16. Iris
Iris
I watched from the comfiness of the nursing chair that’d been delivered the day before as Gully touched up paintwork that there was absolutely nothing wrong with in the first place.
My fiancé was nesting. It was meant to be me who went through this stage of tidying and organising, but that’d happened about four weeks ago, after which I’d discovered a really good crime series that wasn’t written by Gully or my sister and I’d binge read it at least four times without any guilt whatsoever.
Gully had repainted the nursery twice. The first time, it was a pretty yellow colour, but he hadn’t liked it from day one, pouring over paint cards and social media for ideas. It was now an equally pretty green, which I probably preferred but I didn’t dare tell him that in case he started to question me on other colours and whether I preferred something else, which would mean another redo and I didn’t have the energy to watch him.
I was due any day and I knew it. My due date was today, but I knew we’d skip a hospital trip because I wasn’t quite ready yet. Moon had slowed down, which was normal because there wasn’t much room for her in there anymore. She was measuring exactly where she should be and all the signs were good, healthy, no indicators of any distress, and somehow, I was just as healthy.
The gods had smiled on us. The difficulty in me getting pregnant had been balanced with a pregnancy that had been textbook, including the part where I hadn’t seen my feet or vagina for a considerable length of time.
Gully had kept track of both and apparently they were healthy and tended to, but I’d even got to the point now where the only thing I wanted near my vagina was this baby exiting.
This week would be good.
At least Gully wouldn’t have time to paint after that.
“It looks really good. I think we should just let everything dry now.” I stood up, feeling something in my back hurt that I hadn’t previously known existed.
He put the paintbrush down and looked at his work. “What about a mural?”
“Maybe. In a few months. Let’s see how we get on with everything else.” Which included a load of sensory toys, a mobile, more plushies than a toy store and a whole library of books that would take Moon from three months to thirteen.
According to Freya and Ruby, Gully was even surpassing his brothers in terms of fussing. This time around Roe was fairly chilled, knowing what was to come, and Finn hadn’t even blinked, but that was possibly because he was still in shock. They were both due in February, just before the date when Gully and I had booked our wedding. No one minded it being close. I’d set a date for my hen party for June, months after and when we’d all be able to enjoy a drink or eight without worrying about breast feeding as much, if that was what happened.
I felt like I was ready. I didn’t have pressure on me to look a certain way to get married, or to breastfeed or to parent in any particular way. No one, including Gully’s mother, had told me what to do, which had been a relief, but there was always advice if I asked for it.
“You’re sure you’re happy with it?” He looked at me, nerves and fear etched on his handsome face.
“I’ll be happier when you stop painting.”
He nodded and looked dejected.
“Gully,” I wrapped my arms around him. “It’s perfect. You’ve done amazing and everything’s ready. How about we go to the Puffin Inn for dinner and think about anything apart from babies?”
He nodded, but still looked put out. “That’s hard when everyone’s pregnant at the same time.”
“True. But this might be the last time we can sit near Mavis while she’s playing cards and not be told off for having a kid with us.”
That got me a grin. “You’re right. Want to walk?”
I nodded. “Might be a bit slow, but yes. Give me half an hour to have a shower.” I was showering two or three times a day, finding the pressure of the water and the temperature a relief.
It was after the shower when I came back into our bedroom, the crib set up by the bed already, waiting for its occupant, that I saw an envelope, the familiar writing on the front.
I sat down, my towel still wrapped around me, and opened it carefully. We were still writing to each other most days. Sometimes it was just a note, sometimes it was lengthy, it all depended on the day and what we were feeling. I wasn’t sure if it would ever stop – I supposed having a new-born would test the habit given the lack of time we’d likely have.
I started to read, the sound of the sea pattering through an open window.
Dear Iris,
This might be the last time I write before our little girl’s born. I’m not sure how many words I’ll have after that because I think for the first time in my life I’ll be speechless. At least for the first hour.
I know I’ve driven you mad with the nursery. I’ve needed something to do and I can’t start writing a new book because I don’t know how long the pause will need to be before I can start working on it again. I can’t go through what you’re about to. I haven’t been any use over the last nine months while you’ve grown our baby girl, and I’m not going to be much use while you go through labour and give birth. I can do other things though, like decorate and tidy and be there at night or during the day and let you rest and sleep and shower and anything else.
You’re amazing.
I don’t know how else to say it, but you amaze me. Your strength, your kindness, your creativity and energy. Moon is so lucky to have you as her role model.
I’m so lucky to have you.
