‘Thanks,’ I murmur.
A pretty girl with braids is in charge of the cloakroom. She clocks my soaking dress and hair and pulls a face. I’m guessing I’m not exactly looking my best right now.
‘Got your ticket?’ she asks, holding out her hand.
‘Ticket?’
‘Don’t worry, she’s with me.’ Jojo emerges from the gloom of the back of the cloakroom, the baby cuddled to her chest. The sight cuts through me like a knife.
My best friend and my ex-boyfriend had sex and now they have a baby together.
The cloakroom attendant looks from me to Jojo and back again.
‘Can she come in?’ Jojo asks.
The girl rolls her eyes but opens the door to the left of her little window.
I go inside, closing it behind me.
Jojo takes a step in my direction. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, the way she always does when she’s nervous. Under any other circumstances I’d give her a cuddle and a stern/inspiring pep talk – a ‘Frankie special’, she used to call them.
‘Are you OK?’ Jojo asks.
I shrug. ‘Wet?’
‘But apart from that?’ she asks, her eyes bulging with concern.
I sigh and look away. ‘I’m fine.’
She hovers in front of me, shifting the baby to the crook of her left arm, and I get the feeling she wants to hug me. I’m glad when she doesn’t. I’m not ready for that. Not by a long shot.
‘Where’s Ram?’ she asks.
It’s clear she feels uncomfortable saying his name out loud. Or at least in front of me.
‘Getting the car,’ I reply. ‘He shouldn’t be long.’
‘Is it still raining?’
I gesture at my soaking dress. ‘What do you think?’
She presses her lips together and hands me a towel. ‘Here, take this. Get dry.’
‘Sorry, it’s a bit damp,’ she adds. ‘I used it on Albie.’
‘Albie?’
Her face flushes. ‘Sorry, the baby.’
‘Oh, right.’
Albie Bright? Albie Jandu? Albie Bright-Jandu? Albie Jandu-Bright? I half-heartedly rub at the lengths of my hair and stare into space.
The baby, Albie, starts crying. Jojo lifts him up so he’s level with her face and sniffs his bottom. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I have to change him. Is it OK to do it in here, Aisha?’
‘Whatever,’ Aisha replies with a wave of her hand.
Jojo heads to the back of the cloakroom. Instinctively, I follow her. She crouches down on the dingy carpet; Albie howls his lungs out, as she opens her backpack with her free arm. She pulls out a plastic changing mat, unfolding it and spreading it out in front of her. Carefully, she lays Albie on it and removes his nappy. It stinks. I can’t help it; I purse my lips together and turn my face away. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Jojo reaches for a wipe, getting into all the nooks and crannies until Albie’s bum is clean. She then wraps up the soiled nappy and slips it into a thin plastic bag, neatly knotting the ties and tossing it aside. Next comes a thick layer of nappy rash cream, then a fresh nappy, by which time Albie has stopped crying. It’s weirdly mesmerizing. She makes it look so easy. Natural, even. Like she was born to do it.
I remove my hand from my face. ‘You’re good at this,’ I say as she does up the poppers on Albie’s sleepsuit.
‘Am I?’ she asks without looking up.
‘Yeah. Like you’ve been doing it for ever.’ Despite the compliment, my voice is flat.
She doesn’t say anything, just sits back on her haunches as Albie stretches and wriggles on the mat, his movements jerky.
Man, he looks like Ram. How is that even possible? He’s just a little baby. And yet, every feature screams his dad. Apart from his eyes. Alert and watchful, even at just three weeks old, they’re pure Jojo.
I still can’t get my head around the fact that he grew in Jojo’s belly. I think of all those hours we spent together, oblivious to his presence inside her. I picture us on stage in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, tearing about the set as Helena and Hermia, Albie tucked beneath Jojo’s ribs the entire time, growing silently, stealthily.
‘Did it hurt?’ I blurt out.
‘What?’
‘Giving birth. Did it hurt? Or is that a ridiculous question?’
‘Yes, it hurt.’
‘A lot?’
