CHAPTER FIVE
Jo parked the car and got out quickly, noticing Aisling’s car parked several spaces away. Great, she thought. She slammed the door shut and slipped her keys into her bag. We’ll be able to catch up on all the gossip.
Jo hadn’t walked more than five steps before she saw Aisling emerge from the front entrance. Even from a distance, Jo could see that her friend’s complexion was ashen, an expression of sheer pain on her
Jesus, Jo thought, shocked. What could have happened? She ran towards Aisling, feeling the silk of her dress shimmer loosely around her body as she moved and realising that dainty heels and no bra were not ideal for running on gravel.
“What’s wrong, Aisling? What’s wrong?” Catching Aisling’s hand in hers, Jo looked at her friend anxiously, her eyes seeking some reason for this terrible pallor, this frightening look of despair. Talk to me, Ash, please,” she pleaded.
“He’s left me. He’s in love with someone else,” Aisling said flatly, gazing into the middle distance with grief-stricken eyes.
Jo couldn’t believe what she was hearing; Michael had left her? How ridiculous! Michael adored Aisling, worshipped the ground she walked on, didn’t he?
Surely Aisling had got it wrong … or had she? Jo was dumbstruck. She simply didn’t know what to say. Aisling stood there silently, the lines around her eyes and mouth set in hard, unyielding creases.
“He’s not in love with me, you see said Aisling, like a child reciting a poem learned by rote.
“He’s in love with her and it’s all my fault.” She started to cry properly, great big heaving sobs which shook her body, as if she was coughing her last breath.
“Oh Ash.”
“I found out today Aisling wept.
“Fiona told me, she’d known for ages but she couldn’t tell me. I know she couldn’t tell me. And I was going to confront him, get him to say he was sorry and it would be all right. Everything would stay the same. But he won’t, he won’t…”
Aisling buried her head in Jo’s shoulder, sobbing onto the silver knitted wrap Jo had worn to cover her slip dress in case she felt chilly.
What could Jo do but hold Aisling, trying to ease the hurt with a friend’s arms when all Aisling wanted was her husband’s arms, and his voice telling her it was over, that he loved her and no one else. But Jo suspected that Michael wouldn’t be saying that. Not ever again, maybe. Who could have guessed, who’d have known, that this seemingly devoted couple were on their way to splitting up? Maybe she’d have seen it coming if she hadn’t buried herself in Richard’s life, neglecting her old friends for him.
“Come and sit in my car she cajoled.
“Please, Aisling, please.”
“Can’t. I have to go home to the boys. I told the babysitter I wouldn’t be long.”
Aisling sniffled and found a scrunched-up piece of tissue in her bag among the shopping lists and Saturday morning under-elevens’ soccer timetables. She took a deep breath and looked at Jo.
“Don’t be silly, Ash. Just sit with me for a few moments and stop crying. You can’t drive home like this.”
She steered Aisling over to her car, opened the passenger door and helped her in as if she was an invalid.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry sobbed Aisling.
“I just don’t know what to do. How could this happen, I just don’t know?”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Jo leaned over the hand brake and hugged Aisling warmly, wishing she knew what to say. She tried to remember the sort of advice the magazine’s agony aunt would give, but found herself remembering the medical advice for first-time mothers over the age of thirty.
Aisling hiccuped.
“I knew things were different lately, but I thought it was me. I thought I’d got into a rut and that I had to sort myself out. But I never even thought of this. How could I?
“Was I the only person who didn’t know or should I have realised something was wrong? I don’t know.” She broke off suddenly, staring out the windscreen at nothing in particular.
“Look Ash, there’s no point torturing yourself now. Maybe it was just a short-term thing, maybe he’s sorry but he’s not able to admit it.”
“No, it’s not just a fling. It’s serious. He said our marriage was over.”
Jo stared silently at her friend, knowing that there was no quick solution to this problem. She opened the glove compartment, found a pack of travel tissues and handed Aisling one to replace the soggy, twisted one which was crumbling in her hands.”
