I, Ramin Jandu, aged seventeen years and four months, am someone’s father.
I always assumed I’d be a dad one day, but I always figured I’d be older, in my thirties at least, married with a good job and a mortgage – all the grown-up stuff already in place – and that the baby would be planned, the product of a series of mature conversations and careful planning – spreadsheets and budgets and a fully decorated nursery and all the proper gear. I never for one second dreamed it would be like this.
I sink down on the bed and let out a long deep exhale. I’m a dad. I’m a dad. I’m a dad. No matter how many times I say it to myself, it doesn’t seem real.
I look up. Jojo is watching me, her lips pressed together, her eyes wide. I lower my gaze to the baby.
‘Can I hold him?’ I ask.
She blinks, as if thrown by my question.
‘Please,’ I add.
‘OK,’ she says.
Slowly, carefully, she lowers the baby into my arms. ‘You got him OK?’ she asks.
‘I’ve got him.’
He’s warm and smells like Laleh and Roxy did when they were babies – sort of sweet and milky.
‘What’s his name?’ I ask. I can’t believe I haven’t thought to ask until now.
‘Albie,’ Jojo says.
‘Albie,’ I repeat. ‘Albie what? What’s his surname?’
Jojo’s face pales. ‘I, I don’t know yet. He hasn’t been registered.’
‘Right.’
There’s a long pause. My head is swimming. Jojo and I have made a baby. Together. Fuck.
‘I’m going to use the loo if that’s OK,’ she says.
I nod.
‘Will you be all right with him?’
‘Of course.’
She hovers for a moment, chewing on her thumbnail before padding towards the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click. I look down at the baby nestled in my arms. Albie. My son. I take in his features one by one – his button nose, his long sooty black lashes, his plump lips, his squished ears, his masses of thick dark hair. As I make my inspection, about a billion different emotions fly around my head and body, bashing and colliding, fizzing and exploding.
Fear and anger and hurt and confusion and frustration.
And love.
Love like I’ve never known.
Jesus, I’ve only know this baby exists for a few minutes and already I’m drunk on love for him. I’m dizzy with it.
And it’s fucking terrifying.
How could Jojo not tell me about him? I know we haven’t been in touch but it’s not like I’m some stranger to her. I thought she liked me. No, scratch that, I know she liked me, and I’m pretty sure she thought I was a decent guy too. How did she think I was going to react? Did she think I was going to kick off or something? Shout and scream and throw stuff around? Or start making crazy demands? That makes literally no sense.
Then it hits me.
I know exactly why she didn’t tell me. It’s the exact same reason why she bolted from my house on New Year’s Day and begged me to pretend it never happened.
‘Frankie,’ I say, as Jojo returns to the room, wiping her hands on a towel.
‘What?’ she says.
‘That’s why you didn’t tell me. Because of Frankie.’ Jojo doesn’t say anything.
‘Jesus, Jojo. I know she’s your best friend but were you really prepared to keep Albie a secret from me just to protect her?’
‘It’s not just about Frankie.’
‘But she’s a big part of it, right?’
Jojo doesn’t answer, instead pushing her hands through her hair. It’s longer than it was at New Year, brushing her collarbone, her grown-out fringe just about long enough to tuck behind her ears.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I know Frankie’s upset and I get why, but she can’t stay mad at us for ever.’
‘Can’t she?’ Jojo whispers.
‘Of course not.’
‘But we completely betrayed her.’
‘Not on purpose.’
‘It’s doesn’t matter. She’s hurting and it’s all our fault.’
‘She’ll come around.’
‘You didn’t see the look on her face when she figured it all out, Ram. She hates me.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think she’s my number one fan right now either.’
‘What time is it?’ Jojo asks.
I check my phone. ‘One thirty.’
‘She’s been gone for over half an hour now.’
‘She’ll be OK.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Frankie’s not stupid. Once she’s had her strop, she’ll come back.’
‘How do you know that?’ Jojo snaps.
I blink. ‘What?’
‘How do you know what she’s going to do?’
‘I did go out with her for seven months.’
‘Yeah well, I’ve been best friends with her for twelve years, and I think this is a bit more serious than a “strop”.’
I sigh. Everything is coming out all wrong.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say. ‘But this is Frankie Ricci we’re talking about, remember? She’s all about making a big splash, then moving on. It’s her signature move. Once she’s made her point, she’ll come back, I’m certain of it.’
‘And until then?’
‘We wait.’ It’s not like we haven’t got stuff to talk about, I add silently.
Jojo responds by grabbing a long-sleeved T-shirt from her bag. She pulls it on over her camisole and slips her feet into a pair of flip-flops. She then reaches for what looks like a baby carrier, yanking it on over her head and fastening the straps around her torso.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she says, holding her arms out for Albie. ‘I’m going to look for her.’
PART FOUR
FRANKIE, JOJO AND RAM
Chapter 33
Frankie
I stumble out onto the pavement and turn left, half running, half walking to the end of the street, where I take a right, then a left, then another left. I have no idea where I’m going, no plan. All I know is that I need to get as far away from the hotel and Jojo and Ram and the baby (their baby) as possible. I shake out my hand. It’s tingling like mad. I’ve never hit anyone before. Not properly, anyway. Luca and I used to play-fight when we were kids but that was more pushing and shoving than anything. Until tonight, I’d always assumed that face slapping was a habit reserved for characters in soap operas or Victorian melodramas.
