Birth in Suburbia, Carol Falaki [electronic reader .TXT] 📗

go in the other room, you stay here, you just press this to talk, and this to listen,” he showed her and off he went. In a short while the handset started to crackle and Natalie pressed the buttons, awkwardly at first and then more easily. It became obvious that they could hear everything Jonathan was saying, or rather shouting, without the aid of the radio, and he in return, was struggling to hear Natalie’s quiet responses.
“What? Natalie, press the green one, what?” came through the walls. Debbie maintained a serious expression, matching Natalie’s, although it wasn’t
easy. She watched Michael in the kitchen. He was pouring orange juice and seemed aware she was watching him, because he looked up and smiled. Debbie knew then that they would be friends. She relaxed and returned his smile.
Jonathan gave up after a few minutes and returned to show Natalie again, collecting a beaker of juice on the way through. Michael brought their drinks to the conservatory. He was returning to the kitchen for his own when the telephone rang.
“Excuse me.”
He didn’t pick it up in the kitchen, but went through to a room off the hall. His muffled voice could be heard in quiet moments between the children’s chatter. Debbie sipped her drink and looked about. The conservatory was sparsely furnished but comfortable, and the kitchen was clean and tidy. A boxed supermarket pizza was on the worktop close to the cooker, and a selection of salad leaves and vegetables was piled onto a cloth on the draining board. Natalie commanded Debbie’s attention. She had found a book she liked, a pictorial edition of Peter Pan.
“Will you read this to us, Aunty Debbie?” she pleaded and sat herself down, next to Debbie, on the sofa.
Glad of something to keep herself occupied Debbie agreed, and asked Jonathan if he would like to listen. Jonathan nodded his head and Debbie
patted the sofa, inviting him to sit next to her, which he did. Debbie began to read and the children snuggled in close to her. After a few minutes Jonathan rested his small hand on her stomach. Debbie’s baby responded with the long slow stretch of a limb, which resulted in a palpable ripple and the visible movement of Jonathan’s hand. He took his hand away for a moment, smiled up at her and then returned his hand to the same place.
“He likes you,” Debbie said, then continued to read. “And Captain Hook’s cabin was full of clocks, but not one of them was ticking.” She paused for a moment when she became aware of Michael, standing half in and half out of the kitchen, watching her. He whispered something to himself, but Debbie couldn’t make it out.
“Pardon?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, and shook his head, his voice subdued and distant. Then he spoke more clearly.
“My editor,” he explained. “I have to take a few notes. I’ll only be a couple of minutes if you’ll excuse me.”
“Would it be better if we left?”
“No,” the children echoed simultaneously.
“No, please don’t go just yet,” Michael said, “This won’t take long.”
Debbie continued with the story. Now and then Natalie would interrupt, unable to contain herself
before the next exciting event in a story she knew off by heart. Debbie felt comfortable. Jonathan maintained his closeness, sitting motionless, listening, or so she assumed. It was not until Michael returned to the conservatory five or ten minutes later that she realised he had fallen asleep.
“He has not been sleeping well,” Michael explained, “I wondered if there could be something going on at school, him being a new boy there.”
Natalie sat up straight. “It’s one of the big boys, Billy. He said to Jonathan, ‘You’ve got no mummy, your mummy left you'. My mummy says he’s called Billy the bully and I should take no notice of him. He told me I was a big sissy, just because I cried when he pulled my hair.” This outburst came in one passionate breath after which, Natalie, innocently asked, “May I watch television please?”
There was a small T.V. in the kitchen, by the table, and Michael went to switch it on for Natalie and she sat down to watch.
Once again Debbie felt a great tenderness for the motherless child cuddled and sleeping at her side. She stroked his hair. Michael returned and sat opposite her.
“What do I do?” he asked. “Should I go and talk to Jonathan’s teacher?”
“I think so, they will have some kind of procedure to follow and maybe keep an eye on Jonathan in the
playground and watch Billy the bully,” Debbie said. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, do you talk to Jonathan about his mummy, so he understands what happened, and why she is not with him? Make sure he knows that she didn’t leave him on purpose. I think that is important.”
