Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries 6

It’s my baby… For a minute, I just kneel there, smiling because I’m so happy. Its cheeks are pink, but its lips are a funny colour. It isn’t miaowing, it’s crying, but very softly. Maybe that’s ‘cos it’s not aloud, like I’m not aloud when Mummy’s feeling Bad, Or you’ll get a SMACK and locked in your room, my girl!

“Miaow,” it goes.

I pick it up. It’s bigger than my Baby Suzy doll, and much heavier. Heavy and squirmy, but I’m quite strong for my age, and once you get the hang of it, babies are easy. I go the back way, so nobody sees me. The baby gets warmer from the exercise and doesn’t look so funny anymore. Its lips are normal lip colour, and it just stares at me, like it knows I’m its mummy.

I take it to the shed and cuddle it for a bit. If Mummy looks out, she won’t see me, ‘cos I’m too far away at the bottom of the garden and Trina won’t tell them I ran away, ‘cos if she does I’ll tell them she was going to snap my fingers off and she’ll be in Big Trouble.

There’s three reasons why a baby cries: if it’s hungry, if it’s sick, or if its nappy needs changing. -Oh, and if it’s tired, but mostly they just go to sleep if they’re tired.

My baby needed its nappy changed. I have to find a clean nappy, which is easy, ‘cos my mummy put all the baby things in the shed after she lost her baby. I don’t mind changing its nappy, ‘cos I can hold my breath for ages and anyway, Mummy showed me how to change Joseph’s nappy, before he got lost. My baby’s a boy as well-I would have liked a girl better, but a boy is almost as good.

The nappy’s cold and the baby cries a bit until I put a vest on him, and a fluffy suit that has feet in it like little bootees, and a hood so he’s warm and toasty.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy you a mock-in bird.”

My daddy used to sing that to me when he lived with us. He doesn’t live in my house anymore-he lives in an apartment, because Mummy and Daddy need some time apart. When Daddy comes, they don’t look at each other, like they’re not friends anymore. Mummy always cries when he’s gone, though, so I know she wants to be friends again.

And now the baby’s crying again-not miaowing anymore-he goes “Wah!” quite loud. I think he must be hungry. Babies drink special milk, only out of a tin, instead of a bottle. You’ve got to mix it up with hot water and put it in a bottle with a teat on it. I tried it once, before Joseph got lost, and it’s disgusting, but babies like it. There’s some in the baby box, only I’m frightened of going inside the house for the hot water, ‘cos Mummy’s having a Bad Day, and I’m not supposed to be home yet.

“Shush, Baby. You’ll just have to wait.” But he won’t wait. He goes “WAH!” even louder.

If my baby was like the Baby Jesus, he wouldn’t cry. For a minute, I think what if it is the Baby Jesus, ‘cos it’s Christmas, and the Wise Men are supposed to come today, and I found him all on his own, like a miracle.

But Mummy says all babies are miracles, and anyway, there wasn’t any Star of Bethlehem, with it being in the daytime, and there wasn’t any shepherds as well. Also, the Baby Jesus was born in a manger, which is like a stable, only with cows and sheep, and my baby was under a bush, like a normal baby.

“Wa-aah!” And Baby Jesus was a good baby.

“Now, you’re just being naughty!”

It makes no difference, he goes, “Wah! Wa-aah!” until I’m fed up of it and take the milk stuff and close the shed door, so no one will hear. The kids next-door have got a swing, but there’s nobody on it, so it mustn’t be lunchtime yet. They always come home for lunch and they always get to play on the swing. It isn’t fair. But today it’s covered in frost, so they mustn’t be home yet, and I look up into the sky and cross my fingers and make a prayer there’s enough in the clouds to make it snow.

The back door is open, so Mummy must be in. I leave the door wide, so I can sneak out if I hear her coming downstairs. The tin is open from last time Joseph had some. I put the bottle on the table and take off the lid. You have to put the powder in with a special spoon called a scoop. Then you add boiled water. Mummy won’t let me use the kettle, so I use hot water from the tap, instead. Then I put the lid on and shake and shake and SHAKE!

Mummy must be asleep, ‘cos she doesn’t hear me. Sometimes, she sleeps all day when she’s Bad. Being Bad isn’t the same as being naughty. Being Bad is when you’re sick and it makes you cry all the time and you don’t want to make a costume for the school play about Baby Jesus. And This isn’t all about you, you know! This whole bloody world doesn’t revolve around you! Miss Irvine said it didn’t matter and gave me an old one from the box under the stage but it smelt of cobwebs and Trina said she didn’t know angels were stinky. Trina’s horrible.

I’m starving because I didn’t have time for breakfast, and anyway there wasn’t any milk. There’s peanut butter in the cupboard so I push the dirty dishes out of the way and make two sandwiches, with peanut butter on both of them. Then I stick my finger in the jar and have a bit extra, ‘cos nobody’s looking.

There’s nothing on TV, so I put a DVD on instead and watch Shrek for a bit. I have to cover my mouth so I don’t laugh too loud and wake Mummy up. Daddy says Mummy’s like an ogre when she’s got her angry head on. Only she isn’t funny, like Shrek, and she isn’t green. I don’t like Mummy’s angry head.

I hear a flump. It’s coming from upstairs, and I think it might be Mummy. I switch off the TV and run to the door. If you open it a tiny tiny bit, you can see out with one eye. The toilet flushes, but Mummy doesn’t come downstairs.

I know where the floor creaks, so I can get down the hall quieter than a mouse with slippers on. The baby’s bottle isn’t hot anymore, but maybe it won’t mind. Because it’s my baby, I’m the only one that can give it a name, but the only name that keeps coming into my head is Joseph. I frown and frown like Mummy, to stop it coming back. Maybe that’s why Mummy frowns-to keep her baby’s name out of her head?

I have to run to the shed and hope Mummy isn’t watching. She isn’t, because I count to fifty and she still doesn’t come. The baby is very, very quiet.

“Good boy! Look what Mummy’s brought you.” I cuddle it while I give it the bottle. It sucks and sucks and sucks until all the milk is gone, then suddenly, bleurgh! It’s sick everywhere.

“Naughty boy!” I have to get a wet wipe and clean his face and his fluffy suit, but it still smells of sick and he starts to cry.

“Wah! Wah!” Looking after babies is HARD.

Mummy should be glad she doesn’t have to look after Joseph. It’s his own fault if he got lost, ‘cos you should always hold your mummy’s hand if you don’t know how to get back.

“I’m going to count to five. If you don’t stop crying I’ll give you a SMACK!” Mummy says smacking is a- something -of failure. I forget what. But she hasn’t got Joseph going “Wah! Wa-aah! Wah!” And he won’t stop.

“Laura?”

My heart stops. Then it starts again, really fast, like it’s trying to catch up. I cover the baby’s mouth but it’s all wet and snotty and anyway it doesn’t stop.

“Laura!”

I come out of the shed and close the door. The baby goes “Wa-aah!” So I run halfway across the lawn. Maybe she won’t hear.

“Are you home already?” she says.

“You forgot my dinner money.” This is true, but Mummy looks at me like I’m trying to hide something behind my back. “I had to come home,” I say, which is also true, but not in the same way.