12.54 pm. Shaun admitted defeat. This was a very persuasive lady he was up against. We piled into the back of the cab and compressed the large, Nigerian woman, into a corner of the cab. I thought she looked exceptionally elegant in her traditional African costume.
Aunt, in her traditional cockney accent, explained to the woman that when a taxi is spotted in this country, it’s the custom to stop it, then traditionally ‘pile in.’ The Nigerian woman, in her very cut-glass, polished English accent, said that she had lived here for well over twenty-nine years, and never knew that.
1.34 pm. Arrived outside Aunt Nell’s Bayswater flat. She pointed to the flat with plant pots on the very top floor. Nearly choked on my amniotic fluid, only a couple of splutters away from drowning. Does she seriously think I’m going to push mother up six floors without an oxygen mask? How does Nell do it?
2.35 pm. Sipping afternoon tea and gulfing down banana sandwiches. Aunt sipped and mother gulped whilst I watched a film on aunt’s 56inch, state-of-the-art TV screen.
9.37 pm. In bed listening to police sirens in the distance.
Monday 9th February. Early morning.
Mother is leaning out of the window, peering down at a group of noisy children playing ‘catch me if you can.’ It’s a north-facing window, where colds and pneumonia can be caught. Told mother to close the bloody thing, but of course, she doesn’t. Caught sight of people opposite in the rooms of a tourist hotel. Young couple playing cards, old couple arguing, odd couple ... don’t really know what they’re doing. Children are fighting. One boy falls and breaks an arm. The ambulance arrived half an hour later.
Late Morning. Today is a washout kinda day. Rain, followed by strong winds. Tried to read mother’s book about a French detective, as she lies stretched out on the bed.
Afternoon and Evening. Sleep and snore.
Tuesday 10th February.
Mid-Afternoon. London Millennium wheel is very popular with the foreign tourists. We boarded but were followed by a group of fanatical, Japanese students who pressed us hard up against the glass panels. They took photographs of anything that moved, or didn’t.
Evening. Played cards with Aunt Nell. Mother quickly disillusioned. Thought aunt would return her stake money after she lost game after game. Midnight chimed. Mother in a deep sleep, but unknown to aunt, I’m still wide awake. Watched Nell creep into our bedroom. Watched her returning mother’s stake money under the pillow. Without a whisper of wind daring to disturb the dust on the floor, Aunt Nell quietly returned to her bed.
Wednesday 11th February.
No electricity in flat. Aunt Nell has called-out the local electrician. Promises to be here within two hours. It’s so cold in the apartment I think we’re all going to freeze to death before the two hours are up.
Late afternoon. Electrician and his mate (who happens to be a girl) turn up five hours late. Aunt Nell is dead furious and has threatened to complain to their boss. The young Polish electrician was so apologetic, but the English girl, no more than eighteen, looked so seriously drippy, she sulked.
Early Evening. An hour passed. The electrician and his mate are still hard at it in the cupboard. ‘Hurry up,’ I gurgled. I’m getting bored watching mother and Nell playing yet more cards.
Mother decided to ask the electrician and his mate if they required help. Very strange. The cupboard door was jammed tightly shut. Earlier it swung freely. The electrician insisted he wouldn’t be too long now. Said that the door couldn’t be opened just yet as he and his mate was tightly locked together at a critical point of the operation. We left them to it. Heard a scream. Think the girl must have hurt herself.
Late Evening. The sweaty electrician and his red-faced assistant have finished now. Must have been bloody hot in there.
Thursday 12th February.
Mother telephoned Dara’s mother. This gave me the opportunity I’d been waiting for to speak to Dara. Said she didn’t mind being woken by me. I told her how cold Aunt Nell’s apartment was with no electricity. She thinks I’m very brave.
Friday 13th February.
Visited Madam Tussauds. Hated it. Too scary. The Prime Minister looked too real, so returned to aunt’s apartment. Played cards again. Had afternoon tea. Went to sleep.
Saturday 14th February.
After saying our fond farewells to Aunt Nell, we returned home.
There was a valentine card on the mat. ‘Who could it be from?’ mother kept repeating. How would I know?
The card was cheap, clearly tacky and bright red with a pair of pink hearts, speared together by an arrow. I recognised the scrawled writing. It read: We are just a couple of old tarts and farts, lots of love …’
No name, but Uncle Billy looked as guilty as sin. Probably thought it was funny.
Week Twenty-Seven
By the end of this week, I’ll be 33.5 cm approx in length and probably weigh about 975 grams. I will be increasingly responding to sounds as the ears’ network of nerves becomes more fully developed. My limbs are still growing longer and stronger and body fat continues to increase.
Sunday 15th February.
What happened today?
Monday 16th February.
Don’t wake me. I’m sleeping off the drink.
Tuesday 17th February.
Finally came round, but experienced a bad, skull-cracking headache.
Wednesday 18th February. Late afternoon.
Slept all day.
Thursday 19th February.
Blubber thinks he has caught a dose of influenza. Says his mother is mixing with the wrong types. Being a nurse, she encounters many drug addicts when they’re drying out.
