Free Lifesaving for Beginners by Ciara Geraghty Page B

used to think babies came out of their mam’s bellybutton. How stupid is that?
    ‘In an orphanage? Jesus, what? Did you pick me out of a line of cots? Was I the cutest baby there? Christ almighty, Dad, you should have told me. I had a right to know.’
    Another silence. I lean my head against the railings and close my eyes. It’s weird how tired you can get, doing nothing.
    ‘So let me get this straight. You thought you couldn’t have kids so you adopted me. And then, BAM! Along comes Ant, Adrian and Milo, and you decide maybe you’d better not tell me cos I might feel a bit . . . what? Left out? Jesus!’
    Another silence so I guess Dad is saying something about Faith feeling left out or not feeling left out. Something like that.
    ‘So where does that leave me, then? You know nothing about where I come from and I’m here in Brighton, looking after a nine-year-old boy, studying, doing the odd shift at the café when Jack needs time off. While you’re swanning round Edinburgh with that slip of a girl, talking about colours for the bloody nursery.’
    Ant comes into the hall and sees me at the top of the stairs. He nods towards me and Faith turns round, and that’s when she sees me and she says, ‘Christ,’ and then she hangs up.
    She looks at me again. ‘What are you doing, Milo? I told you to go to bed.’
    I say, ‘We need a new light bulb.’ I know I’m too old to be afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of the dark, exactly. I’m just not mad about it, y’know?
    Faith sighs and says nothing. Ant goes and gets a new bulb. He walks up the stairs and goes into Mam’s room so he can get the stool. She keeps her library books on the stool. The ones she’s read. So she won’t have to go looking for them when it’s time to take them back. Ant lifts the books off the stool. Someone should have taken them back ages ago. The fine is going to be gigantic.
    When Ant has finished putting the bulb in, he puts the stool back and puts the library books on the stool again. Then he walks over to me and holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me up and then he ducks down and puts me across his back like a sack of potatoes.
    I don’t laugh.
    Or try to get down.
    I just let him.
    I don’t know why.
    I think it’s because I’m tired.

 
    Ed says, ‘It’s your turn, Kat.’
    I say, ‘No, it’s your turn.’
    ‘I made it the last time.’
    ‘Yes, but I made the hot chocolates, remember?’
    ‘Yes, but I’m your guest.’
    ‘Fine.’ I drag myself off the couch and haul myself to the kitchen to put more popcorn in the microwave.
    It’s Saturday night. Another bloody Saturday night. Luckily, Sophie – his on-again-off-again girlfriend – has gone to visit her granny in Cork so Ed is free. Mum is at some writing thing and Dad is working late at the lab so Ed is staying over. I’m glad. The apartment is so quiet now. Living with Thomas was like living with a large group of people, in terms of noise and mess.
    Mum rings, which is unusual. I say, ‘Everything all right?’
    She says, ‘I did ask you to look after Edward, didn’t I?’
    ‘Yes, of course you did. He’s here. He’s fine.’
    ‘Oh good. Sorry, Katherine, I . . . I got a bit distracted and I couldn’t quite remember if . . .’
    ‘It’s all right. Don’t worry.’
    ‘Good. Thank you.’
    I say, ‘How’s the symposium going?’
    She says, ‘It’s a writing retreat.’
    ‘Oh. Sorry.’
    ‘Did you hear from your father?’
    ‘He’s still at work. I invited him over for takeaway, but you know him, he likes being in the lab when it’s quiet.’
    She says, ‘Good. That’s good.’ If I asked her to repeat what I’d just said, she wouldn’t be able to. She’s retreated. I can hear it in her voice.
    Ed and I have assumed what I like to call ‘the Position’. I’ve never liked going out on a Saturday night. If I have to go out, I do it on a weeknight, when there’s no crush. No queues. Less noise. Fewer people.
    The Position is