Mimi (4 page)

“Are you having the baby now, Ms. Addle?” said Dylan.

“I hope not!” said Ms. Addle, and then, “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!”

“She’s having contraptions,” whispered Orla. Orla’s cat had kittens last week, so she’s a bit of an expert on having babies.

Nobody knew what to do — everyone just sat and stared. Then Ms. Addle said, “Dylan, go and get Archibald, quick!”

Of course Dylan didn’t know who Archibald was, so he didn’t move — but I knew who Archibald was, because I had heard Ms. Addle call him that once. “She means Mr. Masters, Dylan,” I said. And Dylan said “Oh” and hurried out of the room to get him.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!” roared Ms. Addle. “They’re getting closer!”

Mr. Masters is the principal of our school and even though they have different last names, he is Ms. Addle’s husband, which is very strange because she’s so nice and kind and, well . . . addled, and he is so horrible and efficient and everything goes right on time in his school.

But today Mr. Archibald Masters was completely addled too! He came running into the room with fat little Ms. Print, the secretary, puffing behind him. “Aggie, what’s happening?” he shouted at Ms. Addle as he came tearing through the door. I don’t think he noticed us at all. We were all out of our seats now and the classroom was in chaos.

“The baby is coming, that’s what’s happening!” Ms. Addle spoke quite sharply, but Mr. Masters didn’t seem to notice.

“How far apart are the contractions? Are you doing the breathing? Somebody call a taxi! You will be all right, love. I’ve got everything under control!”

“For heaven’s sake, calm down and go and get the car, Archie!” shouted Ms. Addle. But before he could say a word she let out another great roar: “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

“Oh, my God!” shouted Archie.

“You’d think it was Mr. Masters who was going to have the baby!” whispered Orla, and I nearly started giggling.

Then Ms. Print took over. “Mr. Masters, calm down — this isn’t the first, nor will it be the last, baby to decide to come a little early. Now go and get the car and bring it around to the side door. And now, Aggie, hold my hand, and when the next pain comes, breathe through it nice and calm like they showed you in the prenatal classes.”

Well, this was a whole new side of Ms. Print that we had never seen before; she should be running the school. Mr. Masters straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and then sprinted out of the room to get his car. Ms. Addle took Ms. Print’s hand and started doing deep breaths with her, which seemed to help because Ms. Addle stopped screaming.

Then Ms. Print turned to us children who were crowding around in amazement. “Now, children,” she said, smiling, “all of you go back to your seats and read your books; everything is just fine. Mr. Masters is going to drive Ms. Addle to the hospital so that she can have her baby, and I am going to go with them. Mr. Rogers will look after you.”

Everybody did just as Ms. Print said, and Sarah the big bully was sent to get Mr. Rogers. Ms. Addle smiled weakly at us and said, “Isn’t this exciting?” She was much calmer now, but I bet she was glad that Ms. Print was going to the hospital with her — especially when we heard Mr. Masters’s car squealing to a stop outside our window.

In he charged like a mad bull, and he was about to grab Ms. Addle when Ms. Print held up her hand and said, “Just open the back door of the car and I’ll help Aggie out.”

We watched as Ms. Addle slowly slid into the car, helped by Ms. Print. Mr. Masters held the door and jiggled his keys, and Mr. Rogers said, “Give them a cheer” as the car pulled away.

“You go, girl!” shouted Orla out of the window, and everybody cheered. Ms. Addle waved bravely as they drove off.

So you see I was right to go to school today after all.

But it wasn’t all good. Mrs. Lemon did not give me any free sweets today when I dropped in. She just took my money for the Spiff bar and looked sadly at me and said nothing.

Sally didn’t come straight home so I read her diary. I had to find out whether she knows it was me. But I’m still not sure if she is sure or if she is just pretending she knows so I will fall into her trap and give myself away. No fear of that — I was extra careful to put the diary back exactly as I found it and to straighten her bed so it was just as smooth as Aunt B. had left it. This is what she wrote yesterday:

I can tell you I didn’t like the sound of that.

When I had put away the diary super-carefully I brushed my hair in front of Sally’s mirror. Sally loves my long, straight black hair. Black as black. But I hate it. I wish I had blond hair like Sally’s (her hair is blond under the black dye). And I wish that I hadn’t gotten slanty eyes — but Orla says she would love to have eyes like mine.

Wouldn’t it be cool if people could swap body parts? I’ll swap you my nose for your ears — or my sticky-out belly button for your sticky-in one?

I decided there and then never to read Sally’s boring diary ever again. What’s she afraid of, anyway? And why is she always angry? I hate black!

I really wanted to tell somebody about Ms. Addle and her contraptions, but Dad was just sitting looking blankly at the television. I bet if I switched it off he wouldn’t even notice. So I rang Granny — and boy, was she interested!

She asked me heaps of questions and made me repeat the bit about Mr. Masters getting all panicky, and then she made me tell the whole story over again to Grandad. In the end I was about two hours on the phone but it was really good to talk.

“Did you tell all that to your daddy, Mimi?” asked Granny in the end. I told her no, that he wasn’t in the mood, and she said to put him on the phone, so I handed the phone to Dad and told him Granny wanted to speak to him.

