by Mary Hooper
She shook her head. ‘I thought of all that. I don’t even know if his name’s right, though. And what would be the point?’
‘You might get some money from him.’
‘Do you get money from your ex-boyfriend?’
I shook my head. ‘He’s at university.’
‘Is he any support at all?’
‘Yeah. He sends Jack horrible green troll things on his birthday.’
She laughed. ‘There you are, then.’
At least, though, I knew who he was and if I was ever really desperate he’d probably help me. And of course I still had the security of being at home with Mum, even if she did drive me round the bend most of the time.
Maria – one of the tutors – came in. She said hello to everyone and went round admiring the babies, then she asked everyone who was doing Geography to go with her. Three of us settled our babies – I tried to ignore Jack’s woeful look at me as I said goodbye – and followed her into one of the study rooms. As I closed the door I heard the first wail of protest from Jack, then for the next half an hour I tried to get into the session and ignore Jack’s plaintive cries coming through the thin walls. Just as I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer and would have to go to him, one of the nursery nurses came in to get me.
‘He’s going through a clingy phase, isn’t he? He just wants you, I’m afraid.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘D’you think you can come and see to him?’
For the rest of the day, then, I did little bits of Geography interspersed with sitting in the nursery with Jack – and hoped that the clingy phase didn’t go on for too long…
Chapter Four
My taxi usually came to collect me at four o’clock in the afternoon, but as it hadn’t arrived by four-fifteen I took Jack and all my bags and baggages to the gate to wait. In the front of Poppies was a small garden with a couple of plastic toddler toys, and I sat Jack on the grass next to them and went outside to lean on the fence. I was looking down the road and so I didn’t see or hear the boy until he was almost up to me.
‘Hi!’ he said, making me jump.
I turned. He was about eighteen, good-looking, with a shaved head and dark eyes. ‘Have you just come outside for some air?’ he asked, grinning.
I nodded. ‘I’m waiting for my taxi.’
‘You go here, then, do you?’ he gestured towards Poppies.
‘Yeah. I’m doing A Levels.’ I put this in so he’d know I wasn’t a bimbo. ‘Are you at Oaklands?’
‘In the Sixth,’ he said. He looked over at Jack, who was trying to pull himself on to a green plastic wheelbarrow. ‘Is he yours?’
I smiled across at Jack. ‘Yes, he is.’ After the mess I’d got into when I’d first met Mark – trying to pretend that I didn’t have a baby – I’d made up my mind that no matter who asked, shop assistants, people in the street, potential boyfriends, I’d tell the truth. Besides, I was standing outside an educational unit for single mothers so it was a bit obvious. ‘His name’s Jack.’ I looked at him again and laughed because he’d just pulled the little wheelbarrow on top of himself and had such a baffled, surprised look on his face.
‘Cute!’ the boy said. ‘My name’s Jon. J-O-N,’ he spelled out. ‘How old is he, then?’
‘Just over a year.’
‘Has he got any brothers and sisters?’
‘No, he hasn’t!’
‘Just checking,’ the boy said. ‘You on your own, then?’
I looked at him indignantly. ‘Bit nosy, aren’t you? What’s with all the questions?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but you don’t often get good-looking girls waiting around outside here. And I like to get my facts right before I start.’ He looked at me with raised eyebrows, smiling slightly. His eyes were very deep brown and considering it was years since anyone had flirted with me, I couldn’t help but smile back. Start what? I wanted to ask.
‘I’ve been coming here for ages. Since January,’ I said.
‘Well, I certainly didn’t spot you before.’ He gave me a look again, as if to say that if he had spotted me he’d have made a move. ‘I came by bike all last term – went round the main road way.’ He looked at Jack again. ‘So he’s yours, is he? You’re pretty young, aren’t you?’
‘So?’ I said defensively.
‘So nothing. I was just saying. What’s it like having a baby to bring up?’
I opened my mouth but then realised there was nothing I could say to answer. How could I tell him what it was like? There was too much… too many things. They couldn’t possibly be rolled into something flippant and tossed back. I hesitated. ‘It’s OK,’ I said.
