grimaced.
The baby’s name was another missile Clarice fired at her whenever she got the opportunity. James’s mother had harped on about it so much that he had even suggested they choose one just to shut her up. Amaia had snapped. That was the last straw: why should she be forced to choose a name simply to make Clarice happy?
‘Not to make her happy, Amaia, but because we have to call her something, and you don’t seem to want to think about choosing a name at all.’
As with the clothes, she knew they were right. Having researched the subject, she’d become so concerned about it that she consulted Aunt Engrasi.
‘Well, not having had babies myself, I can’t speak from personal experience, but at a clinical level, I gather it’s fairly common among first-time mothers and fathers in particular. Once you’ve had a baby, you know what to expect, there are no surprises, but with a first pregnancy some mothers, despite their swollen bellies, find it hard to relate the changes in their body to the realities of having a child. Nowadays with ultrasound and listening to the baby’s heartbeat, knowing if it’s a boy or a girl, expectant parents have more of a sense that their baby is real, whereas in the past you couldn’t see a baby until it was born; most people only realised they had a child when they were cradling it in their arms and gazing into its little face. Your misgivings are perfectly natural,’ she said, placing her hand on Amaia’s belly. ‘Believe me, no one is prepared for parenthood, although some people like to pretend that they are.’
Amaia ordered fish, which she hardly touched. She noticed that the contractions were less frequent and less intense when she was still.
As soon as they’d finished their meal, Clarice returned to the offensive.
‘Have you looked at crèches?’
‘No, Mom, we haven’t,’ said James, setting his cup down on the table and gazing at her wearily. ‘Because we’re not putting the baby in a crèche.’
‘I see, so you’ll find a child-minder when Amaia goes back to work.’
‘When Amaia goes back to work, I’ll look after my daughter myself.’
Clarice’s eyes opened wide. She looked to her husband for support, but received none from Thomas, who smiled and shook his head as he sipped his rooibos.
‘Clarice …’ he cautioned. These gentle repetitions of his wife’s name in a tone of reproach were the closest Thomas ever came to protesting.
She ignored him.
‘You can’t be serious. How are you going to look after her? You don’t know the first thing about babies.’
‘I’ll learn,’ James replied, smiling.
‘Learn? For goodness’ sake! You’re gonna need help.’
‘We have a cleaner who comes regularly.’
‘I’m not talking about a cleaner four hours a week, I’m talking about a nanny, a child-minder, someone who’ll take care of the child.’
‘I’ll take care of her. We’ll take care of her together, that’s what we have decided.’
James seemed amused, and, judging from his expression, so did Thomas. Clarice sighed, smiled wanly and adopted a calm tone, as though making a supreme effort to be reasonable and patient.
‘Yes, I know all about this modern parenting stuff – breastfeeding children until they grow teeth, having them sleep in your bed, dispensing with a nanny – but, son, you have to work too, your career is at a critical stage, and during the baby’s first year, you’ll scarcely have time to draw breath.’
‘I’ve just finished a forty-eight-piece collection for the exhibition at the Guggenheim next year, and I have enough works in reserve to enable me to devote myself to my daughter. Besides, Amaia isn’t always busy. Yes, she has periods of intense activity in her job, but she often comes home early.’
Amaia could feel her belly tense beneath her blouse, more painfully now. She breathed slowly, dissimulating as she glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes.
‘You look pale, Amaia, are you feeling OK?’
‘I’m tired. I think I’ll go home and lie down for a while.’
‘Good, Thomas and I are going shopping,’ announced Clarice, ‘otherwise you’ll be using vine leaves instead of baby blankets. Shall we meet back here for dinner?’
‘No,’ Amaia protested. ‘I’ll make something light at home, and try to rest. I was thinking of going shopping tomorrow; I found a store where they sell cute dresses.’
Clarice took the bait: the prospect of a shopping spree with her daughter-in-law instantly made her relax, and she beamed contentedly.
‘Oh, of course, my dear, we’ll have a wonderful time, you’ll see. I’ve seen so many gorgeous things since I came. You have a rest, dear,’ she said, making her way towards the exit.
Thomas stooped to give Amaia a peck before he left.
‘Well played,’ he whispered, winking at her.
Their house in Calle Mercaderes revealed none of its splendours from the outside: the tall ceilings, large windows, wood panelling, the wonderful mouldings that ornamented most of the rooms and the ground floor, which had once been an umbrella factory and where James now had his studio.
Amaia took a shower then stretched out on the sofa, pamphlet in one hand and watch in the other.
‘You look more tired today than usual. I noticed that during lunch you weren’t paying as much attention to my mother’s foolishness.’
Amaia grinned.
‘Is it because of something that happened at the courthouse? You mentioned that the trial had been adjourned, but you didn’t say why?’
‘Jasón Medina killed himself this morning in the courthouse toilets. It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow.’
‘Well,’ James shrugged. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry.’
‘Me neither. He’s no great loss, but I imagine the girl’s family must be a bit disappointed that he won’t be standing trial. On the other hand, they’ll be spared the ordeal of having to listen to all the gory details.’
James nodded thoughtfully.
Amaia considered telling him about the note Medina had left for her, but decided it would only upset him. She didn’t want to ruin this special moment by bringing that up.
‘But, yes, I am more tired today, and my mind is on other things.’
‘Such as?’ he asked.
‘At twelve thirty I started having contractions every twenty-five minutes. At first, they only lasted a few seconds, now they’re getting stronger and I’m having them every twelve minutes.’
‘Oh, Amaia, why didn’t you tell me before? Were you suffering all through lunch? Are they really painful?’
‘Not
