him, and his face is working with emotion. ‘That’s it,’ he says, his voice all muffled as though he might weep. ‘That’s the meaning of life. Right there.’ He jabs at the screen. ‘Right there.’
‘Right there.’ I wipe at my eyes.
‘Right there,’ he repeats, his eyes still fixed on baby Anna.
‘You’re right.’ I nod emphatically. ‘You’re so, so, so, so, so, so …’ My mind has suddenly gone blank. ‘Exactly. Exactly.’
‘I mean, what else matters?’ He makes elaborate gestures with his wine glass. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing,’ I agree, holding on to my chair to stop the world spinning. I’m feeling just a bit … There seem to be two Dans sitting in front of me, put it like that.
‘Nothing.’ Dan seems to want to make this point even more strongly. ‘Nothing at all in the world. Nothing.’
I nod. ‘Nothing.’
‘So you know what? We should have more.’ Dan points emphatically at the screen.
‘Yes,’ I agree whole-heartedly, before realizing I don’t know what he’s on about. ‘More what?’
‘That’s how we make sense of our life. That’s how we fill the endless, interminable years.’ Dan seems more and more animated. ‘We should have more babies. Lots more, Sylvie. Like …’ He casts around. ‘Ten more.’
I stare at him speechlessly. More babies.
And now I can feel tears rising yet again. Oh my God, he’s right, this is the answer to everything.
Through my drunken haze, I have a vision of ten adorable babies all in a row, in matching wooden cradles. Of course we should have more babies. Why didn’t we think of this before? I’ll be Mother Earth. I’ll lead them on bicycle outings, wearing matching clothes, singing wholesome songs.
A tiny voice at the back of my head seems to be protesting something, but I can’t hear it properly and I don’t want to. I want little feet and ducky-down heads. I want babies calling me ‘Mama’ and loving me most of all.
Times ten.
On impulse I reach for the duckling sleepsuit, hold it up and we both stare at it for a moment. I know we’re both imagining a brand-new squirmy baby in it. Then I drop it on the table.
‘Let’s do it,’ I say breathlessly. ‘Right here, right now.’ I lean over to kiss him, but accidentally slide off my chair on to the floor. Shit. Ow.
‘Right here, right now.’ Dan eagerly joins me on the floor and starts pulling off my clothes.
And it’s not that comfortable, here on the tiled floor, but I don’t care, because we’re starting a new life! We’re starting a new chapter. We have a purpose, a goal, a dear little tiny baby in a Moses basket … Everything’s suddenly rosy.
FOUR
OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE WE DONE?
Am I pregnant?
Am I?
I’m lying in bed the next morning, my head pounding. I feel nauseous. I feel freaked out. Do I feel pregnant? Oh God, do I?
I can’t believe I’m waking up to this scenario. I feel as though I’m in a video warning teens about accidental pregnancy. We didn’t use any protection last night.
Hang on, did we?
No. No. Definitely not.
Gingerly, my hand steals down to touch my abdomen. It hasn’t changed. But that means nothing. Inside me, the miracle of human conception could have happened. Or it could be happening, right now, while Dan sleeps on, blissfully clutching his pillow as though our life hasn’t just been ruined.
No, not ruined.
Yes, ruined. In so, so many ways.
Morning sickness. Backache. No sleep. Baby weight. Those vile pregnancy jeans with the elastic panels. No money. No sleep.
I know I’m fixated by sleep. That’s because sleep deprivation is a form of torture. I can’t do the no-sleep thing again. Plus: the age gap would be six years. So, would we have to have a fourth child, to keep the baby company? But four? Four children? What kind of car would we need then? Some monstrous people carrier. How will we park a people carrier in our little street? Nightmare.
Would I have to give up work to look after the brood? But I don’t want to give up work. My routine works well, and everyone’s happy …
A brand-new, horrific thought makes me gasp. What if we have another baby, and then we try for a fourth … and end up with triplets? It happens. These things happen. That family in Stoke Newington that Tilda met once. Three singletons and then boom! Triplets. I would die. I would actually collapse. Oh God, why didn’t we think this through? Six children? Six? Where would we put them?