could
bear
to be without my mum. I thought of all our cuddles, all our girly talk, all our shopping trips, all the secrets she told me about growing up and girls-and-boys.
As the days wore on I got so cast down that I even started to feel I was going to miss Tiger. Whenever I went near him he held out his chubby arms to be picked up. When I whirled him around or blew a raspberry on his fat little tummy he chuckled and snorted and kicked his bendy legs like a little frog. He was even starting to say my name, though he couldn’t quite manage the ‘l’ so I was his Fossie.
I suddenly got into the whole big sister thing. I sat him on my lap and read him all his boring little books about tractors and tank engines. I drew him pictures of dogs and cats and cows so that he could
woof-woof
and
mew-mew
and
moo-moo
for hours. I fed him his chopped-up chicken and carrots, pretending the spoon was an aeroplane flying through the air and docking in his drooly little mouth. I gave him his bath, making all his plastic ducks bob up and down and nibble his tummy with their orange beaks. I tucked him up at night with his dummy and his stripy teddy and my baby kangaroo.
‘You can have Baby Kangaroo if you like, Tiger,’ I whispered. ‘Seeing as you’ve taken such a shine to him.’
Tiger clasped Baby Kangaroo happily.
‘Maybe you’d better have Mother Kangaroo too,’ I said. ‘I don’t think they’d like being separated.’
I knew I wasn’t going to like being separated from
my
mum. I couldn’t help hoping that she’d suddenly change her mind and decide she couldn’t bear to go to Australia without me. Steve didn’t
have
to take this new job. We could all go on living in our house and I could go on staying with Dad at weekends and we could still be a kind of family even if Mum and Dad weren’t living together.
But Steve brought home lots of cardboard boxes and started packing everything up. Tiger played happily in this new cardboard city, plumping himself down on sheets of bubble wrap and squealing with laughter when they went pop.
Mum started packing her stuff too, selecting all her favourite clothes, consigning her fun fur coat and big boots to the boxes going into storage, as it wasn’t really cold in Australia even in their winter. She started going through all my things too, packing all the good stuff to be taken to Dad’s and putting all my old clothes and toys in a big bag for the hospice shop.
I stared at all my special dolls and cuddly teddies. I loved them so – but Rhiannon now said they were just for silly babies. I rounded up all my Barbie girls, twirled each one round on her tippy toes, and then made them jump one after the other into the plastic bag.
‘Are you sure about your dolls, Floss? Won’t you want to play with them at your dad’s?’
‘They’re just for babies,’ I said firmly.
‘Well, at least they look attractive. Why chuck them and keep all these moth-eaten old teddies?’
‘I’m not,’ I said, and I tumbled them all into the bag too, until it was bulging with soft yellow and fawn fur.
‘Good for you, Floss,’ said Mum. ‘But you’d better keep Kanga and Baby Kanga for yourself, as your best toys. They were actually very expensive. Tiger will just mess them up.’
‘No, I want him to have them, Mum. As a special present from his big sister.’
‘Well, that’s very sweet of you, dear. You’re right, you’re getting too grown up for cuddly toys.’
But then Mum suddenly seized hold of a droopy pink poodle with the embarrassing name of PP huddling at the bottom of my old toy box. (I’d simply shortened Pink Poodle to her initials, but I knew her name would make Margot and Judy chortle – and maybe Rhiannon.)
‘Chuck her, Mum,’ I said.
‘No, we have to keep PP,’ Mum said, stroking her.
‘Mum! PP’s
ancient
.’ She was more grey than pink nowadays, her fur was very matted and she only had one glass eye, which gave her face a baleful, lopsided
bear
to be without my mum. I thought of all our cuddles, all our girly talk, all our shopping trips, all the secrets she told me about growing up and girls-and-boys.
As the days wore on I got so cast down that I even started to feel I was going to miss Tiger. Whenever I went near him he held out his chubby arms to be picked up. When I whirled him around or blew a raspberry on his fat little tummy he chuckled and snorted and kicked his bendy legs like a little frog. He was even starting to say my name, though he couldn’t quite manage the ‘l’ so I was his Fossie.
I suddenly got into the whole big sister thing. I sat him on my lap and read him all his boring little books about tractors and tank engines. I drew him pictures of dogs and cats and cows so that he could
woof-woof
and
mew-mew
and
moo-moo
for hours. I fed him his chopped-up chicken and carrots, pretending the spoon was an aeroplane flying through the air and docking in his drooly little mouth. I gave him his bath, making all his plastic ducks bob up and down and nibble his tummy with their orange beaks. I tucked him up at night with his dummy and his stripy teddy and my baby kangaroo.
‘You can have Baby Kangaroo if you like, Tiger,’ I whispered. ‘Seeing as you’ve taken such a shine to him.’
Tiger clasped Baby Kangaroo happily.
‘Maybe you’d better have Mother Kangaroo too,’ I said. ‘I don’t think they’d like being separated.’
I knew I wasn’t going to like being separated from
my
mum. I couldn’t help hoping that she’d suddenly change her mind and decide she couldn’t bear to go to Australia without me. Steve didn’t
have
to take this new job. We could all go on living in our house and I could go on staying with Dad at weekends and we could still be a kind of family even if Mum and Dad weren’t living together.
But Steve brought home lots of cardboard boxes and started packing everything up. Tiger played happily in this new cardboard city, plumping himself down on sheets of bubble wrap and squealing with laughter when they went pop.
Mum started packing her stuff too, selecting all her favourite clothes, consigning her fun fur coat and big boots to the boxes going into storage, as it wasn’t really cold in Australia even in their winter. She started going through all my things too, packing all the good stuff to be taken to Dad’s and putting all my old clothes and toys in a big bag for the hospice shop.
I stared at all my special dolls and cuddly teddies. I loved them so – but Rhiannon now said they were just for silly babies. I rounded up all my Barbie girls, twirled each one round on her tippy toes, and then made them jump one after the other into the plastic bag.
‘Are you sure about your dolls, Floss? Won’t you want to play with them at your dad’s?’
‘They’re just for babies,’ I said firmly.
‘Well, at least they look attractive. Why chuck them and keep all these moth-eaten old teddies?’
‘I’m not,’ I said, and I tumbled them all into the bag too, until it was bulging with soft yellow and fawn fur.
‘Good for you, Floss,’ said Mum. ‘But you’d better keep Kanga and Baby Kanga for yourself, as your best toys. They were actually very expensive. Tiger will just mess them up.’
‘No, I want him to have them, Mum. As a special present from his big sister.’
‘Well, that’s very sweet of you, dear. You’re right, you’re getting too grown up for cuddly toys.’
But then Mum suddenly seized hold of a droopy pink poodle with the embarrassing name of PP huddling at the bottom of my old toy box. (I’d simply shortened Pink Poodle to her initials, but I knew her name would make Margot and Judy chortle – and maybe Rhiannon.)
‘Chuck her, Mum,’ I said.
‘No, we have to keep PP,’ Mum said, stroking her.
‘Mum! PP’s
ancient
.’ She was more grey than pink nowadays, her fur was very matted and she only had one glass eye, which gave her face a baleful, lopsided
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