Until her arrival, Robert had been the most important person in her life. Now, Isobel occupied the same position. But there would be no jostling, no competition, because love was as expansive as the demands placed upon it. A stomach bump, Carla had discovered, no matter how cumbersome, no matter how active, no matter how cherished, had no reality until the moment of birth.
Yesterday, Nurse Clancy – or Amanda, as she preferred to be called – showed Carla how to hold her daughter and bring her gently to her breast.
‘Isobel is a natural feeder,’ she declared. ‘She knows exactly what she wants. I don’t see you having any difficulties when you leave us.’
Sudden, fat tears had coursed down Carla’s cheeks. Baby blues. Amanda knew what to do. A sensible explanation as to why new mothers often felt weepy and prone to mood swings.
‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ she said as she passed a box of tissues to Carla. ‘You’re more than capable of managing this lively young lady. Just don’t allow her to intimidate you.’
The imminent arrival of photographers had concentrated Carla’s mind. She took out her cosmetic case and set to work. By the time they entered the ward she was glowing, ready for action. She had gathered Isobel in her arms and smiled for the cameras. Isobel slept throughout the session, unperturbed by the clicks and flashes, the commands…This way, Carla…That way…Beautiful…Perfect…One more…Last one…Last one…
Amanda had arrived and shown them the door. ‘Have you men no consideration for a woman who has been labouring all night to bring her baby into the world?’ she demanded. ‘Get out of here before I take my broomstick to your hairy backsides.’
The first photographs of the Anticipation Baby had made the evening editions of the Evening Herald and the Evening Press, and was shown on the early edition of the televised news bulletin. Robert had been tight-lipped when he saw the media coverage. Carla had feared another row and suspected one would have occurred had the ward not been full of people. She had agreed with him that from now on their daughter must be kept out of the public eye. Carla’s Anticipation contract was over and Raine had already chosen a successor.
But most of yesterday remained a haze. Her family and friends had called throughout the day, bringing champagne and gifts. Gina Kelly, Carla’s sister-in-law, due her first baby in January, had asked for a blow-by-blow account. ‘Tell me everything,’ she demanded. ‘Just leave out the gory details…if possible.’
‘It was as easy as falling off a log.’ Carla dismissed six hours of intense labour with an airy shrug. All she wanted to remember was that instant of contact when, trailing blood and mucus, her daughter had been placed across her chest; a withered old woman’s face and scrawny fingers (all ten, the midwife assured her, same with the toes) and, in that instant, Carla had fallen feverishly in love. That, she reckoned, would be the abiding memory for the rest of her life.
Robert, pale and sober by then, was equally besotted. ‘She’s so perfect,’ he whispered. ‘So beautiful.’
Carla, nodding in agreement, had realised that beauty no longer had any meaning. It simply belonged in the eye of the beholder.
‘You have to come and stay with us when you leave the clinic,’ her mother said, disregarding the fact that Carla had already discussed this offer with her before Isobel was born and had refused.
‘Thanks for the thought, Mother, but Robert’s taking some time off work. We’ll be fine.’
‘Nonsense. You’ve no idea how difficult it’ll be when you go home. I still have nightmares about your first few months. Colic. You never stopped crying. No, no, I insist. Your old bedroom has been redecorated. It’s ready and waiting for the three of you.’
‘Once we’re settled into a routine, we’ll come and visit, maybe stay overnight.’ Carla’s energy had dipped, as it usually did when she was forced to argue with her mother.
‘You’ll thank me in the end.’ Janet’s voice climbed a notch. ‘It’s all very well lying here in a swanky clinic, being waited on hand and foot. But it’s a different kettle of fish when you’re up all night with a crying baby. And your father is really looking forward to having you stay, aren’t you, Gerard?’
‘Leave the girl alone.’ Gerard Kelly touched his wife’s wrist. ‘She knows we’re here if she needs us.’
Gillian and Raine had arrived with flowers and copies of the evening papers, and the focus of attention was back on Isobel again.
‘Welcome, Isobel Gillian.’ Gillian leaned over the cot and peeled back the sheet to admire her first grandchild. ‘Thank you so much for giving her my name,’ she whispered to Carla. ‘I’m so honoured.’
The veins on her hands were starkly ridged, her cheekbones accentuated. Despite her insistence that she was responding well to treatment, she was continuing to lose weight. Carla turned away, ready to cry again. She was like a tap, leaking everywhere. Her breasts ached a warning and Amanda, entering and catching her expression, had announced that visiting was over.
‘Good morning,’ said Amanda, arriving on the morning shift. ‘How was the night?’
‘Restless,’ said Carla, who had left her bed many times to stand beside Isobel’s cot, her own breath suspended as she watched her daughter’s chest rising and falling. She was unable to resist touching her gently to see her move. Even the flicker of her eyelashes was insufficient to reassure Carla she was safe.
‘How’s the feeding going?’ Amanda asked as Isobel stirred and whimpered.
‘I think my milk’s come down.’ Carla lifted her daughter and lowered the flap of her nursing bra. ‘It looks thicker.’
‘Excellent.’ Amanda nodded, satisfied. ‘Usually it takes longer. Like I said, that kid’s a natural. Keep it up, Mother.’
‘What’s the world doing outside?’ Carla asked.
‘The weather forecast is lousy. Rain and more rain. And this young lady, with her glamorous mother, is on the front page of the Irish Independent.’
Carla winced, imagining Robert’s annoyance. Nothing she could do about it. She returned her attention to Isobel, whose lips now had a vice-like grip on her nipple.
‘You look tired,’ Amanda said, as Carla eased Isobel from one breast to the other. ‘Why don’t you let us take her to the nursery for a few hours so you can catch up on some sleep?’
‘No. I’ll be fine.’ Carla shook her head. ‘Leave her with me.’
After Isobel finished feeding, Amanda demonstrated how to bathe her. Carla, seeing the little starfish body with her blobby belly button, lying on a towel, tried to control her tears. Such a bitsy baby to have made such an arduous journey.
‘Don’t be frightened.’ Amanda guided her hand to the bony curve of Isobel’s head. ‘Babies are tougher than they look but they do need to know you’re in control.’
Two more days, then she and Robert would be alone with this terrifyingly tiny individual. No wonder she was panicking. No wonder her pillow was wet with tears.
Robert arrived mid-morning for a quick visit and watched, fascinated, as Isobel’s lips searched and latched onto Carla’s nipple, her tiny cheeks moving like miniature bellows. When her head lolled to one side and a dribble leaked from the corner of her mouth, he winded her and placed her back in her cot. He settled the bedclothes around Carla, who was almost asleep, and quietly left the ward.
Carla drifted high above the sounds of the afternoon routine and slept.
She continued to weep in her dreams, knowing with the horrendous certainly that