From Here to Maternity (14 page)

‘I thought you were staying home from work to look after and entertain me.’

‘Which is exactly what I have been doing, and while it’s been a real blast and I hate to tear myself away from your wonderful company, I really need to spend an hour or two working.’

‘Well, will you at least get me some socks? My feet are frozen. A cup of tea and some of those chocolate biscuits would be nice too. And put the DVD into the machine for me, will you?’

Lucy bit her tongue and fetched him all of the above. ‘Are you all right now? Got everything you need?’ she asked, handing him the tea and a plate of biscuits.

‘No, not those, I prefer the ones with the chocolate chunks in them. Did you not get any?’

‘Donal, chocolate digestives are your favourite.’

‘Not any more.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since I decided to drive you mad. Now, come here and sit down,’ he said, grinning at her as he patted the couch. ‘That old proposal can wait. You need to put your feet up after your long day playing nursemaid.’

Lucy flopped down beside him. ‘Thank God for that. I was about to ram the digestives up your nose.’

‘I do have one final request.’

‘Oh, God, what now?’

‘Any chance you could wear a little nurse’s uniform tomorrow? It’s a fantasy of mine.’

‘You’re obviously feeling better,’ she grinned, ‘but the answer is no. As of this moment I’m resigning from my role as carer. You’re on your own.’

That Saturday afternoon when Lucy came in from grocery shopping, she found Donal shouting at the television from his semi-permanent position on the couch. He was hurling abuse at the rugby commentators who were analysing the Munster versus Bath game at half-time.

‘That useless fecker Tierney hasn’t a clue what he’s on about. He keeps getting the players’ names wrong and he just said that Andrews transferred to Bath from Harlequins, when even the dog on the street knows he used to play for London-Irish.’

A lightbulb went on in Lucy’s head. From her office the following Monday morning, she called the producer of the Saturday sports show on RTÉ. Pretending she was Donal’s agent, she brokered a deal for him to be on the regular Saturday rugby panel, commentating on the Cup matches. The producer had met Donal a few times and thought he’d make a colourful addition to the team. Lucy used her finely tuned negotiating skills to land him a very good package. When she hung up, Donal had a new job that she knew he’d like. Delighted, she called him.

‘Hello.’ He yawned into the phone.

‘What are you up to?’

‘Let’s see now… So far today I’ve got out of bed and shuffled to the couch where I’ve been watching some hound of a woman being made over by a team of experts and the end result is nearly worse. They’re all telling her she’s gorgeous but she still looks a fright to me.’

‘I’ve got some good news for you.’

‘Go on.’

‘RTÉ wants you to be on their rugby panel for the whole season.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They want you to commentate on the games. The producer thinks you’d be great. You’re young, you know most of the players and you certainly know your rugby. He’s mad keen for you to come on board. His name is Colin Dylan and he’ll be calling you later to confirm the details. They want you to start this Saturday.’

‘And this fella just happened to call you out of the blue to offer me a job? Would it not have been easier for him to call me directly? My number’s in the directory.’

‘Well, I kind of approached him. I said that now you were injured you were looking to get involved in commentating. He jumped at the chance to hire you.’

‘I don’t need my wife ringing around begging people to hire me, Lucy. I do have some pride left.’

‘I didn’t say I was your wife, you dope. I pretended I was your agent and I’ve negotiated a very good deal for you, so stop being so bloody macho and be grateful.’

‘I’d rather get my own jobs.’

‘Fine, well, then, call him and tell him you don’t want it because you’re too busy sitting on the couch watching day-time TV and feeling sorry for yourself,’ barked Lucy, and hung up.

Her phone rang. ‘I’d like to speak to Donal Brady’s agent.’

‘She’s resigned because her client is an unappreciative arsehole.’

‘Any chance you could remind me of her name? As well as being a prize arsehole I’ve also got a bad memory and I can’t remember it. I’ve to talk to some guy in RTÉ about a job and I don’t know what made-up name she used.’

‘Caroline Plum.’

‘Like the fruit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any chance Ms Plum would consider forgiving her client for being an ungrateful oaf and represent me again in the near future? I’d make it worth her while.’

‘Oh, yeah, how?’

‘By offering her the best sex of her life.’

