Tall Story (12 page)

‘Thank you, Amandolina,’ Bernardo whispered.

OK. Now Bernardo was making me feel guilty. I sneaked a glance at him. He sat on his mattress with his back to my bed and his knees drawn up to his chin and both hands clasped over his knees.

‘What for?’

‘I am the blame.’

YES, YOU ARE THE BLAME! You are the reason I’ve got half a bedroom and now I’ve got half a life as well. You are the blame the blame the BLAME!

‘Nah.’ I flopped down on the mattress, scowling at my socks. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You don’t know anything.’

‘I don’t know anything,’ Bernardo repeated like he needed to memorize it. ‘I don’t know anything.’

Oh shut up
. But aloud I said, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

Bernardo grabbed my hand. I was so surprised I tried to snatch it back.

He smiled at me and gently put something on my palm.

‘What’s this, Bernardo?’ It was a smooth flat black stone, the kind that’s perfect for skipping on the ocean. There was a hole bored into it where a chain could slip through.

‘It have magic,’ he was whispering now. I had to bend my head close to his to hear what he was saying. ‘You make wish. Wish come true.’

What was I supposed to say to that? Should I tell him now that I don’t believe in magic and have never even read Harry Potter? Should I tell him that I do not bother to read the fortune cookies that come with the Chinese takeaway?

This was what I said: ‘Really? Is that so?’

Bernardo swivelled round so that he was leaning on one elbow, looking squarely into my eyes. He was close enough for me to see the pupils blooming to the edges of his amber irises.

He took the stone from my hand and clasped it against his chest like he was about to pledge his loyalty to the Queen. ‘I have sorry about the flooding, Amandolina,’ he said softly. ‘Please. Make a wish. Don’t say loud. Just wish with your head.’

L
ike Cinderella I closed my eyes and wished.

I even had a little debate in my head: wish for something that could actually happen, wish it won’t rain tomorrow … or wish for something noble like Peace on Earth for ever and ever amen. But no. I wished for the impossible. I wished that the Souls would make me their point guard.

Which would have been grand if I actually did believe in magic stones.

Of course I don’t so it didn’t matter what I wished.

It was worth it, though, if only to see the smile on Bernardo’s face – so wide I thought his head would split in half.

Dad and I were watching TV when they got back from the Tall Man shop. Ma said she found the shop on the internet and the blurb had said ‘for men six foot four and taller’.

Bernardo was already wearing his new clothes. He
looked so pleased – you would have thought he’d won the lottery.

The Tall Man shop should have called itself the Old Man shop – the T-shirts had collars, the trousers were high-waisted with turn-ups, the trainers were boring white, no stripes, no brand, no nothing – but anything was better than those horrible home-made sandals and Velcro trousers. I don’t suppose Tall Man had much of a range – there can’t be that many Shrek-size men in England.

Apparently trousers were hemmed on the shop floor to make sure they fitted even the tallest people. Who would have thought there was such a place?

In fact, Bernardo looked OK.

More than OK.

He looked almost normal.

He looked warm too (Mum bought him two sweaters and he had
both
on, and the fleece, and the tracksuit jacket, and we were
indoors
). Which made me realize how cold he must have been since he arrived.

No wonder he boiled the house.

‘TA-DAA!’ Mum said with a theatrical flourish.

Bernardo bowed from the waist, his head just missing the pendant lamp in the sitting room.

Dad had a hand over his mouth like he was stifling a cry of joy. Then he got up and hugged Bernardo (around the chest, by the way, because unless Bernardo walked around on his knees it was impossible to reach anywhere near the top of his head) and said, ‘You look terrific, son.’

Huh. I could tell it was only a matter of time before Dad was going to tell Bernardo to call him Dad.

‘Call me Dad,’ Dad said, and his eyes were kind of red and puffy like he felt like crying. Mum’s eyes got red and puffy too and they leaned towards each other like two old trees.

My eyes stung and I rubbed them. Crowd hysteria. One person starts crying and it sets everyone off. I opened my eyes and realized that Mum was glaring at me. She obviously thought it was my turn to say something nice or at least burst into tears.

So I said, ‘Yeah, Bernardo. You look really cool.’ I meant it too. Cool. As in: no longer
un
cool.

‘Thanks you,’ Bernardo said.

‘You are welcomes,’ I said and Mum scowled at me. As if Bernardo was the type to get upset about a little joke.

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.

A
ndi. 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 on opposite ends of the sofa. She seemed restless, but in a good way – like there was a fire burning on the inside that made her glow on the outside. She probably didn’t even know that she was smiling.

My mind was a hundred miles away. Nearly seven thousand miles away, to be exact. That’s how far the Philippines is from England. Jabbar and I did the sums by looking up longitudes on Google and adding up the miles in between. It was a long, long way.

Jabby must have been so disappointed that the Giant Killers game was postponed. But it can’t be long now before the Arena opens. It looked ready to go when he took me there.

Jabby, Jabby
. Since I arrived in England, I’d been sorely tempted to pick up my cellphone and text him.
But it would cost too much money. ‘Use it for emergencies,’ Ma had said. ‘International text messages are quadruple the cost. We’ll get you an English sim card later.’

Jabby must have taken a special trip to the internet café to send me that email. He didn’t own a computer.

There was so much I wanted to tell him.

I wanted to tell him about how the air was so cold, its little teeth nibbled on your bare skin all the time. How the atmosphere was so dry your skin sat tight on your face, like a mask.

I wanted to tell him how silent it was at night – no rogue roosters crowing, no barking dogs or arguing neighbours. And how beautiful London was, the rows of brick houses, the paved roads, the people all dressed up in shoes and coats and scarves, not a single one in bare feet, rubber slippers or rags – though the cold might have had something to do with that.

And I wanted to tell him about Andi.

I wanted to ask him, what could I do to be a proper big brother? Until today, it’s been Andi looking out for me instead of the other way around.

If anyone could make a connection with Andi, it would be Jabby. Jabs would be the perfect basketball-mad big brother.