From The Moment I Saw Him .... (21 page)

After the turbulent times of early summer, we were
glad when life took a more peaceful course.

Nick quickly established himself at
The Telegraph
,
where he became popular with his colleagues and with readers.  I was proud of
his success and enjoyed the other benefits of his job, where we got to rub
shoulders socially with stimulating people in interesting places.  It was a
privileged life, but different to the somewhat sterile one I had experienced
with Ian.

“Ian was the ultimate grown up in some ways,” I
reflected.  “But life was very black and white with him.  With Nick, it’s a
constantly changing kaleidoscope.”

Life at Mackerras Mackay quickly returned to normal,
as we were all too busy to spend time worrying about thwarted private lives. 
Ian occasionally returned for board meetings, but I contrived to be well out of
his way when this happened, and he made no move to seek me out, much to my
relief.

Nick and I rapidly became accustomed to living
together - in some ways, it was as if our separation had been a matter of weeks
instead of years.  He never talked much about his life in America, and I think
his last twelve months there had not been very happy.  The magazine was
failing, and he was homesick for England.  I knew he had girlfriends, but was
secretly pleased when he admitted that he had never been as involved with
anyone else as I had been with Ian.

After some months, I reminded Nick of his promise,
and we went to Hatton Garden, where he bought me a sweet Victorian ring set
with rubies and pearls, totally unlike Ian’s diamonds (now returned to their
purchaser.)  I loved it, even though Nick referred to it as the “disengagement
ring”, and I knew it would be some time before I could persuade him to take
that final step.  Any fantasies I might have harboured about churches and
elaborate white dresses were swiftly dispelled, as I realised that Nick would
only contemplate a register office ceremony.  I didn’t care, so long as I felt
it was going to happen one day.

We were leading a charmed life, both of us with good
and interesting jobs, happy in our home and social life, and very much in tune
physically and emotionally.  Sometimes, I would wake in the night, and gaze at
Nick, sleeping peacefully beside me, and think that I could not possibly be
more content, that I had everything I ever wanted.  All the sad times in our
past were snuffed out like a candle, only the happiness remained.

The months turned into years,
and nothing changed to disturb the calm tenor of our existence. 

I was pleased to hear one day
that Ian had married.  I thought that implied he and I could meet again, if
required to do so, without further recriminations.  Rosine and Andrew attended the
wedding, an expensive “do” at the Savoy, of course.  When next I saw Rosine, I
was curious to hear about it. 

“Jane isn’t as pretty as you,
Eithne, but her family are awfully well off,” Rosine told me.  “Also - she’s
several months pregnant - I’m not sure how pleased Ian was about that, but he’s
done the decent thing, and Jane’s father has bought them a huge house in North
London for when they come back from America, so he’s not done too badly out of
it.  She seems very happy, anyway.”

“I hope they both are,” I said,
truthfully. 

Nick had been listening to
Rosine’s account, and he sent me a covert grin as she described the wedding and
reception.

“Do you ever wish you’d chosen
Ian instead of me?” he asked, pulling gently at my hair.  “I don’t think I can
afford the Savoy.  You’ve missed out on the high life, my darling, we’re living
the low life here, I think, but it’s very nice, all the same.”

I could only agree.  However he
chose to describe it, life with Nick was sweet and we were close and content. 
I never regretted my choice, and was eternally grateful for the events which
had brought us together again.

A few months before my
twenty-seventh birthday, I went down with a bad throat infection.  I was off
work for a week, and needed a stiff course of antibiotics to help me recover. 
Some time afterwards, I found I was suffering from peculiar symptoms, and
visited the doctor again, only to discover that I also was pregnant.  I had not
realised that antibiotics could render the pill ineffective, and this is what
had happened with me.

After the first shock, I was
excited.  During the previous year, a number of our friends had married - Jo
and Simon, Robin and his girlfriend Sarah - and various other friends were
starting to have families.  Now we would be part of this happy band. 

Just the thought of having
Nick’s baby made me ecstatic.  However, Nick’s reaction was not exactly what I
had hoped.