‘Rumour has it you’re laid up in bed and can barely make yourself a cup of tea, never mind thrash about having sex.’

‘I always rise to the occasion. In fact, I’m rising to it now just thinking about it. Any chance you could nip home at lunchtime?’

‘I’ll consider it.’

‘Lucy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thanks.’

Donal went on the panel that Saturday wearing a smart new shirt that Lucy had bought him, his arm in a sling. The other two men were in their fifties. One was a former Irish international player, Pat Tierney, who had the memory of a goldfish and constantly got everyone’s names wrong. He spent the afternoon calling Donal David. The other man, Gerry O’Reilly, was a freelance sports journalist and never had anything positive to say about anything. They were commentating on Leinster’s second game against Harlequins. Donal was nervous for his team mates: Harlequins were a good side and Leinster needed to win this game.

‘So, David, who do you think will win?’ asked Pat.

‘It’s Donal. Leinster have a great chance. James Hamilton has proven himself to be a world-class coach and he’s continuing with the same winning tactics he used last year – aggressive play upfront and some new set-plays for the back line.’

‘Hamilton is the most overrated coach in the competition,’ sneered Gerry. ‘One Cup win can be as much fluke as talent.’

‘Well, Gerry, having played on the team last year, I can tell you it was no fluke. James’s influence on the team and the way we played was enormous. He’s a master tactician and the analysis he does on every opponent is phenomenal. I’ve never worked with a coach I respected so much.’

‘Well, obviously you’re going to say that – you were the captain until a few weeks ago. Unlike you, I’m coming from an unbiased angle.’

‘I’m not being biased, I’m being honest. I played for him and I think I know how good he is.’

Before they could get into a real argument, the match kicked off. Forty minutes later, at half-time, the programme returned to the studio for the panel’s opinions. Leinster were down, 10–5.

‘They weren’t great in that half, were they, David? You’d have to say they don’t look like champions today,’ said Pat.

‘It’s Donal – and I think it’s a bit early to be writing them off. They had a slow start, but they’ll come out guns blazing after the half-time talk. James’ll change the tactics to give Leinster the advantage. Just wait and see. I’m not a bit worried about the outcome. They’ll win this game.’

‘I admire your optimism, but it’s totally misplaced,’ said Gerry. ‘Leinster haven’t got what it takes. The out-half is having a terrible game. He’s missed two easy penalties and his place-kicking is a joke. He should never have been picked.’

‘Ray Phelan is considered to be the best out-half in Europe,’ said Donal.

‘By whom?’

‘By anyone who knows anything about rugby.’

‘I’ve been writing about rugby for thirty years and I can tell you he’s overrated.’

‘Well, I’ve been playing with him for six years and I can tell you he’s the best I’ve seen. No one plays at the top of their game for eighty minutes of every match. He’ll come out in the second half and kick everything over.’

‘The guy should have been dropped months ago. He’s useless.’

‘Have you ever played rugby?’ Donal asked Gerry.

‘No.’

‘Well, maybe if you had you wouldn’t be so judgemental and negative about it.’

‘It’s my job to be judgemental, and I’m sick of players like you thinking they can become expert commentators overnight. The whole premise of being on a panel is to be non-partisan. You’re supposed to be able to analyse a match without bias.’

‘It’s a lot easier to slate players than to give them credit. I don’t think Ray should be dropped just because he’s had an average first half in this game – it’s the first time he hasn’t played out of his skin in ten months. I’ve never heard such horseshit in my life.’

‘Language, David,’ warned Pat.

‘It’s Donal,’ snapped Donal. ‘My name is Donal and the scrum-half for Harlequins used to play for Edinburgh, not Bath.’

The second half kicked off before Donal could list all the other mistakes Pat had made. As he had predicted, Leinster came out firing and won the match comfortably 25–13. Ray Phelan kicked over four penalties and a conversion. Donal was standing on his chair cheering out of the window, ‘Well done, lads,’ when the cameras switched back to the panel. He climbed down and, grinning at Gerry, said, ‘Well, do you still think Ray should be dropped?’

‘Yeah, I do, actually. So he kicked a few balls over. Big deal, he missed a few in the first half.’

‘I think you’ll find that kicking a penalty from the corner of the pitch in a gale-force wind is actually a big deal, Gerry. Leinster had an incredible second half. They looked like champions to me.’

