MARCH ‘03
When I followed my heart to London, leaving behind the bubble of student life, Edinburgh’s party scene and fragments of my twenties, I hoped love would burgeon amid the city’s whizz and grind.
It did.
Rush hour crowds. Fumes and grey snot are my new reality. Every morning, I navigate the throng. It’s taken a while to acclimatise to the hectic rhythm.
My new purpose, helping folk in danger of becoming homeless, leads me to Brick Lane where this morning, persistent, grey drizzle gathers in puddles. My first appointment for the day is waiting in the café on the corner, the place smells of bacon and condensation streams down the windows.
I buy a cappuccino. Tea for John, strong and brown with the bag left in.
The table’s stained with rings, squeezy mustard and ketchup bottles nestle next to a napkin dispenser.
We discuss what he wants to do.
Alone in the world after the death of his adoptive mother, his days are empty. Lank hair hangs about his crinkled face and a pungent, medical scent comes off bandages wrapping his sore legs. He’s no longer fit to stand for hours selling the Evening Standard at Aldgate tube and needs another reason to go out and meet people.
With a final squeeze of the teabag, he puckers his thick wet lips round the rim of the mug slurps, swallows and after a pause says,
I see you with twins, Jane. I see you with twins.
Every time we meet, he mentions this. Tells me he has the gift, that his birth mother did too, and he knows when people will have babies and whether they’ll have a boy or girl.
In no mood for mysticism, I reply. Ach away with you, John, it’s just my star sign, the Gemini twins.
He shakes his head,
No Jane, real babies, real babies, but I won’t say it anymore because I think it annoys you.
No, I’m not annoyed, but it isn’t in my plans...
When we step outside, sun splits the clouds. I take a deep breath. The air is fragrant with spices.
JULY ‘04
Me and my loved one spend a verdant weekend in Wiltshire. Glastonbury’s Chalice Well bubbles crystal clear. Candles flicker in jars, honeysuckle and cut grass perfume the breeze, this sacred place radiates tranquillity.
I drink the cooling water and wish for a creative endeavour.
Spending so much time supporting others, it’s easy to forget my needs…deep in my heart, a secret wish stirs. One I don’t recognise, but it’s there, like a seed, waiting to germinate.
AUGUST ‘04
I’ve grown squishy. Too many pints. No beach body for this holiday.
Over pizza in Napoli, he looks at my paunch and jokes,
You are the mother of my children.
Red wine and rollies taste funky. Heat and the motion of our hire car as it lurches round hairpin bends makes me nauseous,
Slow down!
You don’t usually get car sick!
In Herculaneum, my toes are ochre with dust of ancient Romans when a butterfly settles on my belly.
SEPTEMBER ‘04
Two blue lines on a white stick.
I’m incredulous until the practice nurse confirms I’m pregnant.
The best laid plans o’ mice and men gang aft a gley or maybe, life’s what happens when you’re busy making plans…
On the way home, I see a tiny lambswool cardigan, soft as clouds, embroidered with silver stars. Tears prickle my eyes and splash onto my cheeks.
At twelve weeks, father-to-be holds my hand as the sonographer squeezes splodges of cold gel and rolls over my bump. The screen jumps, a glitch.
Well, there’s two in there.
His grip tightens.
I begin to giggle.
Glad you’re laughing, she says, I think I’d be crying, all the expense!
Is she joking?
Stunned, we head back to work. Our lives about to get busier than we anticipated. Only when I have a moment to reflect, in solitude, on the number 12 bus do I remember John’s prediction.
DECEMBER ‘04
My project funders offer their salubrious building neighbouring The Ritz as a venue for our Christmas party. The smart-suited woman on reception looks like she’s sucking lemons as motley folk, some dishevelled, some homeless and carrying possessions in plastic bags, traipse over the pristine, springy carpets to be welcomed as guests of honour.
Bay windows overlook Green Park and a tastefully dressed tree has presents heaped beneath it. Music, and catering make for a merry occasion. Big and breathless, I talk to John for the first time in months, he’s coping well.
You know you told me I was going to have twins…
He says I will have a boy and a girl.
My next scan reveals boys.
Are you sure? I ask scrutinising the ultrasound.
JANUARY ‘05
On my return to work, John is waiting in reception.
Do we have an appointment?
No, I came to see you, do you know what you’re having?
Yes…
It’s two boys, isn’t it?
MARCH ‘05
Our new home on Hollydale Road is fresh with scents of low-odour paint and disinfectant. Scrubbed from top to bottom. Floors shine, fairy lights twinkle, and cots crisp with white sheets await the tiny arrivals.
I sit to relieve my aching back, belly resting on my knees as I contemplate a pile of baby books. This is the calm before…not long now, I hope. Nursing new purpose, I bury my face in snowflake-soft Orkney shawls knitted to swaddle my babes.
Kick, kick, KICK.
Steady on wee ones! You are magical. I tell the precious occupants of my womb. You were foretold.