Big Brother

My big brother Callum and I go shopping together. We’re going to buy a birthday present for his girlfriend. She wants a ring, not an engagement ring, but a pretty silver ring with little diamonds on it. We go into the shop together to pick it up. The assistant asks, “Is this for your girlfriend?” as she hands it to Callum. He nods.

We leave the shop together. I can’t help giggling at what the shop assistant must have thought. “I bet she thought that I was your girlfriend.” As I’m carrying the ring now, it’s very possible. We laugh together at the thought.

“Come and have a look at what I’ve done to my ute,” Callum calls. I drop everything and hurry out to see what he’s done the battered old ute he’s slowly restoring. It’s not my idea of a dream car, but somewhere inside the rusty, dented, broken-down vehicle, he sees something worth fixing it for. “Look, I’ve worked out how to get the steering wheel off. Do you want to help?” And for the next half hour we heat the steering wheel with a lethal looking heat gun until finally it give up and pops off.

Callum sticks his head round my bedroom door. “Hey Imogen, I’m going to the beach with my girlfriend. Do you want to come with us?” Do I want to come? I haven’t been to the beach in ages. I grin and race to get ready to go. He doesn’t mind me tagging along with him sometimes.

Most big brothers might not bother to take me shopping, or to include me in what they’re doing, or to take me somewhere fun when they’re already taking their girlfriend. Most brothers are not my brother. My brother is special.