“Oh, thank Christ for that,” said Daniel as I handed you to your real daddy. “I mean, don’t take it the wrong way, Jones,” he added hurriedly, seeing my face. “Adorable, charming obviously. I just know my limitations. May the best man win!”
Mark was looking at you, bursting with love and pride. “Why don’t you ask?” he whispered.
“Daniel,” I said. “Would you like to be his godfather?”
“Well, that’s um, absolutely…” For a moment Daniel choked up, then he pulled himself together. “That’s a brave and bighearted offer. Yes, thank you,” said Daniel. “And since my godchild is a boy, you don’t have to worry about me trying to shag her when she’s twenty.”
“Right. That’s quite enough. Let’s all leave the room,” said Dr. Rawlings. “And let Mum and…Dad…finally have some time alone with their son.”
“Dr. Rawlings,” said Daniel, as everyone made their way out. “May I say that I have never in my life seen anyone look quite so sexual in a white coat.”
“Oh, you are such a naughty man,” she said, and giggled.
—
“Wait,” I said, as my dad was leaving. “You haven’t held him yet.”
Dad, or Granddad now, touched your cheek very gently.
“Oops, better not let his head fall off,” said Dad as Mark very awkwardly and nervously handed you over. Then Dad (my dad) looked down into your eyes, his little grandson’s eyes.
“Take care of him,” he said, throatily, to Mark. “And of her.”
“Mr. Jones. If I am a fraction as good a father as you have been to Bridget, then I will be…”
“He will be the luckiest baby in the world,” said Dad.
Just then your little fist flailed, hit a switch on the monitor, and knocked a glass of blackcurrant cordial over, which smashed, spilling blackcurrant everywhere. Lights flashed and the machine started emitting an urgent blaring noise as if there was about to be an airborne attack.
Dr. Rawlings rushed back into the delivery room, looking panicked, followed by everyone else.
“Like mother, like son,” bellowed Mark above the din. “Bridget?”
“What?” I yelled.
“Will you marry me?”
“Jones?” yelled Daniel, with a conspiratorial glance at Mark. “I suppose one last shag would be out of the question?”
“Yes!” I shouted, in joyful, wonderful, overwhelmed reply to both of them.
———
And that, my little darling, is how I came to be your mum.