The Master's Child

Chapter 7: Target, Part 7

Charlotte – Fourteen Weeks

"They're so small." I stare at the tiny woollen mitts my mother is showing me.

She sucks in her cheeks, but she's smiling. "Well, how big did you think Peanut will be when he's newly born?"

"She."

"You don't know that."

"I'm hoping that."

"Alright, for now, she. But until it's confirmed..."

None of this feels real.

Around me, rack upon rack of displayed baby clothes: onesies, jumpsuits, hats and caps, rompers, socks and booties...

"What is all of this stuff? I thought..."

My mother looks amused. "You thought what?"

"I thought, well, I'd just... dress her."

"In what? Irish mist? She'll need clothes, Jenny."

She rummages through a shelf stacked with packs of bibs, reading the labels. "Three in a pack," she mutters, then pops four packs in the cart.

"We don't need that many, surely?"

"You'll think differently when the whole lot's in the wash and she's just sicked down the last clean one." She revolves, scanning the store. "We need clothes for you too."

"Me...?"

But she's already set off; a ship in full sail, aiming for distant lands, snagging three pairs of the pink mittens and matching bootees en-route. I put two of the bib packs back on the shelf and follow her.

Taking a tee-shirt that would be a loose fit on a hippo from its hanger, she holds it against me, shoulder to waist.

"I'm never going to be that size."

"You think?" She sniffs, and still holding vestment hippopotami up to me, stands back, tilting her head and pursing her lips. "The colour doesn't suit you though."

"But I can't get to that size. You said she'll be tiny." I hold up the micro-mittens.

"Yes, she won't feel tiny when she's on the way out. And this isn't for then. It's for the next couple of months. You'll have outgrown it by then."

She takes another top from its hanger, offering the fabric to my face. "Ah, yes, a much better colour." She smiles, touching my cheek. "You having taken so much after me looks-wise, certainly makes it easier for me to find things that will suit you." She puts the tee-shirt in the basket. "Now..."

She takes a pad and pen from a pocket, ticking a couple of items off a list. "We need something fleecy for her to wear..." Her gaze reams the racks and shelves.

"Do we?"

There's a touch of impatience in her voice. "Jenny, she's due to be born in December. It's going to be cold. Ah..." She points her biro at a display of fluffy bunny suits. "Perfect."

Despairingly, dumping the hippopotamus shirt from the basket, I follow her.

*****

James – Fourteen Weeks

Mitch flops down on the armchair opposite mine, swiping a hand through her hair.

"Mitch, you look shattered. Haven't you enjoyed yourself? I thought you'd have a great time buying baby clothes and everything that goes with them..."

"So did I. I'm not tired. Just frustrated."

"Because...?"

"I know what's needed and I was trying to tell her, but Jenny won't buy anything. Take the bibs. I told her she's need a dozen at least. She bought three. I picked up half a dozen romper suits and she put four back." She radiates bafflement. "Is she so short of money?"

I laugh. "Charlotte's not short of money at all. She's just tight-fisted. Would you like some wine? Calm yourself down a bit."

"I'd love some wine."

I pour, pressing a glass into Mitch's hand, taking my own to my armchair.

Keeping my tone dry, "It's not a question of money. Charlotte has plenty of her own these days, and that's before Michael and I are involved. However..." I hold up a forefinger... "For spending on anything except books, she's as tight as a duck's arse... And..."

"And..."

I consider my words...

Do I say this?

"Charlotte's own childhood wasn't exactly enriched. She has a very narrow view of what counts as the necessities of life."

Mitch drums fingers on the chair arm. "I'd do it all myself, but I don't have that kind of money. And Jenny just doesn't seem to believe what's needed."

"Reality will come winging home soon enough. Look, Mitch..." I slip wallet from jacket, slipping out a credit card. "If you're happy to do it... You know what's needed and... Well, you can have fun doing all the shopping you want. I'm guessing you didn't have a lot to work with when it was your turn?"

She stares at the card. "That's true. When I was expecting Jenny, I had to make do for everything. There was no money and it was all hand-me-downs from the neighbours and second-hand stores."

"Not this time, Mitch. There's all the money you could wish for. If you think it's needed, get it."

She stalls. "I don't want your charity."

I huff. "Who mentioned charity? This is me spending for my daughter. But... trust me, I don't want to spend my time chasing around maternity shops. It's not my thing."

She dimples and her voice turns sultry. "James, I would love to spend your money on my daughter and grand-daughter."

With thumb and the tip of a forefinger she slips the card from my fingers. "I'll take her again tomorrow. And if she won't buy what's needed, I'll get it."

And with that, she sashays for the door. As she exits, she throws a glance over her shoulder. "I'm going to enjoy this."

*****

James - Sixteen Weeks

"Everything is looking completely normal," says the nurse, displaying a clipboard's worth of ticked boxes and scribblings. "The baby..."

Charlotte interrupts her. "Peanut..."

The nurse's mouth quirks to a smile. "Peanut is doing just fine. Just a trifle over the average size for the date but well within the norms. All the blood tests have the results you would hope for."

"Now..." She slides the probe over Charlotte's expanding midriff, cutting a trail through glistening gel. ""That's all looking good too." She traces a line over the screen. "You see? That's the head and you can see the heart is beating strongly."

Charlotte cranes to look. "Can you see what s*x the baby is?"

"It's a bit early and the angle's off a touch with the way she's lying, but I'm pretty sure it's a girl."

Charlotte beams at me.

I stroke her fingers. "A boy would have been fine. A healthy baby is all that counts."

"I know Mast... James. But I was so hoping it would be a girl."

A printer clicks and whirrs.

"There you go." The tech passes me the print. "'Baby's first photo' means something different these days."

And there, in grainy black and white, is my little girl.

Your gift to me...

Jade...

Tight-throated, I tuck the photo into my wallet. "Thank you."

*****

James – Eighteen Weeks

I find Michael in the viewing gallery over the gym. "Hi. I was..."

Michael is leaning back against the wall, shaking. As he sees me, he presses a finger to his lips and thumbs towards the observation window, his eyes brimming with laughter.

As quietly as I can, I join him, keeping my voice low. "What's so funny?"

He just nods down into the gym. "Look."

I follow the finger and the gaze...

Wtf?

Charlotte's in there, on a treadmill, but whereas most runners just... well.... run... She's....

Dancing?

"What the hell does she think she's doing?" I hiss.

Is that the Charleston?

"...You wouldn't think it was possible, would you? How the hell is she doing that?"

Michael is all but helpless with laughter. "Blowed if I know but trust our Charlotte. Every part a moving part, I always say, even with a bulge growing round the middle." He has that look in his eye.

"Can we pass over that for a minute. You don't think we should stop her?"

"Oh God, no. If she thought we were here, watching her, I might never get to see this again."

"She shouldn't be bouncing around like that. And what if she slips or loses her balance? She is pregnant. And she's already taken one fall."

He sobers up on the spot. "You're right. We'd better get in there."

*****

As we enter the gym together, Charlotte becomes a blur of movement and abruptly, is simply walking briskly on the belt. She smiles brightly. "Hi, guys."

"Hi." Michael strolls across, all casual nonchalance. "Mind if I join you?" He steps onto the next machine, walks for a few seconds, then moves up to an easy trot.

"Course not."

I talk to her reflection in the wall mirrors. "You're not over-doing it are you?"

"No. I just don't want to seize up. Or get too fat. You know, pregnant and all that."

I measure her stomach by eye. "You're right on target. And you haven't put on any excess weight. Just what's appropriate to your condition. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Ah-ha." She turns up her speed a notch, striding out more briskly. "Just taking precautions."