Chapter 11: New Life

I’m sure it’s as much of a surprise to you as it was to me but, according to my daughter, I’m the hero of this story. Not that she knows I’m writing everything down, but she has berated me on my attitude to her mother since the conclusion of the trial. I’m required to be the strong, involved leader of my family and I’m falling down on the job, according to Aine.

“I know she’s been giving you a hard time Daddy and you’ve been patient with her, but you just seem so detached.”

“Do you want me to quarrel with her or would it show more commitment if I slapped her around a bit?”

“Don’t be silly! You know what I mean.”

The problem is that I didn’t know what she meant. When I was her age, I had rejected all authority; I quickly learned to seek advice, often taking it, but no one made my decisions. It took me a very long time to truly understand what I had let myself in for, but it was worth the effort to be the slave of no man. One of my early blunders was to reject teachers; I may have been right to reject their authority, but I was wrong to ignore their knowledge. My friends learned answers in class that I had to chase through endless pages on the internet.

I have made a point of leaving Emer to make her own decisions but now my daughter is telling me that I should have given her mother more guidance. When she failed to find a solution at home, she turned to the man who had always been ready to impose his views on her. My reluctance to tell people what to do played a large part in her decision to turn to Humphrey.

Emer was already six months pregnant when the trial finished; at first the relief that everything was settled relaxed both of us but as the weeks passed, I withdrew into the thoughts I told you about and my wife became increasingly tired and fractious. I tried to compensate for my mental reservations by being extra thoughtful in practical ways. Everything a loving husband can do, I did; I was willing and uncomplaining although I failed the physical examination once or twice.

Emer had difficulty sleeping in the eighth month but she was too restless to hold and read a book, so she woke me and I read to her while she squirmed around getting comfortable. I was working to keep the business running so there was more than one occasion when I fell asleep with the book in my hands while Emer was fidgeting. She would make a point of mentioning my failure to give my loving support as soon as she had an audience.

My father’s wife Rachel spent most of the day at our home. After Aine had left for school, I took breakfast to Emer and helped her shower; while she dressed I changed the bed and put the sheets in the wash; by that stage a pregnant woman is sweating for two. I made coffee for Rachel and then listened while my uncaring neglect was detailed.

“Well, I’m here now so we can let Jack go and bully the office staff,” Rachel would offer, soothingly.

In the evenings, I helped Aine with her homework, served and cleared our evening meal – Rachel, bless her heart, left something ready for us to eat – and massaged whatever part of Emer’s anatomy required easing. It helped to relax her to have her feet rubbed and her breasts often pained her once the milk began to come in. In the past, such intimate contact might have led to more loving embraces but now my role was to remain uninvolved, almost robotic. To be crude about it: I was easing the ache in a milk bar where previously I would have been playing with tits.

It was hard for me to hear from my daughter that my attempts at exemplary behaviour fell so far short of her expectations of me. She even accused me of being glad that I had to go to work since it took me away from her Mum’s nagging tongue. The truth is that there was no peace anywhere I went; I worried about the health of Emer and our baby although there was nothing I could do but appear confident about the outcome. She knew the facts as well as I did so I left her to make up her own mind even if I was sometimes tempted to lay down the law.

Bert had responded to my increasingly obvious anxiety by returning to his committed, helpful best. He shouldered the burden of supplying our customers and did the groundwork for re-ordering supplies; he was ably assisted by Bobby, the former footballer who was now our chief delivery driver. The office staff were just as helpful, all of them combining to give me as easy a time as possible as we approached zero hour. They had pretty well stopped coming to me for instructions since all I did was to ask what they would do in my place and telling them to get on with it.

Emer had an especially bad night, and she was in a foul mood when Rachel arrived. It had been a mistake to marry me and a blunder to come close enough to become pregnant. Aine heard most of this and went off to school in a flood of tears; when she had gone, I got the blame for upsetting the child. Rachel chased me out before I had completed my chores.

I chatted to Bobby and Bert as I entered the warehouse on my way to my office although I have no idea what they said. It was the same with the girls who brought in coffee and mail and papers, randomly and indiscriminately. By eleven o’clock I had done nothing, and I was wondering if I should go home and try to make things right, when my phone rang.

“My waters broke. Rachel’s taking me to maternity. See you there.”

This was followed by a yell that was becoming a scream of pain when it was cut off and the phone went dead. I must have repeated the news because the girls had me organised while I was staring at the instrument. They ushered me down to the loading bay, assuring me that they would take good care of everything. Bobby had been alerted so the car was waiting, and I was bundled into the front passenger seat.

Bert got in the back, and I thought for a minute that two of the girls were going to join him. They stood back and I made a regal exit through a cordon of my employees shouting ‘good luck’ messages. Bobby drove like Steve McQueen in Bullitt but failed to attract the attention of the police. When we arrived at maternity, Bert escorted me inside while Bobby parked the car. Fortunately, the entrance hall was quiet for Bert was in a mood to thrust aside obstacles animate or inanimate. I was blundering along in his wake when Rachel called out from behind me.

