A Dark Dividing by Sarah Rayne Page B

She broke off as the newscaster said, ‘The Siamese twins, born two days ago at St Luke’s Hospital, are reported to be doing well and are breathing unaided. The twin girls are joined at the side of the chest, near the top of the ribcage, and although Martin Brannan, consultant gynaecologist in charge of the case, issued a statement that an operation to separate them would be reasonably straightforward, it seems as if a row could already be brewing. Over now to St Luke’s and our reporter there.’
    Mel started to say, ‘What do they mean, a row—’ and stopped as Joe’s head and shoulders appeared on the screen, a microphone held up for him by the TV reporter. Joe had assumed his chin-tucked-into-neck look, that made him look jowly and righteous. Like a bullfrog, thought Mel. And he shouldn’t have worn that terrible checked overcoat; it makes him look like a bookie’s tout. But her heart was starting to race with apprehension because Joe seldom did anything these days without a calculating eye to its effect.
    The interviewer said, ‘We’ve heard, Mr Anderson, that you’re unhappy with the prospect of the operation to separate your daughters.’
    Joe took a minute to answer, and then said, in a frowning voice that implied that he was a man at war with himself, ‘Yes, that’s quite correct. Yes, indeed I am unhappy about it.’
    â€˜Can we ask why? Mr Brannan has already made a statement saying that the likelihood of the operation succeeding is high—’
    â€˜Mr Brannan is an admirable doctor, but he’s not the twins’ father,’ said Joe quite sharply. And then, switching personas almost visibly, he said, confidingly, ‘You see, I am a man of deep religious convictions, and one of those convictions is that we must accept the hand that God has dealt us.’
    There was an awkward pause. Mel thought: that’s thrown the interviewer. They’ll edit that pause out if they run it on later news bulletins. Then the interviewer said, cautiously, ‘Are you against medical intervention, then?’
    â€˜I’m not a Christian Scientist, if that’s what you mean. I’m not against medical intervention per se . I was quite happy for my wife to be given a Caesarean procedure for the birth, for instance: I understood that it was necessary if she was to survive and that was the most important thing of all.’ This was said with an air of what was very nearly complacency. ‘But,’ said Joe, ‘there are medical statistics suggesting that in the severer cases—where it’s necessary to sacrifice one twin—the survivor frequently dies as well, or cannot live free of a ventilator.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. ‘How can I submit my daughters to that kind of risk?’
    â€˜You referred to statistics just now?’ The interviewer was clearly on firmer ground here.
    â€˜Yes, I have read several recent case-studies,’ said Joe, and named his sources. One was a professor of gynaecology in the Seychelles; the other was a medical historian in Michigan. This was disconcerting; Mel had not expected him to be quite so well provided with information.
    â€˜But—forgive me, Mr Anderson,’ said the interviewer, ‘we understood that there was no suggestion of having to sacrifice one of the babies in this case. A joining at the chest—’
    â€˜Thoracopagus,’ said Joe. ‘Yes, that can be one of the less serious joinings. But there is some fusion of bone and tendon around the shoulders, so the risks are still high, you see. And the outcome could be a quite severe disability to one of them.’ A pause. ‘I wonder how many of your viewers would be able to face inflicting permanent disability on their own children?’ he said.
    Clever, thought Mel, her eyes never leaving the screen. Oh God, that one’s going to be difficult to