The Two of Us by Andy Jones

Author:Andy Jones [Jones, Andy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471142437
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

Chapter 16

The babies are more distinct on the monitor, they are moving and their hearts are beating; they look perfect. But we are tense, nevertheless. The sonographer measures our babies’ heads, abdomens and spines, muttering under her breath as she punches numbers into a spreadsheet. She counts their legs, arms, fingers and toes. She checks for cleft lip, spina bifida, heart defects, brain abnormalities, misplaced organs and short limbs. And whilst, of course, it is possible any one of these things could be anomalous, I never thought they would be. Call it dumb optimism or subconscious denial, but ever since our twelve-week scan showed no evidence of Down’s syndrome, not once have I worried that our children might have malformed hearts or misshapen limbs. I realize now that I have been guilty of gross complacency, and I can feel my own heart thump behind my ribs as the sonographer confirms that the twins’ bowels, intestines and livers are inside their bodies, their spines are covered in skin and the valves of their hearts are present and functioning. And as the sonographer moves her cursor and squints at the monitor, I hold my breath and squeeze Ivy’s hand.

Again we are in the Tooting café that serves bad coffee. Only this time I’m in a state of relief rather than shock, so I’m actually drinking the beige, lukewarm liquid that passes for a latte. If anything, it’s worse than I remember.

Joe left this morning after eight hours’ sleep and a full English breakfast; fresh, rested and ready to face the traditional post-stag berating. Today and tonight we have the flat to ourselves for the first time in a long time – just me, Ivy and our two perfect twins.

As she stares at the most recent photograph of our babies, Ivy’s smile is so broad and involves so much of her face that her scars are pulled into deep crinkles. I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.

‘What?’ she says. ‘What are you grinning at?’

‘You,’ I tell her, and I lean across the table and kiss her. ‘I love you.’

And this greasy spoon is not the mountaintop, meadow or Michelin-starred restaurant I had in mind when I’d imagined saying these three words. I didn’t think Ivy had any more smile in her, but it turns out that she does – just one more increment, and it lights me up.

‘You took your time,’ she says, blushing.

I nearly tell Ivy that I have, in fact, told her this once before, through a mouthful of jumper. But I’ll save it for another time – when we’re old and grey, perhaps.

Ivy leans across the table and kisses me lightly on the forehead, the nose and the lips – one, two, three. ‘I love you, too.’

Mount Everest, Niagara Falls, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon . . . who needs ’em? This moment, at this stained and wonky table in south-west London, is absolutely perfect.

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