OMG Baby! (27 page)

‘
H
ello
, hello, hello,’ booms a voice as the door opens. Damon walks in, his face momentarily obscured by a pink foil ‘new baby’ balloon. He bats it away, revealing the full shock of his grinning jack-o’-lantern head. Christie and Michael follow behind.

‘Hey, everyone’s here,’ I say croakily. I was napping, dreaming in snatches, mostly of Rainey. She lied about seeing Dr Savage. I don’t know if she has cancer. I only know she hasn’t been to see my doctor. Why did she lie? She’s leaving. And if she leaves, she’s won again. Max was right: I am still scared of her going, but it’s more than that – she’s withholding the warmth and interest I’d hoped for and here I am again, even now, worrying about her with this knot of anger and sadness lodged in my throat. And she isn’t interested in even seeing her granddaughter. Of course she isn’t. Why would she be? Why did I ever think she would be? She wasn’t interested in her own daughter. It’s all been an act, everything smoke and mirrors to get what she wants. I feel cheated, bereft and lost all over again, and cross with myself for caring.

I sit up and adjust the doughnut cushion. Damon and Mike stand by the wall, while Christie comes forward and kisses the air near my ear. She’s sporting a Scooby Doo look, wearing a calf-length skirt, 1970s-style boots, a polo neck with a pendant and her fake glasses.

‘Aww, congratulations, Viv,’ she says. Then, pulling back, ‘Oh my God, Viv, you look terrible. You’ve aged, like, loads. How was it? No, don’t tell me – I might faint.’

‘Yeah, it smarts a bit.’

‘Oh, there she is!’ she says, pointing to Angel.

‘That’s her.’ I smile over at the cot where she’s sleeping. I wait for them to coo over her, but they keep looking at me. ‘I named her Angel. What do you think?’

‘Angel! Get here, Angel,’ Michael feigns a cockney accent and sniggers.

‘Hi, Michael,’ I say, and he steps forward to kiss me. I get a lungful of patchouli and notice a huge purple love bite just above his collarbone. ‘Things going well with Marion?’

‘Wild times,’ he says. ‘Off the scale.’ He peers into the cot. ‘She’s so tiny. Aren’t you tiny, girl? You’re just a tiny, tiny little girl,’ he croons in a high-pitched baby voice.

Christie and I exchange a look, and Damon peers over Michael’s shoulder.
Do not open your eyes at this moment, Angel.

‘Tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny, and yet one day you’ll be hanging around the bus-stop with the rest of those teenage glue addicts, soaking your tampons in vodka, won’t you? Yes, you will!’

‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ I say.

‘Uncle Mikey’s got you a present! Yes, he has.’

‘She’s asleep, Michael,’ I say.

‘Oh, I’ll give it to you, then,’ he says, handing me a wrapped-up box. ‘It’s a space hopper. I love them, don’t you? It’s for when she’s bigger.’

‘Very thoughtful. I like those “grow into it” presents. I was thinking of getting her an Oyster card, myself,’ I say.

‘Well, if you don’t want it . . .’

‘No, I do! It’s really kind of you, Michael. Thank you,’ I laugh.

Damon steps up. ‘I got something for her, Viv, but I couldn’t bring it here. I just brought a photo.’ He hands me a Polaroid of two goldfish. ‘The white one is Dodi, and the orange one is Di,’ he says, his eye rolling excitedly. ‘They’ve got their own tank. The gravel and treasure chest are included.’

‘Wow, Damon, I don’t know what to say. That’s . . . quite something.’ I press my lips together and smile.

The three of them then stand along the wall grinning. God, it’s good to see them, those crazy guys, my team!

‘So . . .’

‘So now you are a mother, Vivienne,’ Damon declares solemnly, ‘and you shall hold your daughter’s hand a short while but hold her heart for ever.’ I feel my eyes swimming unexpectedly. I look at Christie and Michael. They look teary too. ‘Yes, as my old mum said to me, mothers are the bows from which we glancing arrows spring forth. They are the bridge of stars leading us towards our dreams. Your daughter is a miracle of your own making. She is your immortality. May she bring you joy without end. I hope you will cherish every smile, every kiss, every tear, for this once upon a time can never come again.’

‘What lovely words, Damon,’ I say, trying to stop my face crumpling into sobs. ‘You love your old mum, don’t you?’

‘She passed away, Viv, ten years back, but that don’t mean I don’t love her. I talk to her every day.’

Now we’re all sobbing, raising our faces to the ceiling tiles, fanning ourselves, wiping our teary eyes.

‘What, are you some kind of lunatic poet Damon?’ asks Michael, his voice breaking.

I can’t stop crying. It’s like a dam has burst. My body is wracked with sobs and snot drips. Is this what’s known as post-traumatic sobbing?

‘Aw, now you’ve really upset Viv,’ wails Christie, hugging me, holding me in an awkward position that requires me to lean forward uncomfortably from the waist.

