From Here to Maternity (5 page)

We had been so focused on the adoption that we hadn’t thought about afterwards. Granted, we had bought a buggy, a changing mat and a cot, and I had painted the room a yellow that had looked nice and soothing in the tin but was a lot brighter on the walls. The fact that it was streaky and looked like a bad DIY job didn’t help. I hoped Yuri wasn’t averse to yellow. What if he grew up, hated Ireland and buggered off back to Russia as soon as he could? Would he feel left out now that we were going to have a baby of our own? I looked over at him sleeping in James’s arms. His little eyebrows were knitted, as if he was concentrating very hard on something. He was such a serious little fellow… My heart melted. I would bring laughter to his life. I would make my beautiful son beam with joy. I’d sing and dance and stimulate him in every way I could, so that he never even thought about the miserable old orphanage. James was right: Yuri just needed time to adjust.

When we landed, James collected our luggage and I changed Yuri’s nappy, then dressed him in little navy dungarees with a white and blue checked shirt. He looked adorable. Mum and Dad were waiting anxiously for us when we came out of Arrivals. They bounded over to us, and when they saw their beautiful new grandson, they both welled up. Dad began coughing and pretended he was sneezing into his handkerchief as he wiped his eyes. Mum held Yuri and, with tears rolling down her face, she cooed and rubbed his back. He stared at her and gave her one of his half-smiles. Dad took his grandson’s little hand and kissed it – I had to turn away because I was sobbing.

As we drove home, Mum pointed out landmarks to Yuri, who was fast asleep in my arms, worn out after the long flight. When we arrived into the house, the fridge was full of organic baby food, and two baby books lay on the kitchen table.

‘Oh, Mum, you’re a star,’ I said.

‘Well, you can thank Jess, really. She told me what to buy and she insisted on lending you those books. She said this one in particular is the Bible for modern mothers,’ said Mum, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m not sure about all these books with their rules and regulations, but if it lives up to its name I suppose it’s worth a read.’

I glanced at it –
The New Contented Little Baby Book.
Good old Jess. I’d read it as soon as I had the energy to open it.

‘You look worn out, pet,’ said Mum. ‘Why don’t you both go for a lie-down? We’ll mind the little fellow for a few hours. You need your rest.’

She didn’t have to ask twice. At that moment I loved my mother more than ever before – I was dying for sleep. James and I almost sprinted up the stairs.

Chapter 5

While we were in Russia, Babs had gone to London to meet her new employers and move her things into Sean’s apartment. She wasn’t starting until January, but the company had asked her to come over just before Christmas to see the set-up and sign her contract. She was staying with Sean and Shadee while she found her feet. Sean lived in a gorgeous two-bedroom apartment in Putney, overlooking the Thames. He had moved to London fourteen years earlier, after graduating from university, to work as a lawyer at Brown and Hodder. Then, four years ago, aged thirty, he announced that he had been made a junior partner and would now have to work twenty hours a day instead of the usual eighteen.

Like me, Sean was ginger – but more of the carrot-and-big-orange-freckles variety – and historically hadn’t been lucky in love: he tended to get trodden on. He had a terrible habit of falling in love with beautiful, over-confident women and inevitably got shafted when they found someone else. That is, until he met Shadee, who was a sweet, very pretty maths teacher, who adored him. I was thrilled that he had finally found someone who made him so happy, and although Mum and Dad had been alarmed at first to discover that she was of Iranian origin, they had accepted it now – well, Dad had. Mum was still a work in progress.

Thankfully, Mum had now read more about the culture and history of Iran and stopped basing her views of the Iranian people on the movie
Not Without My Daughter.
In the film, Sally Field is locked up by her Iranian husband and forbidden to go back to America with their little daughter. It is, to say the least, a very unflattering portrayal of Iran. Also, Shadee had come to visit us in Dublin and had been utterly charming. Sean was still working on persuading Shadee’s parents – who were not happy that she was engaged to an Irishman – that he did not have a drink problem and was not, nor ever had been, a member of the IRA.

Babs was still only twenty-four and had spent a year after college swanning about, trying to persuade Dad to pay for a nose job. Eventually, out of sheer boredom, she had tagged along with me to work to see what makeup artists did and whether it was an easy way to earn some cash before she became the Hollywood star she knew she was destined to be. Babs had never suffered from lack of confidence, even with the big nose.

