The Mother-in-Law(18)
When the alarm on my phone goes, signaling three hours since Archie’s last feed, I adjust the pillow on my lap and gesture to Tom to bring him over. Tom does as he’s told, carrying Archie as if he is made of glass, then backs away again, his eyes theatrically averted, as I fiddle with my nursing bra.
“Where on earth could she be?” Tom says, glancing at his phone again.
“Traffic?” Ollie suggests. He’s stretched out beside me on the hospital bed, watching football on the television in the corner, but his eyes dart back to Archie every minute or so, as if checking that he hasn’t gone anywhere.
“I have texted her twice,” Tom says. “I hope she hasn’t gotten into an accident.”
I lift Archie to my breast and try to latch him on, but the little guy is still deeply asleep. I blow gently on his face like the nurse showed me, but to no avail. He’s out cold. “Why don’t you call her?” I say. “For your peace of mind, if nothing else.”
The fact is, I’m getting impatient to see Diana too. I’m having crampy afterpains from the birth, I feel oddly teary, and there is a lot of testosterone in the room. Before Tom arrived, I had a visit from Dad, and while I love having all these menfolk around, I’m craving a maternal figure, someone to lean on.
Also, in the back of my mind, I’m painfully aware that this is our very last chance, Diana and I. If she doesn’t warm to me after I’ve birthed her first grandchild . . . what hope do we have?
“Yes,” Tom says. “Yes, all right. I’ll call her.”
Tom is just reaching for his phone when suddenly, there she is, in the doorway. We all do a double take at Diana standing there. She looks flustered . . . no, she looks like a wreck. The knees of her linen trousers are damp and dirty, and her linen shirt is rumpled. I’ve actually never seen Diana look so disheveled.
“Di!” Tom says, standing. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Sorry I’m late, I had a . . . oh, never mind, I’m here now. Oh.” She stops a few paces from the bed and inhales sharply. “There he is.”
Archie is showing no signs of waking or feeding, so I turn him around to face his grandmother. I smile. “Here he is.”
Diana remains rooted to the spot for several moments. I might be imagining it, but I think her eyes are little misty. It makes me a little teary too.
“Would you like to hold him?” I ask.
Diana is silent for several seconds before nodding silently. Then she washes her hands in the sink—nice and thoroughly—and comes to my bedside. I hold Archie out to her and she takes him gently from me, cradling his tiny head in both hands.
“Well, hello there, young man,” she says quietly. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Tom rises from his chair and stands beside Diana, looking down at Archie. Everything is quiet, apart from the blissful sound of Archie breathing. For a few moments, I feel at ease, totally filled up.
“Where is the teddy bear?” Tom asks Diana.
“Oh.” Diana looks up, suddenly flustered again. “Actually my . . . client, as it happened, gave birth today. That’s why I was held up. And . . .”
There is a long, charged silence. Tom’s jaw drops.
“She didn’t have any toys for the baby, and I guess . . . I just . . .”
I don’t know why, it’s not as though I have any particularly affinity for teddy bears, and I certainly don’t think Archie needs one at one day old, but for some reason Diana giving his teddy bear away . . . it feels deeply personal. A betrayal.
“We’ll buy Archie another one,” Diana says finally.
“Yes,” Tom says, recovering. “Of course we will. We’ll buy it this afternoon. We can bring it back tonight!”
“Guys, guys!” Ollie says, holding up his hands. “Calm down. Archie doesn’t need a giant teddy bear, and he certainly doesn’t need it today.” He grins, enjoying being the reasonable one, the peacemaker. “I’d say it’s much better off with your refugee lady and her kid. We have nowhere to put a giant teddy bear anyway, do we, Luce?”
They all turn to look at me. I drop my gaze.
“I’d better take Archie,” I say, taking my sleeping boy from Diana’s arms. “He’s due for a feed.”
10: DIANA
THE PAST . . .
I stand on Ollie and Lucy’s doorstep and knock briskly. The briskness is an attempt to counteract the doubts I’m already having. Archie is two weeks old. Would Lucy want me showing up like this unannounced? Would she hate it? Who knew? Tom has dropped in several times, of course, never once questioning whether or not he’d be welcome. It’s self-fulfilling, that kind of confidence. My lack of confidence also seems to be self-fulfilling.
In truth, I think I’ve stayed away because of that damn bear. When I gave it to Ghezala it seemed, absolutely, the right thing to do. That teddy would likely be the best toy that child would ever receive. Perhaps even the only toy. And as I handed it over to Ghezala and watched her tear up, suddenly it didn’t seem so silly after all.
I should have known Tom would tell Lucy and Ollie about the teddy-bear. When I showed up to the hospital, late and empty-handed, I’ll admit I felt guilty. I should have done better than that for my first grandchild. I should have done better than that for Lucy.