Tall Story - Candy Gourlay [28]
Sunita took what looked like a waste-paper basket cut lengthwise and fitted it over my face. And then she pressed a button and the table levitated up to the machine’s mouth.
‘There is a lot of noise, but don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.’ Her voice sounded far away. ‘Some people feel a bit funny in the machine and I don’t blame them. There’s a button inside. If you really can’t stand it any more, just press the button and I’ll take you out.’ She leaned up close. ‘Think of it as having your picture taken. Only noisier. And longer. The whole session will take about thirty minutes. Close your eyes, sweetie. Think happy thoughts.’
She left and I closed my eyes. When was the last time I’d slept properly? The plane crew had upgraded me to Business Class, where there was more room, but the seats were only inches better. And that teeny tiny toilet! It had been a long flight – and not just because it took fourteen hours.
‘Ready now, Bernard?’ Miss Patel’s voice seemed a long way away.
‘Ready.’
The machine began to scream, completely drowning out Tom Jones.
Then the table began to move and slowly I was swallowed by the tube. This was what it was like to be buried alive.
And all the time, the machine screamed.
I wanted to press my hands against my ears but I could not move my arms. I wanted to cry out but nobody was going to hear me above that noise. The tube screamed and groaned and banged.
‘Think happy thoughts,’ Miss Patel had said.
I tried.
I thought of Michael Jordan and Amandolina and basketball.
Of Auntie and Mama and Uncle William.
Of being in England at last.
But the thoughts drifted away like smoke.
Think happy thoughts.
I decided to think of the lovely Sunita, conjuring the beautiful face framed in the long dark hair.
But it was not Sunita’s face that took shape before me. The face that emerged from my swirling thoughts was beautiful, yes, but there was a sulkiness in the dark eyes and disdain in the turn of the lips.
It was Gabriela.
The lips parted to show white teeth. But the voice when it came was that of Mad Nena.
Nardo, she whispered. The earthquakes have begun.
9
Andi
So after Bernardo informed me that Michael Jordan was his biggest fan, Mum suddenly burst into the room yelling that Bernardo had to go to A&E.
I was in the middle of figuring out how to tell him he’d got it the wrong way round. Bernardo was Michael Jordan’s biggest fan, surely. Unless, of course, there was something else about my half-brother that Mum had not told me.
But before I could say anything, Mum was marching him down the stairs. Bernardo didn’t even get the chance to change out of his travelling clothes except to ditch the shiny jacket.
‘You’re cold,’ Mum said, as if Bernardo couldn’t figure it out himself. I looked at him and was surprised to realize, yeah, he was cold. In fact, there was a tinge of purple under his lips, like someone who’d been swimming at an open-air lido.
Mum made him wear Dad’s long fur-lined coat, which was the colour of poo, a knitted cap, also the colour of poo, and a scarf. Strangely, the coat seemed too big and broad for his narrow frame, though the arms came to just above his wrists. He looked a right wally but he didn’t complain. If it was me, Mum would have had a fight on her hands. But Bernardo obviously wasn’t anything like me.
It was after midnight when they left. I was insanely curious about what was wrong with Bernardo but Mum wouldn’t let me come along. She said I had to go to bed because I had school the next day. She made Dad go to bed too because he had an early shift at the hospital.
When I was really little, Mum used to say, ‘If you go on being naughty like that, I’ll take you to A&E.’ And I used to stop whatever I was doing and sit down on the floor, my hands folded on my lap, demure as anything.
That ended when I turned seven and knew better. I mean, Mum is an A&E nurse. She went there every