Memoirs of a Wild Child

by P Lewis, Cassandra

  When I met Rosetta Alvez, my eyes lit up. I remember it so clearly. She had wild curly red hair and did everything at a hundred miles an hour. She was mesmerizing to me. The first time we spoke, she told me she liked my hair and asked if I wanted to have a race, just like that, all in one sentence. I never forgot it as it made me laugh even then. She showed me her toy cars and her bedroom; she had a typewriter and made me sit on the bed while she wrote a one-page story about us being best friends forever. She stuck it up on her bedroom wall along with what seemed like hundreds of other stories.

  When her older brother Rafe came to tell us that dinner was ready, Rosie introduced me to him as Pippa, I guess Philippa was too much of a mouthful, so Pippa it was.

  From that day on, the three of us were inseparable. Both Rosie and I were a good enough mix of tomboy and girl for Rafe and the other boys in the village to not mind us hanging around. We played football, climbed trees, and spent hours doing each other’s hair and makeup, unsurprisingly, Rafe didn’t take part in the last one.

  We used to build tents in our bedrooms with the blankets from our beds and pretend we were camping. We’d have movie nights, not just Rosie and I, but Rafe and both our sets of parents too.

  Rosie, Rafe and I bonded over our stupid sense of humour; none of us has ever taken ourselves too seriously. My default setting is ‘Maximum Sarcasm’ and that’s the way I like it.

  As we got older, some of the meaner kids in school started to call us mongrel. At first, we didn’t really understand what this meant, but Rafe found out. It was because we had mixed heritage. It made Rafe angry, and he got into a few fights because of it. I think it upset him most because he and Rosie weren’t alike at all, she had her flame red hair and bright green eyes, and even back then, Rafe was tall dark and handsome. It upset him when people questioned whether she was really his sister.

  It wasn’t until we got to about eight years old that Rosie and I realised that our dual heritage was something to be embraced. We found confidence in our looks and our backgrounds, and with that, we became much happier in our school lives. It’s hard to bully someone when they don’t find your jibes an insult.

  When I was nine, my mum gave me my first journal and set me off on this journey of documenting my life. She told me that I should write in it every day, even if it was just one line to say what kind of day I’d had. She saw it as a way of reflecting on the day and letting go of any frustrations that I may have had. She was convinced it would help me to sleep better and even showed me some of her journals from when she was my age. Some of the passages were written in Hindi, and she would try to test me by asking me to translate them, it didn’t work, I just never had the patience for languages.

  I can speak a little Portuguese thanks to years of holidaying in the Algarve with Dad’s family, and I know enough Hindi to be respectful to my grandparents, aunties and uncles, But really, I’m a typical English girl in the perfect body of an exotic goddess!

  I lift my pen from the page and laugh as I look down at my ridiculously large pregnancy boobs and potbelly. Princess Jasmine, I ain’t!

  I was fourteen when I started waiting tables at Joaquin and Bernie’s tapas restaurant in the village. It was always such a great buzz, and fantastic for confidence building. You had to be able to speak to so many different people, and then be able to go into a kitchen and call out orders. Granted, Joaquin is more like a big cuddly Spanish teddy bear than Gordon Ramsay but still, it gets hot in that little kitchen, and tensions sometimes flare.

  That started to happen a lot as Rafe approached sixteen. Rosie and I saw less and less of him; he was distant and ratty all the time. Eventually, after we convinced him to have a movie night with us while my parents were out, he confided in us that he had realised and finally accepted, that he was gay. We were surprised as he just came out with it; it was a real shock to Rosie, who cried at the realisation that her brother and I wouldn’t be getting married one day. There were no real signs, other than the hottest guy in the village never having had a girlfriend I guess, but it just made sense. Once we knew, and Rosie stopped crying, Rafe was so much happier, like a weight had lifted. It took him another year to tell his parents, but at least his best friends knew.

  Rafe started to go out and explore his newly accepted sexuality and worked less and less at the restaurant, that’s when Ben came along. We had always known him, living in a small place, everyone knows everyone, especially when there’s only one school for miles, but when he started as a pot washer we really got to know him, he became part of the ‘family’.

