There’s a gentle tapping at the door. It opens very slowly and Suze puts her head round. She’s holding a giant bunch of lilies and a pink helium balloon.
“Hi,” she breathes, and as her eyes fall on the crib she claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Bex, look at that. She’s beautiful.”
“I know.” With no warning, tears spring to my eyes. “I know she is.”
“Bex?” Looking anxious, Suze hurries over to the bed with a rustle of flowers. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. I just…” I gulp, wiping my nose. “I had no idea.”
“What?” Suze sits down on the edge of the bed, her face full of dread. “Bex…was it really awful?”
“No, it’s not that.” I shake my head, struggling for the words. “I had no idea I’d feel so…happy.”
“Oh yeah, that.” Suze’s face lights up as if in memory. “You do. It doesn’t last forever, mind you.” She seems to think again and gives me a tight hug. “It is amazing. Congratulations. Congratulations, Luke!”
“Thanks.” He smiles. Even though he looks knackered, he’s glowing. He meets my eye and I feel a catch in my heart. It’s like we have a secret together, which no one else can quite understand.
“Look at her little fingers.…” Suze is bending over the crib. “Hello, darling!” She looks up. “Does she have a name?”
“Not yet.” I adjust myself on the pillows, wincing a little. I feel pretty mashed up after last night. Although the good thing is, the epidural hasn’t completely worn off yet, and they’ve already given me a stash of painkillers.
The door opens again, and Mum appears. She’s already met the baby, at eight this morning, when she arrived with brioches and hot coffee in a flask. Now she’s laden with gift bags and Dad is following in her wake.
“Dad…meet your granddaughter!” I say.
“Oh, Becky, darling. Congratulations.” Dad gives me the hugest, tightest hug. Then he peers into the crib, blinking slightly harder than normal. “Well, then. Hello, old girl.”
“Here are some clothes for you, Becky, love.” Mum heaves an enormous weekend bag stuffed full of garments onto a nearby chair. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I just rooted around….”
“Thanks, Mum.” I undo the zip and pull out a chunky cable cardigan which I haven’t worn for about five years. Then I glimpse something else. A familiar pale blue glimmering, beaded, velvety softness.
My scarf. My precious Denny and George scarf. I still remember the first instant I clapped eyes on it.
“Hey look!” I pull it out, careful not to snag any of the beads. I haven’t worn this for ages, either. “Remember this, Luke?”
“Of course I remember!” Luke’s face softens as he sees it. Then he adds, totally deadpan, “You bought it for your Aunt Ermintrude, as I recall.”
“That’s right.” I nod.
“Tragic that she died before she could ever wear it. Her arm fell off, wasn’t it?”
“Her leg,” I correct him.
Mum has been listening to this exchange, perplexed.
“Aunt who?” she says, and I can’t help breaking into a giggle.
“An old friend,” says Luke, tying the scarf around my neck. He looks at it for a moment in a kind of wonderment, then down at the baby. “Who would have thought…”
“I know.” I finger the corner of the scarf. “Who would have thought?”
Dad is still totally fixated by the baby. He’s put a finger into the crib, and the baby has wrapped her tiny hand around it.
“So, old girl,” he’s saying. “What are we calling you, then?”
“We haven’t decided yet,” I say. “It’s so hard!”
“I’ve brought you a book!” says Mum, rootling in her holdall. “What about Grisabella?”
“Grisabella?” echoes Dad.
“It’s a lovely name!” says Mum defensively, pulling out 1,000 Girls’ Names and putting it on the bed. “Unusual.”
“She’d get called Grizzle in the playground!” Dad retorts.
“Not necessarily! She could be Bella…or Grizzy….”
“Grizzy? Jane, are you mad?”
“Well, what do you like?” says Mum, affronted.
“I was thinking…possibly…” Dad clears his throat. “Rhapsody.”
I glance at Luke, who mouths Rhapsody? with such an expression of horror, I want to laugh.