Ordinary People
The high street was buzzing, as it always was come spring, when the good people of the city finally emerged, blinking, into the extravagant warmth of proper sunshine. The mundane grey mounds of snow had long since been washed away by the councils noble fleet of street washers (never on time), and now the meltwater streams ran merrily downhill, glinting silver under the sun as they dashed towards St. Marys church. The churchyard, incidentally, was just as lively today as the rest of the city. A little group spilled out of a minibus, ladies in dresses and soft pastel headscarvespowder blue, mint green, crisply white. The scarves really did suit thema rare sight! The men collected nearby, all smart suits, shiny shoes and fresh-from-the-drycleaner ties.
From a second, smaller car, a woman emerged and closed the door with the utmost caution, eyeing the church as if it might dissolve in a puff of incense.
“Emma! Why on earth are you getting out by yourself, Emma! You shouldve waited, I wouldve helped!” Her husband dashed round the car with military urgency.
“For heavens sake, dont shout, David. Olivers asleep. With any luck, he wont start howling again. Im worried, David” Emmas voice cracked nervously. Shed never been to a christening as a mother, let alone as the mother of a squawky infant. First time for everything, they say. She was positive Oliver would be terrifiedhe might scream the roof off, just as hed done in the bath last week. Hed carried on so dramatically, David had called the doctor. Calm as you like, Dr. Jane Carter, the sort who cant be ruffled, arrived and stood sighing in the entryway before moving to the sitting room, where Emma clutched her wriggling child like he was her last hope of sanity.
“Lie him down,” Dr. Carter said briskly.
“What? Sorry, what did you say?” Emma wasnt sure shed slept since the birth.
“Put the baby down! Youre shaking him like a maraca. At this rate youll tangle all his bones together!” Dr. Carter replied, leaning in conspiratorially.
Emmas eyebrows shot up and she gave David a horror-struck look.
David just grinned, as if hed expected as much.
Emma was barely out of childhood herself. But there it wasshed given David a son. Raising him? Not a clue.
“Oh, lay him down, would you! Right then, lets have a look. Crikey, hes a sturdy little chap! What a poppet!” The doctor cooed, then winked. “Looks like you, doesnt he, Dad!”
David puffed his chest out with pride. At last, some recognition. His mother-in-law banged on about Emmas sidethe Harrisons, you know! but honestly, David could see his entire family in that child. Well, particularly the nose.
“Lovely foreheadlots of brains in there! Right, Dad, stop standing aroundclose that window or your son will catch his death!”
David scurried off, desperate to prove his competence.
“Doctor, is he all right? Hes never cried like this before” Emma was openly on the brink of tears.
“Whatd you expect from a boy? If youd had a girl, maybe itd be easier! Always boys, and the clever ones, too! Dad, you used to scream the street down as a baby, didnt you?”
Dr. Carter gabbed on, inspecting Oliver from every angle, stretching his legs, soothing his clenched fists.
“Colic,” she declared at last. “Ill write down what you need. Oh, stop fretting, youll cope. Olivers a strong lad. How about you? Oh, for the love ofgive him a dummy already, the poor things breaking his heart!”
“Were categorically against dummies,” David put in, with the determination of a man whos read too many online parenting forums.
“Against? Righto. Emmasorry, I mean, Mrs. Bakergive the baby to Dad and lets get you in the kitchen. Yes, tightly swaddled, please; and breathe.”
Emma hesitated, then surrendered Oliver to David and trailed after the doctor.
“A proper cup of tea, now, thats what you need,” Dr. Carter chortled, steering Emma with friendly authority. “Goodness, you lot are like overgrown children. Come, lets cheer up.”
The kitchen was dim and calm, thick with the aroma of co-op coffee.
“So, kettles on, sugars there, lets dig up some biscuits” Dr. Carter surveyed her domain.
Emma set out two mugs in silence. She hadnt imagined that paediatricians on home visits could be quite so… relaxed.
“What did you think wed be like?” Jane asked, half-smiling.
Emma startled. “Wellnot telling me off, not treating me like an idiot. Just human. Must be nice, knowing what to do with every cough and rash.”
Jane snorted. “If only you knew! I was absolutely hopeless at first. Good thing youre taking careyouve got the thermometer in the bath, Olivers spotless, all the gear. Youll muddle through. Drink your tea!”
Emma obeyed, and Jane pressed a miraculous mug into her hands. “Hes just showing off his lungs, that’s all. If it gets worse, I can blast you with proper medical sternness! Want me to try?”
“No, thank you,” Emma squeaked, suddenly overwhelmed, and promptly burst into tears.
“Oh, love, whats the matter now?”
“Im just tired. Really, really tired. Oliver eats all the time, he hates a wet nappy, I havent slepta day, a month, a yearits all fog. I have essays due, were both at uni, Ive got three more exams and Im done for. Ive nothing left to give”
Jane nodded, as if shed seen this a thousand times (she had). She tapped at her phone, sending some secret GP code off to the ether.
