Chapter 17: The Announcement
Chapter 17: The announcement
Luís phoned from the hospital.
“I thought you might like to know, rather than waiting till I got home.”
“So it’s positive?”
When he arrived, we danced around the sitting room. Then we phoned our families. I told everyone at school the next day.
Most people have morning sickness. I had allergies. The urticaria crept up my legs, along my arms, covered my face, swelled my lips and hands.
Tomatoes. Citrus fruits. Cheese. Every day I discovered something new. Synthetic fabrics, perfume. But I was jubilant.
Until.
“Rui, something is happening.”
“This is normal, at twelve weeks. Stay in bed and rest.”
I rested. Two days were interminable. Fraught. I rested. Two days were interminable. Fraught. I tried to read, but I ended up gazing out of the window, listening to life outside.
Luís reappeared at night to check on progress. When there was none, we visited the obstetrician in Porto.
“I’m sorry, Luís. It’s not viable. It’s a white egg.”.”
We hugged in the stairwell and cried.
After the hospital, my mother-in-law came to stay.
“Como te sentes? How do you feel?”
“I’m fine, actually.”
“So let’s look for furniture.”
First we bought a splendid old china cupboard from the antiquaria in Marco. Then we went looking for chairs. Luís had bought some fold up chairs when we didn’t have much money, and considered them modern. Maria Beatriz hmphed.
“He might be my son, but he has no taste at all.”
We spent a whole day looking for chairs around Paços de Ferreira, the furniture capital of Portugal, where hundreds of small family-run workshops existed alongside larger factories. We laughed over lunch in a café, and drove down street after street without a map. Now and then, Maria Beatriz would ask someone for directions.
By the end of the day, we had ordered four classic, dark-wood dining chairs with rattan seats, a chest of drawers and a hat stand.
Luís did not understand.
“We already have chairs!”
“Tu não tens gosto nenhum!” Declared Maria Beatriz. And the matter was settled.
Now it was my turn.
“Why don’t you wear coats that match your outfits?”
I only had one coat. It never occurred to me that it should match anything.
“And carry bags that match your shoes? You are so tall, you need a bigger bag. Not a chiquinho.”
We drove into Porto. First we visited Maria Beatriz’s old favourites. I didn’t want a knee-length tartan skirt and sapatinhos de vela… low-cut leather deck shoes. But Zara was a delight to both of us. We lunched in the Majestic and drove home with our bags.
Luís raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
Before she returned, Maria Beatriz visited the hairdresser. While she sat with curlers in her hair, charming everyone, another girl painted her nails. Fingers and toes.
Then she packed her little tartan bag, got on the bus, and was gone.
I returned to the school the next day.
“Are you OK? Antónia asked.
Everyone else was silent on the matter.
Miscarriage, it seemed, was taboo in the teacher’s room.
Three months later, I was pregnant again.