First Day of My Life

by Lisa Williamson

  ‘And?’

  ‘And. I think we might have come up with a plan of sorts.’

  ‘A plan? What kind of plan?’ I ask, my stomach fluttering with nerves.

  ‘One that should hopefully work for everyone.’

  ‘OK,’ I say slowly.

  Mum scoots her chair a little closer to the bed, the legs scraping against the lino. ‘OK, this might sound a bit much at first, but just hear me out.’

  I have no choice but to nod.

  Mum takes a deep breath. ‘The baby,’ she says. ‘Stacey and I will raise him.’

  My mouth falls open into a silent ‘What?’

  ‘Just think about it,’ Mum says, her eyes shining. ‘It’s the perfect solution. You get to continue your life as normal, while Stacey and I bring up the baby as our own.’

  ‘What do you mean by “as our own”?’

  ‘Exactly what it sounds like. Stacey and I will be the baby’s parents.’

  ‘And what about me? What will I be?’

  ‘Well, his big sister, of course.’

  ‘But that’s crazy,’ I stammer.

  ‘That’s what I thought when Stacey first suggested it, but the more we talked it through, the more sense it started to make.’

  ‘This is Stacey’s idea?’

  ‘No. I mean, initially perhaps, but as I say, we’ve discussed it in detail now and we’re both in full agreement that it’s the best option going forward.’ She leans in closer, taking my hands in hers. ‘The thing is, we’ve always wanted more children,’ she says. ‘You know that. Things just haven’t gone our way before now. This way Stacey and I get to be parents together after all. Just like we’ve always dreamed.’

  Cue a pang of guilt deep in my belly.

  ‘But neither of you have been pregnant,’ I say. ‘Won’t people be suspicious if you suddenly have a baby?’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ve thought about all that. We’ll tell people we used a surrogate and the reason we didn’t tell them about it sooner was because we were worried about being let down at the last minute; that we didn’t want to jinx things by telling people before things were official. They’ll understand.’

  ‘And what about Dad?’ I ask.

  He has no idea where I am right now; no idea he’s just become a grandfather. I picture him alone in his boxy little flat, pottering about the kitchen, a ready meal whirring in the microwave, oblivious to all of this.

  ‘We’ll tell him the same thing,’ Mum says.

  She sounds so calm, like she’s proposing the most normal thing in the world. Maybe she is and I’m the crazy one here? Either way, the whole concept makes my head hurt.

  ‘You just need some time to let it sink in,’ Mum says, massaging my palms with her thumbs.

  She’s talking like this is some years-in-the-planning scheme.

  ‘What, like you have?’ I say, removing my hand.

  Mum sighs. ‘Listen to me, Jojo. I’m fully aware that this is all very new and strange, but trust me when I say we’ve thought it through. We’ve sat down and gone through every possible scenario and this is without doubt the route that makes the most sense. This way nothing has to change. You can still go to the Arts Academy, just as planned.’

  The Arts Academy. I’m supposed to be starting there in September, just over a month from now. I’ve been counting down the days, crossing them off an invisible calendar inside my head.

  I look down at my hands. There’s blood under my fingernails. I ball them into fists so I can’t see it.

  ‘It’s a win-win, Jojo,’ Mum says. ‘You’ll get to see him as much as you like but not at the cost of your education, your future.’

  ‘What about the baby’s dad?’ I ask.

  Mum flinches slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t we need to at least run this by him?’

  She pauses before answering. ‘Stacey and I have discussed it and we’ve concluded that it’ll be a lot simpler and easier if we just keep this between the three of us.’

  ‘You mean, we just don’t say anything?’

  ‘Jojo, you said so yourself earlier – you’re not ready for a baby. And if you’re not ready, I doubt the father, whoever he may be, is ready either.’

  I bite my lip. I can see her point, but doesn’t he at least have the right to know? The opportunity to decide if he wants in or not?

  ‘The more people we have involved, the more complicated things will get,’ Mum says. ‘What if his family started interfering? It could get messy. This way, we avoid any unnecessary drama.’

