All Stirred Up

by Brianne Moore

  “You’re very brave, Andrew,” she reassures him. “Very, very brave. It’s all right—the ambulance is coming.” She looks over his head and catches the eye of the dad with the mobile. He nods to her.

  “On their way!” he reports. “I’ll go to the gate and direct them.” He sprints away. Susan guesses that he, like the others who are coddling Meg and frightened children, are enjoying this just the tiniest bit. Excitement and variety in what has otherwise been another fairly dull, routine afternoon at the park. She can just imagine this scene being relived over half a dozen dinner tables that evening, parents and kids comparing notes.

  The ambulance arrives, sirens screaming, and Andrew is loaded onto a gurney and taken to the Royal Hospital for Sick Children. They offer to let Meg or Susan ride with him, but Meg’s still hysterical, and Susan doesn’t want to leave her in that state, with the little ones to deal with on top of it, so instead they follow in a taxi. Meg sobs. The boys wail. And Susan has her hands full tending to the three of them while also telephoning Will to tell him what happened. He was playing tennis at the Meadows and arrives at the hospital just behind them. Susan has never been so grateful to see her brother-in-law.

  “Hey, hey, big man,” he says to Alisdair, who’s cried himself exhausted. “It’s all right—your brother will be fine.” He sweeps the boy up in a hug, then says to Meg, “What the hell happened?”

  “It was an accident,” Susan explains, quick to defend her sister against his perceived judgment. “He was climbing up to the top of the slide, and he slipped and fell.”

  “You’re a godsend, Suze,” he says. Still holding Ali with one arm, he drapes the other over his wife’s shoulders and pulls her close. “Come on, let’s go in,” he murmurs.

  “Why don’t I take the boys home?” Susan suggests. “No sense keeping them here.”

  “That would be great,” Will says, handing Alisdair over. Ali makes no protest. He’s limp, and his head rests heavily on his aunt’s shoulder. “Thank you so much—we really owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” says Susan. “This is what family does.”

  Alisdair settles his head in the hollow of her shoulder and snuggles in against the curve of her neck. Susan lets her own head rest gently on his, finding his warmth and weight against her body soothing. He’s worn out. They all are now the emergency situation adrenaline is ebbing. Susan feels exhausted and wants nothing more than to collapse onto a sofa with a cozy blanket. Even the baby seems pretty relaxed as the taxi stutters toward Stockbridge through heavy afternoon traffic.

  Ali falls asleep about halfway home, and the taxi driver kindly helps Susan get both boys into the house when they arrive. She tucks Ali into his little race car–shaped toddler bed and settles Ayden on a blanket in the playroom with some stacking cups. He’s as fascinated by them as if the secrets of the universe were contained in their plastic shells and he could get to them if he just gets the order right. Susan smiles, watching him. Thinking how nice it is when life’s that simple. When complete happiness can come just from figuring out that the blue one goes on top of the red one.

  Ayden completes half a stack and applauds, looking to Susan for approval. She duly gives it, just as the front door opens and Lauren swirls in.

  “Hiya!” she crows, breathless. “Sorry—just ran over. Mum texted something about Andy being in hospital? She thought I should come over and see if you needed help. She’d come, but she and dad are making an appearance at the constituency. Got to keep those voters placated, you know.”

  “Oh, thanks, Lauren,” Susan answers. “It’s a broken arm probably, and maybe a concussion. Meg and Will are at Sick Kids with him.”

  “Glad it’s not serious,” says Lauren. “Must have been a thing, though! Did Meg cry? I’ll bet she cried.”

  “Of course she cried! He’s her son!”

  “You know what I mean. She makes a big drama, doesn’t she? But like you said, it’s her kid and all. You want some tea? I’ll go make some tea.” She clatters about in the kitchen for a while, occasionally singing some pop song off-key, then reappears with the teapot, some mugs, and a plate of biscuits. “These are gluten-free nonsense, but it’s all I could find,” she announces, pointing to the biscuits.

  Susan shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

  Lauren takes a biscuit, bites into it, and shrugs, apparently finding it edible. “Will he have to stay overnight, do you think? In the hospital? Mum’ll want to know. If he does, she and dad’ll turn around and come right back.”

