Chapter 25
IN THE MORNING SHE WOKE TO FIND HER PARENTS at her bedside.
‘You have a black eye,’ her mother said, horrified, and Lydia assured her it wasn’t as bad as it looked. She brought them to see the baby, who seemed even tinier than she remembered.
Her size didn’t seem to bother Lydia’s mother.
‘Darling little thing,’ she said. ‘She’s got your pretty nose, Lydia,’ and she went to quiz the nurse, and Lydia’s father said he could never see family resemblances until babies were at least six months old, but agreed that this particular baby was very appealing.
Lydia took comfort from the fact that neither of her doctor parents seemed worried.
‘She’s fine,’ her mother reported. ‘Vital signs strong, temperature and weight good. They’re keeping her in just to be on the safe side – they’ll be discharging her in no time.’
Lydia tried not to think about leaving the hospital without her daughter.
Back in her room, she was brought a bowl of porridge that was too thick and not hot enough, and a slice of white bread that had been taken too soon from the toaster.
She did her best with it, thinking of Damien’s seeded sourdough, and Greta’s dark rye.
Her parents stayed till noon. ‘I’ll come back when they’re letting her out,’ her father said as they were leaving. ‘I’ll pick you up first, and then we can collect her from here and bring her straight to Dublin.’
‘No,’ Lydia said quickly. ‘Not straight to Dublin. I want to bring her to Chance House, just for a little while.’ Or maybe a little longer.
She couldn’t reveal her plans, not when they were still so tentative.
Not when she wasn’t strong enough to push back against the opposition her parents were bound to put up.
Her mother frowned. ‘Chance House? But you have no baby things there.’
‘No, but I’ll ask Marian – she’ll have Jack’s old stuff. I’ll be fine, honestly. We’ll be fine. Just for a bit, to show her off to everyone.’
‘Oh Lydia,’ her mother said impatiently, ‘you have no idea how much work is involved in looking after a baby. And weren’t you ready to move back to Dublin before all this? Your father was coming down today to collect you.’
Lydia thought of the things she’d boxed up that would have to be unpacked now. Not a big deal, not with her new resolve. ‘I know – but things have changed now, Mum. I need to get my head around all this before I can think about moving.’
‘You’ll have to have help,’ her mother insisted. ‘It would be so much easier in Dublin, where both of us would be around to share the work. Now I’ll have to look for more time off. It’s really awkward, Lydia. We’re already short-staffed at the centre, with Nora gone on maternity leave.’
‘You won’t have to come, Mum,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ve thought of the perfect person to help. She’s older, and her children are grown up.’
‘You’ve already asked her?’
‘Not yet, but I’m pretty sure she’ll say yes. I’m sorry,’ she went on, ‘I know this isn’t what you want, but it’s the perfect opportunity for all my friends in the village to meet the baby. Won’t you let me do this?’
They agreed reluctantly. She’d given them no choice. ‘I just wish you weren’t so far away,’ her mother said.
‘I know, but honestly, we’ll be fine. I’ll keep you posted, I promise.’
After they left, she expressed more milk. ‘You’re getting good at this,’ the nurse told her. ‘You’ll be feeding her yourself before you know it.’
Lydia couldn’t wait. Still sore, still tender, still tired and weepy, but none of that mattered. Her priorities were so different now, all her focus narrowed to one little being in an incubator.
Father Phil came in the afternoon. ‘Been in the wars, I see,’ he remarked.
‘Tripped over the cat, if you can believe it.’
‘Oh dear.’ He sat and claimed both of Lydia’s hands and cradled them between his, and she was reminded of him doing the same at the funeral. ‘So the world has a new little girl,’ he said. ‘Praise the Lord. How are you doing?’
‘Up in a heap,’ she said. ‘Don’t know if I’m coming or going. Don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’m terrified at how tiny she is, and how much she means to me already.’
He nodded. ‘That all sounds about right. I have a feeling you’ll make a heck of a mum.’
‘Would you like to see her?’
‘I would indeed – if they’ll let me in. I know they’re careful with the tiny babies.’
She brought him to the neonatal ward, and he told the nurse on duty he was a priest and a family friend, and he’d appreciate being allowed in. ‘Just for a tick,’ he said, and in they went.
He pronounced the baby a fine specimen. ‘Want me to bless her?’
‘Yes, please. I want her to get all the help she can, medical and divine.’
He murmured a short prayer, and made a sign of the cross over the baby, and another over Lydia. ‘For good measure,’ he said. ‘Tell me, have you a name in mind?’
‘A few, but I’m open to suggestion. Any ideas?’
He mused, his eyes on the baby. ‘Some nice biblical ones, if you wanted to go in that direction. Ruth, Eve, Sarah, Elizabeth, Naomi, Rebekah – and of course, Mary.’
‘Naomi,’ Lydia repeated. ‘Naomi Cotter.’ She liked the sound of it.