“No support? Got any family in town?”
“Some. Davids parents are up in Newcastle, miles away. Wed never manage the drive. My parents well, they werent thrilled. Mum said we rushed it, we shouldve finished uni, and now she wont help. I suppose its my fault, isnt it?”
Emma drained her tea and closed her eyes.
“Fault? Because you had a gorgeous, bright baby? Because fate chucked you a four-and-a-bit kilo present? Honestly, what a crime!”
Emma sniffed, managing a wan smile. “I should eat, youre right. Gosh, listenits finally quiet. Maybe we wont need the dummy after all”
She ate a Tescos best chicken goujon (heat-and-eat!), chased it with apple pastilles David had picked up at the indoor market, and promptly collapsed on the sofa, asleep before she could reach for the throw.
That all felt like yesterday.
Now, here she stood in a cream dress and sensible ballet flats, Oliver in her arms, outside the churchs little vestry. Today was his christening, and Emmas nerves were shot.
“Emma, time!” David scooped up his son. “All right, my splendid boy. Lets get on with it!”
Soon theyd troop into the vestry, the sacred ritual would proceed, Oliver would mew just a little, then gaze in wide-eyed wonder at the angels painted on the ceiling. The congregation would smile approvingly, and Emmas best friend, the godmotherhardly older than Emma herselfwould beam with delight.
“Sturdy little chap, your Oliver,” she whispered. “Well done, you two!”
Dr. Carter wandered through the cast-iron gates into the churchyard, pausing to cross herself. She glanced at a man loitering near the fonta tired suit, battered flat cap, and an expression that suggested hed rather be in the pub than admiring the ancient golden cross.
“You might take your cap off in a church, you know,” Jane gently prompted.
The man, caught out, removed his hat, self-consciously smoothing what hair he had left. If tradition was dead, Jane thought, it had died young.
“Cheers for calling me a young man,” he grumbled, eyes drifting back to the christening couple.
“Lovely christening, lovely family, and thats a lovely boy,” Jane said, not bothering to introduce herself to Emma again.
“A christenings just a christening,” he sniffed, “Looks like a lot of fuss for a screaming baby.”
“You dont get it, do you,” Jane murmured, shaking her head.
Years earlier
“Michael, we have to have him christened. I know hell be all right after. Sasha will get better, youll see!” Janes voice reached a fever pitch, equal parts desperation and dread.
She and Michael had a sonSasha. A great joy. They were young and strong, Jane a paediatrician herself (surely shed cope!). Michael beamed with pride, toasted the boys health at every opportunity, imagined fishing trips and fireside tales.
And then, of course, came the call from the maternity wardemergencies come when you least expect.
“Sorry, what are you saying?” Michael blanched, glass halfway to his lips. He stared blankly at his friends.
No one quite gets how a doctornot just a doctor, a paediatricians childcould come down with anything serious. Disease wasnt supposed to strike their son!
There followed the chaos of the hospital, injections in his tiny head, Janes tears, Michaels barely concealed rage at the staff and a mighty row with his old friend, Dr. Andrew King, who ran the department.
“Just tell me straight, Andy! Whats happened? Is he going to be all right? Whose fault is it?” Michael thundered, pounding Andrews cheap NHS desk so hard the glass jars on a nearby shelf rattled in protest.
“Does it matter now? Just look after Jane, get the food in, let the baby feedcome on, Ive clocked off, have a little drink?” Andrew tried.
“Off duty, my! Youre always off duty. And pigs eat, thats true. But if anything happens to my lad… Ill make sure someone pays,” Michael snarled, slamming out so hard a door frame splintered.
They never really patched it up. Andrew stopped coming round. The old Silverwood Park barbecues became a thing of the past.
Jane and Sasha were eventually sent home. The flat was immaculate; if hospital-level sterility was the goal, theyd nailed it.
“I love you, Micky, I love you both,” Jane sobbed into her husbands chest.
And of course, Sasha started whimpering, and another round of feeding, bathing and rocking followed. It seemed, for a moment, that the crisis was past.
Another week, and it started againfever, rash.
“Low immunity. Sorry, Janeyou know what that can mean. Come on, pull yourself together. Weve both seen worse, right?” said the next on-call doctor, trying to sound all stiff upper lip.
That pull yourself together stung Jane to her core. She fumbled uselessly about the flat, unable to pack a nappy bag, feeling like a hopeless fraud of a doctor who was useless even at home.
A hospital cleaner, Vera, rescued Jane from the depths. Childhood in middle England, five younger siblings, and a life spent keeping everyone aliveVera was unflappable.
“Lovely lungs, your boy! Heard him from Reception. Bet hell be a football fan, make a racket in the stands, that one,” Vera chirped, sloshing her mop.