I think of the play we did in Year Ten – Be My Baby. It was set in the 1960s, in a home for unmarried mothers. I played Queenie, the mouthy one. Jojo was Mary, the posh new girl. At the end of the play, Mary gives birth. In preparation, Jojo and I watched loads of episodes of One Born Every Minute as research. I remember hiding behind my fingers while Jojo made careful notes, filling up page after page with her neat handwriting.
She pauses before answering. ‘It was like no pain I’ve ever experienced before.’
I know she means it too. I’ve witnessed Jojo trap her fingers in the car door and barely make a whimper. If she says giving birth hurt, then it must have been agony.
‘Didn’t they give you anything for it?’
‘They?’
‘At the hospital. Don’t they have drugs they can give you?’
‘I didn’t have him at hospital. I had him at home.’
‘What?’
‘Remember those period pains I was having?’
I do. I remember coming out of Lidl with my grandma and reading her texts.
‘Was anyone with you? Your mum or anything?’
Jojo shakes her head.
‘So you were all on your own?’ I ask, my voice almost a whisper.
She nods.
‘Shit.’
Her lips curl into an almost-smile. ‘Yeah, it kind of was.’ She reaches for her bag and begins to pack Albie’s nappy stuff away. Even though she looks like the same old Jojo on the outside, something has shifted, something I can’t quite put my finger on. That’s when it properly hits me – she’s someone’s mum now and no matter how many questions I ask, I’m never going to understand what that feels like or how that might change a person. The realization makes me feel stupid and childish.
‘Am I the reason you ran away?’ I ask. I hate how small my voice sounds.
Jojo blinks in surprise. ‘What? No. Why would you think that?’
‘I don’t know. I just … All this massive stuff has happened to you, Jojo, and I feel like I’m the last one to know.’
‘It’s not you, Frankie.’
‘Then who is it? Ram?’
She shakes her head.
‘Who then?’
She hesitates.
‘Who, Jojo?’
She swallows hard before speaking. ‘Mum and Stacey,’ she says. ‘I ran away from Mum and Stacey.’
Chapter 37
Jojo
I don’t know how long it takes me to explain everything to Frankie, only that she doesn’t interrupt once. She just lets me talk, the two frown lines between her eyes deepening with every new detail I reveal.
When I’ve finished speaking, she doesn’t say anything for ages.
‘They can’t force you to give him up, you know that, don’t you?’ she says finally.
‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ I say automatically.
‘Says who?’ Frankie demands.
I hesitate.
‘Your mum and Stacey?’ she says. ‘Well, of course they’re gonna say that.’
‘But what if they’re right?’ I say. ‘I’m sixteen. I don’t have a clue how to raise a baby, not really. I certainly can’t do it and be an actor at the same time.’
‘Why not? Loads of people juggle kids and careers. Why does it have to be one or the other?’
‘Who would look after him all day?’
‘Couldn’t your mum and Stacey do it?’
‘They have jobs.’
‘I know they do. But from what you’re saying, they’re perfectly willing to shift things around so they can raise him, which means they’re also capable of helping you out.’
<
br /> ‘But that’s the thing. They’re prepared to make all these sacrifices for their own baby. Can I really expect them to give up so much for a baby that’s not even theirs?’
‘It’s not like they’re not related. He’s their grandkid, remember?’
‘But they don’t want a grandson. They want a child of their own.’
‘That might be the case, but the fact is, he isn’t theirs, he’s yours.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s too late. I agreed.’
‘Jojo, you’d literally just given birth. You’d barely had time to get your head around the fact you had a baby full stop, never mind agree to something as huge as giving him away. It wasn’t fair for them to ambush you like that. You had no idea what you were signing up for.’
I frown. It hadn’t felt like an ambush. It had felt well-meaning and loving. That doesn’t make it right, a voice at the back of my head whispers.
‘And all that “let’s keep it between the three of us” stuff,’ Frankie continues. ‘They had no right to say that. No right at all.’
‘It’s too late,’ I say. ‘I’ve had three weeks to pull out of the arrangement and I haven’t. I can’t just take him away from them, not after all this time.’
