‘Please mind the gap,’ a metallic voice intoned on the PA as the carriage doors began to slide shut.
‘Hurry, hurry,’ Mum called, and I leaped on board as Dad swung the last bag into the carriage.
Bernardo was bent in half. It looked painful. The train set off and Mum put her arms around him, holding him up like a prop. ‘Sit, Bernardo, sit!’ He backed into a corner and sat on the floor, folding his knees sideways and angling his feet out into the standing space where Dad stood with the luggage. Mum stood next to him, rummaging in her handbag. She produced a thick woolly scarf. He just sat there like a baby, allowing her to wind it round his neck.
The train hissed and squealed as it rattled to the next station.
I crossed to the far end and leaned against the emergency door to the next carriage.
‘Andi just needs a little time to get used to you,’ Mum yelled into Bernardo’s ear. I grimaced and Mum stuck her tongue out at me. She continued to yell, switching to Tagalog.
There was a loud knocking. A bunch of teenagers in the next carriage peered through the window, waving at Bernardo. He smiled and waved back and they fell about laughing. I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head.
How did Bernardo become so tall? The other Bernardo, his dad, wasn’t very tall. Or was he? It was hard to tell from the portrait which now sat on the mantelpiece in our new, double-size sitting room.
As the train emerged from the tunnel, the darkness was replaced by a murky grey. Suddenly we were clacking over a high bridge, the lights of London spreading beneath the train like candles in a darkened church. There was an explosion of phones beeping and ringing all around us as the train came within reach of a mobile phone signal. Bernardo’s phone went off too. OK. His message alert was Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars.
Mum’s voice rose above the train’s clatter like a foghorn. She was speaking in English again. ‘Cellphones are called mobiles in England.’
I glanced up. Bernardo was leaning against Mum. He sat on the floor and Mum stood next to him. His head lay on her shoulder, he was that tall. He looked dead tired. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. Mum nattered on. ‘As for bananas, they say buh-NAR-nuhs instead of bah-nah-nahs. And the hood of a car is a bonnet. And the trunk of a car is a boot! A boot! Imagine!’
Bernardo nodded, smiling despite the frown that knitted his brow. He pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket. I was amazed he could manage to push the buttons with such big fingers. Mum’s chatter had so obviously bored him that he was checking his messages.
I glanced at the teenagers in the next carriage. They’d forgotten about Nardo and were now pole-dancing on the other side of the carriage.
And then Mum screamed.
6
Bernardo
One moment I was surrounded by the unwelcoming committee of Old Tibo and Sister Len-Len and Salim and Tim. The next: there it was, the Earth. I actually tried to slip away before its full weight could embed itself in my shoulder, but no, no, down it went, round and heavy and wet. Instead of getting away, I bumped my head against the Tropic of Cancer and bong! The world made a hollow sound, like the steel water tank behind Uncle’s house. Pieces of land shook off in great brown flakes and my shoulder was numbed by the cold of the polar ice cap.
I opened my eyes.
The unwelcoming committee was gone. There was just Jabby and Uncle and Auntie.
‘Not again!’ Auntie’s voice was shrill.
‘You OK, Nards?’ I felt Jabby’s hand on my forehead.
In fact, I felt fine. My headache was gone. I lay flat on my back on the cool ceramic tiles of Auntie’s living room.
‘Sofia, cancel the flight,’ Uncle said. ‘Let us take him to Emergency.’
‘But Old Tibo and the others will be back soon,’ Jabbar said. ‘They just went to get reinforcements. They’ll do anything to stop Bernardo leaving.’
‘Look,’ Auntie said, ‘Nardo is ill. He probably needs a drip or something.’
I tried to get up but Auntie’s arm lay across my chest like a log. ‘I feel all right now.’
The three of them looked at me. Auntie stopped leaning on my chest and I pushed myself up slowly.
‘Ay,’ Jabby sighed. ‘Thank goodness you’re back. I thought I would have to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Bet you haven’t brushed your teeth this morning.’
‘I have.’ I smiled weakly at the joke. ‘I brushed my teeth.’
