Me and My Sisters (20 page)

‘Go and tell the others.’ I wanted a moment alone. I needed to process what had just happened.

I closed my eyes, blocking out the noises around me. Was it normal to feel nothing? Did other new mothers want their babies taken away and washed? Was it terrible that I didn’t want to kiss her little head through all the goo? But, then, wouldn’t it have stuck to my mouth? Was I weird? Was I a freak? I felt completely numb. I waited for emotion to overwhelm me … Nothing.

The baby was handed back to me wrapped in a pink towel. She was clean and her eyes were open.

I looked down at her. ‘Hello, Clara Rose Devlin. I’m your mum,’ I introduced myself. She blinked. I held her face to mine and felt relief that she was healthy, pleased that she was safely out and that I was no longer pregnant, but no heart-stopping adoration, no rush of love, no breathless worship. Mostly I just felt tired and sore. Clara sighed and fell asleep on my shoulder.

I was wheeled out and my family descended on me again. Mum and Sophie were crying and even Dad had a tear in his eye. Julie was still bawling and trying to explain to a worried Tom that they were ‘happy tears’. Gavin had arrived. He bent down to hug me. ‘Well done, sis. It’s official. You’ve gone over to the dark side now. You’re a mum!’

Mum pulled him back. ‘Now, let me see this little dote. Can I pick her up?’ she asked me.

‘Of course,’ I said, as Julie gave me the thumbs-up.

Mum picked up Clara and held her close. She cooed at her, rocked her gently and kissed her cheeks. ‘Oh, Louise, she’s just perfect and she’s the image of you.’

‘How can you tell? She’s all red and scrunched up.’ Gavin snorted. ‘Maybe she looks like her father.’

There was a deathly silence.

‘Shit, sorry,’ Gavin apologized.

‘The baby looks like Louise and that’s the end of it,’ Dad hissed.

God, I hope she does look like me, I thought. If she looks like her father, it’ll be the elephant in the room for the rest of her life.

‘She’s perfect, Lou,’ Sophie said, patting her eyes with a tissue. ‘I’m thrilled for you.’

I was wheeled off to Recovery, where I passed out for an hour. Then I was taken back to my room where my family were waiting. Mum was cradling Clara. I was given tea and toast. The food tasted great and I was enjoying every bite … until the midwife came in and asked if I was breast-feeding.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to give it a go?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s very good for the babies.’

‘Formula will be fine.’

‘Breast is best,’ she continued.

‘Let me put it this way,’ I explained. ‘Hell will freeze over before I use my breasts to feed this child. For the past nine months I have put my body through things a body never should have to go through and I have no intention of having a child strapped to my nipples or milking myself with one of those God-awful expressing machines like some cow for another nine months. Clara will be having formula. OK?’

‘Fair enough.’ The midwife sniffed and rummaged around for a bottle. ‘Would you like me to give the baby to you to feed?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks. Mum, would you mind feeding Clara for me?’ I asked.

‘I’d love to, Louise, but are you sure you don’t want to do it yourself?’ Mum looked shocked.

‘No, I’d really like you to.’ I took another large bite of my toast.

‘Well, I’d be delighted.’ She took the bottle and began to feed a hungry Clara.

‘Nice one, Lou,’ Julie whispered.

I’d like to say I was being generous to Mum, but I was happy to let her do it. I was exhausted and hungry and I didn’t want to feed Clara. Not yet. I needed to get my energy back. Now that Clara was born, I was actually glad they were all there. I didn’t want to be on my own with the baby. I’d read all the baby books out there, but now I wasn’t sure what to do.

I watched Mum burping Clara. A stream of milk came back up and ran down Mum’s shoulder. She patted Clara’s back. ‘Good girl – that’s a wonderful burp.’

I winced. I didn’t want puked-up milk all over my clothes. I’d have to put those muslin cloths over my shoulders at all times.

Gavin yawned. ‘Sorry, late night. Look, it’s been great seeing the baby and all, but I can probably skip the feeding. I think I’ll head off. Well done, sis, she’s a cutie.’

‘When are you off to Heathrow to camp out on your protest?’ I asked him.

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Do you have a decent tent?’ I enquired.

‘Yeah, I’m sorted. Sophie gave me the cash to buy a really good one. It’s quite plush, actually.’

