Champagne Babes Page 2

  With a weary heart I tried to speak, but was instantly interrupted by another crazed rant from Michael.

  ‘Is this your idea of a joke, huh? Do you think this is acceptable, leaving me here alone with Daisy all night? I’ve got to go to work in about, oh, three fucking hours. You’re such a selfish bitch, Eva. You really are a piece of work. I’ve been trying to get our baby to keep a bottle down since the moment you walked out of the house. Our little princess only fell asleep about forty minutes ago, and now I’m so angry I can’t sleep. Fuck you. I’ve had to change her clothes and cot five times.’

  He stormed off to the kitchen, huffing and cursing. Unable to find a suitable response I just stood motionless, my brain feverishly trying to assess the situation. I heard him bang the dishwasher and fridge open and shut, and then he returned, just as angrily, with a pint glass of milk in one hand and some coloured brochures in the other. But he stopped in his tracks when he saw I hadn’t moved.

  ‘Are you stupid, or something?’ His voice almost quivered with the anger, his body shook with frustration. ‘Are you gonna close that fucking door so we don’t wake up half the neighbourhood? Most normal people are in their beds sleeping right now. But then again, I forgot you’re not normal, Eva – that would almost be a fate worse than death: to be normal.’

  By now I knew the quickest way out of this was to simply close the door and remain silent. He was suffering from sleep deprivation and – still – the shock of becoming a father. Whatever I said would only set him off. So I just dropped my eyes to the floor, closed the door as smoothly as possible and wished for it all to be over.

  I kept my body faced towards the hall door as long as possible, hoping that he would walk away – but he didn’t. His heavy breathing was almost strong enough to knock me over. Although he was a few strides away, he felt so close in that icy house.

  As we both waited for the other to react, the stony silence was broken by a weak cry from the bedroom. I swung around to look up the stairs, and then back at Michael. His temper hadn’t waned. With an annoying, childlike smirk he snapped, ‘Your fucking turn, sweetheart.’ He walked back into the living room, washing his hands of all responsibility. I was too exhausted to fight with him. I wasn’t going to rise to his temper. He’d eventually cool down.

  As I dragged myself up the stairs to check on Daisy, smudging dirt on our cream carpet with every step, another bark came from Michael, this time not so angry. Not so harsh.

  ‘I’m not happy,’ he said with a hint of remorse. ‘I was worried about you . . . It’s not good enough, Eva . . . I’m really not happy.’

  Once again, I chose not to respond.

  I was not happy on so many levels, it would have been impossible for me to articulate them. The attempted rape was too much to explain to Michael tonight. I’d try and tell him about it tomorrow, when things had calmed down.

  But so much had changed between us in the last few months . . . We’d been so carefree. Michael had once been the most attentive man I’d ever met. He’d leave ‘I love you’ notes on the fridge. Text me saucy messages like, ‘Can’t wait 2 C U sexy minx’, and ALWAYS pleasure me, before himself, in bed.

  The moment we found out I was pregnant, though, his mind-set changed. I didn’t know quite how, but there was a definite shift in his attitude towards me: less eager. It was only really in the final months of my pregnancy, when I became really big, that I felt he became seriously distant. I would ask him if everything was OK. But I’d be dismissed every time, and told to, ‘Stop with the nagging. What happened to fun Eva?’

  All that had started before the birth . . . Many months on, the cloud still hadn’t lifted. Tonight he hadn’t even noticed how muddy my clothes were, or how messy my face was. Why could he not see that I was traumatized?

  By the time I got to Daisy’s nursery, she was once again peaceful and calm. Settled in her baby boudoir, she looked like a china doll, all snug in her tiny cot. Surprisingly Michael had her tucked into her blankets just like the hospital had showed us. He had struggled with it before, but tonight she looked totally secure and safe. If only I could share the same inner peace she had.

  She never usually cried much. Every other mother told me how their children never stopped crying when they brought them home from hospital, but Daisy wasn’t a complainer.

