Ordinary folk
It was noisy outside, as it always is in latespring London, when the city finally feels the first warm rays that melt the dreary puddles left by the morning drizzle. The water rushes down the cobbled lane, glittering like silver threads, heading toward the little lane behind St.Marys church. There, too, the hustle is in full swing. A minibus disgorges a gaggle of ladies in pastel dresses and matching scarvessoft blue, mint green, and ivoryeach scarf perched just a touch too close to the face. Men in crisp suits, buttoned jackets and polished Oxfords, follow behind.
From a smaller car steps out a woman, poised and careful.
Emma! What on earth are you doing alone, Emma? You should have waitedId have given you a hand! her husband rushes past the vehicle, panting.
Dont shout, Tom. Peters asleep. Please, dont make a scene. Im terrified, Tom Emma whispers, trembling. Shes never baptized a baby before; this is her first time as a mother, and she fears the little Peter will scream like he did a week ago when they tried to bathe him. Back then he wailed so loudly that Tom called a doctor. A calm, slightly stern paediatrician, DrMarina Vaughan, arrived, lingered in the hallway, then entered the small room where a young mother cradled a squirming infant.
Lay him down, DrVaughan instructed.
What? I cant hear you, Emma muttered, her head spinning from exhaustion.
Put the baby down, youre shaking him like a rattle! Have you broken any little bones? DrVaughan quipped, her voice landing squarely in Emmas ear.
Good heavens! Emmas eyebrows shot up as she stared at Tom, who merely smirked.
Emma, still a girl at heart, had just given birth to Toms first son, the heir to nothing yet everything. Neither of them knew how to raise him.
Just put him down, love! Look at those chubby cheekswhat a sturdy little thing! the nurse cooed. He looks just like his father!
Tom puffed out his chest proudly. Thats the spirit! he declared, recalling his mothers teasing about their supposed noble lineage. He even remarked on Emmas nose, Especially the nosesharp as a tack!
The little noggin looks full of ideas, DrVaughan added. Father, could you shut the window? Its a bit chilly for the baby.
Tom lunged to close it.
Whats wrong with him? Emma asked, eyes brimming with tears. Hes never been like this before
What should a man do? He should have had a girl, then wed be in a different world! Tom joked, halfserious, halfironic. While he ribbed her, he examined the infant, gently straightening his legs and soothing his cramped arms.
Colic, DrVaughan finally diagnosed. Ill write a prescription. And please, stop shaking him, mumhell be fine. Hes a hearty lad. Oh, give him a pacifier, hes tearing his hair out!
Were absolutely against pacifiers! Tom protested, a bit too fiercely for his own good.
Against them? DrVaughan repeated, feigning indifference. Emma right, Semenovahand the baby to his father and get on with the tea. Swaddle him properly; its the safest way.
Emma shook her head, then, realizing she was spent, handed Peter to Tom.
Lovely. Now lets have a cup of tea, shall we? DrVaughan laughed, Tea, tea! Kids, I swear!
She gathered Emma by the elbow and led her away. Tom, cradling his son, lingered by the window, coaxing Peter to settle down.
The kitchen was dim, cool, and smelled of freshly brewed tea.
Righttea kettle, sugar, lets brew a pot, set the table, maybe a biscuit DrVaughan surveyed the room like a seasoned host.
Emma placed two mugs on the table, unaware that the nurses duties extended far beyond infant care.
What sort of such? DrVaughan asked, puzzled.
Emma shivered. Im just I havent been scolded, I havent been taught anything properjust trying to be human, she shrugged. Being a child doctor sounds greatyou can fix everything and never be scared.
DrVaughan nodded. Books help, thank God, everyone reads now. If you cant find an answer online, the internet steps in. Problems are universal. Youre a responsible mumlook, the thermometers in the bath, the gowns spotless, the babys wellkept. Have a cuppa while theres time. Drink up. She slid a steaming mug toward Emma, as if it had materialised from nowhere. Youre just scared; Peters cry is normal. If you need to raise your voice, go ahead. Raise your voice? Only if you want everything exactly as you imagined. She smiled.
No, please, Emma whined, then burst into tears.
Whats wrong? DrVaughan asked, startled.
Im exhausted. I want to sleep. Peter eats a lot, hates wet nappies, and Ive got no energy left Emma sniffed, her lips trembling. Days, months, yearsI cant even recall my own name clearly. Everythings a blur. I cant keep going, you understand? I have exams to finish, three more to pass, and Im studying with Tom. Im at my wits end
DrVaughan sighed thoughtfully. Wheres your support? Any relatives?
Emma tapped her tablet, which sputtered with information. My inlaws live far away; they cant help. My parents opposed our marriage and the baby. My mother said it was too early, that we needed to finish university first. We argued, and now she wont help. Im to blame, arent I?
