‘Gerald, will you shush.’
‘I can’t believe…’
The tattooed bruiser who had terrified Gerald when collecting them at the airport made a slicing motion, not across his throat, but somewhere more sensitive.
‘Did you see that? He wants to cut off my…’
‘Gerald Pelmet, I’ll do it for him if you don’t…’ Daphne stopped.
The scrawny boy held out his hand. ‘The gifts for Our Lady?’
‘Gerald, give him your… stuff.’
‘Do you think it’ll still be okay? It’s pretty humid.’
‘What are you suggesting? You go and polish Percy behind the rushes? Just give him the jar.’
‘I hope it was clean. A random chilli flake might affect the personality.’
‘Now you believe.’ Daphne handed over her jar with the studied reverence usually afforded a religious relic.
The boy intoned as he emptied the contents. ‘Lady of Life, Protector of the Seed accept these gifts!’
‘It’s mumbo-jumbo, but if believing in this charade means no more IVF then I for one…’ Gerald’s voice tailed off.
The waters bubbled and roiled; a basket bobbed to the surface.
The Pelmets stared inside: Daphne cooed, ‘We’re parents,’ while Gerald closed his eyes and said, ‘Bloody hell, twins.’
This was written in response to this week’s Flash! Friday prompt