I shield my eyes, squinting into the sun. ‘I think so.’
‘We should go after her. Just slowly.’
We follow, at a distance. I feel ridiculous.
Finally Alex stops and turns around and starts to walk back. When she sees us, she says, ‘Are you following me?’
‘Just making sure you’re OK.’
‘I’m OK. I could just kill someone. So watch out.’
I smile. Because I know she’s OK.
We link arms and walk together back to the rug.
‘She didn’t wait long, did she?’ she says. ‘And he didn’t exactly fight her off. Grr.’ She actually makes a kind of growling noise.
I laugh. Then I’m disgusted with myself. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You know what? I’m sick of being sad. I’m sick of missing him. I’m sick of being lonely. That’s it! I’ve had enough. If he can forget me that quickly, I can forget him.’
She starts marching again, back to our things. She drops to her knees and starts stuffing things into bags. And I think, for the first time, maybe we’ve a fighter here.
Two weeks later, the quiz is on, in a hotel in town. I arrive first, with Shane and Peter. There’s a really great buzz in the room. Groups of people are standing around chatting, people of all ages. There are maybe seven or eight people in wheelchairs, mostly men in their forties, some with more advanced disease than Shane. Suddenly, I get it. Why Shane didn’t want to come. He didn’t want to be reminded of the future. I feel so stupid. So sorry. But when I look at him, it’s like he hasn’t seen them. It’s like he’s decided he’s out for a laugh. And he’s sure as hell going to have one.
We get a table and a number. Rachel texts to say that she and Alex are in the lobby. I go out to meet them. Alex looks seriously beautiful, hair falling in waves, and wearing this really pretty black dress, like she’s out for the night and nothing else matters. Go, Alex. Rachel looks like she always does. Perfect.
We go inside. Shane introduces everyone. I see Peter looking at Alex. And later when the others are chatting, he turns to me and whispers, ‘How complicated?’
I smile. Because he’s reminded me of something I’ve forgotten in all of this – Alex. Some guy, some day, will come along and won’t care about complications. Suddenly, I know, it’s going to be a great night.
Peter asks Alex and Rachel what they’re drinking and disappears to the bar. We try to pick out a name for our table. In the end, Alex comes up with one. ‘Clueless’. One of our favourite movies.
The quiz kicks off. A lot of the time, I’m quiet. But I do know who the yellow Teletubby is. I know what actress Ryan Phillippe was married to. And I can identify a baby picture of Barack Obama. Apart from that, I live down to our team name. The others are amazing, though. Kind of unbelievable really. It doesn’t stop us messing. For Tiger Woods’ first name, Peter suggests ‘Down’. For the most common blood type, Shane says ‘Red’. What makes me really happy, though, is seeing Alex laugh, forgetting everything and just having fun.
Later, I kiss Shane goodnight. He looks at me with the biggest smile.
‘I knew you two would get on,’ he says, referring to Peter, like that was the most important thing about tonight.
‘You know what?’ And I can say this now. ‘I didn’t think I was going to like him.’
‘Why not?’ He sounds surprised.
‘Oh, I don’t know, the way he looked at me when we first met, like I was some sort of novelty for going out with you, or something.’
‘Pete’s not like that. He was probably just wondering who this girl was that I keep going on about. You do know I never shut up about you?’
I smile and kiss him. ‘That’s the way it should be, Owens.’
But he is serious. ‘You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?’
‘Same,’ I say, choked with emotion. And I just wish, wish, wish he could be here forever.
THIRTY-TWO | BIOLOGY
Weeks pass. It’s my happiest summer ever. I see Shane every day. We chat for hours. Make out. Snuggle. Practise safe sex. Play on his consoles. Go to the movies. Shop. Laugh. Live. We go out in groups, sometimes the five of us, sometimes only me, Shane and Peter. I turn down an offer of going to the South of France with Mum to be with Shane. Because when it comes to choosing between Shane and the one place I’ve always wanted to go, there is no contest.
I get my exam results and can actually celebrate. On my report card, the principal congratulates me. This is a first. I hope it won’t be a last. It feels like I have changed, turned a corner. I don’t want to go back.
