Siblings
With Michael sent to one side of the room and Jane to the other, they spent their time scowling whenever they were alone, trying to quickly whisper any complaints they had to Mary Poppins as she passed. One quick look had shut them up.
Their complaints had turned to pleading, promising to be good and that they could be trusted to roam around the nursery. That hadn't caught her attention either. If anything, it made her angrier. The rustling of the newly washed bedsheets as they were tucked onto the bed seemed to quiver with rage. Jane thought she may be transferring her frustration into the bed.
Trying his luck, the next time she passed, Michael called out for her. "Do you have any brothers or sisters, Mary Poppins?"
"Of course not."
He wasn't sure why it was so obvious. "Why not?"
The indignation on her face was seen through the reflection of the mirror. She spun around, just as offended, and the reflection peered through at him too. Both were staring, incredulously.
"What would a woman like me do with brothers and sisters, may I ask?"
"Well…" Michael wished he'd never asked, the same sentiment visible on Jane's face too. He was starting to feel sorry for himself. "For playing with and for fighting with. I bet they would have been amazing too. Like you."
The compliment had left a conceited smile on her face but she couldn't forgive him that easily. She tucked new bedsheets into Annabel's cot, the cotton trembling a little less furiously than before.
"What would I need siblings for?" she mused, a question that required no answer. Mainly because she would answer it herself. "My mother realised that she needn't have any more children. What would be the point if I was already practically perfect?"
"To have someone to share toys with, I suppose," Michael muttered, each word getting quieter and quieter. Jane was staring at him, warningly.
He was glad that he had been born. It meant that Jane hadn't been practically perfect, hence his arrival. Michael didn't stop to question why there were three more children after him. He was sure he had been enough; his parents always said he was such a lovely child. Not able to pinpoint when, he knew they had. And that was evidence enough.