Chpater 7

In the office, Francis hands me a sheaf of paperwork. “Application forms for Mitch. Bank account application from City Fidelity.”

I riffle through dozens of sheets, scanning reams of small print, written apparently in crapese, translated from burblese.

Where the fuck do they get all this rubbish from?

Richard snaps fingers at me. “James, give them to me. I’ll fill them in. Mitch’ll just need to sign.”

Twenty-four hours and fourteen signatures later, Mitch has re-entered the modern world and holds a bank statement in her hand. The very small balance at the top of the sheet reflects her single wage payment from Michael.

He swings muddy boots up on the table…

Must break him of that habit…

“So, Mitch, you gonna do some more work in the hotel? The decor in the restaurant area’s a bit boring right now.”

Her eyes are glistening. “Point the way.” She brandishes the statement. “But first, I am taking Jenny shopping.”

Charlotte looks wary. “Shopping? What kind of shopping?”

Mitch’s voice is triumphant. “Baby clothes!”

*****

Charlotte – Fourteen Weeks

“They're so small.” I stare at the tiny woollen mitts my mother is showing me.

She sucks in her cheeks, but she’s smiling. “Well, how big did you think Peanut will be when he’s newly born?”

“She.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m hoping that.”

“Alright, for now, she. But until it’s confirmed…”

None of this feels real.

Around me, rack upon rack of displayed baby clothes: onesies, jumpsuits, hats and caps, rompers, socks and booties…

“What is all of this stuff? I thought…”

My mother looks amused. “You thought what?”

“I thought, well, I’d just… dress her.”

“In what? Irish mist? She’ll need clothes, Jenny.”

She rummages through a shelf stacked with packs of bibs, reading the labels. “Three in a pack,” she mutters, then pops four packs in the cart.

“We don’t need that many, surely?”

“You’ll think differently when the whole lot’s in the wash and she’s just sicked down the last clean one.” She revolves, scanning the store. “We need clothes for you too.”

“Me…?”

But she’s already set off; a ship in full sail, aiming for distant lands, snagging three pairs of the pink mittens and matching bootees en-route. I put two of the bib packs back on the shelf and follow her.

Taking a tee-shirt that would be a loose fit on a hippo from its hanger, she holds it against me, shoulder to waist.

“I’m never going to be that size.”

“You think?” She sniffs, and still holding vestment hippopotami up to me, stands back, tilting her head and pursing her lips. “The colour doesn’t suit you though.”

“But I can’t get to that size. You said she’ll be tiny.” I hold up the micro-mittens.

“Yes, she won't feel tiny when she’s on the way out. And this isn’t for then. It’s for the next couple of months. You’ll have outgrown it by then.”

She takes another top from its hanger, offering the fabric to my face. “Ah, yes, a much better colour.” She smiles, touching my cheek. “You having taken so much after me looks-wise, certainly makes it easier for me to find things that will suit you.” She puts the tee-shirt in the basket. “Now…”

She takes a pad and pen from a pocket, ticking a couple of items off a list. “We need something fleecy for her to wear…” Her gaze reams the racks and shelves.

“Do we?”

There’s a touch of impatience in her voice. “Jenny, she’s due to be born in December. It’s going to be cold. Ah…” She points her biro at a display of fluffy bunny suits. “Perfect.”

Despairingly, dumping the hippopotamus shirt from the basket, I follow her.

*****

James – Fourteen Weeks

Mitch flops down on the armchair opposite mine, swiping a hand through her hair.

“Mitch, you look shattered. Haven't you enjoyed yourself? I thought you'd have a great time buying baby clothes and everything that goes with them…”

“So did I. I’m not tired. Just frustrated.”

“Because…?”

“I know what’s needed and I was trying to tell her, but Jenny won't buy anything. Take the bibs. I told her she's need a dozen at least. She bought three. I picked up half a dozen romper suits and she put four back.” She radiates bafflement. “Is she so short of money?”

I laugh. “Charlotte’s not short of money at all. She's just tight-fisted. Would you like some wine? Calm yourself down a bit.”

“I’d love some wine.”

I pour, pressing a glass into Mitch’s hand, taking my own to my armchair.

Keeping my tone dry, “It's not a question of money. Charlotte has plenty of her own these days, and that’s before Michael and I are involved. However…” I hold up a forefinger… “For spending on anything except books, she's as tight as a duck's arse… And…”

“And…”

I consider my words…

Do I say this?

“Charlotte’s own childhood wasn’t exactly enriched. She has a very narrow view of what counts as the necessities of life.”

Mitch drums fingers on the chair arm. “I’d do it all myself, but I don’t have that kind of money. And Jenny just doesn’t seem to believe what’s needed.”

“Reality will come winging home soon enough. Look, Mitch…” I slip wallet from jacket, slipping out a credit card. “If you’re happy to do it… You know what’s needed and… Well, you can have fun doing all the shopping you want. I’m guessing you didn’t have a lot to work with when it was your turn?”

She stares at the card. “That’s true. When I was expecting Jenny, I had to make do for everything. There was no money and it was all hand-me-downs from the neighbours and second-hand stores.”

“Not this time, Mitch. There’s all the money you could wish for. If you think it’s needed, get it.”

She stalls. “I don’t want your charity.”

I huff. “Who mentioned charity? This is me spending for my daughter. But… trust me, I don’t want to spend my time chasing around maternity shops. It’s not my thing.”

She dimples and her voice turns sultry. “James, I would love to spend your money on my daughter and grand-daughter.”

With thumb and the tip of a forefinger she slips the card from my fingers. “I’ll take her again tomorrow. And if she won’t buy what’s needed, I’ll get it.”

And with that, she sashays for the door. As she exits, she throws a glance over her shoulder. “I'm going to enjoy this.”

*****