The Wild Way Home

by Sophie Kirtley

He’s so small, so impossibly small, and his face is kind of squashed-looking and weirdly wrinkly, like his skin is too big for him. He’s really still as well; just lying there, asleep, his hands up next to his head, tiny fists curled tight. Only his chest moves, rising and falling very quickly as he breathes. It makes me nervous, his too-fast breath.

  Mum and Dad are watching me. ‘He’s beautiful,’ I say. I smile at them, but I look away again fast, before they spot that my smile is pretend. I feel so bad about it but I don’t think that my new brother actually is beautiful at all.

  The honest truth is that Dara frightens me; everything I notice about him is kind of … not right. His skin is grey, not pink like it should be; his lips are in a tiny O shape like he’s whistling but I think they’re slightly blue. What scares me the most though is that he has a very thin tube, like a straw from an apple-juice carton, going right round his head and into his nose.

  Dara.

  I blink down at the disappointment of him, still smiling my pretend smile, and also trying not to cry. He suddenly scrunches up his face; the surprise of his movement makes me jump and Dad laughs at me.

  ‘Don’t worry, Charlie, he won’t bite,’ smiles Dad, rubbing my shoulder. I shake him off, I don’t know why, and Dad looks a bit hurt.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down, Charlie, and you can give your brother a cuddle,’ says Mum.

  As if he hates the idea too, the baby starts to cry. I stare into his toothless little mouth and I realise what he reminds me of: Dara’s like a baby bird, just hatched, before it has feathers or fluff or open eyes. I shudder, then check quickly to see if Mum and Dad have noticed my reaction, but they’re not looking at me now. They’re too busy soothing the baby. His cry fills the room, a horrible, thin squawk, birdlike too. I want to cover my ears, but I know that’s babyish, not the right thing to do at all, so I just bite hard on my lip and look out the window; we’re high up in the hospital tower and all I see is blue.

  ‘Sit down then,’ says Dad to me, a bit impatient. He’s holding the baby, who looks smaller than ever in Dad’s big arms. So small. So fragile. Dara stops crying and opens his eyes – they’re dark and starey.

  ‘Can he see?’ I ask as I sit on the red chair. Neither Mum nor Dad answer me, they’re both trying to sort out the nose tube and the little plastic thing in Dara’s hand, which has a tube as well. The red chair plastic pinches my bare legs as I wriggle. I pull at my shorts, trying to get comfy.

  Dara starts crying again. The noise makes me feel all hot and bothered.

  ‘Time for a cuddle with Charlie – that’ll cheer you up,’ says Dad to the baby.

  I feel a bit panicky. What if it doesn’t cheer him up? ‘Hang on, Dad …’ I mumble, but Dad’s not listening to me, he’s listening to Mum, who’s fussing about, trying to find Dad’s phone to take a picture, but Dad’s lost it as usual and Dara’s crying harder than ever and then he stops crying really suddenly with a little gulp and I notice a big cloud of worry cross Dad’s face and he and Mum both go utterly quiet and freeze.

  I know what they’re thinking, because I’m thinking it too: Has the baby stopped breathing? Is he OK?

  Dara cries again and they smile at each other, relieved. They don’t smile at me.

  I just sit on the horrible, pinchy red chair and I feel so invisible it makes me sad, then it makes me cross. Suddenly I want to scream at them. ‘I’m here too, you know! I was scared too, you know!’

  But I don’t scream, I just glare at them, all my jumbled feelings swirling about inside me. They don’t notice. Mum’s getting the phone ready to take a picture. Dad gets the crying baby ready to have his first cuddle with me. And as Dad lowers Dara towards my arms, something just snaps in me.

  ‘No!’ I say. It comes out louder than I mean it to. And I stand up too fast, nearly knocking Dara out of Dad’s arms.

  ‘Charlie! What are you doing?’ says Mum, shocked. She drops the phone, and it clatters on to the hard floor and flashes, taking a picture of nothing, all by itself. I start to back away from them, towards the door.

  At that exact moment the door swings open again. But this time it’s not the friendly nurse, it’s the doctor. And she’s not smiling.

  RESULTS

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, getting out of the doctor’s way.

