they are called AIDS orphans. You never hear about cancer orphans or heart-attack orphans or even malaria orphans. It makes them sound as though they are more than just orphans, as if that’s not bad enough on its own. Dad says it’s because people need to know how terrible this disease is. But how could anyone not know that?
It’s seeing those children that upsets Mum the most – when little babies are brought into the clinic by their older brothers and sisters who have to grow up very fast and become mini parents. I heard her speaking to Dad about it once, when I was supposed to be asleep. I suppose a lot of what I learn about Mum and Dad is when I’m supposed to be asleep. This time it was a pretty serious thing.
She said she wanted to adopt another child.
Another child? Just like that. As if we’re not enough for her. As if we don’t need to be asked.
Dad said that it would make no difference as there are millions of children all over the world who need a home, and we couldn’t adopt all of them. I didn’t listen to any more because once I’d got over the shock of it, all I could hear were the words “another child”. So, were we the first adopted children? It’s not that I’d have minded if we were, because then we’d have two family histories. (I like family histories, I’ve traced ours back to my great-great-great-grandmother.) But I wished they’d told us. Luckily I knew I was related to Madillo at least.
The next day, I asked Mum and she just laughed and put a mirror in front of me and said, “Who do you look like?”
I gave her the obvious answer: Madillo. But I don’t think that was what she was looking for.
“Yes, Bul-Boo, we all know that. But both of you look like half me and half Dad, so you can’t be adopted. Although we have been thinking about adopting a child. How would you feel about that?”
Mum often asks us how we’d feel about something but normally it’s after she’s already decided that’s what she’s going to do. She’s what Dad calls a benign dictator. She rules us with a smile on her face and mostly makes the right decisions.
“We’d feel OK, I think. I’ll ask Madillo. Maybe adopt someone the same age as Joseph so he has a friend? How does Dad feel about it?”
It’s always a bit harder for her to be the benign dictator with Dad. She has to use more persuasion on him.
“He’ll be fine,” she said, “but we haven’t decided.” Translated that meant Dad was not too sure about the whole thing.
I’d like to have an extra brother or sister, I think. Or both, especially if I knew that their parents had died and they were alone in this world. When I told Madillo about it she got a glazed look on her face and said, “That means we’d be their saviours.” Which was a bit extreme.
But that was quite a long time ago and we’ve heard nothing since then, so I suppose Mum’s still trying to persuade Dad.
Anyway, I knew the reason for her tears today, and it had nothing to do with orphans.
This problem of the disappeared patients was one that I knew I could do something about. I wasn’t blowing my own trumpet, as Dad would say, but I
was
the only person in this house with decent detecting skills. Seeing Mum upset just made me more certain that I had to follow the one slim lead I had to go on. We had no choice. We would have to go on this trip and study every move of Suspect Number 1. The one who shall be known as “N”.
I couldn’t help rushing my words a little when I told Mum and Dad that we were planning a sleepover at Fred’s on Friday. Even though it was technically the truth, I still felt bad.
“And Fred’s mum is OK with it?” Mum asked.
“She’s fine,” I said. “She doesn’t really notice us much.” Which is true.
Madillo, in the meantime, was just sitting at the kitchen table eating toast covered with something unidentifiable, as if she had nothing to do with any of us. She’s good at that, being the invisible, innocent,
It’s seeing those children that upsets Mum the most – when little babies are brought into the clinic by their older brothers and sisters who have to grow up very fast and become mini parents. I heard her speaking to Dad about it once, when I was supposed to be asleep. I suppose a lot of what I learn about Mum and Dad is when I’m supposed to be asleep. This time it was a pretty serious thing.
She said she wanted to adopt another child.
Another child? Just like that. As if we’re not enough for her. As if we don’t need to be asked.
Dad said that it would make no difference as there are millions of children all over the world who need a home, and we couldn’t adopt all of them. I didn’t listen to any more because once I’d got over the shock of it, all I could hear were the words “another child”. So, were we the first adopted children? It’s not that I’d have minded if we were, because then we’d have two family histories. (I like family histories, I’ve traced ours back to my great-great-great-grandmother.) But I wished they’d told us. Luckily I knew I was related to Madillo at least.
The next day, I asked Mum and she just laughed and put a mirror in front of me and said, “Who do you look like?”
I gave her the obvious answer: Madillo. But I don’t think that was what she was looking for.
“Yes, Bul-Boo, we all know that. But both of you look like half me and half Dad, so you can’t be adopted. Although we have been thinking about adopting a child. How would you feel about that?”
Mum often asks us how we’d feel about something but normally it’s after she’s already decided that’s what she’s going to do. She’s what Dad calls a benign dictator. She rules us with a smile on her face and mostly makes the right decisions.
“We’d feel OK, I think. I’ll ask Madillo. Maybe adopt someone the same age as Joseph so he has a friend? How does Dad feel about it?”
It’s always a bit harder for her to be the benign dictator with Dad. She has to use more persuasion on him.
“He’ll be fine,” she said, “but we haven’t decided.” Translated that meant Dad was not too sure about the whole thing.
I’d like to have an extra brother or sister, I think. Or both, especially if I knew that their parents had died and they were alone in this world. When I told Madillo about it she got a glazed look on her face and said, “That means we’d be their saviours.” Which was a bit extreme.
But that was quite a long time ago and we’ve heard nothing since then, so I suppose Mum’s still trying to persuade Dad.
Anyway, I knew the reason for her tears today, and it had nothing to do with orphans.
This problem of the disappeared patients was one that I knew I could do something about. I wasn’t blowing my own trumpet, as Dad would say, but I
was
the only person in this house with decent detecting skills. Seeing Mum upset just made me more certain that I had to follow the one slim lead I had to go on. We had no choice. We would have to go on this trip and study every move of Suspect Number 1. The one who shall be known as “N”.
I couldn’t help rushing my words a little when I told Mum and Dad that we were planning a sleepover at Fred’s on Friday. Even though it was technically the truth, I still felt bad.
“And Fred’s mum is OK with it?” Mum asked.
“She’s fine,” I said. “She doesn’t really notice us much.” Which is true.
Madillo, in the meantime, was just sitting at the kitchen table eating toast covered with something unidentifiable, as if she had nothing to do with any of us. She’s good at that, being the invisible, innocent,
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