Little White Lie

The Bad-News-Baby is here. And it’s a girl. I think it must take after Alex because, since the moment it arrived, it hasn’t been quiet for one second. Not one single second.

Mum arrives home about fifteen minutes after Finn has left with Alex. I really hope the police aren’t monitoring our road for speeding motorists because, the way she’s going, she’s not going to have a licence left before too long. I jump in the car and we race to the hospital, and it’s all really exciting and a bit scary, and everything is happening so quickly and I don’t really have time to think about what the outcome is actually going to be.

And then we get to the hospital and Finn dashes out and tells us where to find Alex, and Mum rushes in to see her, and Finn and I just stand and look at each other and don’t really say anything. And then Charlie comes speeding into the corridor, looking like he’s about to throw up, and Finn just points at the door where Alex is and Charlie goes in.

And then everything stops being fast. Mum joins us and we sit in a waiting room FOREVER, and eventually Charlie comes to find us and says that it’s going to be ages yet and we should go home. Finn wants to stay, but Charlie scowls at him and then Mum insists that Finn comes back to our house for supper. She says it’s the least she can do to say thank you for his heroic rescuing of Alex – even though it turned out that the baby was HOURS away from making an appearance. We eat fish and chips and all the time I’m wondering what Alex is doing and how she’s feeling.

Today is Saturday and Mum and I are eating breakfast. I kept waking up in the night and thinking about Alex and once, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I saw the light on downstairs, so I don’t think Mum could sleep either. It all seems to be taking a very long time and I want to ask Mum if this is normal – but before I can figure out how to say anything without making her worry, the phone rings.

Mum answers it and then promptly bursts into tears. She tells me the baby is here and it’s a girl, and everyone is fine and that we can go in to visit later on this afternoon. I don’t really know what I think about that – I’d kind of forgotten that there would be an actual baby at the end of all this – so I carry on buttering my toast while Mum phones Granny and goes on and on about how fantastic it all is and how she’s SO happy. Then, when she finally puts the phone down, she starts moaning at me to hurry up because we’ve got to go shopping RIGHT NOW.

The shopping centre is heaving with people, but Mum is on a mission. I scurry to keep up with her as she weaves through shoppers, intent on getting to the toyshop by the shortest route possible. As we near the music shop, I remember that I need a new pot of rosin for my violin bow.

‘Mum!’ I call, trying to get her attention. ‘Just stop a moment.’ She slows slightly and turns her head to look at me, but I notice that she doesn’t actually stop moving. ‘Can we pop in here? I need more rosin.’

‘Not today, Izzy,’ she says, walking past the music shop door.

‘But, Mum!’ I say, hearing a slight whine in my voice. ‘I really need it and it’ll only take a second.’

‘No time,’ says Mum, ‘now hurry up. I don’t want to rush choosing a teddy bear for the baby.’

She marches on and I sulkily follow her. It would have taken hardly ANY time to go into the music shop. It’ll be all her fault if I fail my violin exam.

We arrive at the toyshop and Mum heads upstairs to the cuddly toy section. I’m still trying to show her how fed up I am, but then I get a bit distracted by the shelves and shelves of stuffed toys. There’s every animal you could ever imagine here and some that you could never imagine too.

‘What’s this supposed to be?’ I ask, picking up a green creature that has huge floppy ears and a long tail. ‘It’s definitely not a rabbit – it looks like some kind of genetic mutation!’ We’ve been learning about genetics in science and I wonder what my science teacher would make of this freaky specimen. ‘Oh, what about this one?’

I show Mum an amazing, cuddly, indigo-blue frog, moving my arm so it jumps through the air towards her. She scowls and shakes her head.

‘No. It needs to be a teddy bear. Just like Grandpa gave to Alex when she was born.’

Hmmm. So it’s going to be like that, is it? Nobody gave ME a teddy bear when I was born. Dolphins and kangaroos and rabbits were fine for me. History really is repeating itself. Alex got a teddy bear because she was first and special, and now her baby gets one because IT’S first and special. This does not seem fair to me at all.

I jump the frog back to its place on the shelf. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper to it. ‘You’re not special enough. Just like me.’ It looks at me and its big beady eyes seem to be pleading with me. The tag on the shelf says ‘poison arrow frog’ and suddenly I really, really want to keep him for myself. I look away and focus on Mum, who is choosing teddy bear after teddy bear off the shelf and then discarding them for not being ‘right’. Every time I look back though, the poison arrow frog is still watching me until I can’t bear it any longer and I grab him, holding him tightly to my chest.

