flowed past him like a fast-moving stream as he made his way towards us, walking like his legs were tree trunks that he had to uproot with every step.
His face was all angles, like the bones had grown all wrong, his cheekbones jutting, too sharp for a boy’s face.
Then when he spoke … oh, that voice!
He sounded like he was underwater. He sounded like he had the treble turned off. He sounded like Dad’s prehistoric CD Walkman with a flat battery.
And yep. He was
tall
.
I mean, did Mum actually think she was preparing me to meet this … this
GIRAFFE
… by bleating ‘he’s tall’ every few minutes?
Lame. Lame. LAME.
2
Bernardo
M a leaped higher than a grasshopper in a paddy field to hug me. She just missed my shoulders and embraced me around the waist instead.
The Arrivals area shimmered behind the tears in my eyes and I squeezed her hard.
‘Mama! Mama,’ I murmured, my throat tight. Suddenly the worries that had plagued me since I got off the plane vanished. Losing my way, taking the wrong exit, picking the trolley with a sticky wheel – nothing mattered.
I was in London at last.
Uncle William was waving a long white streamer high in the air. I recognized him from the photos: pineapple hair cropped close to his head, freckles like orange dust all over his face. More tears welled in my eyes as I read the message written across the banner with a marker pen.
Welcome Home, Bernardo.
Remembering my manners, I bent low to touch Ma’s hand to my forehead.
She grabbed my hand and cradled it against her cheek, whispering in Tagalog, ‘Oh, my son. My baby. At last. At last.’
Uncle William came forward, rolling the streamer into a scroll. He gave me a quick hug.
‘Welcome to London, Bernardo,’ he said.
Instead of touching his hand to my forehead, I shook it firmly, hoping that my palms weren’t sweaty. ‘Once you’re in England,’ Auntie had admonished, ‘do as the English do.’
But when I opened my mouth to speak, the English weighed my tongue down like a stone.
‘I am glad you meet me.’
Uncle William smiled. ‘Glad to meet you too,’ he replied and I almost sagged with relief.
‘I am fine, you are how?’ I said.
Uncle William paused like he was adding up a complicated sum, but he just clapped me on the shoulder and answered my question as if everything was OK. ‘I’m fine, Bernardo. Thank you for asking!’
Ma beamed up at me and continued to cling to my hand.
Where was Amandolina? There was no sign of mysister in the airport crowd. Did she not come to meet me? Disappointment began to gnaw at my chest.
Ma turned to a freckled little boy in a Chicago Bulls jacket. ‘Andi, aren’t you going to say hello?’
The boy stared up at me open-mouthed. He was no higher than my hip bone.
Then he snapped his jaws together with a click.
‘Hey, Bernardo,’ he mumbled in a gruff voice, raising a hand in a half-salute while tracing a crack in the linoleum with the toe of his shoe.
I hesitated and then raised my hand too. ‘Pleased you meet me?’ I said, unsure.
The boy turned to Ma, his bottom lip thrust out, dark brows drawn together in a scowl. Uncle William frowned at the boy and Ma’s grip on my hand tightened.
‘Mum, why couldn’t you just
tell
me?’ he said in a soft voice.
‘Andi!’ Mum said. ‘Say hello
properly
.’
It was only then that I realized. It was Amandolina.
The photos Mama sent had not prepared me for the hunched shoulders, hands stuffed into skinny jeans ripped at the knees, high-top canvas shoes smudged with dirt, and spiky short hair.
Amandolina slowly turned back to me andshielded her eyes from the glare of the fluorescent lights as she stared up into my face. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said.
But she didn’t look at all pleased.
3
Andi
W hat was everybody at school going to say when I turned up escorting the Big Friendly Giant?
I felt sick just thinking about it.
After Mum had talked to the school about Bernardo, Mrs Green had
His face was all angles, like the bones had grown all wrong, his cheekbones jutting, too sharp for a boy’s face.
Then when he spoke … oh, that voice!
He sounded like he was underwater. He sounded like he had the treble turned off. He sounded like Dad’s prehistoric CD Walkman with a flat battery.
And yep. He was
tall
.
I mean, did Mum actually think she was preparing me to meet this … this
GIRAFFE
… by bleating ‘he’s tall’ every few minutes?
Lame. Lame. LAME.
2
Bernardo
M a leaped higher than a grasshopper in a paddy field to hug me. She just missed my shoulders and embraced me around the waist instead.
The Arrivals area shimmered behind the tears in my eyes and I squeezed her hard.
‘Mama! Mama,’ I murmured, my throat tight. Suddenly the worries that had plagued me since I got off the plane vanished. Losing my way, taking the wrong exit, picking the trolley with a sticky wheel – nothing mattered.
I was in London at last.
Uncle William was waving a long white streamer high in the air. I recognized him from the photos: pineapple hair cropped close to his head, freckles like orange dust all over his face. More tears welled in my eyes as I read the message written across the banner with a marker pen.
Welcome Home, Bernardo.
Remembering my manners, I bent low to touch Ma’s hand to my forehead.
She grabbed my hand and cradled it against her cheek, whispering in Tagalog, ‘Oh, my son. My baby. At last. At last.’
Uncle William came forward, rolling the streamer into a scroll. He gave me a quick hug.
‘Welcome to London, Bernardo,’ he said.
Instead of touching his hand to my forehead, I shook it firmly, hoping that my palms weren’t sweaty. ‘Once you’re in England,’ Auntie had admonished, ‘do as the English do.’
But when I opened my mouth to speak, the English weighed my tongue down like a stone.
‘I am glad you meet me.’
Uncle William smiled. ‘Glad to meet you too,’ he replied and I almost sagged with relief.
‘I am fine, you are how?’ I said.
Uncle William paused like he was adding up a complicated sum, but he just clapped me on the shoulder and answered my question as if everything was OK. ‘I’m fine, Bernardo. Thank you for asking!’
Ma beamed up at me and continued to cling to my hand.
Where was Amandolina? There was no sign of mysister in the airport crowd. Did she not come to meet me? Disappointment began to gnaw at my chest.
Ma turned to a freckled little boy in a Chicago Bulls jacket. ‘Andi, aren’t you going to say hello?’
The boy stared up at me open-mouthed. He was no higher than my hip bone.
Then he snapped his jaws together with a click.
‘Hey, Bernardo,’ he mumbled in a gruff voice, raising a hand in a half-salute while tracing a crack in the linoleum with the toe of his shoe.
I hesitated and then raised my hand too. ‘Pleased you meet me?’ I said, unsure.
The boy turned to Ma, his bottom lip thrust out, dark brows drawn together in a scowl. Uncle William frowned at the boy and Ma’s grip on my hand tightened.
‘Mum, why couldn’t you just
tell
me?’ he said in a soft voice.
‘Andi!’ Mum said. ‘Say hello
properly
.’
It was only then that I realized. It was Amandolina.
The photos Mama sent had not prepared me for the hunched shoulders, hands stuffed into skinny jeans ripped at the knees, high-top canvas shoes smudged with dirt, and spiky short hair.
Amandolina slowly turned back to me andshielded her eyes from the glare of the fluorescent lights as she stared up into my face. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said.
But she didn’t look at all pleased.
3
Andi
W hat was everybody at school going to say when I turned up escorting the Big Friendly Giant?
I felt sick just thinking about it.
After Mum had talked to the school about Bernardo, Mrs Green had
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