Barefoot Over Stones (27 page)

The most immediate problem came from an unexpected source. Polly’s concerns on Leda’s hospital notes had made their inevitable progress to the public health nurse’s office. Colm and Iris had covered their tracks well, making sure that Tom was taken for his appointed weigh-ins and check-ups at the public health dispensary and he had his initial weigh-in and the BCG vaccination right on time. Sometimes Colm took the morning off from Reilly & Maitland or manufactured an out-of-office appointment with a client that would give him just enough time to bring Tom and his mother to the health centre. Afterwards Iris would unfurl the buggy and walk back to the apartment with Tom snugly wrapped while Colm returned to work, doing his level best not to be spotted by either of the senior partners when he turned up late. This was relatively easy most days, because their work, and one could only lightly apply the term work to what the senior partners actually spent their time doing, was conducted on the golf course or in the fine restaurants that lined the streets around the offices.

It would be easier to let Iris do the job from beginning to end, but Colm had his lines about Leda and her absence rehearsed as he would the facts of any case he was delivering to a barrister, and he was terrified that Iris would blurt something out to the nurse that would alert suspicion about Leda’s whereabouts. She promised she wouldn’t, but it was something Colm did not wish to put to the test.

It seemed that fathers of newborn babies were a rarity in the health centre as it was predominantly mothers on maternity leave who brought their babies for vaccinations. His peculiarity made Colm a target for sympathetic glances and lots of ‘Aren’t you great?’ comments.
The attention made him uncomfortable and he was terrified of getting engaged in conversation and forgetting to tell the requisite lies. When pushed he said he was giving his wife a rest as she had been up a lot of the night and she needed the extra sleep more than he did. That was usually enough for most women to fall silent as they contemplated their own plight, exhausted, up all night too but still expected to cope the following day with no one to share the load. They slipped into a reverie that Colm guessed involved a comfortable bed, a dark room and complete silence. It was much like the daydream he himself had become prone to over the last few weeks. He had never guessed the torturous consequences of continually interrupted sleep, how a night could last as long as a week but an hour’s sleep only ever felt like a scant five minutes.

Colm was always relieved when he got from the confines of the too-small waiting room into the relatively spacious and calm nurse’s office. His relief turned to dismay one morning when Tom was just seven weeks old. After introducing herself, Nurse Brid Halloran expressed her disappointment that it was Colm again and not Leda who had brought Tom for his weigh-in and check-up.

‘Is there a problem with me bringing him?’ Colm asked as lightly as he could.

‘No, not at all, Mr Lifford, absolutely not. We love to see dads in here. Sure, you are as rare as hens’ teeth. No, it’s not that, it’s just that Leda’s file has come through from the Rotunda and some cause for concern about Leda’s behaviour and mood have been noted by the midwifery team in the postnatal ward. We like to follow these cases up, just because some new mothers need more emotional support than others, and it would seem Leda might be one of those that need a helping hand.’

Colm knew he should be saying something to refute the suggestion or reassure the nurse that while Leda had had initial problems everything was fine now, but he was caught off balance. That annoyed him because for the last few weeks he had been rehearsing in his head the moment the subject would be broached. Maybe he should have left his mother to handle this situation after all. Iris Lifford would have wiped the floor with this woman – in the politest of ways, naturally.

Brid Halloran continued to enter Tom’s details into the computer. Colm looked at the Post-its that framed her monitor filled with names, dates and phone numbers. Little sketches of other lives which meant nothing to him, but reading them gave him something to do in this long and awkward silence.

When Brid had completed Tom’s data entry she turned to look at his father for some form of response. He was the thoughtful type, she decided, one who considered everything, someone whom she just didn’t really have the time for today. She cleared her throat to break the silence, which was enough to spur Colm into opening his mouth.

