Porky by Deborah Moggach Read Free Book Online Page B

must have been, tucked up, with nothing on my mind. I shivered; the garage, being concrete, was always chilly. It was full of junk; there had never been room for our truck. I wanted to pull out the pram and wash it for my new-born brother, but I couldn’t move all the stuff without Dad.
    Mum had given him a list for Woolies. We drove there that afternoon. I followed Dad down the aisles. He kept pausing with his piece of paper and rubbing his nose. I usually loved shopping with him, and today should have been the best day of all. Soon he gave up and I took over the list, collecting the terry nappies and the bags of cotton wool. I felt light-headed and queasy, both at the same time; I couldn’t catch up with what we were doing. How soon before I had a baby too? I found a packet of bootees: cream knitted ones. ‘Birth – 6 months’, said the label. It was six whole days since that thing had happened in the armchair. He hadn’t said a word about it; all I knew was that later he’d sat in my bedroom.
    Today, since he’d woken up he’d been more silent than ever, and his eyes were rimmed pink. I dreaded him saying something, of course; I felt sick at the possibility. But there we were, choosing baby clothes together. I should be thinking about my baby brother, not myself. Was Dad ever going to tell me the truth? I must be too young to have a baby, with my flat chest. I would have to ask a stranger.
    I inspected the check-out lady . . . Someone like her, who I might not see again. But I couldn’t just blurt it out while she pinged the till, could I? And with him there.
    On the way back he put his hand on my knee.
    â€˜Sorry, Podge. Not quite myself today.’
    Silently I pleaded with him not to explain why, and it worked. He didn’t.
    Mum’s bandages made it all more confusing. I’d noticed them, of course, but I pretended not to see. I thought I knew how babies were born, but there she was, trussed up half-way to her collar bone. She’d buttoned up her nightie but you could see gaps when she moved. There was woolly bandage in there, wrapped round and round and fastened with safety pins. I made sure on my second visit. Was this part of the Complications? I must have got it wrong, this baby business. I’d thought you had to have bosoms, but now she’d bandaged hers flat. They looked as flat as mine. So did that mean I could have one too?
    That visit I had to go to the toilet. I was just washing my hands when a nurse came through the door. She stood beside me, filling a vase with water. If she hadn’t smiled at me, and if we weren’t alone, I would never have dared.
    I just turned to her, calm as calm, and asked, ‘Do you know why my Mum’s wearing bandages?’
    â€˜What – here?’ She indicated her chest. I nodded. My courage was draining away now.
    â€˜It’s Mrs Mercer, isn’t it?’ she said.
    I nodded again.
    â€˜They’re to help stop lactation. You see, she doesn’t want to feed baby herself. Some of our mums don’t.’ She paused, smiling kindly. ‘That answered it?’
    I nodded, of course. She went away. I stood there, rigid. There was a roaring in my ears.
    Acting as if nothing had happened, I made my way back to her bedside. Dad was standing, jiggling the baby. Mewling hiccups came from the bundle. No wonder the little thing was crying.
    I said quickly, ‘Can we take him home now?’
    Dad stopped. ‘Eh?’
    â€˜Can we bring him home?’
    Dad burst out laughing. Even my Mum smiled. There were some other babies crying, I could hear them now. They must be the other ones who weren’t going to be fed.
    â€˜I’ll feed him.’ I looked desperately from Mum to Dad. ‘I promise.’
    â€˜You’re an odd little thing.’ My Dad smiled. ‘Aren’t you just?’
    â€˜He’s staying here with me,’ said Mum. ‘It’s the