It feels like a circle is being completed. The first time I met you was at Ivy’s funeral when we were both too overwhelmed to exchange more than a few words. Now, thanks to Ivy, we’ll have our little girl and next year we’ll put the cherry on top and I can’t wait for that either.
I’m so fucking lucky. I wake up and wonder every day what I did to deserve everything I’ve got – then Roe turns up and reminds me what else I have, which is him and he’s not always a blessing.
I joke, but don’t tell him that.
Moving to Puffin Bay was a risk which we decided collectively to take. Now it’s the best decision the three of us have ever made. Our kids will grow up close – whether they like it or not – and we’ll get to watch them in a place that still makes my heart sing.
But not as much as you.
I don’t think anything will ever be as much as you.
I love you.
Gully
I wiped at my eyes even though there was no point, because the tears weren’t going to stop any time soon. There was also another letter, this one addressed to Moon and I wasn’t sure if Gully had left it there on purpose.
I opened it, just in case he had.
Dear Moon,
Sorry about the name. Your mam and I couldn’t think of a better one for you while we decided on what to call you – which we still haven’t, by the way, and you’re due to arrive any time soon.
I’ve been writing letters to your mam for years now and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I decided I should probably start writing them to you as well, because there’ll be a time when you don’t want to talk to me, probably when you’re about thirteen, unless you want something. But they’ll also be there for you to read when you’re a grown up and maybe I’m old or not around anymore, because one day that will happen. You can read the letters I sent your mam and know something of our story and how you came to be.
You were always very much wanted and your story isn’t the same as your cousins Elias’ or Elsie’s – ask Uncle Finn about that. Whatever you choose to do, whoever you become, I will love you until the end of time.
I’m waiting for you to be born now, because you’re due today, but you’re not here yet and I don’t think today’s going to be your birthday, if I’m honest. I think we have another couple of days of me pacing round the house like a hen on hot bricks waiting for your mam to go through something horrible and then for you to take your first breaths.
I can’t wait.
I can’t wait to meet you.
I couldn’t wait to meet you.
And we still need to agree on a name. There’s a lady who lives in the town called Mavis, she’s pretty much the unelected town official and she can be scary, but I’ve always gotten on well with her. She’s elderly and I’m not sure if you’ll grow up quick enough to know her. Part of me wants to name you after her, but I’m not sure if you’ll thank me for it when you’re older.
I think we’ll know what to call you when we hold you in our arms for the first time.
I’m hoping so, or it might be Mavis after all.
Love you, Moon.
Dad
I somehow managed to pull myself together, tucking the letter away in the envelope, my heart bursting with too much for me to ever understand.
I lost the towel in the bathroom, then rubbed oil over my skin and belly, hoping to minimise the stretch marks that I was sure I might mind in years to come. I felt a movement, the baby shifting, maybe a little lower than I was used to. She was getting ready, I could tell.
“You there?”
Gully’s voice came from the doorway. I walked out of the bathroom back into the bedroom, aware that I was very, very naked and somewhat oily.
“Just finishing up.”
His eyes wandered all over me. “Can I take your photo? You look amazing.”
I nodded. “I’ve not done one for a couple of days.” I hadn’t actually touched my camera for a while. Like Gully, I was just waiting now and I didn’t want to start anything until she was here, when I’d probably break my camera with the number of photos I was going to take of her.
He messed around with my camera, proficient enough with it now to not worry me.
“Go near the window.”
I nodded, seeing what he was going for with the light. I shifted my body so I was side on, lifting the leg closest to the camera, cupping my breasts and my belly so it was somewhat modest.
Gully clicked away. I shifted a few times, a strange feeling settling in my lower back. I suspected this was the early stage of labour, but I was too hungry to mention it to Gully and I knew Amelie had lasagne on the menu.
“We should go and eat.” I crossed the room to him, taking hold of the camera so I could preview the photos. “You’re getting pretty good at this.”
“Thanks. I’m going to put it in your hospital bag.” He stared at me. “Have you been crying?”
“I read your letters.” That should be enough explanation. “We need a box for her where you can put those letters and photos and things like that. I still have the first pregnancy test I took as well. That can go in there and freak her out when she’s old enough.” I smiled at the thought.
“Let’s stop off at the community centre and see what’s in the craft shops. Might be the last time we’re out without a pram for a few months.”
He was right.
Labour started just after lunch the following day, short, spaced out contractions that I thought would have Gully’s head spinning, but instead he was calm and held it together. We phoned Carole who sounded more excited over the phone than anything else, telling me to relax, try to watch something on TV or walk around and make our way down to the hospital that evening, unless anything seemed to speed up.
