From Here to Maternity (3 page)

Lucy realized that this was the first test of her marriage. Donal was restless and he wanted to do this trek. She could be selfish and tell him to sod off, or she could agree to go and try to enjoy it. After all, he had spent a week doing what she liked. She took a deep breath. ‘OK, but it’d better be a nice trek – no sleeping under the stars or anything.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

Four days later, Lucy was cycling through the jungle with three Australian tourists and Donal, feeling exceedingly grumpy. In the past few days she had endured having snakes wrapped round her neck, she had trekked for five hours through a jungle full of nasty creepy-crawlies, and now she was cycling uphill in the sweltering midday sun, having been savaged by mosquitoes in the hut they had slept in the night before. The three Aussie blokes were in their early twenties and mad keen to do everything. Donal, in a testosteronefuelled attempt to keep up with them, had turned into Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, and was outdoing himself. The day before, despite the fact that he was sunburnt and exhausted, he had insisted on staying up all night drinking with them and playing cards while Lucy lay awake under a torn mosquito net and watched herself being eaten alive. This was not her idea of a honeymoon.

When she finally reached the top of a particularly steep hill, Donal was waiting for her alone. ‘Hurry up, slowcoach, the others have gone on ahead. We’ve been waiting for you for at least twenty minutes. Come on, it’s all downhill from here.’ With that he turned his bicycle round and took off down the hill.

Lucy followed him and tried to keep up, but she was going too quickly and when she hit a large crater in the road her bicycle wheel buckled and she fell over the handlebars, landing with a thud. At first she thought she was dead, but when she got her breath back and managed to sit up, she realized that no permanent damage had been done and nothing was broken – although the cuts and grazes on her arms and legs were extremely painful. She could see a navy dot in the distance – Donal was miles ahead: he’d never hear her. She’d have to walk the rest of the way.

Half an hour later, she limped into the campsite. Donal was drinking beer with the Australians. He jumped up when he saw her. ‘There you are! I was wondering what was keeping you. Beer?’

‘Donal!’ Lucy snapped. ‘A word in private, please.’

‘Looks like you’re in trouble, mate,’ said one of the Australians, laughing. If Lucy had had the energy she’d have thumped him.

Donal came over to her. ‘Where’s your bike?’

‘My fucking bike is in a paddy-field where I threw it after it threw me over the handlebars. The blood running down my legs and arms is the result of that fall and if you do not get me out of this hell-hole and into a ten-star hotel by nightfall we’ll be annulling the shortest marriage in history.’

‘Thank God for that. I’m too old to be Tarzan. Come here to me, beautiful,’ said Donal, lifted her up and carried her back to the hut to clean her grazes and pack their bags.

Chapter 3

I read through my checklist one more time: bottles and teats (I had an array of sizes because I didn’t have a clue which would be right for Yuri as he was small for his age), blankets, vests, Babygros, socks, pyjamas, warm jacket, hats, gloves, a range of outfits in powder blue, navy and red; stripy outfits, denim dungarees, white snowsuit, hundreds of nappies, a small changing mat, baby wipes, powdered formula milk, baby shampoo, soap, lotion, powder, baby toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, thermometer, baby Tylenol, Calpol, small plastic cups, bowls, spoons and bibs, not to mention a suitcase full of toys and a travel cot. This obviously did not include any of my or James’s things, which were in a pile in the corner.

James came into the room – which I had painted in an attempt to turn it into a nursery – and surveyed the mess surrounding me on the floor. ‘We can’t take it all, Emma.’

‘We have to,’ I said firmly. ‘Alexander said we needed to be prepared for all eventualities.’

Alexander ran an agency called Help Is At Hand based in Georgia, in America. When the Irish Health Board finally approved us to adopt, I had gone looking for an agency to match us up with a Russian child and Help Is At Hand appeared to be the most highly regarded. Alexander had matched us with Yuri and given me all the information for our trips to Russia.

James picked up my Jimmy Choos – my beloved only pair. ‘I really don’t think you’re going to need these.’

‘I want to look my best when we go to court.’

‘It’s winter in Russia too. You do realize that they’re also in the northern hemisphere? Snowboots would probably be more appropriate. I think the judge will be rather alarmed to see Yuri’s mother in strappy sandals in the snow. It could work against us.’