  ‘But the baby, what will we tell him when he gets older? He’s bound to want to know.’

  ‘We can think about that further down the line.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel right, Mum.’

  None of it does. And yet Mum continues to smile serenely like it’s a done deal. She reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Her fingers are cold. I want to recoil from her touch but I don’t, tensing up instead.

  ‘Of course it doesn’t now,’ she says. ‘But it will. I know what you’re like, sweetheart, and I know you’re going to want to do the “right” thing here, but you need to think very carefully about what the actual right thing for you and the baby is. It might not be entirely clear right away.

  ‘Bringing up a child is gruelling,’ she continues. ‘Even when it’s planned. It’s all-consuming, nothing like the romantic adventure Hollywood films might have you believe. It’s exhausting and brutal and unforgiving.’

  ‘There must be some good bits?’ I say.

  ‘Of course there are. There’d have to be or no one would actively plan to have a baby ever again.’ She pauses to smile. ‘I just need you to know that parenthood is no walk in the park. Even with the best will in the world, it’s going to derail your life, whether you like it or not. And I’m not going to stand by and let that happen to you, Jojo. Not when you’ve got so much talent and potential, not when there’s a perfect solution right here in front of us.’

  I don’t say anything.

  ‘We have to be realistic here. You can’t go to the Arts Academy and bring up a baby. It’s just not going to be feasible.’

  She’s right. The commute to the academy is already over an hour and a half each way. And the hours are long, much longer than if I stayed on at school for sixth form. And there are evening and weekend rehearsals. They told us all about them at the audition; kept reiterating we’d have to be prepared to work harder than we’d ever worked before. I’m not an idiot. There’s no way I can juggle motherhood with the demands of the course. Not unless I have some serious help in place.

  I close my eyes and try to imagine a world where the baby that slithered into my arms less than twelve hours ago is not my baby at all. Could I do it? Could I pretend he was my little brother? Could I be comfortable with that? Could I deceive that many people?

  I just don’t know.

  ‘We’d be lying to everyone,’ I say. ‘The baby, the father, Dad, all our family and friends …’

  Frankie.

  I’d be lying to Frankie. And it wouldn’t just be one lie. If I go through with this, I’d have to lie to her for the rest of my life.

  Mum shakes her head. ‘You’ve got to stop looking at things this way, sweetheart. You need to start thinking with your head instead of your heart and focus on what’s best here. For you and the baby.’

  ‘But how am I supposed to know what that is?’ I ask.

  Mum reaches for my hand once more, her grip tighter this time. ‘By trusting Stacey and me. We wouldn’t be putting this proposal forward if we didn’t think it would work. This way, your life goes on as if nothing has happened. You get to continue your studies and the baby is safe and happy and well looked after. By us.’

  She makes it sound so easy.

  Too easy.

  ‘Plus, you always said you wanted a little brother or sister,’ she adds playfully.

  ‘But he isn’t my brother,’ I say flatly.

  He’s
my son.

  ‘I know that,’ Mum says. ‘But a few months down the line, once we’ve settled back into our usual routines, I’m sure things will slide into place.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Like I said before, you just need to let it sink in,’ she says, talking over me. ‘And remember that Stacey and I have your best interests at heart here.’ She pauses and looks me straight in the eye, her gaze intense. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

  The fact is, Mum and Stacey have always had my back, from the very beginning. They are and always have been a great team. And together they’ll be great parents too, of this I have no doubt.

  ‘Well, don’t you?’ Mum prompts.

  ‘Of course I do,’ I say. ‘It’s just a lot to take in …’

  ‘I know, sweetheart, I know. But remember, you’re not doing this on your own. We’re all in this together – you, me and Stacey.’

  Chapter 17

  The first time I met Stacey I didn’t have the slightest clue that in a little over a month’s time I’d be living with her. I didn’t even know that she was my mum’s girlfriend. All I knew was that my mum had become friendly with a lady called Stacey who she met on an Open University residential weekend (Mum was a student, Stacey her lecturer) and that she wanted me to meet her.

  The meeting took place at a city centre branch of Pizza Express in late June. I was ten and about to enter my final year of primary school.

