Page 73 of Always Alchemy

‘Yeah,’ I whisper, leaning in to kiss her on the temple. ‘I can feel it.’

‘Me too,’ Dex says in awe.

I lean back from her, quiet for a moment. Her head is still leaning against our arms, her eyes flickering closed. I can tell she’s far from her comfort zone, but still, she’s radiating a kind of serenity, of completeness, that I’ve never seen on her.

‘You know, sweetheart,’ I say finally, ‘you’re objectively a stunning woman, but I’ve never seen you look so radiant as you do right now.’ My hand flexes over hers, and Dex caresses my knuckles. ‘If I could bottle this moment forever, I would.’

She laugh-groans. ‘I look like total shit.’

‘No you don’t.’ I shake my head firmly. Dex is shaking his, too. ‘You look like an incredible woman whose body just performed a miracle, and you’ve given us a son, and you are clearly deliriously in love with him, and allthatis so very beautiful. Dex and I have talked about nothing but this, and we’ve agreed on it, so there. It’s two against one.’

Last night, Darcy and Charlie spent their final night in hospital and I fucked my husband slowly and deeply in our huge bed. It was heavenly, as usual. Probably evenmoreheavenly than usual, spliced through as the occasion was with the weight of love and emotion and relief, but we were both aware of Darcy and Charlie’s absence. It simply didn’t feelright.

Today, our wife and son are at home and we are now four.

And all is right with the world.

DEX

Darcy is, thank God, sleeping soundly, courtesy of utter bloody exhaustion, but I lie awake beside her listening with wonder to the snuffly little farmyard noises of our son as he sleeps. He really does sound like a piglet.

Even if he wasn’t making a peep, it would be impossible to be unaware of his presence. He’s so impossibly small, yet his being here has changed everything for us. Everything is different, and our life as we know it has altered forever.

When his snuffles turn to fretful bleats and squeaks, I ease myself out of the bed as carefully as possible so as not to wake Darcy. A peek into his crib shows my expertly swaddled son not quite wakeful but certainly growing agitated. I lift him out—he’s a white burrito in his bunny-strewn muslin—and, holding him tightly against my chest, sneak out of the room and tap gently on the nursery door.

‘Oh dear,’ Josie says with a warm smile at him, ‘is the wee man getting peckish?’ She has a soft Edinburgh accent that’s incredibly soothing. I can see why our friends call her a baby whisperer.

‘Let’s see if we can hold him off for a wee bit longer before we wake Mum,’ she says. ‘This is our job—to stave off those feeds as much as we can without him getting too upset.’

‘How will we know when he’s starving?’ I ask with concern, and she gives a quiet laugh. ‘He has a fair set of lungs on him. He’ll tell you, believe me. But he might just want to suck. Cradle him in your arm, why don’t you, lovey, and give him your wee finger. See if that keeps him happy for a few more minutes.’

I stand and sway with my son in my arms, the very tip of my little finger in his mouth.

‘God, he’s got a strong suck,’ I observe, marvelling at quite how much suction he’s got going on and just how solid his gums feel. ‘Poor Darcy.’

‘That he does,’ she says fondly. ‘But Mum’s nipples will toughen up. They’re already getting there.’

They’re already chafed and a bit scabby, more like.Jesus fuck, men have it easy. This whole concept of Darce being responsible for all his meals right now is fucking terrifying. But Josie was right. Charlie does seem content to suck for now, and I remember she explained to us earlier how sucking has a dual function for babies. It’s how they feed, and it’s how they self-soothe. Charlie’s regulating himself now. If she hadn’t been here, I’d probably already have woken my wife up and subjected her to another feed.

Josie’s been here for all of six hours and I’d already give her a kidney if she wanted one.

As Charlie starts to grow more restless, she removes him from me and lays him on the elevated changing table, making efficient work of the swaddle and the bottom half of his onesie. ‘We’ll change him first,’ she says. ‘I don’t like laying babies down for a change right after their feed. It’s not good for their digestion. Always remember, gravity is your friend. Watch this.’

She holds up a small square of cut-up muslin, and I frown in confusion. Then she opens the nappy’s fasteners and, with lightning speed, lays the fabric over his tiny penis. Within seconds, it’s soaked through. My jaw drops in astonishment, and she winks at me.

‘Very important for baby boys. Their pee-pee will point straight up when you take the nappy off, so unless you want to get hit right in the eye, these squares are a godsend.’

I chuckle quietly. ‘I thinkyou’rethe godsend.’

Once Charlie’s been cleaned up and changed, we gothrough to the spare room where I wake my slumbering wife. I put an extra pillow behind her head so she’s semi-reclining, Josie hands the baby to her, and we all watch as Charlie, who’s making his best and sweetest rooting face, latches on. Josie looks proud, but that’s nothing to how I feel.

My wife is nothing short of incredible.

I settle on the bed next to Darcy and Josie takes a chair in the far corner of the dim room, lit only by the nightlight on the landing. We stay silent for the most part. Josie’s already explained the importance of keeping night feeds quiet and peaceful for the sake of both mother and baby. After about twenty minutes, she plucks Charlie off Darcy’s breast, gives him a quick and remarkably efficient burp, and helps Darcy arrange him on her other breast with a cushion propped under her arm for support.

‘Give them twenty minutes,’ she whispers to me, ‘then bring him through and I’ll show you how to burp him properly.’

She leaves us to it. I admire her emotional intelligence, something both the Charlton and French families commented on. She seems to know instinctively when to hover and when to give us space.

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