Читать книгу Red Sky in the Morning - Elizabeth Laird - Страница 7

Two

I felt pretty funny going to school the next morning, partly because I was completely exhausted, I suppose. Dad said I could stay at home if I liked. He’d gotten the week off work. But I wanted to go. One reason was to get out of the house, because there was an awfully gloomy atmosphere, and Mom cried a lot, and Dad was on the phone all the time. Katy was a pest too. She’d gotten it into her head to be all fluffy, and sugar sweet, and babyish, and I could have kicked her.

The other reason was that I was bursting to tell everyone at school. It’s not often that I have some real news. Not like Sandra, whose older brother is in the Marines, or Miranda, who goes to tons of clubs, and does things with boys. Actually, I’m not all that popular at school. I used to be best friends with Debbie, ages ago, and that was fine, because everyone likes her, so they let me into their group too.

Debbie’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. She’s got this wonderful deep chestnut hair that she can flick about her face and it falls back into place, like on the shampoo ads. And she’s got a long, finely chiseled nose, and perfectly even teeth, and transparent skin covered with a sort of bloom, like a peach, and huge luscious eyes that are big and brown like a spaniel’s. It sounds corny, but it’s true. I can gaze at Debbie for hours. It’s not that I’m in love with her, or anything weird like that. I don’t even like her anymore, since she started going off with Emma, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me a health hazard because of my acne. I just like beautiful things, that’s all. I’ve got a strong aesthetic sense. And looking at Debbie is like looking at a perfect work of art.

Ever since I knew Mom was pregnant, I’d been planning my announcement at school, so I couldn’t bear to put it off. And it was lovely. Even better than I’d hoped. Everyone was fascinated.

I told it really dramatically. Well, it was dramatic, after all. It’s not every baby that’s born at home because it all happened too quickly for the mother to get to the hospital. And then there were two ambulances, one arriving after the other, and the doctor, and me knowing how to boil up lots of water, and the doctor telling me how sensible that was (well, it was Dad really but I cheated on that bit). They loved the bit where I saw them carrying in that little box, and my dreadful premonition that something was terribly wrong, and how I’d stood, rooted to the spot in the hall, with my hand over my pounding heart, trying to pray. And then there was the relief when Dr. Randall said it was only an incubator. But somehow, I couldn’t tell anyone that he might be disabled. I couldn’t quite admit it to myself yet.

“I wonder what he looks like?” said Debbie. “It’s a pity you didn’t even get a glimpse, Anna. I bet he’s got those lovely little hands and feet that babies always have. I just love babies.”

“I bet his front teeth stick out like his big sister’s do,” said Emma with a nasty snigger. I ignored her. I could see she was only jealous, and afraid that Debbie might start being my friend again. And for once, Debbie took my side. I’ll say this for her, when she’s decided to be nice to you, she’s really lovely.

“Don’t be silly, Em,” she said. “Newborn babies haven’t got any teeth. Anyway, Anna’s teeth are going back in now with those braces. I bet he’s sweet, Anna. Can we come over when he’s back home and see him?”

I felt a sudden chill, like when you know you haven’t done the right homework and it’s got to be handed in.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Mom,” I said. “He’s quite delicate, Dr. Randall says. He’s got to be protected from any possible source of infection.” I looked hard at Emma when I said that. She’s more of a health hazard than me. She never stops eating sweets and the fur sticks out half an inch on her teeth.

They sort of drifted off after that. All except Vicky. She’s the one in our class none of us can stand. She never gets picked for team games, and no one likes sitting next to her. I do try to be nice to Vicky, or at least, not actively nasty. I know how awful it is not to be liked. But I’m not desperate enough for a friend to hang out with her. I mean, there are limits.

That evening, we had a long discussion about the baby’s name. Before he was born, Dad had decided on Edward. He said it sounded strong and silent and reliable. Mom wanted James. She said she’d always promised her dad that if she ever had a son, she’d call him after his grandad. I wanted something a bit more up to date, like Jason, or Jasper.

Katy and I were in Mom’s bedroom when Katy brought the subject up.

“Let’s call him Sam,” she said. “Oh please Mommy, plee-eese.”

She was using the same whiny voice she puts on when she wants to get a Mars bar out of someone. That child has no sense of occasion. Anyway, she only likes the name Sam because her best friend Tracey’s older brother is called Sam. Katy thinks she’s in love with him. In love! At seven years old! I ask you.

“I know,” I said. “Why don’t we give him four names? Princes have four names. He could be James Edward Jasper Sam, then we’d all be happy.”

“No!” said Mom, suddenly and sharply. “Not James!”

“But I thought you said you’d promised . . .” I began, but I looked at her face, and thought better of it. I seemed to be getting into deep water without quite knowing why.

Dad came in then, with a cup of tea for Mom.

“Talking about names, are you?” he said. “Well, I’ve made a decision. I’m his Dad, and I’ve got the last word. We’re going to call him Benedict. I’ve looked it up. It means ‘Blessed.’”

I saw him look at Mom, but she turned her face away.

“Benedict.” I turned it over in my mind, and began to like it. Ben. Benny. Benedict.

“Benedict what?” I said. “What’s his middle name?”

“Just Benedict,” said Dad. “I don’t think he’ll need another name.”

He paused, but Mom didn’t say anything.

“Well, that’s decided then,” said Dad, and he took the empty tray away again.

I was at school when Mom and Dad brought Ben home from the hospital. I could tell at once that something exciting had happened when I opened the front door. I sometimes think I must have special powers. I’m probably psychic, and I’d make a great witch, or a medium or something. But I wouldn’t dream of getting mixed up with all that stuff. I’m too sensible. After all, you never know what kind of horrors that sort of thing can lead to.