Michael nodded his head but said nothing and looked with tenderness at his sleeping son. Debbie wondered, but did not feel it was appropriate to ask, what had happened to Jonathan’s mummy. Not now, but some other time, she would ask Michael.
They sat quietly for a minute or two. In the kitchen the T.V. droned on. The windblown rain spattered the conservatory glass in waves. Michael broke the silence.
“When is your baby due? He asked her.
“On Saturday, this week. I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, I’m quite anxious about it all,” she replied, although she was unsure why she should confess this to him, then, her words began to spill out.
“No one talks about dying when you’re pregnant,” she said, while thinking to herself ‘where did that come from?’ Then, she found there was more she had to say. “It’s as if everyone thinks that talking about death might make it happen, but it feels more close and real to me now than it ever has before, more even than when I lost my mum. I don’t mean that I think I am going to die,” she added, “and I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he replied, “I understand, I think it might be something to do with protecting your baby, survival of the species and all that. You know that your baby’s survival depends on your survival, and also that for mother and baby, birth is a risky business. People don’t want to remind you of it, that’s all.”
“I know,” Debbie replied, “I can’t talk to Helen and Liz about it for the same reason. I don’t want to worry them, but I’m sure they must think about it sometimes. Being pregnant can be isolating.”
“I have read somewhere,” Michael went on, “that for women, in Western civilisation anyway, this is the safest time ever to have a baby. I don’t think that’s the same for some Third World countries though. Having a baby in the bush and getting up to carry on working in the field; I don’t hold with that. I think we are very lucky here,” Michael said, anxious to reassure Debbie.
“We have excellent medical back-up, if problems develop, unlike some of those developing countries, but I know it’s easy for me comment, I don’t have to go through it all.” He lowered his voice and looked down, speaking to the floor.
“I remember Sandra, my wife, she was very anxious, I didn’t realise,” he confessed. He looked up at Debbie. “How does your husband feel about it all, becoming a father I mean? I’m sorry perhaps I shouldn’t ask. Don’t feel you have to answer.”
Debbie was tired, tired of pretending to Sean
that she was okay, of keeping it all to herself. This question, which came from man who was, until an hour before, little more than a stranger, allowed her to speak. She had permission to say how she was feeling. And so she described how Sean had been behaving, and how difficult real communication had become between them, but she could not put into words the one fear that she could barely acknowledge to herself; the fear that he might be having an affair.
“I think he is keeping something from me, and my imagination is running wild with it. Whatever it is I can’t get him to talk about it and I have tried everything I can think of. It’s making me feel more anxious about the birth and about what it’s going to be like afterwards, with the baby. I don’t know what to do.”
“How did he feel about your becoming pregnant?” Michael asked.
“He was excited, delighted, that’s why I don’t understand his behaviour now. It’s almost as if he’s pretending it’s not going to happen. Well, that’s not entirely true, he has decorated the baby’s bedroom, but that was a few months ago.”
“Could it be work related?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know, although I don’t think so, because I think he would be able to talk to me about something like that. He’s never been like this before, he has always talked about problems at work, we used to talk about everything,” she added.
“And then there’s the telephone, sometimes he
takes it to another room to talk, and someone has been hanging up when I answer. He always prided himself on his honesty, but now I’m sure he’s keeping something from me.”
“He works for PANER, doesn’t he?” Michael asked.
“Yes, he’s a building engineer,” Debbie explained, he has been there for about a year. He seems to get on well with his boss, but I think he finds some of the meetings stressful. He doesn’t say, but I can tell. He always used to enjoy his work even when working all the hours God sends, but now he just looks worn down.”
“PANER,” Michael echoed thoughtfully.
“You have heard of heard of them?” Debbie asked.
Michael nodded. “Don’t read too much into the telephone hanging up. You know the operators at these call centres, they’re always trying to sell something or other, they dial a few numbers together and if you pick up a fraction after someone else they just hang up on you and deal with the first person to answer. Either that or it’s automated.”
Debbie nodded.
“Would you like