‘Mum? Can I buy this?’ I ask.

She glances in my direction as she throws another inadequate teddy bear back on the shelf. ‘No, Izzy! We’re here to buy a “welcome to the world” present for the baby. Not something for you!’

‘Please, Mum,’ I beg. ‘I’ll pay for it with my own pocket money.’

Mum gives up on the teddy bears and walks over to me. ‘Why on earth do you want that?’ she asks me. ‘You’re a bit old for cuddly toys, aren’t you?’

I feel my cheeks start to flush red, but I stand my ground. I have no idea why this suddenly matters to me so much, but I do know that this frog is meant to be mine. She glances at the price tag. ‘It’s really expensive – more than your pocket money.’

‘So take it out of next month’s allowance!’ I cry. ‘Please, Mum. I really, really want to buy him!’

Mum hesitates for a second and I hold my breath. ‘Oh, if it means that much to you,’ she says and I smile for the first time all day. ‘But you’ve got to help me find something for the baby! None of these teddy bears look right.’

I’m surprised by how relieved I am that she’s letting me have the frog and I’m keen to help her now. Together we search the shelves, but she’s right: all the teddy bears are wrong. It might be their eyes or the fluffiness of their bodies or the perkiness of their ears, but none of them are as nice as Mr Cuddles.

Eventually Mum looks at her watch and does a little squeak. ‘There’s no more time if we’re going to get to the hospital for the start of visiting time. We’ll just have to get something for now and I’ll keep searching for a teddy bear.’

We leave town with a box of chocolates and a bunch of flowers for Alex and a cardigan and a cuddly monkey for the baby. I’m happy that Mum didn’t find a teddy bear. I don’t want this baby to be any more special than me.

I don’t really know what to think when we walk on to the hospital ward, except that I didn’t think it would be so noisy. We walk past loads of cubicles and in each one is a tired-looking woman holding a screaming baby and a freaked-out-looking man who doesn’t seem to know what to do. I start to find it quite funny and then suddenly we’re looking at yet another exhausted-looking mum and a scared-looking dad and I realize it’s Alex and Charlie. And the screaming bundle of blankets in Alex’s arms is what all the fuss has been about.

Mum rushes forward and hugs Alex and hugs Charlie, and then she peeks inside the bundle of blankets and starts welling up and saying, ‘Oh, Alex,’ in a teary voice. And Alex passes her the blankets and gazes at Mum as Mum coos and ahs and kisses whatever’s inside until it goes quiet. I don’t really know what to do so I stand quietly at the end of the bed until Mum asks me if I want to meet my new niece.

I walk over and Mum bends down and peels back the blankets a bit further and there inside is the most scrunched-up, miserable-looking face I’ve ever seen.

‘Isn’t she the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen?’ coos Mum and, as I haven’t actually ever really seen any other babies properly, I think it wouldn’t be too much of a terrible lie to agree.

‘Do you want to hold her?’ asks Alex and before I know what’s happening I’m sitting in a low chair and Mum has placed the bundle of blankets in my arms and the Bad-News-Baby is staring up at me. Her face is red and wrinkly and her eyes are scrunched up tight like she doesn’t want to look at me. She feels heavy in my arms and I want to give her straight back to Mum and get out of here. A camera flashes and I look up in time to see Charlie taking a photograph, a goofy-looking smile on his tired face.

‘You can have her back now if you like,’ I offer to Mum. ‘My arms are aching – she weighs a ton.’

For some reason this makes Alex and Charlie and Mum laugh really loudly. Their noise startles Bad-News and she opens her eyes. They are the bluest eyes I have ever seen in my life, like staring into a deep pot of indigo paint. With her eyes open, she doesn’t look quite so weird and I find myself gently stroking my finger against her cheek. It’s so soft that I’m not sure I’m actually touching her at all.

‘Stop laughing,’ I tell them all. ‘You’re scaring her.’ This makes Charlie laugh even louder, but Mum and Alex calm down a bit, and Mum comes and perches on the arm of the chair next to me.

‘She’s not scared, Izzy,’ she says. ‘She’s interested. She wants to meet us all. Look how she’s staring at you!’

‘I think she likes you, Izzy,’ says Alex and for a moment everything feels warm and good and hopeful. And then the baby starts crying – a loud, piercing, shocking sound that comes out of nowhere. I panic and thrust her at Mum before standing up and moving to the other side of the room.