‘Sophie,’ Dad snapped, ‘you have to stop giving him money. He needs to learn to stand on his own two feet.’

‘Relax, Dad, it was just a few quid to get a tent that doesn’t leak.’

‘Sophie’s always had a very generous nature,’ Mum said.

‘Well, good luck, and if it all gets too much or you decide to see sense, you can stay in my spare room. Temporarily,’ I offered. ‘But your hairy unhygienic friends are not welcome.’

‘Get it out of your system, son. This nonsense is all going to end soon,’ Dad warned him.

‘Good luck cohabiting in a tent,’ Julie said.

‘It’ll be cool. Acorn’s pretty chilled out.’

‘She’s not chilled out about her veganism. You won’t be able to cook sausages on your camp fire,’ Julie reminded him.

‘I know.’ Gavin groaned. ‘It’s back to pretending I actually like tofu and lentils – but, hey, she’s worth it.’

‘What does this girl do when she’s not hugging trees? What type of an education has she?’ Mum asked.

‘She’s got a degree in chemistry. She’s actually kind of a genius, like Louise,’ Gavin said.

‘It’s hardly intelligent to live in a tent in a muddy field protesting against something that’s inevitable,’ Dad pointed out.

‘That depends on your point of view – and the Heathrow expansion is not inevitable. People power can change the world. You should consider getting involved in climate change instead of criticizing it all the time. Your precious golf course could be six feet under water soon if we don’t do something about global warming.’ Gavin was on a roll.

‘Don’t lecture me on –’

‘OK! Thanks, everyone, for coming,’ I cut across Dad. ‘It’s been great having you here, but you can take the global-warming debate outside. I’m going to ingest some serious pain relief and hopefully get some sleep.’ I suddenly felt as if I’d been run over by a bus. My eyelids felt like concrete. I was keen to sleep and, hopefully, to wake up tomorrow feeling less sore and more excited about my daughter.

‘Come on, let her rest. The poor thing is exhausted.’ Mum ushered Dad and Sophie out. She settled Clara back into her big plastic box beside the bed and kissed her head. ‘What a beauty she is. Now, Louise, can I get you anything? Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, Mum, and thanks for feeding her. It was a great help.’

‘I was delighted to do it. She’s a gorgeous little baby. Try and get some sleep. I’d say she’ll be up again in a few hours.’

‘Do you want me to stay?’ Julie asked.

I shook my head. ‘Thanks, but I’m wrecked. I just want to sleep off the pain.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember sleep – vaguely.’ Julie chuckled. ‘I’ll pop in tomorrow on my way to the airport. And well done again. She’s just gorgeous.’

They left. I swallowed my painkillers, rested my head back against my pillows and passed out. Twenty minutes later I heard a wailing in my sleep. It seemed far away but got progressively louder. I forced my eyes open. It was Clara. She was thrashing about in her bassinet, legs and arms flailing. I tried to reach over, but the pain in my stomach stopped me in my tracks. I rang the bell frantically, and a nurse came running in. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘The baby’s having some kind of a fit.’ I was panicking.

The nurse calmly picked Clara up and patted her back firmly. My daughter let out an enormous burp and fell straight back to sleep. ‘You see?’ the nurse said. ‘It was nothing to worry about, just a bit of trapped wind. You’ll soon be used to it – they can get very uncomfortable with it.’

‘Can you take her away, please?’ I begged.

‘Do you want her to spend the night in the nursery?’

‘Yes, I do. I need sleep and I can’t sleep if she’s screaming like that. It’s freaking me out.’

‘OK, but you mustn’t let her crying upset you. All babies cry. It sounds worse than it is.’

‘Fine. Can you just take her?’ I asked again. I didn’t want a bloody lecture on babies’ cries. I just wanted to sleep.

The nurse handed Clara to me. ‘You can give her a goodnight cuddle.’

I didn’t want to give her a cuddle. But the nurse plonked her on my chest. I held my daughter, kissed her head and handed her straight back.

‘Call us in the morning when you wake up. I’m sure you’ll be dying to see her,’ she said.

I put in my ear-plugs and closed my eyes.

