Free Tiger Moth by Suzi Moore

I’d put the photograph of my other mother. I stared and stared at her and didn’t stop crying until I felt arms
round my shoulders. I didn’t stop when she kissed my forehead and tried to hold me close, and at first I laughed because Mum’s bump is so big now that she couldn’t really cuddle
me properly; it sort of got in the way. Then I stopped laughing and a frown began to grow deeper and deeper across my face until I felt a little angry feeling begin to twist inside my tummy. My
stupid sister was already coming between us.
    ‘Alice,’ Mum said slowly. ‘Do you think you might like to talk a little bit? Just try a little for me, would you do that?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘Can I tell you a secret?’ she said, stroking my hair, and I nodded. ‘Your dad was about four years old when Aunt Aggy was born and, when she was a tiny baby, do you know what
he said to Grandma and Grandpa?’ I shook my head and waited. I loved hearing about what my mum and dad were like when they were little, especially if they were naughty. ‘Well, your dad
got a bit cross and he marched into the kitchen, looked over at his little sister and said, “Can we take her back now?”’
    I laughed.
    ‘And now your dad and Aggy are like best friends, aren’t they?’
    She was right, but I couldn’t imagine that I’d want to be best friends with the new baby.
    ‘You’re going to be a brilliant big sister, Alice, I just know it. Are there any names you like?’
    I shrugged.
    ‘Would you like to help me and Dad choose a name?’
    I shrugged again.
    ‘Maybe you could try just saying the first letter?’
    I wanted to tell her there and then. I wanted to tell her how I had tried really hard, but the words kept getting stuck, and now every time I wanted to talk I got so scared that it felt as
though my throat was being squeezed tightly. But I didn’t say anything and that night, our last night at Pengarden Castle, I slept beside my mum and my soon-to-be little sister, and I prayed
that she wouldn’t be anything like horrid, toad-faced Casper.
    Nothing could be worse than a screaming pale pink brat who took over, changed everything and made my life much worse.
    When our week away came to an end, I was so glad to be going home. Aunt Aggy’s cook made us the most delicious car picnic that I had ever eaten. Smoked salmon, roast beef
and chicken sandwiches on the fluffiest, softest white bread, but Mum didn’t want any of it. She wasn’t feeling sick or anything like that; she had her very own very weird picnic.
She’d been eating some strange things lately and Dad said that sometimes pregnant women have these cravings for a particular food and, no matter how disgusting it sounds, it tastes really
amazing to them. So, while Dad and I tucked into our normal picnic, she was eating a peanut butter, beetroot and ketchup sandwich and my mum NEVER eats ketchup. When Dad and I had the lovely slices
of rich fruit cake, Mum ate Cheesy Wotsits dipped in strawberry yoghurt which almost made me feel sick.
    We had to stop the car six times so that Mum could go to the toilet. Somewhere between Birmingham and Bristol, somewhere between this life and the next, I watched my mum waddle like a duck back
to the car. It made me realise just how large her bump was and I thought about my other mother again. What was she like when she was pregnant with me? Did she have to eat lots of crazy foods? Did
she get hot one minute and cold the next? Did she burst into tears because her favourite jumper wouldn’t fit? Did she get really cross because her feet had swollen up so much all her shoes
were too tight? Did she fart ALL THE TIME? Did I kick her tummy as much as my soon-to-be little sister? Did she have someone like my dad to look after her?
    It made me feel sad again. It made me wonder all the bad wonderings. Like, if my mum is going to love my soon-to-be little sister like she loves me, why couldn’t my other mother love me
like that too?
    Why was I