Wanderlust for Beginners

By Alice Casey

Welcome to the Moonlit Road is a joyously far-fetched fantasy novel with a queer family focus.

Ngaire and Katy settle in a small town, and set baby plans underway. The baby daddy is Ngaire’s cousin, Nigel, a dairy farmer and wizard, and when it turns out that the baby has Down Syndrome, Ngaire asks Nigel to help. He finds an old spell and consecrates an owl to the Welsh Goddess Blodeuwedd, assigning it to watch over the pregnancy and later, the child as she grows up.
Fourteen years later, we find Eerin’s birthday celebrations are marred by a visit from the police who are concerned about her wandering around at night, and her party is crashed by a rough family, the Colliers, who live down the road. Their two-year-old toddler, Jordan, is one of Eerin’s buddies, and Katy is constantly at a loss about how to get him away from his abusive family. There’s something about the small New Zealand town of Tauaroha where the welfare mechanisms haven’t been able to stand up to criminal pressure.
Not long after all this, Eerin finally gets her first period and is suddenly able to see ghosts. Her first ghost is the nosy old lady who had dobbed her in to the police. Someone (and it wasn’t Eerin) brutally murdered her in her bed as she slept.
Eerin is persuaded to report the crime, and even then, the ghost of Mrs. Grey continues to pester her as she tries to find out who the killer is.
On the family front, things could be better. It’s been about eighteen months since Katy split from Ngaire on the grounds that Katy isn’t a lesbian any more. Not only has she got religion, but she no longer believes it was Nigel’s magic that protected Eerin’s health. In fact, she thinks it was occultic and she isn’t happy to find her daughter talking to ghosts.
As Eerin and her family are thrown into the complications that arise from a murder and a child abuse case, we are inducted into a future where Down Syndrome is increasingly rare due to screening, and gently asked to grapple with issues such as fate, organised religion, individual differences, sibling abuse, revenge, and family configurations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Casey
• Release date: Mar 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370785186

Alice Casey

Alice Casey is a New Zealand author of inclusive fantasy novels. Melissa Cassidy is the author of the workbooks for the eslnews.org.nz website. Pat Symes was the original creator of the eslnews.org.nz website and many of the texts used in the workbooks were written by her. Both Pat and Melissa are teachers of English language in New Zealand.

Book preview

Wanderlust for Beginners

Alice Casey

This is the second edition of Wanderlust for Beginners, Copyrighted© to Alice Cassidy, 2017.

This story is totally fictional, except for the bit about corn cockle being poisonous. That part is all true!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Kiran Burns for acting as a truly awesome sounding board throughout this project, and a slightly awed expression of gratitude to Rebecca Cundy for her beautiful artwork. Thanks, too, to Simon Haynes, designer of YWriter5 which enabled me to manage this project in terms of software. Finally, to my partner, Christina, thanks for your unique combination of brutal honesty and unswerving support, and thanks for lending me your optimism.

Contents

Chapter 1: The End of Winter, 2010

Chapter 2: The Doubt of Those who want to Believe

Chapter 3: Late Summer, 2024

Chapter 4: Early Autumn, 2024

Chapter 5: Bearing Witness

Chapter 6: Wizard School

Chapter 7: River Adventure

Chapter 8: The Soggy Walk of Shame

Chapter 9: Teacher-Only Day

Chapter 10: A Rabbit Problem

Chapter 11: The Fastest Exorcism in History

Chapter 12: Death Fairies

Chapter 13: The Quest for Revenge

Chapter 14: Speaking in Tongues

Chapter 15: Fun and Games in the Cemetery

Chapter 16: Granny Got a Gun

Chapter 17: How to get Bloddy-Vision

Chapter 18: Men with Sheep Drenchers

Chapter 19: Denial in the Afterlife

Chapter 20: Not Safe

Chapter 21: Tree Mediation?

Chapter 22: Where’s a Vet When You Need One?

Chapter 23: What was the Plan Again?

Chapter 24: Painful Doubt

Chapter 25: Can Fate Correct Itself?

Chapter 26: Not the Plan

Chapter 27: Grounded

Addendum for Geographers

I think there is no suffering greater than what is caused by the doubts of those who want to believe.