  “That’s sweet of them,” Susan murmurs.

  Lauren smirks. “It’ll seem that way.” She flicks a lock of purple hair over her shoulder. “Dad does like to seem the devoted family man. I mean, I guess he is—it’s not like he’s a lousy dad or husband or anything, but he tends to play it up when he needs to. You remember when Meg was pregnant with Andy? There was a by-election that year, and Dad never missed an opportunity to have her with him at photo ops and things, so he could smile proudly and pat her belly. You’d have thought he was the dad, the way he fussed over her. She lapped it up. And then Andy was born right before the election and Dad made sure he was holding him when his victory photos were taken. So very wholesome. It’s why they keep trying to drag me up to the constituency, so we can all smile together. Dad almost had a stroke when he saw what I’d done to my hair.” She giggles. “Turns out, it was my ticket out of all that nonsense. And there’ll be a lot of that sort of nonsense now, because Dad says another general election is coming, and he’s going to make a run for Westminster.

  “Oh!” she sits up straight, and her eyes sparkle. “Did I tell you I went to Chris Baker’s restaurant? Seòin.” She pronounces it “shown.” “He told me it means ‘feast’ in Gaelic. The press will probably love that. You think that’s why he did it? It’s really all about marketing, isn’t it? No matter what business you’re in. It’s why I just went ahead and started on a marketing degree, seemed the best thing to do. Of course, Liam told me I’m just studying to be a sell-out, but he’s getting a philosophy degree, so he would say that, wouldn’t he?” She rolls her eyes and finishes her biscuit.

  “Who’s Liam?” Susan asks, struggling, in her worn-out state, to follow Lauren’s stream-of-consciousness chatter.

  “Oh, just some guy I was seeing for a while, and then not seeing, and then seeing again. He’s a pompous little arse, but hot and, you know, good at things.” Lauren raises her eyebrows momentarily. “So sometimes we’re together and sometimes we’re not.”

  “And now?”

  “Now we’re not. We thought it’d be better to take some time apart over the summer. Well, I did. He’s in Greece or something just now. Keeps phoning me. But anyway, Chris—the restaurant’s really nice, and the food’s fab, so it’ll be really good at Dad’s party, I made sure of it. He’s a nice guy too—really friendly. You always think that people on TV will be really snobby and full of themselves, so it’s nice when they’re not. You used to know him, didn’t you? What was he like?”

  Like? Susan briefly allows herself to look back on their time together. She thinks of times they spent cooking together—the happy times, those brief weeks between her grandfather’s death and her mother’s diagnosis. Ingredients and suggestions flying back and forth. Playful tastings, tongues lapping rich sauces, lips closing on luscious bites.

  And those bleak days, after she sought refuge in his little flat, seeming, like her sisters, incapable of facing the family home without her mother in it. Those days when she cried and cried, and he held her, stroked her hair, said nothing. Just let her cry.

  “You’re right, he was nice,” she croaks. “Know what? I think the baby needs his nappy changed.” She scoops up Ayden, who squawks in protest at losing the stacking cups, and rushes upstairs with him, to the silence of the nursery.

  Chapter Nine

  Top-Shelf Secrets

  A broken arm, but no concussion. Two stitches in his forehead (“Poor child, he’ll have a scar!�
�� Bernard groans, when he hears). And now, Andrew’s injuries have thrown Meg’s presence at Russell’s party into question.

  “I really shouldn’t leave him,” she fusses, two hours before the party is scheduled to begin. “What if something goes wrong? I’ve heard of situations where someone’s broken something, and bone marrow gets into their bloodstream and goes to their heart or their brain or something and kills them.”

  William blinks at his wife, then looks helplessly at Susan, whom he’s called in, hoping she can talk sense into her sister. But what can you really say to that?

  “Meg, that’s really rare,” she tells her.

  “But it happens,” Meg insists.

  “Meg, this is important,” Will chimes in. “We told Dad we’d be there. They’re counting on us to show some support.”

  “Our child is important, William! Or, at least, he is to me.”

  “Margaret …” he begins.