Emma sipped her tea, closed her eyes. Blame? For becoming a mum? For this chubby little boy the heavens sent? Yes, Im to blame for being a kilogram heavierno, five or six kilos extra, right?
Four and a bit, Emma laughed, sniffing. Peter weighs four kilos, six hundred grams.
Exactly! You got yourself a gift, love. You should be ashamed, DrVaughan teased, winking. Eat something. Hear that? The lads have settled down. Maybe you dont need the pacifier Eat, go to bed. Hell sleep through the night now, and youll get some rest. Ill leave you a notekeep an eye on the chair, do a little massage, she placed a scrap of paper on the table. And most importantlydont stress. Everything will sort itself out, little one. Itll be fine!
She patted Emmas thin shoulder and left.
Emma wolfed down a meatball, chased it with tea and apple jamTom had bought a homemade preserve from the marketand flopped onto the sofa. She tried to pull a blanket over herself, but couldnt muster the strength. She drifted off instantly.
It felt like yesterday.
Now Emma, in a creamcoloured dress and sensible lowheeled shoes, stood by the churchs side entrance, cradling Peter. Today was his christening, and she was a bundle of nerves.
Come on, love! Hand him over! Oh, my sweet little lad! Tom cooed, marching confidently toward the guests.
Soon theyd enter the tiny church, perform the rite, Peter would sniffle a couple of times, then his blue eyes would widen at the painted saints on the ceiling, as if hed just discovered a new world. The godmotherEmmas friend, barely out of schoolwould nod approvingly.
Peters a tough nut! she whispered to Emma. Well done, you two!
DrVaughan slipped through the ironwrought gates, crossed herself, and glanced up at the golden cross. Unlike the man nearby in a battered cap and hoodiestill in a suit, thoughshe knew that sometimes only a higher power, or whatever you like to call it, could help.
Young man, might you remove that cap? This is a church, after all, she suggested.
He grudgingly lifted the cap, exposing a balding scalp, and brushed a few stray hairs with a nervous hand. DrVaughan shook her head disapprovingly, as if tradition were a lost cause.
Thanks, lad, he muttered, joining her in watching the infants baptism.
The baptism looks lovely, the couple is beautiful, and the child is a champ! the nurse commented, avoiding Emma entirely.
The baptism is just a baptism. It scares the baby! the man grumbled.
You dont understand, young man nothing DrVaughan sighed.
Mum, we must get him christened. I feel everything will settle, and Tom will feel better! Hear that?! she shouted, halfcrying, halflaughing from sheer fatigue.
Tom and Emmas son, Sam, had been born a few months earliera bright spot in their lives. Tom, an architect, loved his garden, while Emma, a paediatrician, was praised for her competence. Tom boasted over pints with mates, dreaming of fishing trips and horse riding with Sam.
Then, in the middle of a celebratory eveningbecause Tom was also nervous about Emmas tenday labouran urgent call came from the hospital.
Critical condition. Low chances, the voice said.
What? I didnt catch that! Tom whispered into the phone, eyes darting to his smiling friends, then slumping onto a stool. I didnt understand
The thought that his baby might die before his first birthday seemed monstrous and unfair. There were hospital visits, needles, tears, and a stubborn argument between Tom and the senior nurse, Igor Andrews.
Tell me straight, Igorwhos at fault? Whos to blame? Tom hammered the desk, making the nearby medical cabinets rattle.
Its not the time, Tom. Theyll recover. Well discharge Emma and Sam, and youll just need to buy food and supplies. He needs milk, she needs a proper diet, Igor replied, checking his watch.
Always offwork, youre a miracle, Tom snarled. And the pigs
Enough, Igor snapped, slamming a door so hard the frame creaked.
From then on Igor never visited the lads house again; no more trips to the local pond. He held a grudge for life.
Emma and Sam were discharged. Tom drove them home in a taxi, whisking them into their spotless flat where surgeries could be performed.
Sam Sam, I love you both! Emma sobbed, kissing Tom.
Sam wailed, was fed, bathed, and rocked. It seemed the nightmare was overuntil a week later a fever and rash returned.
A weak immune system. We should admit him again, the visiting doctor announced. Emma, you know how it isanything is possible. Stop whining, love, weve dealt with worse!
Emmas face flushed as the nickname the rag hit her like a slap. Her nerves frayed, she felt helpless, her suitcase still unpacked, her mind foggy, her teeth clenched.
Alright, well be ready in ten minutes, the doctor said calmly. Tom, help me with Sam.
She could barely lift one thing without dropping another. She felt like a useless doctor while her own son lay ill.
From the gloom emerged Vera, a hospital cleaner with a cheeky grin.
The redbrick building loomed, dark inside despite the big windows. Veras chatter about opera singersPavarotti, Carusofilled the ward, though Emma found it baffling when her son was in distress.