‘Naomi the Judean,’ he said. ‘The name means “pleasant” in Hebrew. She was mother-in-law to Ruth – they weren’t always the best of friends, especially after Ruth’s husband died. They were from different tribes, which Naomi didn’t approve of for her son. She was a strong lady, not to be crossed.’
A mother-in-law on shaky terms with her son’s widow, disapproving of his choice. A strong lady, not to be crossed. Lydia stared at him. ‘Are you making this up?’
He laughed. ‘No, it’s all in the Bible. Why would you think I’m making it up?’
She told him about Kathleen, and the distance that had been between them from the start, and how it had finally been bridged the previous evening.
‘Ah, I see. Poor Kathleen. I’m glad she was able to reach out. This might be the start of her healing. Now I need to get going. I have a couple of sick calls to make.’
In the lift on the way back she told him she was thinking of staying on in Chance House.
He cocked a look at her. ‘You mean not go back to Dublin at all?’
‘Maybe. Andrew suggested a possible use for the house, and I’m trying to work out how to make it happen.’
He nodded. ‘Your heart wants to stay here. I won’t ask any more, just wish you the best and wait to see what occurs. Mind yourself, and trust that all will be well.’
‘I will,’ she promised. All will be well. Her new mantra.
‘God almighty,’ Gareth said, depositing a little tub of pineapple chunks on her tray, ‘you gave us all a fright, Mammy. How’s the new arrival?’
‘She’s doing fine. You didn’t need to come – they’re sending me home tomorrow.’
‘I thought you were going to Dublin.’
‘Not just yet. You’ll have to put up with me for another while.’
‘Well, that’s good news, but you’ll have to do without me for the next two weeks – I’m heading to Spain tomorrow to walk a bit of the Camino with Ultan Clancy. Wish me luck. Ultan’s a lazy sod – I’ll have to drag him along. Will you still be around when I get back?’
‘Should be.’
‘You and the baby?’
‘Me and the baby.’
‘Excellent.’
Susan and Marian arrived late in the afternoon.
Susan brought a slab of chocolate, and ate half of it while they were there.
Marian brought a tiny yellow hat, and a picture book about a ginger cat.
They went to inspect the baby, only allowed as far as the window.
‘Naomi,’ Lydia told them. Both approved, and waggled their fingers at the baby, who ignored them.
They went to sit in the hospital canteen with paper cups of coffee. Suddenly Lydia could drink coffee again, and even the canteen variety tasted fine.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. She opened her mouth and closed it again. They waited. When nothing else happened, Susan asked if she was OK.
‘I’m OK. It’s just . . .’ Again she stopped. ‘Do you think . . . I mean, would it be crazy . . . It’s just—Look, I’ve been thinking, or rethinking, and it’s probably daft – well, not daft exactly, just a bit . . . unexpected.’
She saw the look they exchanged. Putting her rambling down to hormones.
‘You’re tired,’ Marian said. ‘We should let you back to your bed.’
‘No, I’m not tired, it’s just . . .’ Why couldn’t she say it? What was stopping her? And then she realised why: she was afraid they’d dismiss it, tell her it couldn’t be done – and suddenly that was the last thing she wanted to hear.
She wanted to try it. She wanted very much to try it.
‘What do you mean, unexpected?’ Susan asked.
‘OK,’ Lydia said. ‘OK. Listen to this.’ Deep breath. ‘What if I stayed in Chance House? What if I didn’t move back to Dublin?’
In the silence that followed, someone behind the counter dropped a cup, or a plate, something that broke when it hit the floor. Someone said, ‘Damn it!’
Marian was the first to speak. ‘What would you do if you stayed?’
‘Well, that’s the question.’ She turned to Susan. ‘You can blame your brother for this, because it’s all his idea.’
I wanted to run something by you. It seems to me that the solution is right there in front of you.
‘Nearly forgot, he says hello,’ Susan said. ‘Who wants more coffee? Say nothing till I get back.’
She got another round, and a plate of biscuits. ‘Now, tell us my brother’s brilliant idea,’ she said, pulling in her chair.
‘Weddings,’ Lydia said, ‘at Chance House.’
‘Go on,’ Marian said, eyes widening.
‘Small weddings,’ Lydia said.
‘Second weddings,’ Susan said. ‘Like Lorraine and Ian. Family and close friends.’
‘Exactly. With accommodation for some,’ Lydia said, feeling a slowly rising excitement.
‘Plenty of places around the village to put the rest into,’ Susan said. ‘I know them all. I could do up a list.’
Lydia looked from one to the other. ‘I’d need help furnishing the rooms.’
‘Me,’ Marian said immediately.
‘Us,’ Susan said at the same time.
‘And Cathy might come on board,’ Lydia said. ‘It would just be dinner on Saturday and breakfast on Sunday morning.’