James – Thirty-Two Weeks
I perch a hip on an old stone wall, looking down the mountain, the meadows, the lake. The weather is fine and warm; late Summer drawing into Autumn and…
Life is good.
I have the woman I love, friendship, money, rewarding work, a wonderful home and, in only a few months, a new baby daughter.
I raise my glass in a silent toast.
Looking forward to meeting you Cara…
My cup overflows.
Where’s Charlotte?
I’d like her with me, just to share this moment.
Heaving myself upright, I go in search of her. I move easily. With the sunshine, even my bad leg is behaving itself.
I find her in the restaurant, by the big picture window that looks down the mountain to the lake, Charlotte sits between Michael’s Gran, his Aunty Edna and another of the tribe that I don’t recognise…
Or do I?
I have trouble separating out the legion of old harpies occupying the upper echelons of Michael’s family, but I do vaguely recall Michael threatening me with a nasty outbreak of his family sometime this week. My mind must have drawn a discreet veil over the memory.
But now, from the far side of the restaurant, I pause…
Charlotte should be enjoying herself; the centre of attention, everyone making a fuss of her.: the new Mom-To-Be. But she doesn’t look happy.
What’s wrong?
As I draw closer…
One of the three engulfs a sandwich whole, champing with badly fitting false teeth. Another is in full flow. “… and I was in labour for thirty-four hours with our Neville you know. Thirty-four hours, would you believe it. And every minute of it was absolute hell. They didn’t have things like epee-doo-rals then, of course and…
She is cut short by the third. … Oh, those epidurals aren’t all they’re cut out to be. Our Agnes had one of those. They stuck the needle straight into her spine and it didn’t do a thing to help. Didn’t take the pain away at all. Just meant she couldn’t push for three hours till it wore off. And she was screaming all the way through it. And then she needed stitches where she split right open…” The old bag makes a gesture like she’s unzipping her crotch… “Thirty-seven stitches she needed right up her… Like this…” And she zips herself back up again.
Charlotte looks stricken, blinking and swallowing. My face heats…
Jade…
A bit of needless terror is all part of the magic of pregnancy?
That’s enough of that…
The first seems set to argue, swallowing her sandwich, then…
Oh, my God…
… taking out her false teeth and setting them on the pristine white tablecloth, leans forward conspiratorially, starting to speak. “Yes, but did you hear about what happened with Nancy…”
Charlotte twists her hands together, knuckles whitening.
Schadenfreude…
I don’t give a flying fuck about Nancy. “Excuse me ladies. I believe Michael is looking for Charlotte. I hope you’ll excuse her.”
Relief washes over her face as I take her by both hands, helping her upright. The trio of sour-faced harridans look outraged. “Can I get the waitress to bring you anything else? More coffee or tea? Another plate of sandwiches?”
“Some more of that lemon drizzle cake would be nice.”
“And some extra chocolate cake,” says another. “The kind with the sprinkles on.”
“I’ll see to it right away. Charlotte?” I offer her my arm, steering her to the exit. Then, “Just give me a moment will you.”
She waits, sucking in her lips as I make for our chef, sitting in a quiet corner, sketching out menus and meal plans. “Sally, see that set of old Gorgons are kept fed and watered, would you.”
She casts a measuring eye across the room to Stheno, Euryale and Medusa. “Upsetting Charlotte, are they?”
“Scaring her silly, I’d say. And enjoying doing it. Just feed them unconscious, then I can pack them in a taxi and send them home.”
She drops me a wink and half a smile. “Will do.”
Retrieving my quaking mermaid, I guide her out. “Don’t let them upset you, Charlotte. I’ve checked and double-checked with the doctors. Your pregnancy is going very well, and everything is as it should be.”
She ducks her head. “I’m a bit scared, Master.”
Old bitches…
How much damage have they done?
I turn, and finger under her chin, tilt her face to mine. “Don’t be. Everything is fine.” I press my lips to hers. “In just a few weeks you are going to present me with our daughter. And she will grow up to be healthy, beautiful, intelligent and as brave as her mother. And unlike her mother, right from the beginning, she will have the best of everything that life has to offer, including a close and loving family.”
She eases a little, a pale smile ghosting her lips. “I know. It’s just… when I hear some of the stories…”
“Yes, it’s hard for a woman giving birth. I know that. But I also know that when Cara is placed in your arms, whatever has happened, you will forget all of it. All you will remember is that you have the child which you wanted and which you have gifted for me.”
Her smile widens. “I’m being silly, aren’t I.”
“No, you’re not. Childbearing isn’t a trivial matter. But this isn’t a hundred years ago and we’re not living in the third world. Everything is going to be fine.” I brush her lips with mine again. “I promise you.”
