Pack Up the Moon (30 page)

“Did you eat?” I asked without thought.

“I grabbed something on the way home.”

I concentrated on the TV. Madonna was singing about sex.

He got up. “Do you want a beer?”

“No,” I smiled.

He left for the kitchen and I wondered when I was

going to tell him. It’s hard to explain, but all the feelings that I would have expected to feel, like shock and fear, just weren’t there. I did care about his reaction, but something deep down inside couldn’t let me worry about

it. It was definitely not in line with my usual behaviour and this alone should have caused alarm, but I was locked inside a weird place, a blissful place.

He arrived back with a beer and sat down, putting my legs across his lap. He winked at me and I smiled. “I did a test today.”

“Oh yeah?” he said while staring at the TV.

A young blonde presenter was talking animatedly about

the top-ten hits.

“Yeah,” I said while silently admiring her boots. “What kind of test?” he asked, probably admiring her tits.

“A pregnancy test.”

He choked on his beer; foam was escaping from his mouth and rapidly making its way to his chin. His head flicked in my direction.

“I’ve been feeling kind of crap lately.”

“I know, and?” he responded. He didn’t appear alarmed or even that shocked, just inquisitive like possibly it could be a good thing.

“Doreen said I should take the test.”

He didn’t flinch. “And?” He really wasn’t one for beating around the bush.

“And she was right.”

“She was right?” he questioned and I could see excitement build in his eyes.

“I’m pregnant,” I said and I couldn’t help smiling

because I knew his face, I knew his eyes and I knew that he was happy.

He put down his beer and he turned to face me. “Are you absolutely sure,” he asked and the fear in his voice was the good kind.

“It was blue,” I said, my voice filled with sudden emotion. I started to cry but my tears were the happy kind.

He cupped my face in his hands. “Are we going to have a baby?” he asked and I briefly thought about putting it in writing.

“Well, I hope it’s not two,” I laughed.

“I’m going to be a father,” he said and then he was crying and we were hugging. “I’m going to be a dad,” he repeated and then we both cried like babies, which was ironic considering that I had one living in my belly.

A while later we went upstairs and carried out a

second test just to be sure it was blue just like the first one

and we sat together on the bathroom floor looking at this

blue line and dreaming about all it meant. That night we lay together in one another’s arms making plans. We were definitely going to have to get a mortgage and that

wouldn’t be a problem. We had steady jobs and a few quid put away. We decided not to tell anyone, at least not until I was three months gone and besides Clo was getting

married and neither of us wanted to take from her

limelight. Doreen could be trusted as long as we kept her away from everyone. A lot of people lost their first baby but neither of us was willing to think about that. We both wanted this baby. We hadn’t realised it, but now it was clear this was the best thing that could ever have happened.

The joy I felt filled my once weakened heart and made it

whole.

Of course we thought about John, how could we not? I told Sean about the test I’d carried out the day that he

died and for the first time I admitted to myself and to him

how badly I had felt. But this was different. We were older and wiser. We were better prepared and stronger. It didn’t mean I didn’t love John. It just meant that I wasn’t ready then. I did feel bad, but then Sean squeezed me tight and the guilt melted away.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too, Mammy,” he grinned.

“OK, seriously, don’t call me Mammy,” I said. “I prefer Mom, Mum, Mam or even Ma.”

Oh God, I’m so excited I need to pee.

Love, Marriage and Baby in a Carriage

It was 9:30 a.m. on the day that Clo was to marry I was kneeling on the bathroom floor chucking my guts up. I wiped my mouth and cursed Sean and his healthy sperm. I was bridesmaid, which was distressing because my last fitting had been two weeks previously leaving the dress a

little tight. My Wonderbra, having given up the ghost, remained in my underwear drawer and I briefly wondered

if I could get away with big knickers. Unfortunately the fact that my dress was grafted on meant that big or even

medium-sized knickers were an option I didn’t have. I fixed my hair, slapped on some make-up and waddled into the kitchen where Sean stood, looking fabulous in a suit, making breakfast.

Bastard.