“Bloody hell, Eithne.  I
thought the pill was completely safe,” he exclaimed, his face clouding, much to
my disappointment.  “Do you want to keep the baby?  I’m not sure I’m ready for
children.”

Tears sprang to my eyes.  I was
very emotional anyway, due to my hormones, but I thought this was cruel of him.

“You’re not seriously
suggesting I get rid of our baby, Nick?  I couldn’t possibly do that -   I know
it wasn’t planned, but now it’s happened, I’m so happy - at least I was happy
until you said that......”  The tears spilled over and ran down my face.  Nick
swore softly, and put his arms round me.

“Oh, Eithne - please don’t cry. 
It came as a shock to me.  I don’t know anything about babies.  I can’t
envisage our life changing to accommodate one.  If I’m honest, I don’t want to
share you with anyone else.  But I expect I’ll get used to it.”

 He heaved a sigh.

 It wasn’t the most auspicious
start.  He realised that I would expect him to stop smoking, and that caused a
certain amount of friction between us to begin with.  Then, as the weeks went
by, his attitude slowly began to change, and although I knew he was not fully
reconciled to fatherhood, I hoped that when the baby arrived, he would be as
happy as I was.  He had led a kind of Peter Pan existence for so long, and now
it really was time for him to grow up and accept his responsibilities.

Both sets of parents began to
put pressure on us to marry, and I was anxious that we should do so before the
baby came.

 Nick had recently accepted a
more challenging role with
The Telegraph
, not exactly as a War
Correspondent, but investigating the effects of military conflict on indigenous
populations, and reporting on the sufferings of the many refugees from
violence.  It was a time when there were many war zones, especially in Africa,
and he began to be away more often than he was at home.  He found the job
exciting and felt it was vitally important to cover these issues, but I missed
him dreadfully, feared the dangers inherent in this new work, and was very
concerned that he would not be there for the baby’s birth.

I contacted the local register
office, and started to make plans for our wedding day.  The baby was due in
October, and I booked a date in mid-September, not wanting to leave it any
later.  I would not exactly be a blushing bride, as it was, unless you counted
blushes of shame.  I attended to give notice of the marriage on my part and now
I had to make sure that Nick did the same.

Then he came home to tell me he
would have to postpone his appointment at the register office, as he had the
opportunity to make a flying visit to Angola, in the company of some award
winning, up and coming photographer.

By this time, I was almost
seven months pregnant, and had just started my maternity leave.  I was hot, and
cross, and very fed up with what I thought, perhaps unjustly, were Nick’s
prevarications.

“Don’t they know about the baby
at work?” I demanded, slumped on the balcony and feeling heavy and fretful.  “I
rather hoped your editor might allow you the time to ensure your child is born
in wedlock rather than outside it - or perhaps they don’t care about that sort
of thing?”

“Oh, Eithne.”

Nick hauled me to my feet, and
put his arms round me - quite a difficult task now, owing to my bulk.  He
kissed me, and I gazed into his dark eyes, which still had the power to make me
go weak at the knees.

“I promise, my darling, that
this is the last trip for a while.  I don’t like leaving you, but I can’t pass
up this chance to work with Charlie Davis.  Can you reschedule the appointment
for a fortnight’s time?  That’ll still be okay, won’t it?  And when I get back,
we’ll sort out who we want to come to the wedding - you can draw up a list of
people while I’m away.  We’ll book the big room at the pub for a knees-up.  It’ll
be fun.”

I thought wryly of my parents’
old plans for a big reception at Beresford Golf Club when their daughter tied
the knot - but at least they would be pleased I was married at last.

“I don’t want you to go, Nick. 
I worry about you, in all these dangerous places,” I murmured, holding him as
close to me as I could.  The baby kicked violently, and that made us laugh.

“There - that’s the baby
telling you not to be silly,” Nick exclaimed. He gave me a long, loving kiss. 
“You know I always look after myself, there won’t be any problems.”

The night before he went away,
I slept very badly.  In the early morning, I looked down at him as he lay in
our bed, and traced the beautiful dimple in his cheek.  His dark hair was
tumbled, he looked absurdly young, and I was reminded of our early days together,
when we didn’t know what life held in store for us.  I wished I could hold the
moment forever.  He was inexpressibly precious to me.