Just moments ago, she had felt like someone living a glorious dream life of motherhood, with a fairytale wedding and contented family life just waiting in the wings. Now she felt about a hundred years old and very weary. Aisling and Michael had always epitomised the perfect couple to her:
what hope was there if they couldn’t make it?
It wasn’t as if Jo hadn’t witnessed enough relationship and marriage breakups already. She knew plenty of people who’d fought tooth and nail over every stick of furniture in their soon-to-be-sold house and automatically hissed ‘that bitch’ or ‘what a bastard’ when anyone mentioned their ex-partners’ names.
She’d learned to be careful when she bumped into people she hadn’t seen for a while you just never knew what a simple question like “How’s Gerry?” could provoke.
“Burning in Hell, I hope!” snarled one bitter friend the previous Christmas, when Jo had innocently inquired after the other woman’s once-adored husband.
She knew it was silly, but she’d always had this rose coloured view of the Morans’ marriage. Maybe it was because she’d been so close to
Aisling all those years ago and so thrilled when she’d fallen in love with Michael, but Jo really believed that they were perfect for one another. How blind had she been? A perfect house, two lovely children, a wife delighted to play housekeeper-cum-nanny and a handsome husband didn’t necessarily make an ideal marriage.
“I have to go home, Jo.” Aisling straightened up. The boys are with the babysitter and I must go home to them, honestly.” She smiled briefly, the professional-mother smile dusted off and brought down from the attic for an emergency.
“You go on, I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t leave you like this.” Jo was horrified.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ash …”
“You’re here to go to the party. They expect you.” Aisling shrugged, checking her blotchy face in the mirror.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She managed a grim smile.
“I’m sorry, Jo. I shouldn’t have told you this, it’s not your problem.”
“Of course, it’s … well, OK, it’s not my problem,” Jo stammered, ‘but you’re my friend, Ash, and you shouldn’t be on your own tonight. I just have to see Richard for a moment…” She broke off, desperate to tell Richard her news and knowing that Aisling wouldn’t want to wait there a moment longer. There’s something I have to tell him.”
“Don’t worry,” replied Aisling brusquely.
“I’ll ring Fiona when I get home. She’ll come in.” Aisling opened the car door and got out with Jo following her.
God, this was awful, Jo thought in distress. What was she going to do? Damn Richard for not picking her up earlier.
She’d have told him about the baby by now and she could’ve driven Aisling home, instead of having to leave her in this condition. What the hell was she to do?
Aisling made the decision for her.
Thank you, Jo.” Aisling reached over and took Jo’s hand.
“I’ll phone you tomorrow. You go on in.”
“Don’t go … Ash,” begged Jo.
“Hang on for a couple of minutes, please. I can’t let you drive home
on your own in this state.” “I’m fine Aisling insisted.
“Fiona will be at home this evening. She wants me to ring her as soon as I get in.”
“You can’t drive like this protested Jo.
“I’m fine, really. I’ll be home in half an hour.”
“You promise you’ll ring Fiona?” Jo demanded, feeling torn.
“Yes. I promise, I promise on my granny’s life.” The corner of Aisling’s mouth lifted into a slight smile at the words, an old joke shared by two flat mates many years ago. Aisling had always hated her grandmother with a vengeance.
But how was the landlord supposed to know that when the demure insurance clerk from the basement flat innocently promised not to have any parties, “On my granny’s life.”
Then Aisling was gone, hurrying towards her car before Jo had a chance to stop her. She watched Aisling drive slowly out the front gate with misgivings, praying that she’d get home safely, hoping she would have the sense to ring her neighbour for help. Mind you, what could anyone do?
Suddenly she didn’t feel like going to a party after all. Poor Aisling, she thought, and what about Phillip and Paul? They were too young to deal with their parents splitting up. How could a couple of ten-year-olds understand the notion of separation or divorce? Jo’s hand slipped to rest on her stomach. I’ll never let anyone hurt you, my darling, she murmured. Nobody will hurt you.
