A Gift to You (2 page)

Stop it, you silly girl
, she scolded, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands.
You’ll see them in January when your own
kochanieńka
is born.

Michael Dunne eyed the basket of washing and glanced at his watch. He was under pressure but there was a good breeze blowing and Magdalena had left strict instructions that he
was to hang out the clothes before he left for work. The tumble dryer was on the blink and he was supposed to get that sorted too. Life was all hassle these days and Magdalena was as tetchy as be
damned. It was probably because she was petrified of giving birth. He wouldn’t fancy it himself, he had to admit. But it was unnerving living with her at the moment. She’d suddenly
burst into tears for no reason, weeping that she was homesick for her family and that she was scared of giving birth. He’d try to reassure her and say it was a natural thing for women,
wasn’t it? Millions of women gave birth. Why was she panicking?

But his stout words sounded hollow to his own ears. He would never forget the pre-natal class where they’d shown the video of a birth. It had been pretty gruesome. If he thought that he
had to endure that type of pain, he’d possibly faint. He’d fainted once when he’d broken his ankle playing football. One minute he was feeling woozy and in agony and the next
enveloped in total blackness. He’d felt a bit of a wussie when he came to.

Michael had watched the birthing video through half-shut eyes and felt quite queasy. To tell the truth, he didn’t
really
want to be at the birth. Not that he’d say that to
Magdalena. He was afraid he’d pass out or puke and make a show of himself. He didn’t want to see Magdalena groaning in pain for hours on end. He didn’t want to feel helpless and
in the way. He didn’t want to see blood and gore. He just wanted everything to be back to normal and to have his confident, sexy, funny, sweet wife back the way she was and not this weepy,
unsure, panicky woman who had taken her place.

It wasn’t a picnic for him either. He had fears and worries too. They’d just a few months ago managed to sell their apartment to buy a neat three-bedroom bungalow near the seafront
in Raheny and they now had a pretty hefty mortgage. Gone were the days when they could hop on a Ryanair flight to Lodz to visit Magdalena’s family in Ksawerów.

Still, they had a house now in a very pretty cul-de-sac, not too far from where his own parents lived. It would be a good place to bring up their child, with the seafront and Bull Island ten
minutes from their door. They’d had to cut down on their free-and-easy way of living, for sure, but it would be worth it. They’d had five carefree years together with no one to worry
about but themselves. Not many had been as lucky as they were. They had friends who’d bought property at the height of the boom and who were now crucified with massive mortgages. He and
Magdalena had escaped that horrendous fate, at least. He grabbed the linen basket piled with clothes and hurried out to the clothesline. He had a hell of a lot to do today, including making
preparations for the traditional Polish Christmas Eve meal that he was going to surprise his wife with.

‘So! Your last day for months and months and months, you lucky wagon.’ Denise Dawson plonked herself on the banquette beside Magdalena and grinned.

‘Brilliant, isn’t it?’ Magdalena grinned back. The office had closed at three and they had all trooped over to the Lord Edward for a drink and nibbles. After which, she was
going home to make the stuffing, and the custard for the pudding and that was it. Finito! She had the shop-bought spuds and the veg; Michael could deal with the turkey. Her parents-in-law had flown
over to the States to spend Christmas with their daughter in Boston, so she and her husband were on their own and that suited Magdalena fine in her pregnant state.

She was going to plonk herself on the sofa and watch TV and read and relax until the baby was born. She was totally organized and had her bag packed for the hospital, had the baby’s
clothes and bits and pieces all bought. They were buying the cot, the car seat, the sterilizer and baby bath in the January sales. The baby’s room was painted and ready for the precious
little person who would soon be coming into their lives. All the hard work that she’d put in had paid off. Magdalena was as prepared as she could be.

The pub was jammers. Employees from the nearby civic offices were celebrating and the atmosphere of festive holiday high spirits was infectious. Magdalena felt herself relax as she sipped a rare
glass of red wine. She’d done very, very well. She’d given up smoking and alcohol once she’d found she was pregnant. She’d drunk loads of water and eaten proper food, with
lashings of fruit and vegetables, for the first time in years. She’d felt healthy and energized for most of her pregnancy. Only the last few weeks had been a little difficult and that was to
be expected.

‘I’d love a glass of red.’ Sally, one of her colleagues sighed, looking enviously at the glass of ruby liquid that Magdalena was raising to her lips.

