How much can you bet on around school?

Well, you’d be surprised.

That first day was slow going, just a dabble to test out the plan. I didn’t have anything to lose, moneywise that is, so I couldn’t bet anything big. However, from nothing at the start of the day, by the end I had eighteen big ones. And that was just from some small bets on a few races at lunch-time.

I had to keep it low-key. I knew the teachers wouldn’t be happy. But then some of the teachers were never happy.

The next day, Wednesday, it took off. One pound became the standard stake. Before school I took seven bets on how many kids would be away that day. It was three. Only Eddie got it right so he doubled his pound. I kept the rest. Five more pounds taking me up to twenty-three.

In Maths I took bets on how many times Miss Strong would make a mistake on the board. Six, that’s a lot, right? I thought teachers were meant to know everything. Eight kids bet on that and none of them got it right. I was up to thirty-one.

The playground was just as good. A race here, a game of four-square there, and I quietly added to my stash. I lost some but I won more. I had found something that looked like going right for once and by the end of Wednesday my winnings totalled forty-seven pounds and fifty pence. Not bad for two days’ work, I thought.

I met Em outside the block of flats that was our new home.

I opened the front pocket of my school bag, the coins clinking as I shook it. My brother grinned.

‘See,’ I said, ‘money equals happiness.’

Em laughed aloud and gave me a shove. Then he threw his arm around me. Our grins got even wider as we headed up the long stairs.

We entered the flat, not to the sound of my mother’s singing, but to weeping. Our grins fled.

That evening changed everything.

Through the weeping we could make out Grace’s little cry. We threw our school bags down and my brother called out, ‘Mum,’ as we ran towards the kitchen. I had the worst thoughts of what was waiting behind that door. Blood, I saw a lot of blood in my mind. Fortunately I was wrong.

Our mum was sitting at the table, weeping and looking down at a few pieces of paper, scattered in front of her. Bills, they looked like, from the plain envelopes that nestled, ripped amongst them. The table cloth was scrunched up, gripped in her fists either side of the papers.

Grace, red-eyed, screaming, snot and tears mingling on her face, was sitting in her bouncy chair. A burning smell crept up our nostrils. Whatever had been on the hob was not going to make a good dinner.

I was gripped again by a feeling of confusion: that face, that laugh, even those tears, I knew so well, but so much about my mum was a mystery to me. I didn’t move from the doorway.

Em was at my mother’s side in a moment. He looked down at the letters, put his arm around our mum, then addressed me. ‘Prince, take Grace.’ I remained rooted to the spot until Em said my name again. ‘Prince.’

I shook myself, then obeyed my brother, picking up my squirming sister.

She smelt. She smelt bad, bad enough to take my mind off the tears and the wailing, if only for a moment.

I pretended not to notice the smell as I went through to Grace and Mum’s room; if I noticed, I’d have to change her nappy. No thanks.

She squirmed and cried, trying to wriggle free of my arms. It was like carrying a bag of snakes.

I laid her down on my mum’s narrow bed. She screamed even more when she left my arms, a piercing wail that reverberated through my skull. If I wanted her to stop screaming, I had to change her. I knew that, but I still hesitated.

It’s a messy business, changing a baby’s nappy, not something that I’d recommend. Someone’s got to do it, though. I won’t go into the squishy details, I don’t want to gross you out.

Grace was much happier when she was clean and changed. She was the little brown lump that I was used to. With her big bright eyes, tiny squashed nose and tight curls of black hair, she was beautiful. Even I could admit that.

Unlike Emmanuel, I hadn’t spent much time playing with my sister. But now I tickled her toes, made the kind of noises that my mum made for her and pretended to disappear over the side of the bed. She smiled every time I came back up. She smiled at me.

I looked around the room for some toys to amuse my new playmate. Pieces of clothing were scattered across the floor, a box of nappies stood in the corner by the rack where the clothes should have been hanging. Besides the bed that the baby lay on, and the half-empty rack, the only other bit of furniture was Grace’s basket.

A ragged bear with one eye missing; a box of plastic squeaking eggs; a sock puppet Em had made, which was meant to be a duck. That was all my search turned up.

Something wasn’t right here.

I tried to push the thought out of my mind as I pushed my hand into the sock puppet.

‘Quack, Quack!’ I continued to entertain Grace.

She gurgled and smiled at the misshapen duck as her hands and chubby arms flailed around in front of her. I smiled as well. The duck quacked at her hands, she pulled them away and clucked a short laugh. I laughed too. Her wide eyes searched around for something to focus on. She found my face. I stared right back.

My beautiful little sister was happy with an old sock to play with. Or was she happy with me? Money equals happiness? My theory was crumbling around me.