The Bridesmaid Pact (19 page)

Beth

We were both feeling nervous as we were ushered into the waiting room. We’d had the results of our blood tests, and they too were positive, but although we’d greeted the news with a cautious optimism, neither of us could quite believe it. Waiting a further three weeks for the scan had felt interminable, and now we were here, we were so tense we could barely even look at one another.

So here we were, back in St Mary’s hospital having a scan, which could prove definitely that Foetus existed. I was sick of the sight of hospitals and I felt faintly nauseous. Matt clearly felt the same, as he looked really pale. He gave me a weak smile and squeezed my hand. This was hard on him too. I had to remember that.

Eventually our names were called and we went through to a tiny room where a radiographer was waiting with an ultrasound machine. I lay flat on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, while she put some gel on my tummy. I marvelled at how underneath that flat stomach, there might be a baby growing. After the long wait, it still didn’t seem possible.

The atmosphere was tense as she passed the scanner over my stomach. She didn’t say anything, but stared fixedly at
the screen. I tried to squint at it. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I could see the shape of my womb, but no blob-like creature attached to it.

The radiographer continued in silence. It made me want to scream. I didn’t know if it was better or worse than her saying something, but I was going mad from not knowing. Matt gripped my hand tightly and gave it an encouraging squeeze, but I could feel the hope leaching out of me. Maybe the test was wrong? They were supposed to be super accurate, but suppose we got the duff test? It would be just our luck.

‘Now let’s try and find baby,’ she said eventually.

My tummy wasn’t even slightly distended. It didn’t seem possible that I could be pregnant.

‘There, got you,’ she said triumphantly.

Matt and I looked in awe, as the monitor filled with the cavity of my womb, attached to which by a tiny thread, was a tiny little tadpole. A tadpole with buds for arms and legs, and a steady, beating heart.

I felt a combination of relief and ecstasy. I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy. Matt squeezed my hand and gave me a great big grin.

‘We did it,’ he said, giving me a kiss. ‘We finally did it!’

I lay back on the bed, staring at the screen, in a state of semi-shock. After all the waiting, Foetus was real.

‘Hello Foetus,’ I said. ‘Welcome to the world.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and I thought you must be barren,’ was Mum’s greeting as we arrived straight from the hospital, bursting with our good news. Matt had wanted to wait for the full twelve weeks, but I was too excited. I had to tell someone.

‘So you’re making me a grandda at last,’ said Dad with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Your mam will be having the knitting patterns out before you know it. And the phone line between here and Galway will be buzzing, I tell you. Can’t you make sure it’s two to make it worth the trouble?’

‘Actually,’ said Matt, but I shushed him. There was a fair chance we
were
having two babies – two eggs had been implanted – but I didn’t want to let on we’d gone for IVF.

Luckily Mum was clucking away about how wonderful it was to be a grandma at last, as if we’d deliberately kept her waiting.

‘Now I can hold my head up high in the parish,’ she said. ‘And next time Mary O’Donnell boasts about her gazillionth grandchild, I can let her know I’ve got one of my very own.’

Poor Mum. Mary O’Donnell had been producing grandchildren at the rate of one or two a year for the last decade. Mum was never going to match that, but at least I’d given her something to boast about. I felt a wave of warmth come over me. Not only had Foetus made our day, I suddenly realized how much joy this baby was going to bring to my parents.

‘Will you wisht going on, woman,’ said Dad, teasing Mum as usual. ‘Sure and they’re not after having a baby to keep
you
happy. Although, you have made your old da very happy today. Let’s crack open a bottle of bubbly and have a toast.’

‘None for me,’ I said. ‘I’m not taking any chances.’

Dad went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of champagne.

‘It’s left over from Christmas,’ he said. ‘Sorry, if I’d known we were having a celebration I’d have put it in the fridge hours ago.’

He popped the cork expertly then poured out three glasses, and a glass of lemonade for me.

‘To the new member of the family,’ he said, raising his glass.

‘We’ve waited long enough,’ said Mum, but Dad glared at her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m going on again. I’m just so thrilled for you both.’

‘Us too,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘Us too.’

