Sophie by Guy Burt Page B

hastily unwrapped—late birthday presents, brought from America, where, we learned, he had been. His presence conferred upon the house a crowded feeling that was not entirely unpleasant; he must have remained in some way a recognized part of our family, even during his long absences. No one mentioned what had brought him back this time.
    After a few days, though, the reason became suddenly obvious.
    I was awakened sometime in the middle of the night by footsteps in the corridor outside my room. For a quick moment my heart leapt with fear, but then the hallway light clicked on. It was Sophie. There was more noise from downstairs, and the sound of a telephone ringing.
    “Sophie?” I asked, still bemused with sleep. “What time is it?”
    “It’s OK, Mattie. It’s—about two o’clock.”
    “What’s happening?”
    She came over and sat on the side of my bed. “Mummy’s going away for a while, that’s all,” she said. “They’re getting her clothes packed and so on.”
    “Why?”
    Sophie frowned. “I don’t know. I think maybe—”
    “Maybe what?”
    “Maybe the baby’s ready. But I don’t know,” she added quickly. “It might not be time yet. Anyway, it’s nothing to worry about. All right?”
    “All right,” I murmured, sleepily. “Will you call me if the baby’s born?”
    She smiled. “Sure,” she said. “Sleep well, Mattie.” She smoothed my pillow for me and straightened the covers. “We’ll talk about it all in the morning.”
    I nodded contentedly, and before I knew it, I was asleep again.
    The morning brought further surprises, however. I had actually made my way down to the kitchen and got the milk from the fridge for my cereal before I began to remember what had happened the night before; and then I couldn’t be sure whether it had been a dream or not. Confused, I ran upstairs to where Sophie was brushing her teeth in the bathroom.
    “Sophie! Did Mummy have the baby?”
    Sophie glanced at me, an amused expression on her face. “Oh, so you
do
remember. I saw you go shooting down to breakfast and wondered if you’d forgotten.”
    “Has she?” I repeated.
    “I don’t know. She’s not here, though. Neither’s Daddy.”
    “Where’s Daddy gone?”
    She rinsed her mouth out and spat. “Your turn. I think he’s gone with Mummy. There's—”
    “Are we all alone?” I mumbled excitedly through my toothpaste.
    “If you’ll shut up a minute, I’ll tell you. That’s what all the phoning was last night. Do you remember Caitlyn?”
    “Who?”
    “She’s our cousin. She’s come to stay with us and look after us.”
    I dried my hands. “Katy? What’s she like?”
    “You met her a couple of years ago. No? Oh well, maybe you’ll know her when you see her. She’s all right. But her name’s Caitlyn, not Katy. Now push off and let me get dressed.”
    I bounded back down to breakfast full of happy anticipation, and set about finding cornflakes and sugar. If I hurried, I was usually able to put an extra, and secret, spoonful of sugar on the cornflakes that Sophie didn’t see, thus avoiding lectures on fillings and cavities. There was a strange and intangible quality of difference to the house that morning. Now that my mother had gone, it was easy to believe—if you shut the drawing room door—that she had never lived here at all. In the garden beyond the kitchen window, starlings were fighting on the lawn. I was watching them when someone came into the kitchen behind me.
    “Hi, Mattie.” There was a young woman standing in the doorway. She looked very tired, and her hair was a mess. She was wearing a very long, dark blue dressing gown. “What on earth are you doing up this early?”
    “Are you my cousin?” I asked.
    “That’s right. Is there any coffee in here?”
    Silently, I found the coffee jar and handed it to her.
    “Don’t you kids get tired at all? It’s only just half past seven, you know. Little brats like you need their sleep, or something.”
    I giggled.