The Book of Love. Fionnuala Kearney
with the point of her compass, the large dent that the frozen turkey had made one Christmas when her mother had dropped it. In its place was a strange-looking desk-like thing with the longer side placed up against the wall. Two odd chairs, one with stuffing oozing through a small hole, were parked at each end. There’s nothing worse, her father had once told her, than eating alone at a big table. Erin took the nearest chair and sat rocking Maisie on her lap.
‘Tea,’ Fitz announced, filling the kettle.
She breathed in the familiar room with its wallpaper of patterned tiles, each ‘tile’ with a different vegetable image. In the corner, a box containing stacks of What Car? magazines stood waiting to either be read again or passed on to someone who might want them. Beside it sat a smaller carton spilling with paperchains and tired tinsel. Relieved to be among her father’s chaos, she took a deep sigh – she was there – safe and sound.
‘You heard from Rob this week?’ she asked Fitz.
‘He called last night. Everything is going really well.’
It wasn’t what Erin wanted to hear. Her only brother leaving to live in New York to work for an American bank had come as a shock the previous Christmas. She still wasn’t sure if she’d forgiven him. Maisie, with one fist in her mouth, gnawing at her skin with her cutting teeth, tried to grab at anything in reach on the table with the other hand. Erin’s eyes were drawn to the centre, where a well-thumbed notebook sat. Curious, she leaned forward, holding both Maisie’s hands to limit her reach.
‘Ah-a, don’t you touch either,’ Fitz called over. ‘That’s there for explanatory reasons. For my eyes only.’
Erin nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t. She wiped her brow, thinking she should be at home tackling the never-ending list of things to do. The washing pile would talk to her if it could. Who knew a baby could create so much laundry? Who knew that looking after one small person could fill her day like it did, exhaust her like it did? Yet there she was, watching Fitz pour two mugs of stewed tea from a pot, exhausted.
‘Right,’ Fitz sat opposite. ‘What’s up?’
‘My mother-in-law is a lunatic,’ she said.
‘No. No, she’s not.’ Fitz laughed.
‘You’re right but she hates me.’
‘Well, that’s a different thing altogether. And I thought things had settled with her since Maisie was born?’
‘They have, but … She adores Maisie, adores Dom but she’s still a bit off with me.’
‘Having met Sophie, I think she’d be like that with anyone she sees as taking her son away from her. Or maybe it’s because she had to wait such a long time for children – how old was she when she had Dom, forty? And she sees you, Miss Fertile, pregnant and married in months.’
Erin flushed, rubbed her neck with her hand. ‘I just need to find a way to talk to Dom about stuff. It’s one of the reasons I came to see you.’
Her father’s forehead creased.
‘For example, he’s gambling,’ she blurted. ‘Only small stuff but he doesn’t tell me.’
‘Gambling?’
Erin thought Fitz looked as if he had a sudden headache brewing. ‘Poker games with his mates and bets in bookies, mostly. Stupid arse leaves the stubs in his trousers. It’s just a worry.’
‘Have you asked him about it?’
‘He waffles.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose some might call it lies.’
Fitz sighed, sat back in his chair.
‘Then again, I don’t tell the truth when he asks me if I’m alright, whether I’m coping, when he senses I might not be. I don’t tell him when my stomach coils in on itself. Seems that despite the fact we love the bones of one another and laugh together every single day, we both have stuff we … we just don’t seem willing or able to talk about.’
‘Right.’
‘Dad?’ Erin’s eyes filled at the edges. ‘We love being together. We’re meant to be together. Just sometimes, we’re not great at actually talking.’ She bounced a restless Maisie on her knee. ‘So, like I said when I called – that leather book you gave us when we got married – how does it actually work?’
‘In only fourteen months since the wedding,’ Dom raised a glass to her across the table, ‘we’re new parents, and I’m newly qualified.’ He sipped from his glass. ‘You not drinking?’ he asked as he began to slice into the roast chicken she’d prepared.
‘Tummy’s a bit upset,’ she said.
‘Oh.’ He put down his cutlery. ‘You alright?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, probably Fitz’s pâté sandwich.’ She made a face and then instantly smiled. ‘I didn’t tell you – Maisie tried to stand up today! I had her down on the floor and one moment she was there, grabbing my legs and the next she was pulling herself up! Fitz loved it.’
‘Sometimes,’ Dom’s eyes were wistful, ‘sometimes, I wish I could stay at home all day and just watch her.’
Erin sliced her meat and nibbled on a piece. ‘No, you don’t,’ she said. ‘You’d last a day of shitty nappies and baby talk before you went scrambling back to the office for some peace.’
‘I do know what you do for her, you know. I do know that there’ll come a day when maybe you want more.’
Erin stared at the vegetables on her plate. She should eat the broccoli. ‘Tell me about work,’ she said. ‘What’s going on in the Carter Empire?’
‘My father’s empire is doing great and his one and only son and heir is being made to work from the bottom up.’ He waved a knife. ‘I don’t mind. It’s the right thing but there’re moments where …’ Dom hesitated. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s as if I’m penalised for being his son.’
‘By him or others?’ Erin asked.
‘Gah,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing. At least nothing I shouldn’t expect. I am his son and I am only there because of that.’
‘You’re there because you got a first in Architecture after studying for six years, Dom.’
‘Yeah, along with the hundreds of other applicants for entry-level jobs.’ His eyes widened. ‘I’m there because I’m his son and everyone, including me, knows that.’
Erin stood and came to sit on his lap. ‘If anyone can make it work, you can.’
‘Mrs Carter, if you’re trying to seduce me, could you please wait until I’ve eaten?’
‘I’m on my way to get a soft drink, actually, need the bubbles …’ She traced the line of his five o’clock shadow with her fingertips before grazing his lips with hers. ‘And it could be worse,’ she said before heading to the fridge.
‘Oh yeah?’ he asked, cutlery in hand again.
‘You could be working for your mother,’ she grinned as her eyes scanned the inside shelves and she heard him laugh loudly as she popped open a can of lemonade.
Dom’s snore, aided by the bottle of red which he’d got from a grateful client and had almost finished, prompted her out of bed. Tying her robe around herself, she slid her feet into slippers and first checked on Maisie.
Running her fingers along the top of the radiator, she made sure it was hot. There was a heavy frost outside, the threat of snow and Maisie hated being cold; she was the only baby that Erin had ever seen shiver. Leaning into the cot, she felt her forehead briefly and Maisie stirred, pursing her bud lips in her sleep. Not for the first time, Erin stayed a minute staring at the child’s features. Her pale skin was flawless, velvet to the touch. A hint of strawberry could be seen in her straight golden hair, but only in