She walked slowly towards the entrance, the jaunty spring in her step gone. When she pushed open the heavy newsroom doors, she was greeted with cries of hello as her ex-colleagues waved celebratory bottles of beer and glasses. The usual suspects were out in force, she noticed, making her way expertly through the throng, waving hello here, shaking hands there, without stopping at all. It was a trick she’d learned early in her journalistic career and was very useful for avoiding people you couldn’t stand or people who’d talk all night once they’d started.
Jo skirted the groups of merrymakers, smiling and waving to all corners. She needed a party like she needed a hole in the head but
there was no escaping this one. Half an hour with Janice would undoubtedly cheer her up.
Janice O’Brien was talking nineteen to the dozen as per usual at a makeshift bar at the back of the newsroom. Janice and her companions appeared to be testing different types of lager and seeing who could tell the difference between Smirnoff, Stolichnaya and Absolut.
Jo knew better. With someone else paying the bar bill, the News team could pile up empty bottles faster than women queuing to see the Chippendales. Ridiculously large numbers of bottles were already empty, lined up against the wall awaiting disposal.
“Where have you been, sexy?” Nick Cullen slid an arm around her and planted a hot, beery kiss on her cheek. Tall, muscular and able to hold his beer better than any barrel, Nick was a brilliant reporter and a dreadful flirt, always keen , to bring the female reporters off to the pub.
“You can’t be pissed already,” Jo asked as she pushed him away.
“In an act of selflessness,” Brian Reddin interrupted, ‘we started earlier on our own so we wouldn’t drink this bar dry.”
“Thank God you’ve come!” said Janice gratefully, pulling her friend over to lean against a photocopier.
“This pair of lushes have been keeping me prisoner here, making me get them drinks all evening.”
“All that exercise must be great training for the marathon, then,” Jo commented.
“I still can’t believe you’re drunk already,” she added, poking Nick in the chest.
“Is Richard coming tonight?” Janice inquired, reaching back to the bar as she poured a stiff gin and tonic for her friend.
“Yes. I thought he’d be here already but I couldn’t see his”, car said Jo, scanning the room for a sight of her boyfriend’s short blond
“He’s supposed to be working tonight and didn’t have time to pick me up before he got here, so where in the hell could he be? Unless he was in earlier and decided to wait until the party was really going. Did he?”
she looked at the others. “We haven’t seen your Viking at all this evening interjected Nick, using the nickname which irritated the hell out of Richard, ‘so you’re mine for the night, gorgeous. Love the dress.” His bleary eyes lit up appreciatively as he took in Jo’s curves accentuated by her clinging silken dress.
“Thanks, Nick, I wore it specially for you, of course.”
“Oh really … D’you fancy you and I taking a stroll to the photocopier to see if you really can photocopy your bum and bonk at the same time?”
“Since I don’t fancy seeing my derriere in full blown-up glory all over the newsroom next time I come here, I think I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you,” she replied tartly.
Jo took the drink Janice had poured for her, knowing that refusing alcohol would automatically start Janice’s mind ticking furiously. She waited until Janice was mixing up a drink for herself, then she reached back and swopped her gin and tonic for a glass of mineral water.
Then she hoisted herself onto one of the desks and sat back as Janice filled her in on the latest gossip. Everyone was asking who would get the fashion editor’s job when Anita Brady left the following month to edit a new woman’s magazine.
They’ll never get anyone as good,” remarked Janice, reaching out to spear a cocktail sausage from a passing waitress.
“Oh, these are lovely,” she squealed as she bit into the succulent flesh.
“Come back here immediately!”
“Anita’s hell to work for,” she added, taking four more sausages from the waitress.
“But she’s good at her job, so you have to learn to live with the temper tantrums. It’s the husband I feel sorry for. You can’t blame him for seeking solace in the arms of another woman when he’s married to the sort of cow who could put Mike Tyson in hospital.”
Jo looked up sharply, searching Janice’s face for a hint of ambiguity. Did she know about Michael and Aisling? But Janice had moved on from infidelity to incompetence.
“That nauseous Denise Keogh from features. She obviously thinks she’s a dead cert for the job even though she has as much fashion sense as a
lobotomised gorilla. ““Don mock, Janice interrupted Brian. The odds are two to one that she gets the job and you’ve a tenner on her to win!”