Stacey has already cleared out the spare room (formerly the office) for Albie’s nursery – painting the walls a soft powder blue and installing a mobile over his cot.
‘Yes, you can!’ Frankie cries. ‘He’s your baby, Jojo, and if you want him, if you want to be his mum, you need to stand up and say so. Now is not the time to be bloody polite.’
‘It’s not that easy. You haven’t seen them with him. They’re besotted. I swear, I’ve never seen Stacey look so happy.’ She’s been floating around with a smile a mile wide on her face ever since we got home from hospital.
Frankie takes a deep breath. ‘Jojo, listen to me. I like Stacey. I’ve always liked Stacey, but you are not responsible for her happiness. Or your mum’s. Especially not at the cost of your own.’
‘But they’d be devastated, Frankie,’ I whisper.
She shrugs. ‘Maybe they will, maybe they won’t, but however they feel, it won’t be your fault, Jojo.’
‘How can it not be? I’m the reason they couldn’t have a baby together in the first place, and now I’m thinking about taking one away from them.’
‘First of all, Albie is not their baby; he never was. Second of all, you are not the reason they couldn’t have a baby.’
‘Yes, I am, Frankie,’ I say. ‘If I hadn’t been such a difficult birth, Mum would have been able to have more kids, and I’m the reason they couldn’t get IVF on the NHS.’
Frankie shakes her head hard. ‘No, Jojo,’ she says fiercely. ‘I’m not having that. You are not to blame for any of this.’
So why can’t I escape the guilt pushing down on me? Whichever way I look at it, Mum’s and Stacey’s happiness is within my control.
‘Is that why you agreed to it?’ Frankie asks, her voice a little gentler now. ‘Did you think letting them have Albie would make up for things somehow?’
‘Partly,’ I admit.
Frankie sighs, pushing her fingers through her still damp hair. ‘Jojo, it sucks that your mum and Stacey can’t have kids of their own, but it’s not up to you to put that right.’
I close my eyes. I know she’s talking sense. But where does that leave me? Everything is such a jumble. The only thing I’m entirely sure of right now is my unwavering love for the tiny human being currently nestled against my chest.
‘There’s a reason you ran away, Jojo,’ Frankie says. ‘If you were as hunky-dory with this plan as it sounds like your mum and Stacey have convinced themselves you are, you would be home right now, happily playing big sister and getting on with your life. You certainly wouldn’t be holed up in a nightclub cloakroom in Swindon.’
I hesitate. Because once again she’s right.
‘Does your dad know?’ Frankie asks.
‘No.’
‘Would he be able to help out?’
‘I don’t know. I doubt it. He’s on the road half the time …’
‘But if you told him, he’d step up, surely.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Ram’s mum, then?’
I don’t understand why she’s trying to help. Two hours ago she stormed out of the hotel room saying she never wanted to see me again. ‘Why are you being so kind to me?’ I ask.
She wrinkles up her nose. ‘What kind of stupid-ass question is that?’
I’m asking because I’m afraid you might hate me.
I don’t say this, though – I’m too afraid of her response – so I just shake my head.
We sit in silence for a few moments. On the other side of the wall, the music has stopped and the clubbers are beginning to leave, stumbling past the cloakroom and up the stairs, laughing and singing and shouting.
‘What happened to us?’ Frankie asks quietly as Aisha distributes the last few jackets.
‘What do you mean?’
‘We used to tell each other everything.’
‘I know.’
‘So what went wrong? Why did you stop?’
I hesitate. Because I know exactly why I stopped. And when. On the first of January. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ I say.
‘I’m not just talking about what happened with Ram.’
‘Oh.’
‘There’s the whole thing with the Arts Academy too.’
‘What about it?’ I ask carefully.
‘After the letters came through, we never really talked about it. Not properly. Why?’
‘I – I don’t know.’
‘Did you ever even consider turning your place down?’
For a moment I consider bending the truth, before dismissing the idea. I’ve had enough of lying.
‘No,’ I admit. ‘Not seriously.’
