First Day of My Life

by Lisa Williamson

  As Albie slept, we talked. We talked about Ram’s university applications and my jam-packed days at the Arts Academy. We exchanged childhood memories and reminisced over the games and TV shows and toys we’ve outgrown. We debated stuff in the news, putting the world to rights as we racked up circuit after circuit of the park. But most of all, we talked about Albie.

  Although things had changed dramatically at home, I was still conscious of rubbing Mum and Stacey’s noses in it somehow. With Ram, I was free to be as besotted as I liked. We regularly stopped the pram and just stared down at him, still in shock as to how we managed to create such a perfect little human being, fascinated by his changing features and evolving personality. We talked about our hopes and dreams for his future and confided our fears about all the things we might get wrong.

  We talked about pretty much everything but our relationship, tiptoeing around the subject, trying to ignore the sparks of electricity we felt following every accidental hand brush or shoulder nudge.

  Everything changed one damp Saturday in early May. Instead of our usual stomp around the park, we holed up at Ram’s house, playing with Albie on the living-room floor. As we tickled his belly and played peek-a-boo and pushed toy cars across the rug, music played in the background. Not records this time (records and crawling babies don’t really mix), but a playlist on Ram’s Spotify. The song took us both by surprise, stunning us into silence.

  ‘First Day of My Life,’ I said softly. ‘From New Year’s Eve.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ram murmured.

  We listened for a moment, the lyrics just as potent as they were all those months ago.

  ‘I listened to it,’ I said.

  ‘When?’

  ‘New Year’s Day. When I got home.’

  ‘So did I.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘About five times.’

  ‘Try more like eleven.’

  Ram raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You’re surprised,’ I said.

  ‘Kind of, yeah.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess I assumed it hadn’t affected you the same way it affected me.’

  ‘Well, it did,’ I said. ‘Affect me, I mean. I just … things were difficult.’

  Ram nodded. ‘We’ve never really talked about what happened,’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Should we, do you think?’

  ‘We could try.’

  And so we did; we finally let ourselves revisit that night, unpicking it together.

  And when we kissed for the first time in over sixteen months, Albie let out a gurgle of appreciation we chose to take as a good omen.

  It hasn’t been smooth sailing. Although the transition from co-parents to couple has in many ways felt natural and inevitable, it’s also been scary and loaded with invisible pressures. The fact is, raising a kid is hard. And maintaining a relationship on top of that is even harder. But every time I get overwhelmed, I figure I’d much rather give things a go with Ram and fail, rather than never even try and spend my entire life wondering what I’d missed out on; what we’d both missed out on.

  I’m realistic. I’m seventeen, Ram is eighteen; we have our whole lives in front of us and have no idea what obstacles we might face. But right now, I think I’m OK with that. The most important thing is that Albie is happy, and looking at his face right now as he stuffs it with chocolate cake, his big brown eyes shining with delight, I suspect he might possibly be candidate for the happiest one-year-old on the planet.

  ‘Ooh, cake,’ Frankie says, grabbing two paper plates from Ram as he whisks past, blowing me a kiss. ‘Here,’ she says, passing me one.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She lifts up her slice. ‘Cheers,’ she says.

  ‘Cheers.’

  I take a bite. ‘Oh my God,’ I say. ‘Your mum has excelled herself, Frankie. No wonder Albie’s so thrilled.’

  Frankie grins a chocolaty grin.

  We munch in silence for a bit.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  ‘What for?’ Frankie replies with her mouth full.

  ‘For making me braver than I ever thought I could be.’

  She puts her arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close. ‘Just doing my job.’

  I rest my head on her shoulder and take in the scene in front of me. A garden packed with people who I love and who love me in return. And the cherry on top of the cake – my best friend at my side.

  I put down my empty plate and wrap my arms around her waist. ‘I love you, Frankie Ricci,’ I say,

  She drops a kiss on the top of my head. ‘Not as much as I love you, Jojo Bright.’

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to the entire team at David Fickling Books. I’ve said it at least a hundred times but I’m going to say it again anyway – I feel ridiculously proud and lucky to be a DFB author.

  Special thanks to Rosie Fickling for her passion, enthusiasm, imagination and breathtaking efficiency, David Fickling for his never-ending warmth and encouragement, Phil Earle for almost superhuman levels of energy and dedication and Carolyn McGlone for her calm and kindness (you will be sorely missed!).

  Thanks to my agent Catherine Clarke (truly the best), and the glorious team at Felicity Bryan Associates. Goodness, I’m in capable hands.

  Thanks to Bella Pearson for her ongoing support and friendship.

  Thanks to Beth Ferguson for advising me on police procedure. Any errors are entirely my own.

  Thanks to Juno Dawson for making an offhand comment over dinner in February 2016 that inadvertently planted the seed that grew into this book, and to Non Pratt for always being the ultimate writing date.

  Thanks to my writing group buddies: Fiona Perrin, Christina Pishiris, Maria Realf and Sara-Mae Tuson. Their continued support and friendship means the world.

  Thanks to all the wonderful schools who have invited me through their doors over the past year. Getting to meet the very people I am writing for is both a privilege and a joy.

  As always, thanks to my wonderful friends and family for everything they do.

  Finally, thanks to Dylan for always being on hand to brainstorm ideas, introducing me to Bright Eyes, and for gently pointing out the perfect title was right in front of me all along.

  Also by Lisa Williamson:

  The Art of Being Normal

  All About Mia

  Paper Avalanche

  Malala (Yousafzai) – First Names Series

  Co-written:

  Floored

  Copyright

  FIRST DAY OF MY LIFE

  First published in 2021

  by David Fickling Books, 31 Beaumont Street, Oxford, OX1 2NP

  This ebook edition first published in 2021

  All rights reserved

  Text © Lisa Williamson, 2021

  The right of Lisa Williamson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ISBN 978-1-78845-154-3