‘Well, Leda did have a hard time in the Rotunda. The labour was long and she was exhausted and then the breastfeeding didn’t go smoothly. She just got over-whelmed, but she is well on her way now. That’s why I do these appointments, because it’s the least I can do when she is up several times a night with Tom. If I look after Tom for a few hours she gets to catch up on a bit of sleep.’ Colm didn’t want to overcook his explanation so he stopped to see if Nurse Halloran was buying his story.

‘Well, sharing the load is the only way to get through these first weeks. It’s too much for any one person on their own, dealing with demanding little mites like you, Tom Lifford.’ She took Tom from Colm and gave him a nose rub. Tom made a contented gurgle and resigned himself happily to the measuring and weighing process.

Colm was relieved, but he would not really relax until he had Tom dressed and back outside in the world, where he could protect them both from the prods and the questions of well-meaning people who had not got a clue. He dressed Tom quickly. Nearly two months of practice had made him efficient and calm in the way he went about the task. Of all mornings he prayed that Tom
would not wriggle too much and they could get out of the health centre and back to Iris as quickly as possible. His escape was nearly complete and his panicked breathing was returning to normal as he listened to the nurse tap more details into the computer. Tom had put on a suitable amount of weight and his progress was totally in line with other babies of his age. His son was gurgling as if he knew he had done well. Colm lifted him up and cradled him against his neck for a hug, soothing himself by rubbing his son’s back.

‘Any particular afternoon suit Leda for a home visit?’

Colm thought he might choke. ‘A home visit? You do home visits?’

‘Yes. The team here spend mornings in the centre and then afternoons visiting new parents. It’s all part of our community service. The only reason Leda has slipped through the net is that we had two nurses out on sick leave the week Tom here was born so we had to postpone the visits to some of that week’s babies rather than create an ongoing backlog. We are fitting in everybody now as best we can. So what day would suit? I’m afraid Wednesday is difficult for me because I have a meeting at two and, going on previous experience, it tends to run late.’

‘What about this day week?’ Colm asked with as much assurance as he could muster. He knew there was no point in trying to dodge the issue because that would alert more suspicion. He had no idea how he was going to persuade Leda to be present for the public health nurse’s visit, but one of the most basic tenets of his legal training was never to reveal that you were unsure of your next move, so he ploughed on as if he knew what he was doing.

‘Will we say Monday at two? Just let me check the address and get directions from you. Twenty-one, The Malt Store, Claddagh Road: is that correct?’

‘That’s us. Our building is in the grounds of the old distillery that runs along by Velvet Lane.’

‘Oh, I know – the place with the huge wrought-iron gates. I thought that would be strictly a child-free zone, way too exclusive for a buggy and a swing. Then again I’ve only seen it when I’m whizzing by on the bus. Shows you how wrong first impressions can be.’

‘I think Tom is the first baby all right, but nobody has reported us for night-time disturbance – yet anyway.’ Colm attempted a smile. He hoped it didn’t look as mangled as he felt inside.

He picked up Tom’s changing bag and coat, which he had put on a side table when he came in. ‘See you this day week so at two.’

‘Looking forward to it, and tell Leda we are not the secret police. We are here to help if we are needed.’

‘I’ll tell her that. She will be glad of the visit.’

Iris was not impressed. ‘How on earth do you think you are going to magic Leda out of thin air in time for this nurse’s visit? She hasn’t made contact in almost two months, you don’t even know if she is still in the country, Colm!’

‘What would you suggest I said? If I tell them the truth about Leda I could have social services and all sorts down my back. We’re not married so I don’t have as many rights as I should have. I bought myself as much time as I could so I could sort something out. God knows what though.’

‘That girl has a lot to answer for. Off she goes without a care in the world and no idea of the trail of trouble in her wake.’

‘Nothing except for the fact that she has abandoned her son and that must bother her.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Iris said waspishly.