My sweaty feet slide about in my flip-flops, the bit that goes between my toes rubbing. I don’t stop, though. I need to keep moving. Because I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll fall apart.
My phone buzzes against my hip. I still haven’t saved Ram’s number but I know it’s him. Just seeing the familiar digits makes me hot and furious. I jab at the screen to accept the call.
‘What?’ I snarl.
I like how fierce I sound. If only my hand wasn’t shaking quite so badly.
‘Frankie, what the hell was that?’ Ram demands.
He actually has the nerve to sound pissed off. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d probably laugh.
‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘What the fuck did I do?’
What did I do? What did I do? Is he actually kidding me? No wonder he volunteered to drive me down here. It all makes complete sense now.
‘Why don’t you ask Jojo?’ I snap.
‘What do you mean?’
But Jojo’s got another thing coming if she thinks I’m going to do her dirty work for her. If Ram wants to know what’s going on, he can go up there and figure it out for himself.
‘Frankie, what do—?’
I hang up before he can finish his sentence.
He calls back straightaway. I press ‘cancel’ and drop my phone to the bottom of my bag. The whole time I keep walking, changing direction at random, letting my instincts guide me.
&n
bsp; The wind is gathering, the air hot and heavy. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck and the insides of my thighs.
I take a left, then a right, then another right.
Jojo and Ram.
Ram and Jojo.
Then it hits me.
New Year’s Eve.
Jojo called me. It was just after midnight and I was on the beach watching the fireworks with that boy, the one with the gorgeous eyes who never emailed back. She said she’d bumped into Ram and was it OK if she went to his to hang out. And I said yes …
I feel sick.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop picturing them together.
I hate how clearly I can see it.
Them talking. Smiling. Holding hands. Kissing …
I hate that they make sense as a couple. More than Ram and I ever did.
It makes me feel so stupid.
Why didn’t I see it before now? How could I have been so bloody blind? Was stuff going on between them while Ram and I were still together? Have they been laughing behind my back this entire time?
Jojo insisted it was a one-off, but of course she’s going to say that – anything to cushion the already mighty bombshell. Plus, isn’t that what people always claim?
It was just the once.
I don’t know what came over me.
It was a mistake.
It’ll never happen again.
If this were a TV drama, I’d be yelling at the screen right now, begging the heroine to wake up and smell the coffee, to stop being so bloody naive.
I find myself on the high street. It’s pretty quiet apart from a small crowd spilling out of a chicken shop about ten doors away from me. I head towards it. The heady smell of fried food reminds me how hungry I am. Apart from a few sweets in the car, I haven’t eaten anything since I was at home. I check my purse. There are two one-pound coins, a fifty-pence piece and a collection of smaller coins. Enough for some chips at least.
I head inside and join the back of the queue. The place is packed, mainly with kids around my age, most of them drunk, their faces shiny beneath the unforgiving fluorescent lights. What are they all doing out so late? Then I remember. It’s GCSE results night. They’re celebrating, just like I was supposed to.
I reach the front of the queue and order a portion of chips.
‘That’ll be one pound ninety,’ the guy behind the counter says.
I give him the coins.
He studies them in his palm before handing back one of the coins. ‘That’s a euro,’ he says.
‘Really?’ I peer down at the coin in my hand. He’s right. Shit. ‘OK, hang on,’ I say, opening my purse. I count the remaining coins out onto the shiny metal counter. I’m 13p short. ‘I don’t have enough.’
The guy shrugs as if to say ‘what do you expect me to do?’ and looks over my shoulder to serve the person behind me.
‘How much do you need?’ a husky voice asks.
I turn in its direction.
A girl with candyfloss-pink hair and a silver nose stud is leaning against the counter, slurping what looks like a strawberry milkshake through a straw.
‘Sorry?’ I say.
‘To pay for your food. How short are you?’
‘Oh. Er, 13p.’
She digs into her pocket and flips me a twenty-pence piece. Miraculously, I manage to catch it.
‘Wow, thanks,’ I say.
She smiles, shrugs and saunters away.
Chips in hand, I grab a couple of ketchup sachets and look around for my Good Samaritan, eventually spotting her at a crowded table by the window. Judging by the amount of fast-food debris strewn across the table, her group has been here for a while. They’re all talking at once, their animated conversations overlapping.
The girl notices me hovering. ‘All right?’ she says, cocking her head to one side.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to say thanks again.’
‘No problem.’
‘Here’s your change.’ I place the leftover coins on the table and push them towards her.
‘Cheers,’ she says, scooping them up and dropping them into her metallic bum bag. ‘Wanna sit down?’
Where? There are no free seats. I’m about to point this out when the girl gets up and plops herself on the lap of the boy sitting next to her.
‘Thanks,’ I say, sliding into her vacant seat.
‘I’m Lily by the way,’ she says.
