In The Fields By My House Part One

Our new short story is a child’s reflection on a very difficult issue.

We’d been waiting ten years for that phone call. It came during my cousin’s birthday party. Mummy screamed down the phone, then she shouted up the stairs, "They’ve got one! Darling, they’ve got one!" She was so happy it scared me, it was like she’d been electrocuted. Daddy just gently said down the stairs, "I feel fine. Tell them to give it to someone else." It was like they were talking about completely different things. I was eleven and a half when it happened. Jesse, my big brother, was thirteen and Basti, my little brother, was nine. Even though Daddy had always seemed fine to us three, we knew that this is what we’d all been waiting for. It was our fairytale, ‘Once upon a time there was a kidney donor…’
Mummy and Daddy had to go to a hospital in a place called Dulwich, in London. The name Dulwich gave me a horrible, prickly feeling. It was where Daddy went whenever he felt really bad. He had spent more time there than ever, recently.
Mummy threw all of their bags into the boot of the car. Her tongue stuck out between her lips, like when she does the gardening. Daddy was moving slowly, bringing a small bag that rattled as he walked. It was his bag from the bathroom where he kept his pills and razors. He stopped next to me. Aunty Sharon had said she would look after me and my brothers. I didn’t want to go to London, anyway. I knew I would have to stay with Great Aunt Fiona, who’s mad, and Great Uncle Gilbert who growls and dribbles. But I didn’t want to stay in Norfolk either, not without Mummy and Daddy.
Everyone was talking and rushing around. I looked at the fields next to my house. I never used to like the fields. They go on forever. Daddy put his hand on the back of my head and quietly said, ‘It’s alright. It’s alright.’ I looked up. But he wasn’t looking at me.
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