Gemini Rain (2 page)

Of course, friends and family considered them odd because they put the small distribution
and transport
business first and Patricia as the wife got the blame in the whispers for being unable to conceive
-
nobody
in those days
considered it may b
e the fault of the man. But Gerard and Patricia
st
uck to their guns waiting at least two
years before
considering the idea of start
ing what Patricia often stated to her close friends was,
‘the ordeal of having babies.’
She never noticed or
maybe
chose to ignore their
winces or forced
I’m in agreement with you
smiles, behind her back they would pitifully
shake their heads in
agree
ment with each other
, ‘tisn’t she putting on a brave front.’

In
the
Ireland of the seventies
and way
before
freely available
contraception
,
the young and hopeful
got married,
then
nine
or ten
months later the first child usually arrived or sometimes earlier, premature was the usual excuse for what the whispers would refer to was
that little slip
. And with contraception being a voodoo word
forbidden by law and church
, it wasn’t unusual for the pitter-patter of more than two tiny feet to quickly follow in the footsteps of the first pair and then another pair and another.

But Gerard and Patricia were different and their ideas never waned, no large family for them they wanted nothing but the best for them and independence for their children.

‘A successful life and business leads to happiness within the family,’ Patricia loved to repeat that phrase to anybody who would listen. A
lthough a small woman, her self-centred
and intense persona often gave her height when dealing with troubl
esome employees and even some clients
often left a meeting with her feeling ice-cold slithers across the back of their neck and shoulders.

Immensely proud with how
she dealt with her personnel
Patricia
was demanding of others, but in a vain attempt to gain their confidence she often informed them that she wou
ld never ask employees
to do something she wouldn’t do herself. Gerard laughingly asked her one time what would she do if one of the drivers turned around
handed her the keys
and said, ‘okay
Mrs
go on ahead then,’ her
meek
response that she couldn’t drive a truck only made him laugh more. 

Originally the idea was to just have two children but when the twin girl died in the second pregnancy, Gerard persistently tried to persuade Patricia to try once more.

‘A baby girl, now wouldn’t that be perfect,’ he would often softly repeat to her after they made love, he wanted so much to have a little girl to spoil rotten. At family gatherings he would look on enviously at his younger brother’s three little
girls dressed up in their pretty dresses with matching
bows in their long golden hair,
Patricia would often nudge him
laughing with him at his foolishness. But then he would stop laughing and look forlornly at his three little nieces - it was just a small bit of emptiness in what was his perfect world.

At first Patricia was hesitant, extremely stubborn (to put it mildly) about the idea of having another child until he offered to get a full-time nanny so she could be free to work in the office
on a full-time basis
, Gerard
occasionally
knew ways of get
ting round his wife
. Jumping at the chance she couldn’t stand only working part-time and what she considered, being stuck in the house with the two boys under her feet.

‘She’s a rare wan indeed,’ Gerard’s father would often reiterate when she complained of her inability to work full-time.

Seven hours later, a 7
1/2
lb
baby
girl was born. ‘Lauren, that’s what we’ll call her she’s perfect, like a beautiful flower,’ Gerard stated as he looked at the little red faced bundle in the nurse’s arms, proud of the fact he was allowed to choose the name if it was a girl. A satisfying grin was fixed on his pale, freckled face he couldn’t wait to get to
The Greyhound
pub to tell his father and friends.

‘Did you know Lauren originally comes from the Latin for Laurel,’ he looked up
unable to drop the smile from his face
, ‘a symbol of victory.’ Almost forgetting to ask about Patricia the simple question dawned on him so he shouted back to the bemused nurse as he dashed towards the door, ‘How’s my woman?’

‘She’s grand! Having a cup of tea, will ye be back later to see her?’ she enquired.

‘But of course,’ responding as he swung open the door.

‘Good, I’ll tell her to expect a big bunch of flowers this evening,’ the nurse knew exactly where he was rushing to. Men, she thought, the wife goes through all the pain
of delivering a child to the world
and the husband rushes off to the pub to recover from the waiting - Victory indeed.

As Gerard was walking through the maternity hospital’s reception he noticed an old school friend and childhood neighbour.
‘
Paul? Paul Morris!
’
Gerard couldn’t withhold his earlier excitement and called the name out loud.

Paul was aiding his wife into a wheelchair and looked up towards the
excited
voice,
‘
Good Lord, Gerard what are you doing here?
’
he smiled,
‘
It’s not visiting hours just yet.
’

‘
Number three,
’
Gerard stated proudly,
‘
and it’s a girl
at last
.
’

‘
Ah Congrats, number two,
’
Paul pointed towards his young wife.

