by Simon Bourke
They chose a Saturday evening and planned it in advance. Jonathan had just had his bath and was cross-legged in front of the telly, a large bowl of ice cream at his feet. They’d been working towards this all day, manoeuvring him into position so that they could deliver the news when he was at his most receptive. Now everything was in place; Margaret had just emptied the washing machine, Malcolm had come in from the garage, and their little boy was sitting still for the first time all day.
The A-Team had just finished and the moment was ripe.
“Jonathan, we want to talk to you about something,” Margaret said gently.
He swivelled around on the floor to face his parents. His ice cream had long since melted but he’d been loath to give it up and had spent the last ten minutes creating funny patterns on its surface.
Sensing that they would have his attention for only a matter of minutes, Margaret cut straight to the chase.
“How would you feel about getting a little sister, Jonathan?”
He stopped trailing his spoon through the ice cream and stared at his mother in amazement.
“Really, Mum?”
“Yes,” she said, looking at Malcolm, who nodded agreement.
“A sister,” Jonathan said thoughtfully.
He pondered for a second before arriving at a conclusion.
“I think I’d prefer a brother, Mum.”
They both smiled, his reaction coming as no surprise to them. Jonathan had already developed a deep mistrust of girls, and more than once had stated that he’d never be friends with one as long as he lived.
“I’m sure you would, Jonathan,” Malcolm said. “But your mother and I would like a girl.”
Jonathan screwed up his face in frustration. He was outnumbered here.
“Okay,” he conceded. “I suppose a sister could be all right.”
“That’s great, Jonathan. We’re glad you agree,” Malcolm said with a touch of sarcasm.
Decision made, Jonathan began to warm to the idea.
“When will she be here, Mum? You’re not even fat yet! Is she in there now?”
He got up from the floor and made for Margaret’s stomach in anticipation of a right good listen. But she stopped him in his tracks.
“She won’t be coming from my tummy, Jonathan.”
He stared at her, crestfallen, then looked at his father. Was it possible?
“Is she going to come from Dad’s tummy? I saw a really fat man the other day; he definitely had a few babies in his tummy.”
Malcolm patted his own modest midriff. “Do you think there are any babies in here, Jonathan?”
“Stop that, Malcolm, you’ll confuse him.”
Jonathan was already confused. If his sister wasn’t going to come from his mum’s tummy, then where would she come from?
“Jonathan, sometimes mums can’t grow babies in their own tummies so they get them from the hospital instead,” Margaret said. “This is called adopting a baby.”
“Adopting?” Jonathan repeated.
“Yes, adopting,” Malcolm said. “Your mum can’t grow a baby, so we’ll go to the hospital for one instead.”
“Where does the hospital get the babies?”
“They come from mums who couldn’t look after them, Jonathan,” Margaret said, her heart pounding. She was acutely aware that what she was telling him now could scar him for life if it wasn’t handled correctly.
“Why couldn’t they, Mum?”
“Lots of different reasons, Jonathan.”
“What kind of reasons?”
Margaret stared at her husband, desperate for assistance. To his credit, Malcolm did the best he could.
“Jonathan, sometimes these mums couldn’t afford to care for their babies. They might not have had money for nappies or food.”
“But why did they have a baby if they didn’t have money for nappies?”
This was a question too far, even for Malcolm. How could you explain the concept of an unwanted pregnancy to a seven-year-old?
“I don’t know, Jonathan. Maybe they lost their job or something like that.”
He seemed satisfied with this explanation. Grown-ups could be really stupid at times though. Imagine deciding to have a baby and then, when it came, having to sell it to the hospital so you could buy food! Such silliness. He would never understand their ways. Then something else occurred to him; if his mum couldn’t grow a baby, where had he come from?
“Mum?” he asked, softly.
“Yes, my love?”
“Am I adopted, then?”
“Yes, dear,” Margaret confirmed, stifling a sob.
“So you bought me from the hospital?”
“No, Jonathan,” she laughed. “We didn’t buy you!”
“Why not? Did you steal me, Mum?” he asked, excited by the notion of being a kidnapped child.
“No, Jonathan. We didn’t steal you and we didn’t buy you.”
“So I was free, then?”
“Well, not exactly, but we didn’t have to pay the hospital for you.”
“So you just gave the money to the lady whose tummy I was in, so she could buy food?”
“No, not that either, Jonathan. Adopted babies aren’t bought; they are given to mums and dads who can’t grow their own.”
“I see,” he said, finally seeming to grasp it. “So when you couldn’t grow one, you went to the hospital to pick one out?”
Margaret opened her mouth to correct him again, but Malcolm interjected before she could speak.
“That’s right, Jonathan. We went in to where they keep all the babies and looked to see which one we liked best.”
Jonathan’s eyes lit up. “Was it me, Dad?”