  She gives me a little nod, then she comes in properly, picking up Dad’s phone from the floor and handing it to Mum. She stands at the foot of Mum’s bed.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Merriam, Mr Merriam,’ she says. She has an accent that makes the ‘r’s in our name sound kind of purr-ish. I look at the cardboard folder in her hand; the results of Dara’s tests and scans will be in there.

  The doctor taps her pen on the folder; her eyes dart lizard-like from Mum to Dad to Dara to me and back to Dad again.

  ‘Might be best for your eldest to go and … have a little play, while we have our chat.’ She clicks her pen and opens her folder. ‘There’s a playroom just along the corridor.’ She gives me a brisk smile, then her lizard eyes flick to Mum and Dad.

  I feel my cheeks going red.

  ‘OK. Yep. No problem,’ says Dad to the doctor.

  I watch as he so carefully passes Dara to Mum. The baby stops crying almost right away then, like Mum has the magic touch or something. Dara’s not asleep though; my brother’s starey eyes are still open and he half looks like he’s gazing over at me. I stare back at him, feeling cross and sad and sorry and worried all at once.

  The lizard doctor click-clicks her pen.

  ‘Charlie?’ says Dad. ‘Did you hear the doctor, love?’

  ‘I’m going,’ I say, my voice all tight and weird.

  Mum turns towards me but I don’t see what kind of look she’s giving me because I’m walking away by now already.

  ‘Hey, Charlie,’ says Dad in a really fake-sounding cheerful voice, holding the door for me. ‘Here, take this.’ He hands me his green canvas backpack. ‘There’s change in the front pocket – get yourself a drink from the machine. I’ll come and find you in a bit.’

  I take his stupid backpack and the door shuts itself slowly behind me.

  I peep back through the criss-cross glass. Mum sits so still on the bed, like a wild-haired sculpture of herself. Dad nods as he listens to what the doctor says, his eyebrows squeezed close together.

  For as long as I can remember I’ve imagined what it would be like to have a little brother or sister. I’d always thought it would feel like we were all bigger, stronger, just better if there were more of us. Our house would be loud and hectic and mad like Beaky’s. But this doesn’t feel at all like how I imagined it.

  I see the doctor speaking to Mum and Dad; they’re each holding one of Dara’s tiny hands as he lies sleeping again in Mum’s arms.

  And I realise Dad’s not just my dad now. Mum’s not just my mum. They’re Dara’s too.

  And Dara? I lean back on the cool hospital wall.

  Dara’s my brother. But it doesn’t feel like he is mine. Or that I’m his.

  I hear a babble of voices in the corridor. A nurse walks past and smiles at me. She’s wheeling another baby in a little fish-tank bed. Behind the nurse, hand in hand, is a mum and a dad and a little girl with her hair in two plaits. The girl’s wearing a massive badge that says I’M A BIG SISTER, the dad’s holding the string of a big blue IT’S A BOY! balloon. The mum and the dad smile at me too. I don’t smile back.

  For an angry flash of a second all I want to do is to get a pin and pop that big balloon. Because it doesn’t seem fair. Nothing seems fair at all.

  They walk off down the corridor and round the corner, their happy chatter fading. I think about their baby and I think about Dara. I think about the folder the doctor was carrying and all the test results inside it.

  From behind the door I hear the sudden sound of Mum wailing. It’s a horrible animal cry, high and sharp like Mum is shattering into a thousand pieces. It’s the scariest sound I’ve ever heard. It’s the sound of something breaking which can never
be fixed.

  Heart pounding, I turn and run. My trainers squeak on the lino floor of the corridor. I skid as I charge around the corner, catching a glimpse of the empty playroom with its rainbow murals and scattered toys. The lift opposite pings and the heavy doors glide open: it’s empty too so I dive inside and bang on the G button. The silver doors seal themselves with a clunk. My tummy lurches as the lift goes down; the mirrored walls reflect me over and over; endless Charlie Merriams. Head swimming, I shut my eyes. Why did Mum make that noise? Did Dara stop breathing right there in her arms? I squeeze my eyes tighter as my own breath catches in my throat. The lift pings, and I rush out of it before the doors are even properly open. I run past the drinks machine and push through the crowded foyer, following the exit arrow, until I burst out of the slidey doors and into the sunlight.

  The heat hits me like a force field. I pause, trying to gulp in cool air, but it feels like breathing soup. Next to me is a security guard who looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘Lovely day!’ he says, dabbing his shiny face with a handkerchief.

