The doorbell ding-dongs, waking me up. Pixie barks. I hear a rush of tyres, and then the front door bangs. Weird. Itâs really late. But I can hear Mum and Dad talking softly so I relax and drop back to sleep.
I hear crying. At least I think I do. Maybe Iâm dreaming?
I come back up through the layers of sleep like a massive bounce-up on the trampoline. Itfeels like Iâm actually moving and I sit up as I wake.
I turn on my bedside lamp â the orange one Dad bought me that clips to the headboard of my bed. I can still hear the crying and Iâm definitely not dreaming now.
I reverse-flip so my head is at the door-end of my bed, the door I have luckily left open a smidge. I can hear voices, and even catch a word here and there.
But then Harry presses his intercom buzzer and I canât hear anything else.
The problem with the intercom is that Harry designed it and he has the master box â of course. In
his
room. And if heâs buzzing me, the buzzing will only stop if I hit my receive button, or if he stops pressing, which of course he
never
does. So I canât ignore it. I canât ignore him. And the soundâs so rude and â¦
buzzy
. Sometimes I press receive and donât speak, just to stop the noise.
To make it worse, Harry designed the intercom so I donât have a buzzer function on
my
unit, just the poxy receive button. As usual,
he
has all the power. Older brothers deal in power.
âFloppy, whatâs going on?â Harryâs voice crackles through the intercom
.
â
Shhh. I donât know. Iâm trying to listen. And thatâs not my name. Poppy starts with a P â or do you need help with your spelling?â
Bzzzzzz,
he presses
.
âStop doing that and Iâll be able to hear!â
Bzzz bzzz bzzz
, he presses, and then shuts up for a bit.
I hear more talking from the lounge room. Voices I donât recognise.
And all the while, and not in any dream, the really sad sound of a small child crying.
I do the special knock on the wall I share with Harry. It means I want him to buzz me. Because, of course, I canât buzz him.
Bzzzzz.
âIâm going out there to see whatâs going on,â I whisper into the box.
âOkay,â he says. âReport back pronto!â
âOkay!â
I swing open my door to just before The Squeak, and squeeze through the gap. I ghost across the corridor and stay low against the wall while I creep towards the lounge room.
Thereâs Mum and Dad â and a policemanand policewoman! T HE P OLICE. IN OUR L OUNGE R OOM !! And a kid. A little kid, bawling its eyes out. Not a baby, but not a proper child, either. It has black wispy hair and looks like a chubby elf. Mum is sitting on the floor next to it, going
shh shh shhhh
, over and over. And I hear Dad say, âThere was a knock on the screen door, about 9.45, then I heard a car drive off â really fast. It burnt rubber. I opened the door and there she was, just there on the doorstep, crying.â
âPoor little thing,â Mum croons, then goes back to her
shh shh shhhh
s.
Dad keeps talking. âI was expecting to see old Mrs Mackay from next door â she often has trouble closing the blinds, you know, or turning off her oil heater, and she comes over to ask for help.
âI certainly wasnât expecting to find ⦠well, she was ⦠very distressed,â he says, shaking his head.
âAnd she had this green blanket,â Mum says,holding it up. âAnd this note was pinned to it.â
âAnd that was all that was with her?â the policeman asks. âNothing else? No bag of clothes or anything?â
âNo,â Dad says, âjust what sheâs wearing â the Wondersuit thing â with the blanket around her, and the note pinned to it.â
The policeman looks at the note again and reads it out loud, â
Please look after
⦠Hmmm, how do you pronounce this:
M-E-I
? Is
I hear crying. At least I think I do. Maybe Iâm dreaming?
I come back up through the layers of sleep like a massive bounce-up on the trampoline. Itfeels like Iâm actually moving and I sit up as I wake.
I turn on my bedside lamp â the orange one Dad bought me that clips to the headboard of my bed. I can still hear the crying and Iâm definitely not dreaming now.
I reverse-flip so my head is at the door-end of my bed, the door I have luckily left open a smidge. I can hear voices, and even catch a word here and there.
But then Harry presses his intercom buzzer and I canât hear anything else.
The problem with the intercom is that Harry designed it and he has the master box â of course. In
his
room. And if heâs buzzing me, the buzzing will only stop if I hit my receive button, or if he stops pressing, which of course he
never
does. So I canât ignore it. I canât ignore him. And the soundâs so rude and â¦
buzzy
. Sometimes I press receive and donât speak, just to stop the noise.
To make it worse, Harry designed the intercom so I donât have a buzzer function on
my
unit, just the poxy receive button. As usual,
he
has all the power. Older brothers deal in power.
âFloppy, whatâs going on?â Harryâs voice crackles through the intercom
.
â
Shhh. I donât know. Iâm trying to listen. And thatâs not my name. Poppy starts with a P â or do you need help with your spelling?â
Bzzzzzz,
he presses
.
âStop doing that and Iâll be able to hear!â
Bzzz bzzz bzzz
, he presses, and then shuts up for a bit.
I hear more talking from the lounge room. Voices I donât recognise.
And all the while, and not in any dream, the really sad sound of a small child crying.
I do the special knock on the wall I share with Harry. It means I want him to buzz me. Because, of course, I canât buzz him.
Bzzzzz.
âIâm going out there to see whatâs going on,â I whisper into the box.
âOkay,â he says. âReport back pronto!â
âOkay!â
I swing open my door to just before The Squeak, and squeeze through the gap. I ghost across the corridor and stay low against the wall while I creep towards the lounge room.
Thereâs Mum and Dad â and a policemanand policewoman! T HE P OLICE. IN OUR L OUNGE R OOM !! And a kid. A little kid, bawling its eyes out. Not a baby, but not a proper child, either. It has black wispy hair and looks like a chubby elf. Mum is sitting on the floor next to it, going
shh shh shhhh
, over and over. And I hear Dad say, âThere was a knock on the screen door, about 9.45, then I heard a car drive off â really fast. It burnt rubber. I opened the door and there she was, just there on the doorstep, crying.â
âPoor little thing,â Mum croons, then goes back to her
shh shh shhhh
s.
Dad keeps talking. âI was expecting to see old Mrs Mackay from next door â she often has trouble closing the blinds, you know, or turning off her oil heater, and she comes over to ask for help.
âI certainly wasnât expecting to find ⦠well, she was ⦠very distressed,â he says, shaking his head.
âAnd she had this green blanket,â Mum says,holding it up. âAnd this note was pinned to it.â
âAnd that was all that was with her?â the policeman asks. âNothing else? No bag of clothes or anything?â
âNo,â Dad says, âjust what sheâs wearing â the Wondersuit thing â with the blanket around her, and the note pinned to it.â
The policeman looks at the note again and reads it out loud, â
Please look after
⦠Hmmm, how do you pronounce this:
M-E-I
? Is
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