My main job was doing the makeup for Amanda Nolan, the presenter of
Afternoon with Amanda,
Ireland’s version of
Oprah
without the famous guests. Amanda was a very glamorous forty-plus – no one knew exactly how old she was – who had never got married and had no children. She thought kids were the scourge of society and claimed that all her friends had changed from interesting, energetic career-women into guilt-ridden, sleep-deprived messes, who got nothing but abuse from the children they so adored and for whom they had sacrificed so much. As far as Amanda was concerned, motherhood was the most thankless job a woman could have, so why bother? She had plenty of affairs and was always dating high-flying businessmen, but never settled down – she was far too used to her independence.

Within an hour of meeting Amanda, the unstoppable Babs had managed to persuade her to run a piece in her show about plastic surgery and to use her as the guinea pig. Babs was happy to have a nose job live on air, if the show paid for it. The producers loved the idea and Babs got her long wished for new nose free of charge. Meanwhile my mother, horrified by the idea of Babs shaming the family on national television, had tried to contact MI5 and the FBI to ask about entering the witness protection programme. It was Babs’s exposure on Amanda’s show that had landed her the job on the Buy For Less shopping channel.

My mother ended up staying in Ireland, although she did go around wearing dark glasses and a headscarf for a while.

‘What do you think?’ asked Babs, twirling around in a black micro-mini dress and knee-high black patent boots.

Sean rolled his eyes. ‘It’s obscene to have that much flesh on show at seven in the morning. Go and put some clothes on. It’s a shopping channel, not porn.’

‘Piss-off, you bore. Shadee, what do you think?’

Shadee, who clearly didn’t want to get drawn into a family argument, was diplomatic: ‘You look lovely, but it might be a little too glamorous for a breakfast meeting.’

Babs snorted. ‘No offence, but what would a maths teacher know about fashion?’

‘If you’re going to shoot down our opinions, why bother asking?’ snapped Sean. Babs could be a real handful – and seemed to be getting worse with age.

‘Would you like something to eat?’ asked Shadee.

‘No, I don’t do breakfast. I’ll grab a coffee on the way. Speaking of which, can you lend me some money?’

Sean glared at her. ‘What about the money Dad told me he gave you?’

‘Duh, you’re looking at it,’ said Babs, pointing to the dress. ‘And please spare me the lecture on wasting money. Just lend me forty quid. I’ll give it back as soon as I get paid.’

Sean sighed. He didn’t want to fight with Babs on her first morning in the apartment. He’d tackle her later about her spending habits. ‘Here,’ he said, handing her some cash. ‘Call me later to let me know how you get on. Remember what I said. Do not, under any circumstances, sign the contract until I’ve read it. I did a background check on the company and they don’t seem very stable.’

‘OK, Granddad. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Wear a coat – you’ll catch cold.’

Babs hopped on to the tube. The studio was seventeen stops away. Bloody hell! She’d have to find somewhere a bit closer to live or she’d spend her whole time commuting. Still, it would be handy to live rent-free for a month or two, and Sean’s place was nice, although he had turned into an old fart. Almost an hour later she arrived at Tower Bridge and within five minutes was strutting through the studio doors. ‘Hi, I’m Barbara Burke,’ she announced to the receptionist, as if she was Cameron Diaz herself. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Billy Garner at nine.’

‘Take a seat,’ said the receptionist, not remotely impressed.

Babs sat down and looked around her. It wasn’t exactly cutting edge. The reception was a bit shabby – it needed a good lick of paint and some new furniture. Still, they were a relatively new station so they were probably putting all their money into production costs. Babs had only watched the BFL station once and that was the day before when she had arrived at Sean’s apartment – she couldn’t get it on the TV at home in Dublin. In the few minutes she had watched, two young girls had been modelling necklaces. They were quite attractive – but not a patch on her – and they weren’t selling the products as she would be: they were just standing there, smiling inanely into the camera. Billy had said Babs would be talking, modelling and selling.

