Page 46 of That Defining Moment

Cassian straightened in his seat, smoothed his robe across his knees, and turned to Hamish.

“Can I have two halloumi chicken wraps?”

Hamish laughed and nodded. “You can have that, and whatever sides you want, Cass.”

Cassian pressed his palms together beneath his chin and closed his eyes, and Hamish drove them towards the Nando’s on Smith Street while the last of the daylight bled out of the sky behind them.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lysander’s mobile lit up at ten past two in the morning, and he had it to his ear before his eyes were open.

“Sander.” Ryland’s voice was tight. “He’s here.”

The screen filled with a face so red and compressed that it barely qualified as a face. His skull was elongated into a shape that no human skull should be able to take on, narrowing to a soft, misshapen point at the crown where the bones had been squeezed together during their passage into the world.

Lysander burst into tears.

“Oh my God.” He shoved himself upright against the headboard, his splinted ankle forgotten, and dragged the duvet off Hamish in the process. “Oh my God, oh my God, look at him. Look at his little face. Ryland, he’s perfect!”

Beside him, Hamish made a noise like a man being pulled from the wreckage of a building. “Wha’s happening.”

“Max is here!” Lysander grabbed Hamish’s arm with his free hand, his nails digging crescents into the skin. “My nephew is here, Hamish, look at him, look at him —”

He thrust the mobile into Hamish’s line of sight. Hamish squinted at the screen groggily, and said, “That’s a baby.”

“That’s my nephew.”

“He looks like a cross between Winston Churchill and a kidney bean.”

Lysander smacked him in the chest and snatched his mobile back. Ryland had the camera so close to Max that the resolution had given up, dissolving the baby into a pixelated blur of bright pink. Ryland pulled back just enough for the image to sharpen.

“Three point four kilograms,” Ryland said. “Four thirty-five PM, BST. Fifty-one centimetres. Apgar score of nine at one minute and nine at five minutes, which the midwife said was excellent. His head circumference is thirty-five centimetres. He’s got Stephen’s nose.” The camera wobbled as Ryland adjusted his grip, and a tuft of dark hair appeared at the crown of the misshapen skull. “And my hair, I think. Or it might be Stephen’s hair. We’ve both got dark hair.”

Lysander was crying so hard that snot was running into his mouth. He wiped his eyes on the sheet and pressed the mobile closer. “Turn the camera round. Let me see Stevie.”

The image swung in a dizzying arc across a hospital ceiling, a strip of fluorescent light, the edge of a monitor, and then settled on Stephen.

His hair was dark with sweat, plastered to his forehead. His eyes were half-closed in a face so pale and drawn that it looked like someone had taken an eraser to his usual features and rubbed until only the essential lines remained. A drip ran into the back of his left hand.

“Stevie.” Lysander’s voice cracked on the second syllable.

Stephen opened his eyes. The effort it took was visible. He looked at the camera, and the corners of his mouth pulled into a smile so exhausted they barely moved.

“Hi, Sander.” His voice was a thread. “He’s got all his fingers and toes. Ryland counted twice.”

“Three times,” Ryland corrected, off-camera. “I counted three times. I needed to be sure.”

“How are you feeling, Stevie? Really?”

Stephen’s eyes had drifted half-shut again, his head listing sideways into the pillows. “Like I’ve been turned inside out and put back the wrong way round.” His fingers tightened on the bundle in his lap. “But he’s here, Sander. He’s actually here, and he smells incredible.”

“He smells like Stephen,” Ryland confirmed from somewhere off-screen. “I checked. I put my nose directly against his head and inhaled, and he smells exactly like Stephen, which the midwife said was normal and then asked me to step back.”

Lysander laughed, and the sound came out wet and wrecked. “Has Daddy seen him yet?”

“Ryland sent him photos ten seconds after the birth. Diwa rang to say Daddy cried so hard the neighbours could hear him through the wall.” Stephen’s smile was fading at the edges, his eyelids growing heavier with each blink. “He wants to come down but the doctor won’t let him off bed rest, and he’s furious about it. He called the doctor a jobsworth.”

“That’s my daddy.”