Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (32 page)

Helen looked round the room and was
relieved to see no one raised their hands. She hadn’t wanted to be
the only scaredy cat who wanted to be in a nice shiny hospital when
she gave birth, where they could take care of her and the babies if
anything went wrong. Home births were probably great if it was your
third child and you had a lovely big room with a tiled floor and
space for a birthing pool. Her apartment with its cream carpets and
two flights of stairs didn’t seem a great place to have an
emergency.

They talked about the different drugs
available, about caesarean sections and episiotomies. All the men
began to look more sympathetic, as if they hadn’t really considered
what their wives and partners were going to have to go through.

All in all, Helen wasn’t sure she was
glad she had come. It was nice to be around other women who
couldn’t get up unassisted, and who kept disappearing off to pee
every five minutes. But a large part of her had been happy in
blissful ignorance, with still ten weeks yet to worry about what
happened when the babies were cooked.

Helen walked out of the class with her
head bowed, clasping the stack of notes to her bump. Around her the
rest of the couples came chattering into the cold night air. It
felt like leaving the school disco all over again, except this time
her mother wasn’t there to hug away the emptiness.

Out of the darkness a man walked
towards her and planted a kiss on her lips before saying loudly,
“Darling, I’m so sorry I missed the class, was it fun?”

Helen raised her head and felt warmth
flood through her like chocolate sauce. She smiled gratefully up at
him and marvelled at his understanding.

“It was a little daunting,” she
confessed, and was rewarded by a comradely chuckle from one of the
girls coming out behind her.

The girl lent over Helen’s shoulder and
said to Marcio, “Your poor girl has endured two hours of finding
out the various ways doctors might cut her open and stitch her up
again. I think she probably needs a hug and a drink.”

Marcio looked into Helen’s eyes to see
whether this was true.

She shrugged. “That pretty much sums it
up.”

He looked shocked, so she added, “What?
Your sisters weren’t induced with a stretch and sweep? They didn’t
have episiotomies or caesareans? No forceps or ventouse
deliveries?”

His sisters hadn’t really seen fit to
regale their brother with the gory details of their births so he
had no idea. He hung his head and put his arm around Helen, giving
her a squeeze. Since their first meeting in Barcelona, Marcio had
figured he was the one with the answers, the one who knew about
childbirth and babies and interacting with kids. Now it was his
turn to flounder out of his depth. It wasn’t a nice sensation.

Helen looked at Marcio’s sad little
schoolboy face and swallowed a grin.
Poor boy doesn’t like me
knowing more than him.
She turned to him with a twinkle in her
eye and filled him in on all the things Rachel had covered in the
class, explaining that next week they would be writing a birth
plan, to let medical staff know which options they were happy to
consider.

“And what options are you happy
about?”

“Drugs.” Helen laughed. “I used to
think a natural birth sounded lovely. But I’m having twins! If the
easiest way to get them safely into the world is by having an
epidural or even a c-section, then so be it. Obviously I’d prefer
it if they didn’t have to cut me open, but I think I’ll wait and
see. I’m registered with a good hospital; I have to put my trust in
them.”

Marcio shivered. He didn’t like the
idea of Helen being cut open either.

He bent over and put his mouth near her
bump. “Now listen you two, we’ll be having a nice orderly exit
please. No fuss, no getting stuck. Don’t be getting too comfortable
in there; your mummy doesn’t want you thinking you’d like to be
late so she has to be induced.”

He grinned up at Helen, “Right, that’s
that sorted.”

“Because of course they will always do
what you tell them to do!”

“But of course,” he said, standing up.
“I’m their dad, of course they will.”

It was the first time he’d said the
word, and neither of them was quite sure how to react. Helen found
she was shaking, Marcio had gone slightly pale.

“I am their dad,” he said again,
reflectively. “In all the ways it matters.”

Helen said nothing, just wrapped her
arms around him as best she could, and held him tightly.