Friday 20th February.
Blubber is dead. Or so he says. His mother has smoked some pot. Blubber wants desperately to abstain from the substance. Said he looked into the bathroom mirror. I asked him what he saw. At first he only recognised himself, but the longer he stared, he said, the more he appeared to multiply and turned rubbery. Said smoking the stuff was like floating out of your skin. He was hallucinating.
Dara’s mother also smokes weed. Why do my friends all have potty mothers?
Saturday 21st February.
My swimming pool has become shallower. Has someone pulled the plug?
Week Twenty-Eight
By the end of this week, I’ll be approximately 35cm in length and weigh about 1100grams. My brain will grow rapidly, folding over on itself, creating its characteristic ridges as it increases in mass. My eyes will close and open as I sleep and awaken. Officially, this week I’m supposed to be able to dream, but just between you and me, I have been dreaming for some time. Thought to be the result of a highly active brain. Hiccupping is also common during this week of development.
Sunday 22nd February.
Uncle must have been dead drunk when exclaiming he wanted to jump head first out of a plane. I told him quite harshly not to be so bloody silly. Then unexpectantly, I had second thoughts, so kept quiet.
Late Afternoon. Uncle had sobered up by the end of the day and thought sky- diving was a bad idea after all. Too late. Mother had already phoned a friend, and jolly Tristan promised to organise the charity jump.
Monday 23rd February.
Slept fitfully.
Tuesday 24th February.
Slept deeply.
Wednesday 25th February.
Practically fell into a coma.
Thursday 26th February.
Morning. Today is D-Day. Uncle and mother go sky-diving. Weather conditions not good.
Mid-Afternoon. Back on terra firma, the ambulance driver informed us he had never been so stunned in his entire life. Thought we were all mad. He quite rightly (in my expert opinion) refused to believe anyone would skydive in a gale. I stared at mother’s broken arm. Serves her right for leaping out of a plane in gale-force winds with me inside her.
Dozy Tristan looked as guilty as sin, sitting in the corner of the ambulance, head tilted back
, trying to suppress the blood from his broken nose. He was the ‘so-called’ expert who insisted it was safe to jump. Mother (with her one good arm) let fly with a right hook. Dear old Tristan never saw it coming.
Uncle Billy was still somewhere in the bushes, all twisted-up in the tangled lines of his parachute.
Friday 27th February.
Uncle barked that he was going to the shops. Sounded bad tempered. ‘Good,’ cried mother irritably. She shouldn’t be so hard on him; after all, it was her idea that he experimented with loop the loop whilst free-falling whilst she called him chicken if he opened his chute before she did. In fact, mother opened her chute first, but I’m keeping mute. Mother should have warned uncle not all chords look identical. If it clearly states, ‘do not pull,’ then don’t pull. Following those simple instructions would’ve stopped him falling out of his parachute fifty feet off the ground.
Uncle thinks it’s time to retire to an old people’s home where he’ll be appreciated more. ‘Good,’ shouted my mother. She can be a right bitch sometimes.
Saturday 28th February.
The milkman was late today so mother rang the dairy. They thought mother was over-reacting. Think how many asylum seekers would just love the opportunity to be a milkman.
Week Twenty-Nine
By the end of week 29, I will be approximately 36.5cm in length and probably weigh about 176ograms. My skin will become less wrinkled as layers of fat grow. It’s said that if a bright light is shone at the womb, unborns may open their eyes and turn towards the light. Well, that’s nothing new to me; I have been doing that for weeks.
Sunday 1st March.
Uncle has slipped a disc, so he says. Excuses I say. He may have been a farmer once-upon-a-time, but around our house, he is definitely work-shy.
Uncle reminded mother of a certain sparkly, diamond necklace in his possession that she adores. She told him firmly where he could stick it. ‘Go ahead and flush it down the toilet,’ she yelled.
Monday 2nd March.
This morning, the pipes in my head feel clogged. Mother was at the vodka last night.
Tuesday 3rd March.
Dara dealt her mother severe stomach pains. A lesson in the evil of drink whilst pregnant.
Wednesday 4th March.
Feel much better today. Experiencing a wonderful, but unusually clear head. Counted to eleven just to prove I could. Pompous says he can count to twenty-two. Talk about blowing your own trumpet.
Thursday 5th March.
Blubber telephoned. During the night, he decided he wanted to become an astronaut. I told him he was just being plain ridiculous. I explained in simple ‘unborn’ terms, how dangerous it was being a spaceman, especially if he lost his map or his oxygen tank when deep in space. Said he hadn’t thought of that before crying. I told him he wouldn’t be able to cry in space because of the lack of gravity, I think. ‘Oh,’ he said, he hadn’t thought of that. Promised him Richard Branson’s home number. On hearing that, Blubber cheered up.
Friday 6th March.
A pretty NHS nurse called into our home today. Wanted details from mother of how I was progressing. Mother said she was feeling great and coping well, so the nurse left.
Saturday 7th March.
