Aimee is still sitting up in bed, reading a book on baby-names. She’s called out at least twenty-five boy names, and easily fifty girl names. Well, I’m no mentalist, but that definitely sounds like she’s leaning towards wanting a girl. Although when I ask which she’d prefer, she just tells me that she doesn’t care, as long as it’s healthy.
Bullshit. Everyone’s got a preference.
“How about Lloyd?” Aimee asks me, even though she knows that I’ve been trying to sleep for the last hour. “Or Archie? No, we can’t have that. Archie Archer. That’s ridiculous.”
“All good, Aim,” I mumble. “Just write down the ones you like and I’ll take a look tomorrow. First thing.”
“Or Lucy? I quite like Lucy. No, too much like Lucifer. Maybe Lacy. I quite like that. No, it sounds like a South African saying: L
