Mum’s muddy old gardening gloves.
I kneel down on the dusty concrete floor and put my own hand up to mirror it. She has a smushed up, almost heart-shaped, nose and I stare into her eyes. The look she gives me is so human, so knowing, I gasp. I’m still reeling from that stare when Clover comes back. She’s chewing on her lip and seems a little upset.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Ah, nothing.” She crouches down beside me and puts her head on my shoulder. “So how are you holding up, Beanie?”
I shrug. I don’t trust myself to talk without crying, so I say nothing.
“I’m sure you’re hurting,” she says. “But give it time. Once the baby is born you’ll be so excited, all this will be forgotten. I promise.”
“You think?”
“You’re kidding?” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You know what you’re like with teeny tinies. You go gaga. You even love their smell. That’s not normal.”
She’s right. I have this thing about sniffing babies’ necks: they smell so fresh and innocent. Like a new cotton T-shirt. My gran used to do it too.
Our backs are pressed up against the glass. Most of the monkeys are outside so there’s no one in the monkey house except for us, Liam and his mum.
“But I am sorry your dad landed you with all that news in one go,” Clover says gently. “Talk about timing.”
“Timing has never been Dad’s thing.” I tell her about Mum and Dad and what happened the last time I was at the zoo.
“Siúcra, Beanie,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea. We could have gone somewhere else for lunch.”
“And missed the monkeys?”
Liam’s mum hits the glass behind us and we both jump in fright. And then laugh.
“Let’s get you home,” Clover says, pushing herself to her feet and holding out her hand to pull me up.
“What about the baby elephant? And we may as well have something to eat now we’re here.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Are you sure?”
I smile at her and nod. She’s been so nice to me – it’s the least I can do. She’s a sucker for elephants, she collects them. She has dozens of them on her windowsill, all joined by the trunk or the tail in long, flowing lines, like something out of
The Jungle Book
. She says they bring her good luck.
And, as she says, I’m a sucker for babies.
Chapter 12
My ears are still ringing from lunch in the zoo’s restaurant. The food was fine but most of the tables were packed with screaming children. I get enough of that at home.
We decided to grab ice creams and scoot. Now we’re sitting on a bench in front of the penguin enclosure. There’s a faint smell of fish and musky animals, but it doesn’t stop us licking our ice creams – a white chocolate Magnum for Clover, who has a very sweet tooth, a strawberry and banana Solero for me.
“I hope you’re not on a diet, Beanie,” she said when I chose the Solero.
“I’d hardly be eating ice cream if I was,” I pointed out.
“Frozen yoghurt,” she corrected me.
I smiled at her wanly. She can be so pedantic.
In fact, I am supposed to be on a diet – the NeanderThin diet – but I keep forgetting. It’s supposed to make you lean, strong and healthy, like a caveman. Honestly! I’m not making it up.
It was Sophie’s idea. She thought we should all diet at the same time and support each other – diet buddies, she called it. Stupid idea if you ask me, but Mills is into it, so I play along for her sake. Janet Jackson lost four stone on it apparently (according to Sophie who got it from her mum’s
Grazia
). You have to eat fruit, nuts, vegetables and steamed fish or chicken every three hours. Every three hours! It’s hard to see how we’ll lose weight if we keep eating so often, but Sophie says it’s all based on metabolic science.
She has it all worked out. She gets her mum to make carrot, cucumber and celery sticks for the three of us every day, each little packet wrapped in layers and layers of clingfilm, like a caterpillar’s chrysalis, which
I kneel down on the dusty concrete floor and put my own hand up to mirror it. She has a smushed up, almost heart-shaped, nose and I stare into her eyes. The look she gives me is so human, so knowing, I gasp. I’m still reeling from that stare when Clover comes back. She’s chewing on her lip and seems a little upset.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Ah, nothing.” She crouches down beside me and puts her head on my shoulder. “So how are you holding up, Beanie?”
I shrug. I don’t trust myself to talk without crying, so I say nothing.
“I’m sure you’re hurting,” she says. “But give it time. Once the baby is born you’ll be so excited, all this will be forgotten. I promise.”
“You think?”
“You’re kidding?” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You know what you’re like with teeny tinies. You go gaga. You even love their smell. That’s not normal.”
She’s right. I have this thing about sniffing babies’ necks: they smell so fresh and innocent. Like a new cotton T-shirt. My gran used to do it too.
Our backs are pressed up against the glass. Most of the monkeys are outside so there’s no one in the monkey house except for us, Liam and his mum.
“But I am sorry your dad landed you with all that news in one go,” Clover says gently. “Talk about timing.”
“Timing has never been Dad’s thing.” I tell her about Mum and Dad and what happened the last time I was at the zoo.
“Siúcra, Beanie,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea. We could have gone somewhere else for lunch.”
“And missed the monkeys?”
Liam’s mum hits the glass behind us and we both jump in fright. And then laugh.
“Let’s get you home,” Clover says, pushing herself to her feet and holding out her hand to pull me up.
“What about the baby elephant? And we may as well have something to eat now we’re here.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Are you sure?”
I smile at her and nod. She’s been so nice to me – it’s the least I can do. She’s a sucker for elephants, she collects them. She has dozens of them on her windowsill, all joined by the trunk or the tail in long, flowing lines, like something out of
The Jungle Book
. She says they bring her good luck.
And, as she says, I’m a sucker for babies.
Chapter 12
My ears are still ringing from lunch in the zoo’s restaurant. The food was fine but most of the tables were packed with screaming children. I get enough of that at home.
We decided to grab ice creams and scoot. Now we’re sitting on a bench in front of the penguin enclosure. There’s a faint smell of fish and musky animals, but it doesn’t stop us licking our ice creams – a white chocolate Magnum for Clover, who has a very sweet tooth, a strawberry and banana Solero for me.
“I hope you’re not on a diet, Beanie,” she said when I chose the Solero.
“I’d hardly be eating ice cream if I was,” I pointed out.
“Frozen yoghurt,” she corrected me.
I smiled at her wanly. She can be so pedantic.
In fact, I am supposed to be on a diet – the NeanderThin diet – but I keep forgetting. It’s supposed to make you lean, strong and healthy, like a caveman. Honestly! I’m not making it up.
It was Sophie’s idea. She thought we should all diet at the same time and support each other – diet buddies, she called it. Stupid idea if you ask me, but Mills is into it, so I play along for her sake. Janet Jackson lost four stone on it apparently (according to Sophie who got it from her mum’s
Grazia
). You have to eat fruit, nuts, vegetables and steamed fish or chicken every three hours. Every three hours! It’s hard to see how we’ll lose weight if we keep eating so often, but Sophie says it’s all based on metabolic science.
She has it all worked out. She gets her mum to make carrot, cucumber and celery sticks for the three of us every day, each little packet wrapped in layers and layers of clingfilm, like a caterpillar’s chrysalis, which
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