Chapter Two

“Helen, it’s Mum.”

“Hey, Mum, how are you? How’s Dad?”
Helen sat back down on the sofa where she had been snuggled to keep
warm, and tucked her feet under her. Marcio was away on assignment
up North somewhere, so she was home alone on a Friday night. It was
minus two outside, so she was happy to be cosy under a blanket,
reading one of his novels.

“We’re both fine,” her mum was saying.
“Just ringing to find out what you are Marcio are doing for
Christmas?”

Helen realised her mother must have
been biding her time to ring and ask the question. Christmas was
only two weeks away, and she knew her mum liked to have everything
organised in advance. With her daughter in a budding relationship
she had obviously wanted to be sure it was going to last before
discussing plans that included him.

“What’s Simon doing?”

“He’s coming home.” Maggie’s voice was
full of joy. “He thought he might have to work, but the whole
company has decided to shut down for the week: so many of the
employees are European they realised it was the easiest thing.”

“Marcio wants to go to his mother’s,”
Helen explained, and could sense her mum’s disappointment, though
she said nothing to protest. “But I want to come home,” Helen
continued, “so we’ve agreed to have Christmas apart and get
together as soon as flights will allow.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie tried to
disguise her pleasure, and Helen felt a rush of love at her
mother’s selflessness.

“We’d love to meet him, why not see if
he can come to Devon? You will stay for a few days?”

Helen had been hoping her mother would
offer for Marcio to come and stay. She wanted the family to meet
him, welcome him, but she hadn’t felt she could bring him
uninvited.

“That would be great. I’ll find out
what his plans are and let you know.”

“How are you all doing? How are the
babies getting on? You must be exhausted. You will get a first
class ticket home won’t you? We’ll pay.”

“Bless you; I can’t have you do that
Mum.”

“I insist. If you are anything like I
was with both you and Simon you’re probably rather round and
ungainly by now.”

“That’s being polite! I’m so huge I’m
starting to generate my own gravitational pull. Coming to you first
class would be wonderful, if you’re sure? You can call it my
Christmas present.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s the least we can
do. I’ve arranged to be able to come up at short notice in the New
Year, so you call me at the first twinge.”

“You’re a star Mum, what would I do
without you?”

“Will Marcio be at the birth?” Helen
could tell her mother was fishing for information, trying to
establish how serious her relationship with Marcio was.

“Of course, he says wild horses
wouldn’t drag him away. I think he’s more excited than I am.”

“He wants the babies then? Even though
they’re not his?” Her mother sounded doubtful.

“Yes, he does.” Helen’s voice reflected
the wonder she felt still when she thought about it. “It’s amazing,
but he really does see himself as their dad. We are blessed.”

“Indeed,” was all her mother said, and
Helen wondered if she really meant it.

As she hung up the phone, Helen
realised that, whatever her mother thought, she really did feel
blessed. The last few weeks with Marcio had been amazing. Maybe it
was the writer in him, but she found he was so intuitive, he knew
exactly the right thing to say when she was sad, teary, fearful or
just plain hormonal. He wanted to be involved with everything; he
had come with her to purchase the things she felt she needed in the
house before the birth.

Helen felt superstitious about buying
too much, particularly as she didn’t know whether she was having
boys, girls, or one of each. She also didn’t have much money to
spend on baby things. Still, moses baskets were essential, as were
the basics like nappies and baby clothes.

When she had first held up a new-born
vest in the shop, Helen had been terrified at how small it was.
Then Marcio had come over with the early-baby ones – Rachel had
recommended, at the antenatal class, that they all have at least
some early baby clothes as, in her words, “twins are often teeny
like you can’t imagine.”

Looking at the early-baby vests she had
been right: Helen couldn’t even begin to imagine anything being
that small and still alive and healthy, unless it was a kitten.
Certainly not a human being, something that might grow to be over
six foot tall if it were a boy and inherited hers and Daniel’s
height.

