Legacy (10 page)

Chapter Twenty One

With the family rapidly growing, Gabrielle and Max contacted Max's brother in Edinburgh again, he had finished his studies so should be more flexible with his time. They sent him an open invite to come and meet his nieces and of course his sister-in-law. Unfortunately Femi was unavailable; he was working round the clock shifts and would find it difficult to get enough leave for a trip away. Gabrielle was fuming a two hour boat trip and even a night's stay wouldn't take much out of his busy schedule but she kept her thoughts to herself fearful of offending her husband.

Anyway they had little time to dwell on Femi being unable to visit as the house was always filed with Gabrielle's family. Her mother and father, brothers and sisters, grandmother and aunts and uncles were regular visitors. Gabrielle and Max loved having them around and the children adored the attention they were showered with. Many a great family gathering was held in that home, Gabrielle's grandmother and Max played card games, old stories were told and during those nights laughter and craic was guaranteed.

They did their best to make the journey to Strabane as often as possible. They loved going to Strabane as during the time they spent there they didn't have to lift a finger with the children. There was always a doting auntie or cousin keen and eager to take them off their hands. They could always be assured of a well-earned break when they visited.

A gang of them, Gabrielle and Max, aunts and those sisters who were now grown enough and even on the verge of marriage themselves, would spend Saturday nights at the local cricket club. Drinking many a drink and enjoying the banter. Gabrielle's father unfortunately could never join them, he was a pioneer, whether this was by his own choice or not was always difficult to ascertain. On many occasions Gabrielle would see him keenly eyeing a bottle of Guinness or gazing at their bottles of whiskey. All she could be sure of was that her mother viewed alcohol as the devil's brew. With this in mind for an easy life her father's choice to be a pioneer - enforced or not was the safest option.

Her grandmother was fast becoming one of Max's greatest fans, she could be found talking to him in the sidelines of any gathering. Her eyes sparkling fondly and she never tired of telling Gabrielle.

“I think you have married a true gem. If it wasn't for his
obvious
deficiencies, I would think you had made the best choice out of any of them yet.”

Gabrielle's grandmother was a Catholic through and through, so devout was she that she was known far and wide for her powerful novenas. When she spoke of Max's obvious deficiencies she would never have even considered his colour, no he had much bigger deficiencies than mere colour. He was a heathen, a Protestant. If she had her way, this would change and sooner rather than later. Most of their conversations at some point involved her trying to arrange a visit from the priest, who would talk Max into the merits of belonging to the Catholic Church. From Max's response to her persistence, Gabrielle believed her grandmother was beginning to wear him down. He began to openly ask questions about Catholicism, expressing genuine interest. Whether this was simply to appease her or genuine we will never know. Yet Gabrielle couldn't help but be amazed at how her little grandmother had brought about such a change of heart. If she kept this up she would be a very happy woman for Gabrielle was sure her perseverance was paying off and that Max, if only to keep his new grandmother happy, may actually consider the idea of conversion.

Max's relationship with his mother-in-law was one that bemused Gabrielle more than any other. Max had progressed from referring to her as Mrs Caulfield, to Irene to Mum. He would phone her more than Gabrielle would and discuss his slightest concern; usually his wife. The relationship was fully reciprocated as her mother in turn would introduce him to all and sundry as her son, Max.

The old saying be careful what you wish for, rang in Gabrielle's ears when she saw the two together. The pair shared a bond that she could never have predicted; they had become such friends that often she felt that the pair was ganging up on her. It got to the point that any arguments the couple had, any suggestion Gabrielle broached or plan she made her mother knew. Max told her everything, so much so that before they ever spoke, Gabrielle had to consider that every morsel of the information she imparted would be given to her mother. She had to be extremely careful with her words!

Her father from his regular reading of the world report in the Irish News, considered himself a man of the world. He was always interested in hearing Max's experiences of Nigeria. He would ask him all about his home land, the climate, the local wildlife, the food and the people. He was mesmerised and would wistfully return his questions with talk of Ireland, its legends and its history.

