A Dark Dividing (8 page)

‘I do wish you’d read some of this for yourself,’ she said. ‘It’s very reassuring. A lot of those twins managed to lead really interesting lives—remarkably so—and most of them adapted in extraordinary ways. It’s only comparatively recently that medical science has been able to cope with this condition, of course, so most of them had to stay joined. But there were twin girls who appeared in films in the twenties in America: Daisy and Violet Hilton they were called. They were put in freak shows as children, and they had a dreadful life until they managed to escape from their guardian. And Chang and Eng Bunker—those are the really famous ones, of course. The real Siamese ones. They married two sisters, and fathered several children. And then in the twelfth century there were the Biddenden Maids. They were quite rich and they did masses of good works, and there are cakes baked depicting them even today, apparently.’

But Joe did not want to hear about the Biddenden Maids, and he did not want to hear about Daisy and Violet Hilton or any of the other conjoined twins who had managed to lead almost-normal lives. He did not, in fact, think that Melissa should dwell on these cases and he was rather surprised at this man Brannan encouraging it. In fact his mother had said only yesterday—

‘But doesn’t it make you feel better to know that our twins aren’t—well, freaks?’ said Mel, who did not want to know what Joe’s mother had said. ‘That it’s just a—a sly trick of nature, and that if they can be separated they probably won’t even be disabled at all?’

Joe’s face twisted with sudden, rather frightening anger, but he mastered it almost at once, and said that Mel was becoming quite whimsical nowadays—a sly trick of nature indeed!

Mel had known, as soon as the word
disabled
came out, that it had been a mistake to use it. But once you had said a word you could not unsay it; it lay on the air between you, puckering the air with its ugliness, just as a thought, once formed, stayed stubbornly in your subconscious. Even a dreadful deformed thought that kept sneakily asking if you might have done anything that could have contributed to the twins’ problem. Or even if Joe might be somehow to blame. No, that was a truly ridiculous thought, in fact it was positively Victorian.

Anyway, whatever thoughts might pad softly and treacherously through your subconscious mind, the words
disabled
and
deformed
must never ever be allowed to be part of them.

Extract from Charlotte Quinton’s diaries:
1st January 1900

Had no idea that chloroform made one so
sick
. All very well to talk about, No pain, Mrs Quinton, far better to do it this way; what they don’t tell you is that although the stuff knocks you out for the entire birth, you spend the whole of the next day retching miserably at regular intervals.

It’s slightly peculiar knowing the twins are here after all the waiting. Have not yet seen them, but Dr Austin says they are both girls. Edward will not like that very much—he wanted sons—but I shall love it. I shall love having two daughters, and I can’t wait to meet them.

2nd January: 10 a.m.

Oh God, oh God, can hardly bear to write this. Dr Austin has just told me that the babies are joined to one another—they’re
joined
. They’re growing out of one another like some dreadful creature in a freak show. That’s why they weren’t brought to me when I came out of horrid chloroform.

I said, ‘When can I see them?’ and Dr Austin looked surprised, as if he had not expected me to ask this. He hrmph’d a bit and eventually said, Well, perhaps a little visit to take a look might be in order, perhaps after lunch when I had had a nap.

Do not want a nap after lunch, and do not want any lunch either. But did not dare to argue with Dr Austin in case he banned me from seeing the babies at all—not sure if doctors able to do this, but would not put it past Edward to be quietly having all kinds of sinister discussions behind my back. He knows a lot of people, my husband, Edward.

My husband. Edward. It’s curious, but I put those words together, and they never seem quite to fit.

He has not yet been to see me, although flowers were delivered—red and white carnations. Expensive and eye-catching, because he would want the nurses to see them and say, Oh, how beautiful! What a generous husband! Wonder if Edward knows the superstition that red and white flowers mixed together presage a death?

It’s almost twelve o’clock. Two hours to get through.

2nd January: 1.30

I can hear Dr Austin’s voice in the corridor outside, and I can hear the sound of a bath-chair being brought for me. It’s rumbling along the bare floors. Ridiculous to think that it sounds like the beating of two hearts, twined inextricably around one another…

F
OR SOME TIME the only sound in the small operating theatre was that of the measured bleep from the monitors. There was a scent of oranges, from the sweetened orange juice that Mr Brannan sometimes sipped when he was operating.