Actually, it might have been the smell that gave me the clue. There was a faint waft of baby on the air, that powdery, milky, soft smell that they only have for the first few months. A great wave of excitement rushed over me, and I dropped my bag and tore off my anorak and raced upstairs.

Mom was just settling him down to sleep. She looked much happier than she had for the last few days. She’d been so miserable, and snappy and weepy. I’d had a horrible feeling that she might just leave Ben at the hospital and never bring him home. I felt dreadfully afraid that she wouldn’t love him. And if she didn’t love Ben, perhaps she would stop loving me, too. But when I saw the tenderness on her face, I felt such relief I could have danced all around the room. I felt as if she’d been a long, long way away, and had come home again.

“Come and see him, Annie,” she said.

I sometimes wonder if I would have loved Ben quite so much if Mom hadn’t shown me his feet first. She lifted up the edge of his blanket, and I saw his tiny, perfect miniature toes, pink as shells, soft as petals. He must have felt the coverlet move, because he stretched them out and then curled them up again. I hadn’t ever seen anything so beautiful in my whole life.

Then Mom put the blanket back, and pulled down the other end, and I saw him, my little darling brother, for the first time. His eyes were shut, but his mouth was still moving. It was sucking a bit, in and out. I could see at once that something was wrong with him. His head was far too big. The veins in it stuck out too much, and looked too blue. But beside each lovely little ear, a curl of hair grew outward, corkscrewing out from his head, perfect and silky and fine. I put out my hand to touch.

“Can I, Mom?” I said.

“Yes, of course.” She was smiling, but in that wobbly kind of way that meant she was nearly crying too. She bent down, and picked his diaper off the floor, and went off with it to the bathroom, and I was alone with Ben.

I may have been only twelve, and shortsighted, and pimply, but I knew how to fall in love. I fell in love with Ben at that moment.

“I don’t care how handicapped you are,” I whispered to him. “I love you. I’ll always love you. I’ll protect you, and look after you. If anyone’s going to be mean to you, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

I bent over the crib, and kissed him. It was like kissing a rose. He moved a bit, and I felt he’d heard me. It was silly, of course. He couldn’t possibly understand, or know who I was, or even feel much at his age. He didn’t even have his eyes open. But I felt as if he loved me, too.

I think the few weeks after that were the happiest of my life. I no longer cared what anyone said or did to me at school. I just lived for the moment when I could get home, race up to Mom’s bedroom, pick Ben up, and gave him a huge cuddle. I hardly noticed that his big head was growing bigger and bigger, and that his poor little neck was too weak to hold it up. I was too busy fussing over his diaper, and powdering his little bottom. Mom laughed at me.

“You’ll make a wonderful mother yourself, one day,” she said.

“What do you mean, one day?” I thought scornfully. “I’d make a wonderful mother now.” Apart from breastfeeding—and I couldn’t do that, of course—I felt as if I could do everything else for Ben. I could dress him, and bathe him, and rock him to sleep, and take him for walks in his stroller.

“I notice you’re not so keen on dealing with his dirty diapers, or washing his clothes,” Mom said drily. But I knew I could do all that if I had to. In fact, I even daydreamed sometimes (I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it) that something had happened to Mom and Dad, and I really was in charge of Ben, all by myself. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so great. Maybe I’d have gotten bored and lonely and worried and fed up. But for a couple of hours after school every day it was perfect.

Actually, after a while, real life asserted itself again. It wasn’t that I loved Ben any less, it was just that I had other things to worry about—like exams. They’re quite easygoing at my school really, but at the end of the summer term every year the whole place suddenly goes berserk. They load work onto us, and make us completely neurotic. I think it’s sadistic, really, to have exams in June, when we get the only decent weather we’re likely to have for the whole year. I mean, what’s wrong with November, when no one’s got anything better to do? I blame the teachers. I’m sure they make us do exams in June so they can have an easy time invigilating, and dreaming about the holidays they’re going to have in Scarborough, or the Bahamas, or somewhere. It’s all right for some.

I don’t know why I mind so much about exams. They scare me stiff. I think it’s dreading the moment when she reads the grades out, and everyone knows whether you’re one of the worst or one of the best. And the trouble with being so scared is that it stops me learning anything. My mind goes numb. I mean, how can you do brilliantly with a numb mind? And some of the exams are completely pointless. What’s the idea of an art exam? You’re either a genius or you aren’t. And to find out which you are, they might just as well look at the last creation you did in class. I suppose they’ve got what Dad calls the bureaucratic mentality.

Anyway, I worked very hard that summer, and didn’t do too badly. Debbie was top in History as usual, and nearly top in Geography, but I beat her in French and English. Très bien pour moi.

Partly because of exams, and partly because of Debbie going off with Emma, I didn’t have much social life that summer. I suppose though, if I’m honest with myself, the real reason was Ben. I told Mom I wanted to have him all to myself, and I didn’t see why I should have to share him with anyone else, but I know that it was really because I didn’t want them to see him. I think Mom realized. She didn’t push me into asking anyone over anyway, not even on my birthday. Actually, she wasn’t seeing some of her old friends much. I noticed she kept to the house quite a lot, and didn’t go out very often. Perhaps it was just having a small baby. But I don’t think it was only that.

It was quite obvious to everyone after a few months that Ben was very badly disabled. His head was twice as big as it should have been. “Hydrocephalus,” the doctor called it. He said they’d be able to operate later, to take some of the fluid out of his head, so that it would be smaller, but it wouldn’t make any difference to the handicap. We must never hope he’d grow up normal.

“Severe mental and physical disability,” it said on a letter Mom got from the hospital. You don’t have to be a medical genius to know that means bad news. Somehow it didn’t make me love Ben any less. It made me love him more. It made me want to shield him from anyone who didn’t understand, who might laugh at him, or be embarrassed by him, or look down on him.