Feeling hot, I went outside to
the balcony.  The morning sky was red and angry, and I wondered if a storm was
coming.

Nick always travelled light,
and it did not take him long to throw the things he needed into his case.  A
taxi was coming to pick him up at midday, and we spent the morning staying very
close, hugging and sharing the little things which made up our life together. 
I was very sad when I heard the hooting of the taxi below.

I walked out with Nick and
stood at the top of the steps.  To my surprise, a slim young woman in combats
jumped from the taxi, and hailed him.  Her hair was cropped short, she had an imposing
way about her.

“Nick - get a move on, we’re
running late!” she called, then caught sight of me.  Her eyes widened.

“I didn’t know you were about
to become a dad,” she exclaimed.

“Eithne - Charlie - Charlie
-Eithne,” Nick said crisply.

So this was the famous
photographer.  I had thought Charlie was a man.

Nick caught sight of my face.

“Eithne - come back inside a
minute,” he said. 

He drew me to him, he was
smiling.  “It’s not what you think - look at her hair - she likes girls,” he
whispered.  He was laughing now.

I followed him back outside. 
My heart was thumping, and I desperately wished he did not have to leave.  He
turned back, kissed my bump, caught my face in his hands, and kissed me on the
lips.

“I love you,” he said.  He ran
down the steps, looked up and sent me his brilliant smile, then got in to the
taxi, and was driven away.

I felt empty after Nick had
gone.  In the afternoon, I wandered by the river, watching the water rushing
past, very resentful of the demands of his job and his exciting life.  Whatever
her sexual preferences, I could see that working with someone like Charlie
would be irresistible to Nick in his swashbuckling mood.  It seemed to me that
he had put me and the baby second to yet another assignment.

Later on, I tried to be
positive.  I rearranged his appointment with the register office, and
telephoned the pub about hiring their room.  I didn’t think it would take me
long to decide on wedding guests, as we would be limited for numbers, but made
a shortlist anyway, to agree with Nick on his return.

Various friends called, and I
arranged to meet Jo in town.  She and Simon now had a little girl, Ella, and I
knew she was dying to give me advice ready for when my baby arrived. 

The days dragged on endlessly. 
The weather was very hot, and I felt oppressed.  There was another week to go
before Nick returned, then I was determined to assert myself, and make him
refuse further trips abroad until after the baby was born.

On the Friday afternoon, I
hauled myself out to walk by the river as usual, hoping there might be a few
cooling breezes down by the waterside.  The day was cloudy, and it was not
especially pleasant, but at least it was a way of killing time.  I dawdled on
my way home, but my heart lifted as I approached the flats, when I saw a figure
sitting on the steps.  For a joyful moment, I thought that it was Nick, but
when the figure stood up, I saw that it was Rosine’s husband, Andrew.

“Andrew…how nice of you to call
on me, did you have a meeting out this way?” I called, as I drew nearer.

He looked a bit strange.  There
was a sweaty sheen on his face and strain showed in his eyes.

“Er - something like that,” he
muttered.  “Eithne - can we go inside?”

I reached for my keys, but as I
unlocked the outer doors, a taxi screeched to a halt, disgorging Robin and
Sarah.  I saw that she had been crying, and was puzzled.

“What’s the matter?” I asked in
amazement.  Robin looked across at Andrew, I saw him give a tiny shake of his
head.

‘Eithne, darling, let’s go in,”
Robin said, his face very tense and pale.  I felt frightened.

“Robin - is Nick ok?  Please
tell me this isn’t about him?”

He took the keys from me, and
shepherded me up the stairs to the flat.  He unlocked the door and gently led
me to the sofa.

By now I could hardly breathe.

Holding me in his arms, his
voice shaken with emotion, he told me that Nick’s convoy in Angola had been
ambushed, and that Nick had been killed in the attack.

I thought I would pass out. 
Then I began to tremble, and uncontrollable tears poured down my cheeks.  I
could hardly take in the import of what he had said.

Everything became blurred. 
Other people arrived, faces, misty with tears, swam in and out of my vision.  I
heard Andrew say “Her parents are coming”.  Low voices rose and fell.  I was
offered tea, brandy, hugs and everything I could have wanted except the one
thing I had always wanted so much and now would never have again.

