Pack Up the Moon (29 page)

discomfort she was elated. Equality at last.

woke up at seven a.m. The alarm hadn’t gone off and it was unlike me to wake before it. I felt restless and looked over at a peaceful Sean. I thought about waking him to discuss Anne’s impending hen night, but decided against it, as my feeling was that he wouldn’t be too pleased. I got up. He found me in the bath half an hour later. He offered to make breakfast, but I really didn’t feel like it. He offered to give me a back rub, as my body seemed to ache. I stood up and felt dizzy. He noted that I was pale while handing me a towel. He helped me from the bath and was concerned, but the bath water had been hot so I promised it was no big deal. I tried to force-feed myself a piece of toast, but the sight of it made me queasy.

Please, God, not the flu, I silently prayed as I got into the car. This night was to be Clo’s hen and there was no question that I wouldn’t be there. I headed to school Praying that if it was the flu the kids had it too. They didn’t.

Damn, I thought as I prepared myself to educate thirty rowdy students.

*

Declan came up to me after the lesson.

“You alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I smiled feeling a little better.

“You sick?” he asked.

“No,” I smiled.

“Hmmm,” he said under his breath.

“What’s ‘hmmm’ supposed to mean?” I attempted a smile.

“You’re green.” He pointed at my face.

“Are you thinking about going into medicine, Declan?”

“No,” he answered flatly. “I’m going to manage pop groups, work them like dogs, make millions and retire at thirty-five.” He smiled and leaned forward. “Did you ever hear Jackie Lynch in third year sing?” he asked.

I said that I hadn’t.

“Nice little voice on her and not a bad looker. A bit of slap, the right clothes, she could be a little ride.” He grinned and added it was a pity I wasn’t ten years

younger.

I let it pass because he always entertained me and, to be truthful, at my saddest and before Sean, I swear there were days when I thought it was a damn shame he wasn’t

ten years older. I watched him leave and wondered how long it would be before I was reading about him in

magazines. I felt much better by lunch. I ate, which was to be a big mistake. I lost said lunch rapidly, but by the afternoon I felt better again. It was now obvious that I was

coming down with some sort of stomach bug and prayed it wouldn’t fully kick in until the next day.

*

Sean was home before me, waiting by the door. He was smiling and holding a bunch of balloons in one hand and

box of my favourite chocolates in the other and he had a

rose between his teeth. I laughed.

“Well?” I queried suspiciously.

He had to spit the rose out to speak. “They’re giving me a two-book deal with an option for four,” he said beaming.

I screamed. “Oh my God, you’re such a ride!” “I know!” he agreed, shouting.

I jumped him. He dropped the balloons and the chocolates, much to a slim-lined and deprived Leonard’s joy, and, while we torn each other’s clothes off, Leonard tried to gnaw through packaging. We celebrated with champagne in bed from five to eight and then I had no

option but to leave for Clo’s hen. He understood and besides we had the whole weekend to celebrate. The good news was that I was feeling great, full of love and champagne and ready to party. Clo hadn’t trusted us with the arrangements for the hen, saying we’d make an arse of it. Instead she took full charge, advising that any hen arriving with a plastic or mechanical mickey would be

asked to leave. No wigs, no ball and chain, no crowns, no Tshirts, no phallic foods. This was a night about women together, clubbing, getting pissed and going out with a bang. There were ten of us, all dressed in little black numbers with big hair, lots of make-up and high heels.

We entered the first pub, sat in a line at the bar and drank a row of shots and then another. The third was on the house.

We took a table and drank cocktails, talking about Posh Spice, diamonds, health spas, the tax system, Caribbean holidays and men, Clinton, phone sex, Big Brother, Kid Rock, Palestine, Nostradamus, babies, weddings, Clo and the future. She was glowing, intoxicated and having a blast. We headed to a club and danced for hours while Anne

stood painfully and yet waving from the side of the dance

floor, then on to the next club to play pool, sit on couches, smoke cigars, drink some more, fall off the couches, drink some more hoping that nobody noticed.

