Elephants Don't Sit on Cars
Page 6
‘Jeremy James, how would you like a little brother or sister?’
And Jeremy James thought for a minute or two, and said, ‘I’d rather have some strawberries and ice cream.’
‘Well if you’re a very good boy,’ said Mummy, ‘we might let you have a brother and some strawberries and ice cream.’
This sounded rather interesting, and Jeremy James thought for another minute or two. ‘Um,’ he said – ‘um’ being his very own word to prepare the way for a request unlikely to be granted – ‘um . . . can I have the strawberries and ice cream first, then?’
‘You can have strawberries and ice cream for your tea today,’ said Mummy, ‘but you won’t be getting your brother for quite a while yet.’
‘Your sister,’ said Daddy.
‘Brother,’ said Mummy.
And there really were strawberries and ice cream for tea, and Mummy felt much better, and Daddy kept jumping up and down to get things for Mummy, and Jeremy James kept jumping up and down to get things for Jeremy James, and it was a very jolly tea.
‘Jeremy James,’ said Daddy, ‘which would you prefer, a brother or a sister?’
‘A brother,’ said Jeremy James. ‘Because brothers are boys, and I’m a boy, and boys are best ’cos girls are silly.’
‘Bad luck,’ said Daddy, ‘because it’s a little girl called Jennifer, and that’s a fact.’
‘It’s a little boy called Christopher,’ said Mummy.
‘Maybe the lady in the baby shop’ll tell you,’ said Jeremy James, though he wasn’t too hopeful about that, as people in shops don’t usually tell you very much, except to mind where you’re going, or to take your hands off the clothes/toys/chocolate biscuits.
Mummy suddenly said ‘Ow!’ and put her hand on her tummy.
‘What is it, dear?’ asked Daddy, and did a cow-jumping-over-the-moon leap round the table.
‘He kicked me!’ said Mummy.
‘She kicked you?’ asked Daddy.
‘He did,’ said Mummy.
‘Did she?’ asked Daddy.
‘Yes,’ said Mummy.
And Jeremy James said nothing, because he was wondering just how Mummy could have been kicked when there was nobody in sight who might have kicked her. He and Daddy had certainly been over on the other side of the table, a quick look proved that there was nobody else under the table, and Jeremy James knew for a fact that there was nobody else in the room. Mummy really was ill.
‘Come here, Jeremy James,’ said Mummy. ‘Come quickly.’
Jeremy James came sort of slowly-quickly to Mummy, making quite sure on his way that there definitely wasn’t anybody within kicking distance. Mummy took hold of his hand and placed it on her tummy.
‘Feel that,’ she said.
And then a very strange thing happened. From under Mummy’s dress something jumped up against Jeremy James’s hand, and it was just like a little kick.
‘Did you feel it?’ said Mummy.
And Jeremy James looked at her, wide-eyed . . . and felt another leapy-kicky-hiccuppy sort of jerk against his hand. ‘That’s your little brother,’ said Mummy. ‘He’s inside there, having a good kick.’
‘But Mummy,’ said Jeremy James, ‘what’s he doing under your dress?’
‘He’s not under my dress,’ said Mummy. ‘He’s . . . he’s . . . well, you explain it to him, dear.’
‘No, you explain it,’ said Daddy.
‘You explain it,’ said Mummy. ‘You’re better at these things than I am.’
‘What things?’ asked Daddy.
‘These things,’ said Mummy. ‘Things that need to be explained.’
Then Daddy explained to Jeremy James – while Mummy explained to Daddy – how babies grew inside their Mummy’s tummy until they were big enough to come out . . . like an egg in a chicken . . . no, not quite like a Number Two . . . well sort of . . . no, like an egg in a chicken but we’ll get you a book when you’re a bit older and that’ll explain it much better . . .
‘Well I don’t remember being inside Mummy’s tummy,’ said Jeremy James.
‘You were rather young at the time,’ said Daddy.
‘I’m too big to go inside Mummy’s tummy,’ said Jeremy James.
‘You are now,’ said Daddy, ‘but you were small enough then.’
‘Well, how do they get out?’ said Jeremy James.
‘We should never have started this,’ said Daddy.
‘Go on, tell him,’ said Mummy. ‘I’ll clear the table.’
‘No, you tell him, and I’ll clear the table,’ said Daddy.
‘Well when they’re ready,’ said Mummy, ‘they come out through a hole, that’s all. And the doctor comes and helps them out.’
‘So how do they get in?’ asked Jeremy James.
‘They just grow in there,’ said Mummy. ‘And when they’re big enough they come out. And you’ll see, when Christopher comes out, Mummy’s tummy will go quite flat again.’
‘Quite flat?’ said Daddy.
‘Fairly flat,’ said Mummy.
‘Well I don’t remember being inside,’ said Jeremy James, ‘and I don’t remember coming out either.’
‘Well you were inside,’ said Daddy, ‘and you did come out, and that’s enough!’
