The
Last Straw
by Beverley Dunlop
My three-month-old baby sister, Vanessa, was always
crying. Once, she cried all night. At breakfast, Mum looked awful. She had
nasty black rings under her eyes. She snapped at Dad. She was horrible to me.
“You’ve got dirt on your face and arms, Sarah,” she
yelled, “Go and clean yourself up. You can’t go to school looking like that.”
I got up, feeling miserable. I looked at Dad. He was
going away on a business trip that morning and I knew I would miss him. It
would be ghastly spending two evenings alone with Mum in her present mood. I
hugged Dad goodbye on my way past.
Dad hugged me back. “Try and help your mother with the
baby,” he whispered. “Remember, we’re new in town and Mum hasn’t any friends to
turn to.”
I nodded. But I knew that Mum wouldn’t let me help.
Even though I was twelve, she thought I was still a kid!
Mum had been really strange since she’d had the baby.
The house was a mess. Once our house was spotless. Mum was always crying.
Sometimes she looked at the baby as if she hated it.
I thought about Mum as I walked to school. Last week
I’d seen her smack Vanessa hard on the legs. Then she snatched Vanessa up and
hugged her. Mum sat on the bed rocking the baby backwards and forwards. She
kissed Vanessa and said she was “a bad mummy” and wouldn’t do it again. The
next day I saw an ugly bruise on Vanessa’s leg.
The more I thought about the bruise, the more I
worried. I thought about Mum all day. When my new friend, Carol, asked me to go
to her house after school, I said I had to go home and look after Mum.
Carol looked surprised. “Is your mother sick?”
I hesitated. “It’s our new baby. She cries all the
time. Mum smacked her the other day and left a bruise.”
Carol looked wise. My aunt is a social worker,” she
said. “Sometimes she helps mothers who hurt their babies.” I felt angry that
Carol should think such a thing about my mother. I also felt mad with myself
for telling her. “My mother didn’t mean to hurt the baby,” I snapped. “She
loves Vanessa. Mum’s always wanted another baby. She’s the kindest mother in
the world.”
“Bruising is hurting a baby,” sniffed Carol. “And you
needn’t be so touchy.” Carol walked off in a huff.
I ran home. Even though I was angry at Carol’s words,
I felt scared. I knew some women bashed their babies. I knew sometimes the
babies died. Surely Mum wouldn’t hurt Vanessa. The bruise was just an accident.
Vanessa was a lovely, pale, little doll and I couldn’t wait until she was old enough
to play with.
When I reached home, Mum was sitting by the phone. A
big pile of dirty nappies had been dropped in the rubbish by the kitchen door,
and the breakfast dishes were still in the sink. Mum looked worse than she had
that morning. She hadn’t combed her hair, and her face was streaky with dirt.
Mum put her hands over her face when she saw me. “Your
grandmother’s broken her hip,” Mum’s voice was muffled. “She’s in hospital.”
I bit my lip – poor Grandma. Suddenly I wished we
lived nearer to Grandma so that we could visit her in hospital.
“Will she be all right?” I asked.
Mum nodded. “Yes, but what will she do when she gets
out?” Mum’s voice rose. “I should have her to stay with me because your grandpa
is too frail to cope, but how can I look after my mother and a screaming baby?”
“I can do more in the house,” I offered. “And so can
Dad.”
Mum wasn’t listening. She jumped up and tore over to
the kitchen sink. “Oh, the jug!” she cried. “It’s boiled dry and the element’s
burnt out. That’s the second accident today – I dented the car this morning.
It’s the last straw.” Mum began to cry.
I’d never seen Mum cry quite like that. She clutched
the burnt-out jug to her chest and rocked it backwards and forwards.
I felt frightened for Mum. What could I do? How could
I help her? Before I could move, Vanessa started screaming loudly in the
bedroom. Mum shook her head as if she were in pain. “My head’s bursting, it’s
bursting!” Mum shrieked.
I didn’t recognise Mum. Her face was twisted up. She
was a wild-looking stranger.
Suddenly, Mum crashed the jug through the closed
kitchen window. Glass splintered everywhere. Mum tore down the passage to the
bedroom. I raced after her and was just in time to se her whack Vanessa hard
across the face. Vanessa stopped screaming. She lay quiet and still.
“You’ve hurt the baby!” I shrieked. “You’ve killed
her!”
Mum seemed to realise what she’d done. She picked up
Vanessa and held her limp body against her face. She made a high moaning sound.
I remembered 111 was for emergencies. I ran to the
phone, dialled the number, and asked for an ambulance.
Things happened fast after that. The ambulance
officers came and rushed Mum and the baby to hospital. A lady came to stay with
me until Dad could get the next flight home.
Dad explained everything to me later.
“Vanessa has concussion but there may be no permanent
damage,” he said. Dad’s face was white. He put his head in his hands. “I didn’t
realise your mother needed help so badly. I should have helped her more.”
When I look back, it’s hard to remember that awful
day. Mum’s almost her old self now. She still has visits from the social
worker, and they’ve become good friends. Mum’s made friends with the
neighbours, and she’s joined a group of mothers who’ve hurt their babies. Dad
and I take it in turns to do the dishes and vacuuming. I play a lot with
Vanessa. She’s bouncy and beautiful and extra special to us all because we so
nearly lost her.
