The baby showed up thirty-six hours later, at four in the morning. He weighed nearly a stone. Guy was allowed a brief visit to Hope’s suite. Looking back at it now, he had an image of mother and son mopping themselves down with gloating expressions on their faces, as if recovering from some enjoyably injudicious frolic: a pizza fight, by the look of it. Two extra specialists were present. One was peering between Hope’s legs saying, ‘Yes, well, it’s rather hard to tell what goes where.’ The other was incredulously measuring the baby’s head. Oh, the little boy was perfect in every way. And he was a monster.
Martin Amis, London Fields
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