Angela and Diabola

Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones was having a baby.

At least, that's what she had understood was happening.

She was lying in bed in a hospital with a big bump in her tummy and a nurse fussing around her, saying things like, It won't be long now.

Mr. Cuthbertson-Jones was not present.

I'm sure you'll manage splendidly without me, dear, he had said, and vanished before she could mention the fact that lots of husbands stay with their wives when their babies are being born.

Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones thought he was probably in a pub somewhere, not even in a waiting room, smoking heavily and pacing the floor, the way husbands do in movies. But she didn't mind.

She didn't mind that, or anything else, because she felt so extraordinarily happy and comfortable.

She was twenty-two years old and this was her first baby.

She had heard that having a baby can hurt. But having this one wasn't hurting in the slightest. In fact, she felt as if she were on a nice pink cloud somewhere up close to heaven.

The nurse thought she was being awfully brave. I've never known anyone make less fuss, she said several times.

Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones was making so little fuss that after a while the nurse went out of the room for a cup of tea. While she was away, Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones suddenly decided that the nurse ought to come back right away. She pressed the bell she had been given. The nurse bustled back, looking a little annoyed because she had left her tea half finished.

"I think the baby is coming now," said Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones pleasantly.

"Oh, no, dear," said the nurse very firmly. "If it were, you'd know all about it!"

I do know all about it, said Mrs.Cuthbertson-Jones. It's being born right this minute."

Nonsense, dear, said the nurse. "You're not even pushing."

I don't need to push, said Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones. But it's coming just the same.

The nurse smiled in a superior way and was just about to say Nonsense, dear again when her eyes went to a little bump that had suddenly sprung up under the bed clothes. She heard a sound—they both did—not a cry, more a sort of polite little cough.

The nurse went white in the face. She stripped back the bedclothes. Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones sat up and looked. They both goggled.

There in the bed was the prettiest, sweetest little baby either of them had ever seen or imagined.

The nurse gaped at it with her mouth hanging open. Then she threw one look of reproach at Mrs. Cuthbertson Jones, as if she had tricked her somehow, and scooped the baby up in her arms.

Why didn't you tell me? she asked Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones.

I did tell you, she replied, and then said, Do let me hold the darling little creature.

The nurse was giving the baby a sponge bath. As she did so, all her annoyance and hurt pride just melted away. She had never seen such a beautiful child in all her life. Just holding it and looking into its milky-blue eyes made the nurse feel calm and happy. She was very sorry when she had to hand it over to its mother. She had the curious feeling that she wanted to go on holding it forever.

As soon as Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones had the baby in her arms, her pink cloud rose a little farther and she felt as if she had reached the gates of heaven and sailed right through them.

She knew at once this was a very, very special baby.

Most babies, when they are first born, are all red and crinkled and they tend to scream and cry at finding them selves out in the world. But not this one.

This baby just lay in its mother's arms, gurgling and smiling.

Look! A smile! said the proud mother.

Since parting from the baby, the nurse had gone back to being herself again. Nonsense, she said briskly. Babies don't smile until they're several months old.

This one does. Just you look.

The nurse glanced at the baby's face. Her eyes be came fixed.

Well! That is really extraordinary! She is smiling!

Oh! Is it a girl? asked Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones, who hadn't thought to ask before.

Yes, it's a dear sweetbeautifulperfect little girl, said the nurse, in a voice she herself hardly recognized, because it sounded like golden syrup. "Shall I go and find hubby and tell him?"

But before Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones could answer, her face changed.

Ow! she said suddenly. And before the nurse could do anything, she shouted Ow! much louder than before.

The nurse whisked the baby away because Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones was now yelling and thrashing about so much in the bed that she was afraid she might drop it.

Whatever is the matter with you? the nurse asked crossly. It's all over now!

NO IT ISN'T! shouted Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones. Ow ow OW! It hurts, it HURTS!

You're just imagining— began the nurse. Suddenly she broke off, because under the bedclothes, which she'd pulled back up to keep the patient warm, something strange was happening.

