Break The Child: Chapter Twenty-Two...1 Have You Seen Kali?

Chapter Twenty-Two Have You Seen Kali?

            Mum is having a hard time with the baby. She’s still very sick and she gets frightened and cries a lot because she doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. Yesterday, she was heartbroken because she thought she was a teenager living at home, and that her dad would go berserk when he found out about the baby. She said it would bring such shame on the family. Having the dementia stops her from being happy about the baby and that’s really sad.

            She went to the doctors yesterday and they said that they want to maintain the pregnancy for as long as possible. Dad told them that it’s getting really hard for her and putting a big strain on us all. They’ve decided to take her in two weeks early, to have a caesarean. The doctors don’t think she’d be able to cope with going through labour. I don’t think she’ll be able to cope with a caesarean; they are going to cut her wide open. How gross is that? It’s giving me nightmares. I don’t want them to cut my Mum open, what if she dies and doesn’t wake up—what then? She will be asleep for the operation. Do you know that most women who have their bellies cut open are wide awake? I can’t believe that and I’m glad that they’re going to put Mum to sleep. They said that if things get any worse, they may even bring it forward a little bit more. Isn’t that exciting? And it will be best for Mum, too. Dad’s worried that with not going through labour, Mum won’t be able to associate the baby as being hers, and the doctor told him that she probably won’t, either way, and it’s best to keep the trauma down as much as possible. Mum probably won’t remember that she’s even had a baby, it’s not really something you can miss, is it? that’s shocking.

             I can’t wait for him to come. Dad wants to call him Christopher. Mum said that Christopher’s a lovely name, and then forgot about it two minutes later. So, it’s up to me and Dad to pick his name. As long as I don’t go for anything too crazy, like Axle Tomahawk, or Jedi Vader, I know I can make him go for what I want to call him. My dad says, ‘Anything for an easy life.’ He says that a lot.  I might have to play the upset daughter a bit and lay on a few waterworks, so that he knows that it’s really important to me to name my little brother. When he grows up, I want to tell him that I picked his name. It’s such a responsibility to pick the right name. Dad says to wait until he’s here and see what suits him, but that’s no good, I want him to have a name to come into. It would be horrible being born without a name. It’d be like we don’t care. I’ve gone off Logan and there are too many Ben’s, and anyway, I don’t like Benjamin. I did like Connor, but Dad says that he’ll get called Connie, and that’s no good for a boy. Maybe Aaron or Adam, would be good.

            I walked up our street tonight, after getting off the bus and mum was outside in the road. She was dressed, thank Goodness. She even had her coat on. Miss Sterling came running up to me on her little old stick legs, like she’d never had so much excitement in her life.

            ‘Oh, my dear, thank God you’ve come home. It’s your Mum, dear; I don’t think she’s very well. You’d better come and see if you can calm her down.’

            Some of the neighbours know about Mum, but the ones further down the road, like nosy beak Miss Sterling, don’t. Mum doesn’t want everybody to know and neither do I, but it’ll be all over town now that Miss Sterling knows. Frank and Molly Jones from next door know. Dad and Frank sat in our garden drinking cans of beer last week and Dad told him all about it. And then he saw all about it for himself when Mum had one of her, how-can-I-possibly-be-pregnant, meltdowns. Dad got drunk and Molly promised to keep an eye out for anything unusual and to look out for Mum if she sees her in the garden. Molly said to put her name on the sitting rota, which was nice of her. She said that she can’t do much, but she’ll do a couple of hours a week. She must have been out today. Dad should have been with her. I had no idea where he was, and it was scary.

            I could hear what Mum was shouting now and it broke my heart.  She had this can of cat food and a fork and she was rattling the fork in the can and shouting Kali’s name at the top of her voice.  Mrs Backhouse came out of her door to see what all the shouting was about, and Mum went over to her.

            ‘Hello love, you haven’t seen Kali, have you?  You know my little dog? I can’t find her anywhere. I’m really worried about her. She’s escaped and I’m frightened that she’ll get run over.’ Everybody on the street knows that Kali died last year. They all loved her, even Miss Sterling used to bend down and pet her when I took Kali for a walk. Mum was crying now, and her hair was all wild and flying all over the place.  I ran up and she turned towards me. ‘Hello, lovey, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a little black terrier running around have you? She’s about this big.’ She bent down to indicate how big Kali was and it was obvious that she didn’t have a clue who I am. She remembers Kali—who was awesome, so I don’t mind that at all one bit—but she forgot her own daughter again.  Miss Sterling caught up with us and heard it all, too. She was tutting and shaking her head, the way old ladies do when they’re shocked about something, and Mrs Backhouse had her mouth open and her eyes were really wide. And then she had this look of pity on her face and I wanted to smack her in the mouth. This isn’t Eastenders, this is real life. It’s my life and my Mum’s life, it stinks but there’s nothing that we can do about it. My phone was ringing, but I ignored it. It would only be Sal asking if I wanted to go round hers tonight. See what I mean, they all get to do normal stuff, like other kids my age do, but I can’t because I have to look after Mum.

            I put my arm around her shoulders to lead her away. ‘It’s okay,’ I told the neighbours, ‘she’s all right. She just got a bit mixed up about stuff, that’s all.’ They were looking at each other and I could see that they couldn’t wait to gossip about it. ‘Mum, it’s me, Kate. Come on, let’s get you inside. ‘Kate,’ she beamed, with the tears still wet on her cheeks, ‘what are you doing home so early? Look at you all tall and beautiful. I was just telling Mrs—I was just saying to this lady here, how much you’ve grown. I said you’ll be left school and at university next and it was only yesterday you were—Oh look the bus is coming, I’ve been on the bus and the driver was ever so nice, dishy too—Have you seen my mum, she'll be worried if I'm late home from school?’