The Mother-in-Law(32)
Nettie has been a godsend. When she heard we’d been relegated to the downstairs rooms (admittedly “relegated” is a little harsh, our room is grander and more spacious than most hotel suites), she’d promptly told Diana they would be moving their bags downstairs too. (“We’ll make a party of it,” she’d said, winking at Archie.) Patrick and Nettie were wonderful with Archie. All afternoon they’d taken turns to play with him, taking him on walks around the garden or swimming in the pool while Ollie and I ate lunch and unpacked. In fact, I’ve hardly held him all day.
“What time does he go to bed?” Nettie asks.
“Seven,” I say.
“So what happens now?”
“Once he’s in his pajamas he’ll play for a bit. Then I read him a story, give him a bottle and put him to bed.”
“Will he wake during the night for a feed?”
Nettie wants to know every detail. It’s funny and also unnecessary because she is natural with babies in a way that few people are. In the past I’d gotten the impression she and Patrick were waiting a while before having kids, perhaps until Nettie’s career was more established, but now I wonder if that’s the case. I think of Nettie’s green complexion earlier and wonder if it was more than just travel sickness. Maybe she’s pregnant?
“The Greenans are here,” Diana’s voice announces from the top of the stairs, as Nettie is washing Archie’s hair. “Can you kids come up?”
“We’re bathing Archie,” Nettie replies, grinning at Archie. He grins back.
There’s a pause. “All of you?” Diana asks pointedly.
I open my mouth, ready to say that I’ll finish up, that everyone else should head on upstairs. After all, I’d rather be down here than up there. But Nettie, to my surprise, gets in first. “Yes. All of us.”
The silence stretches on and on. I find myself desperate to fill it, but Nettie looks at me and shakes her head. In the tiny gesture, I realize I’d underestimated Nettie. She’s a better ally than I’d originally thought.
“I’ll go,” Ollie says, climbing to his feet. Patrick also rises, though I expect it’s his desire drink Tom’s top shelf wine rather than desire to appease Diana. Nettie remains where she is on the floor, rinsing Archie’s hair and babbling to him in a low, soothing voice.
By the time Nettie and I make it upstairs, everyone is sitting at the outdoor table and the pleasant hum of music and chatter can be heard from halfway down the stairs. I watch the scene through the huge glass doors, taking it all in—ocean as far as the eye can see; twinkling fairy lights strung up on the trees, the peach glow of sunset spilling its light all over everything and everyone. The table has been decorated in white and burlap with silver lanterns, candles and flowers . . . it’s breathtaking.
“Here they are,” Tom says, spotting us.
Everyone turns. Jeffrey Greenan’s teeth are already stained red from wine. He makes a great show of getting up when we appear, despite our insistence that he remain seated.
“Ladies!” he says, swaggering over. His white shirt is unbuttoned just a little too far and grey-black hair curls up his chest almost as far as the jugular. “My, my, Lucy, motherhood suits you. And Nettie, aren’t you growing up?”
He winks and Nettie’s smile tenses.
He is, already, more awful than I remembered.
I walk over to the outdoor outlet and plug in the baby monitor. I flip the switch and the green light illuminates, indicating that it’s working.
“What is that noise?” Diana exclaims, and my stomach pulls tight. “That . . . crackling?”
Admittedly, the monitor has seen better days—it’s a second hand one I found at the charity shop. It works fine, but when it’s switched on, it hums a slightly static tune. I’d gotten so used to it I’d stopped noticing. “Oh, Archie was a little fussy so I brought the monitor up.”
Diana looks perplexed. “Does it always make that sound?”
Everyone quiets down and listens while I stand there like a fool. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think, if you didn’t send us downstairs to the dungeon, we wouldn’t need the damn monitor.
“Oh, but aren’t they great, these little devices they have nowadays?” Amelia, Jeffery’s wife, says, touching Diana’s arm. Amelia is petite and freckled in a white linen dress and gold slide-on sandals. She is, at once, pretty and plain, with small blue eyes and a grey-blonde bob and a propensity to touch that somehow makes her endearing, the very opposite of her husband. I find myself fantasizing about having Amelia for a mother-in-law. Even with Jeffrey for a father-in-law, it might be worth it.
Might be.
“Wouldn’t we have wished for monitors when we had little ones, Diana?” Amelia continues.
Clearly Diana wishes nothing of the sort. She is the no-nonsense kind of mother and grandmother, the kind that thinks breastfeeding and back-to-sleep and seat belts are all nonsense because her kids didn’t have them and it never did them any harm. At least I think she is that kind of mother, but I don’t know because she rarely bestows me with any actual advice or opinions. This should be a good thing, but instead it just leaves me with a general feeling of getting it wrong without any idea of how to do better.
“Just make sure the volume is turned down,” Diana says finally, under duress and begins to hand out the plates.