It’s weird. I knew Alex was pregnant but, for some crazy reason, I never thought she’d look pregnant. Maybe because she’s only sixteen. But as the summer goes by, she starts to show. I know, then, that I have to tell my mum – before she works it out for herself. I also know she’ll freak. I mean really freak. As a social worker, she’s seen so many girls ‘ruin their lives’ by getting pregnant – she’s warned me against it often enough. She has no clue that any of us are having sex. Even if I manage to convince her I’m not (which I will have to do to stay alive), what if she thinks Alex is a bad influence and makes me leave Strandbrook after all? And what if we start hating each other again?
I’m still talking myself into telling her when the whole thing blows up in my face. But not just my face. When Mum walks into the sitting room, she’s so fixated on me she doesn’t notice Louis studying quietly in the corner.
‘Sarah,’ she says. ‘Do you have something to tell me? About Alex Newman.’
I feel Louis suddenly paying attention.
I sit up. ‘Eh, yeah, I was going to tell you about that.’
‘When? When were you going to tell me?’ Shit, shit, shit. ‘I just got off the phone with Rachel’s mother. Who rang about something completely different, by the way. She assumed I knew about Alex. Because Rachel had told her.’ She pauses. ‘Like I would have expected you to tell me.’
‘I was going to—’
‘Alex Newman is pregnant,’ she states, like she’s announcing the end of the world.
‘So?’ Louis says.
Mum turns and notices him for the first time. ‘Louis, I’m talking to your sister.’ As in, leave.
He stands up but doesn’t go, just folds his arms. It’s like he wants to stand up for Alex or something.
‘How long have you known?’ she asks me, like he’s not there.
I shrug.
‘Did you know she was sexually active?’
‘Mum!’
‘Well, did you?’
‘No.’ Bizarrely it’s not a lie.
‘I hope you’re not.’
‘Oh my God, Mum.’
‘I don’t want you hanging out with her.’
I feel like telling her that the father is standing right behind her. Which makes her the granny. I look at her for a very long time.
‘It’s not contagious.’
Her expression changes as if she realises how Old Mum she’s sounding.
‘Alex messed up,’ I say. ‘She’s going to pay for that for the rest of her life. I’m not going to ditch her now that she’s in trouble. She’s on her own. She needs me.’
Louis, looking seriously guilty, turns and goes.
Mum takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. ‘All right. But please, Sarah, be careful, for God’s sake.’
‘I think Shane would take that as a compliment,’ I say to annoy her.
I go up to my room to recover. At least she knows, I tell myself. At least I don’t have to hide it any more. There is relief in that.
One lazy afternoon, me and Rache are hanging out with Alex up in her room.
‘Dad thinks I should take a year out of school,’ Alex says.
I stare at her. My immediate reaction is nooooo.
‘What do you think?’ Rachel asks Alex, cautiously.
She looks at us seriously. I hold my breath.
‘Do you really think I’
d leave you guys to go on without me?’ She breaks into a smile.
‘Phew,’ I say. It would have been awful without her. And what if she never came back? Blew her chances, her future?
‘I’m not letting this baby change my life.’
‘Go you,’ I say.
And we hug her.
As the weeks pass, Alex starts to look really pregnant. People start to look. Stare. Comment. I stare back like I’m some kind of psycho that could explode at any moment.
Towards the end of the summer Alex has her first ante-natal class. She wants me and Rache there, which is great. Thing is, even though there’s Google, none of us really knows what to expect.
In the hospital, we’re directed up three floors and down endless corridors to a grim, grey room with big windows. It’s filled with plastic chairs, the ones with the holes at the back and metal legs. A window is open and you can hear the traffic outside. We sit at the back and watch the room fill. I thought we’d be the only teenagers. I was wrong. There are loads. Most are older: eighteen, nineteen. They’re wearing tracksuits, trainers and tight T-shirts that gape over the belly. Marsha, who has been designing the prettiest tops for Alex, would be disgusted. There are older women of course, some ancient women. A few men have come along to offer moral support. Alex is the only one who has brought friends.