Frankie blinks and I get the feeling she’s surprised by the frankness of my answer.
‘Sorry,’ I add quickly.
‘I asked,’ she says with a shrug.
She’s styling it out, but I know Frankie and I’m not buying her nonchalance. ‘It’s not like I didn’t think about the implications,’ I say. ‘Or worry about how you’d feel about me taking up the place. I did. Loads. It’s just that just every time I thought about turning it down, I knew I’d regret it for ever.’ I pause, adjusting my grip on Albie. ‘The truth is, I genuinely didn’t think I’d get in,’ I say. ‘Not in a trillion years.’
I remember coming out of my audition, all those months ago, so sure I’d messed up. When Frankie bounced out of hers an hour or so later, she tried to downplay how well it had clearly gone for my benefit and I’d loved her for it. Never for one minute did I consider the possibility that I was the one who had shone in there.
‘I was so shocked, I called them up to make sure,’ I add.
‘What?’
‘The day after I got my letter, I rang to double-check there hadn’t been some sort of mistake, that they hadn’t mixed me up with someone else.’
‘You’re joking me?’
I shake my head. ‘It wasn’t until I spoke to someone who’d actually been on the audition panel and remembered me that I started to believe I’d got the place fair and square, and even then it took ages to properly sink in. Once it did, I knew there was no way I could turn my back on the place. You’re a star, Frankie. Everyone says so. I know this probably sounds like bullshit but you don’t need the Arts Academy.’
‘And you do?’
‘I think so, yeah. The thing is, they saw something in me, something they could work with. They saw past my nerves and decided I was worth taking a chance on. And that meant everything to me …’ I let my voice trail off. It feels almost perverse talking about the Arts Academy when literally everything else in my life is so up in the air.
‘You never said any of this,’ Frankie says quietly.
‘I know.’
‘Why not?’
‘I felt weird about i
t. Like I’d be rubbing your nose in it or something. The Arts Academy was our thing, this shared dream for such a long time. After I got in, I just didn’t know how to talk about it with you, and you never brought it up so I decided it would be best if I just kept quiet.’
In the months since we’d received our letters, by silent mutual agreement, the Arts Academy had become our very own ‘Voldemort’. I’d hidden my excitement, and in exchange Frankie had hidden her own feelings about it so well I’d conveniently been able to trick myself into believing she couldn’t have cared all that much about it in the first place.
‘Jojo,’ Frankie says.
‘Yeah?’
‘Will you promise me something?’
‘What?’
‘I want you to promise me that you’ll always tell me what’s on your mind, even if it might hurt me or piss me off.’
‘OK,’ I say slowly.
‘I mean it, Jojo. You’ve got to promise me. And I’ll do the same. Starting right now. She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m gutted I didn’t get into the Arts Academy, Jojo, and I don’t know when I’ll stop feeling gutted about it. Maybe never.’
I bite down hard on my lip.
‘And that’s not all. It kills me that you and Ram have this baby together. Because it tethers you to each other for ever and there’s no way I can compete with that. And I know it’s stupid to feel that way. Ram and I didn’t work as a couple, and that’s a fact. For fuck’s sake, I was the one who suggested we break up, but just knowing all this doesn’t magically stop me from feeling jealous, from feeling like whatever we had, even though it’s most definitely over, is tarnished somehow. And it doesn’t stop me from wanting him to still want me. It’s idiotic, I know, but it’s how I feel.’
‘It’s not idiotic,’ I say. ‘It makes complete sense. He was a big part of your life for a proper chunk of time. The memory of that doesn’t just disappear.’
‘But it’ll fade. It already has. But thanks to Albie, you and Ram, you have a bond for life now. And I’m not part of that, and it hurts. And I need you to know that I don’t have a clue how I’m going to process all of this. It might not be pretty. In fact, it might get really bloody ugly. But I’m going to promise you that I’ll always be honest going forward.’
Her eyes meet mine. They’re full of tears. All I want to do is hug her and make everything all right. I know I can’t, though, at least not the second bit.
First Day of My Life Page 24