At four the management called us some taxis.

Anne had improved greatly, still a little stiff, but she was loosening with alcohol. Clo helped her into the taxi, afraid that her hen may have been too much for her

injured friend, but Anne was adamant that it was a night for celebration and she was not about to miss a second of

it. Richard was away so she invited us back to her place for another toast. Anne filled our glasses and we held them high. She remained standing, as sitting was still a bit of a challenge.

“We wish for you everything good and more!” she smiled and we clinked glasses.

Clo wanted to make a toast. “To the many men I turned down tonight and to the many men I’ll be turning

down for the rest of my life! Good luck to one and all!”

We laughed and Anne raised her glass.

“One and all!” we repeated.

I didn’t make a toast — I was too busy drinking. Anne

made herself comfortable on the floor, drinking from a straw so she didn’t have to move her head. We sat up until six talking about the past, our teenage years, college and our summer in the States, the people we met along the way, the people we lost along the way. Clo reminded me of my dream wedding, John standing on the altar, George Michael singing at the reception. I laughed. Now when I daydreamed it was of Sean and George Michael didn’t

really figure. It’s funny how the world works, how we win and lose, how we can never really know what’s ahead though we never stop planning. How we survive and move on. There’s a sadness that comes with survival, but also more joy to be had. We agreed Clo had earned hers. She deserved the best because to us she was the best, the brightest, the funniest and the truest and Torn was a good man and although we three, sitting there, had long ago realised that life isn’t all roses and behind every silver

lining lies a big dirty cloud, we also knew that we would always find comfort in one another and after all isn’t that

what being a hen is all about?

*

The next day I suffered. I suffered like I’ve never suffered before. Truly the pain in my head was tantamount to a bomb going off deep inside my temple. At one point I considered that I might be having an aneurysm. I even thought about going back to the hospital. Why not? At this stage they all knew my name. I lay in bed with a cold cloth carefully placed over my eyes and moaning to ensure

that I hadn’t lost the power of speech. I felt sick but then again that was to be expected. I had drunk my own body

weight. An unusual side effect of this particular hangover was painful breasts. They also felt a little bigger than usual and were extremely tender to the touch. I opened my top and there were little brown rings circling my nipples.

Interesting.

Sean was in the office playing catch-up, which is something he often did on a Sunday. I was alone except for Leonard who was engaging in a staring match with

Old Mrs Jennings’ cat across the road. It was after two when I eventually made it out of bed. I puked and instantly my stomach felt better. However, my head was still reverberating when Doreen called to share in the

events of the previous night. She made tea while I was only too happy to detail the kind of hangover I was

experiencing. She didn’t seem too concerned.

“Yeah, well, it serves you right.”

“Thanks a lot, Doreen.”

“Yeah, well, what age are you? Really, Emma, sometimes I wonder about your generation.”

I began to wonder why I bothered. I made a face and she laughed. “It’s not funny. I was supposed to mark essays today. I can’t see straight. I want to puke.” Then for some reason I added, “And the odd thing is, my breasts are tender.”

“Tender how?” she asked.

“Just tender, sore,” I said dismissively.

“How sore?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, sore!”

“What else?” she asked.

I wondered about whether I should mention the

brown rings and then I wondered, if I didn’t, would it be

something I should have mentioned and I couldn’t once

I’d slipped into a coma.

“Brown rings around my nipples.”

This statement was met with a silence that was unusual

for Doreen. “Brown rings,” she repeated in a voice that suggested concern.

“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” I queried briefly, considering whether or not it was the effect of too many sunbeds in

my early twenties.

“How have you been feeling lately?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said and then I thought about it. “Actually not really fine. Last week I could have sworn I had a touch of food poisoning and then yesterday I felt like I was about

to come down with the flu. I was kind of dizzy.”

“You are dizzy,” she sighed.