The next couple of weeks flew by. Already it was August. Normally Matt and I would be planning to hole up on a beach somewhere, but this year with Foetus a reality, we were saving our pennies. Each day I awoke with a buzz and a feeling of great excitement, coupled with nervousness. I felt strange and odd, my taste buds were awry, but I wasn’t feeling sick yet. I had tender boobs and occasional pain in my groin, which worried me till Sarah told me it was perfectly normal. The girls were thrilled for me when I told them, though Dorrie said, ‘Oh no, I hope you’re not going to be too far gone to wear your bridesmaid’s dress.’

‘I should be all right,’ I said. ‘And if not you can always let the dress out.’

We’d found out so early, it seemed an impossibly long time to wait for the magic twelve weeks, when I’d discover if everything was all right or not. Although I was excited, there was a little residue of anxiety too. I hoped that nothing would go wrong now, but though it had seemed like a big hurdle just to get pregnant, I now realized there were a great many more hurdles to jump till Foetus was born.

I was back at work, but trying to take it easy. I hadn’t confided in anyone other than my boss about what was happening, and she’d been very understanding, letting me
go early when she could. So this evening I was heading home at 4.30, sitting on a less crowded tube than normal, thinking about whether Matt would already be in. He’d been so attentive of late, cooking me dinner, buying me flowers and generally making a fuss of me. Which was wonderful, as I was so tired all the time I hardly had any energy to do anything.

I got home to find that Matt wasn’t in. As I walked through the door, I felt a familiar cramping sensation. No, it couldn’t be. I wouldn’t let it be. I tried to stem the rising tide of panic, as I went to the loo. There was blood. Not a lot. But some. I felt cold all over. I was pregnant. I was bleeding. No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening to me. Not now. Not ever.

Matt found me half an hour later, curled up on the floor.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘Oh Matt, I’m bleeding,’ I said and burst into tears.

‘How much?’ said Matt. ‘Try not to panic. Remember, you could be spotting. The doctor did say that can happen. Look, go and lie down and I’ll ring the hospital.’

After a long conversation with a midwife, the gist of which seemed to be that we
should try not to panic, it might be nothing to worry about, Matt and I lay on the
sofa for the evening. We watched television but I wasn’t taking it in, and I
doubt Matt was either. The knot of worry in my stomach was eating away at me. It
might be all right if I rested, but suppose it wasn’t? All the fears I’d
had about this baby came rising to the surface once more. Maybe I didn’t
deserve a baby. Maybe I’d never be able to carry full-term. Perhaps I was
going to lose Foetus before he or she had even got going.

Throughout the night I took regular trips to the loo, and
by morning things had settled down again. To be on the safe side I took the day off work, though I made Matt go in. By lunchtime I was beginning to think my fears were unfounded. My panic from the previous evening had subsided and I was starting to calm down. But then the cramps started again, the pain coming in stronger and stronger waves, and even before I went to the loo, I knew what was happening. There was so much blood. I was losing the baby.

I called Matt hysterically and he flew back home. I was in a daze as we went to the hospital, where we had hoped our baby would be born. I allowed myself to be subjected to scans, examinations and other humiliations. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now.

Eventually a young doctor came in, he looked ill at ease, and despite my pain I felt sorry for him. I knew what he was going to say. What a rotten bloody job for anyone to do.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It seems you’ve lost the baby.’

Matt let out a howl of despair, which was almost the worst moment of a terrible day. Almost. The worst moment was still to come.

‘How?’ he said brokenly. ‘Why?’

‘It appears that the damage Beth incurred from her previous abortion has led to some scarring, which is one of the reasons she’s had difficulty getting pregnant and may have led to this miscarriage. It’s quite possible she may never carry a baby full-term.’

I felt as though the sands under my feet had shifted and my world had just collapsed. Oh my god, why did this have to come out now?

Matt let go of my hand and looked at me in bewilderment.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Beth hasn’t had an abortion.’

‘Oh,’ the doctor looked disconcerted. ‘I’m sorry, it’s in her notes. I assumed you knew.’

‘I didn’t,’ said Matt. His expression was unreadable. ‘Beth, what’s going on?’

‘Matt, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I never meant to keep it from you, but I know how strongly you feel about abortion. I didn’t know how to tell you…’

Matt got up without a word and walked out of the room.