She was buying over-priced sandwiches and undrinkable coffee from the hospital shop while the midwives were settling Emer in readiness for the imminent action. She joined me on the trek to the maternity unit while Bert finished the shopping. My wife was sitting up in bed dressed in a hospital gown when we were ushered in by a rosy-cheeked matron who looked every inch the competent midwife – you could have put her straight onto a recruiting poster.

Standing on the other side of the bed, just removing plastic gloves, was a schoolgirl in a smart uniform. It turns out that she is the midwife charged with the care of my wife and unborn child; I outwardly accepted this, but I couldn’t stop myself hoping that the older woman would wait around to check that all was well. How can a kid like her know enough to take charge of the birth of my baby?

“Which of you is the birth partner?” the child asked, in a surprisingly mature voice.

I looked from Rachel to Emer and shrugged. I had done all the preparation to be there at the birth, but I was willing to cede my place to a woman who had herself given birth three times.

“Don’t even think about it,” Emer told me. “You got me into this mess and you’re sure as hell going to see it through.” Turning to the young midwife she jerked her thumb at me and added: “This sorry specimen is the best I can do.”

“I’ve seen worse,” the girl smiled at Rachel and Emer, ignoring me. “I’m going to get an early lunch so I can devote the rest of my shift to you. I’ll be back in half an hour to see how far you’ve dilated. The epidural will help you relax.”

Emer was shaken by a contraction before the girl left the room. She stood in the doorway looking at the watch pinned on the front of her uniform until the wave of agony passed. My poor wife was red-faced and covered in sweat, so I stepped forward to wipe her forehead with a wet-wipe; she smiled at me and then gritted her teeth as she was hit by an aftershock. The smile was replaced by a snarl as she punched my hand away.

“You did this to me,” she growled, clutching her distended belly.

Turning to Rachel, she told her that I had practically raped her. The red had faded, leaving her face blotchy; with that and her hair matted with sweat, she was a formidable, elemental force. Combined with her language towards me, her appearance should have repulsed me as I stood beside her bed, but it had the totally opposite effect. I was more aware at that moment than at any previous time just how much I loved this woman.

All my agonising over whether she had wholly thrown off the yoke placed on her by Humphrey faded into insignificance in the face of the fact that she had chosen me to be the father of her children. I was humbled by the fact that I was a man and that the very finest of us cannot do what even the most ordinary woman can, by giving birth to a new life. Standing beside a woman soon to give birth brought it home to me the inferiority of my gender. All our claims to male domination are a poor substitute for our inability to be more than useless by-standers in perpetuating the race. No wonder the ancients worshipped goddesses like Danu.

Not all of me was humble, however. I was struggling to suppress an erection as I looked down on my wife lying helpless below me. I can only think that nature was reminding me that all men were good for was insemination. I’m not proud of my reaction but I must admit, in the interests of truth, that I would have ravaged Emer there and then given the chance.

Another wave of pain quickly turned my lust into compassion. Emer held out her hands to me, grasping mine so hard that the circulation stopped, while she endured the agony. As soon as the pain eased, she let go my hands and began to berate me, this time reminding me that I had made no provision for Aine.

It was true that I had forgotten that she was at school entirely unaware of the drama that was unfolding. I rushed out to find Bert and Bobby to give them instructions only to find that my wishes had been anticipated. They told me that my daughter should be allowed to finish the school day since she could do nothing at the maternity ward. Bobby will meet her at the school gate and bring her here – in the end, Rachel went with him.

By the time I returned to Emer’s bedside, the young midwife had returned and was arranging her transfer to the delivery room. I was fitted with a gown and walked alongside the trolley. That was the final narrative event until we returned to the ward and my son was brought in to have his first feed. I have many random memories but there is no continuity and I’m not even sure of the order in which things happened.

Emer was needy and wild by turns, sometimes clutching my hand and sometimes punching and kicking. I finished up with a bruise on my ribs but whether inflicted by a fist or a heel I cannot now recall. I remember a black mushroom appearing between her thighs and having to reason out that it was the head of our son. There was a pause at that stage that seemed to continue for many minutes, but the midwife didn’t seem unduly concerned. Then, literally in the blink of my eye, the surprisingly long infant was lying there with nothing but the umbilical cord connecting him to his mother.

My focus narrowed to the figure of my wife fulfilling her destiny by struggling to bring forth a new, unique life. Every fibre of her being was devoted to that task and she was utterly exhausted by the time our son began his independent existence. There was a good deal of action at the periphery, but I paid it no heed until a tiny bundle was placed gently in my arms. He seemed much smaller than my impression of him at the moment of his birth.

All I could see was his tiny face peeping out of a pale blue blanket; I suppose I should have been thinking profound thoughts but all I can remember is wondering if they had pink blankets for baby girls. Having my son in my arms distracted me from Emer and it was some moments before I became aware that she was being cleaned up preparatory to a move back to the ward. It was the motherly midwife who took my baby from me and sent me out to the waiting room.

