‘Barbie?’ Dr Otterman said. ‘Do you like Barbie, Phoebe?’
‘Barbie!’ Phoebe said, then giggled.
Through all her anxiety, Naomi felt a sudden burst of happiness exploding inside her. She was speaking! Her baby girl was speaking! Speaking normally! This was incredible! She stared at John, wanting to throw her arms around him in joy.
‘You like Barbie dolls?’ Dr Otterman said. ‘You like playing with Barbie?’
‘Barbie!’ Naomi said to her. ‘Darling, Barbie!’ She turned to the paediatrician, elated. ‘She’s speaking! Her first words!’ She was so happy she could hug the man!
‘Barbie!’ John said to Phoebe.
‘Barbie!’ Phoebe said again and burst into a fit of giggles, as if this was the funniest thing in the world. ‘Barbie! Barbie!’
Tears welled in Naomi’s eyes. John put an arm around her and squeezed her.
‘Incredible!’ Naomi said.
‘I told you, they’re fine,’ John said. ‘They’re fine!’
Naomi nodded, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Yes.’
Phoebe, giggling, gave no resistance now as the paediatrician, assisted by Naomi, removed all her clothes, repeating the word Barbie over and over, as if she had made the most important discovery of her life.
Dr Otterman examined her thoroughly externally, then to Naomi’s surprise, Phoebe allowed him, without protest, to take a blood sample, followed by a brief internal examination with a laparoscope. After that he gently probed with a tissue between Naomi’s legs and when he withdrew it, Naomi saw spots of blood on it.
‘Barbie! he repeated back to her like a secret code between them.
‘Barbie!’ Phoebe said.
The paediatrician removed his gloves, washed his hands, helped Naomi to get her dressed again, and went back behind his desk.
He made several notes with a fountain pen, then set it down and frowned. After some moments he picked it up again, then leaned back in his chair.
‘Dr and Mrs Klaesson,’ he said, ‘this internal bleeding last night – was it a very hot bath?’
‘No warmer than usual.’
‘I’m going to send the blood away for analysis – the results will take a couple of days.’
‘What do you think is wrong with her?’ Naomi asked. ‘Is she very sick? I mean – internal bleeding – do you think it could have been caused by the bath water being too hot, or is it something-’
He looked uncomfortable suddenly. ‘I think we should wait for the lab tests before jumping to any conclusions.’
‘Wh-what sort of conclusions?’ Naomi said, alarmed.
Dr Otterman stood up. ‘I really don’t want you worrying needlessly. I’ll call you as soon as I have the results.’
‘But what do you think it could be?’ John asked. ‘What’s your opinion?’
‘Internal bleeding can’t be good news, can it?’ Naomi said.
‘There are a number of possibilities – let’s wait,’ Otterman said.
‘The other thing is this language she and Luke are speaking,’ John said. ‘What are your thoughts on that?’
The paediatrician raised his hands in the air. ‘I’m baffled by that.’ He glanced down at his notes. ‘You saw the psychiatrist, Roland Talbot, a couple of months ago, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘He thinks they are quite exceptionally gifted. I don’t think I’d concern yourselves too much over that, although I have to say, the pattern on the floor, it’s a pretty impressive mathematical feat. We’re still in a very early stage of understanding how the human brain works. There have been a number of documented instances of quite extraordinary communication between twins. Mathematics is sometimes a feature of autism-’
Naomi interrupted him. ‘Autism? Do you think they’re autistic?’
‘It’s one possibility they could be somewhere on the spectrum, although I personally don’t think so. But that is something we need to be aware of as a possibility.’ He said nothing for a moment, then went on. ‘Somehow, they’ve hooked into a set of neural pathways that can perform this feat. What they are doing seems unbelievable to us, but is probably perfectly natural to them. Between some point of development in the womb, and the age of seven, our brains hardwire themselves. This could be just a phase – you may well find they lose this ability in another year or so. If there is no change, then there is a very good child behavioural psychologist in Brighton who I would suggest you take them to – but I suspect that won’t be necessary.’
‘I sure as hell hope you are right,’ Naomi said. ‘I find it just a little too weird.’
The paediatrician showed them both to the door. ‘I’ll call you just as soon as I know. Meantime, don’t worry.’
Dr Otterman telephoned two days later. The tone of his voice scared Naomi. He suggested that she and John should come to see him as soon as was convenient, on their own if possible.
60
The consulting room seemed to have changed in the three days since they were last here. On Monday morning, with its yellow walls and huge window, the room had felt light and bright. Now it was dark and oppressive. Naomi and John sat in front of the paediatrician’s desk. Dr Otterman was outside, dealing with some enquiry from his secretary. Panes of glass rattled in the wind. Naomi watched rain lash the street, an autumn equinox gale asserting itself on the town, the countryside, the sea.
A cold wind blew through her. She shivered. Nature had so much in its damned arsenal. Hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanoes, tidal waves, floods, meteorites, asteroids. Disease.
She reached out and took John’s hand. He squeezed back, and half turned to her as if he was about to say something. Then Dr Otterman came back into the room and closed the door. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
They both watched him anxiously, as the paediatrician eased himself behind his desk. As he sat down he peered at something on his computer screen, then plucked a pen from the black mug in front of him and rolled it backwards and forwards between his fingers. ‘Thanks for coming in,’ he said. ‘I felt it was better for you to hear this in person because – well – it’s a very unusual condition – not life-threatening, but it does of course give rise to concern.’
Naomi and John waited for him to continue.
‘It – well, how can I put it – it affects a very small percentage of all children born in the world. We’re going to need an electroencephalogram to make absolutely sure, but I don’t really have much doubt at all.’
Into the tunnel, Naomi thought bleakly. We’re going back into that damned, bloody tunnel we were in with Halley. Tests. Hospitals. More tests. More specialists. More hospitals.
He put the pen back in the mug, deliberated for some moments, then retrieved it again, his eyes darting between Naomi and John. ‘This bleeding – I didn’t want to give you my diagnosis until I was pretty sure. Now I have the results from the pathology tests and they are still not conclusive. Phoebe is presenting some symptoms of a variant form of a condition known as McCune-Albright syndrome.’
John and Naomi exchanged a puzzled glance. Then John said, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of this – MacEwan-Albright syndrome?’
‘Yes,’ Dr Otterman said edgily. ‘That’s right, yes, McCune-Albright syndrome.’ His face reddened. ‘It’s also known as precocious puberty.’
‘ Puberty, did you say?’ asked Naomi.
He nodded. ‘It’s a congenital abnormality that causes varying forms of early sexual maturity in children, as well as other physiological changes.’
Naomi raised her voice in disbelief. ‘Sexual maturity? What exactly are you saying? Phoebe’s not even two years old – are you telling us she’s sexually mature?’
The paediatrician stared back with a helpless expression. ‘I’m afraid what I’m saying is exactly that.
