Littlebig Brother
Slamming his bedroom door shut with unnecessary force, Robert released some of his frustration by kicking a small model car across the bedroom. It landed with a satisfying clatter in the plastic casing of a dismantled toy robot, which his auntie Janice had given him the Christmas before. It was an act he regretted almost immediately, remembering just a little too late that he wasn’t wearing shoes, but the pain blooming profusely in his little toe was nothing compared to the fury inside him, and he continued across the room, flinging himself onto the bed and burying his flustered face into the forgiving pillow.
It wasn’t fair. He’d done nothing wrong. In fact, he had been trying to help. His mother had been furious with him. In truth, he couldn’t remember a time when she had been any angrier. Once, she’d caught him trying to block the little holes in the living room wall to stop the power coming in, armed with a collection of utensils from the cutlery drawer in the kitchen. She had been pretty mad then, but this time she’d been even angrier.
The problem was, she didn’t seem to work. Beth, his baby sister. She just lay there, kicking her chubby legs in the air; dribbling and making unpleasant smells. And crying. Constant, relentless crying. She’d bawl and wail at all hours of the day and night, a piercing cry that always woke him up in the middle of the night. She was definitely broken. There was no question of it, but the grown-ups didn’t seem to mind. Whenever his grandparents came round, or his parent’s friends, they’d just peer into Beth’s cot, silly smiles plastered on their faces, making stupid noises at her. What’s more, she made noises back. Rude noises. Noises she wasn’t supposed to make. Even at the dinner table. And when he made the same rude noises at the dinner table, he was sent to his room.
He’d been trying to fix her. Trying to stop her crying. He’d been in the nursery, standing by the cot, trying to find the off switch, and his Mum had crept in from the landing. When she’d shouted out his name she had given him such a shock that he’d almost dropped the screwdriver. Then she’d flown across the room, snatched the screwdriver and pliers from his hands, and after a great deal of shouting, she’d sent him to his room.
She would probably tell his Dad when he got in from work too, and then he’d be angry with him all over again. Probably even angrier than when he had tried to fix Daddy’s broken computer with a tube of superglue he’d found in the garden shed.
His tears now spent, Robert sat up on his bed, cross-legged. He wiped a mixture of snot and tears from his face with the back of his sleeve, and sniffed loudly. His tools had been taken away from him again, but he’d find them, he always did. They would be in one of the many hiding places that his parents didn’t know he knew about, and he’d reclaim them when all of the fuss died down. He sniffed again, and scrambled to the foot of the bed, reaching underneath to pull out a small, die-cast model train. He turned it over in his hands, and despite the strong sense of injustice that he still felt, he began to smile. He’d taken this particular toy to pieces on several occasions, and had always managed to put it back together again afterwards. He knew how it worked. He knew how each part related to all the others, he knew exactly how they fitted together, and he had learnt what purpose each one served.
But people weren’t like that. Babies weren’t like that. He couldn’t understand why Beth cried so much, and why his parents didn’t seem to mind. He’d watched her sometimes, by the light of the little smiling sun fastened to the side of her cot. When she cried, her little face went all red and screwed up. Robert didn’t like crying. It made his eyes sore and the skin on his cheeks all tight and uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine that Beth liked it much either, but she still seemed to do an awful lot of it.
He’d known he was going to have a new little baby sister for ages. His parents had told him when she was still in his mother’s tummy, and he had even felt her, kicking and punching under Mummy’s jumper. He still wasn’t sure how Beth had got in there though, and every time he had asked, his father had suggested a game of football in the back garden.
But it wasn’t like they said it would be. He had been told that he’d be able to play with his little sister, and that he would have to be a good littlebig brother, but it wasn’t working out that way. Beth didn’t seem to do anything except cry and sleep, and every time Robert tried to look after her, he just got told off and sent to his room. To him, it seemed quite obvious that Beth was broken, but the grown-ups never seemed to listen to him. He had once told his granddad that Beth needed to be sent back to be repaired, like his Dad’s computer, but he had just laughed, ruffled his hair, and told him that Beth was “Just a baby, that’s all.” Robert’s granddad was quite old, and often said things that didn’t make much sense.
From across the landing, Robert could hear a familiar sound. Beth was crying again. He slid off his bed, and tiptoed over to the door, opening it just enough to see out onto the landing. Satisfied that no one was there, he crept out of his bedroom. He could hear the radio playing music in the kitchen downstairs, which would help to mask any sound he might make. Moving as quickly as he could, he stole across the landing, and into the nursery. Beth was bawling again, her arms and legs flailing around, her soft, round face all scrunched up. He tried to remember what his parents did when they wanted to stop her crying. They would pick her up, and kind of juggle her, up and down. Robert didn’t honestly believe that it would work. He’d never come across anything that could be turned off like that, but maybe it was different with babies. He reached up and let down the sides of the cot, before reaching out for his little sister. He tried to pick her up, but she was too heavy, and too wriggly, and his little fingers couldn’t get any kind of purchase on her. He sighed heavily, but kept trying. Beth continued to squirm out of his grasp, but she did stop crying. The red colour in her face started to drain away, and she started to smile, her big, brown eyes blinking away the last few tears as she looked up at her big brother.
“Robert! I thought I’d sent you to your room! Naughty boy!”
Robert spun around to look at his mother, a broad smile plastered across his face.
“She’s smiling Mummy! She’s smiling at me!”
His mother took a few steps into the room, and crouched down next to her son.
“She’s happy to see her big brother. That’s why, sweetie.”
Together, a grinning Robert and his mother peered into the cot. Beth peered back, her tears now completely gone, and belched loudly.
