A Question of Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

and…are you still there, Laura?’
    ‘Yes…yes, I am.’
    ‘Don’t you think that’s incredible ?’ I thought of the microscopic blob, its cells dividing, and doubling.
    ‘It’s a miracle.’ I glanced out of the window.
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far. But it is an important little milestone,’ I heard Felicity add proudly. ‘And what’s so fantastic about it is that Olivia’s only five months and three days—so she did it a month early. Your niece is very advanced—aren’tyoumylovelylicklebabychops?’ Her voice had suddenly risen two octaves again. ‘You’revewyVEWYadvanced!’
    ‘So the breastfeeding’s obviously paying off then,’ I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
    ‘Oh, absolutely. It definitely makes them brighter.’
    ‘I’m not sure, Fliss. Mum only breastfed us for two weeks and—’
    ‘I know ,’ she said in a scandalized voice. ‘Just think how intelligent we would have been! Oh God, she’s just puked all over me…hang on—it’sokaymylicklesweetiedarlingit-doesn’tmatter—where’s that muslin? I can never find one when I need one…damn, damn, damn—oh, here it is…Laura? Laura—are you still there?’
    ‘Yes, but I’m just on my way to the studio right now and—’
    ‘Did I tell you I’m just starting her on solids?’ she interrupted again.
    ‘ Yes , Fliss. I believe you did.’
    Felicity, being the world’s biggest Baby Bore, tells me everything about Olivia—her development, her mental alertness, her weight gain, her hair growth, her superior prettiness compared to other babies of her acquaintance—and about the general joys of being a mum. She doesn’t do this to be smug—she’s a nice, warm-hearted person—but because she can’t help it because she’s so over the moon. And as the three of us are close, and as Hope and I don’t have kids—she’s never wanted them—Fliss likes to share it all with us both. She sees it as a gift to her childless sisters, to include us in every single detail of Olivia’s life. And although she means well, it does annoy me sometimes. Yes, to be honest, it can…get to me. But whenever it does, I just remind myself of what she went through to have a baby. ‘I’d walk over broken glass,’ she once said to me, in tears. ‘I’d walk over broken glass if that’s what it took.’ And in a way, that’s what she did, because having Olivia took her ten years and six failed cycles of fertility treatment. The fact that she was a Montessori teacher had only made her frustration worse.
    She tried everything to boost her chances—yoga, reflexology, acupuncture and hypnosis; she completely overhauled her diet. She had the house feng shuied—as though shifting the furniture around could possibly have helped! She gave up alcohol, coffee and tea. She even had her amalgam fillings replaced with composite ones. She went on a pilgrimage to Lourdes. Then, at thirty-eight, out of the blue, she conceived. Now, having finally managed motherhood, Felicity worships, fanatically, at the shrine of Babydom—she adores every burp, gurgle and squeal.
    ‘So how’s it going with the sweet potato?’ I enquired politely.
    ‘Oh it took a couple of goes—you should have seen her screw up her little face the first time—but she loves it now, don’tyoumygorgeouslittlepoppetypops?’ she added. ‘I mix it with a bit of courgette.’
    There then followed an exposition about the dangers of giving babies too much carrot because they can’t digest vitamin A and turn bright orange, followed by yet another lecture about the environmental horrors of disposable nappies—a subject with which Felicity’s obsessed.
    ‘They’re filling up our landfill sites,’ she said vehemently. ‘It’s so disgusting—eight million of them a day—and they never biodegrade, because of the gel. Just imagine, Laura, in 500 years’ time Olivia’s descendants will still be trying to deal with her Pampers! Isn’t that a dreadful