This exchange had been followed by a discussion as to whether it was better to know or not to know. Elspeth, being practical, felt that it might be useful to be told whether it was a boy or a girl, but Matthew thought it would be better not to know. Elspeth understood; the point that he was making was about the mystery of the whole process. It seemed to her astonishing that new life could be created in this way – it was such an astonishing miracle: all those cells, millions and millions of them, falling into place after a moment of contact between two people. It was a miracle of the most profound nature. And yet, miracle or not, there were ordinary questions that needed to be resolved. The colour of the nursery was one.

Clothing was another. On that subject, Matthew had already commented.

‘If you look at portraits of children in Dutch seventeenth-century art,’ he said, ‘you’ll see that boys wore skirts until they were six or seven. That made things simpler.’

‘But our child, Matthew, is going to be a twenty-first-century Scottish child.’

‘Of course he is. I didn’t mean that we should dress him in skirts. Although that would put him in touch with his inner girl, I suppose.’

They both laughed. ‘What will we call him?’ Matthew went on. ‘If he’s a boy? I’ve always liked the name Dunstaffnage, you know. It’s a place near Oban. But it could also be a boy.’

‘No,’ said Elspeth. ‘It never helps to be named after a geographical feature.’ Some of the Steiner parents might be reminded of that, she thought. Waterfall’s mother, for example. Or Tarn’s father. ‘Let’s choose something simple. Children with simple names are never embarrassed about them. How about Jamie?’

Matthew looked doubtful. ‘Jamie’s fine,’ he said. ‘But if he’s called Jamie he’s going to end up being a particular sort, if you know what I mean. He’ll play rugby, he’ll go to New Town bars after the international matches. Being called Jamie signs you up to an awful lot of Scottish upper-middle-class stuff.’

Elspeth thought that their child, whatever and whoever he was, was signed up to that already, just by being their child. We’re all signed up, she thought. Matthew for what he is, for what his father signed him up for; me for … for motherhood. And that lasts forever. Forever. For the rest of your life, you’re a mother, whatever happens.

32. Dramatic, Life-Enhancing News

Matthew phoned Elspeth shortly after he arrived for work in the gallery. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asked. ‘You mustn’t overdo things, you know. Not in your condition.’