Chapter 40
40
TEN DAYS LATER
It’s quite nice to have the house to myself for a bit. The boys have headed out with their friends for the evening, taking their noise and mayhem with them.
It has been non-stop since they’ve been home, between doing their washing, refilling the fridge (over and over again) and picking up soggy towels from the bathroom floor. I know I should make them do it all themselves but I’m enjoying feeling needed again. That said, I’ll be glad when they go back to Manchester too.
The boys being at home has enforced a taking-things-slow approach to my burgeoning romance with Conal. It’s probably a good thing. I don’t want to make a mess of this and I think Conal is nervous too. Going slowly is giving us time to adjust and really get to know each other. But getting the chance for a good snog isn’t easy and I really do enjoy snogging Conal. Our first kiss was everything I hoped it would be and I’d been delighted to find out I hadn’t forgotten how to do it after all. We’d had a lovely meal together, followed by a couple of drinks and we laughed and chatted as if we were always meant to laugh and chat together. We’d touched on tougher times – talked of his grief and mine but it didn’t feel like we were wallowing in it. We were just sharing the experience of having lost a parent. Conal and I, it seems, have a lot of shared experiences. We’re both divorced. Both of us have two children. We both have dogs that have larger-than-life personalities and we both want to see more of the world.
By the time he’d walked me home, my heart felt lighter than it had done in years and I’d remembered what it was like to really, really want to be kissed by someone. What it was like to feel the hairs on my arms rise up when he took my hand. How the warmth of him beside me made me feel safe.
He didn’t come in that night. We were determined to do this right and give us the best chance. But he did kiss me, on my doorstep, his breath warm, his hand tilting my face towards him. When his lips first brushed against mine I’d realised that even if the Waltons had fifty children, I’d be unable to talk my body out of wanting and needing more of him.
The next morning I’d started to write another column – Ten Ways to Take a Chance on Love in Your Forties. I was just saving it onto my desktop when my phone pinged with an email notification. Grace Adams at Northern People had emailed me back. She liked my column ideas. She wants to discuss my writing after the Christmas holidays. ‘I think you could be just the voice we’re looking for,’ she’d written. ‘I love the pitches. They need a little finessing but I’ve no doubt you’d be more than able for it. I really appreciate you sending these to me.’ I had been practically radioactive with the glow of a woman who felt valued and visible for the first time in years. I’m so excited about it that it drowns out the nerves I feel at the thought of a proper face-to-face meeting with an actual magazine editor.
But even with my nerves there is no Christmas present I could want more. Apart from my boys being back under my roof, of course. With them here, the house feels alive again.
Saul is delighted to be back on familiar territory and has been enjoying living it up with his old school pals – all of whom have congregated back in Derry for the holidays. Adam, who would normally have been one of this gang of friends, has been much, much too distracted by his romance with Jodie. There’s no shortage of snogging going on there.
Yes, their relationship is real and yes, it’s serious. To the surprise of both Niamh and me, the big love affair has been going on longer than we could’ve guessed.
It appears, they sheepishly admitted, that it all started on one particularly hot and sultry summer night, which I don’t want to give much thought to. Adam has even admitted to me that he has had a crush on Jodie since forever – but he’d put it out of his head because they had grown up together and he didn’t want to ruin their friendship.
But that was before he’d realised that some risks are worth taking. That’s a lesson I’m learning myself.
Right at this moment, I am in my happy place. I am curled up on the sofa, with a sleeping Daniel at my feet and the fire is burning while I catch up on the Strictly Come Dancing final, with a not-so-little glass of Baileys at my side. I don’t think I have felt this serene in years.
But of course, just as I think about how relaxing this is, my doorbell bursts into life as someone rings it six or seven times in a row – waking a very unimpressed Daniel in the process. I jump, of course, and this knocks over my Baileys, which Daniel decides he quite likes.
As the doorbell keeps ringing, I’ve no choice but to leave Daniel to his libations and run to see what obviously life-threatening emergency is befalling us.
Please God, don’t let it be something wrong with Mum , I think as I open the door. I can handle anything else but something happening to Mum.
As I open the door, I’m greeted by the sight of Niamh, her face sheet white, her eyes wide. Behind her I notice Laura running up the driveway. ‘I got here as fast as I could,’ she gasps as I look between her and Niamh, my heart now thumping.
Niamh pushes past me into the living room while Laura gives me a sympathetic look as she walks through the door. I’m worried now. Really worried. If it’s not Mum, is it Conal? It’s not the boys is it? I can’t speak. I don’t want to put my greatest fears into words.
As I follow my friends into the living room, Niamh sees the look of fear in my eyes. ‘No one’s dead,’ she says. ‘I should lead with that because you look like you might throw up.’
‘Then what is it?’ I ask, as Daniel plods over towards me and slumps at my feet. Just how much Baileys does it take to intoxicate a spaniel?
I look from Niamh to Laura – who looks as confused as I am.
‘I just got a message to get over here as soon as possible,’ she says.
Niamh is standing in front of my fireplace, rummaging in her bag while Laura and I look on expectantly.
‘This!’ she says, taking an item from her bag and waving it in front of me. ‘This is what it is!’
I squint at it in the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights. Is that… Is it a pregnancy test? ‘Not this again, Niamh,’ I say. ‘You spoke to the doctor. You got your results back. Your hormones are in the toilet and you are not pregnant!’
‘Correct!’ Niamh says, glaring at me. I wonder what I’m missing.
‘ I’m not pregnant,’ Niamh says, slowly, and none of this explains why on earth she would have almost beaten my front door down just to tell me something we already knew.
‘Is this just an announcement you’re going to make once a week from now on?’ I ask. ‘Or am I missing something?’ I ask, again looking from her to Laura and back again.
‘Yes!’ Niamh says. ‘You are missing something. A very big something. Take a moment and think about it.’
Nope. Nothing is coming to mind. I grab the stick from her and look at it. I can confirm there are very clearly two blue lines on display. If Niamh isn’t pregnant then who…
‘Oh my God!’ Laura says. Clearly the penny has dropped for her but it hasn’t for me. If Niamh isn’t pregnant then who could be… and suddenly it all falls into place.
‘Becca, congratulations. We’re going to be grannies,’ Niamh says finally.