I had turmoil, tumult and disorder for my lunch
When Ana-Paula left after lunch last Saturday, I sank into a garden chair and contemplated my life, because throughout it I have never once considered fathering children.
Ana-Paula has twins, Carlos and Ana-Rosa. They are only three, and yet for a whole afternoon they had been the agents of turmoil, tumult and disorder in my household.
I took Jack, my ethereal whippet, to greet them as they scrambled from the car. They screamed and scrambled in again. Defeated, I locked Jack in my study with the much larger Winck and Lottie. Lottie, the most malevolent seeming dog I've ever had, glowered at the children from the window, and they ran back to the car. Winck, wise old bitch, ignored the goings-on. Persuaded into the kitchen, the twins were diverted by the sight of food but did not like the placement; chairs and cutlery had to be rearranged.
They squealed with pleasure on finding that they were to drink from glass rather than plastic. They showed no interest in salad or fruit, but ate cheese and ham, salmon and salami, in entirely random order. When bored, they climbed the backs of chairs until they reached the tipping-point, and explored the lowest kitchen cupboards, opening doors on useless long-forgotten things. They returned to the table and ate a little more.
Ana-Paula watched them constantly, instructing them in Portuguese and English, with both of which the twins seemed perfectly at ease.
For pudding they chose ice-cream and when they were absorbed by it, I fetched Jack; they looked up to see her on my lap, eating ice-cream too. They watched intently and then, to my delight, pushed their bowls across for her to finish. Then came gentle, tentative strokes. When we passed my study window to explore the garden, they ignored the still glowering Lottie. They saw newts in the pond and dragonflies over it, found toads, stag beetles and ladybirds, contemplated a wood pigeon on her nest, tore round on their scooters, and then, suddenly tired, clambered into the car as though it were a Wendy house and fell asleep.
Three hours of this activity reduced me to my knees; Ana-Paula has had three years of it, and more to come, yet she was transformed. As a student and my daily woman she was titanically Rubensian, but all the bulk has gone, revealing another woman altogether, very tall and svelte, well-groomed, well-dressed, commanding and beautiful, a woman for whom heads will turn. How can this be? For every other mother I have known, even those with au pairs, pregnancy has meant descent into a bedraggled world of drudgery. For Ana-Paula, graduate lawyer in her own country, victory over the flesh must have been determinedly intellectual.
"Turn left at the end of the road," I said, and watched her go. She signalled left, and then turned right.