‘I wouldn’t get ahead of myself, if I was you,’ said Gerry. ‘It’s early days and they had a bad first half.’

‘So you’ve nothing positive to say about Leinster’s win?’

Gerry shrugged. ‘They did all right, but it’s nothing to get excited about.’

‘Well, I am excited. I’m very bloody excited after that performance. I refuse to let you dampen my enthusiasm. It’s a great win and I think Leinster are going all the way. Up Leinster,’ roared Donal, into the camera.

The phone lines were jammed with people calling in to say how refreshing it was to see a panellist who was genuinely enthusiastic and positive. Donal was a hit – although there was one complaint about his language.

Chapter 16

Although I missed Yuri, I soon began to enjoy being back at work. It felt great to be doing something I was good at again, and to feel useful and confident. I was so unsure of myself all the time as a mother that it was a constant struggle not to feel like a failure. Every time Yuri threw up something I’d fed him, or didn’t sleep, or cried for no apparent reason, I blamed myself. Mum seemed happy enough minding him and raking in the cash, and Yuri thrived in her care. Sometimes I even felt a bit jealous – I knew it was ridiculous, but she seemed better with him than I was, and because I lacked self-belief in the mother department I was a bit touchy about it.

One day I went to pick Yuri up as usual at half past three but there was no one there. Mum’s car was gone. I let myself in and found a note on the kitchen table saying they had popped out for a while but would be back by four. I made myself a cup of tea and waited. At ten past Mum came bouncing into the kitchen with a very happy-looking Yuri in her arms.

‘Hi. Where have you been?’ I asked.

‘Well, we’ve just had the best day. I took Yuri to the zoo, didn’t I, Yuri? Yes, I did. He just loved it. When he saw all the animals, his face lit up. We may have a zoologist on our hands. He was in his element, but the highlight was definitely the big grey elephant. Yuri was laughing and waving at him. Sure he carries that raggedy old toy one everywhere, so I wasn’t surprised when it turned out to be his favourite animal.’

I realize that it was completely irrational, but the fact that she had taken him to the zoo and he had loved it bothered me. Why hadn’t I thought of doing that? And, worst of all, I hated hearing that he had loved the elephant most. I wanted to burn that stupid toy. ‘Sounds like fun,’ I said unenthusiastically. I held out my arms to take Yuri, but he snuggled into Mum’s neck.

‘He’s a bit tired after the exciting day we’ve had. He was the best boy. You should have seen him, Emma, he was so excited to see the live animals. People kept coming up to me and saying how sweet he was.’

‘Did he eat all his food?’ I asked.

‘No, he didn’t like that old vegetable mush you gave me at all. He kept spitting it out, so I fed him brown bread and jam and he gobbled it down.’

My forehead began to throb. I felt as if a vein was about to pop. I knew I was being silly but I had spent ages preparing Yuri’s lunches for the week. Every book I read kept crashing on about making your own food, so I had put aside the supermarket organic jars I had been feeding him, and set about cooking him the healthiest meals I could. I felt guilty about going back to work and I thought that preparing him nutritious food would make up for the time I spent away from him.

Annabel Karmel was hailed as the children’s food guru, so I had logged on to her website and cooked her well-balanced, super-healthy vegetable purée with tomato and cheese. It had taken me ages to peel all the carrots and I had been very proud of the result. To be told he had hated it, in my current state of paranoia, felt like a personal insult of the most grievous kind. ‘You should have made him eat it. It’s very nutritious. I’m trying to build up his immune system.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! If a child spits out food, no amount of persuading will get them to eat it. Brown bread is just as good for him.’

‘There’s too much sugar in jam.’

‘A tiny bit won’t do him any harm. Lord, Emma, you’re very uptight today.’

I chose to ignore this comment as my uptightness increased by the second. ‘What time did you feed him?’

‘I’d say about half two.’

‘Mum! I asked you to feed him at one. I’m trying to get him into a routine. Now he’ll be out of synch again.’

‘I don’t know what it is about you modern women, always trying to get your babies into these rigid routines. When a child is hungry, you feed it regardless of what time it is. You’re all so busy trying to get back to work and do all the things you did before you had children that you don’t take the time to get to know them.’