*****
“Mitch, can I leave Charlotte with you for a while? She’s a bit upset and I need a word with Michael.”
Her lips move to ask the question, but I wriggle fingers, head-pointing her to Charlotte, and without a pause, she switches lanes. “Of course you can, James. Here, Jenny, have some peppermint tea. It’s wonderful for calming you down.”
Now…
How to deal with this?
Tell it like it is…
Arming myself with a couple of cans of beer, I find Michael where I expect to, out by the old stables, working on, as luck would have it, the new stables.
I flip the tab on one, offer the other. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty well. You could have a look around and see if it looks okay to you. You’re the horse expert, not me.”
I stroll around. The stables themselves are looking good with well-boarded stalls, nails and screw-heads knocked well in, decent drainage and racks for hay and feed. The tack room is spacious and airy but despite a couple of plastic crates stacked in a corner, some of the necessaries are still missing.
“We’ll need racking for tack and tools, and we’ll have to do something about the fencing.”
He holds the can to his face, swiping condensation over cheek and neck. “Next on my list. Well, almost. The actual next is bookshelves.”
More bookshelves?
I run a mental inventory of Charlotte’s study. “Surely she’s not run out of space already? You only installed the last lot a couple of months ago.”
“Not Charlotte. Mitch.” He pulls a face. “I don’t know if there’s a gene for bibliophilia, but if there is then you’re hiring a damn carpenter when Peanut learns to read.”
“Mitch? She’s got you on bookshelves?”
“Take a look.” He waves across to the crates. “She’s already filled the space she’s got and she’s storing them in here.”
Swigging at the beer, I prise off a lid, looking at a couple of titles.
Turn Right at Machu Picchu, Mark Adams… Lands of Lost Borders: A Journey on the Silk Road, Kate Harris… The Innocents Abroad, Mark Twain…
A whole stack of Bill Bryson titles…
Bit of a theme going on there.
Wonder if she wants to travel?
Get back to the point…
“Michael, I mean no offence, but I have to say this. I know they are your family, but you need to keep those dried-up harpies you call aunts either under control or away from Charlotte.
He jolts to attention. “Why, what’s up?”
“What’s up, is that they’re scaring the bejeezus out of Charlotte. Telling her all kinds of lurid tales about childbirth.”
He groans, scratching at his head. “Oh, Christ. They’ve not being going through those ‘thousand pits of hell’ delivery stories, have they?”
“Yes, they have. What with sore breasts and swollen ankles, I think she has enough to handle without Timeless Tales of Terror being inflicted on her. I’m not having her upset like that.”
He leans, his weight on one arm, palm resting against the wall; looks down, looks up again. “Right!” He mutters something else under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, Interfering old bats.”
“You took the words from my mouth.”
He knocks back the last of his beer. “It’s not even true. That side of the family pops ’em like peas from fucking pods. That’s why there’s so damn many of them. Leave it with me. I’ll deal with it.”
“How? You think they’ll pay any attention to you?”
“To me? No. I’m a mere male. But they’ll listen to my mother.”
Suddenly feeling the ice thin below me, “How is she now?”
He looks down, apparently finding the scuffed toes of his work boots of interest. “After Ben? Not good. But she’s been gradually improving with having a grandchild on the way. Something else to think about, y’know. So… she’ll not be happy when son-number-two comes making complaint for the mother-to-be.”
“Does she… know the score?”
“I’ve not spelled it out, no. But from her point of view, Charlotte’s baby will be her grandchild. And the next one actually will be. I don’t see any point at all in upsetting the applecart.”
Is this the time to tell him?
Yes…
Put a smile on his face…
“Did Charlotte tell you we’ve decided on a name?”
He perks up. “No, she didn’t. What is it?”
“You can tell your mother there’s going to be another Cara Summerford in the family.”
His smile breaks like a rising sun. “You’re naming Peanut after my mother?”
“Seemed the least we could do. We did consider naming her after you, but calling her Michelle could have caused confusion…”
The pleasure on his face is a warm balm. “You think she’ll be pleased?”
He wipes a palm over his face. “James, I don’t think there’s anything would please her more. Thank you, both of you.”
“This is about the three of us. ”
“So, next time, I’m the sperm donor and we name the baby after your mother?”
I rock on my toes. “You might find my mother’s name a bit of a mouthful.”
His head tilts back. “Go on.”
“Pastora Sofia Conchetta Martina Linares”
“Yeessss… That’s a mouthful. What was your father called?”
“Harry.”
“We’d better hope the next one’s a boy then.”
*****