  She was so tiny lying there in her cot that it was still mind-boggling to think that she was mine. Looking at her reminded me of the first time I’d had to bath her in the hospital, and how terrified I’d felt when lifting her tiny limbs. I’d been sure that she would break. But the midwives had explained to me that, despite her delicate appearance, she was sturdy. They were right. She might look weak, but she was a toughie.

  Not wanting to breathe alcohol on her, I stood back and watched her sleeping, the glow of a large lava-lamp softly lighting up her face. Even though her features were so delicate and petite, her slanted eyelids were evident. Every morning I woke up and wished that it was all a dream. I felt guilty, sick to the pit of my stomach that something I’d done had made Daisy Down’s syndrome.

  I hadn’t known I was pregnant when we got married. I drank my way through the hen party and two-day wedding celebrations, not to mention drowning my liver further on the honeymoon. There wasn’t much to do in Mauritius except eat and drink. Even newlyweds could only stomach a certain amount of sex during the day, so once it was past noon yours truly would work her way through the cocktail list thinking she was Kate Moss. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m almost sure I got pregnant around the time of my birthday. Michael and I had been very physical, not to say pissed, for all the days leading up to and after it.

  I felt I’d been punished for misbehaving.

  I hadn’t realized I should have looked after myself. I’d been celebrating being alive and in love. Staying sober and eating five a day had not been high on my agenda.

  Of course, me being a piss-head hadn’t caused Daisy’s condition. In a moment of guilt I had looked it up on the internet, and been bombarded with websites full of information on DS babies, and how they had an extra chromosome. Even I could work out that booze had played no part. But somehow I wanted that to be the cause. Otherwise, what other reason could there be?

  The first few days after her birth, I had felt so close to Michael, like we were living in our own bubble. He had even brought me a baby book of names into the hospital, and laughed at all the absurd ones that I had picked out. When it came to it, he wouldn’t help me choose. Told me that I was to pick out her name and said that he ‘didn’t want the responsibility’.

  While it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, I just hadn’t planned on getting pregnant that quickly. I hadn’t wanted a baby so early in our marriage – now I had Daisy. We were told she only had mild Down’s syndrome, but she would always be classed as different.

  ‘Oh, special needs, poor thing,’ the neighbours would mutter as I passed them in Tesco’s. I wasn’t sure if they were showing pity to Daisy or me. But I hated their comments.

  ‘They don’t live long, ya know,’ was probably the most hurtful I heard.

  The day that remark was made, Daisy had been smartly propped up in her car-seat on top of the shopping trolley, in full view of everyone. I’d been trying to show a brave face. I hadn’t wanted to hide her away, she was my daughter. But secretly inside, I’d been screaming. Screaming at everyone. But no one could hear my screams.

  Every time I’d looked at her back then, I’d thought how much I had drunk and how I’d abused my body. All that time she’d been growing inside me I’d damaged her, selfish cow that I was. But as I looked at her now, she just seemed like somebody else’s child. She didn’t resemble me, or Michael.

  I went to bed still muddied and fully clothed, and sobbed till I fell asleep. Michael didn’t join me.

  ‘What do you mean, you didn’t tell Michael?’ Parker sounded extra screechy. Parker was my gay best friend. Spoilt and opinionated, he possibly wasn’t the best person to be speaking to this morning, as a comforting shoulder he did not have. Despite holding the phone away from my ear, his pitch was still grating. The hangover had kicked in, not to mention the guilt of my diva strop when I’d stormed off from the gang last night. If I hadn’t gotten thick about comments Maddie made about my fucked-up motherly emotions I would never have ended up alone in that taxi.

  ‘He’s your husband. The nearly-best-sex-you-ever-had, and father of your child. You know, the guy who vowed to love and protect . . .’

  ‘OK. I get it . . . Just shut up!’

  Momentarily the conversation went dead. Not really wanting to hear the answer I asked, ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Mmmm, barely; well, whatever, since you’ve left your husband to his ignorance I suppose I’d better call around and check out the state of you. Don’t leave the house. I’ll be over to do my concerned-friend bit in half an hour.’

  ‘No, don’t, Parker, I really don’t want—’

  ‘I’m gone . . . See you in thirty.’

  This time he was gone and on the way.