At first Jane found her cheeriness grating. But Veras unshakeable optimism was just what Jane needed. Vera had faith it would all turn out right, and slowly, so did Jane.
One night Jane dreamt that Sasha, now grown and broad-shouldered, attended a football match and shouted so loudly the goalie winced. When she woke, she thought, Im just tired of being afraid.
Michael smirked at her new resolve and pulled her in for a kiss.
“Jane! Youre the doctor hereyou ought to know better!” snapped Sister Doris, but they ignored her.
It was Vera who convinced Jane to have Sasha christened. “Dead easy, loveand then hell have an angel on his shoulder. All ours do, and theres a lot of them! Couldnt keep track otherwise.”
Jane mulled it over, eventually agreeing. Michael, to his credit, tried to argue the science, but in the end went along with it, grumbling about atheism running through his family for generations.
The christening itself was a parade of close friends and nerves. Michael imagined hairy-fisted priests and beards in tiny faces, but he surrendered to Janes pleading.
Sasha squirmed and started to fuss mid-ceremony; Michael couldn’t take it. He scooped up his son and whisked him away into the sun, not giving two hoots for ritual.
The vicar simply smiled. “Love counts, in the end, and a fathers devotion will always be rewarded.”
They never discussed it again. Sasha got stronger, the crises faded. Jane thanked heaven.
Had Emma only known, she might have realised: all mothers feel lost sometimes. Some hide it better than others, but they all have days when theyre clinging on by the threads of their cardigans.
When Sasha was seven, munching a cheese sandwich in a dusty alley, he encountered a large black splotch. A hungry, battered stray dog, it turned out, chased by market porters. Now it squared up to him, teeth bared.
Oliver (not the most heroic type) nearly threw his lunch and bolted, but a reassuring hand landed on his shoulder.
“Keep still and itll go,” a mans voice said, calm as you please.
The dog studied them, snatched the sandwich, and padded away.
That evening Sasha recounted his adventure to Jane and Michael, describing the strange, warm hand. “It was my angel, Mum,” Jane whispered.
Michael just rolled his eyes, but even he couldnt help looking up now and then, grateful.
Back to St. Marys, Dr. Carter watched Emma and David, hearts in their mouths, carry tiny Oliver into his big day. “Hell be fine,” she thoughtand so will they.
She swept her scarf about her, heading up the street, sun splitting the London puddles into dazzling gold. The man with the cap meandered after her, destination: the registry office.
Outside, newlyweds and friends posed for photos. Jane paused, watching the chaos. “Ill never see my son marry, will I,” she mused.
“Whose wedding?” Cap Man replied.
“My sons. Clever, hard-working, wont settle down, wont start a family. Its dreadful! I worry hell never want to marry at all.”
“Pah!” the man scoffed. “Theyve got priorities now. Career first, family afterif at all. Thats the modern way!”
Jane wrinkled her nose. “Priorities! My son builds houses, literally. Real brick by brick. But family isnt assembly instructions. Its soul, its love. Your boys compass is off, thats all.”
He fired back, “Typical women, always in a hurry for the next thing! We men dont need to rush. Its all about love, in the end. Me and my wifelord knows, shes a handful, but love sees us through.”
“My son doesnt even believe in love!” Jane sighed. “He says its gone out of fashion!”
“What nonsense. They all believe in love, they just wont saytoo busy keeping their lives secret from nosy mothers!”
Then, in a thoroughly un-English display of affection, the man grabbed Jane by the shoulders and kissed her.
“What on earth do you think youre doing?!” Jane exclaimed. “Ill call the police!”
“Go ahead! World, listen up: Id propose all over again! After all these years, I still would!”
Young couples stopped to stare. Jane flushed.
“Mum, Dad!” Sasha called, “Stop loitering! Were all waiting! Ringscrikey, where’d I put them? Oh, here, found them. Dad, you look about ready for the Natural History Museum. You always say youre a dinosaur, now you really look it!”
“Sasha!” Jane reprimanded.
“Its fine, Mum! My parents are getting married. Again. How odd is that? And Iyour half-christened sonsorted the whole thing. God help us all!”
He herded them towards the little registry banqueting room.
Inside, people would gather to celebrate one fairly ordinary coupleJane, the paediatrician; Michael, who had swapped engineering for microgreens and could bore for England about nutrition; Sasha, clever but unpredictable, always promising marriage later.
Later had become something of a tradition, and Jane sometimes fretted. But every now and then, she remembered Sashas angellove, not rituals, would carry them through. Someone up there loved them, all their flaws and worries included.
Michael held steadfast to science and common senseyet, when Sasha was ill, even hed glance at the sky above. And sometimes, the help you needed did appearfrom other ordinary, lost, well-meaning people, just as muddled and hopeful as yourself. And for that, Jane was grateful.
