wrong. ’ And – when you’re
older, when you do know – he was asked, what do you do then?
‘ Continue in exactly the same way. ’
I book my Nuchal Fold scan and we get onto the really important thing:
with our last few months of – relative – freedom, what should we
do?
Looking ahead to a time when we might be a little less – flexible
– than we are now, how should we make the most of this precious time?
We’ve had our holiday of a lifetime already – to Tobago. But wait!
In my anoraky capacity for hoarding things, I’ve never spent the Air
Miles.
‘What Air Miles?’
‘That came with the video!’
‘But that was ages ago.’
‘I know! Let’s see how far they stretch!’
We get out a map.
‘Dublin.’
‘Hmm. Bit cold.’
‘Vienna.’
‘Nah. Too – Austrian.’
‘Italy. No, wait, just the north.’
‘Milan? Can we get there?’
‘Yep. But what’s in Milan?’
‘Giuseppe and Ortensia!’
‘Right, that’s it.’
They’re old, dear friends of his. We ring them and tell them our
two pieces of good luck: another baby, and Air Miles.
‘With the baby?’ says Giuseppe dryly.
‘As good as.’
We pack our bags for a long weekend. They even have – despite not
being parents yet themselves – a spare cot and pram. We put Lawrence in
the sling, with our special back-up feeding kit of pre-measured formula that we
mix into the bottle of water only when needed. If Lawrence sleeps for several
hours, which he generally does in the sling, we won’t have bottles of
milk going off. This is brilliant! We’re going abroad! With our baby! And
not even that much luggage! We lock up and leave the spare keys with Dave, who
is painting Lawrence’s room. He’s doing it in pink. I had a pink
room as a child and Lawrence-plus-whoever will be bound to love it.
As we line up to go through to Departures, we can’t help feeling a
little smug.
‘We’re going to It-a-ly!’
‘La, la-la, la, laa!’
At Passport Control we hold out our passports.
‘Thank you, Sir, Madam. And where’s the other
one?’
‘Other one?’
‘For the baby.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Without a valid passport, the baby cannot travel.’
‘What? But he’s supposed to be on mine!’
‘But he isn’t, is he? We forgot.’
Our passports are whisked out of sight. Two men from Special Branch
appear, and lead us away.
We are ushered into an office. Politely, but without undue friendliness,
they ask us who the baby is.
‘He’s ours!’ we say innocently. ‘He’s
Lawrence Calman-Grimsdale.’
‘Can you prove that?’
‘Er …’
British Airways Flight 271 to Milan boards, and takes off. They show us
several sheets of paper, stapled together. ‘We’ve got the names of
3,000 babies here, who’ve been taken out of the country without
permission.’
‘It’s usually one of the parents, isn’t it?’ I
say knowledgeably.
‘Yes, generally a foreign national.’
‘I know, because my dad’s girlfriend did a TV drama about
it.’
I forget that we’re in police custody, and think we’re at a
party.
‘Did she, madam.’
‘Look,’ said Peter. ‘We are really, really sorry about
this. You clearly have more important things to do.’
‘That’s no problem, sir. We’re not in any
hurry.’
‘We are really, really sorry, we truly are,’ I add.
I’ve been saving those Air Miles for six years. ‘The thing
is,’ one of them said finally. ‘If the airline carries a passenger
illegally, they can be fined £10,000.’
‘So, understandably,’ adds the other, ‘they like to be
sure.’
We wait – for what, we don’t know. Lawrence continues to
sleep peacefully in the sling. We have two premeasured pots of formula and two
bottles of boiled water to mix them in. But it occurs to me that if he wakes up
and can be breastfed, it might help our case. On the other hand, it seems mean
to wake him up. And if I don’t have enough milk yet, which is likely,
they’ll
older, when you do know – he was asked, what do you do then?
‘ Continue in exactly the same way. ’
I book my Nuchal Fold scan and we get onto the really important thing:
with our last few months of – relative – freedom, what should we
do?
Looking ahead to a time when we might be a little less – flexible
– than we are now, how should we make the most of this precious time?
We’ve had our holiday of a lifetime already – to Tobago. But wait!
In my anoraky capacity for hoarding things, I’ve never spent the Air
Miles.
‘What Air Miles?’
‘That came with the video!’
‘But that was ages ago.’
‘I know! Let’s see how far they stretch!’
We get out a map.
‘Dublin.’
‘Hmm. Bit cold.’
‘Vienna.’
‘Nah. Too – Austrian.’
‘Italy. No, wait, just the north.’
‘Milan? Can we get there?’
‘Yep. But what’s in Milan?’
‘Giuseppe and Ortensia!’
‘Right, that’s it.’
They’re old, dear friends of his. We ring them and tell them our
two pieces of good luck: another baby, and Air Miles.
‘With the baby?’ says Giuseppe dryly.
‘As good as.’
We pack our bags for a long weekend. They even have – despite not
being parents yet themselves – a spare cot and pram. We put Lawrence in
the sling, with our special back-up feeding kit of pre-measured formula that we
mix into the bottle of water only when needed. If Lawrence sleeps for several
hours, which he generally does in the sling, we won’t have bottles of
milk going off. This is brilliant! We’re going abroad! With our baby! And
not even that much luggage! We lock up and leave the spare keys with Dave, who
is painting Lawrence’s room. He’s doing it in pink. I had a pink
room as a child and Lawrence-plus-whoever will be bound to love it.
As we line up to go through to Departures, we can’t help feeling a
little smug.
‘We’re going to It-a-ly!’
‘La, la-la, la, laa!’
At Passport Control we hold out our passports.
‘Thank you, Sir, Madam. And where’s the other
one?’
‘Other one?’
‘For the baby.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Without a valid passport, the baby cannot travel.’
‘What? But he’s supposed to be on mine!’
‘But he isn’t, is he? We forgot.’
Our passports are whisked out of sight. Two men from Special Branch
appear, and lead us away.
We are ushered into an office. Politely, but without undue friendliness,
they ask us who the baby is.
‘He’s ours!’ we say innocently. ‘He’s
Lawrence Calman-Grimsdale.’
‘Can you prove that?’
‘Er …’
British Airways Flight 271 to Milan boards, and takes off. They show us
several sheets of paper, stapled together. ‘We’ve got the names of
3,000 babies here, who’ve been taken out of the country without
permission.’
‘It’s usually one of the parents, isn’t it?’ I
say knowledgeably.
‘Yes, generally a foreign national.’
‘I know, because my dad’s girlfriend did a TV drama about
it.’
I forget that we’re in police custody, and think we’re at a
party.
‘Did she, madam.’
‘Look,’ said Peter. ‘We are really, really sorry about
this. You clearly have more important things to do.’
‘That’s no problem, sir. We’re not in any
hurry.’
‘We are really, really sorry, we truly are,’ I add.
I’ve been saving those Air Miles for six years. ‘The thing
is,’ one of them said finally. ‘If the airline carries a passenger
illegally, they can be fined £10,000.’
‘So, understandably,’ adds the other, ‘they like to be
sure.’
We wait – for what, we don’t know. Lawrence continues to
sleep peacefully in the sling. We have two premeasured pots of formula and two
bottles of boiled water to mix them in. But it occurs to me that if he wakes up
and can be breastfed, it might help our case. On the other hand, it seems mean
to wake him up. And if I don’t have enough milk yet, which is likely,
they’ll
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