Claire Allan - Apple of My Eye

I’m not in the habit of keeping things from my husband. Or I hadn’t been, but things had been different recently. I suppose I’ve been trying to justify it to myself, telling myself it doesn’t really matter. It’ll still be a surprise for him when she’s born, but I know that I’ve broken his trust. Maybe that’s part of the reason I’m even entertaining the notion he could be breaking mine, too. I know first-hand how easy it is to lie by omission, to hide what I know. I’ve even hidden a set of three pink onesies in a drawer upstairs.

‘No, Mum, and I don’t think I will. We’re close now anyway. I don’t think it’d do any good to anyone to cause upset now.’

‘Well, I can’t wait until it’s all out in the open. Then I can go legitimately mad in the shops and buy up all the pink in the world.’

‘You don’t have to go mad in the shops, Mum,’ I said. ‘You keep your money for yourself.’

‘Nonsense! I know I don’t have to spend my money on the baby, but I want to, and more than that, I’m going to. I’ve been saving up.’

‘Mum, you need your money. Save it up if you want but keep it for yourself. This baby’ll be fine. I promise.’

‘I’ve worked hard all my life, Eli, and if I want to spend my money on my grandchild, I will. And that’s the end of it. Sure, what else would I spend my money on? This is something happy! My first grandchild.’

‘And probably your last,’ I say with a grimace. ‘I can’t imagine ever going through this again.’

‘Everyone feels like that during your stage of pregnancy,’ my mother soothes. ‘You don’t know how you’ll feel after the birth, but I can tell you that even if you only have the one child, she’ll be more than enough.’

‘Did you always feel that way, Mum? Always feel I was enough?’ I ask.

She tilts her head to one side and those sparkling blue eyes look at me again. ‘From the moment I first held you, my darling, I knew that I’d never need or want anyone else in my life but you. If life had given me more children I’d have loved them too, of course I would. But I never felt anything but complete with you in my life.’

It’s too much emotion for pregnant me. I feel my chest tighten and I hug her. ‘I love you, Mum,’ I whisper into the soft curls of her hair on her cheek, the familiar smell of her Chanel No. 5 perfume comforting me.

‘You’ll be a great mother, Eliana. Don’t doubt yourself. Not even for a second. And I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me.’

‘I know,’ I whisper.

‘And you can tell me anything.’

‘I know that, too,’ I say.

‘Like if there was any reason you asked me to come down a day earlier than planned.’ She raises one eyebrow.

She’s not one to give up easily.

‘I told you, Mum, it’s nothing. Martin was just going away for work and, well, it’s getting closer to the baby coming and all …’

‘If you’re sure that’s all?’ she asks.

I nod. Thinking that yes, it is indeed easy to lie or just not tell the whole truth. Much too easy.

It’s just after 9.30 p.m. when my mother, seeing how hard I’ve been trying to stifle my yawns, orders me off to bed. I don’t argue. I’m bone tired but thankful that I’m also feeling soothed by my chat with Mum.

I plug my phone in to charge, rest it on the bedside table and climb under the covers. I’m just about to close my eyes, when it rings.

I see Martin’s name on the screen and, suddenly, I desperately want to talk to him. I want to hear his voice. I even think, maybe, just maybe, my mother’s right and I should tell him I know about the sex of the baby.

I don’t have to tell him she’s a girl. I can leave that surprise for him for the big day, but I shouldn’t keep from him the fact that I know. Not when I know how much of a spin it’s put me in to think he could be keeping something from me.

Answering the call, I do my best to sound jolly, to sound just like the Eli he fell in love with and not the grumpy wife he’d had words with last night.

‘Hi, baby, how’s your day been?’ I say.

He sighs, or maybe it’s a yawn. ‘Long and busy, but I wanted to check in with you before I settle down for the night. I didn’t like how we left things last night.’

‘We were both tired, let’s just file it under a “bad day” and let it go,’ I say.

‘How’s everything?’ he asks.

‘It’s fine, Martin. Mum came down early and made a big pot of her famous chicken soup. She insisted on doing the washing-up herself and packing me off to bed. I was just settling down. I’m in bed already.’

‘I wish I was there with you,’ he says softly.

Something in me, the part of me that needs this man always, tightens. I wish I could see his face, feel his breath on my face, his skin touching my skin.

‘I wish you were here, too,’ I tell him. ‘I really do.’

‘I’ll be home in a few days,’ he says. ‘We can make up for it then. At least you’ve got your mother there for company while I’m gone.’

‘That’s true, but she’s not as good at spooning me as you are,’ I say.

‘Well, I do make for a very good big spoon,’ he says and I hear the longing in his voice.

It makes me feel loved. It makes me feel love for him. It makes wonder how I could ever doubt him.

He yawns and I know he’s too tired to launch into any deep conversation, so I tell him I love him and promise to talk to him tomorrow. Maybe I’ll tell him about the baby’s gender then.

I also make a promise to myself to take the stupid note out of my bag in the morning and throw it in the bin where it belongs. And to leave it there this time.

It couldn’t be that hard to follow someone, I figured. Especially at night-time when the roads are quieter. So I did. I walked behind her out of the supermarket. Left my basket abandoned in one of the aisles. Didn’t pay. I’d make do with toast for dinner.

Fate smiled kindly on me. The woman had parked her car close to the supermarket exit and I got a full look at the make and model. I knew my own car was parked just two minutes away on the main road, and if I hurried I’d still be able to follow her.

I got to my car as quickly as I could and switched on the engine, cursing that the windows of the old rust bucket I’d the misfortune to drive were so badly steamed up. I stuck the blowers on full. I didn’t have time to wait. I couldn’t let her get out of my sight and away. I grabbed the old chamois leather I kept in the glovebox and wiped the inside of the windscreen furiously. Just as I looked up, I saw the flash of headlights from the car park exit. Her car emerged and turned left towards the Foyle Bridge.

I swore under my breath. My visibility was still shocking and I was pointing in the wrong direction. I needed to do a U-turn, but with my rear windows still clouded over I couldn’t see clearly enough to do it safely.

I could take a chance, I supposed. I wound down my window and stuck my head out, tried to gauge what else was on the road. She was getting away, so I slammed my car into first and turned the steering wheel. The road was clear and I could make a go for it.

But just as I moved off, the car juddered, stalling with a thud. And the road was no longer clear, and my engine wasn’t catching when I turned the key in the ignition. Her rear lights were moving further and further into the distance, blurring with the rain and the condensation and actually, my tears, too.

I slammed my fist on the steering wheel in frustration, the horn blaring loudly.

Kneading my forehead with the heels of my hands, I tried to regain my composure. This was just a setback. This wasn’t defeat. I’d still do this. Nothing of worth in this world was ever easily achieved. I reminded myself that I’d asked God to send me a sign and He had. He’d brought her to me and I had to keep faith that He would bring her, and her baby – my baby – to me again.