“Only because her uncle owns shares in the bloody paper said Janice caustically, ‘and because I like to bet on dead certs.
If she does get the job, I’ll bet you twenty quid that her first fashion spread is on leg warmers, tank tops and frizzy hair. Oh yeah, and blue eyeliner.”
She broke off as they spotted Richard pushing his way through the partygoers. A tall willowy blonde in a slinky black mini-dress followed close behind like a puppy on a lead.
“Nice dress she’s nearly wearing remarked the columnist with a flash of the bitchiness for which she was renowned.
“I’ve got scarves bigger than that.”
“Miaow, miaow.” Nick wagged a finger in Janice’s direction.
“I think it’s a lovely dress.”
“You would she replied smartly.
“That’s because when you think at all, you think from below the belt.”
Nick sniggered into his beer again and nearly lost his balance as a result, but Jo didn’t notice even when he grabbed her to steady himself. She watched her boyfriend, the father of her unborn baby, talking animatedly with his beautiful companion as he strolled round the room sizing up photographic opportunities.
The blonde simpered and giggled every few steps, licking her lips in what she obviously thought was a very sexy manner.
“Hello, darling.” Richard smiled at Jo when he and the blonde reached her corner of the room. This is Sascha, Will’s sister. She’s just started freelancing in Paris with Now magazine and she’s doing a piece on Dublin social life.”
“I thought she was working undercover on a prostitution story Janice muttered under her breath.
Nobody heard. They were all staring at the blonde apparition in front of them. Sascha smiled at the group from sleepy green eyes, seemingly unconcerned that she’d forgotten either a reporter’s notebook or tape
recorder and had been gazing only at the handsome photographer instead of keeping her eyes peeled for material.
“I’m sure I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” asked Janice, eyes narrowed as she tried to remember where she’d seen the other woman before.
“Didn’t you do some modelling for one of the British catalogues?” she asked.
“Next, was it?”
“Yeah,” Sascha smiled again, displaying perfect white teeth and the selfconfidence of a woman who knows she’d look fabulous wearing a bin liner
“I was with the Premiere agency for a couple of years and I did a lot of work in Japan.” She paused, giving the three men the benefit of another practised hundred-watt smile.
“I’ve left modelling. I’m just getting into writing now. I feel I’m a natural writer, y’know, it comes from in here.” She touched her tanned cleavage. Richard’s gaze slid down to the spot in question as if mesmerised by her model-girl 32A chest.
“So I’m going to try reporting and then go home and get on with a book or something.”
The two female journalists stared silently at her beautiful blank face, wondering what besotted commissioning editor had given Sascha the job of writing about one of the world’s literary capitals, when it was clear that any word longer than two syllables would involve a lengthy consultation with the dictionary.
“When did you start writing?” Jo asked kindly.
“Last month,” said Sascha happily.
“I’ve just done an article on modelling and some of the girls said I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I think writing comes from the heart, doesn’t it? I know I can do it.”
Sascha smiled at everyone broadly.
“I’ve been doing this personal development course and when I focus my energy on something, I can make it happen. That’s what my counsellor says anyway. You’re all writers, huh?”
“You could say that,” Janice answered, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
“We just dabble, you understand. I’m still not sure whether I should
stick with writing or focus on brain surgery, perhaps. Decisions, decisions.”
Jo smiled nervously up at Richard, hoping that he’d read her mind and leave Sascha to her life story so they could talk quietly together.
“Would you like a drink, darling?” she murmured.
But he had other ideas.
“No, duty first. I better take a few pictures.”
Jo moved closer to him, breathing in the lemony smell of Eau Sauvage and the faint fragrance of fabric conditioner from his pristine cotton shirt. God, she loved the way he smelled, the way his skin tasted, the way he always looked.
Tonight, dressed in a plain charcoal grey suit which she knew had cost about a month’s salary, he oozed style and elegance. Compared to Brian and Nick in their casual chain store chic, he looked like a model from the Next catalogue.