  I really didn’t feel up for company – well, not company that could talk.

  Daisy was lying on my bed beside me. Her tiny eyes watched the morning light bouncing off the wall. She looked so content and peaceful. What did the future hold for her? And, selfishly, I wondered what it held for me. My attempt to keep a brave face about things was about to fail. I had the fear in me. Was it trauma from the attack? Or was it belated baby blues? Either way, as Michael put it, I was not happy. With my head throbbing painfully, I laid my face close to Daisy’s and just watched her breathing, observing the contours of her face, and the amazing length of her eyelashes. I inhaled her smell. I would have liked to kiss her soft pink skin, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to. She was the picture of perfection and I was disgustingly filthy.

  I thought about singing her a lullaby, but then couldn’t find the voice. I was a bad mother and this wasn’t going well. So instead we just lay in silence, watching the light flicker on the wall.

  Time would heal us, wouldn’t it? Or at least heal me and my feelings of guilt.

  ‘Oh God, you weren’t kidding when you said you looked like Amy Winehouse. Wow. That really is a look . . . Listen, I bring cake and good karma. After I work my magic the world will seem like a better place. Just call me Auntie Potter and let me wave my magic wand.’

  ‘Huh, is that some of your regurgitated banter from last night with Captain Jeff, or was that line spanking new for me?’

  ‘Too early for spanking talk, pet, especially in your fragile state. No, I’m keeping it fresh this morning – speaking of which, why don’t you take a shower while I look after my new goddaughter here?’

  ‘I haven’t managed to talk to Michael about that, yet.’

  ‘Details, details! Now, go wash away the evil of last night. Everything will be fine here. I promise not to drop her . . .’

  ‘Parker!’

  ‘I’m kidding – we’ll be fine. Go, cleanse yourself, and we’ll catch up on the world’s recession on Sky News. Babies love that sort of thing. That and cake.’

  As Parker gently took my daughter in his arms, all paternal and glowing, I felt emotion flood over me. And without warning streams of tears just rained uncontrollably down my face. I didn’t want to do this in front of Parker. Breakdowns were meant to be private affairs, and shared only with bottles of gin or strangers across bars or phone lines.

  As I bolted I momentarily caught one of Parker’s concerned faces. It was horrifically heartfelt-looking. The only time I’d seen him look like that before was when I’d collapsed after being released from hospital last year. We’d been out for a light lunch and he’d insisted I had a glass of bubbles. Just one, but unfortunately the alcohol went straight to my head – my damaged and mildly medicated head – and promptly dumped me to the ground. I never told anyone except the doctor what had happened. Parker’s guilt was punishment enough.

  But today Parker’s face was filled with pity more than oncern. His eyes spoke volumes, and I didn’t want to hear, think or live any of it.

  I was in a vortex of pain. It consumed me; every inch of my body, including my fingertips, was beginning to ache. Stumbling out of the room, I couldn’t even find the words to tell Parker about Daisy. She could need a bottle, a nappy change, a blanket to keep her warm . . . He’d have to work it out. I did . . . If only I could just figure me out.

  As I waited for the water to warm up, a million random questions flashed through my head.

  Why did Michael get so angry at me?

  Would that taxi man have killed me after he’d raped me?

  Should I go and make a report to the Garda?

  Where was I going to send Daisy to school?

  Where was Maddie? Why hadn’t she phoned to see if I was OK?

  My brain raced while my body began to lose the will to live. Without thinking I stepped into the shower with my clothes still on. I didn’t have the energy to take them off, but it didn’t matter. I’d never wear them again.

  As the steaming water crashed down over me, it pushed my body to the floor. Slumped in the shower tray I sobbed. Last night Maddie had told me to get over myself and start acting like a mother. But how could she be so harsh? I had just wanted to get drunk and have a laugh – I had spent months sober, and longed to feel like the old Eva the Diva for one evening. Not Eva the wife, or reckless mother to ‘that’ Down’s syndrome baby. Was that so bad of me?

  I knew I was being weak, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt so alone. I couldn’t reach out and tell anyone how I really felt. They’d only hate me even more. So there I sat, head throbbing, heart breaking, tears streaming and clothes clinging.

