When it came to the appointed time Iris Lifford could not bring herself to be present to watch her son partake in a deception. She considered it a benign enough adjustment of the true facts but she didn’t want to witness Colm being dishonest. What if it came naturally to him and lies fell from his mouth with the greatest of ease? Then Iris Lifford would have to admit that he was a Lifford in more than name. She had been ashamed of one man for most of her life; she could not accept that she would have to think badly of another. She took herself home to make a Christmas wreath for Father Hogan’s front door from the greens and berries that were abundant in the garden. She would make an extra special one to make up for the fact that she had neglected some of her church duties for the last number of weeks. She constructed it carefully, securing each stem to the next and to the central frame. It took her mind off what was happening at Colm’s apartment, but as the clock moved toward 3 p.m. she couldn’t help thinking that it should be finished by now.
Over at Claddagh Road Ciara was playing a blinder. Tom had taken to her like a duck to water. She sang to him all sorts of songs and none of the usual nursery rhymes that most people feel compelled to babble in a dopey, gormless sort of voice to young babies. His aunt treated Tom to what Colm had to admit was a fairly feisty rendition of ‘Fever’ and a gorgeous version of Kate Bush’s ‘Running Up That Hill’. Listening to her voice echo around the apartment made him a bit depressed. He didn’t miss Leda for himself but he missed her on Tom’s behalf. This is what it should be like, shouldn’t it? A mother singing to her new baby and the baby dozing appreciatively in her arms. Tom was being deprived of that. As heart-warming as the scene with Tom and Ciara was to watch, at best his aunt would only be an intermittent presence in his life. At worst she would personify all that he had lost.
Colm waited in the hallway for the doorbell to ring but Brid Halloran was late, fifteen minutes late, and when she finally arrived she spent another five minutes telling them about the traffic-light sequence on Harcourt Road that had broken her heart. ‘Ten seconds of green light, did you ever hear the like of it?’
Colm and Ciara agreed that it was a scandal and the sense of nervousness that had enveloped them began to lift a little, which was exactly what Brid had planned so she would see these parents at their relaxed best. Colm offered to make tea or coffee and while he busied himself with that Brid launched into the business at hand. She had to say this new mother was looking brilliant and not at all down in her form as she had imagined would be the case. She thought it remarkably unfair the way that some mothers resumed their figures within a matter of weeks as if pregnancy was some sort of outer-body Ziploc experience that could be peeled off, while others (and she had to include herself sorrowfully in this lot) wore the body print of their pregnancy for years after their baby’s delivery. Leda was glowing. If anything it was Colm who seemed to be bearing the brunt of new parenthood, Brid decided. He was a very handsome man and quite young, she thought, but he looked worn to a thread of life, with dark circles threatening to blot over his eyes. He was obviously doing more than his fair share and that was helping his partner get the better of a difficult start at motherhood.
‘Well now, Leda, tell me how you are feeling, and don’t just say tired because I know you are thoroughly exhausted, that goes with your new job description, I’m afraid, and tell me about the birth.’
‘Oh, Brid, I was shell-shocked in the hospital. I had read all the books, hadn’t I, Colm?’
Colm nodded, relieved that the onus had shifted from him, however temporarily, for once in his son’s life. Tom was curled asleep on Ciara’s lap, lulled by her voice as she fluently explained her feelings, her initial withdrawal from Tom at the hospital and how Colm had helped her to get through it by being patient and kind. She was quietly persuasive without being overpowering and Brid seemed genuinely touched by her willingness to be honest. Colm was terrified he would call her Ciara, so he restricted his input to the odd nod of the head and smile at the funny, self-deprecating comments that Ciara scattered like favours in her conversation.
‘God, that was easier than I thought!’ Ciara was on a high at her own performance when Brid Halloran had left them, rushing to another appointment. ‘I half expected she would want me to sign up for counselling or something, but she seemed convinced. And as for you, Mr Tom Lifford, weren’t you the great man snoring your way through the whole ordeal?’
‘You were brilliant, Ciara. Sorry I wasn’t a bit more helpful. I was just terrified we would confuse each other and say something that would make her suspicious.’
‘Take a chill pill, for God’s sake. She wasn’t suspicious. She was concerned about how Leda was coping, that’s all, and we put her mind at rest. From now on it’s plain sailing for you and Tom. Leda is out of the picture and I wouldn’t worry about her coming back either. My sister seems to specialize in running away.’
‘Yes, I am beginning to doubt she will be challenging for custody by all you have told me.’
‘You have nothing to fear from Leda, Colm, except her indifference. If you are prepared for that you and Tom here will be fine. At some stage she will ring me or home just to tell us she is still alive. She’s very thoughtful, is my little sister.’
Ciara’s sarcasm was tangible and Colm allowed himself to laugh. He had to admit that Tom had drawn a dodgy straw with his mother but it did look as if he had the devotion of his loving aunt. Colm, after all they had been through, took some small comfort in that fact.