18

Sophie

I thought seeing Louise’s baby might make me feel a little broody, maybe re-start my biological clock. But it didn’t. It brought back all the bad memories of struggling to get through the day and panicking every time Jess cried. When I heard Clara crying, just before Mum fed her, my stomach had twisted. I’d felt physically ill. It reminded me of all the sleepless nights I’d spent thinking Jess was going to die every time she so much as whimpered. Jack was never going to have his son and heir. I was definitely not having any more children.

It was strange to see Louise with a baby. She was so capable in every aspect of her life, always in control, in charge, cool, calm and collected. But she looked unsure yesterday, awkward with Clara, nervous. I wondered if being a mother would be the one thing Louise struggled with. In a way I hoped she would find it hard, because then I wouldn’t feel like such a loser – the pathetic sister who, despite having lots of help and a healthy child, had had to take drugs to cope, while the other sister with triplets and no help just got on with it. I didn’t want my sisters to find out I’d had to take Prozac. I was embarrassed about it; I felt weak and pathetic for being unable to cope. Even though the doctor had said it wasn’t my fault and there was nothing I could have done, that post-natal depression was very common and nothing to be ashamed of, I was ashamed of myself.

I wanted Jack never to know either. Whenever men talked about how much their wives changed when they had children, how they were tired and grumpy and snappy and put on weight and never wanted to have sex, Jack always put his arm around me and said proudly, ‘Well, it didn’t happen to my Sophie. She breezed through it. She was back in shape and raring to go after six weeks.’

The truth was that I hadn’t enjoyed sex for a year after Jess. I pretended I did, but I had no desire for sex at all. One of the side-effects of Prozac was that it lowered my sex drive, but obviously I couldn’t explain that to Jack because I didn’t want him to know I was taking it. So I faked enjoyment and willingness until slowly I began to feel like myself again. Thankfully, after about a year, it became less of a chore. I finally got my mojo back and wanted to be with Jack physically again, which was a relief as I knew how important sex was to a happy marriage.

The morning after Clara’s birth, Mum, Dad, Julie and Tom flew home, but I stayed on to do some shopping. I spent a blissful five hours in Selfridges and bought a fabulous Fendi clutch-bag, an Yves St Laurent draped jersey dress in a wine colour, an Etro kaftan for the summer in Marbella and a cute Day Birger et Mikkelsen cotton-voile ruffled tunic. I just had time for a soy-milk latte in the Starbucks on the fourth floor before I had to hail a taxi to the airport.

I was looking at makeup in Duty Free when I heard a voice from the past: ‘Oh, my God! Sophie Devlin, is that you?’

I turned to see a small man in his fifties, with a shock of black hair, wearing blue-tinted sunglasses, a white dinner shirt and a navy velvet suit, waving at me.

‘Quentin! How are you?’ I rushed over to hug him. Quentin Gill was the owner of Beauty Spot, the model agency I’d worked for. I hadn’t seen him in about five years.

‘Darling, you look fabulous,’ Quentin said, kissing me. ‘I love the jacket – Marc Jacobs?’

‘Yes, I got it in New York. Isn’t it gorgeous?’

‘To die for. But anything would look good on you. So, how’s life? How are Jack and the baby?’

Quentin was not one of those gay men who loved children. He actually really disliked kids and hated it when any of the models had babies and brought them into the agency to see him. We used to laugh about it, so I’d never done it with Jess.

‘They’re great, thanks.’

‘I can see the recession isn’t affecting you.’ He pointed to the huge Selfridges bag I was carrying.

‘Jack’s business is flying and he likes me to look good … so I oblige him.’

Quentin threw back his head and laughed. ‘Sophie, I always knew you’d land on your feet. You were never just a pretty face. You were always focused on the end game.’

I grinned. ‘I wasn’t born a genius, but at least I was smart enough to know that my looks could get me what I wanted.’

‘So many of the other girls were into drugs and sleeping around. I always admired you for keeping out of that. You never slipped up. You were always on time for your shoots, never hung-over, never a prima-donna. You were the most professional model I had on the books.’

‘You old charmer.’

‘I’m serious, darling. The young models today are a nightmare. They think the world owes them something. They’re always complaining and asking for more money and thinking press calls are beneath them. I don’t know, maybe I’m just too old for this.’

I laid my hand playfully on his arm. ‘Stop that. You’re as young as your surgeon makes you.’

We both laughed. Quentin was addicted to plastic surgery. He’d had a face-lift, hair implants, liposuction, laser hair removal and a tummy tuck.