I looked at Jack. He was on his tummy and, looking intently at a clump of grass, was trying to put some into his mouth. I left the boy – Jon – went over to the fence and picked up Jack, then opened his mouth and pulled out a few strands of greenery. ‘Grass isn’t nice to eat,’ I said, and he just looked at me unblinkingly. ‘Grass,’ I said again, and pointed to it. Vicki had told us today that we ought to do this all the time, that naming things would help our babies’ vocabulary.
‘Do you get out much, then?’ the boy called.
Just in case I went red again, I kept turned away slightly so he wouldn’t see my face. I didn’t want him to think I was so much of a bozo that I couldn’t chat to a boy without going all stupid. Anyway, what was going on? Was he chatting me up? Was asking me if I went out much a preliminary? And – given that he was obviously sharp, easy to talk to and had the most fantastically high cheekbones – what should I say next? Cool or keen? God, I’d been out of touch for so long that I’d forgotten the rules.
Before I could decide what to say, my taxi pulled up at the kerb with a squeal of brakes and the driver – this morning’s driver – hooted at me. I opened the back door of the cab, lifted Jack in, and then turned to collect my other stuff.
Jon handed it in to me. ‘See you again soon, Gorgeous!’ he said.
‘See you,’ I echoed, and clambered into the cab all confused.
When I looked past the driver’s fat neck I saw his eyes in the mirror, looking at me knowingly. ‘New boyfriend, eh?’ he asked. ‘Trying it on, was he?’
I gave him what I hoped was a withering expression and didn’t reply.
Jack went to sleep on the way home. I tried to keep him awake, pointing at things out of the window and naming them until I was bored enough to scream, but in the end his little head lolled to one side, his lids fluttered down and, while I was holding him up and saying ‘Car!’ for the zillionth time, he went out for the count. I laid him on my lap, smoothed his dark hair and admired his long eyelashes. He looked lovely when he was asleep – but that was three sleeps he’d had today, which meant that it would be the devil’s own job to get him off tonight. I yawned widely to myself at the thought.
‘Hard work, is it?’ the driver said sarcastically.
On our way home we passed my old school, the one I’d been excluded from when I’d been pregnant. I stared across the playground: I could see a couple sitting on a wall. Was one of them Claire? Who was she with?
If I hadn’t got pregnant I’d be going there now and Claire and I would be doing our A Levels together. I’d be part of the group she belonged to who had barbecues and discos and trips away together, who went to pubs and California’s and had Saturday jobs and bought clothes – even sometimes bought cars – and had a laugh. I wouldn’t be tied down and lumbered.
I strained to see if it was Claire, but a stream of cars passed on the other side of the road and I wasn’t sure. We went round the corner and I leaned back in my seat. How weird to think that one night and one moment had led to a complete and utter transformation of my life. I wasn’t the same person any more.
When would the real me come back? Would she ever?
When I got home, Mum was already in – she worked in an estate agents and did funny hours – and was doing something busy at the kitchen sink. Ellie was writing in a school book at the table and she came and to
ok Jack from me, whispering in my ear, ‘Watch out – bad mood!’
Mum turned to look at me. ‘I came home from work early and happened to go in your bedroom. I could hardly walk in there for mess. Ellie’s things were all cleared away but I couldn’t even see the carpet for your stuff!’
‘Hello Megan. Hello Jack,’ I said. ‘Did you have a nice day?’
‘Never mind that,’ Mum said. ‘What’re you going to do about that room?’
‘I can’t do anything, can I?’ I said. ‘I can’t tidy things up because there’s nowhere to put them. It’s not my fault if Jack’s got so many toys and things.’
‘You could keep things cleaner and tidier than they are,’ she said, and I could see what sort of a mood she was in because she’d got all our mugs out of the cupboard and was scrubbing at their insides with a little brush. ‘You could keep some semblance of order in there. As it is, it’s complete chaos.’
Hearing his nan shouting, Jack’s bottom lip began to tremble.
‘You’re making Jack cry,’ I said.
