Page 59 of Painted Truths

I look down upon the sleeping baby in the crib beside Mummy's chair. He's pale and small. Almost too small to be real until he opens his eyes, and they focus unerringly on mine.

Reaching forward, I hold my pinkie finger out, which he latches onto it quickly, making me giggle.

Glancing up to gauge Mummy's reaction, I realise she's gone, and I heave a sigh of relief.

"Hi, Alexander."

My words are barely a whisper, though they sound too loud in the silence of the drawing-room.

"Alexander is much too big of a name for such a small baby. So I think I shall call you Al until you grow into your full name, okay?"

He coos up at me as a small laugh escapes from my mouth.

"I'm Henry, but she makes everyone call me Enrico, like our dad."

As soon as the words have left my mouth, an idea hits me out of the blue.

"But you can call me Ri, so that way I can keep my real name, and she'll never know!"

I dance on the spot as joy fills my chest at this secret act of defiance until my little brother kicks in his swaddling before his face scrunches up, and he begins to cry.

Softly at first, but his mewls escalate quickly.

His dislodged blankets draw my attention to his vest underneath, noticing his nappy is obviously dirty and needs changing.

"Oh, I see, Al. You've done a poo. I'll just run and get Mummy."

Extricating my finger from his firm grasp, I fly from the room in search of Mummy.

I do hate calling her that, but the punishment is worse than the taste of the word in my mouth, so I go along with what she wants.

She doesn't force it while Dad is here, though he's not been home in weeks now.

I can't wait for him to meet Al. I bet he'll be around more now that there's another DeMarco man in the house.

Dad always told Mum he wanted a house filled with kids. So perhaps Al is a gift from Mum; maybe he's her way of telling us she's okay and watching over us, just like she promised.

"Mummy!"

Eventually, I find her on the phone in the kitchen. She puts her hand over the receiver upon my entry.

"Enrico. You rude boy, I'm on the phone."

She steps forward threateningly, but I don't flinch. Not this time. My brother needs help.

Instead, I step toward her.

"Mummy, Alexander needs a clean nappy."

Rolling her eyes, she makes a shoo-ing motion with her hands.

"Well, the changing table in your room is stocked with everything you need. Now, go and get your brother cleaned up."

She arches a perfectly shaped brow. "I told you, he's your responsibility."

Then she turns her back, returning to her call.

My shoulders slump, and my forehead creases as I slowly plod from the kitchen back toward the drawing-room until Al's high-pitched cries reach my ears once again.