“It was, Jonathan.”
“How many babies were there, Dad?”
“Oh, loads; hundreds, I would say.”
“And you chose me?” he asked, pointing to his chest.
“Yes.”
“Wow,” he said, awestruck. “What made you choose me, Dad?”
“Simple, you were the cutest.”
“Was I, Dad? Really?”
“Yes, the cutest by miles.”
“By miles?”
“Yes.”
“Out of hundreds of babies?”
“Yes, Jonathan.”
Jonathan decided that being adopted was the coolest thing ever. He felt special, knowing that out of all those babies, they’d selected him. He’d seen pictures of himself when he was small and he had to admit that he’d been pretty cute. But that cute?! He’d had no idea. Wait until his friends heard about this! They’d be so jealous.
So caught up was he in his voyage of self-discovery that he’d almost forgotten about this sister, but now, having remembered, and finally understanding what adoption was all about, he had one final question.
“Dad?”
“Yes, son?”
“When you’re going to pick out my sister, can I come?”
“We’ll have to see what the hospital says, Jonathan.”
2
Sadly, Jonathan wasn’t allowed to help choose his new sister. On the day of her arrival he was left at home with his Nana Grimes, while his parents went to collect his sibling-in-waiting. Jonathan liked Nana Grimes. She was very old; seventy-one, which made her the oldest person he knew. She was his mum’s mum and had grown his mum inside her tummy. His mum wasn’t adopted like he was. Nana Grimes was very small, with white hair, and wore thick blue cardigans. She always had sweets too, loads of them, hidden in her handbag. Jonathan had long wanted to look inside her handbag, to see if it was filled with sweets and sweets alone, but she never let it out of her sight. So he had to be content with being given sweets from the bag whenever she saw fit. He loved that bag.
Because of Nana Grimes’ age, he was always on his b
est behaviour when she babysat him. His dad had told him to be very careful with his nana, and Jonathan followed those instructions to the letter. There would be no games of football, no building of forts and certainly no jumping on beds, while Nana Grimes was looking after him. He didn’t want to end up killing her. He’d play whatever games she wanted and hope that by doing so he would receive the entire contents of her lovely, sweet-filled bag.
As soon as his parents’ car left the driveway, Jonathan looked expectantly at Nana Grimes. She was in charge now, so what would they do? She stared back at him from her position on the armchair, suppressing a smile. That was one of the thing he liked best about his nana, she was always up for a laugh. Sometimes it felt like she was his age, instead of seventy-one. They remained like that for a few moments, grinning at one another.
“Board games, Nana?”
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.”
He darted off to the playroom to get the board games. He had lots of them but Connect Four was his favourite. He was the current champion and had never lost a game. His mum had beaten him once, but the result was overturned after it emerged that she’d been cheating. He didn’t like playing his mum; she was too good. He preferred playing his dad, or ideally Nana Grimes. She was hopeless at Connect Four, really bad, which made her the perfect opponent. Sometimes he felt guilty as he beat her time and time again and occasionally he even offered to let her win one, but she always refused and promised to try her best in the next game. Her best was never good enough, though; she was up against the Connect Four champion, after all.
“Red or yellow, Nan?” he asked as he set up the game.
“Oh, I think I’ll be red, Jonathan.”
“Aw, I wanted to be red, Nana!”
“Okay then, Jonathan, I’ll be yellow.”
“Cool,” he said, emptying out the coloured counters and dividing them up.
One of the yellows had gone missing a few weeks ago, but he decided not to tell Nana Grimes about that. She might be rubbish at the game, but he couldn’t take any risks. A couple of minutes later he had secured his first victory of the day, a straightforward win: four reds right down the middle. Poor Nana, her eyesight wasn’t the best. But after a string of victories, each one easier than the last, he began to grow tired of Connect Four.
“How long till my sister gets here, Nana?”
“Not for a while yet, Jonathan. They’ve only been gone half an hour.”
“She’s going to be adopted; did you know that, Nana?”
“Yes, Jonathan, I did.”
“I’m adopted too, Nana.”
“I know that, Jonathan.”
“Did you know that Mum and Dad picked me out from a hundred babies, Nana? I bet you didn’t know that!”
Nana Grimes pursed her mouth in surprise. “A hundred babies!”
“Yes,” Jonathan said proudly. “I was the cutest.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“I’m bored, Nana. What’ll we play next?”
“What do you want to play, Jonathan?”
“Can we bake some gingerbread men like we did last time?”
“Oh, no, Jonathan, I’m sorry. I haven’t got the ingredients.”
“What are ingredients, Nana?”
“They’re the things you use to make the gingerbread men; flour and baking soda, things like that.”
“Can’t we go to the supermarket and buy some baking soda?”
“But how would we get there, Jonathan?”