― Flannery O’Connor, The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O’Connor

Chapter 1: The End of Winter, 2010

Ngaire was shaking crumbs out of her keyboard and pondering how to start an editorial on truck safety when her phone let out that special twang saved especially for Katy. The message said, can u call me asap :-( .

Her mind flicked through the possibilities for bad news. Complications in the pregnancy? Electricity bill finally came in? New neighbours turned out to be homophobic?

She called straight back.

What’s up? she asked, hoping it would be morbid ruminations rather than actual news.

Katy hesitated and then blurted, It’s Down Syndrome.

There was silence at both ends. Finally, Ngaire said, Wow. I’ll come home.

Can we talk a bit now? Katy pleaded. The drive to Tāuaroha took about an hour, and the reception wasn’t any good for phoning and driving.

Yeah, sure. Did the doctor have any other news?

Just that it’s definitely Down Syndrome. There’s some pamphlets about deciding whether or not to terminate, info about Down Syndrome. I just can’t believe it. I’m in shock… Her voice trailed off.

Make yourself a cup of tea with sugar, you know I’d make it for you if I was there, right?

Okay.

It’s going to be okay. It’s just a setback, that’s all.

Yep.

This was the downside to commuting. The only thing that could possibly ground them both right now was physical touch. And possibly, lemon meringue pie. Talking over the phone just didn’t cut it. They’d been trying for so long. They’d endured two miscarriages, and now this. Katy was one of those women who wanted a baby more than anything, to the point where Ngaire occasionally worried that she might lose her mind someday and actually steal one. She always looked a bit twitchy when they walked past unattended strollers.

What are you doing right now? Ngaire asked the silence on the other end of the line.

Filling the kettle, Katy said miserably, although Ngaire couldn’t hear any water noises.

Do you want to tele?

Not a good idea, she sniffed. Katy hated anyone to see her cry, although Ngaire had always found it endearing. Her bottom lip would actually quiver, just like in a cartoon.

Okay, sweet-cheeks, shall I hit the road now?

Okay.

I’ll be there by the time you’ve had your second cup of tea.

Okay. Katy was a slow drinker.

* * *

Katy made herself the tea Ngaire ordered. Griselda, their spoiled Weimaraner was curled into a tight ball in her tiny bed, tracking Katy with accusing eyes. It was a pretty house, hardwood floors and whitewashed joinery, but small, and that meant small sofas for people and small beds for begrudging dogs. She turned on the gas heater and then the computer. She had the tiniest workspace known in the graphic design universe. Her computer monitor doubled up as an entertainment console and her desk folded down by night. She was the queen of small spaces. She googled ‘Down Syndrome’. First the faces, cute and pudgy, then a horrible article that made them sound like another species. Gaps between toes. Distinctive creases on the hands. Narrow jaws, big tongues, life expectancy, prognosis, dementia, sexuality.

The tea was piping hot and bracing, and, not being used to sugar, one teaspoon seemed very sweet. She found the blog of a woman who loved her son, managing diabetes, abortion blogs, abortion because of Down Syndrome, abortion grief poems. She made a second cup of tea, and got back to Google. There was a painting from about three hundred years ago where some of the crowd had Down Syndrome faces. Low muscle tone, speech therapy, leukaemia at the age of 10! There are fewer and fewer Down Syndrome babies being born because most mothers choose to abort. Parents of Down Syndrome beg prospective mothers to give their babies a chance. They are here for a reason. Heart disease. Hip dislocation. Ngaire pulled into the driveway. Katy drained the last of her tea from the cup. They hugged in the doorway.

* * *

In the living room, Ngaire rifled through the pamphlets while Katy poured her heart out.

The doctor was really careful not to tell me what to do, but he did say that it’s no picnic having Down Syndrome. Most of the brain damage is caused during gestation. Scientists are so close to finding a way to stop the brain damage. Can you imagine that? We’d have a whole community of people with an extra X chromosome, fully functioning in the world of business, study, politics, family life. I wonder if they’d still have their special attributes … But then the cure isn’t here yet, and there’s no telling what the extent of the brain damage could be. Some babies have less brain damage than others. Why? I have to google that. Maybe there’s some environmental factor that we could avoid …

Ngaire blinked and stared at nothing for a moment. The news about the pregnancy was a biggie, way more complex than it ever sounded from the outside. If the baby needed a lot of extra help, the responsibility for that would fall squarely on hers and Katy’s shoulders. What if they needed therapies that cost too much? What if she couldn’t handle it? She sighed, etching a little star pattern onto her coffee cup with her finger. There was nothing for it but to go along for the ride and see what happens.

