My children kept me busy and somehow I survived the next few weeks. Marcus’ vocabulary grew at a rapid rate and within weeks from calling us ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’, he had started to ask for his bottle, would say “wet” and pull at his nappy when he needed a change and I only had to go through the coloured blocks once before he started to recite the names of the colours. Mary was slightly behind Marcus, but soon followed suit. By the age of ten months they both started to form sentences. Marcus never crawled, but instead, at nine and a half months he finally let go of the coffee table and came tottering towards me, as did Mary a few weeks later. According to each and every baby book I had read my children were approximately three months ahead of their brighter peers, as far as physical achievements were concerned and almost a year ahead on intellectual achievements. I could not believe my luck.
At about eleven months their little faces started to wizen up and it was clear to me that Marcus would be the spitting image of his father one day as Mary was likely to resemble me. Remember I told you that I had even considered cloning, well I got as close to having little clones of myself and Lucian as I could have imagined.
I started planning my twins’ birthday party with military precision. Although I had a feeling that it would not happen, I hoped that Lucian would be back for his children’s first birthday.
As dawn broke on their first birthday I was out of bed like an arrow from a bow. The beautiful birthday cake had arrived the day before and I had laid out the snacks the night before. I got someone in to help with the decorations and hired entertainment which was due to arrive later. I did not have much left to do, but give the twins their breakfast and get myself dressed.
Having been fed, the twins were only too happy to busy themselves with my jewelry box while I changed and applied make-up.
I wanted to look my best just in case… When the guests started arriving I had to abandon my fantasies and concentrate on being the perfect mother and hostess. With one ear listening for the doorbell I attended to my duties admirably.
When the doorbell rang I dropped the cake lifter to the floor and without retrieving it I rushed to open the front door. It was the mailman.
The huge box he delivered were from my parents. Now I knew for certain that Lucian had not even bothered to send a gift for the twins’ birthday. My friends’ comments about the wonderful decorations and arrangements I had made for the party brightened my day slightly, but I could not help hurting a little.
By the time everyone had left I was exhausted, as were Marcus and Mary. My BFF had remarked on how wonderfully well behaved they were all day and a few other guests were amazed at the way they spoke in almost clear sentences already, yet by the time I started clearing the oddments of wrapping paper and soiled plates, they had returned to being typical one year olds.Marcus, although not crying, was definitely whining and Mary sat on the carpet looking sullen with her thumb in her mouth, a habit I had been trying to get her to break for months.
I decided to leave the mess until they were both safely tucked into their cots and asleep. The warm bath I ran for them seemed to soothe them a little and soon they were back to being my sweet smelling little angels. I had hardly put them down or their breathing became regular and it was clear they were fast asleep. I again reminded myself how lucky I was to have such perfect children.
Finally being able to start clearing up I sped through the lounge collecting bits of paper, streamers and popped balloons. Something caught my eye as I bent over to retrieve a scarp of wrapping paper from behind the door. I had a clear view of the entrance hall and front door as I did so.
There was something white and rectangular on the floor just inside of the front door. I forgot about the piece of wrapping paper in an instant and rushed the retrieve the, what I soon discovered, was an envelope. There was nothing written on the outside, but as it was pushed under my door I assumed that it was meant for me. I ripped it open and as I did so something shiny fell out and landed at my feet.
There was another shiny object in the envelope, a bracelet of some kind. I picked up the shiny locket and took both items and the note back into the lounge with me where the light was better. The bracelet had Marcus’ name engraved on it and turning it over I found a strange logo or insignia engraved on the other side. I inspected the locket and found the same sign engraved on it along with Mary’s name. I opened the note.
My dear Margot, it read, I truly wish I could spend the day with you and the children. Please know that I am thinking of you always. Lucian Still holding onto the note and the jewellery I sank down into the nearest couch. I wished that I had seen whoever it was who delivered the envelope. I so longed to speak to and ask someone about Lucian. I never thought it could happen to me, but for the first time in my life I felt the ache of missing someone.
