Chapter Text
Dr. Gentili discovered a tear in Camille’s bladder at her 6-week check-up. Scar tissue, from her work injuries, was no match for the room the twins made for themselves or for the stress of labor. He scheduled laparoscopic repair surgery in two weeks to give Camille time to pump and store breast milk.
Camille came through the micro-surgery with a 1-inch abdominal scar and no memory of how far she counted backwards under anesthesia before departing for la-la-land. She could nurse again in a week but Casper shouted strict instructions confining her to bed for 2 weeks or he would hospitalize her until she retired.
The grandmothers helped tremendously before Camille's surgery. Unable to change her ticket for a reasonable fee, Richard’s mother left at the 6-week point. Catherine assisted during the day but still had a restaurant to operate. Juliet, the dear, came daily to straighten up and make sure Camille ate when Camille refused to do so for Catherine.
Richard took over from Catherine after work and handled the night shift. By the second post-surgical week he averaged 3 hours of catnaps a night. While the twins were on the same schedule, they inherited Camille’s patience with waiting for their father to prepare their meals; Camille’s breasts never took this long to deliver milk. Richard never woke Camille for the night feedings, reasoning that the more rest she got the less likely he’d have to continue this schedule when she was truly healed.
Thirteen days into the fortnight, the entire house crashed. Camille demanded Richard wake her as her breasts ached with the missed nighttime feedings; Richard refused.
They argued.
Jasiri, an innocent bystander in the havoc her brothers wrought on their quiet household, threw the first tantrum they’d ever seen from her. Camille blamed the twins’ disruptive sleep behavior and Jasiri's first (and only) tantrum on Richard’s refusal to let Camille nurse the twins at night.
Too exhausted to control his mouth, Richard reminded Camille that when they’d discussed having two more children he’d meant one at a time; she’d gotten his instructions wrong.
Camille burst into tears and stormed off into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The sounds of the overworked breast pump and sobbing came through the door. Jasiri, truly frightened at her parents’ behavior, climbed on the couch and cried into a pillow.
Then the twins woke up screaming for no other reason than that everyone else was up.
Stress sent Richard’s shoulders up to his ear lobes and locked his jaw closed. Frozen in their living area, he spent a long minute thinking his way through this disaster while everyone else in his family cried in 4-part harmony.
Spinning, he dashed into the twins’ room and returned with both boys, each in his car carrier and covered with a light cotton baby blanket against the air-con’s chill. Richard sat the carriers on the floor in front of the couch. Next, he sprinted into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles from the counter. These held sterilized water and were used to sooth the boys when Camille’s breasts weren’t immediately available. In their preference for Camille's breasts. the twins resembled their father (who could be similarly satisfied by Camille).
Screwing his courage to its sticking place, he stormed the master bedroom, ignoring the string of French epithets hurled at him. Re-entering the living area carrying a case, Richard sat in front of the carriers and placed the bottles into the gaping, crying mouths. Sucking replaced noise. Periodically Richard would pull gently on the bottles to determine when he could safely remove them. When silence accompanied this movement, he sat the bottles on the table.
The harried family head flipped the latches on the case in his lap and removed the item contained within. Adjusting the parts, he sat the case on the floor and the item back in the case. Richard then lifted his whimpering daughter into his lap and retrieved the item once again. Fidgeting until he and Jasiri were both comfortable, the balladeer moved his fingers and began to sing.
“There is a place where dreams are born and life is never planned.
It’s not on any chart, you must find it in your heart, Never Never Land.
It might be miles beyond the moon or right there where you stand.
Just keep an open mind, and then suddenly you'll find Never Never Land.”
Richard softly sang the children’s lullaby from the West End play “Peter Pan”, a favorite from his own childhood. The small body in his lap relaxed as he sang the melody. The two in the carriers began to blink - a sure sign Mr. Sandman was working his magic.
“Though her words are simple and few,
Listen, Listen - she’s calling to you.
Feed the birds, tuppence a bag.
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag...”
[Sherman Brothers - “Mary Poppins”]
Success arrived with light snoring from the carriers on the floor. Two down, one to go.
“Jasiri, did we upset you?”
After a few sniffles her small head gently nodded on Richard’s chest.
“I guess it’s been rather chaotic around here for the last few months, what with all the preparation for the boys.”
The sniffles slowed.
“You know, boys can be quite a bother. Most are loud and clumsy and they push and shove and shout quite a lot..."
“Pa-pa - you were a boy!" Jasiri protested with a French lilt to her English.
“Yes I was, once. Didn’t have a sister, though. If I did she’d probably have packed me up with the rubbish and set me out for pick-up.”
Richard got the laugh he’d been aiming for.
“You are aware that those two boys causing all this disruption to our quiet lives - well, when you mother’s not in a state - are your fault, aren’t you?”
“No, Pa-pa! Maman carried the babies inside her. She and Mémère told me YOU put them there.”
“Yes, well, you know... I wasn’t speaking to the mechanics. What I mean is, do you know why we decided to have more children?”
“No.”
“Because you have been such a wonderful daughter we thought ‘This is great fun. Let’s bring more well-behaved and enjoyable children into our home!’”
Jasiri laughed at her English father's French impersonation. Thankfully, Camille didn’t hear him imitating her.
“You spoiled us. And then these two blighters show up and it’s all feeding and crying and nappies and - what would you say if we just got in the Rover and took them to Guadeloupe? We can leave them with the nuns there! It’s dark - no one would know!”
“No, Pa-pa! They are my brothers! Mémère says it will get better as they grow up.”
“Are you sure?" After a moment, he sighed in resignation. "I guess your mother would miss them seeing as she carried them around for so long. I want you to know we love you, Jasiri, and we’re really sorry your brothers wake us all up at night.”
That got Richard a kiss after he slid the guitar to the side. Resettling her, Richard plucked the strings once again and sang mostly for himself.
“I’ve been afraid of changing ‘cause I
I built my life around you
But time makes you bolder, children get older
and I’m getting older too
I’m getting older too
So, take this love, take it down.
Oh, if you climb a mountain and you turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down, down
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,
Well maybe, the landslide ‘ill bring it down.
Well, well the landslide will bring it down...”
[Stevie Nicks - “Landslide”]
“That’s beautiful, chér. Maman suspected you could sing when she heard you play piano. I’m a bit jealous, though. You never sing for me.”
Camille tip-toed into the living area. For the first time in days the children slept soundly all at the same time.
“That’s because every time we’re alone we have sex. When we can stay awake. Go back to bed; I’ll handle this lot.”
Camille ignored him, sitting at the opposite end of the couch after carefully removing Henri or Richie (Richard hadn’t told Camille he couldn’t tell them apart; Casper suspected they were identical) from the carrier and setting them to her breast. The little mouth latched on without waking.
“Ah! That feels so good! I thought my breasts would explode.”
“There’s something I can actually help you with. If I can ever get to them; you seem to always have a baby attached.”
One-handing the guitar into its case, Richard rose slowly to place Jasiri in her bed. By the time he’d finished, the second carrier lay empty as another sleeping child nursed.
“I’ll put Hen-, uh, Rich-... I’ll put this one to bed.”
“No, chér. Let sleeping babes lie, as Maman says.”
“Can I get you something?” Richard yawned.
“I want a song. Sing to me, Richard.”
Richard retrieved the instrument from its resting place, articulating notes in the arppegiated chords
"Ne me quitter pas
Il faut oublier
Tout peut s'oublier
Qui s'enfuit déjà
Oublier le temps..."
[Jacques Brel - "If You Go Away"]