Page 3 of Always Alchemy

When I glance up at Zach, he’s watching us with eyes so wet his eyelashes have gone all starry. I smile at him. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’ He’s sitting on a plastic chair next to the bed, as close as he can get it to us. His hand strokes my thigh over the thin hospital blanket. There are galaxies full of love in those damp blue eyes.

‘You okay?’ I ask quietly, and he lets out a little laugh.

‘The only person who gets to ask that is me. You’re so incredible.’

I smile smugly. ‘Yes, I am. Obviously. But I know this is a lot for you,’ I add more gently.

His smile grows wider, his eyes wetter. ‘It’s a day I never thought I’d see. It’s—extraordinary. You’re extraordinary. Both of you.’

His praise is a warm glow around my already full heart. I know he was sceptical about knocking me up, but I was confident that his scepticism centred more around my age rather than his desire to expand our little family. Still, his ecstatic reaction to Jonny is more than I could ever have hoped for.

‘I can’t believe I was scared of having a boy,’ I say with a laugh. We didn’t find out the sex of the baby, even though I wasdyingto at every point. And my God, was it worth the wait. When the consultant told us it was a boy, I was frankly gobsmacked. I don’t know why—I was big at the end. Ishould have guessed. But because Zach already has two girls, I assumed we’d just keep on making girls.

A flawed assumption, clearly.

‘It’s a step towards evening the scales,’ my husband deadpans.

‘I give it a week before you’ve bought him a tiny England rugby kit.’

‘Cal might have beaten me to it.’ He shifts and pulls his phone out of his pocket. ‘Look.’

Oh my God. Among the flurry of congratulatory messages in the Alchemy boys’ WhatsApp chat is a screenshot of the teeniest, cutest onesie—white, with England’s national rugby team’s red rose in the middle.

‘Okay, that’s very cute,’ I concede.

He puts his phone away and gives me and Jonny a watery smile again. He looks absolutely wrecked, which is not surprising, given we both just pulled an all-nighter.

‘You sure you’re up to seeing the girls?’ he asks.

I’m offended that he’s even asked. ‘Obviously. I wish they’d hurry up, though.’

Ruth, our nanny, is bringing them in after they’ve had breakfast. It’s a Tuesday, but Zach has messaged the school to say they’ll both be in late.

Meeting their baby brother is far more important.

ZACH

For as long as things have been serious between me and Mads, I’ve felt this odd conflict where I worry simultaneously about havingexpeditedher future by pulling her into instant motherhood at such a tender age but also havingrobbedher of so many facets of the future she deserves because she’s not with someone who can share all those awe-inspiring firsts with her.

She’s always insisted that this exact situation is what she wants, of course, and my hyper-vigilant observations of her with the girls tell me she derives nothing but pleasure from her relationship with them, so I know I should cut myself some slack.

Still, it’s taken the past nine months and the past twelve hours to fully understand that this experience of love and parenthood and family is far too vast to be curtailed by concepts oflimitsandfirsts.

Watching my wife bear, and grow, and birth our son has been every bit as new and awe-inspiring as those firsts were with Claire.

Standing by as our obstetrician laid him in Maddy’s arms? Best thing I’ve ever, ever seen.

And witnessing this first meeting between our daughters and their baby brother?

I’m a fucking mess.

Stella was three when Nance was born. We have tonnes of footage of that day—it was all super cute—but she wasn’t far off being a baby herself.

This is totally different.

Now, Nancy’s ten, and Stella turns thirteen in a month or two. My daughters will, I hope, remember the day they met their brother for a long, long time. The past nine months have been a family celebration. The girls have embraced every ultrasound photo. Maddy’s done a fantastic job of including them in the preparations for Jonny’s arrival, from allowing them to rub anti-stretch-mark butter into her bump to consulting them on the decor for a tasteful, gender-neutral nursery.

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