‘What are you feeling, Nardo? We will take you to a doctor.’ Uncle’s voice was urgent.
‘NO!’ I shook my head. ‘Uh … really, I’m OK. I just needed something to eat. I should have listened to you, Auntie. I should have had some breakfast. I just felt light-headed all of a sudden.’ I did feel a bit light-headed so it wasn’t such a lie.
Both Uncle and Auntie sank onto the sofa at the same time. They looked exhausted.
‘But now I feel fine,’ I said. ‘Really I do.’
‘Sofia.’ Uncle turned to Auntie. ‘Let’s get him a sandwich.’
They both disappeared into the kitchen and even before the door closed they were already arguing. I could hear them through the wall. I closed my eyes. Even if they managed to agree with each other about taking me to a hospital, I was determined to leave. No way was I going to postpone my departure. If I didn’t leave now, I would never do so. Old Tibo and the others would see to that.
‘Nards,’ Jabby said softly. ‘I’ve got something for you. A goodbye present.’
I opened my eyes.
It was a basketball. Jabby had drawn a big smiling face on it with a thick black marker.
He handed it to me. ‘And I want to say sorry. I was wrong about the team and the Giant Killers. You’re right. It was not fair. So … this is just something to remember me by. I hope you will be happy in London.’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘Thanks,’ I whispered.
For a moment I thought he was going to embrace me but instead he held out his hand and we shook. His eyes were suddenly red.
‘Nardo!’ Uncle burst into the room. ‘Out the back, quick! Tibo and the others are at the door again.’
I stood up, my arms tight around the basketball.
‘I’ll stay here and delay them,’ Jabby said. ‘Go, go!’
Uncle picked up some bags and Auntie grabbed my hand and began to drag me to the back door. ‘I … I’ll email you when I get there,’ I said. It sounded so inadequate. I wanted to say something more but there was nothing I could say that would change anything.
‘That would be great!’ Jabby forced his mouth into a grin. ‘I … I’ll see you soon.’
Which wasn’t true of course.
But it was one way of saying goodbye for ever.
7
Andi
Apparently this was the third time it had happened, though we only found that out when we got home from Heathrow and Mum rang Auntie Sofia to yell at her. Apparently she and Uncle Victor had decided not to tell us about the two other seizures because they did not want us to be alarmed.
Alarming is not the word I would choose, although it ranks up there with the others. Terrifying. Horrible. Embarrassing.
When Bernardo collapsed on the tube, he slumped forward into the narrow aisle between the seats, and a sharp swerve of the train rolled him around like a giant log. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body arched, his legs rigid and grotesque. Dad dived down and pulled the scarf off his neck. He ripped the tie from Bernardo’s neck with a loud zip. It was attached with Velcro. But nobody laughed. Bernardo’s long, long body softened for a moment and then stiffened again, like a thousand volts were shooting through him.
‘Oh my God.’ Mum sat, frozen in her seat, wringing her hands. ‘What’s wrong, Will?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dad said. He unbuttoned Bernardo’s shirt at the throat.
Bernardo had dropped his mobile on the floor. I picked it up just as it vibrated with a ne
w text message.
Beep beep.
I stared at the tiny glowing screen.
It was a text message from the Philippines. I could tell by the +63 country code. Auntie Sofia? I pressed a key to view the message.
Another earthquake 2day. Come back.
I meant to press the red button to turn it off, but instead the phone scrolled back to the previous message.
NARDO WHY U ABANDON US?
Bernardo woke up. It took all three of us and the man sitting at the end of the carriage to sit him up in the corner again. He seemed groggy, disorientated. He collapsed against Mum, his head lolling over hers, and then suddenly he was fast asleep. We had to shake him awake when we got to our stop, and Dad had to yell down at a man on the platform to hold the train while we unloaded Bernardo and his bags.
It was only a five-minute walk to the house from the station. It felt like five hours.
‘Maybe it’s just jet lag,’ Dad muttered softly to Mum as we guided Bernardo home. But she had her ‘I’m the nurse’ look on her face, pursing her lips and shaking her head. When she does that, I don’t know why Dad doesn’t just reply, ‘Well, I’m a nurse too.’
