Claiming Noah (6 page)

‘You didn't tell them Tom's gay,' Liam said, just loud enough for Diana and her mother to hear.

‘You don't have to tell them anything, Mum,' Diana said. ‘But the baby
will
be ours, you shouldn't think of it like that. It just won't have our genes, that's all.'

Eleanor nodded and took Diana's hand. Her fingers were damp from the tears she had wiped away. ‘Okay, my darling, if this is what you want, then you have my support.'

‘It is.' Diana smiled at Liam, who returned her smile. ‘It's what we both want.'

Monday, 26 September 2011

I
t was only when Catriona was well into her second trimester that she decided to tell her colleagues about her pregnancy. The scarves and jumpers she had worn throughout winter to conceal her growing belly were no longer fulfilling their purpose, and the warmer days made her multiple-layered outfits seem ridiculous.

She told her boss first, booking a meeting with her at three o'clock with the description in the calendar simply as
Catch-up.
Her boss was a formidable woman who managed a marketing department of fifty people, was raising two children who seemed to undertake an alarming number of extra-curricular activities, and never seemed to miss a haircut or wear the same outfit twice. She was the type of mother Catriona hoped to be, but it seemed an unachievable feat. At five past three Terry bustled into the room, moving with the harried, deliberate movements of a person whose day is planned in five-minute increments. She undid the button on her suit jacket, checked the time on her watch, pulled out a chair and sat, waiting. Catriona took a seat opposite her boss, facing the window. Storm clouds had drawn across the sun, creating premature darkness, so the light was switched on in the meeting room despite the large window and the time of day. Catriona could see people on the street, four storeys down, scattering like ants as the first drops of rain began to fall.

As Catriona opened her mouth, trying to remember the speech she had rehearsed, Terry spoke. ‘You're going to tell me you're pregnant.'

Catriona froze, her mouth still open. ‘How did you know?'

‘It's not rocket science. You're dressing differently. You've stopped going to the gym at lunchtime. And you look a bit green around the gills in the mornings. I've had two myself; I know the signs. How are you feeling?'

Relief unclenched Catriona's hands. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. ‘I feel terrible. I don't know how women do this. It's like I'm not in control of my own body any more. James is being really good about it, but I know I'm a nightmare to live with at the moment. Every little thing sets me off. If I'm not yelling at him for something, then I'm crying.'

Terry smiled and laced her fingers together. The bracelet on her wrist jangled against the tabletop. ‘That's all part of it. I'm sure you're not as bad as you think you are. How far along are you?'

‘Nearly five months. I'm due at the end of January. I'd like to finish up in mid January if that's okay.'

‘That should be fine. We'll start advertising for your replacement. Have you told anyone around the office yet?'

‘Not yet. I wanted you to be the first.' Catriona paused, looking over Terry's shoulder to the window, which was now blurred with tracks from the rain. ‘To tell you the truth, I'm nervous about telling everyone. I've seen how pregnant women get treated. Like they're invalids, or sideshow freaks. I'm the same person I've always been.'

‘Except that you're not the same person you've always been.'

Catriona shifted her gaze to Terry's face, which was set in a knowing smile. ‘What do you mean?'

‘It's not about you any more; it's all about the baby. You need to surrender your body. Give in to your cravings. Rest whenever you're tired. Don't worry about the fact that the rest of your body is going to swell in sympathy with your belly. And try not to let strangers bother you. People tried to touch my stomach all the time when I was pregnant. Once a woman told me off for ordering a chicken sandwich; she gave me a lecture about listeria in the middle of the cafe.'

‘Did you tell her to mind her own business? I would have.'

Terry checked her watch and stood up, ready to go to her next meeting. ‘You get used to it. People are fascinated by pregnant women. Enjoy the attention.'

