I’d known for ages how a baby was made. I’d seen enough animals rooting to work it out. But now my older sister, Sissy, was having one and because of that we didn’t look at each other – just at her belly. I’d seen everyone doing it. Dad stared at it bulging under the tablecloth at dinner each night, like it was the news.
Sissy was fourteen – just a year older than me – which everyone said was too young, but no one knew who she’d been rooting with. When she came home from boarding school for the Easter holiday she was throwing up all the time. You couldn’t get into the bathroom in the morning to go to the dunny because she’d be in there puking her guts up. I was desperate one morning, so I banged on the door and told her to get a move on, but all I could hear was her heaving and coughing and then something splattering. Eventually she ran out and went straight to her bedroom and slammed the door – like it was my fault.
At first Mum reckoned Sissy’d picked up a nasty bug at school. She gave her crackers and plain toast to try and settle it down. But when Sissy’d been home a couple of weeks and she was still hogging the bathroom each morning, I heard Mum tell Aunty Veronica that the penny dropped – she’s up the bloody stick. I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I guess she’d worked out that Sissy wasn’t really crook.
Then one night at dinner Sissy was sat in her usual place at the table, but her eyes looked redder than normal. She’d been such a dag since she came home – throwing up, staying in her room and crying all the time, I didn’t really think too much about it. But as we all got on with our food, I noticed Sissy pushing hers round the plate. It was steak, so I said that if she didn’t want it, I’d eat it. When Dad put his knife and fork down and looked at Mum, I dunno why, but it made me feel a bit like when I found out about Jonny’s accident. I thought the steak I’d been shoving into my belly might jump back out again. I looked at Jonny’s photo on top of the piano and wished I could run and touch it.
Dad sighed and looked round the table, before he took a deep breath and stared at Sissy. As he breathed out he said we might as well all know that Sissy was pregnant. Then he looked back at his plate and ate another mouthful of steak. I nearly choked on my mashed potato, but the farm hands, Lloyd and Elliot, didn’t say anything. They just cleared their plates real fast and went outside for a beer. I stared at Sissy, who’d started to cry again.
When Mum asked if anyone wanted more veg, it almost made me jump. No one answered. I guess no one felt hungry any more. That’s when Emily, my younger sister, said, ‘What’s prejant?’ She is useless. She is seven and can’t do anything properly. All she does is talk about the poddy calves, but she never feeds them – she just wants to pet them, and give them stupid names.
Mum sighed and put her arm on Emily’s shoulder as she explained that pregnant meant Sissy was going to have a baby. Emily’s eyes got real big and this dumb smile filled her cheeks as she said, ‘A real one?’ Like it was a good thing.
Not long after that we were told to help clear the table and go to our rooms. Then there was a big bluey. I heard it all through the wall between my bedroom and the dining room. It was the first bluey in our house for ages – I reckon it was the first since Jonny’s accident. It started with Mum and Dad talking to Sissy in their normal voices, but then they shouted. They wanted to know who she’d been rooting with, but she wouldn’t tell them. ‘Come on, Sissy – who is it?’ Mum pleaded. ‘Just tell us, will you, love?’
Then Dad cut in: ‘It’ll come out in the end – these things always do, so you might as well just save us all the bother and tell us now. Is it one of the boys at school? The little mongrels.’
‘Why won’t you tell us?’ Mum asked. ‘Does he know you’re pregnant?’
I reckon Dad got tired of waiting for an answer because that’s when he said, ‘For God’s sake, just tell us who it is. WHO IS IT?’ I guess he hit the table because there was a loud bang and that’s when Sissy started to blub.
Mum said, ‘Derek, leave it,’ at the same time as a chair scraped on the wooden floor. I heard footsteps and Sissy’s bedroom door banged.
Dad said, ‘When I find him – God help the little bastard!’
Mum said, ‘Oh, shut up, Derek!’
Then they really started to row. I pulled the doona over my head and imagined Jonny’s picture was in my hand.
After that, Sissy seemed to blub even more than before. She hardly ever came out of her room and when she did, there was always a row between her and Mum and Dad. Sissy’d always been OK – she wasn’t like the girls you see on the TV; all stupid and into dumb stuff like dolls or make-up. She could ride the motorbike better than me, and she could shoot pretty good too. Not as good as Jonny, of course. I dunno, it was like she’d tell me stuff – about things no one else would. She was the one who told me about when the flying doctor came for Jonny – and all the blood.
But then, after she got pregnant, that all changed. She didn’t talk to me any more – not really. She didn’t really talk to anyone, I guess. All she did was cry. She blubbed after I called her a stupid cow for stealing my wickets. I’d spent ages looking for them and then found she’d used them to wedge the door of the chook pen shut. Before, if I’d called her a name like that, she’d have given me a dead arm.
Once she was up the stick everything changed. I wasn’t allowed to hit Sissy – even if she really annoyed me, like when she stole food from my plate. Before I would have whacked her, you know, a dead arm, or something, but because of the baby, I got into trouble just for calling her a name. Dad said I had to be nicer to her because she was going to be a mum. I dunno why the rules suddenly changed just because she was up the stick. I asked Dad about it and he said, ‘They just do, OK?’ Like I was the one in trouble.