Page 75 of Hey Girl
“Hey, Mouse?” Chris can be heard as a barrage of toys goes flying, one stuffed animal at a time behind Rebecca. “Have you seen that KidsPlay drum kit? The one with the drum beat sound effects and all the lights? I can’t find it.”
“Nope, haven’t seen it,” Rebecca deadpans directly at the camera.
“But we need it! Then we can literally say he came out of your womb playing drums! I mean, the earlier the better - ”
“Kumquat!” Rebecca yells the code word that’s meant to make Chris shut up, calm down, and take a breath.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you!” he calls back.
“I said you’re adumb twat!”
“Why do Americans pronounce it that way - ‘twot’?” Sadie asks me. “It’s twat to rhyme withhat, how does it even - ”
“Did you say kumquat?” Chris calls, and Rebecca goes boom.
“Chris Tal Windsong Mother[bleep noise] Richards, I swear to god I will [bleep noise] put Sequoia’s name on the birth certificate if you don’t shut the [bleep noise] up and get me to the [bleep noise] hospital!” Her face is contorted with a perfectstorm of irritation and pain, and the camera moves abruptly as she hauls herself up. Chris is next to her like a shot, and the next scene is of Rebecca in a hospital bed doing her Lamaze puffs, which Chris is imitating. Clearly he was bang on the money, and Bear wasn't in the mood to wait.
That finishes me off. Tears of laughter pour down my face as Chris starts to get woozy from hyperventilating. “Oh, mate, this is - ”
There’s a knock at the door. I sigh, pressing pause and heading to the front door for probably yet another parcel of yarn for Sadie. She’s gotten into needlecrafts since Rhiannon was tiny, and I swear she needs a whole room for all the many, many skeins. It’s fine, we can absolutely do that, butmanit’d be a kitten’s paradise.
It’s funny I should think that, because it’s not yarn.
For a second I think someone’s abandoned a very tiny baby in a basket on my doorstep. All I see is pink skin wrapped in a red and green Christmas themed fleece blanket.
But when I pick it up…
A tiny little gremlin looks up at me with china blue eyes.
A tiny little raw chicken. A poussin.
And around its neck, looped on a red ribbon, is a label.
Say hello to King Chris, son of Iggy, it reads.Should hopefully arrive around the time you’re laughing at episode 6 of D&H. Merry Chris-mas, jackass.
“Motherfucker,” I breathe.