‘Why don’t you have one?’ Magdalena was surprised. Sally enjoyed a drink.

‘I’m not as far gone as you are,’ Sally said, winking.

‘
You’re pregnant?
’ Magdalena exclaimed.

‘Shush, don’t let Dolores hear, for God’s sake, she gives me a hard enough time as it is. I needed to bring Finn, my little fella, to the doctor last Monday and she
wouldn’t give me a couple of hours off even though I told her that I’d work it back. She made me take a half-day, the old weapon. My annual leave is disappearing so fast I’ll have
no holidays at all in the summer.’

‘Congratulations, Sal! Why wouldn’t hatchet face let you work the time back?’ Denise interjected.

‘She said that it would set a precedent and everyone would want to do it.’ Sally speared a garlic mushroom and ate it with relish.

‘I suppose she
has
a point,’ Magdalena sighed. ‘If everyone started asking to pay back time instead of taking leave there’d be chaos.’

‘I know that,’ Sally agreed. ‘But if only she wasn’t so inflexible and so unhelpful, she’d get much more out of people. My husband’s company is so
accommodating, thank God. They have a human resources manager who bends over backwards to help the staff with exactly these types of problems and the productivity there is way over expectations. He
was doing a course that he couldn’t miss, otherwise he’d have got time off to bring Finn to the doctor, no problem. But I can’t keep asking him to take time off, either. I have to
do my share . . . even if it means taking half-days. I hope that cocktail sausage chokes her,’ she added nastily, glaring in Dolores’s direction. ‘Would you just look at her in
her new red cardigan! She’d give Amy Farrah Fowler a run for her money.
And
she’s flirting with Casanova Prior. I think she’s a bit pissed on one glass of
wine.’

The trio craned their necks towards the next table and giggled at the sight of their supervisor’s two pink cheeks as she took a lady-like sip from her glass and smiled demurely at their
seedy sales manager.

‘What age is she, allegedly?’ Denise asked tartly.

Magdalena snorted with laughter. ‘What a bitch you are. “
Allegedly.
” ’

‘Well, you know the way she goes on about being in her mid-forties. She’s mid-fifties if she’s a day,’ Denise scoffed.

‘I wonder, has she ever done it?’ Sally eyed her boss disdainfully.

‘
Sally!
’ Denise protested. ‘You’re putting me off my chicken wings! ‘Imagine Dolores with those skinny shanks wrapped around George Prior going,
“Ooohh, ooohhh,
OOOHH!
”’

They all guffawed, drawing Dolores’s disapproving gaze in their direction. That made them giggle even more.

Magdalena gave a happy sigh. She’d miss the girls, and the craic, and after-work drinks, but she wouldn’t miss Dolores Barrett one little bit. Knowing that she wouldn’t see her
for months on end was nearly the best Christmas present of all.

Half an hour later, Magdalena got up to go home. Normally, she would be the life and soul of the party and wouldn’t leave so soon but the pressure on her sciatic nerve was painful and her
bump felt tight and uncomfortable. Besides, she’d just had the one glass of wine and was perfectly sober, while all around her, with the exception of Sally, of course, everyone was getting
tiddly and it was no fun being sober among a crowd of inebriates, she told Denise, laughing when the other girl protested. ‘Ms Dunne, this is
so
not you. I never thought I’d
see the day when you’d leave before Batty Barrett! I never thought I’d see the day when you’d leave before
I
got piddly-eyed.’

‘Denise, that day has arrived! Deal with it,’ Magdalena teased. ‘Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, I’ve got chores to do.’

‘And I’ll have to leave in another ten minutes. I’ve to pick Finn up from the crèche,’ Sally remarked.

‘Oh, for God’s sake! You married women are all the same. You only think of yourselves. What about us poor singletons that need to be entertained and amused? No wonder Dolores turned
out the way she did. She probably had friends like
you
. . .’ Denise complained. ‘Who’s going to pour me into a taxi? I’d like to know.’

‘Go up and wipe Dolores’s eye with George. He’ll look after you,’ Sally suggested wickedly.

‘Bioch, is there no end to your nastiness? Go home and leave me all alone.’ Denise stood up to let her friend out.

‘The best of luck, Denise.’ Magdalena laughed, as she hugged her, before wishing the rest of her work mates a Happy Christmas with promises to meet early in the New Year before the
baby was born.

