“Wa-aah!” And Baby Jesus was a good baby.
“Now, you’re just being naughty!”
It makes no difference, he goes, “Wah! Wa-aah!” until I’m fed up of it and take the milk stuff and close the shed door, so no one will hear. The kids next-door have got a swing, but there’s nobody on it, so it mustn’t be lunchtime yet. They always come home for lunch and they always get to play on the swing. It isn’t fair. But today it’s covered in frost, so they mustn’t be home yet, and I look up into the sky and cross my fingers and make a prayer there’s enough in the clouds to make it snow.
The back door is open, so Mummy must be in. I leave the door wide, so I can sneak out if I hear her coming downstairs. The tin is open from last time Joseph had some. I put the bottle on the table and take off the lid. You have to put the powder in with a special spoon called a scoop. Then you add boiled water. Mummy won’t let me use the kettle, so I use hot water from the tap, instead. Then I put the lid on and shake and shake and SHAKE!
Mummy must be asleep, ‘cos she doesn’t hear me. Sometimes, she sleeps all day when she’s Bad. Being Bad isn’t the same as being naughty. Being Bad is when you’re sick and it makes you cry all the time and you don’t want to make a costume for the school play about Baby Jesus. And This isn’t all about you, you know! This whole bloody world doesn’t revolve around you! Miss Irvine said it didn’t matter and gave me an old one from the box under the stage but it smelt of cobwebs and Trina said she didn’t know angels were stinky. Trina’s horrible.
I’m starving because I didn’t have time for breakfast, and anyway there wasn’t any milk. There’s peanut butter in the cupboard so I push the dirty dishes out of the way and make two sandwiches, with peanut butter on both of them. Then I stick my finger in the jar and have a bit extra, ‘cos nobody’s looking.
There’s nothing on TV, so I put a DVD on instead and watch Shrek for a bit. I have to cover my mouth so I don’t laugh too loud and wake Mummy up. Daddy says Mummy’s like an ogre when she’s got her angry head on. Only she isn’t funny, like Shrek, and she isn’t green. I don’t like Mummy’s angry head.
I hear a flump. It’s coming from upstairs, and I think it might be Mummy. I switch off the TV and run to the door. If you open it a tiny tiny bit, you can see out with one eye. The toilet flushes, but Mummy doesn’t come downstairs.
I know where the floor creaks, so I can get down the hall quieter than a mouse with slippers on. The baby’s bottle isn’t hot anymore, but maybe it won’t mind. Because it’s my baby, I’m the only one that can give it a name, but the only name that keeps coming into my head is Joseph. I frown and frown like Mummy, to stop it coming back. Maybe that’s why Mummy frowns-to keep her baby’s name out of her head?
I have to run to the shed and hope Mummy isn’t watching. She isn’t, because I count to fifty and she still doesn’t come. The baby is very, very quiet.
“Good boy! Look what Mummy’s brought you.” I cuddle it while I give it the bottle. It sucks and sucks and sucks until all the milk is gone, then suddenly, bleurgh! It’s sick everywhere.
“Naughty boy!” I have to get a wet wipe and clean his face and his fluffy suit, but it still smells of sick and he starts to cry.
“Wah! Wah!” Looking after babies is HARD.
Mummy should be glad she doesn’t have to look after Joseph. It’s his own fault if he got lost, ‘cos you should always hold your mummy’s hand if you don’t know how to get back.
“I’m going to count to five. If you don’t stop crying I’ll give you a SMACK!” Mummy says smacking is a-something-of failure. I forget what. But she hasn’t got Joseph going “Wah! Wa-aah! Wah!” And he won’t stop.
“Laura?”
My heart stops. Then it starts again, really fast, like it’s trying to catch up. I cover the baby’s mouth but it’s all wet and snotty and anyway it doesn’t stop.
“Laura!”
I come out of the shed and close the door. The baby goes “Wa-aah!” So I run halfway across the lawn. Maybe she won’t hear.
“Are you home already?” she says.
“You forgot my dinner money.” This is true, but Mummy looks at me like I’m trying to hide something behind my back. “I had to come home,” I say, which is also true, but not in the same way.
She blinks, like she’s just woken up. “Come in, you’ll catch your death of cold.”
“Can’t I play out?” I can hear the baby “Wah! Wa-aah!” but it sounds far away.
“You haven’t even got your gloves on! Can’t you do the simplest thing?”
I don’t say anything, ‘cos it just makes her more cross.
“Did Trina walk you home?”
I nod, because I always give myself away if I tell a fib.
She doesn’t say anything for a while, and I’m afraid she’s listening for the baby. But then she turns away from me. “Inside,” she says.
I want a cup of cocoa with marshmallows, but Mummy goes straight back upstairs. Maybe I can make some using hot water out of the tap. But I can’t find a clean cup and the cocoa is in one of the wall cupboards, but I push a stool over and climb up.
BANG!
At first I think Mummy’s fallen over, but then I hear her running down the stairs. Really running. Thud, thud, thud, thud! She pushes the kitchen door so hard it crashes against the wall and the door wobbles and the wall gets a dent in it. I’m so frightened, I just stand on the stool and I can’t move.
“You bloody little liar!”
“Mummy…”
“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. What the hell are you doing home?” My mouth is dry and my legs are so shaky I can’t even jump down off the stool. “Your clock must’ve stopped,” I say. “It really is-”
Suddenly, my face is burning. I lose my balance, but she grabs me by the arm and pulls me down. “Ow! Ow, it hurts! Mummy, please, it hurts!”
“How dare you lie to me-I just heard it on the radio, you wicked, wicked girl!” Whack! Whack! She smacks me as hard as she can on my bum and my legs and my back.
“Mummy, please!”
Then she pulls me upstairs and it hurts so much ‘cos she’s twisting my arm, but when I try to tell her she whacks me again.
“Bloody liar!”
She throws me onto my bed. There’s toys on it, because I was playing with them before school. I land on them and they dig into my back. “Ow! Mummy!”
“Look at this pigsty! How can you find anything in this pile of filth? You dirty, dirty girl. No wonder you’ve no friends-you make me ashamed!”
“Mummy! I’m sorry!” I can hardly talk because I’m crying so hard. “I-Trina hurt my hand. I had to run away ‘cos she was going to break my fingers off!”
“Stop lying! I’ve had ENOUGH!” She’s screaming so loud I cover my ears, but I can still hear her. “Enough of you. Enough of your lies and your whining, your complaints and demands. You’re never satisfied, are you? ARE you?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
She slaps my legs. “Don’t be insolent! What am I going to say to Miss Irvine? That you lied? That you ran away?”
“Please, Mummy, don’t. Don’t tell Miss Irvine!” I’m sobbing, and Mummy hates that, but I can’t stop. It’s like somebody poured all the sadness in the world into my heart, and my heart is so full it’s spilled into my tummy, and I have to cry or I’ll burst.
Mummy comes up close. Her eyes aren’t like my mummy’s eyes. They’re hard and glittery and I’m afraid to look. “SHUT UP!” she screams and slaps me across the face again.
I close my eyes and hold my breath. I hold it and hold it to stop myself from crying, and after a long time, she goes away.
Mission. Mummy says smacking is a mission of failure.