  Meg throws her hands up. “Oh, here we go. Now he’s going to lecture me on proper behavior, like one of the boys. How very, very important it is for us to put in an appearance and smile and make nice with all his dad’s friends and colleagues.”

  “Jesus, Margaret, you’re acting like this is some kind of torture!” he cries. “You’ve been talking for weeks about how nice it’ll be to see some of the other wives and tell them all about this paleo thing you’ve decided to try out, and then you just turn around and cancel the babysitter!”

  “My son has just been through a trauma! You don’t think I’m going to leave him with some teenager he barely knows, do you?”

  “He wouldn’t have to be with a stranger if you hadn’t fired the nanny,” he flings back through clenched teeth.

  “They weren’t safe with her! She’s the one who let him start climbing up to the slide that way in the first place. And I’ll have you know that she was letting them eat Twiglets when she knows I insist on the Ella’s Organics snacks at all times!”

  The raised voices have traveled from the kitchen to the playroom, where the boys are watching a Disney movie. Susan glances in that direction and sees Andrew’s pale little face peeking around the door.

  “I’ll stay with them,” she offers. “I’ll stay with the boys tonight. It’ll be fine. They know me, I’m a responsible adult, and I’m first aid trained, so I can handle any situation.”

  William looks like he could kiss her, which makes Susan almost want to take a step away. Meg, however, hesitates.

  “I-I feel like I should be the one to stay,” she says.

  Susan smiles and strokes her sister’s arm. “Meg, go on out and enjoy yourself. Spread the paleo good news to the wives of the Tory ministers. It’s been a stressful week; you deserve a little break. And don’t forget about the chancellor’s wife. You’ll have loads to talk about. You’ll have so much fun.”

  “Aren’t you sorry to miss it?” Meg asks.

  With some effort, Susan keeps that smile going. “I’ll live. I’m sure there’ll be other parties at your in-laws’.” But, hopefully, no others catered by Chris. It’s childish, but the longer she can put off having to face him, the happier she’ll be.

  “If you’re sure,” Meg says, easing toward the door. “I guess I’d better go get ready.”

  “You go right ahead, Meg—I’ve got things here,” Susan urges. She glances at Andrew, still peeking around the door, and thinks it’s probably really wrong to be this relieved by a small child’s injuries.

  * * *

  William and Meg are waved off by Susan and Andrew (the only one of the boys who can be tempted away from The Lion King). Once the door closes, Susan turns to her nephew.

  “Don’t want to watch the movie?” she asks.

  He shrugs the one shoulder not encumbered by a cast. “It’s a baby movie,” he sighs.

  “Okay.” Susan bends down so they’re eye to eye. “Wanna bake?”

  He considers that. “Bake what?” he finally asks.

  She grins. “I’m going to teach you to make the best brownies.”

  He trails her into the kitchen. “Mum doesn’t keep chocolate in the house,” he says. “She says it’s toxic and exploitative.”

  “Uh-huh,” Susan says, dragging one of the chairs from the kitchen table into the pantry. Balancing on her tiptoes on it, she can just see onto the top shelf, where Meg has stashed several bars of Green & Black’s behind two half-used bags of flour. “Still hiding your hoard in the same place, Meg,” she murmurs, remembering all the times, growing up, she’d stumbled onto her sister in this same position: balancing on a chair, arm digging into the back of a shelf, alarmed at the thought that the person she heard coming might be Julia. “Don’t tell your mother I let you see that,” she says to Andrew, hopping down from the chair with two bars in one hand and a bag of flour in the other.

  Andrew’s eyes widen and he grins, nodding. “I won’t.”

  “Grab me a couple of eggs, please?” she requests, pulling out a pot and a heatproof bowl. The pot, filled with an inch of water, is placed on the hob with the bowl on top to form a makeshift double boiler. “Never put chocolate directly on heat by itself,” she tells Andrew as he hands her two eggs. “If you do, it’ll burn and scorch before it melts.”

  He nods, attentively watching what she’s doing. Susan breaks the chocolate bars into chunks and tosses them in the bowl as the water comes to a simmer.

  “Here,” she says, handing him a spatula. “Give it a stir now and again, so it melts evenly.”