The moment we entered the house, Mum was on the phone to Auntie Sofia. Dad, Bernardo and I stood in the hall with the luggage.
‘Hello? Hello?’ Mum’s call had gone through. ‘Can you hear me, Sofia? Can you hear me now?’ Then she started yelling in Tagalog, which sounds a bit like this: Yakataka baka yaka taka babalaba.
It never did matter that I couldn’t speak Tagalog. Mum’s body language was so expressive that translating what she was probably saying had become a form of entertainment. Whenever Ma talked to Auntie Sofia, I would translate for Dad: ‘She says she’s glad the crocodiles are attending the disco. She says she can’t wait to taste the cat food.’ ‘No, no, she didn’t say cat food,’ Dad would interrupt. ‘She says the cat food was fine last time but today she’d rather dance like a chicken.’
Right now, she sounded really upset and whatever she was saying, it had nothing to do with dancing or chickens.
Looking at Bernardo, though, I suddenly wished that I could understand. As Mum yelled, Bernardo kept his eyes on the floor, his body getting more and more hunched until it was as if his head had disappeared between his bony shoulders.
Mum suddenly appeared at the door, the phone still pressed to her ear, her eyes staring and frantic. ‘William, it’s happened twice already! TWICE!’
‘Make yourself at home,’ Dad said to Bernardo quietly. He followed Mum into the living room.
Bernardo straightened, the ceiling light behind him gently bumping against the back of his head. His eyes were totally red.
‘I am the blame,’ he said softly. ‘I am the blame.’ He rubbed his eyes. Oh God, he was crying. What was I supposed to do? Should I put my arms around him? I took a tiny step forward.
Dad reappeared at the living-room door. ‘Well,’ he said, the fake cheerfulness in his voice matching the fake smile on his face. ‘While Mum’s chatting on the phone, why don’t you show Bernardo to your room, Andi? He might want to freshen up. Take a shower.’
How could Dad act like nothing was going on? I glared at him but he was looking way above my head at Bernardo.
‘Take him up, Andi.’ There was a sharp edge to Dad’s voice. ‘Now.’
I turned and led the way to the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, I stepped back and said, ‘You first.’
He flashed a wan smile over his shoulder. ‘Salamat. Thank you.’
Following behind him was terrifying. It was like walking behind a very tall tree. He teetered with every step, as if any minute he was going to lose his balance and come crashing down on me. But we survived, and at the top he smiled encouragingly at me.
‘In there,’ I said, pointing at the door with the Toxic Twins poster Blu-Tacked to it.
Bernardo bent down to step through my doorway and immediately toppled over. Oh God. Was he having another fit?
But he’d only tripped over my basketball, which he didn’t see because he was so tall. Or maybe he didn’t see it because it was so dark.
I turned on the light.
Bernardo had landed on the mattresses Mum had laid out on the floor. He rolled over on his back and gazed around him, mouth wide open.
What was he staring at? Did I leave a pair of knickers on the floor?
‘What is it?’ I muttered crossly.
Bernardo pointed at Michael Jordan dribbling a ball above my bedstead, and then at Michael Jordan dunking a ball in a hoop, then Michael Jordan flying in the air with his Air Jordans akimbo, then Michael Jordan posing with Bugs Bunny in that cartoon.
‘What, what?’ I said, impatient.
‘Michael Jordan,’ Bernardo said, grinning like an idiot. ‘Michael Jordan is my biggest fan.’
8
Bernardo
‘Here you go, sweetie.’ The technician’s English was soft and elegant like a character from an old black and white movie. She was beautiful. Her hair was black, a dark frame to the symmetry of her face. Her sparkly, pale pink lipstick was a perfect match for her coffee skin. Her lashes were extravagant, rimming her eyes like an Egyptian princess. S. Patel, the badge on her jacket lapel said.
‘What your name?’ I murmured.
She smiled. ‘My name is Sunita. And it says here your name is Bernard, is that right?’