  Benjamin Long was the cutest boy at school. I don’t mean Backstreet Boys cute, I mean, Cabbage Patch Dolls cute. He had the chubbiest cheeks and most adorable dimples that all the girls took great pleasure in pinching when they saw him. He was funny, a total clown, which I suppose is why he was so popular despite not looking like the other popular boys. His centre-parted, mousey-brown hair had just enough of the ‘Nick Carter’ effect to give him a certain something. But he was a year younger than Rosie and me, so I could never admit to liking him, even if I actually did. I’d never have lived it down.

  Ben was infatuated with me from day one, and he made no secret of it. He sent me a Valentine’s Day card every year since turning eight, and often acted the jester in the school playground, putting on a Shakespeare-worthy confession of undying love for me. Of course, I laughed it off and so did he. He was okay with unrequited love, as long as it gave him plenty of new performance material.

  Ben’s professions of adoration only intensified when he started working with us. It would often take Joaquin’s tea towel hitting the back of his head from across the kitchen, to make Ben stop flirting and keep scrubbing. It was nice. Even though I knew I’d never consider Ben a real contender for my affections, knowing he thought I was the most perfect thing in the world, was comforting. I liked it.

  I close Vinnie and smile, before digging into the box next to me and pulling out ‘Leo’, the lockable Leonardo DiCaprio diary, from the bottom. The lock never was very secure, I think, as I open the book without a key.

  Ben told me again tonight how he’s going to be the love of my life. I can’t help but flirt back when he does it. He’s too cute.

  I like the way he makes everyone laugh, even Joaquin and Bernie, I can’t help but think maybe I do like him, but then I remember that he’s just a kid. Not only that, but he’s shorter than me; everyone would laugh at us. I think I’d like Ben to be my friend forever though, I like being around him. He really makes me smile.

  I run my fingers over the words of my fifteen-year-old self, trying to absorb them somehow, maybe send her a message to tell her that it’s okay. Ben grew up, got tall, got hot as hell and learned some serious skills in the bedroom.

  “Mummy, wake up. Daddy made pancakes.” Holly bursts into the bedroom, pulling me from my daydream and as she dives onto the bed, I put Vinnie down to wrestle with my little girl. The memoirs can wait.

  The Making of the Monster

  Today is Holly’s first day at school, she, of course, is on top of the world and bouncing off the walls, I, however, am a nervous wreck. My little monster, the tiny baby that I held in my arms only five seconds ago, now has a gorgeous, little, navy-blue uniform to wear with her smart, new, patent-leather, T-bar shoes. She looks absolutely adorable, but it breaks my heart that she’s growing up so fast. Ben has to work so I’m currently trying to wrangle the girl so that I can do her hair. But she’s like a balloon that has been let go, and I’m just like a balloon, a big massive, full to bursting balloon.

  “Holly, please just come here and sit for five minutes.” I’m trying not to lose my temper, I’m glad she’s excited and not terrified, but I’m getting stressed out.

  “I can’t, mummy,” she says, starting to run around in circles, “I’m too excited!” I look up to the ceiling and take a calming breath when I hear a loud bang, followed by Holly’s screaming. I run into the living room to see the girl running towards me, blood
pouring onto her brand new navy blue cardigan, from a cut on her forehead.

  I panic and open my arms to scoop her up,

  “What happened?” I ask trying to inspect the cut and soothe her cries at the same time. “Shhh, baby, it’s okay.” I pick up a tea towel from the radiator and press it to her head as we walk to the sofa, and I sit, with her still wrapped tightly around me. I rub Holly’s back to calm her down; she’s crying more from the shock of whatever happened than pain, I’m sure, but it must hurt a bit at least. When the screams turn to soft sobs and gasps, I lean back a little and encourage her to look at me.

  “Let me see, sweetie,” I kiss the top of her head and use a hand under her chin to tip her head back. The cut is deeper than I realised and is still bleeding, but I try not to let her see my welling panic. “Okay, let’s call Daddy.”