‘I didn’t do anything!’ I splutter, wondering what has caused so much screaming. Mum passes the baby back to Alex and she stops crying straight away, snuggling up tight inside the blankets.

‘It’s fine, don’t panic,’ says Mum, coming to stand next to me. ‘She’s just making herself heard, letting us know that she needs something, like a clean nappy or a feed or an extra blanket. Right now she just needs her mum – who is doing an excellent job!’ She directs this last bit across the room to Alex, who looks up for a second and beams at Mum before going back to gazing at the baby.

‘Don’t worry, Izzy, you didn’t do anything wrong. Babies cry and they do it a lot!’

Oh, they do, do they? Well, I’m not convinced that this is going to work then because that noise was nothing like the quiet little squeaking that you’d have thought something that small would make.

Alex has put the baby into a tiny cot next to her bed and now they’re all standing round, admiring every bit of her. There’s nothing about her that is too small to comment on.

‘Look at her darling little nose!’ says Mum.

All the better to SMELL you with, my dear, I think to myself.

‘And have you seen how huge her eyes are?’ adds Charlie, sounding as proud as if he’d made them himself.

All the better to SEE you with, my dear.

‘It’s her gorgeous little rosebud lips that I love!’ says Alex in a voice I’ve not heard before – all drippy and soft and gooey and pastel-coloured.

All the better to GOBBLE YOU UP, my dear. And that’s exactly what is going to happen. She might be tiny and brand-new, but she doesn’t fool me. She’s got them all exactly where she wants them. I’m over here by the door, all on my own, while everybody looks at her like she’s some kind of miracle. They’re under her spell: she’ll be able to get absolutely anything she wants and they’re powerless to resist her.

‘Can’t you all see?’ I want to shout. ‘Look at yourselves! There’s more going on than just this baby, you know. I got an A for my history assignment on Victorian England – that took a lot of work – but none of you are interested in that, are you?’

But I don’t say a word. I stand by the door and pretend to be fascinated by a poster on how to wash your hands properly. Not that anybody notices – they’re too busy watching the baby fall asleep. Once she makes a snuffling noise and they all nearly fall over each other in delight. I leave the cubicle in disgust and stand outside the curtain, trying not to listen to the ridiculous conversations that are going on around me about fingernails (yes – I have ten, but is anybody impressed?) and the contents of nappies (utterly gross and not something that should ever be discussed in public) and the amazing smell of a baby’s head (excuse me? I wash my hair twice a week with shampoo that smells of coconut, but nobody’s trying to take deep sniffs of my head – good job too).

Eventually a bell rings and visitors throughout the ward begin to gather up their bags and get ready to leave. I step back into the cubicle just as Mum starts to stand up.

‘Where’s Izzy?’ she’s saying, but not in a particularly worried or concerned way. ‘Oh, you’re there! Come and say goodbye to your niece before we go.’ She leans over the cot and kisses the baby before moving round to the other side of the bed and talking quietly to Alex, showing her the cuddly monkey and the cardigan that we bought in town this morning. Charlie is raiding the box of chocolates that Mum had put on the table for Alex, so when I walk up to the cot there’s nobody paying the slightest bit of attention to me.

She’s awake again and as I bend over she fixes me with her big eyes. I put my face right down next to her – anybody looking would think I was giving her a kiss. I usually try hard to be a nice person, but the feelings I’m having won’t stay inside and there’s nobody that I can tell, except the baby.

‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ I murmur, so quietly that my lips are barely moving. ‘I know what you’re up to. And you may well be prettier and cuter and more interesting than me, but I know the truth about you.’

I move back slightly and see that she’s looking at me like I’m the most fascinating thing in the world. I waver for a second – she actually is pretty cute – but then I remember how obsessed everyone is with her and how there’s no room for me. How she’s changed everything and I didn’t have a choice. One of us needs to stay level-headed and see her for what she is: an imposter who will stop at nothing until she has the love and attention and adoration of the whole family. She won’t let Alex go back to the Alex she was before.

‘You’re bad news, baby,’ I tell her. ‘I’m keeping my eye on you.’

Then Alex calls me over to her for a hug and it’s time for us to go.

Mum tells me on the way home that they’ll probably be allowed to come home in a few days, once the baby has put on a bit of weight and is feeding regularly.

‘We’ll be a proper family again,’ she says, her smile wide as she turns into our road.

I say nothing, which doesn’t matter because she’s full of her own thoughts about the baby, and about the house being full of chatter and laughter and noise and people. And all I can think is that nobody ever told me that we had stopped being a proper family.