seven – her mother never got home before half past. Something must have happened.
As she ran up the garden path, Elma had a sick feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with the three slices of pizza and two pieces of cake she had eaten. She had left the boys with Dad, and gone to Tara’s without permission, and now she was in the hugest trouble ever.
The front door was half-open, and her mother was waiting in the hall for her. As she stepped into the light of the hallway, Elma could see that her mother’s face was streaked with tears. She had expected shouting and promises of a long grounding, and no treats for about a hundred years. Tears were worse, though. Tears were just too scary.
‘What is it, Mum?’ she whispered. ‘What’s going on?’
Her mother shook her head sadly. ‘It’s not your fault, really it isn’t. And he’s going to be fine. So you don’t have to worry.’
Elma suddenly felt very cold. ‘What’s not my fault? And who’s going to be fine?’
Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. ‘I won’t let them take you into care. I couldn’t.’
‘Mum, please …’
Her mother’s voice was faint. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.’
Zac appeared at her side. ‘Dylan got hurt. He got burned.’
Elma’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Where … where is he?’
‘Upstairs.’ Zac pointed with an ink-stained finger.
Elma raced up the stairs. Dylan was in bed. All she could see was his pale face, and a huge bandage around his arm.
He gave a weak smile. ‘I’m fine, Elma. They gave me a big injection in the hospital, and it doesn’t hurt any more.’
Elma sat on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding Dylan’s bandaged arm. ‘What happened?’
A big tear rolled down Dylan’s pale cheek.
‘I’m sorry, Elma. I got you into trouble, didn’t I?’ Elma shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m used to being in trouble. Just tell me what happened.’
Dylan wiped his eyes. ‘Zac was hungry, and I didn’t want him bothering Dad, so I decided to make him some pasta. I always watch you, so I knew what to do. But when I was straining it, the pot slipped, and the hot water went all over my hand, and it hurt like anything. I–’
Elma interrupted. ‘Did you call Dad?’
Dylan shook his head. ‘I think he was asleep. I told Zac to ring Mum, so he did. And when Mum came, she asked where you were, and I told her you were at Tara’s party. I’m sorry, Elma, my hand was hurting and I couldn’t think of any lies. Mum wasn’t cross with you, though, she just said lots of bad things about Dad. And at the hospital, after I got my bandage, a lady came and asked me and Zac lots of questions.’
‘Like what?’
Dylan thought for a minute. ‘Like, where was Dad? And why was I making pasta? And why didn’t Dad bring me to the hospital? And how did Zac hurt his face that time? And what time did Mum come home every day? And who usually makes the tea? Stuff like that. And then she took Mum into another room, and they talked for ages, and then we all came home. I’m sorry, Elma. I was only trying to help.’
The tears rolled down his face quickly now. ‘The lady kept saying something about “alternative arrangements”. What does that mean? Does it mean we’ll have to go to an orphanage? But we have a mum and dad. We’re not orphans. They couldn’t make us, could they?’
Elma turned away. How was she supposed to know? What good was a mum who was always at work, and a dad who was always in bed?
She leaned over and wiped Dylan’s tears with her sleeve. ‘Don’t worry, Dyl. It’ll be fine. You just wait and see. Here, I brought you some cake.’
Dylan smiled and sat up. Elma felt like crying. If only all their problems could be solved with cake.
She went downstairs. Zac was sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. Elma smiled at him. ‘There’s cake upstairs. Go up and ask Dylan to share with you.’
Zac grinned at her and ran upstairs. Elma
As she ran up the garden path, Elma had a sick feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with the three slices of pizza and two pieces of cake she had eaten. She had left the boys with Dad, and gone to Tara’s without permission, and now she was in the hugest trouble ever.
The front door was half-open, and her mother was waiting in the hall for her. As she stepped into the light of the hallway, Elma could see that her mother’s face was streaked with tears. She had expected shouting and promises of a long grounding, and no treats for about a hundred years. Tears were worse, though. Tears were just too scary.
‘What is it, Mum?’ she whispered. ‘What’s going on?’
Her mother shook her head sadly. ‘It’s not your fault, really it isn’t. And he’s going to be fine. So you don’t have to worry.’
Elma suddenly felt very cold. ‘What’s not my fault? And who’s going to be fine?’
Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. ‘I won’t let them take you into care. I couldn’t.’
‘Mum, please …’
Her mother’s voice was faint. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.’
Zac appeared at her side. ‘Dylan got hurt. He got burned.’
Elma’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Where … where is he?’
‘Upstairs.’ Zac pointed with an ink-stained finger.
Elma raced up the stairs. Dylan was in bed. All she could see was his pale face, and a huge bandage around his arm.
He gave a weak smile. ‘I’m fine, Elma. They gave me a big injection in the hospital, and it doesn’t hurt any more.’
Elma sat on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding Dylan’s bandaged arm. ‘What happened?’
A big tear rolled down Dylan’s pale cheek.
‘I’m sorry, Elma. I got you into trouble, didn’t I?’ Elma shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m used to being in trouble. Just tell me what happened.’
Dylan wiped his eyes. ‘Zac was hungry, and I didn’t want him bothering Dad, so I decided to make him some pasta. I always watch you, so I knew what to do. But when I was straining it, the pot slipped, and the hot water went all over my hand, and it hurt like anything. I–’
Elma interrupted. ‘Did you call Dad?’
Dylan shook his head. ‘I think he was asleep. I told Zac to ring Mum, so he did. And when Mum came, she asked where you were, and I told her you were at Tara’s party. I’m sorry, Elma, my hand was hurting and I couldn’t think of any lies. Mum wasn’t cross with you, though, she just said lots of bad things about Dad. And at the hospital, after I got my bandage, a lady came and asked me and Zac lots of questions.’
‘Like what?’
Dylan thought for a minute. ‘Like, where was Dad? And why was I making pasta? And why didn’t Dad bring me to the hospital? And how did Zac hurt his face that time? And what time did Mum come home every day? And who usually makes the tea? Stuff like that. And then she took Mum into another room, and they talked for ages, and then we all came home. I’m sorry, Elma. I was only trying to help.’
The tears rolled down his face quickly now. ‘The lady kept saying something about “alternative arrangements”. What does that mean? Does it mean we’ll have to go to an orphanage? But we have a mum and dad. We’re not orphans. They couldn’t make us, could they?’
Elma turned away. How was she supposed to know? What good was a mum who was always at work, and a dad who was always in bed?
She leaned over and wiped Dylan’s tears with her sleeve. ‘Don’t worry, Dyl. It’ll be fine. You just wait and see. Here, I brought you some cake.’
Dylan smiled and sat up. Elma felt like crying. If only all their problems could be solved with cake.
She went downstairs. Zac was sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. Elma smiled at him. ‘There’s cake upstairs. Go up and ask Dylan to share with you.’
Zac grinned at her and ran upstairs. Elma
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