Another bump had appeared!

But this time it didn't just lie there making a polite little cough. It looked as if the bump was punching and kicking. And no sooner had Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones stopped yelling, than the bump started.

And what yells! The nurse was so astonished that for a few seconds she couldn't move. Never had she heard a newborn baby make such a noise. Never!

She quickly recovered herself and pulled the covers back. Once again Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones sat up and looked.

They both reeled back at the sight that met their eyes.

A most hideous little baby lay there on its back, purple in the face, punching and kicking around it. Its mouth was wide open and its tiny eyes—as green as the first baby's were blue—glittered with rage. It was screaming its head off.

Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones fell back on her pillows. Her pink cloud had dissolved and she fell to earth with a jolt. Gracious me! What is it?

It's a baby, dear, said the nurse grimly. Yes," she added to herself. That's what it is. What else can it be? It's a baby.

Let me hold it, whispered Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones bravely. This one's my baby, too.

Very well, dear, if you're sure. The nurse turned to pick the baby up. Ups-a-daisy! she was saying, when it turned its head and bit her severely on the thumb.

The nurse dropped it with a shriek. Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—it fell back onto the bed and, apart from a small bounce, was unharmed.

The nurse was examining her thumb in amazement. It throbbed like a snakebite.

Toothmarks! she muttered. I don't believe this!

She put on a pair of thick rubber gloves (she really wished they could have been gardening ones) and approached the baby again. This time she was careful, and although the baby twisted its face and tried again to bite, the nurse had a firm hold of its head and it couldn't. It managed to get in a good kick to the nurse's stomach, though, and as soon as it could, it reached up its tiny hand, pulled her glasses off, and began to gnaw them.

The nurse snatched them back, put the baby on a table, held it down, and looked into its mouth.

It had four sharp little teeth, two up and two down.

Still holding its head, the nurse felt its arms and legs. There seemed to be a lot of muscles in them. The baby was struggling to get free of her hands. She had to use a lot of strength to hold onto it.

She let her eyes go to the first baby, which was lying in a bassinet on the table.

It lay there like a little rose, all pink and perfect, cooing and smiling and waving its tiny hands in the air.

She looked back at the baby she was holding.

It was even more hideous than when it had first been born. Its face was dark red, almost purple. The rest of it was a sort of blue. It had hair like puce corkscrews. It had long sharp finger- and toenails. It had stopped screaming and was glaring at her and grinding its four teeth.

The nurse had to hold down more than the baby. She was holding down a feeling of terror.

Afraid of a baby? she scolded herself. Nonsense!

Holding it firmly, she wiped it clean and wrapped it securely in a blanket. She had to fight against the feeling that she was tying it up.

Are you sure you want to hold it, dear? she asked the mother.

Oh, yes, said Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones faintly. I think so. Don't I?

Well, I wouldn't, thought the nurse, wouldn't want to touch it with a barge-pole. But she handed it to Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones and felt extremely glad to get rid of it. She stripped off the rubber gloves and gave her hands a good wash. Blood was still pouring from her thumb.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones was trying to get over an uncomfortable feeling that she didn't like this baby nearly as much as the first one.

She knew it was absolutely wrong for a mother to feel this way, so she worked very hard on seeing the nice side of this one.

It wasn't easy. Certainly not while its little green eyes were open and glaring at her. But after a short time, it fell asleep. Its face became a little less purple. Its cork screw hair stopped sticking out so much. Its hands and feet stopped struggling inside the tight blanket.

Mrs. Cuthbertson-Jones stroked its cheek with one finger and thought she might be able to love it after all. At least, if it slept a lot.

The nurse was trying to recover from her shock and the pain in her thumb. She glanced at the baby and thought perhaps she hadn't been quite fair to it. It was certainly a most strange-looking infant, but after all, as she re minded herself, you can't expect to take to all of them.

Still, as she left the room, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she had taken part in something most unusual and . . . what was the word?

Sinister.

Copyright ) 1997 by Lynne Reid Banks