‘Matt, don’t go—’ I said.

But he’d gone, leaving me alone with a pain in my heart and a Foetus-shaped hole that could never be filled.

I’d finally got the punishment I deserved.

April 2005

‘Do you, Matthew Charles Davies, take this woman, Elizabeth Margaret McCarthy, to be your lawful wedded wife?’

‘I do,’ said Matt giving me a broad smile. The sun shone through the stained-glass window above the altar casting reds, blues and yellows across us. Matt looked gorgeous in a traditional morning suit with a white cravat, but thankfully no top hat.

‘Do you, Elizabeth Margaret McCarthy, take this man, Matthew Charles Davies, to be your lawful wedded husband?’

‘I do,’ I said, shyly and with some amazement that I could actually be here, in this church saying these words. For so many years I was always the wallflower, the one left on her own, I still couldn’t believe I’d finally met the man of my dreams.

I repeated my vows almost in a dreamlike state because I knew, without doubt, that I was never ever going to break them. Standing at the altar next to Matt, as he shyly came to kiss me, was the most perfect moment of my life. It didn’t matter that Sarah kept swaying in the background and was being propped up by Dorrie, or that Niall spent most of
the service either lying in front of the altar on his stomach or untying the ribbons from the flowers decorating the church. From the moment we committed ourselves to each other it didn’t matter that I only had two of my bridesmaids with me on my special day. Matt and I had promised to love, honour and cherish each other, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, till death did us part. At last I was Mrs Davies. That was all I cared about.

I floated out of the church, leaning on Matt’s arm, in a kind of quiet but happy daze. We didn’t take many photos outside the church (just as well as Sarah was puking up in the loos again), but headed for the West Lodge hotel a few miles to the north of Northfields, in the white Rolls Royce that Dad’s mate Archie from down the club had lent us for the day.

Matt and I were photographed in the substantial grounds, underneath trees, in front of the lake, with peacocks trailing behind us, sitting on a heart-shaped bench put there for occasions such as this, kissing underneath the rose arch. It was a perfect, perfect afternoon. A warm spring sun shone down on us and we drank champagne on the terrace overlooking the lake, before Matt and I stood in the line-up to greet our guests. Sarah had to abstain from the line-up on the grounds that she was feeling too unwell. I felt sorry for her, but didn’t have time to think about anything else as I shook people by the hand and slowly got used to my new relatives.

Then it was time for our wedding breakfast, most of which I barely touched. I was so happy drinking in the occasion, leaning against Matt, feeling like the luckiest woman alive. I found Matt and Dad bonding in the bar before the speeches, both of them hating the whole thing.

‘You are so lucky you don’t have to do this,’ groaned Matt. ‘I can’t wait for it all to be over.’

‘At least you don’t have to go first, Matthew,’ said Dad with a groan. ‘I wish I could be anywhere but here right now.’

‘I don’t care what you say,’ I declared, delighted that my two favourite men were getting on so well, ‘I’m just happy to have you both. You can just give a toast if you like.’

In the end that’s pretty much what Dad did, leaping up looking distinctly awkward in his morning suit, to say very briefly, ‘Well, there’s not much I can say on a day like today, but I’m sure these two will be as lucky in love as Elizabeth’s mother and I have been. We wish them every joy in their new life together and so may I ask you all to charge your glasses for the bride and groom!’ before sitting down with relief and taking a large swig of champagne.

Matt lasted a little longer, managing to remember to compliment the radiance of the bridesmaids (even if Sarah didn’t get to hear it because she was out puking again), thank everyone necessary and managing to get the words, ‘My wife’ in before collapsing next to me, gibbering like an idiot.

‘Thank god I never have to do that again,’ he said.

‘Well you might at our daughter’s wedding,’ I said.

‘You’re not…?’

‘No, of course not, now sssh,’ I said, while we settled to listen to Matt’s best friend Henry who made up for their totally inadequate speeches with a witty and amusing effort that just bordered on the right side of decent. We then gave bouquets to our respective mothers-in-law, bracelets to our bridesmaids, and a toy engine for Niall, who’d spent most of the proceedings rolling around under the table. Everything had gone swimmingly well.