Vera, whod spent her youth caring for her many siblings on a farm, radiated a calm certainty that Emma lacked.
The boy will be a football fan, Vera declared, and his roar will be heard loud enough to startle the goalkeeper!
Emma, now halfasleep, imagined her son grown, shoulders broad from gymnastics, cheering at a match.
The thought lifted her spirits just enough to whisper, Im just tired of fearing.
Later, back at the churchyard, DrVaughan watched Emma and Tom carry their child toward the baptismal font. Hell be fine, she thought, smiling at the sun glinting off the creek, the world washed clean for the spring rite.
Tom, still adjusting his cap, headed toward the register office, where newlyweds queued for their civil ceremony. Both couples paused, eyeing the happy wedding parties outside the grand old building with its modern plastic windows and plaster columns.
Maybe Ill never see my own wedding, DrVaughan sighed.
Whose wedding? Tom muttered.
Its obvious, love. My sons a good lad, works hard, but he shies away from marriage. Its dreadfulliving alone forever! she lamented.
Pfft! Tom scoffed. Times have changed. My son wants a career first, then a family. Young people are all about getting their heads right before settling down. He gestured to a young bride with freckles, beaming.
Building a house, thats what theyre doing, DrVaughan replied, smirking at the word building. My son builds housesbrick by brick. A family is something else entirelylove, soul to soul. Your sons priorities are off; hes lost his compass.
Tom, bald on top, waved his hand dramatically. Ladies, well get married when the time is right. No rush, were honorable gentlemen.
DrVaughan laughed, Love should be simple. Ive found mineshes a firefly, but we manage.
Toms voice rose, If you think loves dead, thats rubbish! People still love; you just dont ask them.
He grabbed DrVaughans shoulders, shook her, then planted a bold kiss.
Ease up, you rascal! she shouted, Ill call the police!
Call them! Call everyone! People, lookI’ve lived with this woman for years, and Im still heading to the register office! the bald man bellowed, drawing the attention of the youngsters.
The crowd turned, and DrVaughan flushed.
Come on, Mum, Dad, the ceremonys about to start! shouted Sam, holding his own wedding ring. Ive got the rings, I think or maybe theyre in my pocket. Anyway, lets get on with it.
Emma, eyes wide, whispered, How can this be?
Anythings possible, love. My parents are getting hitched againwhat a circus! And I, the halfbaptised son, organised it all. Lord, where is the world heading?
Sam rolled his eyes, then hugged his parents, leading them to a small hall set up for a modest reception.
There, a typical, unremarkable couple would be honoured for raising a decent son, living a straightforward life without ever thinking of splitting up. Emma worked as a paediatrician; Tom, an architect, had taken up growing microgreens for the family, feeding Emma and tossing them to Sam, who remained clueless about vitamins.
Sam, a carefree lad, worked, lived his own bewildering life, promised marriage but never quite got around to it. Later stretched on for years, and Emma worried, yet she sometimes recalled the angel that had once soothed Sam, believing that loveno matter how oddkept everything together.
When Sam was seven, wandering home from school with a sandwich, a huge black blot appeared on his patha stray dog, gaunt and angry from being chased by market thugs. It snarled, lunged, and Sam, terrified, dropped his sandwich.
A strong, warm hand landed on his shoulder.
Stay calm. Itll understand and move on, a male voice said.
The dog, seeing the compassionate eyes, turned away, taking the sandwich with it.
Sam later recounted the rescue to his parents, describing the firm hand that had steadied him. It was an angel, Sam, Emma whispered.
Tom merely nodded, his scientific mind refusing to argue. As he grew older, he believed more in something bright that rescued people from danger.
Back in the churchyard, DrVaughan smiled at Emma and Tom, cradling their infant, confident that all would be well for them too.
She adjusted her scarf, walked up the sunlit street, the light dancing on the creek, the world fresh and ready for springs mystery.
The man who reluctantly removed his cap also walked up, heading toward the marriage registry. Both paused, watching newlyweds laughing outside the historic building with its modern touches.
Ill probably never see his wedding, DrVaughan mused.
Whose? Tom grumbled.
Its clear, dear. My sons a fine lad, works well, yet he shuns marriage. Its tragicliving solo forever! she sighed.
He scoffed, Times have changed. My son wants a career first, then a family. Young folk are all about getting their heads right before settling down. He gestured at a blushing bride, freckles alight.
Building a house, thats what theyre doing, DrVaughan retorted, winking at the word building. My son builds housesbrick by brick. A family is something else entirelylove, soul to soul. Your sons priorities are off; hes lost his compass.
Tom, bald on top, waved his hand dramatically. Ladies, well get married when the time is right. No rush, were honorable gentlemen.