I hesitate before answering. ‘Kristin.’
I wonder if I should offer to share my chips, but in the end, everyone just helps themselves anyway and within about twenty seconds flat, the carton is empty.
‘Lost your mates or something?’ Lily asks as I wipe my salty hands on a napkin.
‘Er, yeah,’ I reply. ‘Something like that.’
‘Can’t you ring them? See where they are?’
‘No battery.’
‘Oh shit.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Listen,’ the girl opposite me interrupts, clearly unmoved by my plight. ‘Are we going to the club or what?’
‘What time’s last entry again?’ one of the boys asks.
‘Two,’ Lily supplies.
‘Exactly,’ the girl says, flipping her swishy Ariana Grande-style ponytail from one shoulder to the other. ‘So if we’re doing this, we need to get a serious move on.’
‘I’m not sure I can be arsed,’ another girl chimes in. ‘It’s gonna be rammed.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a melt,’ Lily says. ‘It’s results night. Don’t you wanna have a dance?’
‘Lil’s right,’ the boy she’s sitting on drawls. ‘Plus, where else are we going to go? It’s way too early to go home and I doubt anywhere else will let us in at this time.’
‘Fine,’ the girl who can’t be arsed says. ‘I’m not queuing, though.’
‘Oh my God, you are such a princess,’ Lily says, rolling her eyes. She stands up, the others following.
I scramble to my feet to get out of their way.
Lily turns to me. ‘Coming?’ she asks.
‘Where to?’
‘Where do you think? The club.’
I hesitate. Ram and Jojo will be wondering where I’ve got to. I should go back to the hotel. Talk to them. Hear their point of view. Try to be mature about things.
And yet the idea of facing them right now makes me want to throw up in my mouth.
‘I don’t have any money,’ I say.
‘It’s only three quid to get in,’ Lily replies. ‘I’ll cover you.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure.’
I make up my mind there and then. I’ll go to the club. Just for a bit. I’ll have a dance. Clear my head. Dancing always relaxes me. Let Ram and Jojo stew for a bit. It’s the very least they deserve. If they’re even stewing in the first place. God knows what they’re up to right now …
I shudder, push the thought away.
‘Well,’ Lily says. ‘You in or what?’
‘You sure that’s OK?’
‘Course. The more the merrier. And, hey, maybe your friends will be there.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ I murmur.
I follow Lily and her crew out onto the pavement.
‘It’s gonna storm,’ one of the boys announces, jerking his head upwards.
‘You reckon?’ the girl with the ponytail asks, twirling it round her index finger.
‘Deffo. You can smell it.’
‘In that case, let’s get our arses in gear,’ Lily says, picking up the pace. ‘Getting soaked tonight is not part of my plan.’
As we walk to the club, Lily introduces her mates in turn. The girl with the sulky face is called Annalise. The tall boy with the curly quiff, Harrison. They’re the only two names that stick, though. The rest I forget almost immediately.
‘You’re not from round here, are you, Kristin?’ Lily says, falling into step with me.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Your accent.’
‘What about it?�
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‘It’s proper Northern.’
I laugh. ‘No it’s not. I’m from the Midlands.’
‘Well, it sounds northern to me. That’s a compliment by the way. I wish I had an accent.’
‘What are you talking about? You totally have an accent.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Er, yeah, you do.’
I do an impression of her offering to pay for my chips in her West Country lilt. She bursts out laughing before calling out to the others. ‘Oh my God, guys, listen to Kristin pretending to be me! It’s so fucking funny.’
I repeat my impression for the group. They squeal with laughter and beg me to do each of them. I oblige, taking them off in turn. I’ve always been good at impressions, ever since I was a little kid playing epic games of ‘Let’s Pretend’ with Jojo. I used to make her laugh so hard sometimes she’d be gasping for breath, begging me to stop.
The memory stings. I shove it away and try to bask in my new audience’s howling laughter and applause instead.
‘That’s fucking hilarious, Kristin,’ Lily tells me, linking her arm through mine. ‘Seriously, you should do that for a living.’
I smile faintly.
‘So, how’d you wind up in Swindon?’ she asks. ‘You just move down here or something?’
‘Er, no, just visiting.’
She pulls a face. ‘What? Like a holiday or something?’
‘Sort of. It was my friend’s idea.’
‘Weird.’
‘Yeah, I know …’
The club, Aphrodite’s, is down a dingy side street.
‘What kind of music do they play?’ I ask, as we approach the garish neon sign.
Annalise laughs.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘What’s so funny?’
She rolls her eyes hard. ‘No one goes to Aphrodite’s for the music.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
‘And if they do, they’re a moron.’
‘Are they going to want to see IDs or anything?’ I ask Lily.
‘Not tonight,’ she replies. ‘GCSE results is literally the one night of the year they turn a blind eye.’
The club is down a set of narrow stairs.
‘I’ll pay you back,’ I promise Lily as a stocky man dressed all in black stamps a palm tree on the back of my hand.
‘It’s only a few quid,’ Lily replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Seriously, Kristin, don’t worry about it.’
First Day of My Life Page 21
