went to his gig. Wendy marvelled at her baby. When Rhoda came she brought her daughter a bottle of sherry.
‘You’re not supposed to drink while you’re breastfeeding,’ said Wendy.
‘Nonsense,’ said Rhoda. ‘I did.’ Wendy drank half the bottle straight off.
‘You’re only supposed to have a little at a time,’ said Rhoda. ‘It’s not like orange squash.’
‘I was thirsty,’ said Wendy.
The baby hiccoughed. Rhoda took the kitten home. Its eyes were gummy. The red-headed nurse said she’d put it in the incinerator herself if nobody took it away, and fast. She said that babies born in a caul were born to great fame or great misfortune, certainly something special. Sister said that was superstition: a caul was just nature’s way of giftwrapping.
‘Isn’t that a sweet idea?’ said Wendy.
Rhoda said to Bruno that perhaps all Wendy’s brains had gone into the baby. She certainly didn’t seem to have any left.
On the day Wendy was to go home a woman came to issue a birth certificate for the baby. She was annoyed to discover that Wendy was not in fact married to Ken: it meant she had to tear up one certificate and start making out another.
‘He doesn’t believe in marriage,’ Wendy explained. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t take any moral stance on this,’ said the woman. ‘I just keep the records. If you and the father haven’t decided on a Christian name you have just six weeks in which to do it.’
‘We decided ages ago,’ Wendy said, crossing her fingers. ‘Jason for a boy and—’ Her eye fell upon her brushed nylon nightie. ‘Apricot if it’s a girl. Her name is Apricot.’
‘You don’t have to decide now,’ said the woman, quite kindly. ‘You might like your thoughts to mature.’
‘Oh no,’ said Wendy. ‘I’m quite sure. Her name’s Apricot.’ She drank the other half-bottle of sherry: nobody had filled her water jug since she’d been admitted. Apricot!
‘But you didn’t even consult me,’ said Ken reproachfully when presently it occurred to him to ask what she’d called the baby, and Wendy told him. ‘I’d never have called a boy Apricot.’
‘The baby’s a girl!’ said Wendy. She didn’t blame him. She knew Ken’s mind was on a new arrangement of ‘I Don’t Mean Maybe’.
‘And Apricot’s a lovely original name for a girl.’
‘I suppose it’s better for a girl than a boy,’ said Ken doubtfully, ‘but all the same you should have asked me.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Wendy, and she was. She could see she’d been impetuous. If Ken had only put his mind to it he might have in the end come up with something even better. It was just that in the end would have been so far the other side of six weeks as to be out of sight, and she couldn’t stand any more writs, summonses or legal documents in long brown envelopes. Lactation, or something, made her weak. Ken bought her a bottle of gin to celebrate her return home. She drank it all in a day and the baby slept beautifully. Soon she was pouring herself a glass of whisky for breakfast, instead of a cup of tea.
‘Apricot!’ said Rhoda. ‘Did Ken think of Apricot as a name, or you?’
‘I did,’ said Wendy.
‘I don’t like it at all,’ said Rhoda. ‘Poor little baby.’
Rhoda said Wendy wouldn’t keep Ken long if she went on being so bossy. It wasn’t as if she were married to him.
The kitten had to go to the vet three times in as many weeks and was more expensive than the baby. The baby slept in the bottom drawer of the dresser: the kitten had a feather cushion. Ken had to take on more and more gigs to keep the family boat afloat. It was a good thing, Ken admitted, that Wendy had such a placid and loving temperament. Sometimes her eyes, he noticed, didn’t quite focus, and the washing-up was seldom done, but he wasn’t fussy about things like that. There was a new girl singer in the band, whom he fancied. She had an emerald in her navel. It wasn’t as if he was married to Wendy, or that she knew about it. She was busy with her baby. The baby had been her idea, not his.
Valerie stops work to listen to Hugo’s tape
‘You must listen to this,’ said Hugo, and Valerie, out of simple love, stopped writing and listened, though Lover at the Gate was in mid-flow and she did not want her concentration spoiled: what she now put on the page was beginning to have