Michael was born on 11 July 1989 in Portsmouth.
By then I knew what a baby looked like, how many nappies to pack and that advice arrived whether requested or not. This made me experienced in the same way that having missed one bus makes you an authority on public transport.
Claire was three. She understood that a baby was coming, though her interest was mainly in whether it would touch her things. I told her the baby would be too small to do much at first.
‘Then why are we having it?’ she asked.
I did not have an answer suitable for the kitchen.
My pregnancy had been ordinary enough. I was more tired than I remembered being with Claire, though I was also looking after Claire, doing occasional typing in the evenings and trying to keep the house in a condition that would not alarm visitors. Alan said the house was fine. Alan’s standard for fine included visible floor and functioning electricity.
Mum looked after Claire when I went into hospital. Claire had packed a small bag for herself and added one of her picture books for the baby. Mum removed two wooden animals and a pair of shoes before they left.
The labour was shorter than the first one. That is as much medical comparison as I need. Michael arrived safely, weighed enough to satisfy everybody who asked and had dark hair that did not last.
Alan held him with more confidence than he had held Claire. He still checked where the head was before moving, which seemed sensible. He said Michael looked like me.
‘He’s ten minutes old,’ I said.
‘There’s still a resemblance.’
When Claire visited, she stood beside the bed and looked at him for a long time. We had prepared her for crying, feeding and the fact that he could not play.
‘Is that all of him?’ she asked.
Alan said yes.
She gave him the picture book and watched while I put it on the bedside cupboard. Then she asked Mum whether they could go to the shop.
I had worried about that first meeting. Claire had dealt with it before I had finished worrying.
We brought Michael home to Havant. The smallest bedroom had been emptied of the boxes that had remained there since the move. It now contained a cot, a chest of drawers and a chair that caught the door if it was left at the wrong angle.
The first night was quieter than expected. The second was not.
With Claire, every cry had seemed to require investigation. With Michael, I learnt to check the obvious things in order. Feed. Nappy. Temperature. Being held. Then start again because enough time had passed for the first item to be possible once more.
Alan returned to work after his leave. His hours depended on the job and the distance. He rang when he could. If Michael had been awake most of the night, I told him. If he had slept, I told him that as well, though I sometimes made it sound like a joint achievement.
Claire wanted to help. She brought nappies, fetched cloths and reported each noise Michael made. She also asked me to put him down when she needed both my hands for something.
One afternoon, while I was feeding him, she stood beside the chair holding a jigsaw box.
‘Can you do this?’
‘In a minute.’
‘You said that before.’
She was right. I had said it before and meant it both times.
Mum came over twice a week during the first month. She made tea, took Claire into the garden and held Michael while I had a bath or finished a typing job. She said two children were easier in some ways because the second one had to fit in.
This sounded severe. It was also true.
I had imagined that experience would make me relaxed. It made me quicker. I knew that a bad morning could be followed by an ordinary afternoon. I knew babies changed without consulting the routine. I knew people who asked whether he was sleeping through did not want a full report.
Money was already tighter than it had been when Claire was born. We had the mortgage, one wage and the usual bills. I typed survey notes after the children were in bed when work was available. The typewriter had moved from the spare room to the dining table and back again so often that we stopped pretending it had a permanent place.
Michael gained weight. Claire began nursery. Alan repaired the catch on the back gate and then repaired it again after Claire showed him why the first repair had not worked.
By September, we could leave the house with both children without returning more than once. That counted as progress.
Michael’s early photographs show a serious baby beside a sister who usually had something else planned. In one, Claire is holding him properly while looking past the camera towards the television. She was waiting for the programme to start.