I was a little miffed that Rachel and the others knew already that mother and baby were doing well – I had wanted to watch their faces when I broke the news. I think I wanted to see the new respect in their eyes for me, the man who had fathered an everyday miracle. I was well aware of the minor role I had played but I had an almost uncontrollable urge to strut. Aine brought me back to earth – almost literally!

She ran and leaped into my arms with her hands round my neck and her legs scissoring round my waist; she used to do that a lot when she was younger but now, at thirteen she almost knocked me onto my back. I staggered two steps backwards until the wall behind me prevented any further movement. Rachel hugged us both, showing surprising strength as she hauled me upright. With nothing much left to aim at, Bert contented himself with patting me on the head. Bobby was chatting up a little nurse.

“You’re a granddad again,” I told Bert.

He looked bewildered for a second or two and then he started crying, softly and quietly.

“I knew it here,” he sobbed, touching his temple, “That Emer is my daughter, but this is the first time I’ve known it in my heart.”

“It’s not all good news, Bert,” Bobby broke in. “You’re stuck with Jack as a son in law.”

Aine was still in my arms and Rachel was still hugging both of us when the young midwife came in smiling to tell us that Emer was ready to accept visitors. She grinned when we all moved as one, setting a limit of three at a time and reminding us that we were not to tire the new mum. I let the rest go ahead while I thanked the girl, admitting that I had thought her too young for the job. She kissed my cheek and went away chuckling.

Grandfather and granddaughter went in first, hand in hand, while I checked with Rachel on who had been telephoned with the happy news. I had Emer’s phone with me, switched off, and I left it that way on my stepmother’s advice. I was astonished to notice that it was almost five o’clock – it seemed only minutes since I left work shortly after eleven.

“They’re keeping her in overnight so answering the phone will stop her fretting. The problem is that she’ll feel euphoric at this point, but she’s really knackered. You’ll have to save her from herself, Jack.”

Bobby thought he shouldn’t go in since he wasn’t family, and he was clearly embarrassed by the sight of Emer in a nightgown that was designed to offer easy access to a feeding baby rather than for common decency. She was unperturbed although she did send everyone but Aine and I out of the room when the baby was brought in for feeding. Our daughter was inclined to be clingy, and I think she would have liked to be on bed with her mum while the tiny scrap of humanity plundered the nipple with satisfying enthusiasm.

“I can’t go on calling my baby brother ‘him’,” Aine declared, looking at me. “What are you going to call him?”

We had known for months that we were going to have a boy, and I had suggested a number of names; I began with names that appealed to me but ended up with increasingly wild ideas. Emer listened and discussed the suggestions, but she gave no hint of her thoughts on the matter. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied I might have noticed sooner that her hesitation was deliberate: she had made up her mind, but she wanted to keep the name a secret from me.

It hadn’t seemed very important until I saw him lying between his mother’s thighs taking his first breath as an independent being. I had begun speculating that Emer would want to call him Dan or Don in honour of the goddess Danu. I discovered that I didn’t have very strong views one way or another; he mattered but what he was called didn’t matter at all. I was quite content to leave the naming of him to my wife.

Now I looked at her while Aine, following my lead, also looked at her mother. Emer moved the baby to her other nipple, looked at both of us and blushed. She looked away from us and spoke to the baby’s head on her chest.

“Connla.”

She looked up then with fierce determination, daring me to object. My first instinct was to reject her choice of name which brought to mind too many unhappy events that had almost ruined her life. Then I realised that she had been most affected and that her choice was the result of careful thought. I think she read the change of attitude in my eyes for she smiled briefly before she explained.

“Until now, the only truly happy time of my life was when I was a little girl, cared for by Bert and Claude with my big brother always there beside me. I don’t want to skip over the bad parts but calling our son Connla will help me to build a bridge between the two wonderful times in my life.”

That had to content us for the moment because the room suddenly became rather crowded. A nurse came in to see how the feeding had gone, taking Connla over to a mat in the corner to change his nappy.

“I’ll take him out,” she announced, having quickly checked. “He’s a bit niffy.”

She was almost at the door when my father came in accompanied by two of the girls from the warehouse. They all stopped to coo but not for long as the odour from the soiled nappy was pungent, now permeating the whole room. We had been asked to limit the number of visitors so we stood and argued for several minutes about who should leave. The matter was finally resolved by the nurse returning and throwing us all out while she checked Emer’s vital signs and tidied her up.

We were happy enough to leave, to stand gazing through the window into the nursery where Connla was sleeping with a full belly and an empty nappy. Dad and the girls eventually got in to spend a few minutes with the new mother while I consulted with the nurse and Rachel about the immediate future. Subject to approval by the consultant, Emer can leave as soon as she wants; she is well and Connla has proved an adept at feeding.