As we walked to the boarding gate, he told me that Jill had left the agency.

‘No way!’ I was shocked. Jill had been with Beauty Spot since Quentin had founded it thirty years ago. She had done almost all of the bookings. She was Quentin’s right arm. ‘What happened?’

‘She met a guy in Greece.’

‘Jill!’ I was shocked. Jill was at least sixty and had always been married to her job. I’d never heard of her even going on a date.

‘She turned into Shirley shagging Valentine,’ Quentin explained. ‘She went to Greece, met the guy who owned the bar she drank in and never came back.’

‘Wow! Good for her.’

‘Not so good for me, though.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Six weeks ago. I’ve got a new girl in, but she’s not very good. I’m working sixteen-hour days trying to keep things running smoothly. I came to London to interview some experienced bookers. I think I’ve found someone.’

‘That’s a relief. You’re supposed to be working less, not more.’

‘Tell me about it.’

We stepped on to the plane. I found my row near the front and sat down. Quentin’s seat was further back.

‘Good to see you, Sophie.’ He kissed me, and started to move away.

‘You too, and I hope the new booker works out for you.’

‘God, so do I.’

It had been really nice to see Quentin. He had always made me laugh. It was a pity we had lost touch. After I’d married Jack I’d stopped looking for modelling jobs, happy to give it all up – it had been a struggle to get work in my early thirties. Quentin had always been really good to me and we had got on very well over the fourteen years I’d been with him. At first, after I left, we met up for the odd coffee, but what we had in common – work – was gone, so things just kind of fizzled out.

When we landed in Dublin, I waited for him and offered him a lift home.

‘Oh, you sweet thing, I’d love one.’

‘Do you still live upstairs from the agency?’ I asked.

‘I certainly do, although I’ve changed the décor. I’ve gone from the Moulin Rouge vibe you’ll remember to a completely minimalist look. Honestly, Sophie, you wouldn’t recognize the place. It’s fabulous.’

‘Good for you. I hate clutter.’

‘Darling, it overwhelms the senses.’

‘Has the agency been affected by the recession?’

‘Last year was a nightmare – we were barely breaking even – but things have picked up in the last six months. We’re busy again, thank God.’

‘Great.’

‘Here we are – home, sweet home.’ Quentin leant over to kiss me. ‘Call me some time. Let’s do lunch and gossip about all the people we used to work with. Here’s my card – all my new numbers are on it.’

‘Thanks. I’d love that.’

When I got home there was a message from Jack saying he had had to go to New York suddenly, but would hopefully only be gone a few days. I tried calling his mobile but it was switched off. He must be in the air. I left him a message saying I missed him and not to forget that we were going to a drinks party in Victoria and Gerry’s that weekend. Then I admitted I’d done some damage on the credit card in London, but that when he saw my new Yves St Laurent dress he’d agree that it was worth the money.

Jess was thrilled to see me. I hugged her tight, my baby, my one and only baby. I brought her up to my room and gave her her present – a beautiful princess dress I’d bought in the Disney Store. She was thrilled. We both put on our new dresses and twirled around the bedroom. Then we put our pyjamas on, snuggled up in bed with some air-popped popcorn and watched
The Princess and the Frog
for the zillionth time.

A few days later I went out for lunch to celebrate Victoria’s birthday. Saskia had booked a table in the Harvey Nichols restaurant for four of us. Daniella was away, so it was just Victoria, Saskia, me and Paula.

I’d decided to wear my new dress. I knew the others would be all dressed up and I wanted to show it off. When I arrived, Saskia admired it: ‘Oh, Sophie, what an amazing dress! You look fantastic.’

I beamed. ‘Thanks – it’s new. I got it in London.’

‘It’s so stylish,’ Paula gushed.

Victoria said nothing. She didn’t like other people getting compliments when she was around.

‘Hi, Victoria, happy birthday.’ I bent to kiss her. ‘You look great. Red is a good colour on you.’ She was wearing a very fitted red suede dress and strappy red Jimmy Choo sandals.

‘Thanks.’ She smiled, clearly happy that the attention was back on her.

‘Every colour suits Victoria,’ Saskia said.

‘Well, actually lime green doesn’t.’ Victoria flicked her long caramel hair back.

