The Book of Love. Fionnuala Kearney

cry. She tried to raise herself up on her elbows. ‘Where …’

      And then she heard it, a tiny mewling yelp, again, nothing like she’d been led to believe it would sound.

      ‘You have a little girl,’ Susan smiled at her as she wiped the struggling baby before placing her on Erin’s chest. Erin stared, mute, at the frowning bloodied infant, all wrinkles and wriggling limbs. She pulled her into her arms, checked for fingers and toes. Dom’s face grazed against hers and together they watched as their newborn opened her eyes. The books were wrong again. Because Erin felt that their daughter could really see already – had spotted them, focused on them both as if to say, ‘Hello, Mummy and Daddy. I’m here. Are you the people who’ve been talking to me for so long?’

      She clutched her baby, ignored the commotion south of her waist; paid no attention to words like ‘afterbirth’ and ‘stitches’.

      ‘You were so brave,’ Dom whispered. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

      Erin wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure if their child was yet beautiful but was quite sure that one day she would be. She wasn’t sure if she’d been brave or obstinate and wondered if there would be enough dissolvable thread in the ward, in the world, to stitch both halves of her back together again.

      She was sure of the clear vision she had of Dom as Daddy with his little girl riding her bike without stabilisers for the first time. She was sure of his voice acting out the characters during many bedtime stories. She was sure of the surge of love she felt for this tiny human being who had claimed her body for so long. It was more powerful than any pain she’d endured, more powerful than any pregnancy magazines had reported. ‘Hello, little one,’ she said. ‘Welcome.’

      And Erin Carter was in love for only the second time in her life.

      When she woke, she woke to every part of her hurting. She woke to a stomach so bulging that she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole thing, or if the medical staff had left another baby behind. Dom was sitting in the chair next to her bed, feeding the child from a tiny bottle. Erin felt a pulling ache in her breasts. She willed herself to sit up, to say no, that she wanted to feel her baby latch onto her nipple, but the words wouldn’t form.

      Dom reached across to her. ‘Sleep, my love, you’re exhausted.’ He stood, holding their baby daughter in one arm and stroking Erin’s forehead with the other hand. She felt the rhythmic swipe of his hand on her brow; hypnotic. Seized by a sudden panic, she whispered his name. ‘Dom …’

      ‘You need to rest, love. Your blood pressure’s low.’

      Erin’s breathing only levelled when she reached out and touched their child.

      ‘I’ve got this,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’

      Erin didn’t tell her eyes to close, but they did and underneath her eyelids, she told herself there would be plenty of time for her to feed her baby. There would be time enough to feel her suckle and to nourish her from her swollen milk ducts. For now, all Erin could feel was a flame like heat surging through the bottom half of her body and for the first time since her waters had broken she thought of herself.

      Something was wrong.

       You’re not going to die.

      But something was wrong.

       There’s nothing wrong. Sleep. And stop thinking bad thoughts. You have someone else to think about now.

      ‘You do.’ From nowhere, her own mother’s voice punctured her thoughts. ‘You’re a Mummy now. I’m so sad I can’t be with you.’

       Something’s wrong.

      ‘Nothing’s wrong, Erin.’

      In her mind, she saw her mother smile, from where she stood just beyond Dom and their baby. She was wearing her favourite dungarees and a colourful scarf rested on her shoulders over a white shirt. Erin’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Relax, she’s fine,’ her mum reassured her. ‘You are going to be a wonderful mother but for now, you need to rest. Dom’s got this.’

      Since opening her eyes, Erin had been resisting the slide back into sleep, fearful she’d never wake up.

       Relax. Dom’s got this.

      And as she fought sleep and worry and joy and pain, tears slid from her heavy eyelids because today of all days she really wanted her mother with her.

      Forty-eight hours later, two days of antibiotics inside her to deal with a postpartum infection, Erin was showered and about to dress when Dom appeared at the end of the bed, his head poking around the curtain. Their daughter slept peacefully, swaddled in a bright lemon woollen blanket.

      ‘Hey, gorgeous.’ Dom came in and leant into the clear hospital cot to kiss their child.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, hugging her gently.

      ‘The nurses fed her in the night so I’m not too bad. I managed a feed yesterday evening and first thing today and we did alright. We need to choose a name,’ she kept her voice low as she pulled on a T-shirt over her maternity bra. ‘And stop ogling my boobs,’ she grinned at her husband.

      ‘I can’t help myself. They’re like one of the wonders of the world.’

      ‘For now, they’re Rachel’s,’ she nodded towards their baby.

      ‘You mean Maisie’s,’ he replied, both hands on his hips. ‘And we should teach her to share from the get-go. Don’t you think Maisie suits her face?’

      Erin smiled. ‘What about Rachel, with Maisie as the middle name?’

      ‘Or just Maisie,’ he grinned. ‘Look there’s something—’

      ‘What?’ Erin’s hand rooted in the bag for some underwear she’d packed right at the bottom, but her hand landed on the thong from the day she’d arrived.

      ‘I know you’re exhausted and I promise it won’t be for long.’

      She frowned, turned her eyes on her husband, sensing what was coming immediately.

      ‘She’s their first grandchild. They haven’t wanted to intrude so far and just want a quick peek, so they’re going to pop in for ten minutes when we get home.

      Erin flopped onto the bed, sighed loudly before placing the thong on her head.

      Dom narrowed his eyes and she sensed him watching as she put on a pair of bigger knickers and bent down to pull the leggings back up her body. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’ she said grabbing hold of her middle and jiggling it. ‘I packed my jeans in the bag. A little optimistic, I now realise.’

      ‘You did hear me saying Mum and Dad are popping in?’

      Erin locked eyes with him. ‘I heard you. Ten minutes.’

      ‘That’s all. You do know you have a thong on your head?’ he asked as he sat beside her.

      ‘I do.’ She pulled it down around her neck. ‘I’ll wear it as a necklace until it fits my huge ass again.’ She rested her head on his shoulder and together they stared at their baby.

      ‘You think she’ll always be this quiet?’ he tucked a corner of the blanket that had loosened into its fold.

      ‘In your dreams … She just likes to be swaddled.’

      Dom smiled, and she stared up at him. ‘What?’ she asked.

      ‘You know this already,’ he said. ‘Swaddling stuff. You are going to be brilliant.’

      ‘Flattery … I’m still wearing a thong around my neck when your mother calls.’

      Dom laughed, stood and pulled her upright. ‘She either won’t notice, or she won’t say a word. Overnight you’ve been elevated to superstar. No pain relief except gas and air, a healthy eight-and-a-half-pound