Page 112 of Such a Good Couple
Except Maggie.
CHAPTER 29
Annie and Rachel drove out the coast road towards Miavita on a still, grey afternoon. It was New Year’s Eve.
The last day of the last year of Maggie’s life, thought Annie, feeling her mood sink.
This was one of the side-effects of grief that she had noticed in the six weeks that her friend had been gone. Grief came with endless calculations of the person’s goneness. Three days after they found Maggie on the floor of the bathroom it wasn’t just a Tuesday, it was the first Tuesday Maggie didn’t live to see. The first Friday night, Annie had a similar thought. When she put on the black Docs she wore to the funeral, she realised it was the first time she’d worn them in a world that no longer contained Maggie. As Annie’d gradually gotten her appetite back – urged by Conor and Rachel to eat as much for her sake as the sake of the baby – she was mostly surviving on buttered toast and chocolate when one day she thought, with a jolt, of how at some point Maggie’d eaten her last bite of chocolate not knowing it was her last forever. Just thinking of Maggie eating and how her illness had weaponised this simple act had twisted the knife of grief in Annie’s chest.
Now Annie watched the trees and houses sweep past outside, eventually giving way to a stone-like slab of unmoving ocean. It felt like the world was holding its breath as the hours tipped closer to the new year. They were all gathering to play charades and eat pizza and drink champagne as mandated by Conor,who had texted everyone the week before as they’d each been dragging themselves through separate lifeless Christmases – Annie in west Cork, Conor in Foxrock and Fionn, Ollie, Clara and the kids in northern Spain.
Conor was prescribing togetherness and Annie appreciated the effort. He’d even included Rachel. Since the morning of Maggie’s death when he had texted her to come to the house, Conor and Rachel had been communicating. Annie knew that they were passing updates back and forth on her state of mind and working out logistics for the hospital appointments, which had ramped up now that she was twenty-eight weeks along. She appreciated this cooperation they’d developed; it felt like she had a wind at her back without them being overbearing and asking her twenty times a day if she was okay, which exhausted her – lying, she’d come to realise, was far more effort than telling the truth.
Rachel’s hand in hers brought Annie back into the present moment.
‘Are you ready to absolutely spit roast everyone in charades?’ she asked.
‘What an image!’ Annie smiled weakly.
‘Conor’s really taking New Year’s Eve Games Night seriously – he made a group chat for our team to discuss strategy. It’s called Death To The Plebs.’
Conor had allocated teams by alphabetical order so Annie, Clara and Conor made up one team and Fionn, Ollie and Rachel were on the other. Annie surmised that he had done it to avoid a boy/girl divide as this would have meant Rachel occupying the place Maggie’d held between Clara and Annie for the last two decades of game nights. It was thoughtful. He’d stepped up so much in the past month and a half and she’d been reminded of what a good guy Conor was. She was glad the two of them were finding their way back to friendship. And not just for the baby’ssake – though of course that too – but also because he’d been there for her for twenty years and she now realised she would always want him in her life.
At the house, Ollie opened the door looking flushed, no doubt from the fire that burned merrily in the large fireplace in the hall.
‘Hey.’ He kissed them both and led them through the playroom –where all five kids were leaping around screaming, playing a game, the parameters of which were unclear – and into the front reception room.
Dodi and Essie looked so much better than the last time they’d all stood in this room three weeks ago saying goodbye before they’d left for Spain. On that day they’d been largely silent, reacting slowly to anything that was said to them and looking more weary than any eight-year-olds ever should.
Fionn and Ollie had packed up the kids and flown to Girona only days after Clara and Ollie had made their minds up to go. It was good that Ollie had so little work on as it had seemed like a good idea to get Fionn and the girls out of Dublin and away from scrutiny as soon as possible. Clara, meanwhile, handed in her resignation and worked out her notice period before flying out after them just before Christmas.
‘How’s Spain been?’ Rachel asked Ollie as she arranged pillows for Annie to park herself on for the next few hours.
Annie eased onto the couch. The third trimester was taxing. She worried endlessly that the boulder of loss that was crushing her was surely affecting her baby. Though it seemed Beanie was a determined little thing, if the kicking and prodding was anything to go by. The bump had expanded and expanded until finally Annie’s feet were completely eclipsed. Things were becoming real. The buggy was ready, folded in the boot of the car. Impossible quantities of impossibly tiny baby clothes had been bought. She and Rachel and Conor had read theinternet back-to-front and top-to-bottom on the subject of birth, breastfeeding, bottle-feeding, baby sleep schedules, baby shite schedules and winding. The only thing left to figure out was how to three-way parent a baby with your ex and your sort-of-still-somewhat-unconfirmed-and-until-recently-a-bit-straight girlfriend.
‘So, nothing big or anything,’ as Clara’d remarked in Slags For Life.
‘Spain is good, only six more weeks to go so we’ll be back before the baby.’ Ollie nodded at Annie’s belly. He poured a champagne for Rachel and a Nosecco for Annie and glanced through to the playroom where the volume was still turned up to ninety. ‘Five kids solo is a lot.’ He looked mildly haunted. ‘When Clara showed up last week, it definitely felt easier. Though she’s as rowdy as them, as ye know. But also,’ he lowered his voice, ‘she’s been especially good for Fionn. She sits up with him a lot. They’re out there late at night talking. Which … like … thank God because the kids have me shattered by then. And … I feel like … she’s better at knowing what to say to him.’
‘Heya!’ Ollie straightened up as Fionn, Conor and Clara waded through kids and toys to join them. They all carried bubbles and tentative smiles.
‘How’s the incubator?’ Fionn leaned down to kiss Annie’s cheek.
‘Good, thanks. Gestating away, obviously.’ Annie gave him a squeeze before he moved on to hug Rachel hello.
‘So.’ Conor stood in front of the mantelpiece, which was nearly as tall as him. ‘We’re all here!’
A sort of communal flinch took place and Conor, instantly distraught, hastily added, ‘Jesus Christ, not “all” of us. Fuck,’ he muttered.
‘Conor said “fuck”,’ Tom called placidly from the next room.
‘Shite,’ Conor said.
‘Conor said—’
‘Okay, thanks luvvie,’ Clara interrupted, pulling out her phone and tossing it to Josh. ‘Why don’t you all do the pizza order?’ She slid the doors that connected the rooms together closed. ‘I’m taking my life in my hands letting them do it, but sure look …’
‘Go on, Conor,’ Annie called, trying to sound encouraging. He was making an effort to paper over the cracks in the group. He seemed to have realised that he was best positioned to do it. Fionn was mired in grief and work. Clara and Ollie were crazily busy having now practically doubled the number of kids they were trying to parent, and she was growing a baby. Plus, Conor had the best organisational skills of the lot of them, as evidenced by the bullet-pointed Games Night Agenda he’d shared ahead of the get-together. One of the points read, ‘Have fun?’