I went to the children’s room and fastened the bracelet on Marcus’ arm and slipped the locket over Mary’s head. Fearing that she may strangle herself (how ridiculous) with it, I pinned the end to her vest with a safety pin.
As I stood looking at my sleeping children I thought I saw the bracelet and locker glowing eerily, but when I blinked and looked again all I saw was my two babies sleeping peacefully. Telling myself that I was over tired I decided to deal with what was left to do the following day and went to bed.
Having to return to work soon after the kids’ birthday was something I was not looking forward to. I loved spending time with my children and had spent every waking moment, since Lucian had left, with them. I realised soon enough that my children possessed healthy brains and were even brighter than I had hoped.
Night after night I compared their achievements with that of other babies their age by consulting all the books on parenting I had so dutifully bought before their birth. I was convinced that it was due to my daily efforts that my children had advanced so amazingly.
I could hardly imagine anyone else doing the same for them. I made appointments at a few private nursery schools and visited each personally. What I saw had me confused. The babies of a year old were still just that, babies. All of them were still in nappies, most had only one or at the most five or six words in their vocabulary, only a few were, as yet, able to walk. At one of the nursery schools I looked at my children and somehow they appeared different to me, like miniature adults instead of the babies they still were. With the minimum of effort both Marcus and Mary were potty trained at eleven months and were both quite clear when they needed the potty.
Neither of them had an ‘accident’ since first using the potty. Neither of them wanted a bottle anymore, but had instead taken to having their milk, tea or juice from a sippy cup. Although not fluent in their speech yet, both could string at least three words together to ask for what they wanted.
I could only shake my head and wonder how they would cope with their peers who were still very much uncommunicative. As all the nursery schools I had visited were registered and mostly upmarket establishments all that was left for me to do was to choose one and as such I chose the easiest option, namely the one closest to my home. Before leaving for their first day at ‘school’ I gathered the two of them in my arms and explained to them that I had to go back to work and would be back to collect them as soon as possible.
I prayed that they understood and would not break down in tears when I dropped them off, as I saw so many little ones do. I did not think I would have been able to handle it. My fears were unfounded. As I walked the two of them into the building they immediately started to look around and when I let go of Marcus’ hand he rushed over to a shelf of children’s books. Mary seemed more reluctant to let go of my hand and looked up at me. Her blue eyes seemed to ask whether it was really necessary for her to stay behind.
I bent down and kissed her reassuringly and ran my fingers through her pale red curls. She smiled at me and rushed over to where Marcus had already started paging through a book.
“I am afraid we do not allow the little ones to handle the books yet…” a woman more or less my age spoke up behind me.
“Oh they are used to books and certainly will not cause any damage.” I retorted, already anxious about my children. She looked at me as if to say
“Yeah right…” but remained quiet instead. My first day back at work was taken up with meeting after meeting, it seemed our laboratory had a cash flow problem and it was clear that someone had to come up with something new soon to remedy the situation.
All eyes turned to me, but all I could think of was my two babies. I returned to my office and laboratory later that afternoon and pulled some of my chemistry volumes from a shelf, fully intending to concentrate and get some preliminary work done. I had been working on new brand of cold and flu remedy when the babies arrived so unexpectedly.
Returning to work however I could not come up with a single reason why I should continue working on the project. Honestly, what would it matter whether one swallowed a pill, took a syrup or had a chewable tablet if they all had the same effect?
I knew it was all about money, having something new on the market, but it was hardly revolutionary and if I had to leave my babies behind and return to work then I would rather it be for something great. I had no clue at that time just what would make up something great and with a sigh I closed the books and stacked them back on the shelve.
I busied myself with re-arranging my section of the laboratory until I could fetch Marcus and Mary without offending the others. Both children hugged me when I arrived and like little soldiers collected their bags, handed it to me and waved to their caregiver, who in turn stopped me as I was about to leave and reported that both kids ate well and seemed happy.