We ordered our food. We all had a side salad to start, except Saskia, who ordered a goat’s cheese salad that she’d throw up later. And for our main course we had the steamed fish while Saskia went for steak and chips.

‘Did you hear about Georgina and Trevor?’ Victoria asked us. Georgina and Trevor were well known around town. He was a businessman and she owned a very successful PR agency. They were a nice couple, fun, good company and not full of their own importance.

‘No – what?’ Paula asked.

‘He’s left her for a twenty-five-year-old Russian nightclub hostess he met in London.’

‘No way!’ Saskia put her fork down.

‘And the girl is pregnant.’

‘Oh, God, poor Georgina! What a nightmare!’ I exclaimed.

‘It’s a mess,’ Victoria agreed, ‘but, you know, she spent far too much time in work. When he went to London on business, she hardly ever went with him. If you let your man out of your sight for too long, he’ll stray.’

‘But she has a business to run. There’s no way she could go with him on all his trips,’ I pointed out.

‘Sophie,’ Victoria placed her jewelled hand on mine, ‘we are married to successful, handsome men. Most women would kill to be in our shoes, and we have to be very careful to keep our husbands happy. As Jerry Hall said, a woman needs to be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedroom.’

We all laughed.

‘But she broke up with Mick Jagger,’ I said lightly.

‘For goodness’ sake, it’s just a quote.’ Victoria sighed. ‘All I’m saying is that we need to keep a close eye on our husbands. I rarely let Gerry out of my sight. I go on all his business trips with him and never refuse him sex.’

‘Never?’ Paula looked sheepish.

‘Never.’ Victoria was firm. ‘If you refuse them sex, they’ll look elsewhere.’ In fairness, she knew all about that because she was Gerry’s second wife. He’d left his first for her.

‘But what if you’re exhausted and want to go to sleep?’ Saskia put a large piece of steak into her mouth.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’s part of the deal – they provide us with a great lifestyle and credit cards and we keep their stomachs and libido satisfied.’ Victoria took a small sip of her wine.

‘Gosh! I turned Kevin down twice last week. I’d better hop on him when he gets home tonight. I don’t want him running off with some nightclub hostess.’ Paula giggled. ‘I love my life – I enjoy my comforts.’

‘Do you know what I like about this recession?’ Victoria said. ‘People are willing to work harder for less money. You know Valda left me to go back to Russia and I was devastated? She was by far the best cleaning lady I’d ever had. Anyway, she recommended her cousin, who was a disaster. I mean, she didn’t even dust the light shades so I had to let her go. But I’ve found another girl – she’s from one of those countries, Ukraine or Lithuania or something – and she’s willing to do four hours a day, six days a week for nine euros an hour. Valda was eleven euros an hour, so I’m actually saving money. It’s fantastic.’

I prayed no one at the next table had heard that comment.

‘Good staff are hard to come by. I had to send four cleaning ladies back to the agency before they found me a really good one,’ Paula said.

‘Your girl seems good, Sophie,’ Saskia commented.

‘Honestly, I’d die without Mimi. She’s great with Jess and keeps the house so tidy.’

‘Look! There’s Kate Richardson,’ Paula murmured.

Kate Richardson had been in school with the girls and was now a successful actress, starring in a long-running BBC drama about lawyers.

‘She looks amazing,’ I said, admiring her beautifully tailored cream dress.

‘I think she looks old,’ Victoria said.

‘Kate!’ Saskia waved her over.

Kate came to the table. ‘Hi, Saskia, long time no see.’

‘I know, it’s been years. You remember Paula and Victoria from school, and this is our friend Sophie.’

‘Victoria Murphy?’ Kate looked shocked.

‘Yes, she’s Victoria Ward now,’ Saskia said.

‘My God, you’ve changed.’ Kate roared laughing. ‘You used to have frizzy brown hair and buck teeth.’

‘Did you?’ I tried not to laugh. Victoria’s face was like thunder.

‘Yes, she did.’ Paula giggled.

‘Well, I don’t any more.’ Victoria glared at Kate.

Kate grinned, ignoring Victoria’s hostility. ‘So, what are you all up to, these days?’

‘We’re all boring stay-at-home mums,’ Saskia told her.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Victoria snapped. ‘My life isn’t boring at all.’

I decided to jump in. ‘I love your show,’ I told Kate. ‘You’re absolutely brilliant in it.’