‘Don’t worry, Charlie, he won’t bite,’ smiles Dad, rubbing my shoulder. I shake him off, I don’t know why, and Dad looks a bit hurt.

‘Why don’t you sit down, Charlie, and you can give your brother a cuddle,’ says Mum.

As if he hates the idea too, the baby starts to cry. I stare into his toothless little mouth and I realise what he reminds me of: Dara’s like a baby bird, just hatched, before it has feathers or fluff or open eyes. I shudder, then check quickly to see if Mum and Dad have noticed my reaction, but they’re not looking at me now. They’re too busy soothing the baby. His cry fills the room, a horrible, thin squawk, birdlike too. I want to cover my ears, but I know that’s babyish, not the right thing to do at all, so I just bite hard on my lip and look out the window; we’re high up in the hospital tower and all I see is blue.

‘Sit down then,’ says Dad to me, a bit impatient. He’s holding the baby, who looks smaller than ever in Dad’s big arms. So small. So fragile. Dara stops crying and opens his eyes – they’re dark and starey.

‘Can he see?’ I ask as I sit on the red chair. Neither Mum nor Dad answer me, they’re both trying to sort out the nose tube and the little plastic thing in Dara’s hand, which has a tube as well. The red chair plastic pinches my bare legs as I wriggle. I pull at my shorts, trying to get comfy.

Dara starts crying again. The noise makes me feel all hot and bothered.

‘Time for a cuddle with Charlie – that’ll cheer you up,’ says Dad to the baby.

I feel a bit panicky. What if it doesn’t cheer him up? ‘Hang on, Dad …’ I mumble, but Dad’s not listening to me, he’s listening to Mum, who’s fussing about, trying to find Dad’s phone to take a picture, but Dad’s lost it as usual and Dara’s crying harder than ever and then he stops crying really suddenly with a little gulp and I notice a big cloud of worry cross Dad’s face and he and Mum both go utterly quiet and freeze.

I know what they’re thinking, because I’m thinking it too: Has the baby stopped breathing? Is he OK?

Dara cries again and they smile at each other, relieved. They don’t smile at me.

I just sit on the horrible, pinchy red chair and I feel so invisible it makes me sad, then it makes me cross. Suddenly I want to scream at them. ‘I’m here too, you know! I was scared too, you know!’

But I don’t scream, I just glare at them, all my jumbled feelings swirling about inside me. They don’t notice. Mum’s getting the phone ready to take a picture. Dad gets the crying baby ready to have his first cuddle with me. And as Dad lowers Dara towards my arms, something just snaps in me.