Don’t give him a fright …

… Raaaaaaaaa!’ Dad growls in my ear, trying to make me jump.

I just giggle. I remember how he always used to change the animal every bedtime so I never quite knew which one we’d meet. I shake my head at him, still laughing. ‘You’re such a nutball, Dad!’

Dad pretends to be offended. ‘Don’t know what you think is so funny, Charlie Merriam. It’s a very serious life lesson; ah well, you’ll thank me one day … should you ever find yourself in tiger country, that is …’

‘Oh, Dad!’ I say, and I snuggle in. Just for a moment I let myself feel little again, little and loved and safe.

We sit together and listen to the singing of the birds in the wide-awake forest. Dad yawns a big long yawn. I gaze out of my window; in the last of the bluey dark a tiny moth flutters up, up and is gone. She’s heading for the moon.

BABY

‘Dad,’ I whisper, ‘Dad! Wake up!’

Midsummer sunshine is pouring through my window. We must’ve both fallen asleep. I can hear Dad’s phone vibrating like an angry hornet.

I wriggle out from under Dad’s sleep-heavy arm and give him a good shake.

‘Dad! Come on! Where’s your phone? It’s probably Mum!’

‘Mum?!’ he says, sitting suddenly upright, like someone has just pressed his on switch. ‘Where’s Mum?’

‘Where do you think she is?’ I say, rolling my eyes at him. ‘In hospital with Dara maybe?’

The phone (wherever it is) stops buzzing.

‘Oh yes,’ says Dad, sinking back again, a big dozy grin on his face. ‘Dara Merriam, I almost forgot about that one.’

His phone starts vibrating again.

‘Where have you put your stupid phone, Dad?’

‘In my shoe,’ says Dad as if that is the most obvious answer in the world; as if that’s where every sensible adult keeps their phone. I raise an eyebrow at him and reach under my bed, grabbing the shoe, which I hand to Dad.

‘Thanks,’ he says, and pretends that the shoe itself is the phone. ‘Hello?’

I can’t help laughing even though he is being totally ridiculous. He finally answers it properly.

‘Hello, love,’ he says to Mum. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t find my phone.’

I shake my head at him. Over at the hospital, I imagine, Mum is probably shaking her head at him too.

‘I know. Sorry. How are you? How’s Dara? … Great, that’s great … Charlie? Yeah, Charlie’s grand.’ Dad winks at me. ‘No, of course I didn’t forget; we had birthday cake at three in the morning! Yes … with candles.’

I laugh. Holding up my index finger, I mouth the words, ‘One candle!’

‘Yep. Right beside me. Yep, ’course you can. Here’s Charlie.’

I take the phone. ‘Hi, Mum.’

Mum sings ‘Happy Birthday to You’ very quietly, like it’s a big secret. I imagine she doesn’t want to wake the baby.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say. ‘How’re you?’

‘I’m fine, thanks, Charlie. Here, listen, your brother wants to say something to you.’