And he was all hers. She couldn’t help feeling a little self-satisfied as she pulled his head down and whispered into his ear.
“I’ve something really, really special to tell you. Follow me.”
With an apologetic glance at Sascha, Richard followed Jo into one of the glass-fronted offices which opened onto the newsroom. He leaned up against a steel grey filing cabinet and Jo wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against the comforting bulk of his chest.
“You know you said that you never expected to settle down with anyone in the way you have with me,” she began.
“Well, I think we’re going to become really settled soon. In about seven months,” she added with a little laugh.
“We’re going to have a baby!” Looking up excitedly, Jo waited to see Richard’s reaction. He was going to be thrilled, she was sure.
“Well,” she whispered, “what do you think? You’re pleased, aren’t you?” He was speechless.
Of course, it was a shock, a huge shock, she knew that. And it would take a moment to sink in. But he’d be so pleased, wouldn’t he?”
“Say something,” she said nervously.
“Oh, I just don’t know what…” He stopped mid-sentence, an expression of mounting shock on his face.
“How could it happen?” he stuttered.
“This is unbelievable, I don’t believe it.”
“I know it’s a shock, darling she said swiftly, wanting him to take her in his arms.
“I’m having our baby, Richard,” she said softly.
“Aren’t you pleased?”
She stared up at him, willing him to smile and kiss her. She wanted to feel strong arms around her and his voice telling her it would be all right. But he stared at her with the sort of expression she had only ever seen on his face when Ireland was thrashed at Landsdowne Road or when an entire roll of film had been overexposed.
Jo felt nausea quiver in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t believe this was happening. This was the moment when Richard should kiss her and hug her as if she was Belleek china. If she was china, he obviously didn’t like the pattern.
What the hell was going on?
“B-b-but how?” he asked incredulously.
Jo’s temper suddenly snapped.
“Jesus, Richard, what do you want, a biology lesson? How the bloody hell do you think it happened?”
She knew she sounded shrewish and she didn’t care.
Richard was supposed to love her and she had just told him the most wonderful news in the world. And all he could do was stammer and stutter and ask how it happened!
This is our baby!” she cried.
“Don’t you care? Aren’t you happy? We’re going to be parents in seven months, Richard!”
“I don’t believe this,” he said hoarsely, ‘how could you be pregnant?”
“Well I suppose it must have something to do with making love, which we do all the time, and the fact that condoms aren’t one hundred per cent safe. Look, I only found out this morning,” she said, suddenly weary.
“I know we didn’t plan it…”
“You can say that again,” he snapped.
“Look, it just happened, right? I’m as surprised as you are, Richard.”
Jo rubbed one hand over her left temple, feeling the familiar throbbing migraine build up.
“What was I supposed to do? Shut up and pray it would go away, like a terrified sixteen-year-old girl? I thought you’d be happy and that you wanted to settle down finally,” she hesitated for a moment. The baby’s due in January.”
“What do you mean it’s due in January?” he asked.
“Jesus, we’re not ready for a baby, I mean, why didn’t you tell me?”
he said incredulously.
“I am telling you,” she answered.
“I do not believe this is happening, I just don’t believe it,” he repeated, running a hand jerkily through his hair.
“OK, let’s think about this. Who else have you told? Not that bloody Janice I hope, otherwise it’ll be all over the place like a rash.
You know what she’s like he spat.
“I didn’t want to tell anyone until I told you she faltered.
“Look Jo, this is an awful mess, can’t you see? I don’t want children, not now anyway. I’m not ready for all that stuff yet, you know that. What made you think differently?”
Jo stepped away from him. For the second time that day, her pulse was racing and she could feel the blood racing in her veins.
All she wanted to do was sink into her bed at home and close her eyes, or start reading her latest book, curled up under the duvet. And not think, not think about anything.
“Let me get this straight. You don’t want this child Jo said quietly, ‘and you don’t want to settle down with me. Have I got that right?”
Her face was pale as she looked at him, wanting the truth, hoping that his answering smile would abruptly banish any doubts. She could hear sounds of merriment coming from the newsroom. Corks were popping. Jo guessed that the paper’s managing director was about to launch the supplement with a champagne toast.
