Violet Ink (20 page)

The
Bad-News-Baby is completely dominating every second of every day. Quite an achievement for someone who hasn't even been born yet. Mum has started racing home from work to check on Alex and Alex told me that she even phones during her lunch hour, just to make sure everything's OK. There are still four whole weeks to go until it arrives, but there's more preparation going on here than there would be if we were preparing for battle.

Even Charlie is starting to realize that something is about to happen. I heard him and Alex having a long talk in her room two weeks ago. Alex cried quite a lot and said that he wasn't being fair, that this baby deserved to have two parents who loved it, and that she didn't get pregnant all on her own so why should he expect her to bring it up all on
her own? I don't know what Charlie said to that because I suddenly decided that it was time to stop eavesdropping and sneaking around. That actually, maybe, I don't need to know absolutely everything that's going on around here. From now on I'm going to trust Mum to tell me stuff on a need-to-know basis. And I really don't need to know what's going on between Alex and Charlie.

Anyway, Charlie moved out of our house and back to live with his parents. Alex cried for a day and Mum took the day off work and, by the time I got home from school, Alex was tired-looking and red-faced, but sort of calm. And actually it seems like it's working out OK. Charlie stayed away the first few days, but then he popped over one evening and since then he's been about quite a bit. This week he's behaving really weirdly though: he keeps turning up at random times of the day to see if the baby's decided to be born. Alex has told him about a hundred times that she'll ring him the second she feels the slightest twinge, but I don't think he believes her.

Mum goes on and on at Alex every night about making sure her phone is charged and has got lots of credit. I tried telling her that we live in
a civilized part of the world and it's highly unlikely that Alex will end up giving birth curled up under a hedge in a blizzard, but Mum told me off for being sarcastic so I've kept my opinions to myself since then.

I've got the day off today because my school has a teacher-training day. I'm bored and I'm feeling really sorry for myself, which is a good job because nobody else is feeling sorry for me. Mum's at work and Alex is lounging around in the living room. She's told me to stop moping about and find something to do, so I'm playing my violin. I've got an exam in a few months and I've decided that I might as well carry on with it; it's one of the only things that I can do that Alex can't, so it'd be a shame to waste all my hard work and give up now.

‘Izzy!' I can barely hear Alex calling me over the sound of the scales that I'm playing. She's probably going to moan at me AGAIN – she hates the sound of my violin. I ignore her. I'm totally within my rights to practise my violin in the kitchen if I feel like it. I finish my scales and move on to my music book.

‘IZZY!' She's yelling at me now and her voice
sounds a bit strange. If this is some pathetic attempt at making me go in and change the TV channel because she can't be bothered to reach out for the remote, I'm actually going to go berserk at her.

I finish the piece that I'm playing and then I grudgingly trudge into the living room, but then stop dead in the doorway. Alex is leaning over the back of the sofa, her face totally white apart from two bright red spots on each cheek. She's panting loudly and looks like she's about to fall over.

‘Alex?' I ask her, hoping that she's eaten one too many packets of stinky crisps and just has a stomach ache.

‘Izzy!' she gasps again and I rush to her side, not sure what I should do. I put my hand on her arm, but she flicks it away and I back off a bit, starting to feel very scared.

‘Are you ill?' I ask her. ‘What's going on?'

‘I think the baby's coming,' pants Alex and a giggle escapes my lips: the baby isn't due for another four weeks yet. Then I look at Alex again and I stop laughing. She isn't joking. The Bad-News-Baby is on its way and there's nobody here to help us.

My mind races desperately and I look at the hideous brown clock on the mantelpiece, hoping
that it might give me some help. Mum has been grilling us every night about what we need to do if this happens when she's at work. I know I've got the answer somewhere in my brain, but I just can't join up all the dots. Alex starts whining, a high-pitched noise that makes my spine tingle. She's stopping me from thinking straight and I want to tell her to shush, but somehow I don't think she'd appreciate that.

‘Hold on,' I tell her, backing out of the room. ‘Just stay there.'

‘Where else would I go?' I hear her muttering, but I ignore her and race to the phone in the hallway. The list of important numbers is still on the noticeboard next to the phone and I quickly dial Mum's mobile. I take a few deep breaths while the line connects and then I can hear Mum's phone ringing. In the kitchen.

In total disbelief I slam down the phone and run into the kitchen. Mum's phone is lying on top of the fridge – she must have left it there this morning. I want to snigger again: after all her military-style planning it's Mum who's messed up the system. But it isn't actually funny and I can hear Alex's groans getting louder so I run back to the phone and call Mum's school.

‘Good
afternoon. Darnfield Primary School. How can I help you?' says Definitely-Called-Margaret.

