“Hold on a second,” says J. “I thought it took three months for HIV tests to come through...”
Lucy nods numbly.
“Which means...” says P. The only way to describe P and J’s expressions is ‘slowly aghast.’
Everyone breathes and blinks for a long minute. P lays a hand over Lucy’s. Both, it turns out, are trembling. “Why didn’t you tell us, babe?”
“Jesus,” breathes J.
Laura finally looks up. J suspects that it will take her a very long time eventually to forget the look on Lucy’s face, the expression of looking down three long, long months.
“Mehbennibah!” says Lydia with immense pride, slamming both arms down at her sides.
The adults smile. “As I said,” says Lucy, “all clear. All very much damn clear.” She touches the crown of her daughter’s hair once, lightly.
“So last week...?” says P.
“Was collection time for the first set.”
“Ah,” say the other two.
“So,” says P, turning to Lydia, “You don’t like my bruschetta, eh?”
“Boosh!”
“Bruscha,” says Stanton.
“Brruschetta,” says J to him.
“Pooey,” says Lydia, very clearly.
“It’s amazing the things we’ll eat nowadays, huh?” says P.
“Even more amazing what we’ll pay for it,” says Lucy, picking incredulously at the packet. “How much?”
“I was hungry.”
“What about the sandwiches?”
“They all have mayonnaise on them and you know I can’t eat that.”
“Won’t, more like.”
“Hey...”
“Well, it’s not like you’re properly allergic to it, is it?”
“Oh, properly allergic! Come on – the taste and smell make me want to boke, so technically...”
“Boke?”
“Good, old-fashioned Scottish word.”
“Yeah, but you’re not Scottish.”
“And?”
They both have one eyebrow raised. Debates between Lucy and P like this come somewhere between competition and sex.
“Anyway,” says P, who’s somehow won this round, “if I can’t keep the food down, I can’t eat it, it’s useless to me, so I’m as good as allergic to it, ennit?”
Lucy is still in eyebrow-raised mode, and sighs. “Okay, but what about the crisps?”
“Okay, firstly I like the fri- flippin bruschetta, and secondly have you actually tasted the crisps here? Low fat rubbish all hand-baked over a genuine charcoal whatsit and taste burned. Blech.”
“Bleur!” says Lydia.
“Zackly,” says P.
“Right, so, what was all that about ‘amazing what we’ll eat’?”
“Just, I’m pretty sure I’d’ve hated this –” P gestures at the packet, “and this –” at the coffee. “I liked everything really sweet and sticky, and I hated spicy food. Why do our tastes change? We change so much, that’s all... things we’d do now, things we’d never consider; food, drink, speech, all that.”
Lucy shakes her head. “It’s one of those things – we get older, stuff changes.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Well, if I knew, I’d sell a million books, wouldn’t I?”
P smirks. “What would you call it?”
“Erm, heh, yeah, I dunno – ‘stuff you’ve always wanted to know about getting older but no-one wanted to tell you’?”
“‘Why it hurts more now when you fall’?”
“‘Curtains’.”
“Eh?”
“Well, we’re still fascinated by them, but we hide behind them in different ways now.”
“Genius.”
“Thank you.”
“Ooooh, how about ‘Swings and Roundabouts’?”
“Oh yeah.” Slowly. “Yeah, I think that’s the winner...”
P looks over to J for her input. “J?”
“Jeez, P, is she okay?”
“J, darling, Jenny, you okay?”
“Why’s she gone shiny, Mummy?”
“I don’t know, love, can you look after your sister for a bit?”
“Jenny, can you hear me?”
“Shit, Jen, answer us!”
“Ww... aaah?”
“Feel her forehead, it’s ice-cold.”
“Forehead be buggered, look at her eyes.”
They each have one of J’s hands in theirs and Lucy is rubbing her shoulder; Kids are all creased in the brow and Lydia looks perilously close to kicking off with noise. Stanton tries to hug her in the baby chair, then, uncharacteristically, unbuckles her and hoists her as well as he can. “It’s okay, Lyd.” Lydia is doing heavy breathing through her teeth, a sure sign of cogitation leading to... something...
J’s shallow breathing suddenly catches into a painful-sounding deep gasp and shuddering release of breath.
“Babe?”
“Fuuuu...”
“What happened?”
J swallows drily. Lucy immediately offers her a smoothie. She sips a little. Puts it down. “Thanks.” She blinks and shakes herself. The others pull back, though P keeps light contact with the ends of her fingers. Lucy busies herself with Kids, the smaller part of which is kicking and making a spirited attempt at running amok. She secures her and smoothes both their hair.
“So...?”
“Well,” says J, “not wanting to be unoriginal here, but I was about to ask: ‘what happened?’”