‘I’m not talking to you, precious,’ she cooed to Jack. ‘I’m talking to that naughty mummy of yours. What sort of an example is she setting you, eh? It’s not very nice living in a pigsty, is it?’
The phone rang and Ellie and I looked at each other. ‘I’ll go!’ we both said, just to get out of the room, but as Ellie was still holding Jack I got there first.
‘May I speak to Christine?’ a man’s voice asked, and I was so surprised I think I might have gasped. A man again. The same one who’d rung at Jack’s birthday party?
I played for time. ‘I’ll just see if she’s in,’ I said. ‘Who’s calling, please?’
‘It’s George,’ the voice said. ‘George Simpson.’
I stood there with the receiver pressed against my ear, listening hard, as if I could somehow absorb further information from down the line. I wanted to know more. If we were the sort of family – if Mum was the sort of woman – who had loads of friends and relations calling all the time it would be different and no big deal, but we didn’t. So who was George Simpson? Did she work with him?
I put the receiver down on the hall table and went back to the kitchen. Mum was looking at me expectantly. ‘It’s for you,’ I said, and she did no more than drop the scrubbing brush and dash off, still with wet hands, to answer it. She reached the phone and then came back to close the door firmly behind her so that we couldn’t eavesdrop.
‘Oooh!’ I said to Ellie. ‘That was a man again. George Simpson.’
Ellie looked mystified. ‘Never heard of him.’ She held Jack out at arm’s length. ‘This baby needs changing.’
‘Hang on a sec,’ I said. I tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack.
‘I see. Of course. Yes, perhaps,’ she was saying in a low voice.
‘It’s not double glazing,’ I said to Ellie. ‘It’s not that sort of conversation.’
I listened again. ‘Well, if you think so,’ Mum said. ‘Yes, I’m sorry too.’
‘She’s sorry about something!’ I whispered to Ellie behind me.
I turned back to the door to hear more, but Mum looked across and saw me. ‘Close that immediately and don’t be so nosy!’
I sat down at the kitchen table, grinning at Ellie. ‘It must be a man.’
‘With the name George Simpson I expect it is,’ Ellie said.
‘You know what I mean. A man. A boyfriend.’
‘D’you think so?’ Ellie asked. ‘Mmm,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘She’s made a few phone calls in the evenings… and she’s always made-up now when she goes to work.’
We could hear some more murmuring from the hall, then a moment or two later there came the sound of laughter. Our jaws dropped.
A moment later Mum came back into the kitchen.
‘Just a friend, was it?’ I said after she’d started hammering at the mugs again.
‘Never you mind,’ Mum said. ‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder.’
Ellie and I made faces at each other. At least she was in a better mood…
Chapter Five
My taxi driver was in full flow all the way home on Friday, but I just let him rant on. I was a bit miffed because, just as we’d driven away from the educational unit, I’d seen Jon jogging up the road and looking, it seemed to me, as if he was heading straight for Poppies. He must have been going to see me. I’d already seen him once in the week, but my driver had been early and we’d only had time to exchange a few remarks. He’d called me Gorgeous again, though, and said I had very kissable lips, and though I knew it was probably all baloney I didn’t care. Now I’d missed him, though, and I had a whole weekend ahead with no hope of seeing him.
I turned to watch his progress up the road, pressing my nose against the glass, and the taxi driver saw me. ‘That your boyfriend?’ he said, and then added with satisfaction, ‘Looks like you missed him.’
Well, if he was that keen, I thought, he’d turn up again. If he wasn’t – well, I could handle it.
As the taxi pulled up outside the flats (‘These council flats, are they? Suppose your rent’s paid by the government. All right for some!’), Mrs Brewster was standing on the pavement. Mrs Brewster – Ellie and I called her Witch’s Brew – was about eighty, lived in our block and took a keen interest in what was going on. She’d had a field day when she found out about Jack, but she wasn’t an entirely horrible old bat because she’d actually knitted me quite a lot of things for him. They weren’t Designer Baby but when you’re on income support you can’t care about that.
She waited while Jack and I emerged with all our stuff. ‘How’s this lovely lad?’ she said, poking a bony finger under Jack’s chin and tickling him.