“Excuse me?” I responded with great indignity. “Emma, it’s obvious.”

But nothing was obvious to me.

“When was your last period?”

I began to twig where this conversation was heading

and I would have laughed only laughter caused pain. “About two months ago,” I said smiling.

“Two months ago!” she nearly shouted.

“I know what you’re thinking but it’s no big deal. I’m as irregular as Dublin Bus.” It was true. As a teenager I’d be lucky if I got six periods a year. I’d pretty much regulated in my twenties, but then John died and I’d been all over the place ever since.

“Emma, despite your irregularity would you not consider taking a test?” she asked, not particularly comforted by my menstrual history.

-No.”

“Well, I think you should.”

This was not what I needed to hear today of all days. “Really, Dor, it’s fine.”

“I’m sure it is, but that doesn’t mean you’re not pregnant, love. Brown circles are a real giveaway!’

Bollocks.

She had to go to her son’s football match and she left

warning me to get a test. I stayed on the couch, attempting to block out the conversation we’d just had. By four I couldn’t take it anymore. I got into the car, drove to the nearest chemist and bought headache tablets and a

pregnancy test.

Here we go again.

I got home to find that Sean had still not returned

from the office. I went to the bathroom, opened the box, struggled with the foil wrapping and peed on the stick.

Three minutes.

Initially my mind was blank and this I guessed was due

to the fact that I had killed millions of brain cells the evening

before.

Two minutes.

Holy crap, that minute passed really quickly.

I thought about Sean and I smiled because even though

I’d been sick as a pig when he left that morning, he had managed to make me laugh and I couldn’t even remember

how

One minute. Jesus, time is flying.

I wondered how he’d feel if I was pregnant but it was a fleeting thought and surprisingly I couldn’t manage to

muster concern.

Odd.

I looked at my watch. Three minutes had passed. I didn’t hang around. I turned the stick over to reveal the thickest bluest line I ever saw. I sat mesmerised by this line for a long time.

I’m pregnant.

I let this new information sink in. The word “wow” would best describe how I felt. I wasn’t worried, but I should have been freaking out. Let’s be honest, it’s pretty obvious that I have a tendency to freak out, but on this momentous occasion I was completely relaxed. I felt in control and happy and then I remembered I had drunk a

ridiculous amount the previous evening. I was slightly perturbed, but that lasted a mere minute. I had known a girl in college who was six months gone before she

realised that she was with child and she drank like a fish

for all of those six months. The little one emerged intact and was declared healthy. One night wasn’t going to do much damage and I’d ensure that there wouldn’t be a

repeat performance.

I’m pregnant.

I phoned Doreen and she was around almost before I’d

managed to replace the receiver.

“I told you,” she said, hugging me. “Are you alright?” She pulled back and pushed the hair out of my face so

that I couldn’t hide.

“Aside from a bloody headache I’m fine,” I admitted. “Oh, this is so exciting!”

Suddenly I was smiling because she was right. It was exciting.

“I love babies. Their smell, their little feet, the way

they feel when they lie sleeping on your chest. Oh, I miss my babies,” she lamented.

I was now grinning so hard that my face started to

hurt. I was having a baby and I was looking forward to it. We hugged and she nearly suffocated me. She made me something to eat even though I insisted I wasn’t hungry. She wouldn’t hear of it — apparently I was now eating for two. I did ask her about what I would say to Sean. When it actually dawned on me that I hadn’t told him I confessed

I felt guilty that she was the first to know.

“Rings around your nipples!” she said. “I knew before you did, you bloody eejit!”

Good point. She was laughing.

I’m such an idiot.

*

It was after seven when Sean eventually made it home. I was lying on the couch watching Blind Date, screaming for Number Two. He plonked down beside me, glad that I had recovered sufficiently to care who the slapper in the

tiger print chose for her date in an amusement park in

Scarborough. I felt a little nervous, but not as nervous as I should have. He grabbed the remote and switched channel.