It had been a relief to leave the noise and the stuffiness of the pub and breathe in the biting-cold blustery air. The pavements were so crowded with last-minute shoppers, she couldn’t
face the trek to Tara Street to catch the Dart so, when unexpectedly, she saw a taxi with the yellow light on, she flagged it down impulsively and waddled towards it, puffing slightly as she hauled
her bulk into the backseat. ‘Tara Street Dart Station,’ she said politely, feeling snugly cocooned in the soft leather seat listening to Bing Crosby croon
White Christmas
,
while outside on the pavements, shoppers trudged to and fro, laden with carrier bags, and revellers congregated in little knots, forcing pedestrians onto the street to sidestep them. The taxi ride
was a little Christmas gift for her, Magdalena decided, damping down her feelings of guilt, utterly relieved she didn’t have to face the walk along the windswept quays to the Dart.

The commuter train, when she finally boarded, was jam-packed with shoppers and workers getting off early for Christmas and she’d had to stand, although one frail old lady had offered her a
seat. Three men had been sitting in the seats opposite and beside her and not one of them had even looked in Magdalena’s direction. Equality didn’t mean goodbye to good manners, she
thought crossly, as she graciously refused the elderly woman’s kind offer, hoping that a seat would become vacant at Connolly. She wasn’t that lucky and her hip was throbbing as the
train lurched out of Connolly towards Clontarf.

She wondered whether Michael would give up his seat to a pregnant woman. She must ask him, she mused, as the train swayed into Killester and a seat finally became vacant. The second-next stop
was hers. Dusk was settling silently, softly onto the city, and the glow from lights on Christmas trees grew brighter, spilling out through windows onto suburban gardens; some long and narrow,
others little square postage stamps, most neatly tended, a few higgledy-piggledy with strewn rubbish and household junk. As she sat staring into peoples’ homes for fleeting seconds while the
train cruised towards the next station, and watched women in their kitchens preparing for seasonal feasts, Magdalena felt the unwelcome shroud of loneliness hovering again, ready to envelop her,
should she allow it.
Don’t think about it
, she chided, as they passed a garden festooned with twinkling lights strung along the hedges and trees, and a massive Santa atop the
chimney.

‘Oh, Mammy, look at
that
!’ a child in the opposite seat cried excitedly, nose pressed against the cold windowpane, agog! In a few years’ time, her own child would be
old enough to share in the excitement of Christmas and an unexpected feeling of joy and anticipation suffused Magdalena, lifting her spirits.

Her stop was less than ten minutes from home and as she walked down from the station towards the seafront, she inhaled the salt-laden air appreciatively. She loved living so close to the sea.
That was one of the big plusses of living in Dublin. The sea and the countryside were so close to the city. Escape from noise and traffic was always possible. She turned into the small secluded
cul-de-sac and felt another sudden surge of loneliness. The twilight was deepening and her neighbours’ windows shone with festive iridescence, while her own house was dark and unwelcoming.
The first house she passed had lights twined about the undressed branches of a cherry tree, and she thought of home and how her father would have twinkling lights on the hedgerow that led to the
farmhouse where she had grown up. Magdalena swallowed hard. She would
not
cry, she told herself fiercely. She was a very lucky young woman with so much in her life. She would focus on
that.

She walked up her garden path. Even though the car was parked out at the front, there was no one at home. Her husband also used the Dart to get to work. She’d got a text from him on the
train to say he would be home around six. That had made her grumpy. It was Christmas Eve; she had left the work drinks party early, and he could make more of an effort sometimes, she thought
crossly. She’d need to get the clothes in off the line so they wouldn’t get too damp, then she would turn on the Christmas tree lights and make herself a cup of tea before getting busy
in the kitchen.

A welcoming rush of warmth enveloped her when she let herself in; the central heating had a time switch, and the house was cosy after the chill evening air. But Michel had not set the alarm. He
was so absent-minded sometimes. He’d probably forgotten to hang out the washing too. Magdalena sniffed. Was she imagining it, or was there a whiff of something cooking? They had decided to
follow the Polish tradition of no cooking on Christmas Day and prepare the turkey dinner this evening. Had Michael come home at lunchtime and made the stuffing, and put the bird in to slow cook?
She switched on the porch light and the hall lamps. She hated a dark house. The hall, decorated in mint-green and grey, led into a large kitchen-dining-room painted in cheery lemon, cream, and New
England blue. She loved her bright, airy south-facing kitchen.