  Andrew very carefully stirs the chocolate, which quickly dissolves into a heavenly goo. The aroma is powerful enough to tempt Ali from the playroom. Susan lifts him onto the countertop so he can watch what his brother’s doing.

  “Choc-lit,” Alisdair declares proudly, pointing to the bowl.

  “Yes, but it’s very hot, so don’t touch,” Susan warns him.

  “Very hot,” he repeats with a solemn nod.

  Susan adds butter to the melted chocolate, then starts mixing the eggs with salt and brown sugar. As she measures out flour, she watches Andrew and notices he’s got an expression she can only describe as melancholy. She’s never seen a kid look at a bowl of melted chocolate in such a sad way.

  “You okay, little man?” she asks, nudging him.

  He shrugs.

  “Your arm hurt?”

  He shakes his head.

  Alisdair gets tired of watching chocolate melt and demands, “I get down now!”

  Susan sets him back on the floor, and he gallops off. She takes the chocolate off the heat and sets it aside to cool a little. “You want to talk about it?” she asks her nephew.

  He considers that, then asks, “Is it true, what Mum said? About bone getting into my blood?”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Susan reaches over and pats his good arm. “No, you’ll be fine. Your mum’s just worried about you.”

  He’s silent for a little while. “She’s always worried,” he says at last. “And it makes her and Dad fight. They were fighting about me tonight.”

  “They fight a lot?” Susan asks, not because she wants the dirty details about her sister’s marriage, but because she’s concerned about the effect it’s having on their children.

  “Usually they go upstairs and close the door,” Andrew replies. “They think we can’t hear them. But we can. Mum always thinks she’s dying. Is she?” He turns to his aunt with a pinched, concerned face.

  Susan reaches out and hugs him close. “No, love, your mum’s not dying. Your mum’s fine. She’s going to be here for a long, long time.”

  “Am I dying? Because she says these pains and things that she has mean she’s dying. I get pains sometimes.”

  “Andrew, sweetie, we all do.”

  “And she doesn’t let us eat things. She says they’re poison.”

  “To be fair, some things are poison.” He looks up at her and then down at the chocolate, and she hastily adds, “Not this, though.”

  Andrew nods. “Okay.” He goes back to his stirring. “
If mum asks where these came from, you have to tell her it was your idea,” he says, a few moments later.

  Susan laughs. “Don’t worry, little man,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m happy to take the heat.”

  * * *

  Meg and William return late, long after the boys are in bed. Meg comes in laughing and glowing, rhapsodizing about the evening.

  “Jane Howell came!” she announces as they walk through the door.

  It takes Susan a moment to realize she’s talking about the chancellor’s wife. “Oh, great! Did you get to talk to her?”

  “I did. And she was so nice, but just as I was getting around to telling her everything she really should know about labor, she had to run off to the loo. Pregnant ladies—we have to go all the time.” Meg laughs.

  “The food was really nice too,” William adds. “Lauren dragged the chef out of the kitchen and made him do the rounds. The restaurant will probably be booked for months now. She’s not a bad marketer, that sister of mine.”

  “Great,” Susan says through a tight smile. “Hey, Meg, can I ask you something?”

  Meg is sniffing the air, not paying attention. “Is that … chocolate?” she asks.

  “Yeah, the boys and I made brownies.”

  “Not … the brownies?” William asks hopefully.

  Susan nods.

  “Please, please tell me there are some left,” he begs.

  “There are.”

  “Where’d you get the chocolate from?” Meg wonders, her eyes narrowing.

  “I owe you a couple of bars of Green & Black’s,” Susan answers.

  “God, Susan, you didn’t let the boys see where that was, did you? They’ll be in there all the time, trying to get to that chocolate, and they’ll end up breaking their necks trying.”

  “Meg, it’s fine—listen: I’m a little worried about Andy.”

  “Wait, what? Why?” Meg’s eyes widen. “Did something happen? Did he spike a fever? Start feeling strangely? Did you check his pulse? Call the doctor?” Her voice escalates: “William, get the car—we’re going back to Sick Kids. Oh Jesus! It was the chocolate, wasn’t it? I knew we shouldn’t have gone out tonight!”