At the sound, Richard unconsciously reached for the camera slung around his neck on a fraying Canon strap and looked longingly in the direction of the party.
Jo was close to tears but she had to get an answer from him. Talk to me, Richard. What do you want to do?”
“Oh God, Jo, why did you get pregnant, now of all times?
He ran a hand through his hair and for a brief moment she remembered lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets on his bed, running her fingers through his hair while he lay sexually sated in her arms. They were so close, that was why she could never have imagined this.
“Why now, of all times? In a few years, yes, but not now,” He looked at her beseechingly, like a naughty boy who’s just sent his football through the neighbour’s kitchen window.
“Will can look after the agency for a few years and I planned to go to London to work with one of the sports papers there.
It’s a brilliant opportunity, darling. I was going to ask you to come with me.” He was pleading now.
“It’ll be marvelous. Just a few more years and then we can settle down and maybe “have kids if you really want them …”
His voice rose excitedly as he looked eagerly at Jo, waiting for her to agree, waiting for her to smile and say what she’d always said, “Whatever you want.”
Memories came flooding back to her, memories of the times she’d asked him about his previous relationships.
Among the litany of model girlfriends, there had been one long-lasting relationship with a German girl who had left Dublin when she and Richard broke up.
“Beate wanted to settle down and I just wasn’t ready for that.” Richard shrugged.
“We were too young.” She’d believed his simple explanation, grateful that he hadn’t wanted to marry any of her predecessors, and that he’d been too young to settle down with the only one who sounded like a true love.
Richard Fitzgerald had once been the Don Juan of the photographic world, but she had tamed him. He’d given up a lifetime of bimbos to be with her, or so she’d thought. He wasn’t too young to settle down any more: he was thirty-seven to her thirty-four. Surely it was time for him to stop running away from responsibility and start a family?
Obviously not. Commitment-phobic, Janice had called him the first time she had seen him. Perhaps her friend had been right.
Richard gently stroked her palm, tracing delicate circles and kneading the fleshy base of her thumb. People with lots of soft flesh in that precise spot were supposed to be very sensual he had always said, joking that she must be the sexiest woman in the world because of her soft, caressing hands.
Before, when he’d murmured endearments into her ear and stroked her skin, her heart leapt with love for this funny and talented man. Not tonight.
“Darling, don’t be upset, please.” He was all charm again.
He’d always been able to charm his way out of any trouble.
He just smiled that boyish smile and wheedled until she gave in and forgave him.
Like that time he’d promised to pick her up from the office Christmas party and simply never showed up. It had taken two hours to get a taxi that night because the streets were black with ice and half the city had left the car at home so they could get drunk.
He’d been so contrite, so full of remorse at having forgotten all about the party, that she’d forgiven him by lunchtime the next day. It was funny the way he never forgot any professional commitments, only personal ones.
“We can have children later, my darling,” he said pleadingly.
“We’re not ready for this yet, are we?” he murmured, reaching out to stroke her cheek, waiting for her to give in. She always gave in, Jo realised suddenly. For all his relaxed charm and boyishness, Richard always got his own way. In everything. It didn’t matter whether they’d argued over where to go for dinner or what -film to see, somehow Richard always got what he wanted. For once, he was out of luck.
“What are you suggesting?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.
“Well,” he looked around as if to check that nobody could hear them, ‘you know, get rid of it.”
She snatched her hand away as though his fingers were burning her,
staring him in the face angrily. “And if I don’t “get rid of it” as you so euphemistically call it, what then?”
“Jo, you’re being unreasonable. All I’m saying is that this is the wrong time in my life for a baby.” Richard’s face was fast losing its engaging smile. “I’m not ready for it. We’re not ready for it.”
“No, you’re not ready. You’re so bloody selfish,” she hissed.
“You just couldn’t bear to have to think about someone else besides yourself. We can’t have a defenceless baby interrupting your plans, or getting in the way of your life, can we?”