Copyright Phil Hudson 2004
Slamming his bedroom door shut with unnecessary force, Robert released some of his frustration by kicking a small model car across the bedroom. It landed with a satisfying clatter in the plastic casing of a dismantled toy robot, which his auntie Janice had given him the Christmas before. It was an act he regretted almost immediately, remembering just a little too late that he wasn’t wearing shoes, but the pain blooming profusely in his little toe was nothing compared to the fury inside him, and he continued across the room, flinging himself onto the bed and burying his flustered face into the forgiving pillow.
It wasn’t fair. He’d done nothing wrong. In fact, he had been trying to help. His mother had been furious with him. In truth, he couldn’t remember a time when she had been any angrier. Once, she’d caught him trying to block the little holes in the living room wall to stop the power coming in, armed with a collection of utensils from the cutlery drawer in the kitchen. She had been pretty mad then, but this time she’d been even angrier.
The problem was, she didn’t seem to work. Beth, his baby sister. She just lay there, kicking her chubby legs in the air; dribbling and making unpleasant smells. And crying. Constant, relentless crying. She’d bawl and wail at all hours of the day and night, a piercing cry that always woke him up in the middle of the night. She was definitely broken. There was no question of it, but the grown-ups didn’t seem to mind. Whenever his grandparents came round, or his parent’s friends, they’d just peer into Beth’s cot, silly smiles plastered on their faces, making stupid noises at her. What’s more, she made noises back. Rude noises. Noises she wasn’t supposed to make. Even at the dinner table. And when he made the same rude noises at the dinner table, he was sent to his room.
He’d been trying to fix her. Trying to stop her crying. He’d been in the nursery, standing by the cot, trying to find the off switch, and his Mum had crept in from the landing. When she’d shouted out his name she had given him such a shock that he’d almost dropped the screwdriver. Then she’d flown across the room, snatched the screwdriver and pliers from his hands, and after a great deal of shouting, she’d sent him to his room.
She would probably tell his Dad when he got in from work too, and then he’d be angry with him all over again. Probably even angrier than when he had tried to fix Daddy’s broken computer with a tube of superglue he’d found in the garden shed.
His tears now spent, Robert sat up on his bed, cross-legged. He wiped a mixture of snot and tears from his face with the back of his sleeve, and sniffed loudly. His tools had been taken away from him again, but he’d find them, he always did. They would be in one of the many hiding places that his parents didn’t know he knew about, and he’d reclaim them when all of the fuss died down. He sniffed again, and scrambled to the foot of the bed, reaching underneath to pull out a small, die-cast model train. He turned it over in his hands, and despite the strong sense of injustice that he still felt, he began to smile. He’d taken this particular toy to pieces on several occasions, and had always managed to put it back together again afterwards. He knew how it worked. He knew how each part related to all the others, he knew exactly how they fitted together, and he had learnt what purpose each one served.
But people weren’t like that. Babies weren’t like that. He couldn’t understand why Beth cried so much, and why his parents didn’t seem to mind. He’d watched her sometimes, by the light of the little smiling sun fastened to the side of her cot. When she cried, her little face went all red and screwed up. Robert didn’t like crying. It made his eyes sore and the skin on his cheeks all tight and uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine that Beth liked it much either, but she still seemed to do an awful lot of it.
He’d known he was going to have a new little baby sister for ages. His parents had told him when she was still in his mother’s tummy, and he had even felt her, kicking and punching under Mummy’s jumper. He still wasn’t sure how Beth had got in there though, and every time he had asked, his father had suggested a game of football in the back garden.
But it wasn’t like they said it would be. He had been told that he’d be able to play with his little sister, and that he would have to be a good littlebig brother, but it wasn’t working out that way. Beth didn’t seem to do anything except cry and sleep, and every time Robert tried to look after her, he just got told off and sent to his room. To him, it seemed quite obvious that Beth was broken, but the grown-ups never seemed to listen to him. He had once told his granddad that Beth needed to be sent back to be repaired, like his Dad’s computer, but he had just laughed, ruffled his hair, and told him that Beth was “Just a baby, that’s all.” Robert’s granddad was quite old, and often said things that didn’t make much sense.
From across the landing, Robert could hear a familiar sound. Beth was crying again. He slid off his bed, and tiptoed over to the door, opening it just enough to see out onto the landing. Satisfied that no one was there, he crept out of his bedroom. He could hear the radio playing music in the kitchen downstairs, which would help to mask any sound he might make. Moving as quickly as he could, he stole across the landing, and into the nursery. Beth was bawling again, her arms and legs flailing around, her soft, round face all scrunched up. He tried to remember what his parents did when they wanted to stop her crying. They would pick her up, and kind of juggle her, up and down. Robert didn’t honestly believe that it would work. He’d never come across anything that could be turned off like that, but maybe it was different with babies. He reached up and let down the sides of the cot, before reaching out for his little sister. He tried to pick her up, but she was too heavy, and too wriggly, and his little fingers couldn’t get any kind of purchase on her. He sighed heavily, but kept trying. Beth continued to squirm out of his grasp, but she did stop crying. The red colour in her face started to drain away, and she started to smile, her big, brown eyes blinking away the last few tears as she looked up at her big brother.
“Robert! I thought I’d sent you to your room! Naughty boy!”
Robert spun around to look at his mother, a broad smile plastered across his face.
“She’s smiling Mummy! She’s smiling at me!”
His mother took a few steps into the room, and crouched down next to her son.
“She’s happy to see her big brother. That’s why, sweetie.”
Together, a grinning Robert and his mother peered into the cot. Beth peered back, her tears now completely gone, and belched loudly.
Copyright Phil Hudson 2004