Colm watched as his mother pushed Tom’s buggy in the direction of home. She would complete the journey in a brisk thirty minutes and her pace would never flag. She prided herself on her fitness and triumph over old age’s attempts to undo the benefits of a lifetime of healthy living. He was putting off getting into the car and driving back to work because he knew that concentrating on any case today was going to be an impossible task. Going home and spending the day with Tom was what he really wanted to do, but another day’s absence from Reilly &
Maitland was not going to solve anything. He would go to work and bury himself in some case and drink as much coffee as would see him through the day. He waited until his mother turned the corner on to Hayden Row and disappeared from view. He would find Leda and persuade her to come back and act motherly for an afternoon. She owed them both that.

L
ONDON AND
D
UBLIN
1999

Lunchtime trade at Georgia Baxter’s City Tearooms was busier than Ciara had imagined it would be and she was getting ever more irritated that the staff seemed intent on ignoring her table. Patience had never been her strong suit and her lunch companion was comforted to see nothing had changed.

‘Five more minutes, Leda. I swear to God, do they think we have all day?’

‘I’m not even hungry, Ciara. A cup of coffee would do me fine. We passed a coffee shop on the corner. Why don’t we go there?’

‘I could eat a small suckling pig, and a cup of coffee is not going to bridge the gap, I’m afraid. You look even more skinny than normal. Are you taking this slimming racket to extremes?’

‘No I’m not. It’s just that I got fairly tubby last summer, too many takeaways and too many dinners out. Had to sort myself out, that’s all.’

‘Was it that cute solicitor, the one you were telling me about in Spain, that had you out on these appetite-enhancing dates? Mind you, I thought you looked gorgeous. You had a bit of colour in your face for the first time in ages.’

‘No, it wasn’t Colm; it wasn’t his fault at all. I was just extra hungry, that’s all, but I’ve sorted it out now.’

The waiter had risked showing his face at Ciara’s table and had asked if they’d had time enough to decide on what they wanted to order.

‘I think we have had sufficient time to raise a free-range chicken for ourselves actually. We’ve been sitting here for half an hour,’ Ciara said sarcastically.

‘Apologies for that, it’s just that we are very busy today. What can I get you both?’

‘I’ll have the crab cakes, green salad and a glass of house white please and my little sister here will have exactly the same. With chips.’

Leda protested, but Ciara was having none of it. She had got such a fright from Leda’s appearance when she had met her at Gatwick that morning. She looked pale and drawn, so very unlike the sister who had come on a surprise visit to her Spanish hideout last summer. Mind you, six months could change a lot of things, as Ciara well knew. You could be forgiven for thinking that you have found the love of your life during the course of a long hot summer and then realize when the quiet season comes that your lover wants to shut up shop and head for his home town and no he doesn’t want you to come with him and no he isn’t interested in paying back the loan you gave him for the first month’s rental either. It had been a bruising experience but Ciara had to admit that she had yet again broken the first rule of Ciara Clancy’s guide to life and was now suffering the consequences. Rule number one: never trust a man under any circumstances. Ever.

The food arrived, but its delicious smells did nothing to tempt Leda. She stared at it as if it was some alien substance she had not seen before while she fingered the stem of her wine glass.

‘I take it there is something up at home, Leda. Something had to prompt you to visit at such
short notice. Who has the biggest grievance in the Clancy household at the moment?’

‘It’s not home. Sure you keep in more contact with them than I do, although Mam complains that you haven’t visited in ages.’

‘Going back as seldom as I can is the only way I know how to survive. Every time I go in that door in Leachlara I feel any spirit I have drain out of me. If I had stayed I would be just as miserable as Mam. I can do nothing about the life she has had but I can’t partake of it either, pretend it’s OK or normal, because I would crack up myself if I did that.’

‘You’re right about that, Ciara, and at this stage I don’t think Mam wants it to change. She is not happy but she is comfortable, and Dad is never going to change either. As long as he has the pubs of Leachlara within walking distance his life is complete. Anyway, I haven’t been home for months. I just ring so they don’t think I am missing or dead or something.’

Ciara had finished her own crab cakes and had now speared one of Leda’s with her fork and dragged it across the table in full sight of the disapproving waiter. ‘So are you going to tell me what has you looking like such a scrawny bird? No offence, but you look like shite.’