But Catriona didn't enjoy the attention. She didn't enjoy the stares on the street as she went for a walk at lunchtime, or the way her colleagues watched whether she chose a caffeinated or decaffeinated tea bag from the canisters in the kitchen. Worst of all was when people told her she was ‘glowing'. Catriona knew the
glow
was nothing more than perspiration brought about from the magnificent effort required to lug another human being around inside her body – and a demanding one at that, who wanted to be constantly nourished. It slept when she was awake, creating a bulge on whatever side of her body it was leaning against, and was awake when she was trying to fall asleep at night, elbows and knees rippling her skin like something out of a science-fiction movie.

It wasn't that Catriona wasn't thrilled to be pregnant. She just wished it was something she could share only with James, her family and her closest friends. As she rode the bus home one night, thinking about how strangers treat pregnant women like public property, she caught a man staring blatantly at her stomach. He hadn't offered her his seat but he obviously realised she was pregnant, because he wouldn't take his eyes off her mid section. Catriona stared straight at him, expecting to break him out of his reverie, but his gaze didn't move. Whatever the reason he was staring – Curiosity? A fetish for pregnant women? – it made her uncomfortable. Just as she was about to say something to him he reached out and touched her belly, first with the tips of his fingers and then with his whole palm. As Catriona gaped at him, stunned into muteness, he pressed the stop button on the handrail in front of him and picked up the plastic shopping bag he had secured between his ankles. It was only when the bus stopped that he withdrew his hand, stood up and climbed down the stairs to the footpath, all without once meeting her gaze.

‘You won't believe what this weirdo on the bus just did to me,' Catriona said to James as she struggled through the front door, having walked the short distance home from the bus stop. ‘Why is it that the normal rules of social decency fly right out the window once you're pregnant?'

She paused at the mirror by the front door. Her face looked puffy and her hair seemed thinner in parts. She had a breakout of pimples across her chin, presumably in response to the hormones surging through her body. That was in addition to her belly, which at seven months into her pregnancy had grown so large she kept knocking things off tables as she misjudged her girth.

‘Glowing, my arse,' she said. ‘There's nothing attractive about any of this.' She sighed and waddled towards the kitchen. ‘What's for dinner? I'm absolutely starving.'

James was waiting for her in the living room.

‘What?' Catriona asked, startled by the proud look on his face. ‘What have you done?'

He smiled, took her by the hand and led her upstairs. ‘I know you've been busy at work trying to get things finished before you go on maternity leave, and you haven't had time to think about preparing for the baby, so on my day off today I thought I'd knock some of the things off our list.'

They reached the door of what would soon be the baby's room and James stepped back to let Catriona open it. Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. He had bought everything: a cot, a change table, a pram. The receptacle under the change table was filled to the brim with nappies and baby wipes. The cot was assembled and had been made up with sheets and a blanket. James had even bought a plush yellow chair for the corner of the room for Catriona to sit in while she fed the baby. He couldn't have thought of a better way to cheer her up. She had tried a few times to go shopping for the baby, but every time she went she had been overwhelmed by the volume of products on offer and had left the store empty-handed.

She turned to James, overwhelmed with emotion. ‘You're amazing. I can't believe you did all this.'

He led her from piece to piece in the room, pointing out all the things she had missed. ‘Here's the baby monitor, so we won't miss the baby crying if we're watching television. And here's the baby capsule for the car; a guy's coming to fit it next week.' He opened the cupboard door and pointed to the filled shelves. ‘And I've bought linen and face washers and wraps – everything you need, apparently. Your mother came and helped me. And she's going to organise a baby shower for you in a few weeks, so you'll probably get a lot of clothes and toys for the baby then, but I bought a few things just so we have what we need.'

Catriona hugged James as tightly as she could with her enormous stomach in the way. ‘You've done so well, thank you. You have no idea how happy it's made me.'

As she looked around the nursery it occurred to Catriona that no matter how uncomfortable her pregnancy was, and how much she hated the attention from strangers, it was a small sacrifice for what they were getting in return.