‘
And we hope a Paul junior,
’
added his wife.

The three laughed together and caught up on a few old memories as the porter waited patiently
tapping the handles of the wheelchair
. 

‘
Meet you in The Greyhound later perhaps?
’
Gerard enquired. 

‘
I’ll most certainly t
ry but,
’
Paul turned
to his wife,
‘
b
ut I think that depends on Paul Junior, don’t you dear?
’

‘
We’ll see.
’
 
Mrs
Morris struggled with the reply as she fel
t another contraction beginning, ‘I hope you have an umbrella Gerard, it
’
s teeming
rain
out there
. Ohh Dear I think we better move on.’

‘
Missus, we’ll be having de baby down here if we don’t get you up to de labour ward,
’
the porter started to move the wheelchair forward,
‘
and den de midwife will have me hung, drawn and quartered.
’

The old friends
quickly
shook hands and promised to keep in touch, a promise they would not keep until many years later.

**********

In Aix-en-
Espérance
, a small
village just outside of Marseille
and on the same day Jean-Pierre Corvasieur sat at his
la
rge dining room table smoking his
pipe. On
hearing another cry from the bedroom, it was louder and
longer than the previous ones, he
became slightly uncomfortable and
ponder
ed about taking his
only son at the time, Joel, for a small walk in the forest close by. It’s a beautiful blustery day
with only
a
slight drizzle
releasing the soft smell of the Mediterranean Sea, with the wind s
weeping the rich aroma up to the
small mountain village
, just p
erfect for a gentle walk and a bit of summer rain never hurt anyone he felt
.

With
the warmth of
early
summ
er sunshine fighting from behind the rain clouds lighting
up the room he bega
n thinking about an extension to the small farmhouse, maybe paying a visit to M
onsieur
Rigagneau the local builder to discuss the
matter later
this evening
or tomorrow
.
Of course I
could do much of the work myself, he
think
s
proudly
, but Monsieu
r
Rigagneau w
ould give him
a good price for the materials
, a deal could be settled over some bread, cheese and perhaps a drop of wine. 
‘
My family is growing if I can afford it I’ll build two extra rooms
’
, always a careful planner he could
always achieve results with the minimum of effort and expense.

Originally the farmhouse started as a split-level four-roomed house Gabrielle’s parents built. And now aft
er four
years of marriage Jean-Pierre felt
the need to extend
-
developing more on the house and the cheese farm, a lot of serious consideration needs to go into joining the new growth of
fruitieres
who were forming co-operatives throughout the country.

‘
But my Gabrielle deserves more
’
, it was wrong that the purse strings needed to be tightened somet
imes.  Individually producing his
own cheese as a
Fermeir
and just supplying the local markets was proving to be an
unstable source of income for Jean-Pierre’s growing family. Feeling his
thick dark eyebrows arch into a frown
he quickly
dismiss
ed
the thought, the time for serious contemplation was not now this is the time for family, nu
mber one in his
life. 
His
tho
ughts return to Gabrielle, how he wished that he
could be there with her, to
help her through this pain but Jean-Pierre knew it wasn’
t acceptable
and settle
d
to take care of
his
son
Joel. 

He sat back in his chair, thinking
about
how he
love
d his
own
and his wife’s similarities
, having a natural tendency to enjo
y the same things even though they have different ideas on how they like them
. Gabrielle is so beautiful
, he smiled with that thought,
with her soft Mediterranean skin and colouring, ligh
theartedly enchanting while he was
dark and serious and of temperamental Spanish parentage.

‘You’re mood is beginning to form a pe
rmanent frown on your face,’ Gabrielle would joke with him tossing his thick wavy hair.
And he was always certain of
the
know
ledge
that although Gabrielle thrives on
the companionship of others he was
the one she
always
returned
to, sharing her life and bed with
him
.

‘You are my life,
my soul-mate and
my security and that is why I cherish and love you,’ i
t’s something she often whispered to him
softly he
smile
d
with that memory
.

Watching three
year old Joel, he
chuckle
d
at the anxious, shocked expression on the poo
r child’s face, it’s something Jean-Pierre
now expected and
proba
bly exhibited the same face when he
first heard those cries from Gabrielle when she gave birth to Joel.

‘Don’t worry son,’ attempting some reassurance to help him, ‘women cry out like that when they are having a baby, it’s normal and no harm. Would you like a little walk in the woods?’