‘It's Izzy Stone and I need you to pass an urgent message to my mum,' I gabble, desperate to get back to Alex in the living room.

‘Of course, dear,' says Margaret. ‘What's the message?'

‘Tell her that Alex is having the baby NOW and she needs to come home because I don't know what to do,' I say and then I hang up the phone. Should I ring Granny and Grandpa? Granny can drive, but it takes ages to get Grandpa ready to leave the house and by the time they get here it could be too late. I run back into the living room.

‘I've left a message for Mum,' I tell Alex. ‘Just hang in there.'

‘It's too early,' moans Alex. ‘The baby's too early. We need to get to hospital, Izzy. I can't wait.'

‘Hang on,' I tell her and, sprinting down the hallway, I fling open the front door in the hopes that Mum might be pulling into the driveway, even though I know she'll only just be getting the message. My eyes dart frantically up and down the street and when I see him I think for a moment that he's an illusion, that he's just a figment of my
imagination, because seeing him right now would be just about perfect.

But then he waves at me as he steps into his van and starts to drive and I realize that he's not an illusion, he's actually here, but if I don't do something fast then he won't be here much longer. Flinging myself down the path, I charge out of the garden gate and stand in the middle of the road in my socks. Finn screeches to a halt just in front of me and leaps out of the van.

‘What on –' he starts to shout at me, but I interrupt him.

‘The baby!' I shout back at him. ‘It's coming and Alex is scared and she's not OK and it's too early and I don't know what to do. Should I ring 999 because you get told off if you do that and it isn't an emergency, and I don't know if this is an emergency, but it feels like one?'

I stop to take a breath and Finn dashes past me and up the path, leaving his van in the middle of the road with the engine still running. I chase after him and together we run into the house. Alex has made it as far as the hallway and when she sees Finn her face collapses at the same time that she does. Finn grabs her just before she hits the floor and holds on to her as if she's a delicate little
princess and not a great, hefty, eight-months-pregnant girl. All that trench-digging has come in handy, I think, and I remind myself to tell him later.

The sight of Finn makes Alex start crying, but he whispers into her ear and she nods and stops, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Suddenly I'm not sure if I'm looking at a grown woman who is about to have a baby or a scared little girl who doesn't know what's going on – it's all very confusing.

‘Should I phone for an ambulance?' I ask Finn again, remembering the list of instructions that Mum had given me.

‘I don't know,' he says, looking at Alex, and I see concern etched on his face. ‘Maybe I should drive her. By the time they get here, we could be almost at the hospital. Or maybe that's stupid – what if she gives birth in the van? I don't know what to do!'

‘What about your mum?' I ask him. ‘We need a grown-up!'

‘She's at work!' Finn's voice is getting squeaky and I can feel the panic starting to wash over me. Someone has to make their mind up and Alex can hardly speak and I'm only thirteen so it needs to be Finn.

I
look at him desperately and he seems to have been having the same thoughts as me because he gives his shoulders a little shake and then stands up straighter.

‘I'll drive her in,' he tells me, his voice lower now, but still sounding wobbly.

He half carries Alex down the path and I run ahead, opening the passenger door.

‘She'll be OK,' he tells me, guiding Alex towards the door. ‘I'll drive really carefully, don't worry.'

Finn eases Alex on to the seat and then leans in next to her. ‘How often are the contractions coming?' he asks her. I can't hear her answer, but Finn looks worried. ‘Wait here for your mum,' he says to me, ‘and then follow us to the hospital. Make sure you pick up Alex's overnight bag and everything she's packed for the baby – nappies and sleepsuits and cotton wool and that kind of thing.'

He ruffles my hair quickly and then runs round the front, diving into the driving seat. I bend down next to Alex.

‘It'll be OK,' I tell her, hoping that the terror I'm feeling isn't obvious in my voice. She looks at me and I think she might be trying to smile reassuringly to make me feel better, but it isn't
working because her face is screwed up and all scrunchy. Looking at her doesn't make me feel any less scared.

‘Phone Charlie,' she whispers, and then she doubles over, clutching her stomach and moaning. I slam the door closed and step back as Finn pulls away. I expect him to race off down our road at one hundred miles an hour, but he creeps away so slowly that a snail could overtake him, as if he's carrying the most precious cargo ever in his beaten-up, filthy old van.

I watch the van until it turns the corner and then go back to the house. I find Charlie's number on the list of important numbers on the wall and phone him. I barely manage to get past ‘Alex is on her way to hospital' before he's hung up on me. I have no idea how long it takes to have a baby, but I hope Charlie gets to the hospital in time. Then I go and find Alex's bag, wondering how Finn knows so much about giving birth and babies all of a sudden. And it dawns on me that Mum isn't the only one who's been preparing for this day.

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.