Jonathan paused for thought. Nana Grimes didn’t have a car; she was too old to have one. They could get the bus, but the stop was very far away and he didn’t think Nana Grimes could walk that far. What he really felt like doing was going upstairs and jumping up and down on his bed. That was one of his favourite things to do, especially when his mother wasn’t around. But something told him that Nana Grimes wouldn’t enjoy that game as much as he did. He could pretend he was going to the toilet and then sneak into his room for a quick jump around, but it was never as much fun on your own. The best part about it was looking at the other person as they tried to jump higher than you.
“How about having a bath?” said Nana Grimes, breaking his reverie.
Bath? Jonathan’s heart sank. No one had told him he’d have to have a bath. This was supposed to have been a fun day with Nana Grimes.
“But I had one last Saturday,” he whined in protest.
“Well, you have to have another today. I’m under strict orders; can’t have you dirty when your little sister arrives.”
Jonathan was starting to go off the idea of having a sister. If it involved having baths all the time, then he’d rather not have one.
“But why Nana? She won’t notice.”
“You have to be clean for the party later.”
Party? Now she was talking.
“What party, Nana?”
“Your sister’s homecoming party.”
Jonathan had changed his mind; getting a sister was great if it meant parties, because parties were brilliant.
“All your cousins are going to be here, and your aunts and uncles.”
“Really? Even Uncle Tony?”
“Yes, even Uncle Tony.”
Tony was his absolute favourite uncle. This was going to be some party.
“When does the party start, Nana?” he asked, looking around for signs, anything that would point to the party’s beginning.
“Oh, not for a while yet Jonathan. Your sister has to get here first; but the party can’t start until you have your bath.”
“Okay then, Nana,” he declared, hopping up from his seat. “Let’s go!”
He bounded up the stairs two at a time, having discovered a new enthusiasm for bath-time. His grandmother followed him wearily, agreeing to the inclusion of Action Man and several other toys, if only to shut him up.
By the time she’d found a temperature to his liking, the bath was full to overflowing. First it had been too hot, then too cold, then a tiny bit too hot, then way too cold and so on until she was fit to chuck him in, clothes and all. But finally he’d been happy with it, and after the prolonged drama of washing his hair and giving him a thorough scrubbing, she was happy to leave him alone with his boats and submarines.
“Let me know when you’re ready to get out,” she said, drying herself with a towel.
“I will, Nana,” he replied as another monumental splash undid her work.
She sighed and left him to it. At least he was relatively quiet, which would allow her to regroup until her next challenge: getting him out. It was nothing that a few threats wouldn’t solve, though; one mention of the party being called off and he’d be as good as gold. Eleanor Grimes had brought up four children of her own in far humbler surroundings. She knew exactly what buttons to press and when to press them. So, although Jonathan might have believed he was playing her for a fool, it was entirely the opposite. He could splish and splash, cover himself in suds and sing to his heart’s content, but in less than an hour’s time he would be sitting in that living-room like a brand new pin, his hair perfectly combed, his shirt tucked into his trousers and his ears squeaky clean, inside and out.
3
Jonathan felt itchy and uncomfortable. His shirt collar was too tight and his stupid new shoes were hurting his toes. His hair looked silly too; he longed to mess it up, but one look at his nana was enough to tell him that this would be a bad idea. She’d been very mean to him since bath-time. He wasn’t sure he liked her anymore. The friendly nana who was useless at Connect 4 and baked him gingerbread men had been replaced by an angry one. Even crying hadn’t affected her; she’d ignored his tears and warned him that if he didn’t stop he wouldn’t be allowed to attend the party. He tried asking for his mum, just to see how that would go, but that didn’t work either. Nana scolded him for being so selfish and told him he
had to be a big boy now that he had a sister to mind. He was starting to think that this sister business was just about the worst thing that had ever happened. When he had been told about it he’d imagined a new playmate: endless games of Connect 4, someone to watch cartoons with and, most importantly, someone to jump on beds with. He’d been quite mistaken. Everything was changing; now he was being told he had to be a big boy. He didn’t want to be a big boy. He liked being a little boy.
But he kept reminding himself that there was a party in the offing. He’d seen it with his own eyes. His nana had laid out the table with all kinds of lovely stuff; iced buns, cheesecake, fancy chocolate biscuits, Rocky Road, Swiss Roll, sausage rolls and lots of other things he didn’t recognise. Then she’d covered it all up with tinfoil and warned him not to touch anything. This was very unfair; he’d been a good boy like she’d asked, and he wasn’t getting a thing in reward. He’d sat there in his silly green jumper, left his hair alone and been as quiet as a mouse and still he was being treated like an animal, having to look at all that delicious food while his belly rumbled in complaint. Flipping Nana Grimes; he was going to ask for a new babysitter as soon as his mum got home.