  Stacey was already there when we arrived. She looked nothing like what I was expecting.

  Because of her job, I’d pictured someone older and stern-looking, possibly dressed in tweed, but Stacey was none of these things. She was tall and young and pretty with cropped bleached-blonde hair and bright pink lipstick and immaculate black eyeliner flicks. She wore black skinny jeans and sequinned Converse and a black T-shirt with ‘This Old Thing’ emblazoned across it in hot pink lettering that matched the colour of her lips almost exactly.

  When she and Mum greeted each other, they hugged for a very long time with their eyes closed, their chins resting on each other’s shoulders.

  ‘And you must be Jojo,’ Stacey said when they finally separated. She smiled at me and held out her hand for me to shake. ‘It’s so nice to meet you finally,’ she said. ‘Your mum talks about you all the time.’

  I glanced at Mum for confirmation, but she was too busy looking at Stacey, her eyes aglow in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen before.

  Over lunch, Stacey asked me lots of questions about school and my hobbies. When I admitted I liked drama, she asked me if I’d ever seen a play in the West End and when I said ‘no’, she promised to take me to see one, which I thought was nice but also a little bit strange considering I’d only just met her and I was pretty sure West End tickets were kind of expensive.

  At the end of the meal, Mum suggested I use the toilet before we left.

  ‘I’m OK, thanks,’ I said.

  ‘I’d prefer it if you went,’ she replied. ‘We’re going to run some errands after this so you might not get another chance until you get home.’

  She seemed insistent so I relented and traipsed across the restaurant to the loos.

  Returning to the table a few minutes later, I noticed that Mum and Stacey were sitting very closely together, their foreheads almost touching. The second they spotted me they straightened up and scooted apart, forcing their lips into matching closed-mouthed smiles.

  Stacey insisted on paying the bill, despite Mum’s protestations.

  ‘No, I insist,’ she said, pushing Mum’s hand away and slapping her credit card down on the little silver tray. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  When it was time to say goodbye, Mum and Stacey hugged for a long time again.

  ‘Did you like her?’ Mum asked on the bus ride home.

  ‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Stacey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, she was nice,’ I replied. ‘She was funny.’

  Mum beamed. ‘Good,’ she said, squeezing my knee. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘It is a bit weird, though,’ I said.

  Mum’s face twitched. ‘What is?’

  ‘Being friends with your teacher.’

  I couldn’t imagine going out for lunch with my teacher, Mrs Ambrose, in a million years.

  ‘Oh,’ Mum said, relaxing into a smile. ‘Well, I think it’s a bit different when you’re our age – the student/teacher divide doesn’t really exist when you’re both grown-ups.’

  ‘Oh. OK.’

  We sat in silence for a moment as the bus edged through the afternoon traffic.

  ‘Is Stacey your best friend?’ I asked.

  Although Mum was friendly with lots of people – other mums from school, the women in her book club, the old school friends she met for dinner every Christmas – she didn’t have a designated best friend. She didn’t have a Frankie in her life.

  ‘You know, I think she just might be,’ Mum replied, putting her arm round me and kissing me on the top of my head.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said.

  I liked the idea of Mum having a best friend. The idea of life without one seemed unspeakably lonely to me.

  ‘Oh, you’re a good girl, Jojo,’ she said.

  I smiled and snuggled into her arm.

  The following week, I was in the kitchen raiding the biscuit tin after school when Mum asked me to come through into the living room. I was surprised to find Dad already there (he didn’t usually get home from work until much later, often missing dinner). He was perched on the edge of the sofa, a nervous expression on his face. The second our eyes met, he tried to hide it, rearranging his features into a smile, but it was too late. I was officially spooked.

  My heart beating fast, I sat down in the big squishy armchair, my favourite spot, and began to nibble at my chocolate bourbon, not really tasting it. Mum hesitated before joining Dad on the sofa. They sat at opposite ends, their knees angled away from each other, their backs straight and hands placed neatly in their laps, instead of leaning back against the cushions the way they usually did. I remember thinking they looked like bookends.