* * *

The next two days were like that, Katy chattering incessantly about optimising the baby’s health, Ngaire trying to work through her fears. Researching, Katy got more and more involved with online communities that insisted that a baby isn’t Down Syndrome, a baby HAS Down Syndrome. Ngaire didn’t get that.

Can a baby get rid of Down Syndrome? she asked Katy. She didn’t wait for Katy to answer; that would be mean. Can a doctor cure it? Can the extra chromosome be removed like a mole? I HAVE a mole, I AM gay, I AM a woman…

But you could change to a man…

Yes, but I’d still have my XX chromosomes, and it would be an uphill battle.

I’m sure the transsexual community would just love you for saying that! Gender goes further than chromosomes, maybe gender is a choice?

Well… Ngaire’s brain was blipping out. She started again. Okay, so I AM gay. I don’t HAVE gay.

But that’s not even in your chromosomes. There’s no chromosome for being gay. It’s a choice!

It sure doesn’t feel like a choice! Maybe that’s the thing, if it’s not a choice, then we ARE it. If it’s a choice, then we HAVE it.

"So you chose your moles?" Katy looked sceptical.

Ngaire rubbed her brow with her imaginary bear paw. Head hurt. Katy’s nose folded down in the world’s tiniest chuckle.

For the first time in a couple of days, there was a silence where Ngaire actually had the chance to say something and be heard. The pressure to get it right was palpable. An Olympic moment.

This baby has three chromosomes. Every cell in the baby’s body is going to be burdened with an extra chromosome, and that can’t be undone. It’s not a choice. The only choices are to abort or keep it.

Katy bit her lips to unsuccessfully keep the tears in. Her chin was turning white; she was shaking her head. There’s always a third way, she said. We’re clever, we can find a way; I know we can!

Ngaire stood up to embrace her. Katy sobbed into her woolly jersey.

The third way, thought Ngaire. The way of Fairy.

* * *

Nine o’clock Friday morning Nigel was bringing his tractor into the lower paddock to tighten some loose fencing when his phone bleeped. It was Ngaire. By the sound of the text, she must be already in his kitchen, putting on the coffee. His stomach tightened involuntarily. It was always good to hear from Ngaire, but an unannounced visit usually boded ill. Luckily they were few and far between. The last one was about a year ago, when Katy had the miscarriage. He reluctantly dumped his fencing gear by the post he was working on and headed back to the house.

Sure enough, Ngaire was in the kitchen huddled over her coffee for warmth.

Ah, you’re in your work gear, he remarked. It was funny to see her wearing a brooch.

So are you, retorted Ngaire. It was early September, and freezing in the early morning. Nige was in his standard shorts and woolly socks that were smelling a bit rich, and the oatmeal-coloured argyle jersey Nana Stephanie had knitted for him when he was, what, seventeen? There were odd-coloured patches and darning all over it. He took off his black beanie revealing fine, sandy hair slicked with sweat. No matter how many new beanies, socks and sweaters Ngaire and Katy got him for Christmas, the guy always looked the same.

So did his house. Even though his parents had vacated the bigger, newer farmhouse down by the road to retire to the city, he still stayed in Nana’s freezing little cottage, and kept it roughly as it had been when he and Ngaire were kids. It was hard to imagine Nige dusting, but the slice of purple agate Nana had brought back from Australia before they were even born, along with all the commemorative china, were always pristine. The crystal sugar bowl sat in the clunky old refrigerator, exactly as it had always done, and Nana’s cut-worked, embroidered and crocheted linen lined the shelves and table, lavender-scented, exactly as it had always been. A faded Bon Jovi poster sat in one corner. Ngaire smiled at the layers of history in the supposedly unchanged room.

How’s Katy? Nigel asked.

Ngaire let her eyes bug out. Not good. We did a test for Down Syndrome, just a routine test, and it turns out that’s what the baby’s got.

Nige pulled his head back a little and then flicked an eyebrow.

It was Nigel’s baby too. Katy was going to be Mum, Ngaire wanted to be Pappy, and Nige would be Dad. If Nigel ever partnered up, they had no idea what his partner’s title would be, probably just his first name. But that issue was a long way off.