‘Bye!’ Jack said, showing his two teeth.
‘He’s fine, thanks.’ I shut the taxi door after us and Witch’s Brew insisted on carrying Jack’s changing mat and bag into the flats and up the stairs. ‘Not wearing any of my woollies, then?’
‘It’s too warm at the moment,’ I said. ‘Soon as it gets cold, he’ll have them on.’
We reached the top of the stairs; our flat was just along the corridor. I glanced down, saw two people standing outside it and tried to take evasive action. ‘It’s all right, thanks, Mrs Brewster. I’ll take that mat now,’ I said.
‘No, no. Let me help you,’ she said. She was insisting not because she really wanted to help, but because she’d seen what I’d seen: Ellie outside the door of our flat, locked in a clinch with some boy.
As we advanced on them I coughed loudly. They didn’t move. I could hardly believe it. A week or so ago she’d been playing with dolls, now she was snogging! I knew for a fact I hadn’t snogged anyone when I was only twelve.
I coughed again – right in her ear, practically – and they broke away. The boy, who was about the same age, looked embarrassed, but Ellie just smiled uncaringly. ‘Hi!’ she said. ‘Hello, Mrs Brewster.’
I looked pointedly at the boy. ‘Who’s this, then?’
‘This is Jamie.’
Jamie muttered something.
‘Your boyfriend, is it?’ Witch’s Brew asked.
‘Sort of.’
The old girl gave her a knowing look. ‘You want to watch out. I don’t want to be knitting another set of baby clothes for you, lass.’
I glowered at Ellie. ‘Coming inside?’ I asked pointedly.
‘I was just saying goodbye to Jamie.’
‘Bye!’ Jack said, getting it right for once.
‘I think you’ve already said it.’ Bundling Ellie in, I left Witch’s Brew to walk Jamie off the premises and discover what she could.
‘You haven’t let that boy come in here, have you?’ I asked before we were even through the door.
‘What if I have?’ Ellie asked, wide-eyed. ‘He’s only a friend. He just came in for a cold drink.’
‘Is that what you call it? Only a friend!’ I said. ‘I should hate to see what you’d get up to if he was your boyfriend.’
/> ‘Do leave off. You sound just like Mum.’
I put Jack down on the floor in the hall and he immediately pulled himself up using the legs of the hall table, and began to make his way unsteadily into the kitchen, holding on to the walls.
‘Mum would go mad if she knew that boy had been in here,’ I said.
Ellie just shrugged.
I heard a faint squeak as a kitchen door was opened. Then came the noise Jack made when he was greeting the saucepans. I looked at Ellie closely. ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’
‘Wouldn’t what?’
‘Sleep with him.’
She gave a short scream. ‘Of course I wouldn’t. D’you think I’m mad?’
‘Only …’
‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ she said. ‘I’ve got no intention of sleeping with anyone yet. For years and years. Give me some credit!’
‘Yes, well, that’s what I said, and then things happened and everything got sidelined.’
‘Apart from anything else, I think two babies in this flat might be a bit too much,’ Ellie said.
There was a crash from the kitchen and I ran in to see Jack sitting on the floor surrounded by two colanders and an assortment of saucepan lids.
I looked round: the place was a mess. The worktops were covered in a sea of bottles, feeding cups, dishes, packets of this and that, things to be washed up and things washed but not put away. An enormous pile of washing was strewn in front of the machine and on the worktop sat a basket full of ironing. Mum had already had a fit about the state of things before she left for work and I’d said I’d tidy up, but I hadn’t had time to do anything before I’d left.
‘Look at this place!’ I wailed.
‘I’ve got to do my homework,’ Ellie said.
‘So have I.’ I looked round again. ‘Mum will go mad if she comes in and sees it like this.’
Ellie shrugged. ‘What’s new? She’s always going mad.’ Sticking her Walkman in her ears she went into our bedroom. I leaned over Jack, put the kettle on for a cup of tea and then noticed that the milk hadn’t been put back in the fridge that morning. I sniffed it and realised it had gone off.
