Page 105 of The First Time I Saw You
‘I will be blind soon,’ he had said, kissing my shoulder as I fed Ben, his tiny, wrinkled fingers clenching and unclenching the duvet as his chin worked up and down, little notes of contentment escaping between gulps.
‘How soon?’ I’d asked, even though I knew it wouldn’t be long. I’d already noticed the things Samuel was missing: a corner of a wall; the handle of a cup; the edge of the sofa as he stands up; a step up to the lawn.
‘Soon.’ He reached for Ben’s head and stroked his flame-red hair.
‘I love you,’ were the only words that I could think of to say.
‘Thank you.’ He laughed.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Ben loves you too.’
Samuel pulls me closer, bringing me back to the here and now. ‘It’s considered rude to watch people while they sleep, you know,’ he murmurs into my hair. ‘It’s punishable by flogging in some countries.’
‘Stop talking nonsense,’ I reply, but I’m smiling as I lie in his arms, listening as his breathing becomes slower.
My life is unrecognisable from the one that I used to have.
When Ben was passed into my arms, the love I felt for him scared me: to love something this much, must surely be impossible. But then Samuel had walked in. And for a split second, I worried that my heart wouldn’t be able to contain any more love, but then love found new places to explore, places that I didn’t even know existed: new places to hide, new places to fill and grow. It exploded into every part of me: every cell, every drop of blood, every tear, every moment of laughter and every moment of sadness. It consumed me.
How do our bodies contain it? How does it stay wrapped up inside us? It should glow; it should radiate from the tips of our fingers, from our skin; with every breath it should leave our mouths in tiny golden whispers. I think of Mum and how she must have been filled with this too, this light, and I wonder if her last breath was touched with gold. Did it bounce around this house, waiting for me to come home and catch it?
Think of all the good in the world. Imagine if we could see it glimmering, this golden mist: the helping hand that reaches out to steady an elderly lady as she tries to stand on the bus, the warm drink that we pass to the homeless, the kind words we say to someone who is having a bad day.
Love surrounds us.
Just because we can’t see . . . it doesn’t mean it’s not there.
Week Thirty-Six
Samuel
I’m lucky. I know this because I’m sharing my life with a woman who I know loves me as much as I love her. I’m lucky because we are alive and are able to hold our son. I’m lucky because I have been given this gift, this gift of sight for another day.
I’m trying to remember that I’m lucky as I spill boiling water on to my hand, attempting to make Sophie a cup of coffee: it’s half-four in the morning.
‘Feck!’ I say quietly as I fumble my way towards the tap and blast the cold water on to my hand. Ben hasn’t settled all night, and no matter how many times Sophie has tried to feed him, he has cried and fought against her. A creak of a floorboard upstairs draws my attention as I dry my hand on a tea towel: third drawer down, directly beneath the toaster.
I’m beginning to learn the sounds of this house that is now my home – for the time being at least. Sophie and I have decided that we will ‘survive’ the next six months. We know we need to make plans about our future, about my life and family in Ireland, the guide dog that I will need, the career I will begin, but we have decided it can all wait.
The McLaughlins are all coming back over in a couple of weeks to see us, even though Mr and Mrs McLaughlin’s faces seem to permanently fill Sophie’s screen, Mam giving feeding advice, Da telling her to let us find it out for ourselves, Sarah telling Sophie the best way to tame the wild hair that my son has inherited. I’m not sure why they need to visit at all, but it will be good to see them in the flesh, so to speak.
The floorboard creaks to the rhythm of Sophie’s sways; Ben is quiet. I reach for the coffee, my fingers gripping the cup, the tiny block of light guiding my way: two steps past the door, turn left, thirteen stairs to the top, the eleventh slightly higher than the others. I reach the top and Ben begins to whimper, a sound that brings his knees tight into his chest and turns his cheeks red, makes his fists clench and his back arch away from whoever is trying to comfort him.
I place the cup on the changing table – two steps forward, three steps to the left – and then follow Sophie’s hushes. My hands reach for her, for the warmth of Ben, and she responds by guiding my hands around his back. My body seems to know where to position my other hand; I see a flash of red hair, a flash of white clothing, the red palate of his mouth. I take over the shushes as Sophie gulps her coffee and sits down in the feeding chair. I re-position him on to my shoulder and rub his back. Who teaches us these things? How do we know to do this? How do I know – a man who cannot see, who knows nothing about babies – how do I know to rock on my heels, to stroke his hair, to kiss his head?
I know every crease of his face, every arc of his eyelashes. Each puzzle piece I know by heart: the meandering line of his hairline, hair that sticks up in a blaze of shock, the arch of his eyelids, the splattering of tiny veins that hide just beneath the surface. I know the exact shade of the deep pink of his lips – lips that are full and that quiver and shake before they stretch and explode in a frustrated cry. I can tell you the shapes of the tracks and grooves of his ears, ears that are pointed at the top, like an elf. I can tell you that his nose is exactly the same length as the top section of my little finger and how the curve of his cheeks almost meets the puffy bags beneath his eyes which are a deep blue, the same shade as Mam’s. I can put each piece of this puzzle in its correct place; I can build a perfect picture of my son.
‘Maybe he needs some fresh air? Do you think your mam is awake? I could ask her?’
‘Mam used to send Da out in the car with me. She said she was convinced I’d end up being a racing driver.’
‘Shall we try it?’
Ben arches his back again and lets out a cry that rattles and shakes his body.
‘It’s worth a shot. Probably best if you drive, though,’ I grin at her.