So, what are you gonna do?

Ngaire shrugged. Katy’s completely focused on the baby’s health. I’m kind of freaking out. What would you do?

How bad would it be? asked the naive farmer.

Ngaire shook her head. There’s no way of telling. It could be really bad, or just tricky. Whatever the case, the number of kids who get to the point where they can live independently is a minority, and the health problems are shocking.

Ngaire paused for a moment and then got to the point. The two of them went way back, so there was no reason to beat around the bush.

No pressure or anything, but do you think Nana’s grimoire would have anything to offer? Or even, the fairies?

Nigel tilted his head and looked up to the corner of the ceiling. Great Grandma had been one of the top midwives of the region, secretly using spells that had been handed down from generation to generation in their family, finally to him. Of course, being a guy, he’d been more interested in the other spells; spells to heal broken bones, make grass grow faster, find water, kill fleas … anything but midwifery.

I can have a look, he said. It would take hours, the writing was scrawled and faded. The handiest ones had been rewritten, even typed up on the computer, but researching was a job.

Katy said most of the brain damage for Down Syndrome takes place during gestation, so if it’s possible to find a way to stop that damage by means of magic … Well, I was just hoping.

Nigel smiled wryly and flicked his eyebrows. Hope is all we have right now. I’m happy to have a look at the grimoire, I might even be able to pimp some other spell, get creative, you know. But I’m sensing a lot of fear in you, and you know, that could be something you could deal with too, eh? Like, we all live with disability to some extent in our lives, if only that we can’t see God. If the sprog has some limits, maybe we can live with that?

Ngaire flushed just a little, but seemed to appreciate the chance to talk. To be honest, if we had unlimited resources, I probably wouldn’t worry nearly so much. But the idea of being faced with a child that’s suffering and being unable to do anything about it . . . it’s hard, you know?

Nige shoved his hands into his pockets. He knew. And Ngaire knew that he knew. But they’d never, ever talk about that. He spoke in measured tones. That’s why hope is so important, he said. You can hope that the magic’ll work, that medicine will improve, that the government will offer decent support, there’s so many variables, and most of them we can’t control. So, we have to hope.

Ngaire was trying not to tear up, so he chucked her on the arm. He wasn’t being indifferent; he’d grown up with Ngaire and knew she needed to have her strength acknowledged.

Do you wanna bring Katy over for a barbecue tomorrow? The alpacas might cheer her up.

Ngaire smiled. Sure thing! How’s Bugsy?

He’s quite big now, bossing all the other alpacas around.

That’ll be good. I’ll let you know when I’ve checked it with her.

Sooo…you’re supposed to be at work today, aren’t you?

I know. I just got to the main road and I found myself going left instead of right. It doesn’t matter, I’ll get there eventually.

What’s the next edition about?

Truck safety. Got any stories for me?

Actually, yeah. Bob Marsden down the road got one of his cows run over by a milk tanker back in February. It was on the farm, loading up, and they reversed over the bloody cow.

Hm. Now that’s an angle I hadn’t thought of. Truck safety with stock. Cheers. How do I contact Bob?

* * *

Griselda, had figured out where they were going the minute Ngaire turned left at the highway. She was whistling and groaning, leaning over the console and dribbling onto the CDs. At three in the afternoon the early spring sunlight was already casting long shadows, but the sky was a beautiful blue, and the grass had that gorgeous yellow-green hue reserved for afternoons like this and thunderstorms.

Katy knew it would be good to go to Nigel’s farm but still, she dreaded it. She had always been a little bit intimidated by Nigel and his voodoo, of his shared past with Ngaire and the power that gave him, and now she had to tell him that the child they’d partnered in conceiving had a health problem. Ngaire said she’d already told him, and he wanted to use his magic to help, but what was going to be his angle? Would she be strong enough to stand up to him if both him and Ngaire were pushing for something she didn’t want? She sighed. She was still googling and learning. Her dreams were busy. What she really needed was time alone. Still, Griselda adored Nigel’s cattle dog, Bilbo, and they always had a fine time running around behind the quad bike. And there was Bugsy the baby alpaca to see. She hadn’t seen Bugsy for a couple of months. But would it be safe to pet bugsy? What if there were diseases to catch? Or agrichemicals? She looked out the window for crop dusting, and seeing none, she switched the air conditioning to recycle anyway.

