“We haven’t decided yet,” he tells the woman. “For now, we just call her, Little Pomegranate.”
The midwife presses a hand to her heart. “It’s beautiful name,” she says in her East-European accent. “In my country, we love pomegranates.”
“Where is your country?” I ask.
“I’m Bosnian.”
There are quite a few refugees that seem to have made their way here. I wonder if she’s one of Laura’s original factory workers.
“I’ve been to Bosnia,” Brandon tells her. “I played with the Sarajevo Philharmonic.”
“I don’t know it. We came from Srebrenica.” She tells him and they chat a little. Brandon has a way that puts people at ease.
“Mali nara.” She beams at my baby. “This is how we say ‘Little Pomegranate.’”
“Malinara?” I repeat softly. And my baby puckers her little mouth and makes a small sound, like a little kiss.
Brandon meets my gaze again and quirks an eyebrow. “It’s a nice name.” He understands my thoughts before I even think them. “But you don’t have to decide now. Take your time, there’s no rush.”
I don’t need time. I look at my little girl to feel for that joy in my heart. “I am calling her Malinara Joy.”
“Malinara Joy.” He says to the baby. “That’s perfect.” And his voice is so tender it makes my breath catch.
We wait until the nurse writes it on a little strip to insert into the baby bracelet. She leaves us alone, and Brandon comes back to sit beside me.
“Are you sure about us coming to live with you?” I ask him again. Because I need to make sure.
“If you ask me again, I’ll return the garden swing and install a tool shed in its place.” He warns me.
I don’t bring it up again, or the other question on the tip of my tongue. Not for a couple of weeks.
Chapter Thirty-four
Lessa
“Brand?”
We’re in the Du Montfort carriage; Millie was adamant we went home in style not in the ambulance tractor thingy or the horse drawn delivery caravan.
Malinara is on my arm, and Brandon sits opposite with the small suitcase and watches the apple blossoms in the orchards. Our route feels like a Disney movie with all the white flowers on all sides. Every little breeze shakes a few petals which rain down, a couple drift and land on Malinara’s blanket.
The mother and baby clinic gave me an emergency supply of nappies and wet wipes, but I’ll need to go shopping for the millions of things a baby needs. I’ve done my research and compiled a long list that even Brandon, list-master extraordinaire, would be proud of.
Tomorrow, first thing in the morning.
Now, I’m going to just focus on my homecoming. Things have changed. A lot. My researcher’s mind is scrambling to understand where we all stand now. I need to talk to him.
“What?” Brandon gives me his full attention.
“How come you’re here? I thought you’d still be in Amsterdam.”
“Adam tried to reach me,” he answers. “But I’d swapped to my European phone, so he had to ring every hotel in Amsterdam. The receptionist at the Hilton called me at one o’clock at night, I was out with a…a friend.” He makes a tiny head shake. “I ran out into the street, in the rain, forgetting my jacket and was halfway to the city centre before realising I could have taken a taxi.” He chuckles softly. “La Canette has ruined me for traffic. Anyway, I finally got through to Adam and flew back the next morning.”
“Did you miss your auditions?”
“It’s fine.” He says this so quickly; it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, then he goes back to watching the orchards.
I lean forward a little and place a light hand on his wrist to make him look at me. “You can tell me.”
