Paul isn’t home. He says he is working late. Which Niamh suspects is a fib, and he has most likely gone round to his mother’s house for his tea. He tends to do that when he’s feeling particularly stressed, and she knows that he is definitely feeling on edge at the moment. Just like she is.
Perhaps she should’ve gone tohermother’s for her tea? But of course, she couldn’t do that because at least one responsible parent has to come home and make sure their brood are fed, watered and kept from murdering each other.
She wants to call him out on it. She wants to lift her phone and send him a sarky message asking him if they have now reached the stage in their relationship where blatantly lying to each other is acceptable.
Instead she is focused on helping Jodie, who is hunched over the toilet – morning sickness having now stretched into the evening.
‘I tried to put the dinner on,’ Jodie says, her eyes red-rimmed and still watering, her face pale and sweating. ‘But I couldn’t manage it.’
Niamh feels heart sorry for her daughter as she remembers her own run-ins with morning sickness. She helps her get to her feet and to her room, while shouting at Cal to bring his sister a glass of water.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Cal grunts as he hands over the glass and eyes his sister with suspicion.
‘She’s just not feeling well,’ Niamh says, tersely. Cal, Ethan and Fiadh are still in the dark about the drama playing out in their home.
‘Too many vodkas, Jodie!’ Cal teases as he mimes bringing a glass to his lips and knocking it back.
Jodie just grimaces and for a few seconds Niamh is sure her daughter is going to throw up once more, all over the bedroom floor.
‘Cal, go back to murdering things in your room!’ Niamh snaps, and watches as her son throws his hands in the air in mock offence.
‘Chill out, bruh,’ he replies, making a stupid hand gesture and turning to swagger out of the room like the member of some super-cool street gang and not just a really annoying teenager who still has to be reminded to change into clean pants each day.
‘Should’ve stayed on the cider, sis,’ he offers as a parting shot before disappearing back into his room and resuming the shouting match with Ethan and their online friends.
‘Love, you’re getting it tough.’ Niamh does her best to soothe Jodie as she gently sweeps her hair back from her face. ‘We’ll have to get some Ginger Nuts or something to see if they help.’
‘I don’t even want to think about biscuits,’ Jodie groans. ‘Or any type of food. Or anything with a strong smell.’
‘I know. I remember it well. It’s a rotten feeling.’
Jodie nods, and closes her eyes. In this moment Niamh can see just how very young she still is. She still looks like her little girl – how on earth is she going to cope with all the demands a baby will put on her?
Jodie lies still for a moment before opening her eyes again and tentatively pulling herself up to sitting, so she can take a sip of water from the glass.
‘Mum,’ she says. ‘Adam and I have come to a decision about what we want to do.’
Niamh feels her stomach tighten. She isn’t sure exactly what she wants to hear her daughter say next. She isn’t sure she is able to admit to herself her true feelings on the matter. That no option is a perfect option and that whatever they decide is likely to have a long-lasting impact on them both, no matter what. That she wishes her daughter wasn’t pregnant at all – even though acknowledging that swamps her with new feelings of guilt and shame at wishing away what would become her grandchild.
That she fears that even though she knows Adam to be a lovely young man – he’s the son of her best friend, after all – she knows it is Jodie whose life will be most impacted by their joint decision. It’s always different for the woman.
‘You know you have choices,’ Niamh tells her daughter. ‘You know you don’t have to rush them.’
‘I know, Mum. And believe me, we’ve talked through every angle.’
With all the naivety of young people barely out of secondary school, Niamh thinks, but she keeps her mouth shut.
‘Well, what is it then?’ Niamh asks, as tenderly as she can muster.
‘Can we go see Becca and Adam? We want to tell you both together.’
‘Can you not just tell me now?’ Niamh asks, wanting to weep at the thought of putting her coat back on and leaving the house again. She desperately just wants to put on her pyjamas, chuck a frozen pizza in the oven for the children and sprawl on the sofa watching reruns ofSay Yes to the Dressuntil the world seems less horrible.
‘We really do want to do it together,’ Jodie says, her eyes filling with tears, which immediately makes Niamh feel like the worst mother in the entire universe. Here she is making her pregnant daughter cry, all because she feels too lazy to go to her best friend’s house.
‘Okay,’ she says, with a sigh. ‘Okay. But I need to feed the others first, and make sure Fiadh has done her homework. And I really need to change out of these clothes into something more comfortable.’ What she means by more comfortable is to change into something where she does not feel like she is mouldering with her own sweat, and which doesn’t make her look like a menopausal cartoon bear.
Jodie smiles and says she’ll just get a little nap while she waits, which Niamh totally understands because pregnancy brings on an exhaustion like no other.Except maybe perimenopause,a little voice whispers from inside her. Oh, but how she would love a little nap herself. Or maybe a good coma. Just a few months. Nothing drastic.