I had kept my word and not told anyone else about the

baby and it had been harder than I could ever have imagined, especially since it appeared to all who knew me that I was

merely gaining weight. I didn’t even look pregnant — instead I looked kind of podgy. Clodagh had returned the bridesmaids’ dresses afraid that Anne would continue to

starve herself in a bid to fit into hers. She’d decided on a pattern and hired a dressmaker who was not oblivious to

my ever-changing size, as the dress fittings acted like a kind of cruel monitor. While I was increasing in size Anne was decreasing and poor Clodagh and her hardworking

dressmaker were getting quietly distressed. The dress was silk and a further insult to my burgeoning hips. I had briefly toyed with the notion of pulling out, but I quickly returned to my senses and instead resigned myself to the

fact that I would have to carry out my duty, thick or thin.

Now I pulled at my new silk skin and worried that

breathing would become difficult after a feed. I pretended to smile.

Sean laughed. “You look great.”

“Shut up,” I moaned. “I look like a pig.”

“I always had a thing for bacon.” He pretended to smell the air and although it was childish I couldn’t help

but laugh along. Suddenly I felt hungry and he was so yummy I wanted desperately to strip him, jump him and wrestle him to the ground, which made me wonder if, under the circumstances, I was a tad weird.

*

The wedding service was going beautifully. Clo was stunning in white silk with dark skin, a long veil and a smile that lasted. Tom, originally nauseous, saw her and then relaxed. The vows were done. They went without a hitch. They lit the candle and the church didn’t burn

down. When the singer was supposed to sing, she did and she did a fine job. Everything was going so well. I was standing on the altar beside the bride. It was hot, my dress was beginning to pinch, my feet hurt and my head was spinning. I really needed to sit down but the priest was a talker.

Just keep it together for five more minutes. Don’t faint. Do not faint. Please do not faint.

I was sweating and couldn’t work out what the priest

was saying, but it must have been good because the crowd clapped. Clo and Tom began walking down the steps of the altar, the rest of the wedding party following. The photographer was snapping photos of the happy couple.

Just walk down the steps, I told myself.

Unfortunately my luck had run out. Just as the photographer shouted the word, “Cheese!” I crumpled only to wake up on my back looking up at the priest, bride, groom and Sean.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, attempting to get to my feet. “Church is hot,” I mumbled again. Sean was helping me up when the back of the dress split. The crowd remained silent as I was helped out the side door with a jacket

wrapped around my waist. Air helped me but not the dress — there was no cure for the dress. Clo and Tom were fussing, but I begged them to go back to their wedding day.

“I’m fine. I swear. I’m so sorry.”

Clo just smiled. “You’re just a limelight hogger, Em.”

I laughed and added sincerely that nothing could steal

the limelight from her. She truly was stunning, the day

was going great and I was a mere blip that should be

ignored. She laughed at my embarrassment and agreed with Sean that it was best if I went straight to the hotel. Once inside our hotel room and with what was left of my

dress off, I felt considerably better. I looked in the mirror and everything seemed to be a little bigger than it had

been earlier that morning. I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining it. Sean was lying on the bed waiting for me to join him.

“You need to lie down,” he kept saying.

“Do I look heavy?” I asked.

“No,” he almost snorted. “I told you, you look great.” I sighed.

His smile turned to a frown. “Is that what this was about? Are you on some stupid diet? You know you can’t diet while pregnant.”

I joined him on the bed. “No. Of course not—if I was on a diet I wouldn’t have eaten half a bucket of chicken, a large fries and a side order of onion rings last night, now would I?”