  I look up, trying to position my head so I can’t see the hospital building or electricity cables or anything but sky. It’s so blue and empty I’m almost dizzy with it. I watch a gull glide noiselessly seawards; on the far horizon I can see a band of cloud gathering. Even though it’s baking hot, the air tastes heavy and humid, like a storm might come.

  Shielding my eyes, I gaze up Mandel Rise. Beyond the neat houses, right up there at the top is the forest. It ripples and shimmers greenly in the midsummer sun.

  The heat and the noise press down on me, and worry twists like a worm in my belly. I look back over my shoulder; I should go back in there.

  Then a siren shriek rips through the air as an ambulance swoops into the car park, blue lights whirling. The sound of terrible things – bones sticking out of broken limbs, families being torn apart, tiny hearts stopping. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to see.

  Before I really know my feet are moving I’m over the road, running up Mandel Rise towards the forest.

  GABRIEL’S OAK

  I crash into the gate at the top of the hill feeling like my lungs are going to burst, but I can’t stop and think yet. I haul myself over and cannon between the picnic tables to the big oak tree that marks the proper start of Mandel Forest.

  ‘Gabriel’s Oak,’ I spit bitterly. That’s Mum and Dad’s stupid name for this tree; they named it after a character from Mum’s favourite book apparently. Panting, I bang my fist on the rough bark and stare up into the cool green of the canopy.

  The sun’s heat is like a weight pressing down on me. My heart feels all fluttery and my mind whirs, all I can think of is that noise Mum made, that awful noise. My eyes start to prickle. No. I’m not going to cry.

  I blink away the fog in my eyes and scramble up Gabriel’s Oak, squirrel-quick and breathless. Up and up and up, until the branches turn too bendy to take my weight, until when I turn to look at it the world seems small beneath me. I perch on a thick branch and rest my head on the trunk; my whole body aches and throbs as my heartbeat settles.

  Through the leaves I glimpse the hospital tower. I wonder which window is Mum’s window but there are so many it’s impossible to tell. They remind me of those close-up pictures of flies’ eyes: all those hundreds of tiny compound eyes, each one seeing something the same but ever so slightly different. I imagine each window is an eye, all watching me. It gives me a little guilty shiver, that feeling of being watched. I should …

  No. I turn away from the hospital. Leaning my back on the trunk, I draw up my knees and hug them to my chest. Something spikes the top of my leg. I reach into my shorts pocket and take out the deertooth I found yesterday. Yesterday feels so long ago.

  I look at the tooth more carefully this time; it has a little hole in it that I didn’t even notice before. The hole’s full of mud. I hunt about for a thin twig and poke it until it’s all clear. I peep at the green leaves and blue sky through the hole. Close up, I can see minuscule markings scratched on to the tooth’s surface, a stripy pattern almost. Squinting, I count the tiny lines. There are twelve of them – twelve like me! I bite my lip. It’s my birthday and everything’s wrong. I bounce the tooth’s pointy tip on the fat part of my thumb.

  Voices.

  Someone’s coming.

  I shove the deertooth back in my pocket and sit very very still.

  I hear the crunch of footsteps approaching through the forest, heading this way; the voices grow louder too. They’re voices I know.

  ‘This way, Nero!’ calls Lamont. ‘Here, Nero!’

  ‘Neeeeerooooo!’ yells Beaky.

  My heart leaps and I’m just about to yell hello when a hospital window flashes in the sunlight and I realise I’ll have to explain about Dara and suddenly it all just seems too tricky to know what to say. So I say nothing. I squeeze my knees tighter to my chest and breathe very lightly.

  ‘One small step for man … one giant leap for mankind,’ declares Beaky as she ‘spacewalks’ into my line of vision. I roll my eyes, because Beaky always makes that same joke. She sits down right beneath me and Lamont plonks himself beside her. I can still hear Nero rustling about in the bushes somewhere.

  ‘Why is it sooooo hot?’ asks Beaky.

  ‘Probably something to do with that!’ says Lamont, pointing up at the sun.

  ‘You’re hilarious, Lamont. This weather’ll be perfect for Charlie’s birthday camping though, won’t it; clear skies, campfire, stars …’

  I can see that Lamont is giving Beaky one of his looks.

  ‘What, Lamont? What did I say?’