‘Oh, apologies, Vivienne,’ says Damon.

‘No, it’s just . . . !’ I sing, my face contorting and my shoulders heaving. I can’t speak.

‘Well, this is awkward,’ says Michael. ‘You’ve really hit a nerve with your tear-jerker prose!’

‘I’m all right. I’m all right,’ I say, gathering myself up and wiping my wet cheeks. ‘Beautiful words, Damon. Thank you.’ I take a few shuddering breaths.

‘Well, here – I got a present for Angel.’ Christie hands over a beautiful duck-egg-blue paper bag with a bright yellow string handle. I reach inside and there wrapped in tissue paper is a lion’s-mane hat. When Angel is wearing the hat, it will look like she has a lion’s mane. That or a weird ginger ’fro.

‘Now that is seriously cute,’ I say. ‘Thanks so much, Christie.’ Why does something as terrible as this even exist?

‘All the model mums have these hats for their babies. You can get a bear, a zebra or a penguin,’ she giggles.

Model mums? Perhaps it’s not too bad. Angel will need a hat. She can wear that hat everywhere she goes – as soon as she can support her own head.

The Dream Team stay a little while. Damon manages to rustle up tea and biscuits, and we talk about work. I tell them I hope to be back to work in a few weeks with Angel in tow.

Then I gradually start to feel jittery in case Angel wakes up and demands to be fed – I don’t want to breastfeed in front of my colleagues. How do women do it so discreetly? I have to get my whole boob out, and Angel looks as if she’s trying to swallow a Zeppelin. Luckily then Max makes an appearance, all wild hair and overflowing carrier bags. It looks like he’s brought all the clothes we own. I notice a pair of stripy tights hanging out that I haven’t worn for ten years and was keeping in case of a fancy-dress witch moment. I introduce him and I can tell he’s both amazed and shocked by my co-workers. He keeps glancing around nervously and saying, ‘Great!’ a lot.

Finally they leave and I get to have a long hot shower and a change of clothes. I get back into bed in the lovely pyjamas Lucy brought. Max has dressed Angel in a back-to-front polka-dot sleepsuit and an ‘I love Daddy’ pointy knotted hat and is dancing with her snuggled into his shoulder.

‘She is handsome. She is pretty. She is the belle of Belfast City,’ he croons. ‘I’m madly in love,’ he says, looking up with a big simple-boy smile, ‘and I think she just shat in my hand and puked down me back at the same time.’

‘Oh, she has.’ I tuck into a jaffa cake while he changes her nappy.

‘Oh dear, oh no, what have you done?’ Max asks in a baby voice as he unfastens Angel’s nappy. ‘Holy Mother of God, it’s everywhere. Viv, she’s shat up her neck!’ He reaches for the wipes. ‘These are going to be useless. We’ll need a fire hose for you, my girl,’ he tells Angel. ‘So small and yet so shitty,’ he marvels.

‘Don’t say that to her!’

‘Ah, she knows I’m joking,’ he laughs.

He cleans Angel up and hands her back to me to feed her. She falls asleep almost immediately and we settle her back into her little cot. Then I tell Max about Rainey and her lump and the non-existent doctor’s appointment. I show him Rainey’s text message about cancer.

‘They don’t diagnose cancer that quickly, do they?’ I ask. ‘Before, she had all kinds of tests.’

‘Before?

‘Before, yes, when I said she was poorly at Christmas, she had a lump in her breast.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘She did. I felt it, anyway. Then she had all these tests, and now she’s found another.’

‘They don’t diagnose cancer if you don’t even go to the doctor’s. She hasn’t got another lump, Viv!’ he says, disgusted.

‘She might have a second lump but be too scared to go to the doctor . . .’

‘Then why would she lie and say she has cancer?’

‘I don’t know.’ I shake my head. ‘Anyway, she’s gone.’

‘Remember Fat Rob at university? He did this – said he had cancer just to get attention. That’s what she wants, Viv – she feels the control over you slipping so she just made this up.’

‘But why would she leave?’

‘She hasn’t left. She’s waiting to see if you come running.’ Max is pacing now, palming his beard. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘You think she made it all up?’

‘Come on, Viv, of course she did!’ He spins round, and seeing my stricken face, he calms down and sits beside me on the bed. ‘She wants to control you. Some people are just like that.’

‘Not anymore,’ I say, and my eyelids feel heavy. ‘I’m tired, Max. I’ve never felt so tired,’ I say, and close my eyes.

T
hat afternoon Max
goes to register the birth.

I lie exhausted. I try to sleep again, but my mind is racing, flying, rummaging through the events of the last twenty-four hours. Everything strikes me more intensely than before. I’m vulnerable, wobbly, freshly peeled. What are we doing with a baby? Neither of us is qualified. We never took any tests, and we don’t know how to put her nappy on. Not only that, I’m suddenly acutely aware of my own mortality. I mean, how many years of my natural life can I expect? How many years will we know each other? What will happen to Angel if I spontaneously combust and am just a lower leg in a slipper?