Dad sighed really loudly and took the phone. Even then I could still hear Granny giving it to Dad in a very loud, cross voice. Dad just kept saying, “Yes.” “Yes.” “I know.” “I will.” “I will.”

When he put down the phone, he sighed again and pulled me over to him and I sat on his knee.

“So you had an exciting day in school today, did you? Well, I want to hear all about it.”

When I had finished telling Dad the whole story, he laughed, and that was the first time I have heard him laugh since Mammy died. Then he gave me a big hug and told me to run along to bed.

Weekends have become so long and so boring since Mammy died. We never do anything anymore. When Mammy was alive we always had family fun on the weekend. We used to go swimming on Saturdays — not anymore. If it was nice on Sundays we went for a hike, Daddy and Mammy and Conor and Sally and Sparkler and me. Actually I never really liked the hikes, but the funny thing is I really miss them now. All we ever do in our house now is watch television and fight and listen to very loud music while Conor goes crazy on the drums.

But this Sunday is going to be different.

Aunt L. and Uncle Boris and wee Billy have come all the way from Belfast to Granny’s house for the weekend to celebrate wee Billy’s first birthday, and all my aunts and their husbands and my cousins will be there for a big knees-up, says Granny (whatever a “knees-up” is).

We almost didn’t go because Dad said he didn’t feel ready for a party quite yet, but first Granny and then Aunt L. got on the phone to him and told him what for! “You owe it to those poor children to put a brave face on things and start living again,” I heard Granny say. I heard her say that because I listened in very quietly on the upstairs phone. Do you know what? I think I would be a good spy.

So now we are all in the car and on our way. Dad is still not too happy about it — he keeps sighing — but Sally and I are delighted. Sally keeps saying she can’t wait to see “wee Billy” in her best Belfast accent. Conor pretends he doesn’t care, but I know he’s hoping that Nicholas will take him on his motorbike if Granny doesn’t have a holy fit about it. I’m holding the big fire engine that Sally and I bought this morning for wee Billy.

We are the last to arrive. Every inch of the kitchen table is covered with cakes.

“Your granny has been baking all week,” Grandad whispers loudly to me, “and that’s only about half of the cakes she has baked, but she’s eaten all the rest herself. No wonder she’s so fat!” And he winks at me.

“I heard that, old man!” calls Granny from the hall.

Uncle Boris grabs me from behind and swings me right up into the air. “How’s my wee lass?” he roars. Granny says that Uncle Boris does not know how to talk — only how to shout.

In the living room, Aunt L. is having a very serious talk with Daddy. Sally is holding wee Billy, and he is trying to pull her nose off. Sally is different when she is with babies; she forgets to be cool and serious. I wish Sally was always like that, laughing and giggling.

Conor and Emmett are out looking at Nicholas’s motorbike, and Aunt M. is talking to Aunt B. about her favorite subject — weddings! Uncle Horace and Uncle Boris are talking about money. I go and look for Emma — but she finds me first.

“Hi, Dig. Still having trouble with those windy bottoms, lovey?”

“No, dear. I’m much better now, thank you. Except for my big toe,” I tell her.

“Oh dearie, dearie me, that sounds bad. You’d better show it to me.”

So I sit on the floor and pull off my shoe and sock. My big toe is shiny blue — I colored it with a fluorescent blue marker before I came. “It got stuck in the tap when I was having a bath. What will I do, Dag?”

“Do you always stick your big toe up the tap when you have a bath, Dig?” asks Emma.

“Of course.”

“So do I. But this looks bad, Dig. Will I chop it off, lovey?”

“If you must, dear. Will it hurt, Dag?” I ask as Emma pulls a big plastic ax from wee Billy’s toy bag.

“It will hurt a little. Be brave, Dig.” And she starts chopping and I start yelling. Wee Billy hears the racket and wiggles out of Sally’s arms and totters over to us. Then he falls on top of me and tries to eat my toe. Sally runs over and grabs him and she falls on top of Emma and me and soon we are all rolling on the floor, giggling and laughing, and wee Billy thinks it’s a great game.

When we stop all tired out from laughing and wrestling, I notice that all the adults have stopped talking and are watching us and smiling, and Aunt L. has her arm around Daddy’s shoulder and I don’t know if he is smiling or crying. I think that he is doing both.

Then Aunt B. claps her hands and tells everybody to come and eat, chop-chop.

When wee Billy had blown out his candle five or six times (Grandad kept on relighting it and all the children helped wee Billy with the blowing), and everybody had sung “Happy Birthday to You” about five times, and wee Billy had put both his hands in the icing and wiped it all over Sally’s face, Aunt B. made her announcement. “I have got a morning-only job in Besco supermarket, in the meat department,” she said.

“Chop-chop!” shouted Emmett, who had been finishing off everybody’s wine when they weren’t looking and whose eyes looked all glassy. If Aunt B. found out she would kill him.

Then Aunt B. looked at me, then at Sally, and then at Conor and said, “Which means I won’t be able to come over to your house in the mornings anymore to put manners on the place.”

“Chop-chop!” shouted Emmett again, and Aunt B. gave him one of her looks.

“A toast to Betty the butcher!” called out Uncle Boris, lifting his glass of wine, which distracted Aunt B. and saved Emmett.