“There’s no need to be insulting.” Richard gave her one of his superior looks and tried another tack.
“We should talk about this tomorrow when you’re less hysterical.”
“Hysterical!” Jo hadn’t felt so close to hitting anyone in years. That’s typical! Just because I’m pregnant, I’ve suddenly turned into a neurotic, moody brood mare with no brain whatsoever she shouted.
“Shush, someone will hear Richard hissed.
“Oh, we can’t have that, can we?” she snarled.
“Listen, I don’t care who hears me. In fact, I want everyone to hear me so I can find out what they think about the wonderful photographer everyone adores begging his girlfriend to have an abortion because it’s “… not the right time in my life”.
When will it be the right time, Richard? Because you’re running out of time, you’re nearly forty, don’t forget.
“It’s not as if we were two scared teenagers or didn’t have any money either she glared at him.
“We can certainly afford another mouth to feed and let’s face it, the world will hardly be scandalised by us having a baby and not being married, Richard. So what’s wrong with me having our baby?”
If someone had told her that her feelings for him could be reversed in a matter of moments, she’d have laughed at the idea. Nothing could wipe out the love she felt for Richard, the bond which tied them to each other, she would have said. But that was before he had looked her in the eye and suggested that she abort the child she wanted with all her soul.
“I’m no good with children Richard said helplessly. Hisfingers played nervously with the frayed camera strap in a way that she found suddenly irritating.
“If you want it, it’s your decision. I’ll give you the money if you change your mind.”
“Keep your money. I don’t want it or any part of you,” Jo said coldly.
“I’m having this baby, Richard, and that’s final. You can go off with Sascha and play at being adults. She’s just about the right IQ level for you and she’s unlikely to ask you to do anything more taxing than teach her to read.”
” Furious, Richard turned and stormed back into the newsroom while Jo walked slowly over to an open window and breathed in deeply. Gradually her pulse slowed down and she opened her eyes to stare out at the city silhouetted in the It dusk’ in In the middle of the towering spires and office blocks, she could see the minty-green-domed roof of Rathmines church, the one she and Aisling had gone to when they lived a stone’s throw around the corner. Well, the one Aisling had gone to. She remembered the thrill of Sunday mornings in the flat when there was nobody there to tell you to get up and get ready for Mass. Luxuriating in her comfy single bed, Jo always snuggled in deeper, resisting Aisling’s attempts to get her to come to eleven Mass.
Aisling had loved sitting in the huge dark church. She said that Sunday Mass in the huge church was the only time that the various people of Dublin’s flatland came together, until Jo remarked that not everyone in Rathmines was Catholic.
“You know what I mean,” Aisling said in exasperation.
“It in doesn’t matter to me what religion people are, it’s just that sense of being together for a while. It would feel the same in ii any church or mosque or whatever,” she added passionately. Sometimes she managed to drag Jo out of bed and hurried her along with the other, more eager churchgoers. And Jo had enjoyed Mass. The anonymity of this church made a change from Mass in her small home town where you knew everyone’s great-granny’s uncle, what they did for a living and why young P. J. had turned out bad. “In Innisbhail, she’d explained to Aisling, all you had to do was ask the chemist for some throat lozenges and half an hour) later every second person on the street would ask you how you were feeling.
She’d had so many plans when she left her home town in Sligo to go to journalism college. Journalistically, she was going to change the world and if she didn’t win a Pulitzer prize for her ruthless exposes of injustice, she was damn well going to win the Booker for her novels.
So much for literature, she thought wryly, when you can’t even find yourself a decent man who’ll stand by you. Her hands involuntarily slid down towards her stomach, caressing the tiny bulge which was probably more Twix bars than baby.
That other girl, the one with all those crazy dreams, was long gone. In her place was a strong woman who was determined to be the best mother she could for her baby, her fatherless baby.
She’d certainly written enough articles about single parents, now she was going to find out what it really felt like. When she’d interviewed women who’d been left holding the baby, she’d wondered how they got by on their own. Now that her own selfish boyfriend had run for the
hills, she was going to find out about single motherhood the hard way.