Gnik Nus

Chapter 23

I was at Kinfauns, George's house. One of the bedrooms had been turned into a beautifully elaborate nursery. The walls were painted a bright yellow with flowers in pink, blue, red, purple along the bottom, like a garden. There were handcrafted shelves brimming with stuffed animals and other ornaments. In the centre of the room stood three wicker bassinets. George, John and Ringo had all appeared, one standing at the end of each bassinet. They were wearing their Shea Stadium outfits. In unison, the three band mates leaned forwards over the cots and each reached into them, extracting a bundle of blankets. They gazed lovingly into the bundles in their arms. I moved closer. George, the closest to where I stood transfixed, turned the bundle and I could see what it was – a baby, with a miniature version of George's face, but with a small tuft of hair instead of a moptop. The sight was rather alarming to me. I swiftly rushed to John at the next bassinet – the situation was the same here, a baby John Lennon. At Ringo on the very end, I was most startled, for I had the displeasure of seeing his nose on a baby. I felt some pressure on my abdomen. Looking down, I saw a ballooning tummy, the size of a full term pregnancy. I felt the pressure again, thinking I was going into labour, only to realise it was an external pressure, felt on my skin rather than from the inside.

I opened my eyes, startled, to find I was in a pitch-black room – our living area that doubled as our bedroom. It must have been the middle of the night. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I was still half-asleep, but I could make out what I thought was a face, inches from my own. When I stared at it, it quickly went away, into the darkness. I instantly fell back asleep.

When I woke again, daylight was streaming in. I could smell bacon cooking, as well as mushrooms. I instantly became angry – didn't Jenny know the smell of cooking mushrooms made me feel ill? One whiff brought on a strong bout of nausea and I nearly ran to the bathroom. Instead, I scrambled out of bed and headed for the kitchen. I was about to berate Jenny for inducing my nausea when I stopped at the sight of Peter (wearing an apron, something I had never seen) standing over the stove. He was the only one in the kitchen.
"Oh, morning Soph," he greeted with a smile as soon as he noticed me. "Are you okay?"
My anger ebbed away as I realised Peter must not know about my kryptonite. I merely nodded at him, trying to remain breathing through my mouth. I wanted to ask why he was cooking breakfast but that would mean having to breathe through my nose and smell the mushrooms, which I was now dangerously close to.
"What's this, Peter?" Jenny asked in a pleasantly surprised tone from behind me. I whipped around to see her smiling incredulously.
"I was first up so I thought I'd get breakfast ready," Peter replied, flipping eggs in a pan on the stove. Jenny must've seen the strangled and disgusted look on my face at the same time as she realised she could smell the mushrooms.
"Oh, Pete, the smell of the mushrooms greatly nauseates Sophie, didn't you know?" she said calmly.
"No, I didn't, sorry Soph," he apologised.
It was surprising that he didn't know this, as he knew nearly everything else about me. I just nodded with a grimace.
"Is it really that bad?" he asked.
"You've never been pregnant before, you can only imagine," Jenny explained to him. I felt a rush of gratitude towards her – she knew how I felt. How could I have suspected her of fouling me up like this?

I went back and sat on my bed cross-legged. I guess it would be cereal and toast for me again. Jenny forbade Kylie and me from eating bacon, and I could stomach the taste of mushroom just as well as I could the smell. I wasn't a huge fan of eggs either, so that left me with limited options. If only they would cook hash browns or sausages for our hot breakfasts once in a while. Glancing around the room, I noticed that Jack was awake. He was lying in his bed (the lounge) reading his favourite book, Green Eggs and Ham.
"Morning, Jack," I called over to him.
"Morning, Sophie," he replied, looking at me but not moving his book.
"Guess we're having Coco Pops again."
Jack and I seemed to be the lone members of the family who entirely forewent the hot breakfast specialty that was cooked a few times a week.
"I wish we could have pancakes or waffles more often," he mused.
"You're speaking my mind, bud."