•  •  •

The last two months of Catriona's pregnancy passed in a blur of appointments, shopping and other preparations for the baby until the day came, ten days after her due date, when her obstetrician decided to induce labour.

Catriona settled on to the bed in the antenatal ward of the hospital and smiled at James. After the build-up of IVF and two pregnancies, and two unsuccessful membrane sweeps by her obstetrician, it had felt like they were never going to make it to this day.

‘We're going to apply a gel to your cervix to ripen it,' the midwife told Catriona in a thick Scottish accent. ‘For many women that's enough to get the labour started and the rest can progress naturally.'

‘Fine by me,' Catriona said. ‘Whatever you need to do.'

James watched with interest as the midwife attached two monitors with belts to Catriona's stomach.

‘What are those?' he asked, craning his neck to see what she was doing.

The midwife tilted a screen towards them. ‘We monitor your baby to make sure it isn't distressed. Look,' she said after she pressed a few buttons. ‘That's your baby's heartbeat.'

Catriona and James watched the moving line on the screen with amazement.

‘And it's okay?' James asked.

‘It's absolutely fine at the moment, but we'll keep a close eye on it.'

The midwife prepared a syringe and asked Catriona to lie back and spread her knees so she could insert the gel. The gel was cold and the process uncomfortable, but it was over with quickly.

‘We need you to stay lying down for a while so the gel can be absorbed and do its job,' the midwife said after she had finished. ‘I'll keep monitoring your baby's heart rate to see how it's responding.'

Other than a couple of twinges Catriona didn't feel anything, so after a while the midwife left. ‘Give me a yell if you need anything,' she said as she headed out the door. ‘Otherwise the best thing you can do now is try to get some rest. It might be morning before anything starts happening.'

Catriona slept in short bursts. Each time she woke, she wondered if it was labour pains that had woken her. A couple of times she contemplated waking James, who was curled up in a chair next to her bed, but after waiting a few minutes she felt no indication that her labour had begun and tried to get back to sleep.

Eight hours later, in the early morning, the midwife told them after another examination that it was time to apply a second layer of gel. ‘Your cervix hasn't opened up yet, but another dose usually does the trick.'

After an hour Catriona was told she could get out of bed and walk around, as long as she came back to the ward every half-hour. She and James walked around the hospital grounds, enjoying the summer sunshine and air that didn't smell of disinfectant, and then went further down the street to pick up some breakfast at a nearby cafe.

‘You look like you're about to pop,' a man in the cafe said, eyeing her belly.

‘Not any time soon, apparently,' Catriona replied.

On the way back to the hospital she had a bite of James's croissant, but despite not having eaten all night she wasn't hungry.

Soon after they went back upstairs, they were moved to the birthing suite. The excitement Catriona had felt when they arrived at the hospital had disappeared. She was agitated and impatient, not wanting to be in pain but not wanting to wait any longer for her labour to start. To pass the time they watched an inane romantic comedy on the television in her room, and then a game show in which the host and the audience were so hyperactive it seemed as if happy gas had been pumped into the television studio. Their exhilaration made her feel even more glum.

Four hours after the second dose of gel, she started to experience sharp pains low in her belly.

‘It's happening,' she said, grabbing James's hand. ‘The contractions, they've started!'

James left the room to find the midwife and came back five minutes later with a woman Catriona hadn't seen before.

‘Where's the other midwife?' Catriona asked. ‘The Scottish woman?'

‘Mary's gone home for the day. I'll be looking after you now.' She read the chart at the end of Catriona's bed. ‘So, you've had your second dose of Prostin gel?' she asked.

‘Four hours ago.'

‘I know you're uncomfortable,' the midwife said after another examination. ‘But they're not contractions, I'm afraid. They're what we call Prostin pains. They're caused by the hormones in the gel. Why don't you try having a warm bath? A lot of women find that helps with the pain.'