Page 28 of Coming Home to Inishbeg Cove

Chapter 18

Sarah

I pulled open the curtains and held my breath. It was the morning of the village festival. I breathed a sigh of relief when I looked out to see strong sunlight glinting like platinum off the sea. There wasn’t a whisper of wind, and fleecy clouds trailed delicately on an azure backdrop where seagulls arced gracefully. The weather gods had smiled on the village. The weather could make or break the festival – I recalled many years where the rain had teemed down all day and the whole thing was a washout. The other villagers would all breathe a huge sigh of relief when they opened their curtains and saw blue skies and sunshine.

As well as traditional funfair games like hoopla and ring-a-duck, there would be stalls selling bric-a-brac and handmade crafts, as well as homemade goods and preserves. Ruairí would be selling his baked goods and teas and coffees, and for the first time ever, Greg would have an ice-cream stall, which I knew was going to be a big hit, especially on a sunny day like today. Mr Galvin would be leading pony rides up and down the beach, I was on face-painting duty, and Senan O’Reilly was going to run a limbo competition for the teenagers. The day always culminated in a firework show over the cove just after sunset. People came from far and wide around the county: it was a great day in the village.

I had so many happy memories of the Inishbeg Cove Summer Festival from childhood. As a teenager, when I was too old for pony rides and face painting, a gang of us would sit up on the rocks and watch the fireworks after the sun had gone down.

I got into the shower and noticed that my bump seemed to have grown even bigger overnight. I’d never thought it was possible for a human to expand so rapidly but I guessed it meant the babies were happy. After I was finished, I dressed and came downstairs to the delicious aroma of fried bacon.

‘Good morning, beautiful,’ Greg said when I entered the living area. ‘Did you sleep well?’ His eyes landed on the box of face paints I was carrying for the festival. ‘Do you really think you should be lifting that?’ His brow was furrowed in concern.

‘It’s only a small box, Greg,’ I said putting it down on the table.

‘Are you sure you should be doing it?’ he asked me once again. ‘Nobody would mind if you took a rain check.’

‘It’s hardly taxing. I’ll be sitting down all day.’

‘Well, promise me you’ll take it easy, okay? If at any point you feel like it’s getting too much, just give me a wave and I’ll try and distract the little brats with some free ice cream or something.’

I laughed.

‘And I’m carrying that box,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir!’ I saluted him.

‘This isn’t funny, Sarah. I just want what’s best for you and our babies.’

I knew this was just Greg’s way of being in control of a scary situation. He went back and flipped over the sizzling bacon in the frying pan. ‘Just think, in a couple of years we’ll have two little faces of our own queuing up, begging to be painted,’ Greg said.

My stomach constricted, as it always did whenever I thought about the future. I was glad that Greg had chosen to stay in his bubble of bliss, where everything was going to work out okay, because it meant he was protected from the worries that now consumed my every waking hour. Greg had already planned a future for our babies, whereas I was still taking it day by day. I took a deep breath to calm myself. A few months ago, I never could have imagined being pregnant with one baby, let alone with twins. Now that it had happened, I loved them both dearly. Although I hadn’t met them yet, they were already a huge part of my life and I couldn’t imagine how I would cope if anything went wrong.

Greg served me a plate of crispy bacon on thickly sliced soda bread oozing with golden butter. It wasn’t the healthiest breakfast option, but it was a Saturday morning treat. I spotted Gareth, the stray tabby cat who seemed to have adopted Greg and me, sitting on the windowsill. He was waiting for leftovers – he always timed his visits with our mealtimes.

After I had polished off my breakfast, I was getting up from the table when I felt a flutter, as light as butterfly wings. My heart swelled. I loved feeling my babies move – it reassured me. I had been feeling them a lot lately, and their movements were getting stronger with every passing day.

‘What is it?’ Greg asked looking at me, his face concerned.

‘I guess the babies must like bacon.’ I laughed. ‘Here, see if you can feel it too.’

I lifted my T-shirt and Greg placed the palm of his hand on my abdomen. Instantly, like a flick against taut elastic, there was another kick.

‘Did you feel that?’ I said.

Greg looked back at me with the broadest smile. ‘Well done, Greg Juniors.’

‘Or they could be Sarah Juniors.’ I laughed. ‘Now come on. We’d better go, or I’ll have a queue of angry children waiting for me.’