Ten minutes later, a harassed-looking woman came down to fetch her. She introduced herself as Suzie, Billy’s assistant, and showed her upstairs to the boardroom where Billy was waiting. He was in his mid-forties, about five eleven, thick black hair and very fit. But it was his eyes that struck Babs: they were deep blue and slightly slanted, which gave the impression that he was constantly amused. They bored into Babs as she sashayed into the room, brimming with the confidence of youth.

‘Hello, Billy, I’m Barbara Burke. Everyone calls me Babs.’

‘Hi, Babs, grab a seat,’ said Billy, taking in the short skirt and boots.

‘It’s great to be here. I’ve always wanted to work in television. It’s been my dream since –’

‘All right, Babs, love, no need to lay it on so thick. You’ve got the job. I just wanted to meet you in person and get the contract sorted. I was impressed with you on that Irish show – feisty. We like feisty birds here at BFL.’

‘What are the terms of the contract?’ asked Babs, trying to sound as if she had done this before.

Billy laughed. ‘The terms are – you work when I tell you to and for as long as it takes. This is not a nine-to-five job so you’ll be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If you’re sick, late, bolshie, rude or unhelpful, you’ll be fired.’

‘What’s my job description?’

‘You’ll make tea when we ask you to, wear and sell what we tell you to, and if after three months you’re still here, we might consider renewing your contract.’

‘How much do I get paid?’ asked Babs, deciding to be equally direct.

‘Fuck-all,’ said Billy, roaring laughing. ‘We’ll pay you two hundred quid a week and then, if you’re a very good girl, we might throw in some free products.’

‘But that’s only eight hundred a month.’ said Babs, unable to hide her shock. There was no way she’d survive on that.

‘Take it or leave it, darling. I have younger, fitter girls than you begging me for jobs. Now, are you in or out? I’ve got a meeting to go to. Sign here.’

Babs was going to tell him that her brother wanted to look over the contract first, but she knew that Billy would probably kick her out. She hadn’t expected him to be so blunt – or good-looking, for that matter. It was a pretty crappy job, but everyone needed to start somewhere and she’d use it as a stepping-stone to getting a proper presenting job on MTV or Channel 4. The competition in London was fierce: she needed to get her foot in the door and some experience behind her. She’d have to live with Sean for a little longer than she had expected.

Billy pushed the contract in front of her and Babs signed.

‘All right, Babs, see you in January – and wear something that covers your arse next time. A lot of old people watch our channel and we don’t want to give them coronaries. It wouldn’t be good for business. Can’t buy anything if you’re dead, eh? Nice legs, though,’ he said, winking at her as he strode off down the corridor.

Later that morning Sean rang Babs.

‘So how did it go?’

‘Fine,’ she told him.

‘Do you have the contract?’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s no big deal. It was very straightforward so I signed it.’

‘
You what?
’

‘Keep your hair on. It’s only for three months.’

‘I specifically told you not to sign anything. These guys could be total bandits. What are the terms?’

‘I dunno, just the usual – work hard and get paid weekly.’

‘How much?’

‘Um,’ said Babs, wondering if she should lie, but deciding not to as she needed to stay in Sean’s apartment. ‘Well, it’s a bit scabby – two hundred a week.’

‘You idiot,’ said Sean. ‘That’s daylight bloody robbery. It probably won’t even add up to the minimum wage. Why don’t you listen? Did they cut your brain off along with your nose?’

‘Oh, relax, will you? It’s just for a few months. I’m not planning on staying long at some stupid channel selling earrings. It’ll be fine.’

‘And how are you planning to pay rent and live in London on that enormous salary?’

‘Well, it looks like I’ll just have to stay with you guys for a bit longer.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ Sean groaned.

Chapter 6

Yuri didn’t appear to like his yellow room. Every time we tried to put him down in his cot, he screamed blue murder, so we moved it into our room and he seemed much happier. We had tried several times to give him a bath, but this had caused utter pandemonium. He wriggled, squirmed, kicked his legs and freaked when we put him into the water, so we had to take him out and soothe him. It had now been a week and the only wash he had had was with a wet sponge that I rubbed over him in five seconds flat each morning. We were due to visit the paediatrician in two days’ time and I was ashamed to be bringing an unwashed child to see her. I was beginning to feel like a failure. Yuri seemed pretty miserable and I was worried that I was doing everything wrong.