  A worried Ben leaves work immediately and meets me at the hospital. I’m not good with my baby being in pain, so I’m glad that he’s there to go into the consulting room when Holly is called. I can hear her screaming from the waiting room.

  She had fallen onto the coffee table while twirling, an inch lower, and she could have lost her eye. As it was, some butterfly stitches and a sticker from the doctor were enough to have her smiling again. That and a Happy Meal on the way home of course.

  As soon as we are home I’m on a mission looking for sharp corners and hazards that I haven’t noticed before while Ben is scouring the internet for a coffee table with round edges. Parenthood… totally worth it!

  “That scared me today,” I say as Ben hands me a glass of water and sits next to me on the sofa. A worn out Holly is in bed, fast asleep and I’m in desperate need of a wind-down. “I’ve never heard her scream like that.”

  Ben pats the cushion on his lap, encouraging me to lift my feet up; I do, and he starts to rub them gently.

  “She’s fine though; all kids get cuts and bruises, babe.” He tries to reassure me, but I know he was terrified too. If he’d have felt as cool, calm and collected as he’s now trying to appear, when I called him earlier, he would have stayed at work, but then, she is his girl.

  I sip my drink and look at him, I’m tense, I have a headache, and there’s only one thing that gets rid of my headaches. I give Ben the look, a sort of sultry, intense stare combined with a deep breath in through my teeth, he knows it well. He smiles, leans forward to take my glass and then stands, holding out his hands to pull me up, and lead me to the bedroom.

  ***

  For one reason or another, I’ve been neglecting Vinnie, it’s been months since I have written a thing. In all fairness, it isn’t my fault, there’s been a lot going on. Holly eventually got to start school, a few days later than planned, but her wound gave her plenty to talk to the other children about. Rafe and his husband Matthew invited us down to their new house in Cornwall for her first half term holiday, to try to relax a bit before the baby comes.

  Unfortunately, Ben fell and broke his ankle while rock pooling and my blood pressure shot through the roof. Neither of which are exactly ideal when you’re six-and-a-bit months pregnant and the parents of a four-year-old, crazy person.

  I needed to be admitted to the hospital for a couple of nights while we were there. Once I was out, Rafe wouldn’t let us travel home right away because I’d be the one having to run around after Holly while Ben was out of action. Given that Holly was born just a couple of weeks after this point in my last pregnancy; to say we were all on tenterhooks was an understatement. I was thoroughly wrapped in cotton wool, and it wasn’t worth arguing the point.

  So we made ourselves comfy in the guest room and from the balcony, we watched Holly run around like a wild animal on the beach below. With Matthew and his and Rafe’s daughter, Etta, chasing her. The screams of joy were audible even from up so high on the hill. Thank god we had an Indian summer and the kids were actually able to get outside to play. If we’d all been cooped up inside while it rained, or whatever else autumn in Britain can bring, we’d have had cabin fever in a day or two.

  Holly was devastated when we finally packed up to go home. Her crying and my constantly having to pull over to piss or just stretch my legs made the drive home unbearable. If Ben had been able to drive, I’d have just sat in the back with the girl and played with her until we both fell asleep. But with his leg in a cast, Ben was unable to drive, so I had to.

  Since we got home, it’s been absolutely crazy. Running around after a little firecracker when you’re the size of a small country is exhausting. To his credit, Ben tries to help me out, but he can’t keep up with her with his leg in plaster, and my God, does she know it.

  Today though, thank goodness, the cast is coming off. I’m seven and a half months pregnant, so it can’t come soon enough. I need help.

  My friend Peta has taken Ben to the hospital so that I can stay home and watch Holly. She’s had a fever for a couple of days, so I didn’t fancy dragging her there to the hospital with us, and I don’t really like other people watching her when she’s ill. Instead, we’ve been snuggled on the sofa watching Toy Story with some Heinz Tomato soup and a bottle of Calpol… the wonder drug. Now she’s out cold, and I can breathe easy.

