‘Tragic?’ said Michelle. ‘That sounds like a cue for one of Malcolm’s jokes.’
‘Better be the one about the identical twins,’ said Patrick, ‘or I’ll go to my grave wondering about it.’
‘You too?’ said Benedict.
‘Oh, God. Well, go on then,’ she said to Malcolm. ‘Get it over with.’
Malcolm’s own expression was delighted. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘A woman accidentally gets pregnant. It turns out she’s having identical twin boys, and as she’s single and very young decides to put the babies up for adoption. One is adopted by a family in Spain—’
‘That is because we Spanish are so loving and generous,’ said Angel.
‘Who name the boy Juan,’ Malcom continued. ‘The second twin is adopted by an Egyptian family, who call their boy Amahl.’
‘I can’t think where this joke is going,’ said Benedict. ‘Nowhere good, I suspect.’
‘Shh!’ said Michelle. ‘Don’t make it last any longer than it has to.’
‘Ten years later,’ said Malcolm, ‘the woman has married, but sadly, she and her husband cannot have children of their own. The woman starts to think about her boys, her twins, and decides to write to their adoptive families, to find out how they are. She is afraid that after all this time, they won’t respond. But from Spain, she receives a letter, with a photo of her son.’
‘Is what I say — we are a generous people,’ said Angel. ‘Not like those selfish Egyptians.’
Malcolm ignored him. ‘The woman shows the photo to her husband, and says, “This is wonderful. But I wish I had a picture of my second son.” Her husband shrugs and says. “Why? They’re identical twins. When you’ve seen Juan, you’ve seen Amahl.”’
‘Oh, my God …’ Benedict sank his head into his hands.
Gulliver snickered. ‘“Seen Amahl.” Good one.’
‘No,’ said Aishe. ‘Nothing like good.’
Patrick was chuckling.
‘Oh, I dunno,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard worse.’
‘I know those ones, too,’ said Malcolm, but any further joke-telling was forestalled by Michelle, waving at a group by the café’s front door.
‘Virginia! Lowell!’ she called out. ‘Over here!’
Gulliver got up immediately. ‘More chairs,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m on it.’
Lowell had Rosie in his arms and a broad smile on his face. ‘Guess what?’ he said, face bright with gleeful pride. ‘My girl here took a few steps.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Michelle stared at Chad. ‘We missed it.’
‘You mean—?’ Chad hesitated. ‘Rosie’s walking?’
‘She is almost a year old.’ Virginia had Harry by the hand. ‘It’s not really that early.’
‘Your daughter’s on the loose.’ Patrick was shaking his head. ‘Sorry to say it, but from now on, that’s it. You’re fucked.’
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About the Author
Catherine Robertson was born in Wellington. She left for a while to live in San Francisco and Buckinghamshire, but is now back home. She lives in a house by the sea with her husband who sheds bicycle bits, a black labrador who sheds hair, a cat who sheds bits of whatever it’s just eaten and two sons who shed all of the above. Her first novel was The Sweet Second Life of Darrell Kincaid. This is her second novel.
Copyright
A BLACK SWAN BOOK published by Random House
New Zealand, 18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland, New Zealand
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First published 2012
© 2012 Catherine Robertson
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ISBN 978 1 86979 936 6
eBook ISBN 978 1 86979 937 3
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Design: Carla Sy
Cover illustration: Tooga / Getty Images
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The Not So Perfect Life of Mo Lawrence Page 37