‘The judge will appreciate my efforts to look nice in his courtroom. Besides, I looked up the weather in Novorossiysk and, because it’s two thousand miles south of Moscow, it’s actually quite mild at the moment. Now I’m packing your good suit and shoes too. I want us
both
to look our best for the judge. I’m going to wear this,’ I said, holding up a cream wrap dress.

‘Emma, you’ll catch pneumonia and what good will you be then?’

‘Alexander said that the Russians consider the woman as the primary care-giver so most of the court’s attention will be on me. I have to look nice. Besides, women are used to freezing for fashion.’

We were both nervous about the trip but neither of us wanted to admit it so we spent the next two hours focusing on trying to squeeze five suitcase-loads of baggage into two. Things came to a head when I jumped on the case to help James close it.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he roared, ‘what are you doing?’ He held up a throbbing index finger.

‘I’m trying to help, you grumpy old fart.’

‘Maiming me is not helping. I asked you to lean on the case, not leap on it.’

‘Well, it’s closed, isn’t it?’

‘With half my finger in the lock.’

‘Oh, stop being so dramatic.’

James began to breathe deeply via his nostrils – it was a really annoying habit he had when he was angry. He sounded like a rhinoceros. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you left the packing to me,’ he growled.

‘No, I want to help.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘Well, tough, because I’m going to.’

‘Emma, just let me do it alone. You’re not helping.’

‘Not helping?’ I wailed – I was the hyena to his rhino. ‘After everything I’ve done! Who found Alexander? Who sprinted round Dublin getting all our documents together for the adoption? Who went out and bought all the things Yuri will need when we pick him up? Who bloody well started this whole adoption thing in the first place? I think, James, you’ll find it was me.’

James sighed. ‘OK, darling, you’re right, it was you, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t helpful. Now, calm down. You shouldn’t be getting yourself into a state. It’s bad for the baby.’

‘And that’s another thing,’ I said, crying now. ‘I’m worried that Yuri will feel left out when the baby comes. What if he feels like an outsider because he’s adopted and the baby isn’t?’

‘He’s ten months old. He won’t know he’s an outsider.’

‘But later on when we tell him he’s adopted? What if he feels it then and runs back to Russia when he’s eighteen to find his real mother?’

‘Are we going to worry about this for the next seventeen years?’

‘Probably.’

‘By the time he’s eighteen Yuri’ll be more interested in getting laid than finding his biological parents – so will you please not get yourself into a state about it now?’

‘Do you think he’s going to be a heartbreaker?’

‘A total stud, just like his father.’

‘James?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’ll be OK, won’t it? We’ll make it work out with Yuri and the baby, won’t we?’

‘Of course we will, darling. Now, come on, I’m putting you to bed. You need to get a good night’s sleep before the flight tomorrow.’

‘James?’ I said, as he tucked me into bed. ‘Do you think Yuri will remember us? A month is a long time in a baby’s life.’

‘I don’t know about me, but there’s no way he could forget the first foxy redhead he ever saw,’ he said, ruffling my hair.

The next day, Mum and Dad came to drive us to the airport. I felt sick – I don’t know if it was morning sickness, pre-adoption sickness or just plain nerves, but I hadn’t slept a wink and couldn’t face breakfast. I was a wreck.

‘You look wonderful, James. Emma, on the other hand, is very peaky,’ said Mum, turning around in her seat to examine me.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Very peaky – isn’t she, Dan?’

Dad glanced at me in the rear-view mirror and winked. ‘She looks all right to me. It’s not as if she was ever sallow,’ he said, chuckling.

‘She doesn’t look well, James. I’m not sure about this long flight to Russia,’ continued Mum, acting as if I were deaf or had been abducted by aliens and was no longer sitting in the car.

‘It’s all right, Mrs B, I’ll look after her.’

‘Oh, I know you will, James. Sure aren’t you marvellous? You’ve the patience of a saint.’

I counted to ten and bit my tongue.

‘She needs to calm down, though. She can’t be gallivanting about the place in her delicate state.’