It was usually Mummy who said ‘That’s enough’, but Daddy’s voice was just like Mummy’s this time, and Jeremy James decided that Daddy’s ‘That’s enough’ meant the same as Mummy’s, though he would really have liked to find out a bit more about this funny grown-up way of getting babies in and out.
And so Jeremy James waited, and every tea-time he watched Mummy’s tummy to see if a little boy would pop out of a hole and Mummy’s tummy would go flat again, and Mummy kept saying ‘Soon!’ and Daddy kept saying ‘Hmmph!’ – and it was all very puzzling. Jeremy James still thought it would be much simpler if they went and bought their baby at the baby shop. There at least they’d be able to see whether it was a Christopher or a Jennifer, instead of feeling Mummy’s tummy and trying to guess whether it was a boy-kick or a girl-kick. Grown-ups always make simple things complicated.
Jeremy James never did see any babies come out of Mummy’s tummy. He just woke up one bright sun-beamy morning and heard all sorts of funny noises coming from Mummy and Daddy’s bedroom. When he peeped in, he saw his old crib standing in the corner, and Daddy was standing next to it, rocking it backwards and forwards. There was a loud squeaky-squawky-squealy-squally noise coming from it, and Daddy was saying, ‘Ssshhh now, ssshhh now, do as Daddy tells you!’ in the sort of voice he sometimes used when he was mending things like the bathroom lock. But the squeaky-squawky-squealy-squally noise just got louder and louder, until Daddy stopped rocking the crib and said, ‘All right, make as much noise as you blooming well like,’ and then the noise stopped and the whole room was quiet, except for a soft Little Bo-Peep sound from Mummy’s bed, which meant that Mummy must be fast asleep.
Then Daddy caught sight of Jeremy James, and waved him in.
‘Hey,’ said Daddy, ever so quietly, ‘come and look at Jennifer! But don’t wake her!’
And Jeremy James tiptoed over to the corner, held Daddy’s hand, and looked into the crib.
‘But . . . but which of them,’ asked Jeremy James, ‘is Jennifer?’
‘That one,’ said Daddy, ‘and that one’s Christopher. Or is that one Christopher and that one Jennifer? No, Jennifer’s the one with the pink, and Christopher’s the one with the blue.’
‘Why have we got two babies?’ asked Jeremy James.
‘Ah . . . um . . . well, it’s all a matter of semantics, or something like that,’ said Daddy.
‘Oh,’ said Jeremy James. ‘Well did they both come out of Mummy’s tummy?’
‘Yes,’ said Daddy.
‘Were they both in there together?’ asked Jeremy James.
‘Yes,’ said Daddy.
‘And are we keeping them both?’ asked Jeremy James.
‘Yes,’ said Daddy.
Jeremy James looked
down at his brother and sister, and up at his Daddy, and across at his Mummy, and he thought for a very long time.
‘Daddy,’ he said at last, ‘if Mummy had room in her tummy for two babies, and I was once a baby in Mummy’s tummy, where’s the other baby that I was in Mummy’s tummy with?’
‘You do like asking questions, don’t you?’ said Daddy, and looked across at Mummy, but she was still sleeping. ‘Well there wasn’t another one,’ said Daddy. ‘You were all alone. Most babies are all alone, but Christopher and Jennifer are . . . well . . . they’re twins . . . they’re what we call something special.’
‘What does “special” mean, Daddy?’ asked Jeremy James.
‘Well, if something is special,’ said Daddy, ‘it means there’s nothing else like it. For instance, you’re the only Jeremy James we’ve got, so you’re special.’
‘Are you special, too?’ asked Jeremy James.
‘Yes,’ said Daddy. ‘And so is Mummy. And so are Christopher and Jennifer.’
‘Oh, they can’t be special,’ said Jeremy James, ‘because there’s two of them.’
‘Well,’ said Daddy, ‘do you know any other babies quite like Christopher and Jennifer?’
‘No-o,’ said Jeremy James.
‘Then that makes them special, too, doesn’t it?’ said Daddy.
And the more Jeremy James looked at his new brother and sister, the more special they really seemed to be. You certainly wouldn’t be able to buy anything like them at the baby shop, and that was a fact.
About the Author
David Henry Wilson was born in London in 1937 and educated at Dulwich College, and Pembroke College, Cambridge. Before retirement, he lectured at the universities of Bristol, and Konstanz, Germany, where he founded the University Theatre. His plays have been widely performed in the UK, America and Europe, and his children’s books – especially the Jeremy James series – have been translated into many languages. His adult novel The Coachman Rat won critical acclaim on both sides of the Atlantic.
He is widowed, has three grown-up children, is a doting grandfather and lives a quiet life in Taunton, Somerset, translating other people’s books, helping to run his local cricket club and eating chocolate.
Books in the Jeremy James series
Elephants Don’t Sit on Cars
Never Say Moo to a Bull
First published 1977 by Chatto & Windus Ltd
Published 1980 by Piccolo Books
This edition published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-1877-8
Text copyright © David Henry Wilson 1977, 1996
Illustrations copyright © Axel Scheffler 1996
The right of David Henry Wilson and Axel Scheffler to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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