House burgled again. Think we are jinxed. Soon realised the burglars left empty handed. Like the Police Officer said, ‘Nothing worth stealing.’ Didn’t realise mother’s future inheritance (the necklace) was well hidden inside a pillowcase?
Week Thirty
By the end of this week, I’ll be approx 38cm long and weigh about 1420 grams. My brain will develop rapidly as the head gets larger. My muscles and lungs continue to develop and mature as my bones become harder.
Sunday 8th March.
Think I have the beginnings of winter flu and the early symptoms of winter depression. Even the odd snowflake fell, and that’s depressing. Either it snows or it doesn’t, but don’t tease.
Monday 9th March.
Pompous Twit has informed all his friends he’ll be attending a French language class on Tuesday evenings. Insisted we join to keep him company, but only Blubber committed himself. Didn’t like to refuse because Pompous insisted so nicely. That boy is easily manipulated.
Tuesday 10th March.
Today I completed five press-ups on my umbilical until boredom set in. Maybe I’ll try ten tomorrow, and the day after, twenty. It’s quite possible twenty will be beyond me.
Wednesday 11th March.
Had a ‘wish you were here’ postcard from my biological dad. Says he’s bought an apartment with sea views. Asked mother if she’d like to visit him and his new boyfriend, George, as soon as possible. Why?
Thursday 12th March.
Biological dad telephoned. Said there was a new shipwreck on the beach. Now lives in a pretty seaside village called Slapton Sands in Devon.
Uncle Billy has already read mother’s postcard. He insists we go. ‘The fresh air will do you good,’ he said. Why is uncle trying to get rid of us?
Friday 13th March.
I was aware of my brain expanding today. If it gets any larger, Pompous Twit will become jealous.
Saturday 14th March.
Played chess with Pompous and won. Now Pompous thinks I’m too ‘big-head’ to be his friend.
Week Thirty-One
By the end of this week, I’ll be nearly 39 cm long and weigh about 1585 grams. At this moment, my digestive track and lungs are almost completely developed. The eyes are functioning well, becoming more sensitive to light and stimuli. The brain and nervous system are still developing though. I’m also shedding a thin coat of lanugo hair.
Sunday 15th March.
Decided to book an early holiday with Dara. The Canary Islands look perfect in the brochure. Warm weather, clear water, what more could an unborn ask for? Well, the co-operation from the adults would be nice.
Monday 16th March.
Problem with being an unborn is one never gets to celebrate anniversaries.
Blubber has decided he wants to become a steam-engine railway driver. I told him to forget it. ‘They died out years ago,’ I said. I should have kept mute because he says he can’t take the pressure of always being told he shouldn’t do things in life. Maybe he has a valid point.
Tuesday 17th March. St. Patrick’s Day.
Five drunks are staggering down our street. They’re Irish. How do I know? Because they’re drinking Guinness and swearing poetically.
Wednesday 18th March.
Tallulah has run off with one of uncle’s chickens. They’re not in love, but the chicken was destined for mother’s dinner plate tonight. Now it’s chicken drumsticks out of the freezer, and greasy fingers. Just wait until I get my hands on that cat.
Thursday 19th March.
Tallulah has returned, but looking exceptionally guilty. Brought back a present jammed tightly in her mouth. It was the skeletal-cage of a cleanly picked chicken. Dempsey took it upon himself to chase Tallulah all day as punishment and to also get back into mother’s good books.
Friday 20th March.
The postman arrived early this morning. Dempsey was slow off the mark. Usually he’s waiting to ‘collect’ the post and hand it to mother, crunched and wet.
Mother opened a pretty, pink envelope. It was from father. Said he was sending her a special something.
Inside, and folded very neatly, was a green and redundant, one-pound note. Mother was understandably furious until she noticed a slip of paper fall out.
It was a cheque. £5000! Now mother thinks he’s wonderful.
Will be treating herself to a manicure and facial no doubt. Uncle wants a small fishing boat.
Mother has tears in her eyes because Uncle Billy is dangling her future inheritance in front of her, namely, the necklace. Uncle and mother row.
Saturday 21st March.
The long running, non-violent row has ended in mother’s favour. She reminded uncle whose house they were
living in, and more importantly, who was paying the bills.
Week Thirty-Two
By the end of this week, I will be approx 40cm in length and weigh, give or take a few grams, 1750. My limbs become proportionate to the rest of my body as it fills out, increasingly resembling a newborn. My pupils will constrict in response to light shining into the eyes. The unborn will pass water through its bladder, which will be replaced by urine after birth. So now you know.
Sunday 22nd March.
New Kid at the Police Station helping them with enquires. Apparently, his delinquent mother was being charged with stealing a sports car.
The theft would be New Kid’s idea but his mother will experience the grief. He’s expecting me to bail him. What with? I’ve never had a penny to my name. A thought has just occurred. Mother’s £5000.
Should I bail New Kid out? Why should I? Might do a runner, then we forfeit the £5000. After all, he is no friend of mine. We hate each other.
Okay, I will try and persuade mother to do the proper thing.
The Absurd Secret Diary Of An Unborn Baby Page 10
