Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (38 page)

The twins were in intensive care for
the night for observation, but still Helen felt conscious of their
presence somewhere in the hospital. It pulled at her like an
invisible thread, keeping her from drifting off. That, and the
noise of course.

Over the way someone was chatting
surreptitiously to her partner on her mobile, too low for
eavesdropping, too loud to be ignored. It was clear by the tone of
her voice she was in for the long haul. At first Helen thought it
was sweet; although she was shocked the woman hadn’t yet been told
off by a midwife. The “No Mobile Phone” signs were everywhere.

Gosh, I felt bad just texting Sharni
and Dawn! The cheek of the woman. I wish she would just shut
up.

After twenty minutes of sweet nothings,
Helen was ready to wring the girl’s neck.

This is not really the warm glow of
motherhood I was expecting.
Helen felt exhausted and emotional
yet still unable to sleep.

Sometime in the early morning a midwife
wheeled the twins into her so that she could feed them. It was all
rather physical, trying to get them latched on. The midwife didn’t
hesitate to grab hold of her and force her boob on James.

Pregnancy and motherhood seem to
come with an end to dignity
, Helen thought wryly, pleased
nonetheless to be feeding her child at last. The miracle of the
female body. She remembered reading on a sign somewhere the words
I am a Superhero, I can make milk.
It did seem impressive,
but she had never felt less like a superhero. More like a milking
machine. She missed her flat and she missed Marcio.

As she sat gazing at her tiny babies
the tears began to fall.

“Flowers for you, Helen,” a nurse
announced, flinging back the curtain of her cubicle, making her
jump.

Helen looked up from her silent
contemplation of Jasmine’s face, as James slept in his plastic crib
next to the bed. Her little nose was so perfect, Helen felt she
could gaze at it forever. Wrenching her eyes away, she looked up at
the flowers. They were magnificent, White lilies and deep red
roses.
Strange flowers to celebrate a birth though
, she
thought.
Don’t people normally send pink and blue
chrysanthemums?

She reached sleepily for the card,
wondering which of her friends was so on the ball.

“Congratulations,” the card read, “I
can’t wait to meet my children. Please let me know when it will be
okay for me to visit. Daniel.”

She resisted the urge to throw the
flowers out the window only because it would disturb Jasmine if she
moved. How had he managed to find out so soon? Then she remembered
asking Marcio to email her baby group with the news. Karen must
have been under instruction to tell Daniel as soon as she found out
the twins had arrived. Helen was swiftly going off her new
friend.

She stared at the card in her hand for
a long time, wondering what to do next. Much as she might wish it,
she couldn’t pretend that Daniel didn’t exist, or that he wasn’t
the father of her children. In her mind Marcio was the only father
they required, but the children needed to know where their genes
came from. It might even be important one day. She couldn’t face
Daniel though, not now. He didn’t seem to understand that she
wasn’t interested in having him actively involved with her or the
children. Her life, all their lives, now belonged with Marcio.

She put the card in her drawer and
tried not to think about it. Time enough to deal with Daniel when
she was back on her feet.

By the time her mother and Marcio
arrived at the hospital, Helen had showered and was sitting up in
bed. James lay tucked in her arm, while Jasmine slept in the crib
next to the bed. The children were both dressed in the early baby
outfits, with the little hand-knitted hats on. Jasmine’s pink hat
clashed terribly with her fiery red hair. When the midwife had
helped bathe the babies first thing in the morning, they had
discovered under the vernix that both babies had inherited Helen’s
hair. She hoped for both their sakes that the colour softened as
they got older. Particularly for Jasmine. Every little girl loved
pink, and Helen knew from experience it was a colour she wouldn’t
be able to carry off.

“Wow, look at that hair!” Marcio had
picked Jasmine up from the crib, and her little hat had fallen off
to reveal the vibrant mop. “There’s no mistaking they’re
yours!”

“Yes, your hair was that red at that
age darling.” Maggie’s eyes were a little misty with the memory.
“Luckily for you it softened into the copper it is now before you
started school. Unfortunately kids can be mean about ginger as they
like to call it.”