I walked around the garden, watched the Menai Strait from the jetty, played cards with Gully and managed to beat him easily at crib, and I spoke to Freya and Ruby on a video call, both of whom were hugely excited and then had an argument over which one of them would get to hold her first.
It was after that call I felt panic. What if something went wrong? What if the birth went badly?
Gully made the call then that we were going to the cottage hospital, so I was bustled into the car with my bag and his laptop for some reason, and his words of reassurance that were actually helping.
He drove carefully, not breaking any speed limits, despite my waters breaking over his car seat, which was definitely a tomorrow problem. Probably a day after tomorrow or next week problem, in fact.
Carole met us as soon as we walked in, smiling as usual, looking full of excitement. “Look at the pair of you,” she said. “You look so worried. I promise you’ll be fine – women have been doing this since the dawn of time. Let’s have a check of where you’re up to.” Then everything started to feel okay again and my own heart rate dropped to a more sensible level.
Labour continued throughout the night, and labour was the right word for it. It didn’t seem to end or let me have a break, my body working in weird, ancient ways that I didn’t think I’d ever understand. Carole stayed with us, checking the baby’s heart rate, my heart rate, offering reassuring words followed by the news that I was only so many centimetres dilated, which Gully and I both knew meant that this could carry on for a lot longer.
He paced some, read some, messaged his brothers and his mum, spoke to Mavis on loudspeaker who told me that I wouldn’t remember this soon and it would pass. It was just before dawn when I told Carole that I needed to push and she checked and agreed, the last few centimetres having been met without us really realising it.
I pushed and yelled and called Gully a lot of names, and I cried and cried some more for a different reason as dawn broke through the window and our daughter introduced herself to the world with a big, powerful pair of lungs and a head full of dark hair, all bloody and gooey and absolutely beautiful.
I held her in my arms, not sure if I’d ever be able to stop looking at her, utterly and completely in love and still crying, which was making the looking a bit difficult really. Gully was no better, a box of tissues already destroyed, but he hadn’t fainted which put him ahead of his brothers in the league table apparently.
Carole bathed her while another midwife took care of the afterbirth and smiled when she told me I was lucky as I didn’t need any stitches. I didn’t care at that point. They could’ve done whatever they wanted to me as long as I could still see my baby.
Our baby.
“We need a name for her.” Gully sat on the bed next to me, holding our daughter to his bare chest, his expression that of a man who would be in love with this little girl for the rest of his life.
“Aurora.” It was a name we’d thrown about. “Rory for short. It suits her.”
He nodded. “Agreed. I think Ivy for a middle name. We should do that.”
“Will Mavis be okay with that?” She’d been angling for the baby to be named after her, maybe not seriously so, but I liked Mavis. I wanted to be her when I was ninety-two.
“Three names then?” He looked at me. “Aurora Ivy Mavis Holland?”
“Sounds good.” I held her hand with my finger, obsessed with how tiny her nails were. “We have a name.”
“And a baby.”
The first visitors were Ruby and Freya, who’d apparently done some deal with their husbands so that they could come and see Rory first and Finn and Roe could go and wet the baby’s head with Gully tomorrow.
“Did you work out who was going to hold her first?” I eyed both of my pregnant friends.
Ruby nodded. “Me. Freya gets first dibs with your next one.”
I handed Rory to her, more concerned with the fact she’d just mentioned a second child when I was only just not pregnant with my first than that I was letting someone else hold my daughter.
“Second?”
Ruby nodded. “Second. Hey, little Rory, I’m your Auntie Rubes and in here’s your cousin. You get to meet him in four months. She looks like Gully, Iris. I’m sorry about that.”
I laughed, which hurt a little. I wasn’t sure if my insides would ever be the same. “She’ll look like all her cousins then. Those Holland genes are strong.”
Ruby shrugged, giving Rory a good sniff. “You and Ivy look very similar though, so there’ll be strong genes there too. She’s a lucky girl, getting to grow up here with everyone, aren’t you?”
Eventually, Freya got a turn, cuddling her close to her belly and murmuring witchy words to her, which was Freya all over.
“I’m allowed to tell you that I’m having a girl too. Roe wanted to keep it quiet, but I overruled him. So you’ll have another half-sister, technically.” She lifted Rory close to give her a quick kiss and then carefully passed her back to me. “Our kids are going to have fun explaining their family tree when they’re older.”
I laughed, snuggling with Aurora, happy to have her back next to me, happy to have Freya and Ruby there too. I missed my sister right now so very much, but I wasn’t alone.
I wouldn’t be alone again.