If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things

I look over at Michael, I say don’t you want to see, he looks back and I say please, come and sit next to me, I want you to.

He looks awkward, he picks up his chair and he puts it next to the bed, he sits down and he says sorry, I wasn’t being rude I just.

The doctor pulls a trolley closer to the bed, there’s a monitor on it, wires and gadgets, she turns the trolley so I can see the screen.

She says is that okay for you, and I nod.

She holds up the scanner, it’s small and white and fits into the cup of her hand, she says this might be cold and she presses it against my belly.

I look at the screen, I see black and white lines, patterns, movement.

It looks like a museum exhibit of the world’s first television pictures, I look and I’m scared and I don’t want to look.

I feel a warmth, and I realise that I am holding Michael’s hand, and that this makes me feel safer, more able to open my eyes and look at the blur on the screen.

I’m surprised, but I’m glad, I realise that this is what I wanted that night last week, to simply make a connection and keep hold of it.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t look at me, or the screen, he looks up towards the ceiling somewhere, blinking.

He blinks quickly, tightly, as if he’s nervous, like his brother.

I’m sorry he says, quietly, I can’t look.

I squeeze his hand, tightly.

The doctor points to a shadow of light, curled like a new moon across the bottom left of the picture.

There she says, can you see, these are the hands, there she says, this is the head.

I look, and I don’t speak, and I recognise what she is pointing to, I see the tiny foetal clutch of new life.

I look and I don’t speak, and all I can think of is names, names hurtling through my head like asteroids.

The doctor points to a shadow of light, curled like a second new moon across the bottom right of the picture.

There she says, can you see, this is the sibling’s head, these are the sibling’s hands.

I don’t hear her for a moment, I don’t understand what she is saying.

I feel Michael’s other hand reaching for mine, his two hands wrapping tightly around mine, I hear him whisper oh my God.

The doctor says now let’s make sure they’re both okay.

Outside, standing by the side of the road and wondering what to do now, I realise we are still holding hands.

I feel as though I’ve discovered I’m pregnant all over again.

I feel shocked and excited and confused and close to tears.

I blink, closing my eyes tightly and opening them again to the brightness and the colour of the world.

I remember the boy from Aberdeen, his soft warm voice saying it’s like being called to your place in the way of things, I remember my dad saying not anything other than a blessing and a gift.

I remember my mum saying have you thought of a name yet, I remember the names hurtling through my head while I lay there looking at the screen.

I smile and I hold up the printout, the two new-moon shapes like echoes of each other, I smile and I say maybe I’ll name them after you and your brother, what do you think?