After a while, I became aware
that my mother was there, and I wept stormily on her shoulder.  I did not know
how I was going to survive this blow, and then I remembered the baby.  I had
not felt it move for ages, and now I was frightened.

“Mum…the baby…. I think there’s
something wrong ...,” I choked out.

She stood up, alarmed.  I heard
her say she would phone the doctor, and they led me away to lie on my bed,
where I dissolved in a morass of misery.

I must have dozed, because I
woke to find the doctor there, professional and soothing.  He examined me and
said that the baby’s heartbeat was strong, but that the shock might have
affected both of us.  He spoke to my mother about sedatives, administered
something to me and then he was gone.

Whatever he gave me caused me
to sleep again, because when I awoke it was dark and everyone had left, except
for my parents, keeping a wretched vigil in the sitting room.  I stared at the
ceiling, and prayed I might die too.

How we got through the next
days, I hardly know.  The only comfort - it was not much - was the knowledge
that Nick had not suffered, the bullet had killed him instantly.  I sat, gazing
into the water, drowning in tears, as I hugged my stomach, almost crushed by
the knowledge that Nick would never see his child, and I would never see my
adored Nick again. 

If it had not been for the
baby, I think I would have slipped away and let the river take me.  I know that
my parents were careful not to leave me on my own during these dark hours -
perhaps they were frightened of what I might do in my shock and grief.

After a week or so, I began to
emerge from the first trauma, and had to start learning how to begin living in
a world in which I was now very alone.  Nick and I had formed such a tight unit
in recent years that even our closest friends were a little detached from our
partnership, and I felt frighteningly isolated, despite the great outpouring of
affection and grief which came my way from his friends and colleagues.

Like an automaton, I received a
stream of visitors and well-wishers.  This was not very good for me, because
they would cry and I would cry with them, and the terrible clouds would descend
again.  The flat was filled with flowers, and still they came: in the end, I
think my mother was giving them to the neighbours as we could cope with no
more.

Nick’s parents came to see me,
and this was another ordeal.  His mother had been prostrated by the blow.  Now
she wept over me and told me her only comfort was the thought of the baby, that
Nick would not be completely lost to us once I had his child.

They arranged for his body to
be embalmed before flying him home.  The funeral was to be held at St Peter’s
Church in Beresford, a beautiful medieval building, closely associated with the
school he had attended.  What with red tape and other delays, the funeral could
not take place until mid-September - the time when I had hoped we would be
married.

My parents did not want me to
go, fearing that the strain would be too much, but I was adamant I would
attend.  My mother bought me a plain black maternity dress - I was very
pregnant by this time - and I found a huge pair of dark glasses to shield me
from pitying eyes. 

It was a beautiful day, and the
sun shone brightly as we filed into the church.  Through my misery, I was
pleased to see the building was packed, with colleagues, school friends, and
other friends and relatives.  I recognised Peter Leigh at the end of a pew as I
took my seat, he looked bleak and austere in a black suit and tie.  Dave
Jackson sat on his other side, his face rigid and shocked.

The coffin had lain in the
church since the night before, amidst a huge bower of blossoms, and as I walked
in, I saw, to my horror, that it was open.  I hissed at my mother to sit a few
rows back from the front.  I could not have borne to look inside: I still could
not bring myself to believe that my passionate Nick was now a lifeless body.  A
couple of strangers obligingly made room for us, giving me the end seat, in
case I needed to creep away before everything was over.

Then the DeLisles came slowly
in with Mrs DeLisle leaning heavily on Nick’s father, Rosine veiled and in
tears, and the ceremony began.

I found it hard to sit there. 
Neither Nick nor I were at all religious.  We had never even discussed death,
thinking as we did that we had so much of life before us.  My lips moved during
the hymns, but I don’t think any sound came out.  The vicar’s words could give
me no comfort or hope.

A colleague from
The
Telegraph
gave the eulogy, and I was told afterwards that he spoke
brilliantly.  I was concentrating on making it to the end of the service,
feeling rather faint, with a nasty buzzing in my ears.  At one point, I
recognised my name, and words about “enduring love”.  I heard muffled sobs all
around, and wondered how it was that my hopes and dreams had come to this
sorrowful conclusion.

