain.’

‘I’ll never forget that try he scored against Toulouse – it came out of nowhere. He had a great ability to score from nothing, didn’t he?’

James nodded as I gripped the sides of the bed. I wanted to shout at them to stop talking about bloody rugby and focus on the scan. I had waited a long time to see this and I wanted the undivided attention of my obstetrician. I did not want to look at the back of his head while he discussed Donal’s talents on the rugby pitch with James. I glared at James, who carried on, oblivious: ‘It was an incredible try. He surpassed himself that day.’

‘How do you rate his replacement, O’Hare? He seems a solid enough player,’ Dr Philips went on.

Before James could start analysing Peter O’Hare’s style of play I butted in: ‘So,’ I said loudly, ‘what are we looking at here?’

Reluctantly Dr Philips returned his focus to the baby and moved the scanner about, pointing out its heart and a leg… and then he got distracted again. ‘I remember O’Hare playing in schools rugby. He stood out even then,’ he said, looking at James as the scanner drifted off to the side of my stomach, where I could see nothing. He might have thought he was good at multi-tasking but he wasn’t. Men can’t do two things at once. Women can. We can drive and talk on the phone, we can talk while listening to the conversation behind us, we can put our makeup on while getting dressed, and we can iron while feeding a child its dinner. ‘So, everything looks OK, then?’ I asked.

‘He was born to play rugby,’ agreed James.

‘Naturally talented,’ said Dr Philips.

I tapped Dr Philips on the arm. ‘What? Oh, yes, Emma, everything looks absolutely fine. The baby’s growing well and all its organs are developing as they should. Nothing to worry about at all.’

‘Thank you,’ I grunted, as he handed me some tissue to wipe the gel off my stomach.

Once we got to the car, I rounded on James. ‘For goodness’ sake, what was that in there?’

‘What?’ he said, looking at my red face.

‘All that rugby chat. I was trying to get the man to focus on the scan and you kept crashing on about Donal and Peter.’

‘I was being polite. He asked me questions and I answered. I didn’t initiate the conversation and I can’t help it if the man’s a rugby fan.’

‘There’s a time and place to have rugby chat, and the middle of my scan is not one of them. I was glaring at you to make you stop talking, but you completely ignored me.’

‘I was wondering what that was. I thought you looked a bit odd.’

‘I wanted you to shut up and stop distracting him. I was trying to get him to explain to me what I was looking at on the screen and to check that the baby was OK, which was pretty hard to do when he had his back to me and the screen for the entire time.’

‘What was I supposed to do? Ignore his questions? You can’t be rude.’

‘Well, you didn’t have to be so long-winded and you could have asked him some questions about the baby. That was what we were there for. It was supposed to be a check-up, not a rugby conference.’

‘Why are you getting so wound up? Everything’s fine, the baby’s healthy. Is this your hormones talking?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I had a flick through that book you bought –
What To Expect –
and in the chapter on fathers it said that women can be irrational during pregnancy due to hormonal changes but that it’s important to be patient and remember that it’s not a permanent condition.’

I stared at James. I’d had no idea he’d read it. ‘When did this happen?’

‘I picked it up the other day when Yuri went for a nap.’

I wasn’t sure if I wanted James reading up on pregnancy. He was very factual and always read the small print. I was more of an overall-picture person myself. I didn’t want him tormenting me with details that I had overlooked. It was like the car: I drove it until the petrol light went red and started flashing and screaming, ‘Fill me up or I’ll conk out.’ James couldn’t understand this: to him it was the behaviour of an alien. When the petrol gauge even considered heading towards the red, he’d drive straight to a garage and have the tank filled. How any sane person would risk their car breaking down because they hadn’t bothered to fill it was inconceivable to him. Most of the time I didn’t notice the red light until it started flashing. Petrol was not a priority in my life and I found filling up the tank a bore, so I just left it until it reached crisis point and then I’d drive five miles out of my way to the only garage I knew that employed someone to fill the tank for you.

‘I learnt a lot from the few sections I read. I presume you’re going to breastfeed,’ he said, still referring to the book.

‘Presume’? What did he mean ‘presume’? After the horror stories I’d read and heard I had no intention of breastfeeding. Apparently your nipples got all cracked and bled. Besides which you leaked milk all the time like a cow and then you had that scary-looking machine that I had seen Jess use where you milked your boobs. It was barbaric.

‘They say breast is best,’ said James.

‘Who says?’

‘The doctors. Didn’t you see the posters up in Dr Philips’s waiting room?’

‘No,’ I admitted, having been far too busy scrutinizing the latest issue of
Now
magazine, which featured very un flattering photos of celebrities on the beach. It was fantastic: I felt much better about myself after seeing their cellulite.

‘It also says in the book that – and I quote – “There is no question that breastfeeding is best for your baby. It provides the perfect food,”’ James continued.

That was what bugged me about him. How could he remember precise quotes? Come on, who can actually quote from a book they read the day before? I can barely remember tides. ‘So?’ I said, sounding like a sulky teenager. ‘Who cares what some stupid book says? What do they know? It’s just one person’s opinion, and Jess said breastfeeding’s awful. Really, really painful – excruciating, she said.’

‘Just because Jess found it difficult doesn’t mean you will. It’s better for the baby – safer, prevents allergies and infections, and boosts the child’s IQ.’

‘And what’s in it for me?’ I said, dazzling him with the counter-argument of a five-year-old.

‘It’s also supposed to be beneficial to mothers. It helps you regain your figure more quickly and reduces the risk of cancer.’

‘Oh, yeah? What about cracked nipples and mastitis?’

‘What’s mastitis?’ said the resident breastfeeding pusher. I breathed a sigh of relief. For once I knew something he didn’t.

‘It’s when your breasts get infected and your temperature goes through the roof. Apparently you’re in agony and then you get depressed and you resent the baby and it’s all because you breastfed,’ I added, for dramatic effect. I could see I’d overdone it, though, because James was looking suspicious.

‘And you have to pump your breasts like a cow if you breastfeed.’ I was a little hazy on the details of why and when but it had looked torturous when Jess did it.

‘Well, that does sound a little uncomfortable, but breast- feeding is supposed to be a wonderful bonding experience for mother and child and the benefits far outweigh the disadvantages.’

‘I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t you try sticking your penis into a breast pump and see if it’s a “little uncomfortable” for you or more like a form of torture.’

‘Well, if you’re going to be immature about this –’

‘Immature!
It’s all very well for you to sit there on the sidelines dictating what I should do with my body while you look on. I think you should have hands-on experience of the pain before you go dishing out advice that you read in a book, and making me feel guilty because I don’t want to go through any more pain after labour, which, by the way, will probably end up with me having my vagina stitched – externally and internally.’