I thanked her and left. Back home Marcus demanded juice and Mary tea. I obliged and handed them their cups. Then Marcus pointed at the television set and said “look now”. I had, on the odd occasion, inserted a DVD with children’s songs for them, but they soon became bored and took up some other activity. Watching television was something my children were not accustomed to and something I only did every now and then in the evenings after they had gone off to bed.
“No Marcus. It is late and we need to get the two of you bathed and ready for bed.”
“No! Look now!” he yelled. “Marcus! No. Feeding time, then bath, then sleep. If you are a good boy I’ll read to you until you fall asleep.”
The last thing I wanted was for my children to become television junkies, yet Marcus did not let up and Mary joined the chorus.
“We look now!” she wailed in unison with her brother.
At that moment the broth I was heating up started to bubble and I realized I had to make a quick decision unless I wanted to clean the stove all night.
“All right then, but only while I prepare your supper.”
I switched the television set on and rushed to the kitchen. Removing the pot from the stove I stopped to listen.
The newsreader was informing the public about a deadly pile-up on a nearby freeway. Pot in hand I peeked around the kitchen door.
Both my children were sitting on the floor sipping their drinks while mesmerized by the television screen. Another look told me that at least the images were not too graphic and I turned to complete my task of getting supper ready.
The news broadcast ended just as I was done dishing up for us. I switched the television set off and loaded the twins into their feeding chairs. There was no more whining for the rest of the evening and the two of them were happily playing in the bath, no sign of their earlier unhappiness. I sighed a sigh of relief. All snugly dressed in their pj’s I took them into my bedroom and with the both of them snuggled in on my lap I continued to read Noddy the Painter to them.
Marcus listened for all of five minutes then started to close the book while I was reading.
“No Marcus, Mommy cannot read to you if you keep closing the book.” I opened the book again and started reading. Marcus closed the book again.
“What is up with you tonight Marcus?”
“You read book.” He answered.
“But I am reading to you.”
“Book, book, read…” he wailed.
“Marcus, what book do you want?”
He pointed to my bedside table.
“No Marcus, those are Mommy’s books. You will not understand those books.”
Marcus wriggled his bottom of my lap and walked over to my bedside table. He picked up the first book and discarded it onto my bed. Then he took the Oxford Book of Twentieth Century English Verse from the table and as erect as a little soldier brought it back to me.
Once again he hoisted himself back onto my lap, opening the book at the verses of TS Eliot, before settling in. I thought, what the heck, at twelve months old they were unlikely to understand much, but if it was going to settle them down why not and started reading The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock.
Telling myself it was the rhythm of the words, more than the words themselves, I soon noticed both children nodding off. I finished reading the almost five pages of poetry and softly slipped from under my two darlings, then proceeded to carry them one by one to their cots.
I had just settled into bed myself when I heard Marcus calling out to me. “Mama, mama…” he did not sound panicked at all, but I rushed to their room anyway.
My children had slept through the night for the first time only weeks after they were born, thus one of them calling me in the middle of the night was a rare occurrence. “Mama,” he said, sitting bolt upright in his cot, “Dada, Dada…” he pointed at the window.
“No my sweet, Dada went away to work. Maybe one day he’ll be back to see us.”
I picked Marcus up and held him close. He was still so little when Lucian had left, I hardly thought that he would remember him, let alone miss his father.
“Dada, Dada, there…”
Marcus kept saying and pointing to the window. I walked him over to the window and pushed the curtains aside.
The window was closed and latched. Outside a soft wind stirred the autumn leaves. A streetlight shone a luminous circle onto the dark surface of the road.
As Marcus and I stood silently watching I saw a shadow move from the corner of my eye. Turning swiftly to get a better view I was just in time to see a shadowy figure disappear around a corner and out of sight. Marcus did not cry, but leaned his head against my shoulder, hugging me tight.
“Marcus wants Dada. Marcus wants Dada…” he repeated a few times.
How could I possibly explain to a baby why his daddy had left, and more so, how could I explain it at all if I did not understand it myself. I remained in front of the window rocking Marcus and he soon fell asleep.