idea for you to have somebody to play with. Once it’s grown, of course,’ she added hastily, ‘and we’ll still love you just as much as ever when the new baby arrives.’
He lifted his head now and studied her face earnestly, making her apprehensive of what was going through his mind. ‘Did I grow in there, too?’ he asked slowly.
‘Yes, darling. All babies grow in their mummy’s tummies.’
‘How does it come out?’ His eyes were wide open, but very interested.
This was the tricky bit. This was where the difficulty lay. ‘It can’t come out by itself,’ she said, carefully. ‘Mummy has to go to hospital to have it taken out.’
‘Oh.’ He fell silent, obviously trying to picture the hospital staff making a door for the infant to pass through.
Fiona held her breath, waiting for an avalanche of further questions about this strange phenomenon, but Iain seemed to accept it with no thoughts as to why or where. ‘When will I have my new brother?’ he asked eagerly, taking it for granted that it would be a boy, because his little friend next door had recently acquired a baby brother.
‘It should be around Christmas time,’ Fiona said, very glad that her son was showing no signs of jealousy. ‘It’ll be like the story about Baby Jesus that Gran told you, remember? Won’t that be fun?’
‘I bet it’ll be better than Mark’s brother,’ Iain boasted, jumping off his mother’s knee. ‘And I bet it’ll have more hair.’
She gave a relieved giggle, recalling the tiny bald head that had both fascinated and disgusted Iain when they had gone to see the new arrival next door. He ran off now, full of excitement, to let Mark into the secret, while she lumbered to her feet to prepare the evening meal.
After Iain had been put to bed, she told her husband how their son had received the announcement. ‘He wasn’t a bit jealous. He’s just sure our baby’ll be better than Mark’s.’
Gavin Angus chuckled. ‘I told you not to worry about it. Iain’s not spoiled even if he’s an only child - but not for much longer.’ Picking up the newspaper, he asked solicitously, ‘How have you been today, darling?’
‘Fine, really, but I wish it was all over. The last few weeks are always the worst.’ She lifted her knitting from the workbag at the side of her chair, and held up the tiny white matinee jacket for him to admire. ‘Iain’s sure it’s going to be a boy, but I’ve played safe by not using blue or pink.’
‘Mmmm.’ Gavin was already engrossed in the sports page.
‘You’re not listening!’ she said, sharply.
‘What? Oh, yes, it’s very nice, but isn’t it a bit small?’
Grinning, she shook her head. ‘It’s not meant for a monster. Remember how small Iain was when he was born?’
‘You’re right there. I was terrified to hold him at first, in case he slipped through my fingers. He soon grew, though. He’s a real boy now, and I’ll be taking him along with me to football matches in no time at all.’
‘Oh, you and your football! It’s all you think about nowadays.’ She sat down heavily, to crochet the strings for the tiny jacket.
‘Not exactly all,’ Gavin teased with a twinkle in his eyes.
The days passed slowly for Fiona until, at long last, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, she felt the unmistakable signs of her baby’s imminent arrival. ‘Mum,’ she told her mother, who was to be staying in the house until Fiona was back on her feet, ‘you’d better phone for a taxi, while I tell Iain.’
Mrs Simpson went out to the hall, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ll tell Mrs Baxter next door to be ready, as well.’
Fiona grabbed her son as he rushed past shouting to an imaginary playmate. He’d be much better with a brother or sister to keep him company on rainy days like this, she assured herself. ‘Mummy’s going to the hospital now, darling, to have the baby,’ she told him. ‘You’ll be a good boy to Granny, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy. When
He lifted his head now and studied her face earnestly, making her apprehensive of what was going through his mind. ‘Did I grow in there, too?’ he asked slowly.
‘Yes, darling. All babies grow in their mummy’s tummies.’
‘How does it come out?’ His eyes were wide open, but very interested.
This was the tricky bit. This was where the difficulty lay. ‘It can’t come out by itself,’ she said, carefully. ‘Mummy has to go to hospital to have it taken out.’
‘Oh.’ He fell silent, obviously trying to picture the hospital staff making a door for the infant to pass through.
Fiona held her breath, waiting for an avalanche of further questions about this strange phenomenon, but Iain seemed to accept it with no thoughts as to why or where. ‘When will I have my new brother?’ he asked eagerly, taking it for granted that it would be a boy, because his little friend next door had recently acquired a baby brother.
‘It should be around Christmas time,’ Fiona said, very glad that her son was showing no signs of jealousy. ‘It’ll be like the story about Baby Jesus that Gran told you, remember? Won’t that be fun?’
‘I bet it’ll be better than Mark’s brother,’ Iain boasted, jumping off his mother’s knee. ‘And I bet it’ll have more hair.’
She gave a relieved giggle, recalling the tiny bald head that had both fascinated and disgusted Iain when they had gone to see the new arrival next door. He ran off now, full of excitement, to let Mark into the secret, while she lumbered to her feet to prepare the evening meal.
After Iain had been put to bed, she told her husband how their son had received the announcement. ‘He wasn’t a bit jealous. He’s just sure our baby’ll be better than Mark’s.’
Gavin Angus chuckled. ‘I told you not to worry about it. Iain’s not spoiled even if he’s an only child - but not for much longer.’ Picking up the newspaper, he asked solicitously, ‘How have you been today, darling?’
‘Fine, really, but I wish it was all over. The last few weeks are always the worst.’ She lifted her knitting from the workbag at the side of her chair, and held up the tiny white matinee jacket for him to admire. ‘Iain’s sure it’s going to be a boy, but I’ve played safe by not using blue or pink.’
‘Mmmm.’ Gavin was already engrossed in the sports page.
‘You’re not listening!’ she said, sharply.
‘What? Oh, yes, it’s very nice, but isn’t it a bit small?’
Grinning, she shook her head. ‘It’s not meant for a monster. Remember how small Iain was when he was born?’
‘You’re right there. I was terrified to hold him at first, in case he slipped through my fingers. He soon grew, though. He’s a real boy now, and I’ll be taking him along with me to football matches in no time at all.’
‘Oh, you and your football! It’s all you think about nowadays.’ She sat down heavily, to crochet the strings for the tiny jacket.
‘Not exactly all,’ Gavin teased with a twinkle in his eyes.
The days passed slowly for Fiona until, at long last, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, she felt the unmistakable signs of her baby’s imminent arrival. ‘Mum,’ she told her mother, who was to be staying in the house until Fiona was back on her feet, ‘you’d better phone for a taxi, while I tell Iain.’
Mrs Simpson went out to the hall, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ll tell Mrs Baxter next door to be ready, as well.’
Fiona grabbed her son as he rushed past shouting to an imaginary playmate. He’d be much better with a brother or sister to keep him company on rainy days like this, she assured herself. ‘Mummy’s going to the hospital now, darling, to have the baby,’ she told him. ‘You’ll be a good boy to Granny, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Mummy. When
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