He had to think about it for a moment before he

agreed. He had taken off his shirt. The room was warm, his skin was hot and he looked hotter. I suddenly felt a lot better. I kissed him, he smiled and I kissed him again and untied his pants. His smile grew and suddenly I was on my back and my tits didn’t feel so sore anymore. He stopped to put on a condom and I wondered why, but then he was a creature of habit and I didn’t want to ruin

the momentum. We’d moved and were up against the wall when the door opened and Anne and Richard were

in the room. We didn’t notice until we heard Anne’s scream. Richard said a delicate, “Excuse us,” and he

pushed her out the door. Fortunately for me, Sean acted as coverage which was a good thing. I would have died if Richard had seen my newly acquired wads. We heard the door close, looked at one another and burst out laughing. Sean briefly worried that Anne had seen his arse but

when I reminded him that everyone had seen his arse

when Ireland beat Italy in the ‘94 World Cup, he relaxed. We got dressed. He was back into his suit. I got into a black knitted and blissfully stretchy dress.

We met Richard and Anne in the lobby.

“Feeling better then?” Anne asked brightly.

“Yes, thanks,” I agreed, blushing.

Richard and Sean grinned at one another and went to

the bar. I ordered water. Anne ordered something stiffer.

The bride and groom arrived shortly thereafter. I had missed the photos outside the church, but Clo didn’t mind. I apologised about the dress but she couldn’t have cared less. She was delirious and had the J-Lo glow. She was just glad that I was feeling better. Anne remained silent, which I remained very grateful for. The photographer beckoned us and we smiled for the camera, swapping places with the in-laws, outlaws, friends and neighbours until eventually our photo duties were completed and it was time to eat. Again I was grateful, as I was hungry enough to eat a Grand National winner. The food came and went. The speeches were hysterical. Tom’s brother Rupert actually managed to be warm, even a little funny, and I wondered if I had misjudged him in the hospital — after all he had been merely concerned about his brother undergoing

surgery. Then he told a joke about women having no brains and I realised my gut feeling had been the correct

one. Clo’s mother and her stepfather wore proud smiles as they laughed at the stories told about their daughter.

*

After the meal Anne, Clo and I went up to the bridal suite. Clo was putting on make-up. Anne was fixing her dress and I nipped into the loo for a quick puke. I turned on the taps so as to cover the sound but they were those

sprinkler ones, a lot of power, very little sound. I threw up and then I threw up again and again and again. I could hear talking outside. I retched loudly and it stopped.

“Em?”

It was Clo.

“Yeah?” I called out as brightly as possible.

“Are you OK?”

I started to say “Great” but it started with “Gre-” and ended in vomit.

Anne was at the door. “Let us in!” she yelled dramatically. “It’s open,” I said with head in loo.

They walked in, both with concerned looks on their faces.

Clo appeared terrified. “Oh my God, did you have the mussels to start?”

“Yeah, they were lovely,” I said from the bowl.

“Oh Jesus! It’s food poisoning! Half the wedding ate the bloody mussels!” she cried out.

I attempted to argue but my mouth was full. Clo looked like she was about to cry. Anne was quiet. I stopped vomiting.

Oh, the relief!

I was washing my face while adamantly denying the

charge of food poisoning. The two girls were eyeing me carefully.

“Emma, are you on drugs?” Clo asked seriously.

I took time out from the sink to look at her in her

face, just to ensure she wasn’t joking. “What?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, one minute you’re fainting, the next it’s wanton sex and now you’re throwing up. You remember that one time I took coke? Exactly the same.”

“I’m not on coke,” I said, embarrassed that Clo was now aware that I had forgone the church photos in favour

of a shag against a hotel wall. “I was feeling better!’ I added lamely.

Clo thought about it for a split second. “Fair enough,” she nodded happily. “So it’s not coke and it’s not food poisoning.”

I agreed it wasn’t either of those two things.

“So when are you going to tell us you’re pregnant, Em?”

I sighed, relieved. “Now,” I said weakly, not really sure whether to laugh or cry.

“You’re pregnant!” Anne squealed.

“I’m three months,” I admitted.

Clo said, “Oh my God!” a lot before asking if I was sure. “Positive,” I replied. “I took a test!’

Anne said that sometimes the test can be wrong, but seemed content when I said that I’d taken two, followed by a hospital visit, which had further confirmed my status. Anne asked if Sean knew and I confirmed that he did and that he was as happy as I was. Clo hugged me, but I pushed her away, terrified that some puke would find its way onto