It was strange to think about Daniel
now. In her mind, Marcio was the real father of her babies. She had
heard through friends that Daniel’s new job was going well, and
that his fiancée was some girl nearly half his age. Helen wondered
viciously if she was any good at holding her own at tedious dinner
parties where business and politics formed the bulk of the
conversation. Then she realised how nasty that was, and that age
was no reflection on mental ability.

Look at Lucy
,
she’s barely
old enough to drive, but her mind is as sharp as a pin.
They’d
become good friends since the misunderstanding over the flowers.
Helen often asked her what she was doing still working on
reception.

“Biding my time,” Lucy would say,
convinced that the perfect writer’s job would come along
eventually. “You see, the whole world passes through reception;
eventually the right person will stop and chat.”

Helen admired her confidence, if she
thought it a little foolhardy. Still, optimism was important.
Marcio had received a dozen rejection letters for the first novel
he had sent out into the world, but he remained strangely upbeat.
Helen was worried that Marcio thought the more rejection letters he
got, the bigger the prize would be at the end when it was accepted.
It was a lovely dream, but Helen felt you needed to be more
pragmatic than that. She didn’t try and convince him otherwise, it
wasn’t for her to shatter the wonderful illusion he had created in
his fertile mind. If she was honest, lurking in the back of her own
mind was the thought, call it hope, that one day someone would see
one of her pictures and commission her to do a book, or offer her a
lucrative assignment.

They must exist
, she thought, as
she looked round her tiny flat and tried to imagine it full of
babies and the paraphernalia they seemed to require.
Surely
someone somewhere makes money from photography?

She envied her new antenatal friends,
although she tried hard not to. They’d been for coffee a few times
and they all seemed so ready for motherhood, so
together.
And so financially stable.

The week before, she’d had a discussion
with Karen about pushchairs.

“I went to a department store to try
them out,” Karen had said. “Michael insisted. He is the man, so I
suppose he is in charge of wheels.”

Helen hadn’t met Michael, but from what
she had heard, she could imagine him going for a go-faster buggy
with all the bells and whistles.

“We went for a system in the end. You
know, with the car seats and everything. It was about £900 but
worth every penny.”

Helen had smiled and nodded in
agreement, while in her mind she was screaming
Nine Hundred
Pounds?
She knew Marcio was lucky to get half that for a short
review. It was nearly a month’s rent. Their buggy had come from
Gumtree at a tenth of the cost. It wasn’t perfect or new, but it
was functional and, more importantly, affordable.

Maybe I could train to be a wedding
photographer like Stuart
, Helen mused.
There’s certainly
more money in that.
However, working flat out every weekend
from March to October was not the life for a mother of two, even if
she thought her nerves would stand the responsibility of
photographing someone’s special day.

In the meantime, the bills were paid
and the booties bought with money from her freelancing work. She
was beginning to get enough ahead of herself that she could
supplement the statutory maternity pay for the first few months at
least. What would happen after that was in the lap of the gods as
they saying went.

Chapter
Three

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous, I miss you.”
Marcio’s voice sounded muffled down the battered land-line from the
farm.

“We miss you, too,” Helen responded
sleepily. It was hard to get comfortable at night, particularly
without Marcio to prop her up in bed. She had found it strange back
in her old room, sleeping in her childhood bed while her own
children wriggled around in her tummy.

“How’s Devon?”

“Cold.” It had dropped to minus five
overnight, according to the thermometer outside her window, and the
old farm house was only ever warm in the kitchen, which is where
she would be heading shortly.

“It’s early,” she mumbled, trying to
get her sleepy senses awake. “I’m surprised you’re up. Didn’t you
sit up until the wee hours drinking with your sisters?”

Marcio had told her that was the family
tradition, to drink the best of the vineyard’s collection on
Christmas Eve and celebrate all the successes of the year.