Her mother was also convinced that her third pregnancy would be a boy and was looking forward to the arrival of her first grandson. If Gabrielle had ever considered herself large with her first two pregnancies then this one could only be described as mammoth. This little fellow was obviously a strapping young man; for the bump he created was the biggest she or any of her family or friends had ever seen. He became known as the elephant in a running joke amongst them.

The due date was in October and coincidently fell on her mother's birthday; this made this particular pregnancy all the more special for her. A grandson would be a magnificent birthday surprise. Yet her mother's birthday came and went, and still Christopher hadn't arrived. They began to speculate that he was indeed an elephant. They were known to carry their young for years and by the looks of it, Gabrielle would too.

When the birth was deemed by the obstetrician to have been prolonged enough, Gabrielle was called in to be induced. Even with all the medication to speed up labour, Christopher still refused to venture out. It appeared her little boy did not want to face the world. Nature had to take his course at some time though and very soon it did.

My entrance into the world was not the joyous entrance that I deserved; on the contrary it seemed I was met by a very angry and confused mother. As I was presented to her the midwife said, “Here she is, she's as fit as a fiddle.”

“You mean
he
, don't you?” Mum asked concerned,

“No Mrs. Olorunda, it's definitely a she.”

Thrilled as she was she couldn't shake the tiny fragment of disappointment that lingered, as she had had her heart set on a boy.

My Dad and grandparents arrived soon after to see the new arrival.

Apparently Mum's first words were, “It looks like we'll have to try again Max, I want a boy.”

“Let me get used to this one first,” he laughed and lifted me for the first time; his brown eyes alight with pride.

Due to my being born the wrong sex I could no longer be called Christopher, so my parents quickly set about finding me a name. They settled on calling me after both my grandmothers; Jayne Irene.

Chapter Twenty Two

I take after my Dad in that I am a born worrier. Apparently he spent his days planning and budgeting, his budget didn't allow for another child just yet, but his wife wanted her little boy and his budget would just have to be compromised. Mum never had any time for people who penny pinched. Inevitably it wasn't long before she had persuaded him that a having a little boy was a good idea.

Outwardly he seemed happy enough and went along with the idea, he loved his children and Gabrielle was sure he would enjoy a little more balance between the sexes in the family. It would also mean that his Walton style family dream may come to fruition. Yet he began to stop sleeping at night, Mum ignored this at first but eventually she broached the issue, the answer she received was not what he had expected.

“Every time I close my eyes I see the same thing,” his voice actually sounded afraid.

“What Max,” she asked, anxious herself now “what do you see?”

It took him a while to reply, but when he did his words were to chill her to the core.

“I see a coffin and I don't know who it's for,” he said.

Alison was now five and attending her father's chosen school, an exclusive prep school that for a man on a budget Gabrielle viewed as a little ostentatious. She didn't remark though, for she was simply relieved to have just two rather than three infants at home with her full time. Maxine and I in keeping with our older sister seemingly preferred our Dad to our Mum. She took great umbrage at the fact, considering that she was the one who stayed at home with us all day, nursed us through colds and flu's and catered to our every whim. Despite her efforts each day at six o'clock, when Dad walked through the door, her three little girls deserted her and from that moment on only had eyes for him. Gabrielle often wondered what she was doing wrong or more to the point what was he doing so right.

Gabrielle still loved to shop and buying children's clothes became a favourite pastime. She says she wanted us to be the best dressed children in Belfast. To achieve this took great effort. She dressed us all the same and wherever we went she was sure to get a compliment on our presentation. She spared no expense on our little outfits, with the result that our wardrobes were brimming with unique and expensive little clothes for every occasion. My Dad on the other hand disagreed. He constantly chastised Mum, backed up by her mother of course, about how much money she would spend on the children's clothes. As usual though, when Max went into his financial droning, Mum switched off. He had wanted children not her, so he would just have to accept the cost they incurred. Granted she could have bought cheaper clothes, but she felt if she was going to buy clothes at all, then she may as well do it right. Besides she felt that expensive children's clothes from the many little boutiques were so much more durable than those found on the general high street.