In the end, there are about twenty or thirty of us.
A woman walks in, wearing a blue uniform and sensible shoes. Her hair is short and brown and she looks as sensible as those shoes. She stands in front of the blackboard – I swear to God, there’s a blackboard. Her welcome is business-like, then she orders us to move our chairs into a U shape. I think of school. And wonder if you ever really escape.
She starts to talk about labour. It can take hours and hours, she says. She has a doll. And a dummy pelvis. She shoves the doll, head first, through the pelvis. She says the bones separate to allow the baby through. I don’t look at Alex. Just hope she’s OK.
‘Mummies, make sure you breathe,’ she says. ‘And Daddies, you can sit and rub Mummy’s tummy.’
What if there’s no Daddy? I think. Hasn’t she looked around the room and seen the number of teenagers? Hasn’t she factored that in? She talks about the pain. And how you can take gas. Which can make you feel sick, but is still probably a good idea.
‘Now, Daddies, Mummy’s tummy might be in pain now, so she mightn’t like you rubbing it any more. So maybe ask her where she’d like you to be.’
‘Hong Kong,’ Alex whispers. ‘I swear to God, if she mentions Daddies one more time I’ll hit her over the head with that freaking doll.’
She talks about the first signs of labour. Rachel leans forward, all ears.
‘So you might get a show,’ she says. ‘That’s a plug of mucus being released.’
Released from where? I think. Then I get it. Ee-ew.
‘Try to have a good look at it.’
Jesus.
‘See if there’s much blood in it. You don’t want there to be clots. Because that wouldn’t be a good sign. If you’re able, capture some of it in a bowl and bring it in …’
Capture it? Like it’s going to run away?
‘If she thinks I’m going to go looking for a bowl and bring it in . . .’ Alex whispers, her face screwed up.
‘This is disgusting,’ I whisper.
‘Shh,’ Rachel says crossly.
I start to giggle.
The midwife looks at me like I’m some giddy kid in Sex Ed class. I feel like saying, this is a million times worse than Sex Ed class. In fact, if they gave this class instead of Sex Ed class, no one would ever have sex. And we wouldn’t be here. Fact. Finally, once she’s made sure that we all know the true horror that lies ahead of Alex, she lets us go.
‘That’s the last one of those I’m going to,’ I hear a man say.
‘I’m with you on that,’ Alex says.
Luckily, I brought chocolate.
September approaches like the Grim Reaper. Going back to school will mean being apart from Shane for entire days. How will I bear it? I tell myself that Alex needs me. The baby’s due in November. And though it’s not absolutely, totally, in your face obvious when she wears the clothes Marsha designs, she really can’t hide it any more – especially in her uniform, which makes everyone look like a whale anyway. If school’s going to be hard for me, it’s going to be a hundred times harder for Alex. She is going to be the big news. And I’m so ready to floor the first person who makes a smart comment. Alex’s dad has told the principal. Who has probably told all the teachers. To everyone else, though, it will be a surprise. Because what can the school do, make, like, an official announcement – Alex Newman is pregnant everyone, be nice? I don’t think so.
First day back. On the DART, we’re quiet. Alex looks so pale.
‘You OK?’ Rachel asks her.
She looks down at her bump, then up. Her face becomes determined. ‘Yeah, I’m OK. This is not going to mess up my life. I’m going to work harder. I’m going to keep my grades up. Go to college.’
I haven’t heard her so determined about anything since her mum died. And I think how cool it would be if the baby gave her all this ambition, instead of ruining everything, like she thinks it will.
‘Go you,’ I say.
‘If anyone says anything – you know, today,’ Rachel says. ‘Just ignore them. I mean don’t let it get to you. Half of them are retards, you know that.’
Alex nods, but she looks worried.
‘I swear to God,’ I say. ‘If anyone says anything, I’ll floor them.’
Alex smiles.
‘I mean it.’
‘We should have a plan,’ Rachel says. ‘Like, just act like it’s life as usual, like we’re above anything anyone might say. Yeah?’
