had to do shish interview – she knows you – still feel like going out? A Mescixian – ah – Mexican ? Or some shush – sushi —?’
He was aware he was slurring his words but there was nothing he could do about it.
‘John, are you all right?’
‘Sure – I – I sh – shhhure—’
‘Are you drunk? John – you sound drunk.’
He stared at the receiver, helplessly, as if waiting for some guidance to come out of the ether. ‘No – I—’
‘Have you spoken to Dr Dettore?’
Very slowly, taking great care over each word at a time, John said, ‘No. He – heesh – I’ll try in – in – morning.’
Oh Christ. John closed his eyes. She was crying. ‘I’m coming darling – I’m – on way home now.’
‘Don’t drive, John. I’ll come and collect you.’
‘I could – cab – call cab.’
After a few moments, her voice sounding more composed, she said, ‘I’ll collect you. We don’t have money to burn on cabs. We can pick up a takeaway. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’ Then she hung up.
John sat very still. He had a bad feeling; that shadow in his mind was growing. There definitely was something missing in this room. What the hell was it?
But that wasn’t the source of the bad feeling. Nor at this moment was it Dr Rosengarten’s diagnosis, nor the fact that Dettore was unavailable. He was fretting about what he had said to the journalist. Trying to remember exactly what he had said. She was a nice lady, kind, sympathetic, fun to be with. He sensed he’d been a bit indiscreet, said a bit too much, more than he had intended.
But it was off the record, wasn’t it?
19
Naomi’s Diary
I can’t sleep. John is snoring like a hog. I haven’t seen him drunk like this in a long time. Why did he get so smashed? Sure, we’re both upset by Dr Rosengarten, but getting drunk like this doesn’t solve anything.
And he had lipstick on his face.
I spoke to my mother and to Harriet. Both of them rang, wanting to know how it went today. I told them that the obstetrician was happy, that everything was fine. Harriet lent us her entire savings – what could I say to her? That everything is fine except – oh, yes – one small detail – it’s not a boy, it’s a girl?
Surely the gender genes are the easiest of all the genes to manipulate? As I understand it, females have two X chromosomes, males an X and a Y. Separation of these is being done around the world in the most primitive of labs. If Dr Dettore can’t get even this simplest element right, what assurances do we have about everything else we’ve discussed with him?
And, just supposing that everything else is fine, what problems would a girl have with the genes we’ve selected? We asked for our child to be six foot tall because we had a male in mind. We chose height and physical build for a male.
It’s all wrong.
John is pretty certain Dr Rosengarten has made a mistake. It’s possible – I didn’t like the man and he wasn’t interested in us. As John said, we’re just little people to him, we don’t matter.
God, I hope he has made a mistake.
And there’s something else that’s on my mind. Sally Kimberly. He says she told him we were friends. That’s rubbish. It’s true that we worked together, and normally I get along with most people. But she was a bitch. Hard as nails. We disliked each other intensely and made no bones about it.
In fact, there are very few people I’ve ever disliked quite so much as Sally Kimberly.
And now her lipstick is on John’s face.
20
Naomi was awake; John could hear the faint crushing sound of her eyelashes as she blinked. The light from his alarm radio seemed intense, bathing the room with a spectral blue glow that was irking him. Outside in the distance a siren skirled, a familiar mournful solo, the discordant music of a Los Angeles night.
His head was pounding. He needed water, tablets, sleep. Desperately needed sleep. He swung his legs out of the bed, carried his empty
He was aware he was slurring his words but there was nothing he could do about it.
‘John, are you all right?’
‘Sure – I – I sh – shhhure—’
‘Are you drunk? John – you sound drunk.’
He stared at the receiver, helplessly, as if waiting for some guidance to come out of the ether. ‘No – I—’
‘Have you spoken to Dr Dettore?’
Very slowly, taking great care over each word at a time, John said, ‘No. He – heesh – I’ll try in – in – morning.’
Oh Christ. John closed his eyes. She was crying. ‘I’m coming darling – I’m – on way home now.’
‘Don’t drive, John. I’ll come and collect you.’
‘I could – cab – call cab.’
After a few moments, her voice sounding more composed, she said, ‘I’ll collect you. We don’t have money to burn on cabs. We can pick up a takeaway. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’ Then she hung up.
John sat very still. He had a bad feeling; that shadow in his mind was growing. There definitely was something missing in this room. What the hell was it?
But that wasn’t the source of the bad feeling. Nor at this moment was it Dr Rosengarten’s diagnosis, nor the fact that Dettore was unavailable. He was fretting about what he had said to the journalist. Trying to remember exactly what he had said. She was a nice lady, kind, sympathetic, fun to be with. He sensed he’d been a bit indiscreet, said a bit too much, more than he had intended.
But it was off the record, wasn’t it?
19
Naomi’s Diary
I can’t sleep. John is snoring like a hog. I haven’t seen him drunk like this in a long time. Why did he get so smashed? Sure, we’re both upset by Dr Rosengarten, but getting drunk like this doesn’t solve anything.
And he had lipstick on his face.
I spoke to my mother and to Harriet. Both of them rang, wanting to know how it went today. I told them that the obstetrician was happy, that everything was fine. Harriet lent us her entire savings – what could I say to her? That everything is fine except – oh, yes – one small detail – it’s not a boy, it’s a girl?
Surely the gender genes are the easiest of all the genes to manipulate? As I understand it, females have two X chromosomes, males an X and a Y. Separation of these is being done around the world in the most primitive of labs. If Dr Dettore can’t get even this simplest element right, what assurances do we have about everything else we’ve discussed with him?
And, just supposing that everything else is fine, what problems would a girl have with the genes we’ve selected? We asked for our child to be six foot tall because we had a male in mind. We chose height and physical build for a male.
It’s all wrong.
John is pretty certain Dr Rosengarten has made a mistake. It’s possible – I didn’t like the man and he wasn’t interested in us. As John said, we’re just little people to him, we don’t matter.
God, I hope he has made a mistake.
And there’s something else that’s on my mind. Sally Kimberly. He says she told him we were friends. That’s rubbish. It’s true that we worked together, and normally I get along with most people. But she was a bitch. Hard as nails. We disliked each other intensely and made no bones about it.
In fact, there are very few people I’ve ever disliked quite so much as Sally Kimberly.
And now her lipstick is on John’s face.
20
Naomi was awake; John could hear the faint crushing sound of her eyelashes as she blinked. The light from his alarm radio seemed intense, bathing the room with a spectral blue glow that was irking him. Outside in the distance a siren skirled, a familiar mournful solo, the discordant music of a Los Angeles night.
His head was pounding. He needed water, tablets, sleep. Desperately needed sleep. He swung his legs out of the bed, carried his empty
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