‘H’m,’ said Martin Brannan’s registrar. ‘As well the lady opted for a general anaesthetic, isn’t it?’

‘I didn’t give her any choice. Rosamund, if you’d tilt the light this way, so that I can see—’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Brannan,’ said the very new, very young, theatre nurse. ‘Is that better?’

‘It is. Wait now, here’s the amniotic fluid—More swabs, please—And suction—Yes, that’s more like it. All right, everyone? Here we go then. Incubator ready?’

‘Yes.’ This was the paediatrician.

‘Now then, gently as a velvet whisper at midnight—’ His hands moved delicately but surely.

‘Oh God,’ said the new young nurse, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.

‘Thoracopagus,’ said the registrar, half to himself.

‘Yes. But we knew that anyway.’ Martin held the two tiny creatures in his hands for a moment, and then handed them to the paediatrician who was waiting at his side. ‘And it’s not as bad as it might have been by a long way. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen an omphalocele baby, have you, Roz? If you had, you’d be thanking all the gods that these two have all the organs growing inside their bodies and not outside. I’m delivering the placenta now—’ He worked for a few minutes. ‘That’s fine now. We’re ready to close the uterus. How are the girls?’

‘Still a bit blue,’ said the paediatrician who was bending over the incubator. ‘The heartbeats are pretty good though, and the weight’s quite good as well. Eleven pounds six ounces together—not absolutely half-and-half, I don’t think; one of them’s just an ounce or two lighter. Difficult to be precise.’

‘Breathing unaided?’

‘The smaller one’s a touch tachycardic—she still needs a bit of help. The other one’s all right though. She’s starting to look a better colour as well. But as you said, Mr Brannan, all in all, they’re in far better shape than we’d dared hope.’

Martin straightened up, aware for the first time of his aching back and neck muscles, and gestured for the orange juice. His other hand was still on Mel’s anaesthetized body, half-possessive, half-protective.

An indignant wail broke through the ticking monitors, and the team relaxed and smiled. ‘Hear for yourself,’ said the paediatrician. ‘That was the stronger twin.’

‘She’s called Simone,’ said Martin. ‘And the other one is Sonia.’

The first thing that Mel saw as she came up out of the soft darkness of the anaesthetic was the slender-stemmed bud vase on the table at the side of her bed, with a single rose in it—creamy-pale and in the half-open stage. Lovely. Mel smiled hazily. Joe would always do the conventional thing, of course, but this was unusually sensitive of him. Perhaps I misjudged him. Perhaps there’s some romance in him after all. There was a card propped up against the vase. She turned her head to read it.

‘Sorry it can’t be the gin and tonic yet,’ said Martin Brannan’s slanting hand. ‘But we’ll drink a double together at Simone and Sonia’s eighteenth birthday party. In the meantime, enjoy this.’

Mel was lying back on the pillows, considering the implications that this seemed to suggest—all of them good—and wondering when she would be allowed to see her babies, when the nurse brought in a pink basket filled with dark red carnations and bright green asparagus fern, and tied up with pink satin ribbon.

‘Gorgeous, aren’t they? They’re from your husband, Mrs Anderson.’

‘Really? I would never have guessed,’ said Mel.

Joe Anderson had initially been pleased at the news that Mel was expecting twins, and while he would have liked a son, the image of two pretty daughters who would form a frame for his dazzling career had been very acceptable. His mind had flown happily ahead to paragraphs in the press. ‘
Mr Joseph Anderson, the newly
-
elected Member of Parliament, celebrating his by
-
election victory with his family…
’ This was not in the least fanciful: it was practically a settled thing that he would be adopted as candidate for the next by-election, wherever it might be.

Later on, if things went well, there would be even grander items. ‘
Joseph Anderson seen escorting his daughters to a private reception at No. 10…
’ ‘
Together with his twin girls, hosting a reception at his constituency for the Prince of Wales…
’