  After about twenty minutes I had watched the last of the dirty water from my muddied and bloody feet run clean. My fingers had now shrivelled up, but despite feeling dehydrated and hot I found the strength to strip myself and properly wash my face and hair. On reflection, Maddie had been correct. I did need to get over myself. Whether I liked it or not I had responsibilities to Daisy, Michael and myself.

  I could wallow in misery for ever, but I did need to speak to someone about Daisy’s condition. I needed to face my fears. It wasn’t going to be easy, but then I suppose nothing worth doing ever is.

  Parker was busy cradling Daisy, and clearly loving every minute of it.

  ‘Oh, wow, you look much better,’ he gushed. ‘You ooze Katie Holmes just out of the shower after a run in Central Park.’

  ‘A very fat Katie Holmes. Probably more Beth Ditto after one of her concerts.’

  ‘Yes, surely. The two of them are so easily confused . . . Listen, forget about squeezing into your skinny jeans for five minutes, I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘What kind of idea?’

  ‘OK, now don’t say no immediately. I want us to go away for a few days.’

  ‘Oh, no problem. Let me grab my coat.’

  ‘I’m serious, Eva.’

  ‘Me, too. Don’t be so stupid, Parker. That tiny creature in your possession right now is my new daughter. I can’t go anywhere and leave her.’

  ‘I never said she wouldn’t be coming.’

  ‘Ah, Jaysus, Parker, don’t start stressing me out. I’m a woman on the edge, I can’t . . .’ Once again the emotion inside started welling up, and my eyes began to fill.

  ‘Hey, hey, hold up there, I don’t want to do that to you. I’m trying to help, here. You’re tired, and your poor hormones are raging, and you need help.’

  ‘Don’t forget . . . I narrowly escaped death last night.’ No sooner had the words left my mouth than I had a vivid flashback of me in the taxi.

  Seeing my pain once more, Parker swung his spare arm around me. He wasn’t a natural comforter. He was normally very self-absorbed, but for today he was pulling it out of the bag.

  ‘Whisht now; I’ve a plan to make things better. You’ve just got to trust me.’

  ‘But what about Michael? I can’t just say to Michael—’

  ‘I said, whisht,’ interrupted Parker in one of his butch voices. ‘Leave everything to me, including Michael. You just need to concentrate on getting yourself strong, and looking after this little lady. OK?’

  ‘But . . .’ Words were now failing me. Exasperated, I just sat at the end of my couch and put my head in my hands. Before I had time to let myself think, I was conscious of Parker placing Daisy in her Moses basket, and returning to me on the couch. Peeling my hands away to reveal my broken face, Parker cuddled in real close, and gave me one of his silly little smiles to make me laugh.

  All he managed to extract from me was a heavy sigh, but that was good enough. As I let it out I felt a small weight lift.

  ‘OK, listen, today is one of those bad days. You were told you would have them, but tomorrow will be another day – a better one, and the black cloud that surrounds you right now will go.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘Of course I do. In that hollow, haven’t-got-a-clue way that only I can make promises. But that’s something, right?’

  He was right. Even his just saying it would get better suggested it could.

  ‘Thank you, Parker.’ My whisper was almost inaudible.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Listen, I’m fine now, well, I will be fine, so don’t worry about the trip. I really don’t need any trip.’

  ‘Non-negotiable, my sweet.’ Parker leapt in the air, dismissing any further chat on the subject. ‘I’m being masterful here, so you’ve just got to roll with it.’

  ‘Roll with it, eh?’ My mood was softening more. ‘Well, I love your confidence. I just can’t wait to see how you handle Michael.’

  Then, in one swift movement, he whipped his mobile from his trouser pocket, hit a few buttons and raised it to his ear. ‘Michael, it’s Parker here.’ He wandered off into the dining room as if on some business call. In between some muttering I could hear, ‘Monday or Tuesday at the latest.’

  Could he really be serious about taking a trip?

  Had he forgotten the work that went into babies? We had all lived together when Maddie had had Woody, but clearly a year was enough time for a man to forget.