Finally, prayers were said, and
the ceremony drew to a close.  I saw the DeLisles approach the coffin,
presumably to say their goodbyes, and bowed my head.  I felt as though my heart
was splintering to pieces inside me as I remembered that final goodbye on the
day Nick left for Angola.  Then the sad silence was broken by Mrs DeLisle,
exclaiming loudly,

 “Where’s Eithne?  Eithne
should be here.”

She turned, scanning the faces
of the congregation, and saw me; she walked towards me and gripped my arm,
yanking me up from the pew. 

“No!”  I implored her.  I was
horrified.  I wanted my last sight of Nick to have been the living person,
laughing and saying “I love you”, not a body devoid of life and feeling, but
she took no notice, pulling me imperiously to the front of the aisle and to the
coffin side with manic strength.

I gasped, and tried not to
look, but at the same moment, I became aware that my Nick was not lying there
in the coffin.  There was only a beautiful shell, a waxwork, whatever soul or
spirit had inhabited the living Nick was gone, who knew where.

I turned to confront Mrs
DeLisle, still holding my arm in an iron grip, her face a tragic mask.

“There’s nothing there,” I told
her gladly.  “There’s nothing there.”

Then a blackness rolled over
me, and I welcomed its dark embrace.

 I was unconscious for a long
time and I came round to find myself lying in the vestry, anxious faces
hovering above me.  During my faint, I had received the vivid impression that
all this had been a mistake, that Nick had come back and was laughing at our
grief, and it was a crushing disappointment to find the dream was not the real
world.

A doctor, one of the DeLisle’s
friends, was feeling my pulse.  He looked at me carefully, and assisted me as I
tried to sit up.

“Emotional stress,” he said.  “I
don’t think there’s any real problem, but you should see your own GP as soon as
possible.  I’m sorry, my dear, this is a difficult time for you.  Nick was a
lovely young man.”

I nodded.  A tear squeezed out,
and I blinked it away.

A tall, black suited figure
hovered in the background.  My mother said, in querulous tones,

“We have Peter to thank for
catching you before you hit the ground.  I don’t know what Marie DeLisle
thought she was doing, anyone would think she wanted to make you worse than you
already are.”

I realised that the black
suited figure was Peter Leigh, and struggled to sit up a little more.  He knelt
down by my side.

“Gosh, Eithne, you had us
worried, you went very white,” he said quietly.  “I am so very sorry about all
this.  I hadn’t spoken to Nick for a while and I didn’t know about the baby.”

A ray of sunshine speared
through the dusty air, and I started to feel less wobbly.

“I was happy to see so many of
the St Peter’s crowd here,” I told him.  “I know Nick would have been pleased as
well.”

My mother was talking intently
to the doctor.  I looked at Peter, grateful to him for being there for Nick,
and now for me too.  Despite his height, there had always been a downy kind of
quality to him as a boy, like an unfledged bird, but he had grown up into a
capable looking adult, with close cropped blond hair and somewhat stern
features, which softened when he smiled.  We chatted a little.  He told me he
too was going through a painful time, although his was due to divorce and not
death.

“Was it Hilary?” I asked.  I
was very out of touch with his life.

“No - a Swedish girl, Silvia -
we married straight out of university, far too young really,” he said.  “Her
lawyer’s been giving me a pretty hard time about the business.”

He told me that he had been
working with his father, developing their engineering company until it was
quite a major concern. 

“I get down to London fairly
often at the moment,” he said.  “Can I look you up from time to time?  There
might be things I could help with, especially when the baby comes.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” 

I thought ruefully that I would
need all the friends I could get in the future.  Peter would be someone
dependable, of that I was sure.

I had missed the interment, for
which I was grateful.  I did not want to attend the wake.  No one could say
anything to bring me comfort.  People helped me to my feet, and I went back
home with my parents.  Once there, the memories and feelings associated with my
old room became too much, and I asked them to take me back to Wapping.  I felt
closer to Nick there than anywhere else.