I nodded. She asked so kindly, I didn’t feel like correcting her. Anyway, ‘Bernard’ sounded English.
‘How old are you, Bernard?’
‘Sixteen.’
Sunita laughed a tinkly sort of laugh. ‘You are a tall lad, aren’t you?’
Tall lad.
The way she put it sounded so nice. Like something to be proud of.
I nodded as I gazed deep into the dark pools of her eyes.
It was a machine for imaging the brain, Ma had said. Its invisible rays drilled deep, searching for answers to questions that had not yet been asked.
‘Down you go, Bernard.’ Sunita helped me lie down on the patient table, supporting my neck with a downy arm. My legs dangled down at the knees: the table was too short. Her fingers were like butterflies as she stroked the hair away from my eyes.
She placed a rolled-up towel on either side of my head. ‘This will help you keep still,’ she said. She covered me with a blue cotton blanket. ‘And this will make you feel more comfortable.’ She fitted a pair of earphones playing pop music over my ears. ‘These are for the noise.’
Sunita took what looked like a waste-paper basket cut lengthwise and fitted it over my face. And then she pressed a button and the table levitated up to the machine’s mouth.
‘There is a lot of noise, but don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.’ Her voice sounded far away. ‘Some people feel a bit funny in the machine and I don’t blame them. There’s a button inside. If you really can’t stand it any more, just press the button and I’ll take you out.’ She leaned up close. ‘Think of it as having your picture taken. Only noisier. And longer. The whole session will take about thirty minutes. Close your eyes, sweetie. Think happy thoughts.’
She left and I closed my eyes. When was the last time I’d slept properly? The plane crew had upgraded me to Business Class, where there was more room, but the seats were only inches better. And that teeny tiny toilet! It had been a long flight – and not just because it took fourteen hours.
‘Ready now, Bernard?’ Miss Patel’s voice seemed a long way away.
‘Ready.’
The machine began to scream, completely drowning out Tom Jones.
Then the table began to move and slowly I was swallowed by the tube. This was what it was like to be buried alive.
And all the time, the machine screamed.
I wanted to press my hands against my ears but I could not move my arms. I wanted to cry out but nobody was going to hear me above that noise. The tube screamed and groaned and banged.
‘Think happy thoughts,’ Miss Patel had said.
I tried.
I thought of Michael Jordan and Amandolina and basketball.
Of Auntie and Mama and Uncle William.
Of being in England at last.
But the thoughts drifted away like smoke.
Think happy thoughts.
I decided to think of the lovely Sunita, conjuring the beautiful face framed in the long dark hair.
But it was not Sunita’s face that took shape before me. The face that emerged from my swirling thoughts was beautiful, yes, but there was a sulkiness in the dark eyes and disdain in the turn of the lips.
It was Gabriela.
The lips parted to show white teeth. But the voice when it came was that of Mad Nena.
Nardo, she whispered. The earthquakes have begun.
9
Andi
So after Bernardo informed me that Michael Jordan was his biggest fan, Mum suddenly burst into the room yelling that Bernardo had to go to A&E.
I was in the middle of figuring out how to tell him he’d got it the wrong way round. Bernardo was Michael Jordan’s biggest fan, surely. Unless, of course, there was something else about my half-brother that Mum had not told me.
But before I could say anything, Mum was marching him down the stairs. Bernardo didn’t even get the chance to change out of his travelling clothes except to ditch the shiny jacket.
‘You’re cold,’ Mum said, as if Bernardo couldn’t figure it out himself. I looked at him and was surprised to realize, yeah, he was cold. In fact, there was a tinge of purple under his lips, like someone who’d been swimming at an open-air lido.
Mum made him wear Dad’s long fur-lined coat, which was the colour of poo, a knitted cap, also the colour of poo, and a scarf. Strangely, the coat seemed too big and broad for his narrow frame, though the arms came to just above his wrists. He looked a right wally but he didn’t complain. If it was me, Mum would have had a fight on her hands. But Bernardo obviously wasn’t anything like me.
Tall Story Page 7