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“What else?”
James Wilkes shrugged. “Noisy.”
“What else?”
“Hungry.”
James Wilkes wasn’t nearly as interested in babies as Iggy. James Wilkes wanted to play football. James Wilkes always wants to play football.
“What else?” Iggy said. “Please tell me. It’s very important.”
“Loud,” said James Wilkes. “Smelly and noisy and hungry and loud,” and then he ran after a ball that bounced just past his feet.
“James Wilkes isn’t an expert,” Iggy told me. “He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t even care. How can he not care?”
“Maybe he does,” I said. “Maybe he’s just had enough of babies right now.”
Iggy shrugged her shoulders high with disbelief. “How is that even possible?”
At home, all Iggy could think about and talk about was babies.
“Pleeease have one more,” she begged. “Just one.”
“I’m too old,” said Mum.
“Are you?” I said.
“Actually, no,” Mum said. “Not exactly. I’m too tired.”
Dad nodded. “Babies are exhausting. They are a lot of work.”
“We’ll help you,” Iggy said.
“Not enough,” said Dad.
“Oh please,” Iggy said. “Just. One. Tiny. Baby,” and she put her hands a bit apart to show just how tiny it might be.
“Sorry.” Mum shook her head. “Just thinking about it is making me tired.”
Iggy put her arms out from her sides, like a teapot with two spouts. She said, “What’s so exhausting about a weeny little baby?”
“Babies keep you awake at night,” Mum said. “They are very demanding.”
“Babies get cross about nothing for hours at a time,” Dad said.
“They need constant care and attention.”
“They are always shouting and they are always pooing and they are always hungry.”
“You two sound like James Wilkes,” Iggy said.
“Who’s that?” Dad asked.
“An expert on babies,” I told him.
Iggy glared at all of us.
“Iggy we are not having another baby,” Mum and Dad told her, at the same time. “Absolutely not.”
The next week after school, we were having milk and biscuits, and Mum said, “I saw Mrs Wilkes on the high street today.”
Iggy had been jabbering away like normal, swinging her legs and talking at a hundred miles an hour about crayons and guinea pigs and skipping, but suddenly she went a bit quiet.
“Did you?” I said.
“Yes,” Mum said. “And we had a nice chat.”
Iggy slipped down lower in her chair and her legs stopped swinging.
“What about?” I asked Mum.
“Oh, this and that.”
I took a big gulp of milk. Iggy was holding her breath. I could hear her not breathing.
“We talked about babies,” Mum said.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“Mrs Wilkes wanted to know where my baby was.”
Iggy’s eyes were perfect round circles and her mouth was a silent straight line.
“What baby?” I asked Mum.
“That’s what I said.”
Iggy made a little groaning noise. It just squeezed out of her. Her cheeks went very pink and she stared very hard at her biscuit.
“Mrs Wilkes was talking about the baby I had last week,” Mum said, looking straight at Iggy. “A baby girl called Clover. She was very keen to meet her.”
It was ever so quiet at the table after that. It was too quiet for me to crunch my biscuit. I had to suck it.
“Iggy,” Mum said in the end. “Did you make up a baby?”
Iggy shook her head. She kept her lips tight shut.
Mum said, “Think very hard before you answer me, young lady.”
Iggy thought very hard. We could see her thinking.
“One lie is bad enough,” Mum told her. “Another one won’t make it any better.”
Iggy’s eyebrows went pink, like they always do when she is about to cry. Her chin started to tremble.
“No tears,” Mum said. “Tears won’t get you out of trouble either.”
“I didn’t mean to say it.” Iggy still wasn’t looking at Mum.
“But you did,” Mum told her.
“I couldn’t help it,” Iggy said.
“Yes you could,” Mum said.
“I just pretended,” said Iggy. “I just told James Wilkes.”
“When?” I asked.
“At playtime,” Iggy said.
“And James Wilkes told his mum,” Mum said. “And she told me.”
Iggy looked at the floor.
“No more pretend babies, Iggy,” Mum said.
“OK.”
“Just you and Flo and me and Dad.”
“OK,” Iggy said.
“Sorry?” Mum said.
“Sorry.” Iggy nodded.
And nobody said another word about it.
Except when Dad kissed us good night and turned out the lights, he said, “Good night, Flo. Sleep tight, Iggy.” And then I heard him whisper, “Good night, Clover.”
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Iggy’s teacher was leaving at the end of term and Iggy was extremely upset about it. Rwaida had always been her teacher, since the very first day Iggy started school.
Iggy was really going to miss her.
“I love her,” she sobbed, after her last day in Rwaida’s class. “I love her and I know where everything is.”
“Why does she have to go?” Iggy said. “Why? Why?” and she scrunched her hands together into one little fist.
Mum said, “You know Rwaida isn’t leaving forever. She’s just taking some time off for a happy reason. She will most probably come back.”
“Well, when will she be back?”
“When she has adopted her baby,” said Mum.
“She told us that,” Iggy said, “but I don’t know what it means.”
“Sometimes there are more children than there are families and everybody has to share,” I said.
Iggy frowned at me for a minute. She asked Mum, “Is that right?”
“Sort of. Some children don’t have families and some families have room for more children.”
I said, “Adopting is looking after a baby that you didn’t make.”
“You don’t have to grow it in your tummy?” asked Iggy.
“No,” said Mum. “And it’s not only babies that can be adopted. Children of all ages need families to take care of them.”
“This family has got room for more children,” said Iggy, spreading her arms as wide as they would go and turning round in a circle. “Can we adopt some?”
Mum shook her head. “I doubt it.”
“It wouldn’t have to be a baby,” Iggy said. “Just somebody smaller than me.”
“Wanting to be bigger than someone is not a good reason to adopt,” said Mum.
“Well, what is?” asked Iggy.
“Not having children of your own,” Mum said. “Or wanting to help others.”
“I like helping others,” Iggy said, still turning. “I am very good at that.”
“Yes you are,” said Mum. “And so is Rwaida. She has waited a long time for this baby.”
“I know how she feels,” said Iggy.
Later, at bathtime, Iggy said, “What will Rwaida do with her baby when she comes back to be my teacher?”
“What baby?” said Dad.
“The baby she is adopting,” Iggy told him, lying back in the bath with only her face showing through all the bubbles.
“Someone will look after her baby,” said Mum. “Someone in Rwaida’s family maybe, or a friend, or a childminder.”
Iggy sat up with a slosh and Mum poured some shampoo into her hands.
