She stops, like a soldier when the sergeant calls halt. Then she turns and marches up to me and bends down, so her face is right in front of mine. Her cheeks are red, but everything else is white, ‘cept her nose. “You’re such a brat!” Her eyes are big and angry.
“I’m not! I’m not a brat, it’s just my hand hurts and my fingers are cold.”
“I told you. You should’ve worn your gloves,” she says, and grabs my hand. I try to escape, but I’m too slow ‘cos I’m upset. “Hm,” she says, examining it like a doctor. “I see… Stone cold. That’s frostbite, that is. I’m afraid those fingers’ll drop off by playtime.”
I snatch my hand back, pushing it into my coat pocket.
“One by one,” Trina says. “Snap! Snap! Snap! Till all you’ve got is stumps and you won’t be able to write or eat or dress or anything and they’ll put you in a home.”
I start to cry again and she gets behind me and gives me a big shove. “Crybaby! Get a move on, or I’ll snap one off right this minute!”
I feel all fluttery, like when Mummy and Daddy used to argue. “Please don’t!”
Trina makes another grab for my hand, but I run onto the grass.
“Snap! Snap! Snap!” she says. I back away and she hunches over like a big bear that would eat you. “Snap! Snap! Snap!”
I turn and run. I run and run and Trina can’t catch me, because she might be able to walk fast, but she’s too fat to run.
“You can’t go off on your own!” she shouts. “You’re not a-loud!”
I run until I can’t even hear her shouting anymore. When I turn around, I can’t see Trina. My footsteps have made a track-pale green shoeprints on the white frosty grass. I run around in circles for a bit, in case she tries to follow me, and I end up in the trees. Can’t go in there on your own, you’re not aloud.
I’m not aloud ‘cos there might be Bad Men, waiting to pounce. But I can be quiet as a whisper. I’ve had lots of practice, ‘cos Mummy needs me to be quiet when she has a headache. My mummy is sick and she gets headaches a lot.
Like a steel band around my head! Like someone’s hammering nails in my skull!
Steel bands make a lot of noise-I know ‘cos they had one at the harvest festival and they’re VERY aloud, so no wonder they give you a headache.
The path is glittery and some of the twigs and stones are white, like a tiny bit of snow is on them. I hear a noise. It might be a lion or a wolf or a Bad Man. But if I tiptoe very softly and don’t look, it’ll be okay. Only I don’t feel okay, ‘cos my heart feels very big and it’s bashing my chest so hard I can see it through my jacket. I’m wearing my new one that I got for Christmas, with the fur trim, so I really hope it isn’t a wolf, in case he thinks I’m a nice juicy deer to eat.
I look in front and behind and on the left and on the right, but there’s nobody, ‘cos me and Trina was already late and all the kids are in school and all the mummies and daddies are at home or in work. I cross my fingers and hold my breath and walk very quiet and pray to God that the wolf won’t eat me.
The sound comes again, and I jump. It doesn’t sound like a wolf, it sounds like a cat’s miaow. What if a kitten has got lost and can’t find her mummy? I take a big deep breath and hold it again, only this time, it’s so I can listen. There it is!
The miaow is coming from under a bush quite near the end of the path where there’s a gate onto the street, so maybe the kitten just wandered off.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” The kitten doesn’t come out, so I kneel next to the bush. It isn’t very muddy and I don’t get dirty at all, because anyway it’s all frozen. “Here, kitty.”
It’s all wrapped up in a yellow blanket. The blanket moves and I’m a bit scared in case the kitten scratches me. But there’s nobody else to rescue it, so I take one corner, where the silky bit is, and lift it very carefully.
“Oh!” It isn’t a kitten at all-it’s a baby. I look around, but there’s no mummies about who might have dropped it-and anyway, you don’t just drop a baby and not know about it. Then I remember Mummy said when you have a baby you have to go out and find him. And the most popular place is under a bush.
It’s my baby… For a minute, I just kneel there, smiling because I’m so happy. Its cheeks are pink, but its lips are a funny colour. It isn’t miaowing, it’s crying, but very softly. Maybe that’s ‘cos it’s not aloud, like I’m not aloud when Mummy’s feeling Bad, Or you’ll get a SMACK and locked in your room, my girl!
“Miaow,” it goes.
I pick it up. It’s bigger than my Baby Suzy doll, and much heavier. Heavy and squirmy, but I’m quite strong for my age, and once you get the hang of it, babies are easy. I go the back way, so nobody sees me. The baby gets warmer from the exercise and doesn’t look so funny anymore. Its lips are normal lip colour, and it just stares at me, like it knows I’m its mummy.
I take it to the shed and cuddle it for a bit. If Mummy looks out, she won’t see me, ‘cos I’m too far away at the bottom of the garden and Trina won’t tell them I ran away, ‘cos if she does I’ll tell them she was going to snap my fingers off and she’ll be in Big Trouble.
There’s three reasons why a baby cries: if it’s hungry, if it’s sick, or if its nappy needs changing. -Oh, and if it’s tired, but mostly they just go to sleep if they’re tired.
My baby needed its nappy changed. I have to find a clean nappy, which is easy, ‘cos my mummy put all the baby things in the shed after she lost her baby. I don’t mind changing its nappy, ‘cos I can hold my breath for ages and anyway, Mummy showed me how to change Joseph’s nappy, before he got lost. My baby’s a boy as well-I would have liked a girl better, but a boy is almost as good.
The nappy’s cold and the baby cries a bit until I put a vest on him, and a fluffy suit that has feet in it like little bootees, and a hood so he’s warm and toasty.
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy you a mock-in bird.”
My daddy used to sing that to me when he lived with us. He doesn’t live in my house anymore-he lives in an apartment, because Mummy and Daddy need some time apart. When Daddy comes, they don’t look at each other, like they’re not friends anymore. Mummy always cries when he’s gone, though, so I know she wants to be friends again.
And now the baby’s crying again-not miaowing anymore-he goes “Wah!” quite loud. I think he must be hungry. Babies drink special milk, only out of a tin, instead of a bottle. You’ve got to mix it up with hot water and put it in a bottle with a teat on it. I tried it once, before Joseph got lost, and it’s disgusting, but babies like it. There’s some in the baby box, only I’m frightened of going inside the house for the hot water, ‘cos Mummy’s having a Bad Day, and I’m not supposed to be home yet.
“Shush, Baby. You’ll just have to wait.” But he won’t wait. He goes “WAH!” even louder.
If my baby was like the Baby Jesus, he wouldn’t cry. For a minute, I think what if it is the Baby Jesus, ‘cos it’s Christmas, and the Wise Men are supposed to come today, and I found him all on his own, like a miracle.
But Mummy says all babies are miracles, and anyway, there wasn’t any Star of Bethlehem, with it being in the daytime, and there wasn’t any shepherds as well. Also, the Baby Jesus was born in a manger, which is like a stable, only with cows and sheep, and my baby was under a bush, like a normal baby.