‘OK,’ Alex says.
I’m still not going to take any shit.
We walk side by side, up the corridor, heads high, indestructible. It starts almost immediately, the double-takes, the staring, the huddling, the whispering. And I’m sure the gloating too. As a rock star’s daughter, Alex has never been an ordinary person. Now she’s fallen from her pedestal, and that makes some people happy. I sense all this while I look dead ahead, and keep on going.
We get to our lockers and have to split up, not much, but enough to break the armour of togetherness. I’m waiting for it, the first catty remark. I’m waiting and I’m ready to spring. I don’t think my ears have ever been more alert.
It doesn’t take long.
‘Looks like Alex had a busy summer.’
I turn. It’s Amy Gilmore, standing, arms folded, flanked by Orla Tempany and Robin O’Neill. She looks so smug. I say nothing. Just walk slowly up to her, look her in the eye, and slap her, hard, across her long, puppet face. The sound echoes in the high-ceilinged room. I smile, surprised by how good it feels.
‘Ouch,’ someone says.
‘Exactly.’ I look around to see if anyone else wants some, knowing that from now on, I’ll be The Weirdo. Hanging out with The Slag. There was a time that that would have freaked me out. Now I don’t care. I catch Simon staring at me. And it’s like the weirdest thing. I’ve just whacked his girlfriend and, for the first time ever, he’s looking at me with something that resembles respect. I slam my locker shut and go up to Alex.
‘You ready?’
‘Ready, Mike Tyson.’ And it’s great to see her smile.
We go to our first class.
It’s Tip Toes. Who spent all of last year talking about fuzzy things like friendship. Today, it’s all talk of Leaving Cert timetables and good study habits. It’s enough to make you get up and go. I think of Shane and wonder what he’s doing. Playing on his X-box, maybe. Though he hasn’t been doing so much of that lately. I check my watch. Physio. God, I miss him so much. I close my eyes and imagine his touch on my skin, imagine his mouth on mine …
‘Sarah Healy, am I boring you up here?’
Actually, yes, I’m so tempted to say. But I control myself a
nd tell her what she wants to hear. ‘No, Miss.’
‘Good, well, when you’re sure you’re ready maybe we could open our books and get to work.’
I stare at her. She sounds like Roz in Monsters Inc., like she has a pair of half-assed vocal chords that let too much air through. Now that would be an interesting dissection.
After class, we stand up to go. Tip Toes sees Alex’s belly for the first time and the corners of her mouth turn down in disgust – as if it stands for everything that’s wrong in the world. Alex might as well have handed her a piece of poo. I glare at her. But she doesn’t see me. So I go up to Alex, and glare from there. This time she does see me. She drops her eyes immediately and starts shoving her book into her tatty, leather briefcase. She hurries out. I close my eyes and will her to trip. She doesn’t.
‘Don’t mind her,’ I say to Alex.
‘Cow,’ she says under her breath.
‘More like a heifer,’ I say. ‘She’s never had sex.’
‘Maybe that’s her problem,’ Rachel says, joining us.
We walk out.
And it’s like we’ve contacted some rare, highly contagious disease. There’s all this empty space around us, like the atmosphere around the world. It’s like no one else has ever messed up.
Class follows class and it just gets worse. People look at her like she’s trailer trash. Girls are the worst. Well, girls and female teachers – the ones you’d think might be sympathetic. I don’t know how Alex doesn’t just walk out.
At first break, we queue in the canteen.
‘I wonder who the father is?’ says a whispered voice behind us.
‘David McFadden, of course. Daw.’
I swivel around. Jennifer Byrne and Rebecca Hyde, the token fat nerds in our class. They clam up immediately. One of them blushes. And you’d think because they’re geeks, they’d have a heart.
‘You know, Jennifer,’ I say, ‘the thing about pregnancy is that it ends. You’re stuck with those cankles.’ I turn back.
Rachel and Alex are laughing.
We take our trays to an empty table.
‘First day’s the worst,’ Rachel says encouragingly.
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 49