  When your baby is sick, it’s torture. All you can do is hold them and hope the medicine either eases the pain, or sends them to sleep so they can’t feel it, or both. I settle Holly down on the sofa and tuck her in, kissing her on the temple before taking a moment just to look at her. She’s everything to me. I never imagined that another person could be the centre of my universe, but she is. Holly, and Ben, and the wriggler in my belly, and I’d do anything to protect them all.

  I walk into the bedroom and feeling guilty for neglecting Vinnie, I pick him up and head back into the living room.

  It’s a beautiful day outside. Not particularly warm, but bright and fresh. There’s hardly a cloud in the blue sky, and I’m drawn to the window seat. I sit and prop myself up with some cushions before looking out onto the street.

  I love sitting in the window in moments of quiet. It’s a calm, comfortable spot, and I’m the only one who takes advantage of it, which makes it my little haven in this mad house.

  We live in a fairly quiet area, we don’t get a lot of traffic and the cars that do tend to drive down here, do so slowly, knowing the amount of kids that live here and that they like to all play together outside. Today, some of the older kids are playing football in the garden opposite. I watch them for a minute and smile, they remind me of Rafe, Rosie and me in our younger days. So innocent and free-spirited, before we were tainted by ‘adult’ experiences. I lean my head back and think about the next steps in my life, the ones that I chose to take, and the ones that were chosen for me, but that shaped the woman I became. I open Vinnie and start to write.

  As Rosie and I approached sixteen, like most teenage girls, we thought of little else but boys. Rosie was already winning trophies, racing cars, so the boys in school thought she was amazing, and I was amazing by association. It didn’t hurt that from fifteen, I was racking up regular modelling jobs.

  Of course, we weren’t interested in the boys at school. We were interested in the local bad boys, who were two years older, smoked weed, cruised around in their cars and looked smokin’ hot in their Ralph Lauren shirts and Nike Air Max.

  They would try to talk to us when we walked past, whistling and following us down the street. As much as we craved their attention, it scared us a little. We were both still virgins and fairly inexperienced with boys, and they were older. They had done it all.

  If Rafe hadn’t been so preoccupied with trying to figure out what being gay meant, and trying to stick his dick in as much as he could, he’d have kicked ten tonnes of shit out of Rosie and me for going anywhere near Jonah and his friends. They had been in his year at school, and they were bad news.

  Despite showing an interest when they saw us, they never actively pursued us until two major events in our little village occurred. I booked an advertising campaign that put me on the T
V every night during Coronation Street, and Rosie beat Lucas, one of Jonah’s gang, in one of the car rallies she competed in. We were the talk of the village and certainly got their attention.

  When Jonah started to ask Rosie to give him a chance, Ben begged us not to get involved with any of them. He didn’t want to see us get hurt. I laughed his warnings off to his face. I told him not to be so stupid. But as Rosie and Jonah became an official couple, and Lucas became more insistent that he and I do the same, I heard Ben’s warnings ringing in my ears and found myself pulling away from them and asking Rosie to pull away with me.

  Holly moans from the sofa and I wait to see if it’s going to turn into a cry. It doesn’t, and within a few brief seconds, she’s breathing softly again. I look down at my words on the page and sigh. I know that this is an important period in my life, and I need to relive it. It really did shape me into the woman I became, but it’s hard, so much happened to us during that time.

  As the cheers of a goal scored ring out from across the street, I take a deep breath and return my pen to Vinnie’s page.

  Rosie and I had our first falling out when I asked her to stop seeing Jonah. She was adamant that she was falling in love with him, and if I were a real friend, I would support her. For the first time in twelve years, we stopped talking to each other. I was busy, with modelling, booking regular jobs for teen magazines and clothing stores. Rosie was wrapped up in racing, and her lowlife boyfriend and Rafe was nowhere to be seen. I would have been miserable if I hadn’t met Joshua.

  Joshua was a model I worked with on a shoot about safe sex for teens. There was an accompanying article in Just Seventeen magazine, which had all sorts of facts and figures about teen pregnancy and STDs but the pictures focused on Joshua and me playing tennis and other sports. It was sweet and innocent, and we had a lot of fun.