“Let’s say titian,” Helen suggested
with a twinkle. It was a long running joke between her and her
mother.

“They wouldn’t be teased in Spain;
every woman tries to get her hair that colour at some point in
their lives.”

“They would fry in Spain, though, if
they have my skin as well as my hair.”

“We’d best make sure they have plenty
of summers there to get themselves used to it. Toughen them
up.”

Helen imagined long summer holidays at
the vineyard, the kids roaming free over the hills, as she and
Simon had over the Devon moors. With Barcelona and Devon for
freedom and London for culture, the children really would have an
idyllic childhood. Provided her or Marcio figured out a way to earn
a decent living of course.

Thinking about money made the fluttery
panic rise in Helen’s stomach. She pushed the thought aside for
another time. For now, Marcio’s advance was paying the rent, and
with any luck the novel would bring royalties too when it was
released. She hadn’t given up hope that some of her work would pay
its way in the not too distant future. She didn’t want to be a kept
woman.

“Who are the flowers from?” Marcio’s
voice was merely curious, but Helen instantly felt defensive,
almost furtive.

“They’re from Daniel. Karen must have
told him the news.” She expected Marcio to be angry.

“Oh well, he would have to have been
told eventually. They are his children.”

Helen looked up at Marcio’s face. She
hadn’t heard him say that before, and wondered if he were having
doubts himself about being their father. He was looking down at
Jasmine, and if he felt Helen’s gaze on him, he didn’t look up to
meet her eyes.

Chapter
Twelve

Helen looked blearily at the beside
clock. It took a while for her eyes to bring the green numbers into
focus. She reached over for a notepad by the bed and scribbled
“2.46am Jaz Feed”. Then she inhaled deeply two or three times,
before pulling back the covers. Her legs goose-bumped through the
flannelette pyjamas she had bought within days of arriving home.
The hospital had been warm, too warm sometimes, and had given her a
false sense of what it meant to get up in the night in winter.

Shivering, she looked back to check she
hadn’t woken Marcio, then picked up the bundle that was crying
fitfully, and stumbled over to the chair in the corner.

Once she had got Jasmine latched and
feeding, Helen pulled the blanket from the arm of the chair and
covered herself as best she could. She really wished she was still
in bed, but Marcio had persuaded her to get up to feed after she
had fallen asleep with James one night. He’d woken to find James
tucked under Helen’s arm as she lay slumped over the pillow. It had
terrified them both and Helen hadn’t needed much convincing that
the babies were safer in the chair.

Easy for him, though
, Helen
thought bitterly, watching Marcio’s form rise and fall gently under
the duvet.
I don’t see him sat in a stupid uncomfortable chair
for ages having something suck the life out of him.

Looking down to make sure Jasmine was
still feeding, she wondered when breastfeeding would become the
wonderful bonding experience they talked of in antenatal classes.
Her babies didn’t look longingly up at her; they sucked and guzzled
and grizzled if they couldn’t get latched.

I feel like a milk cow. I’m the size
of a bloody cow, even without these stupid udders.
She shifted
herself and felt how full the other boob was under the savoy
cabbage leaf that was meant to ease the soreness but just seemed to
leave vein patterns on her skin. She wondered whether to switch
Jasmine over or save that one for James. At least they had decided
to wake individually for a change.

As if sensing his mother’s dilemma,
James began to stir and then to mew quietly. A quick glance
confirmed that Jasmine had gone back to sleep. Raising a small
prayer to the goddess of parenting, Helen eased her little finger
into Jasmine’s mouth to release the latch, then laid her gently
back in her moses basket before retrieving James.

Once he was snuffling happily, Helen
laid her head on the back of the nursing chair and thought over the
last ten days. It was a blur of worry and pain. She ached all over
from the delivery, her stitches itching and pulling in a way that
was more painful than the severest contraction. Her breasts were
engorged and swollen until she looked like Jordon but without the
flat stomach. She suspected her stomach might never be flat
again.

