It is notoriously difficult to swim through pancake batter, so Emmie settled for floating on her back. Her eyes opened briefly after a staccato rattle, followed by a piercing whistle, a loud bang and a cascade of spitting bright star fragments. A war must have started. Emmie was dimly conscious of being shot in the middle somewhere; blood everywhere, lots of pain. Best get back to the pancake batter. She re-submerged.
Her eyes crept open again on hearing voices.
‘She’s coming round. Are you OK love? It’s Mum here. You had us worried’
Emmie was pleased to hear this because she too was starting to be worried.
‘What’s the fighting about out there? I think there’s a bullet in my belly. It really hurts a lot and I keep falling into a thick lake. And…’
‘Sshhush, love. Look at who’s waiting to see you. He thought you’d never wake up’
With a painful turn to look sideways, Emmie saw a plastic box on wheels with a baby inside. Her brain clicked into gear as she remembered her little Rambo who had spent several months doing serious damage to her insides.
‘Oh mum he’s lovely. I can’t remember much after a man stuck a needle in me. Must have fallen asleep and he just arrived.’
‘Yes, they decided on an emergency c-section. Best for both of you. And you haven’t been shot – but it’ll take a while for you to feel better.’
Ruby, Emmie’s big sister was a bit less conciliatory.
‘Look, it’s bonfire night and I’m meeting Jake at the firework display. Now we know you’re going to live, can I go? I’m no good with babies, although he looks like a good day’s work for you Em. Well done.’
With a tentative kiss, mindful of the bullet wound, Ruby slipped away.
‘So he’s here, he’s mine and he’s just wonderful. I’m keeping him forever mum.’
‘Of course you’re keeping him. The Social has been sniffing round, as they do with underage pregnancies. But we’ll all chip in and give him the best life ever.’
Tears were leaking from both the women. Memories of panic, disbelief, sickness, shock and all the rest gushed around them. And now great wafts of relief and oceans of love for the little boy in the cot.
‘I wish they’d turn those fireworks down,’ Emmie said. ‘They made me dream of war.’
‘Do you know, I always thought of you as my little rip-rap.’ Her mum, seeing the blank look, added, ‘They’ve stopped selling them now. A tube of gun powder made into a concertina shape. When they were lit they jumped all over and you couldn’t predict what they’d do next.’
‘Well my night of the two cans of lager may not have had a predictable outcome. But who’s to say it isn’t a great one?’
They tried for a hug. Emmie yelped. Mum pushed the button for the nurse. Rambo let forth a wail of impressive volume. The sky lit up.
