Tall Story - Candy Gourlay [37]
But truly, I was glad for Bernardo. The guy deserved a break.
An hour later, I was sitting on my bed, reading Lay-up Magazine, when Mum came into our room with a bin bag which she began to fill with all the Velcro clothes he’d brought from the Philippines. Bernardo burst in after her. It was the first time I’d seen him … angry.
‘Ma! NO!’
‘Nardo, you won’t be wearing these any more!’ Mum held up the Velcro tie, wrinkled her nose and stuffed it into the bag.
Bernardo snatched the tie from the bag and threw it back into the wardrobe.
I couldn’t believe it. Bernardo didn’t want to get rid of his horrible old clothes. He actually thought they were cool.
‘Mama, Timbuktu made them for me, special quality!’
‘Ay, that Timbuktu. That tailor is the reason why the whole of San Andres is a fashion disaster zone!’
‘But, Mama!’
‘Nardo, when you go to school on Monday and meet the other kids, you will thank me.’
For once, I agreed with Mum. But in the end she had to compromise, allowing Bernardo to keep the Velcro suit he arrived in. There’s no accounting for taste. Hopefully there will be no opportunities for him to wear it ever again.
Mum made large eyes at me as Bernardo sat on the floor, folding away his new clothes. She gave a slight tilt of her head. She wanted me to follow her downstairs.
In the kitchen, she gestured for me to sit down.
‘I just want to explain about Bernardo, Andi,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I haven’t told him but his scan has come back.’
‘Why haven’t you told him?’
Mum didn’t answer that one, she just kept talking. ‘Bernardo has a tumour in his pituitary gland. That’s the bit right at the root of his brain. The tumour has been producing abnormal amounts of growth hormone, that’s why Bernardo is so … tall. If Sofia and Victor had told me sooner, we would have been able to do something to control his condition.’
I stared at her. ‘A tumour! Is that like cancer?’
‘It’s not cancer but he will probably need an operation. His blood samples have been sent to a specialist.’
‘What do you call it, the thing he’s got?’
Mum sighed and stared at her hands folded on the kitchen table. ‘It’s called Gigantism.’
* * *
That night, I lay in the dark listening to Bernardo sleep.
Listening but hearing nothing.
Bernardo didn’t make a sound. No snores. No breathing, no nothing. I switched on my night light and looked down at him to check if he was still alive.
He lay with his head thrown back, his neck long and vulnerable, mouth open. His arm was flung out over the bedding. He had two duvets but his feet – with his new socks on to keep warm – still poked out beyond the edge of his mattresses. Fine black hairs curled on the bare calves above the socks.
My brother was sick.
He didn’t look like much of a giant when he was asleep.
18
Bernardo
Andi. Not Amandolina. Andi.
‘With an i,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget. Especially at school. Nobody will know who you’re talking about if you call me Amandolina.’
Ma and Uncle Will … Mum and Dad … had to work a shift at the hospital even though it was a Sunday.
Ma hugged me tight and whispered against my stomach, ‘You’ll keep an eye on your sister, won’t you, Nardo? Look after her today?’
She was speaking so softly I had to bend low to hear what she was saying.
‘Of course!’ I couldn’t believe she thought she had to ask me.
She was very stern with Andi, though. ‘Remember, you’re grounded,’ she said as they went out of the door.
Andi shrugged.
As we settled down in the living room, I asked her, ‘Grounded? What it mean?’
Her forehead knitted together for an instant. Then she smiled. ‘Oh, it’s just Mum’s way of saying “be good”! Shall we watch Star Wars, then?’
I nodded, even though I must have watched Star Wars a thousand and more times at Jabby’s house. He played it in the background whenever I was over, just for the comfort of it. If it was Andi’s favourite film too, then I was game to see it for the one thousand and tenth time.
There was something different about Andi as we sat