Chapter 26
‘Hello?’ Don’s voice sounded irritable.
‘Don?’ Bella was in tears again and there were frantic screams in the background.
‘What’s the matter, Bella?’ He tried to sound sympathetic.
‘He won’t stop crying,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t know what to do, I’ve fed him, I’ve changed him, maybe there’s something wrong with him.’
‘Have you winded him?’
‘Of course.’ She was beginning to sound angry now.
‘Maybe he’s just tired, Bella. I’m sure he’s fine.’
‘Tired?’ she shouted. ‘Of course, he’s bloody tired, he’s been up since 6a.m. and it’s now eleven but he’ll only sleep with my nipple in his mouth. I can’t take any more of this. I need to tidy up, I need to have a bath, I need some sleep, I’m going to go insane.’ She was practically screaming now.
‘Bella,’ Don’s voice was irritated, ‘I’m at work, I can’t help you right now, calm down, go for a walk or something. I’ve got more important things to do than listen to this— sorry,’ he said immediately, regretting the words.
‘Bloody hell.’ Bella slammed the phone down. Go for a walk? She was too exhausted to walk the length of the room. She threw herself down on the sofa and howled with her baby.
Don sat at his desk wondering what to do. Should he phone her back? Too risky… instead, he decided to phone his mum.
‘It’s definitely time for you to come down and help, Mum, if you can,’ he said as soon as the fond hellos were over.
‘I would love to, I’ve been dying for you to ask,’ was Maddie’s response. ‘But I didn’t want to impose.’
He was already feeling much calmer at the sound of her voice.
‘How are you both getting on?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been worrying about you.’
‘It’s absolute murder,’ he was surprised to hear himself say.
‘Oh dear,’ Maddie said sympathetically. ‘How’s Bella coping?’
‘Not brilliantly right now,’ Don answered. That was putting it mildly.
‘Well, she’s been such an independent girl for so long now. It must be a shock to be at the beck and call of a baby.’
‘When can you come?’ he asked, thinking she’d probably missed the last flight out of Inverness today. But maybe he could get her on the first plane in the morning.
‘When do you want me?’
‘Tomorrow? I can organise a flight.’ He knew how desperate he must sound and felt a bit embarrassed.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Donald!’ his Mum laughed. ‘You’ll need to warn Bella. I’ll come at the weekend. Are you phoning from work?’ she asked sharply.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what on earth are you doing there while she is struggling?’
‘I had to get back.’
‘What utter nonsense,’ she said. ‘This is serious. Take some holiday time. Organise a month’s emergency leave if you have to. And take the next three days off. I’ll be there on Saturday, if that’s what Bella wants. In fact, if you don’t take the next three days off, I’m not going to come, is that clear?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he mumbled.
‘Donald McCarthy, you should be ashamed of yourself,’ she added.
Once the call was over, Don arranged the time off, despite the news editor’s raised eyebrows, and he left work that evening as early as he could.
He still hadn’t dared to phone Bella back and wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he opened the front door.
Bella was obviously giving Markie his evening bath, because there was frantic crying coming from the bathroom. Don went into the sitting room and flicked on the TV to the championship match he’d been hoping to watch.
He took off his shoes and glanced round the room. It looked extraordinary. There were cloths and pieces of kitchen towel in little heaps all over the floor. In one pile he spotted a yellow-stained vest and several yellowish rolled-up nappies. Plates, one with a half-eaten cheese sandwich, and mugs half full of cold tea littered the area round the sofa. The beautiful leather sofa had an unmistakable yellow stain on it. Good grief.
After doing a quick tidy, he decided to brave going upstairs to say hello. Opening the bathroom door, he saw Bella had Markie cuddled in a towel on the changing mat. The baby was shrieking and she was trying to talk to him soothingly as she struggled to put on a nappy.
She looked awful, her face was pale and blotchy with red-rimmed eyes, her hair was lank and fixed up messily on her head. She was wearing his old tracksuit bottoms with the hideous tartan shirt. The shoulders were stained with white patches of vomit and he could see patches of damp around her breasts when she turned round to look at him.
‘Hi,’ he said gently.
She didn’t say anything back.
‘I’ve taken the rest of the week off so I can help you, and Maddie would like to come down at the weekend.’
‘Fine,’ she said simply and turned back to Markie.
‘Does he need a feed now?’
‘Yes, no doubt,’ she snapped back.
‘Well, when he’s finished, why don’t I take him? You can have a bath or a nap and I’ll order some curry in if you like.’
‘OK.’ She didn’t add anything more or look round at him again.
‘All right, I’ll go downstairs and do some more tidying.’
She still didn’t reply, so he left the room.
About forty-five minutes later, Bella came down with Markie. The baby was nuzzled up against her shoulder looking dreamy.
‘OK, you’re in charge,’ she said, handing him over gently to Don.
She went out of the room and Markie started to grizzle. Don put him up against his shoulder and started to walk round the room trying to keep one eye on the football match – bloody hell, a penalty kick.
He stood still to watch the kick and could hear the soft choking noise which meant his son was puking on his shoulder. With some distaste, he looked over at the lumpy white vomit on his best work shirt. Where were those cloth things?
He searched the room and realised he had tidied them all away, he would have to go into the kitchen. From the hallway he could hear the cheers, damn, a goal. Damn, damn, damn, he should be there. He could be in Italy right now, for work, not dealing with baby sick.
Meanwhile, Bella was standing naked in the bathroom waiting for her bath to fill. She looked at herself in the mirror and the sight was depressing. Her breasts were huge sagging marrows with silvery stretch marks streaked across them. Her stomach was unmarked but it looked deflated with crinkly skin covering a mound of wobbly flab. She turned around and saw with horror that her bum appeared to have dropped by five inches and there was a layer of unyielding cellulite sitting all around the top of her thighs.
She sighed and tried to think happy thoughts. A bath, a long, hot, relaxing bath and she would feel better. She opened the bottle of fantastically expensive bath foam from Tania and leaned over the taps to tip it in.
The liquid hit the running tap water and bounced, spitting a blob back, which landed squarely in her right eye. Packed with high-end aromatherapy oils, it stung like hell. She rushed to the sink and tried to wash it out. Owwww, her eye was smarting. She rinsed and rinsed then looked up in the mirror to see her eyeball, bright red and watering.
For a moment, she thought she was going to dissolve into tears for the millionth time that day, but she suddenly saw the funny side and began to laugh hard. She could feel her stitches strain as she drew breath and laughed again.
God, this was an absolute nightmare! No wonder nobody warned you, or told you the truth, no one would have children if they did.
She crawled into the bath and leaned back to relax, but now that the water was off, she could hear Markie howling downstairs. OK, from now on baths were out, she would have to relax in the shower, where she wouldn’t be able to hear him.
With a heavy heart, Don had decided to abandon the football entirely and take Markie for a walk outside. He had finally managed to work the little howling bundle into his zip-up suit and then into the buggy when Markie vomited again all over his clothes and the buggy.
Oh God, Don groaned to himself, how do people do this? How do they manage with a baby, with a toddler, with two children… three? This baby was going to be dependent on them for the next eighteen years at least. Eighteen years!! He pictured Markie as a little schoolboy, as a twelve-year-old, as a sulky teenager and he felt gripped by a vague panic.
He didn’t know if he could handle this. Was this what he wanted? To go through all that stuff again: swings, sandpits, playground bullies, school football matches, homework, first dates, wet dreams, driving lessons, but this time as a dad?
He looked at the baby, crying now with vomit in a pool beside his face and on his jacket. God this was going to be really hard.
For a moment Don thought about his own dad and wondered what part of it had caused him to walk out of the door for ever.