Michael’s mother was the real bugbear; she felt the woman almost wished the losses on her daughter-in-law. She was a vicious old bitch who saw Michael as hers and no one else’s. A child, a living child, would cement their marriage and she believed that was something Hannah didn’t want. She felt awful even thinking it, but it was the truth.
She heard Michael’s car as it crunched on to the driveway. He was early; she had not even thought about any dinner for them – not that he would care, of course.
She could hear him as he walked around the side of the house – he always came through the back door. It was a running joke between them. He said it was his council-house upbringing: out through the front door and in through the back.
Josephine automatically put the kettle on. He always expected a cup of tea. They had become so predictable. She wondered if that was because they had not been blessed with a child yet. A child didn’t allow for such routine. It was the reason why people could never make plans, or guarantee their days. A child was also the reason why people like them got married in the first place.
‘Good girl, I’m dying for a cuppa.’
Josephine plastered a smile on her face. Then, turning to her husband, she said as gaily as she could, ‘Name me one time you have ever come in this house and not had a welcoming cup of tea. It’s me job, isn’t it? It’s what I live for, Michael, catering to your every whim!’
He laughed with her and felt himself relax. It was hard sometimes; Josephine could be sensitive. He adored her with a passion, but he knew that she felt the absence of a child acutely. She would never believe he didn’t care either way. She was a very beautiful woman, and she was the only woman he had ever wanted – ever would want. If only she could believe it.
‘I want my whims catered to, Josephine. I think you can cater to them tonight, actually,’ he said teasingly.
She poured them both out mugs of tea and looked at him assessingly. ‘I think I can just about manage that, Michael, if you’re good.’
Michael grinned, happy his wife was so cheerful. He wished he felt the same, but all the worry about Patrick was getting to him. He sat down at the kitchen table wearily, and waited for Josephine to bring him his tea. She sat down beside him, and he smiled gently at her. The kitchen table seated eight people comfortably, it could accommodate ten at a push. It was scrubbed pine and, like everything else in the house, tasteful, expensive, and underused.
They had bought this house with such high hopes and, gradually, those hopes had been shattered. Now the house felt too big for the two of them. It seemed to scream loneliness, and it never felt cosy any more. But it was the only home they knew, and leaving it would be like admitting they had failed, and accepting they would never have a child. If, and when, they moved out it would have to be Josephine’s choice – never his. It could only be her decision.
She was so pretty, he never tired of looking at her. Suddenly, he noticed that she looked different somehow. ‘You look like you’re putting on a bit of weight, girl.’
Josephine was pleased at his words. It meant she was doing everything a pregnant woman should do. She really wanted to share the news with him, but she knew she couldn’t. They had been there so many times before. If she lost this baby at least he wouldn’t have to grieve with her again.
‘I think I have actually, Michael. But I’m pleased about it. I lost so much weight after the last baby. I think this means I am finally getting back to normal, eh?’
Michael felt so sad. He understood how hard it was for her to mention anything about the babies she had lost.
‘You always look good to me, Josephine, you know that. But I think you’re right, mate.’
Josephine sipped her tea, then she changed the subject quickly. ‘Did you manage to talk to Patrick?’
Michael scowled angrily. ‘Don’t go there, Josephine. He’s lost the fucking plot. He’s always been a bit touched, as you know. That is why he’s so successful. He has an air of controlled violence, and no one in their right fucking mind would ever want to cross him. But that’s gone now. He is fucking strange. Even Declan is fed up with him.’
Josephine had expected as much. She had seen Patrick for herself, and she had sussed out that he was not firing on all cylinders. He was acting stranger by the day. Carmel was at her wit’s end. She wasn’t able to cope with the man he had become.