I am just imagining stuff.

The summer breeze swishes the leaves. It’s only the wind. Only the wind.

‘Charlieeee!’

My heart lurches but it’s just Dad calling up the stairs. I laugh at myself then.

‘Charlie Merriam! Stop reading and turn that light out – it’s late and you’ve got a big day tomorrow!’

‘OK, Dad!’ I slip the deertooth back into my shorts pocket, pack my collection away and start to get ready for bed. Tomorrow will be here soon, and tomorrow’s my twelfth birthday!

BIRTHDAYS

‘Charlie,’ whispers Dad, ‘Charlie, wake up.’

I roll over and open my eyes. It’s still dark. Dad’s crouched down by my bed; his face looks pale in the moonlight. My clock says 03.03. Not even morning! I close my eyes again.

‘Charlie!’ This time I hear the urgency in his voice. ‘Charlie Merriam!’

Something’s wrong. I sit straight up.

‘Is Mum OK? Is the baby coming?’

‘The baby’s here, Charlie! We had to dash off to hospital in the night; we didn’t want to wake you up so Margot from next door came over.’ Dad grins the biggest, cheesiest grin. ‘Charlie, you’ve got a little brother!’

I smile back. A baby! A baby brother!

Then I stop smiling and go all cold inside.

‘Mum?’

‘Don’t worry, love, Mum’s fine. Women have been having babies since the beginning of time. She’s just very tired and a bit … surprised – the baby came much faster than you did when you were born.’ Dad reaches out and strokes my hair.

I smile again and at the same time my eyes fill up with tears.

‘Why’re you crying, you big banana?’ Dad cuddles me. His chin is prickly and his breath smells of coffee, but I cuddle him back.

‘I’m not crying.’ I sniff.

Dad kisses the top of my head.

‘Hang on a minute.’ He gets up and darts out of my room. I hear him galloping down the stairs.

I can’t believe the baby’s been born.

Today.

I kneel on my bed and look through the open window at the full moon; it’s all blurry because of the tears. I rub my eyes and take a deep breath of cool night air.

Today is my birthday.

Just thinking it makes my eyes well up again. Why am I even crying? It’s my birthday! And I’ve got … a brother … the one thing I’ve always wished for. That’s way more important than having a birthday all to yourself.

‘You’re a nutball, Charlie Merriam,’ I say to myself through my stupid tears.

Outside a blackbird starts to sing. Another bird joins in and another and another until the whole dark garden and the whole dark forest beyond are alive with birdsong. I try to stop myself from crying by thinking about birds, not babies.

Birds don’t have birthdays. They only live for a few years and then they die.

Then I’m thinking about dead birds, and that doesn’t exactly cheer me up.

The photo in the silver frame by my bed catches my eye. It’s the one of Mum and Dad and me from when I was just born. Twelve years ago today. I lift the photo into the moonlight so that I can see us properly. Mum and Dad look kind of the same, just a bit less old and a bit less chubby. But it’s hard to believe that I was that baby; that baby is actually me.