  ‘Catch yourself on, Beaky! Charlie won’t be camping, Charlie probably won’t even be birthdaying with us at all. Charlie will probably just be sitting around at home singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and changing nappies and stuff. You know how much Charlie was wanting this baby to come along. We probably won’t see Charlie for weeks now … months … years …’

  Up in my hiding spot, my stomach drops. It’s like they’re describing a different Charlie – a Charlie that should’ve been me.

  Beaky picks a blade of long grass and chews on it like a yokel. ‘It’s only a baby!’ she mumbles grumpily.

  ‘You’re only a baby,’ says Lamont.

  Beaky sticks her long grass in Lamont’s ear. He leaps up with a yell and Nero bounds protectively out of the trees, barking.

  ‘Save me, Nero! Beaky’s attacking me!’ Lamont laughs and so does Beaky.

  ‘I come in peace,’ she says, putting her hands up. Nero sees it as an invitation and clambers all over her, licking her face.

  I smile and a big part of me aches to come down from this stupid tree and just muck around with my friends like normal. Or maybe they’ll even help me, know what I should do … I’m just about to reveal my hiding place by starting to drop acorns on their heads, when Lamont’s phone rings.

  His eyebrows crinkle down as he looks at the screen. ‘It’s Charlie’s dad,’ he says, and my blood goes cold.

  RUN

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Hello,’ says Lamont. ‘OK … yes … OK … Oh, right … OK …’

  ‘What’s going on?’ hisses Beaky. Lamont shushes her with his finger.

  ‘Um … that’s … um …’ Lamont’s gone all stuttery like he can’t find the words. His eyes are very serious. ‘I’m sorry to hear that … Um, how’s Charlie?’

  I blush and bite my lip. Guilty, embarrassed, worried all at once.

  ‘Err, no … no, not since this morning.’

  Lamont covers the phone with his hand and speaks urgently to Beaky. ‘You haven’t seen Charlie today, have you?’ She shakes her head, wide-eyed.

  ‘No, Beaky hasn’t either. So … um … what happened … ?’

  There’s a long pause then. Lamont does a lot of nodding while he listens to my dad. I bury my face in my knees and press my back hard into the knobbly tree bark, willing Gabriel’s Oak to just swallow me up.
/>   ‘OK,’ says Lamont finally. ‘Well, we’re in the forest now, sure. We can look for Charlie in all our usual places if you like … No … no problem at all. We’d like to help.’

  I peep down at them. Beaky nods wildly, her hand holding on to Nero’s collar so tightly I see her white knuckle bones.

  ‘OK then … OK. I will … thanks … bye.’

  Lamont hangs up and puts his phone back in his pocket. ‘Charlie’s run away,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ says Beaky. ‘Why?’

  I cover my ears but I can still hear them talking.

  ‘I don’t really get it. I think Charlie had a total meltdown and went off in a strop by the sounds of things.’

  I jerk my hands from my ears. A strop! Suddenly my shame and embarrassment bends into fury. A strop! How dare he? I grit my teeth. Lamont doesn’t have a clue how I feel.

  ‘But why would Charlie do that?’ whispers Beaky. Nero starts whining.

  ‘It’s the baby.’ Lamont sounds deadly serious. My anger melts as I listen. ‘There’s something wrong with the baby’s heart. He needs an operation.’

  ‘Oh no!’ breathes Beaky, clapping her hand over her mouth. ‘Poor baby. When?’

  ‘Today. Soon. That’s why we need to find Charlie ASAP … because …’ Lamont’s voice fades away to nothing.

  In the pit of my stomach an ice-cold ball of sadness and worry swells and grows until my eyes cloud with tears and a tiny little gulpy whimpery noise comes out of my mouth. I clap my hand over my lips but it’s too late.

  Nero’s ears prick. He looks straight up at me.

  ‘So … where is Charlie?’

  Nero’s barking at me now, wagging his tail.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Beaky. Shall we try the Spirit Stone?’

  Nero starts going bananas.

  ‘Nero? Stop it! What?’

  Nero breaks out of Beaky’s hold and jumps up on the trunk of Gabriel’s Oak, still barking like crazy.

  Lamont and Beaky look straight up at me. Then at each other.

  ‘Hi,’ I say sheepishly, my voice all croaky. I feel their eyes on me as I climb back down and land with a thud on the hard ground.