Fighting the urge to close her eyes,
Helen thought over the visit from the health visitor that morning.
She had come to make sure Helen was coping okay back home from
hospital, and to check the babies were thriving. It had been such a
relief to have her come. They’d sent her home from hospital after
only a couple of days, once they were happy the twins weren’t
suffering from jaundice and were feeding properly. Helen had been
horrified. What did she know about looking after these two tiny,
helpless bundles?

The first visit from the health visitor
had been the day after she got home and everything was still hazy.
She vaguely remembered being asked if Marcio ever hurt her, and how
her laughter had offended the health visitor. Aside from that the
rest was hazy.

Looking over at Marcio again she
thanked god that he was here. Even though her mother was still in
the spare room, it was taking all three of them to care for the
twins in these early days. She wasn’t sure her mother could have
coped by herself. She would have been fine with the twins; her
mother was brilliant. It was more dealing with Helen herself.

Remembering made the tears start again.
She felt as if she hadn’t stopped crying since the birth. The
health visitor had been lovely about that too.

“Baby blues, my love,” she explained.
“Your placentas were full of lovely hormones that kept you calm,
happy and relaxed. When you delivered the babies you delivered
their placentas too. You’re effectively going through cold turkey.
Add to that very little sleep and huge responsibility and it’s no
wonder you’re a bit teary.”

A bit teary. Helen laughed at the
understatement, even as the tears fell. Still, it was good to know
it was normal. None of the baby group had delivered yet, and her
mum didn’t remember.

The sound of a minor explosion dragged
Helen’s thoughts away from the morning and back to the present. The
drifting aroma of freshly baked bread wafted up to her; one of the
side-effects of motherhood was apparently an enhanced sense of
smell. Helen could detect a soiled nappy three rooms away. From
this close distance it was overpowering, although not especially
unpleasant. The health visitor had had an explanation for that too.
Apparently the upside of choosing to breastfeed rather than formula
feed was that the nappies smelt nicer. As nappies were Marcio’s
domain it was scant compensation. Still, better than nothing.

“Nappy.” Helen’s voice rang loud in the
still room. The effect was instantaneous. Marcio went from deeply
asleep to alert and upright in the space of a heartbeat. It still
amused Helen. Occasionally she said the word just to wake him for
company at 2am, not that she would admit that to him. She would
just muse loudly “I wonder if you need a nappy change Jazzy,” and
Marcio would stand to attention like a soldier.

Cruel.

But funny.

She checked to see if James had
finished feeding before handing him over to Marcio, who carried him
gingerly at arm’s length out to the lounge. With her mum still in
the spare room they had set the changing table up in the living
area so that nappies could be done with the light on without
disturbing anyone.

Crawling gratefully back under the
duvet, Helen was almost asleep before her head nestled into the
feather pillow.

“Breastfeeding makes you sleepy,” the
health visitor had said. “Nature has its compensations.” It seemed
she had an answer for everything.

“Maggie, I have a favour to ask.”

Marcio was sitting at the tiny dining
table with his de-facto mother-in-law.

“I have to go to Bristol for work, and
it will mean being away overnight. I tried to explain that I’m on
paternity leave, but it’s too good an offer to turn down. Is there
any chance you could stay on a couple more days, just until I get
back?”

Maggie had been with Helen and Marcio
for a fortnight, and was starting to think she had outstayed her
welcome and should return to Devon. She knew her husband was coping
fine, though, and probably enjoying the peace and quiet.

“Two more days with my darling
grandchildren? Hmmm now let me think about that for half a second.
Um. Yes of course.”

“Maggie, you’re a star.” Marcio reached
over the breakfast table and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Heading across the hall to where Helen
was curled up in bed asleep, with both babies amazingly snoozing in
their baskets, Marcio stood for a while gazing on his family.

As he lent against the door frame,
Marcio felt his whole being fill with light. He was tired from the
broken nights, and frustrated that Helen was suffering so much, but
there was no doubt in him that this was exactly where he wanted to
be. It shocked him sometimes, when he realised that he and Helen
had only known each other a few months. Watching her now, her face
peaceful in sleep, he felt he might burst from the love within
him.