Then strange and terrible fears loom like hosts of demons. What if I threw her downstairs by accident thinking she was a pile of washing? What about scalding water, drain water, open water, frozen water? Traffic, tramps, trapped fingers? Germs, gerbils, mad dogs, wild hogs? Burst balloons, beads? Matches, ditches, witches, switches? I sit up, certain of my own incompetence. It’s a cruel, cruel world to be born into, especially if you’re depending on me – I really know what that’s like and it’s pretty hairy.

And then there’s Rainey. Once again I have to accept she doesn’t care about me. I’ve spent more time getting to know her in the past few months than ever before with the result being I don’t know her at all. After everything that’s happened, she still doesn’t care; she lies and manipulates and pretends, and she always will. I understand now that’s just who she is; that’s all there is. What’s more, I’ll probably never see her again. I’ll just have to grow up and move on now that I’m somebody’s mummy.

There’s a tentative tap at the door. I look to the little square of glass and my heart thuds as I see the dark hair with the red streak.

She immediately dominates the room, the rose and musk scent and the colourful waves of scarves, the jangle of her jewellery. I’m still transfixed. She stands a little away from the bed, watching me with eyes of dark juice; she looks into my soul and something in her expression retreats from all of my hope and love.

‘Hello, Vivienne,’ she says softly.

I feel a single tear fall onto my face. ‘Hello,’ I say, suddenly tired of all this emotion.

She walks two steps across to the cot, looks at Angel and smiles.

‘Huh, she looks just like you did.’

‘You leaving, then?’

She looks sideways, her head cocked sympathetically, and she nods just once. I sniff and look away.

‘I have to find the best medical care I can. Probably in the US.’

‘Dr Savage diagnosed terminal cancer, did he?’

‘He alluded to it,’ she says, still gazing into the cot.

‘No scans or anything?’

‘None needed. He could tell, I think, after last time.’ She smiles sadly. ‘I mean, I don’t want to go. I could get treatment here, but now that you’re back with . . . with Max, I’d just be in the way, wouldn’t I?’

I study her closely. Fascinating how she can lie like this.

‘If you need me, though, I could stick around to look after you – you know, in case Max leaves when the going gets tough?’

‘I’m moving in with him. We can’t afford the flat.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’ She frowns.

‘What did you ask?’

‘Do you want me to stay?’

‘I wouldn’t want to stop the US trip for cancer treatment.’

‘I’d get treatment here. Dr Savage said they’d start straight away.’

I really want to confront her, tell her I know Dr Savage didn’t diagnose anything because she never saw him, ask her if she thinks I’m totally stupid, but then Max appears, quietly walking into the room with a worried face, expecting a fight. He stands next to the bed and takes my hand, so it’s us against Rainey. She looks at me intently, waiting for me to ask her to stay. I should confront her now. Do it now. But really, what’s the point? I’m tired, I don’t want a fight, and she’ll only spin more lies until I’m choked and confused with them like a fly in a web.

‘Why did you come?’

‘To see you, to see my granddaughter.’

‘No I mean why did you come to London? Why did you find me?’

She opens her mouth to speak but I interrupt, ‘Tell me the truth.’

‘Ah the truth…I had nothing better to do and I was curious. I don’t suppose I thought you’d take everything so seriously,’ she shrugs.

‘When I was seven,’ I begin, hearing my own voice bright with hurt and anger, ‘I thought I’d die if I couldn’t see your face anymore. I remember how you left. You didn’t even say goodbye.’ I watch her. She drops her head, licks her lips. ‘And I suffered. I really felt so worthless. The whole time I was growing up, I felt I was searching for something that I was unworthy of, and I thought there was nothing I could do about that, but there is something.’

She looks up into my face with those flecked eyes and I look deep into them.

‘I can let you go and I can make sure that my daughter never feels that way.’

She shakes her head.

‘So Rainey no, I don’t want you to stay. I’m letting you go and I forgive you.’

‘I wasn’t . . . I’m not cut out for it.’

‘I know. I see that.’

‘You are a nice person, Vivienne, in spite of me.’

‘I know.’

And you are a manipulative liar with your pants on fire.

We look at each other for a moment.

‘Goodbye, Mum,’ I say for the very first time, and as I smile, my eyes fill with tears for that seven-year-old me, the one who wanted a mummy. Time to let her go too.

‘Bye,’ she says, and makes for the door, where she hesitates. ‘See you around, hey?’

‘Yeah.’

The door closes. I turn my head away. I listen to the buzz of the air conditioner, the tiny in, out breaths of my little baby. I squeeze Max’s hand.

‘Not if I see you first,’ I mutter.

‘OK?’

I nod. He flashes a smile full of love and affection.

‘Let’s go home.’