The Kaimai ranges were beautiful, so much bush and rugged land peeled back to pasture. Nothing looked manicured, everything looked rough, except for the immaculately groomed highway that ran through it. Driving through the Kaimais these days was smooth and effortless, like a computer game. When they were kids, it was scary and bone-jarring. As Ngaire drove on towards Nigel’s, the bumpy hillocks that made farming in the Kaimai ranges so difficult began to appear. Nigel was the only guy in the ranges running the farm solo, something that Ngaire attributed to his abilities as a wizard. In every other respect, Ngaire was a rational, credible woman and hearing her talk about Nigel’s magic always made Katy’s mind boggle. But since there were no other problems, she chose to take the good with the weird.

Katy’s mind returned to the question of babies and the mind-numbing worry returned.

It’s a bit scary meeting with the two of you when I’m pregnant, she said. I feel like a minority in my own pregnancy."

Do you? Sorry to hear that … but then you often feel outnumbered when we get together. Maybe you need a sidekick.

You mean like a baby?

Ngaire shrugged, Katy turned towards her.

You know, that whole magic thing makes me feel … so alone.

What do you mean?

Like, there’s Nigel, coming in all ready to support us, and he has this offer of help, a way to save the baby, and I’m thinking, cool, like maybe he’s found some information or something, and then he says he wants to … well, pray, basically, and all my hopes are just falling from the sky like so many shooting stars!

Well, baby, you better make a wish. I mean, really, what can you expect? What can Nigel, or me, or anyone possibly do? Come up with a miracle cure for Down Syndrome? I guess that’s just what Nige is hoping to do.

Yeah, but magic?

Steady on girlie, you know I have a lot of respect for the magic that Nigel does, I’ve seen it work.

Oh really? When?

Ngaire’s hesitation was just long enough to remind Katy again of the shared past, that she suspected held some dreadful secret, between Ngaire and her cousin.

Well, he got us together.

What, you think that was because of Nigel’s magic?

He made a charm for me, I found you.

Katy snorted. Us finding each other was a statistical certainty. The lesbian community in Hamilton is tiny!

Yeah, but falling in love?

You think that was voodoo, not chemistry? What, are you a warty old toad that nobody would love except with a magic spell? Katy was flirting with her now, and Ngaire welcomed the lighter tone.

Well maybe I am, Ngaire made her frog face and Katy stroked her jeans.

But seriously, Ngaire continued, look at Nige’s farm. He’s got one of the most difficult landscapes in the world of farming, it’s virtually unsellable, but the place chugs over perfectly. It’s not pretty, but there’s not a speck of gorse anywhere, the animals are always healthy, not a single sheep escapes shearing, and he can even do dairy.

And that’s magic?

What is magic supposed to look like? Pretty pink sparks drifting around like fireflies? Wobbly air?

Okay, okay, I’m happy to let you two have your beliefs, but I’m still not counting on anything.

Well, it’s a grain of hope at least.

False hope, probably.

There was a silence while they ruminated on that, returning to the reality of their situation. It was a perfect day, and it would be a perfect evening. The windscreen, recently washed and waxed showed a perfect view of the bush and farmland that surrounded them.

I didn’t really ask you if you’ll stay. With me and the baby, I mean.

Of course I’d stay! said Ngaire, But I’m worried about whether it’d work out.

What do you mean?

I mean, raising a disabled kid can put strain on even the most supported and secure couples. We haven’t got that much support, and it’s not like we never fight.

There’s quite a good support community for Down Syndrome families, even in New Zealand.

True, but I’m worried that most of the mothers would be religious. That’s why they’ve kept the baby and not aborted.

So?

So, how likely are those religious parents gonna be to support our relationship and respect me as a co-parent? How long do you think you can last in that situation? Maybe they won’t even support you because you’re a lesbian mother. Maybe we’d have access to the basics, but house visits? Birthday parties? If our relationship came under strain, would they support us?

But we’ve got the lesbian community too.

Which, as you said, is tiny and under-resourced.

There’s heaps of lesbian mums out there,

Yeah, but we never see them. How do you find them?

Katy sighed. Ngaire could be relentlessly negative at times like these.

Ngaire sighed too. It was that community conversation again.