  Mum spoke first. ‘Jojo, we’ve got something to tell you,’ she said. She glanced at Dad before continuing. ‘Your dad and I have decided to split up.’

  Appetite lost, I placed my half-eaten biscuit down on the arm of the chair. ‘Why?’ I asked.

  Mum glanced at Dad once more. He didn’t meet her gaze, staring into his lap instead.

  ‘I’ve fallen in love with someone else,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’ I asked, instinctively looking at Dad, his head still lowered.

  ‘You’ve already met them actually.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, racking my brains as to who it could possibly be.

  ‘Pizza Express,’ Mum said gently. ‘Stacey.’

  Suddenly, everything made sense.

  The way Mum used to come home from her residential courses so pink-cheeked and cheerful; the minute-long hugs she shared with Stacey; Stacey’s sincere promises to take me to see a West End show.

  ‘Anyway,’ Mum continued, ‘I’m going to move in with her and I’d like you to come with me.’

  ‘Where does she live?’ I asked.

  I couldn’t move away from Newfield. There was no way. Frankie was here.

  ‘She lives on the other side of Nottingham at the moment but we’re going to get somewhere together, here in Newfield so you don’t have to change schools.’

  ‘What about Dad? Where will be live? Will he stay here?’

  I didn’t like the idea of Dad rocking around the house on his own. It wasn’t a big house. It was a very ordinary semi with three bedrooms and a conservatory that was too hot in summer and too cold in winter. And yet, the idea of him living here alone made my chest ache.

  ‘We’re going to sell the house,’ Mum said.

  ‘And once it’s gone through, I’m going to look for somewhere of my own close by, so I can still see you lots,’ Dad added, the brightness in his deli
very at odds with the sadness in his eyes.

  My gaze drifted to a magazine on the coffee table. The Duchess of Cambridge was on the cover, smiling and waving. She was wearing a navy-blue dress and pearl earrings and had her hair up in what I was pretty sure was known as a chignon.

  Mum and Dad both seemed very calm. There was no screaming or shouting like when people split up in soap operas. They spoke in soft, low voices, which somehow gave the illusion of making everything they said sound perfectly reasonable. I didn’t scream or shout either. I just listened and nodded and pretended my head wasn’t about to explode.

  ‘Does this mean you’re gay now?’ I asked as Mum tucked me in that night.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any need to put a label on it,’ she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I just happen to be in love with a woman now.’

  ‘What about Dad? Are you not in love with him any more?’

  She hesitated before speaking. ‘If I’m honest, I’m not sure I’ve been in love with your dad for quite some time now.’ She sighed. ‘Grown-up relationships are complicated, sweetheart. Things change. People change.’

  ‘OK,’ I said doubtfully.

  ‘You’ll understand one day,’ she added, smoothing down the duvet with the palm of her right hand. Then she reached across and stroked my hair. Her hands were warm and smelled of washing-up liquid. ‘You’re a good girl, Jojo, do you know that?’

  I forced a smile and nodded.

  She kissed me on the forehead and turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness.

  I lay awake for hours, trying to make sense of the news. I hadn’t seen it coming one bit, and yet, the more I thought about it, the more it became clear that Mum was telling the truth – she hadn’t been happy for a very long time now. In fact, the happiest I’d ever seen her was probably in Pizza Express, sitting opposite Stacey, her eyes full of stars.

  *

  Mum and Stacey got married on a blazing hot afternoon in mid-July, almost a year to the day since our lunch at Pizza Express. Unlike Mum and Dad’s wedding, which from the looks of the photos that once graced our mantelpiece had been very traditional – a chocolate-box church, a quartet of bridesmaids in pink satin dresses, Dad looking uncomfortable in a top hat, etc. – Mum and Stacey’s was cool and casual. Instead of a frothy white gown and lacy veil, Mum wore an emerald-green silk dress and a vintage headband while Stacey sported a Paul Smith tuxedo suit, and instead of an ancient church organ honking out the Wedding March, Mum and Stacey walked up the aisle to ‘At Last’ by Etta James.