The one thing about the three of us that Mum couldn't come to terms with was our hair. As babies we all had has soft wavy curls, but as we grew the curls tightened and tightened and tightened some more. Each of us sported a tight little afro that for the life of Mum she just couldn't work with. She styled our little afros every which way; she used a hot brush and bought a multitude of products, but still our little afros refused to relax or take any shape.

Mum often talks about how she grumbled to Dad about our hair he just laughed telling her that the only solution was to grow it down. The longer the hair got, the looser it would become. Mum was mystified, thinking how the hell she could grow our hair down. Surely at some point in the mid stages of growth she would need to be able to tie it back. If she couldn't tie it back, then she would have three little girls with hair so big that they would be constantly stuck in doorways. Our strange hair grew out not down and in a rage one evening Gabrielle decided to take matters into her own hands.

Watched by an aghast husband, she became what she believed to be a world class hairdresser.

One by one she sat each of us sat on her knee and chopped off the offending afro's.

“You've scalped them,” Dad said, appalled,

“No Max I've made them sophisticated,” she retorted, “besides it'll grow back better, you'll see.”

When each of us had been carefully coiffured by Mum's expert hand, she gathered up all the hair and tossed it into the open fire.

She thought nothing of it until Dad started coughing and choking.

“For God's sake you big girls blouse, what's wrong now?” she demanded.

“The smell Gabrielle, how can that not get to you?”

Certainly she could smell burning hair, but they had an open fire and any strong odour was swept up the chimney, only the slightest smell remained.

“Max you'd barely notice it,” she said.

“Well I can, it's making me gag, I can't stand it,” coughing and spluttering he left the room.

Dad just could not handle the smell of burning. Then without the benefit of hindsight his protests would have appeared slightly strange.

The following night, Mary one of Gabrielle's friend's called around to catch up on the shenanigans at the hospital but most of all to having some adult company. Gabrielle told my Dad that he was to be home from work early and to keep the girls out of the way. She wanted some grown up time; she had bought a bottle of wine and planned to spend a few blissful hours relaxing.

Mary arrived promptly and discussed the hospital gossip, her recent affairs and her newly discovered ‘gift'. Mary was the seventh of daughter of the seventh daughter. Irish superstition had it that being born in such a unique position brought with it some special gifts; one of them was the ability to see the future. Mary had been practising her newly discovered talents on all her friends and colleagues and had surprised herself at the strength of her predictions and their uncanny accuracy. Tonight before they even had a sip of wine Mary decided to demonstrate her skill. Mum was a sceptic, but rather than upset Mary's kind nature, she acquiesced.

Mary took herself off to the kitchen and prepared some tea. She was going to read Mums tea leaves. They would then discuss the findings over a bottle of wine.

She placed a cup of tea in front of Mum and made her drink as much as she could. Gabrielle worried about swallowing the tea leaves that swirled through it, but Mary insisted that they would settle at the bottom. Quickly she finished all but a small drop, the sooner she did, the sooner they could crack open the wine.

“Ok Gaby, let's see what the future holds for you,” she said taking her cup.

“A boy and hopefully one very soon, oh and a house actually on the Malone road,” Mum said, laughing.

Mary examined her cup, then examined it again.

“Well,” she asked intrigued, Mary still hadn't lifted her head from the tea leaves.

When Mary did respond Mum wished she hadn't. Her eyes were wide with terror, her rosy cheeks had lost all their hue and her mouth hung wide open.

“Mary, that's enough,” Mum laughed, “good joke” she said, “but seriously enough is enough.”

Mary left the table and collected her coat faster moving faster than Mum had ever seen her move before. As she made her way to the door Mary muttered, “I have to go. I've forgotten I had something.”

She didn't even finish her sentence she was out the door so quickly.

“Ah well all the more wine for me,” Mum mused. She turned on the TV, watched a few episodes of Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em and completely relaxed, who needs company she thought.