I don’t think you can go ahead and have a baby based on the assumption that there’s a community out there that will carry you through it. Remember what coming out was like?

Katy did remember. It was a constant thorn in her side. She’d jumped, thinking there was a supportive crowd out there, ready to catch her. She’d crashed to the concrete with a surprised thud. None of the organisations returned her calls, half of them had closed down, the others were disorganised. Dykes at events were too into each other and ignored her completely. The only one to talk to her at the local gay bar was a heterosexual guy who was too drunk to notice he was in a gay bar. She shuddered.

And look at Kelly’s experience with the breast cancer crowd. Kelly had discovered the so-called support network was actually just a bunch of bureaucrats on a gravy train.

They drove on in silence for a while. Then Katy spoke.

I don’t think the Down Syndrome community is that religious. I’ve been reading the online forums, and they’re really practical, and if anything, they seem … humanistic.

Ngaire bit her lip for a moment. Is it an attractive community?

Yes!

Is it possible that this community is more attractive than having an actual Down Syndrome baby?

What do you mean?

I mean you’ve always been very attracted to boutique identities, single-interest communities. You lived on a Hare Krishna farm in your younger –

Do you really think I’m that shallow? You think I’m just having this special needs baby so I can join a special needs community?

There’s nothing shallow about craving connection. Especially when your original family didn’t give you that.

Katy exhaled in disgust.

Ngaire had indeed gone straight to the sore spot, but she couldn’t think of any other way to call it. At least she’d managed to avoid using the word ‘seduced’. Perhaps she should also have deleted ‘boutique’.

Chapter 2: The Doubts of those Who Want to Believe

When they slowed to pull into Nigel’s long, muddy driveway, Grizzy gave in to complete hysterics.

Where’s Bilbo? Ngaire whispered to her, rucking her up. Where’s Nigel?

Grizzy made high pitched weebling noises and circled the back seat.

Oh my God! cried Katy, playing along, There’s gonna be SAUSAGES!

Grizelda howled in excitement. Ngaire and Katy were mostly vego so Nige’s farm was like some kind of promised land for dogs.

They drove away from the highway, along the dirt track, past a paddock of sheep, past the Ford’s empty brick house with the concrete driveway and carried on up the track, over a few more hills, past the milking shed and a field of heifers, until they finally arrived at the cottage.

Nigel’s house was pristine as always, and he already had plates full of snacks, salads, salmon and tempeh for barbecuing laid out on the table. Prince Charles and Princess Diana beamed at Katy from a plate on the Welsh dresser. She looked away and found herself staring at a goat’s skull that had been painted red mounted above the door.

Is that new? Katy asked.

Nige turned to see what she was looking at. He shrugged. Is 1992 new?

Ngaire loaded dessert into the fridge and Nige poured drinks, beer for him and Ngaire, and aloe vera juice for Katy, while Grizelda bounced around the paddock with Bilbo, limbs flying in all directions.

Katy wiped down the log table and benches behind the cottage. The grass was soggy, but the sky was clear, and they were all eager to enjoy the fine day. Bugsy came running to the fence line and bellowed at her. She forgot about her fear of greeblies and gave him a scratch. He was licking her forehead when Ngaire and Nigel arrived with drinks, chippies and candles for later.

They chatted about elderly parents, work and weather for a bit, all knowing what the big topic would finally be. Then they fell into a silence.

Ngaire told you about the Down Syndrome thing? Katy finally asked.

Yeah, she did! Sorry I didn’t mention it before, but it’s hard to know what to say. He shook his head. I’m so sorry!

Well, it’s not your fault. But I know what you mean. It’s … worrying.

Katy fiddled with a couple of tassels on her pashmina. How do you feel about it?

Nigel looked thoughtful like he was tasting something strange. Well, it’s sad, of course. It’s a slightly tough situation.

He waited for Katy to give some kind of indication of where she was at. Nothing was forthcoming. He sighed.

Ngaire spoke up. We’ve been researching ways to reduce the brain damage. It seems that brain damage is more a side effect of the syndrome. One day doctors may be able to prevent that damage, but modern medicine hasn’t quite got there yet.

There’s so much discussion online. There’s so much variation in how much brain damage the babies get, and nobody knows why. Maybe there are some environmental factors, or diet, or blood type.

Like Lorenzo’s Oil, murmured Nigel.

"Yeah, like