‘I’m not gallivanting around the place. I’m going to Russia to adopt my child – and will you please stop referring to me in the third person?’ I said.

‘What did I tell you? She’s totally stressed out,’ said Mum. ‘Pale, tired and worried. It’s no good at all.’

Before I could explode, Dad defused the situation by asking James about the Leinster team and who he was going to pick for the first game of the season. The rest of the car journey was spent with the two men talking rugby, me fuming and Mum tut-tutting to herself.

When we got to the airport we all hugged, and as I was saying goodbye to Mum, she slipped a little bottle of holy water into my hand. ‘To bless our little grandson and to bring you all luck.’

I cried into her shoulder, too overcome with everything to speak, while she patted me on the back and James and Dad shuffled about uncomfortably behind us.

What seemed like an eternity later, we landed in Shere-metyevo-2 – Moscow airport to you and me – and were met by the driver we had had the last time. His English was no better than our meagre few words of Russian so a heated political debate was not on the cards. We drove in silence to the domestic airport an hour away. There, we boarded the same decrepit plane we had been on four weeks earlier and spent the next two and a half hours flying to Gelendzhik, near Novorossiysk. Olga, our translator, was waiting for us. It was only when I saw her that I really felt the knot in my stomach begin to unwind. We were here, nearly with Yuri, and Olga was smiling and reassuring us that everything was OK and Yuri was well and the court date was still set for two days’ time. Considering that Olga hadn’t cracked a smile throughout the whole of our last visit, I felt this was a good omen.

We drove through the trading port of Novorossiysk to the three-star Hotel Novorossiysk. On our last visit we had stayed with a lovely Russian family – the Vlavoskis – in their apartment, but it was a single bed, and while doing the spoons in single beds looks romantic in the movies, in the real world it had meant that I slept with my nose pressed up against the wall and James’s backside was hanging out the other side all night. Besides, this time we’d have Yuri with us on the last night, so the hotel seemed a better idea.

Despite being absolutely exhausted, we were desperate to see Yuri so we dropped off our bags and went straight to the children’s home. We sat in the draughty reception area waiting for the director to fetch our baby. I gripped James’s hand and tried to suppress the sob that was rising in my throat.

The door opened and our beautiful little boy was placed in my arms. His big brown eyes, enormous in his pale little face, looked up at me and blinked. I had to hand him to James because the tears streaming down my face were threatening to drown Yuri. I was just so relieved to see him, and to know that he was still ours. The first time we’d met him he’d been crawling across the floor in a blue romper suit, concentrating on getting to the other side without being trampled by the other children. We had fallen in love with him there and then, so the last four weeks without him had been torturous.

I watched as James gently rocked him back and forth beaming at him and, as Yuri’s hand reached up to grab James’s finger, I saw my husband’s chin quiver. He was as overcome as I. The only time I had ever seen James cry was when he first held Yuri, and now he looked like he was about to do it again.

After we’d spent an hour cuddling and playing with Yuri, the director said it was our son’s bedtime. Very reluctantly we said goodnight to him, smothered him with kisses, then went back to the hotel, where we slept properly for the first time since we’d left Russia previously. We were so relieved that he was OK and that everything was still on track.

We woke up early the next day and went straight back to the orphanage to see our son. We spent the day with him and were ridiculously excited at every little movement he made and his reaction to the toys we had brought him. Needless to say, we had treats for all the children, but had kept the best ones for our boy.

When he swayed to some classical music we cheered and whooped. When he didn’t finish his lunch, we worried about his appetite. He was quiet with us at first, but after a day with two adults beaming at him, clapping every time he moved and kissing him at any opportunity, he seemed to relax and, once or twice, he even smiled. Not a big broad smile, a quiet, sad sort of smile, but it was enough for us. We talked of nothing except Yuri on our way back to the hotel for the last night we’d ever spend without him.

*

The next morning I was up, dressed and ready for court at seven. We weren’t due for another four hours, but I was too nervous to sleep. This was the final hurdle in our four-year journey to become parents, and I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to hear the judge say, ‘Emma and James, congratulations, you are now the proud parents of a little boy.’ I was worried about the questions the judge would ask me, so I woke James by opening the curtains and asked him to run through the list that Alexander had sent.