Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum

by Vi Grim

  The second diary is about half full. I read up to my last entry at the beginning on December then go back and tidy up some of the drawings which I made in a bit of a hurry, colouring them in carefully and trying to make the clouds and sea look realistic. Clouds are tricky.

  I bring it up to date, starting with Jesus's birthday party on Christmas Day. That was fun. The next day, Boxing Day, I nearly got killed. I go to draw a picture of the slimeball getting struck by Zeus's lightning bolt as it hoovers me up, but just thinking of it makes the scar on my side throb. Instead, I draw brave little Scruff barking at the rampaging slimeball. On the next page I sketch Castor washed up on the beach but as soon as I start colouring in his yellow bits, little lasers start kicking up the dirt around my ankles. I rub it out and draw Castor's round white face looking out through the window of my cottage. I draw Zeus in his fighter against a background of stars and write a couple of pages about my surprise 14th birthday party. The seeds, I draw life size and leave space to write what sort of trees they are, once they grow. I'd like to write something about Zula's visits but it's just too secret even to go in my diary. I draw a picture of me curled up in bed with Negrita at my feet. You can't see much of me, just some spiky short hair sticking out from under the duvet. Zula is in there with me.

  Zwingly is tricky. It was so neat having a boyfriend; we had such fun. That's why it hurt so much when it all turned to custard. If I went back in time, would I do the same again? Yes. I might even forgive him one day. I have so many good memories and it was so nice having someone to love, someone who was mine, if only for a little while. I leave the page blank; he was such a good looking guy. If I draw him now he's likely to have missing teeth and devil's horns.

  I draw me in my lacy green knickers with a little baby inside, and add some devil's horns; I've been such abysmal company these last couple of months!

  'Her waters have broken,' says Castor. 'Emily, Emily, wake up. Ijju's waters have broken.'

  It's two in the morning. How inconvenient! I click my fingers to start up the worm and stay where I am, snug in bed. It's late at night in Algeria as well. Ijju is sitting on the side of her bed with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. I reach up and touch the necklace she gave me in Khartoum, twiddling with the little coins. It used to look so good against her chocolate skin. I wish she knew that I'm with her now. She has a few little contractions but nothing is really happening. Zula's mum, Nwella, comes in and lays a couple of towels on the bed and tells her to get some more sleep.

  Great idea. I do the same.

  Through the worm I can feel her contractions. As dawn approaches they get stronger and wake me up. Then they cut in real strong. The pain is muted through the worm but is still very real. At first she grits her teeth and just grunts a little but as they get stronger and more regular, she crumples up her face and screams against the pain. I go to make a cup of tea but have to sit down when Ijju has a contraction. I wanted to see what it'd be like but this is a bit too first hand. It's her baby, not mine. I turn off the worm and make some tea and toast and sit outside and watch the sun come up, fretting about what lies ahead.

  I let the sun rise up into the sky, and a little higher still, then click my fingers and visit Pollux's moon.

  He has Ijju up on high resonance radar. It still gives a good picture but is not quite so hands on as the worm. She's standing up against Nwella and is being helped by another woman. She's covered with sweat and her face is strained. She screams loudly in the contractions.

  'Pant, pant, pant,' says the lady, trying to get Ijju to control her breathing.

  'Com'on, com'on, you're almost there.' says Nwella.

  I can see a dark lock of hair showing. Ijju screams loudly and strains, making the veins stand out on her forehead. The baby's head comes into view. The lady holds her hands gently against the baby's head, and eggs Ijju on, 'Here it comes, one more push.'

  One more scream.

  Whoosh!

  Out it pops in a flood of blood and goop. The lady collects the red baby in her hands, quickly checks it over, and hands it to Ijju who pulls it firmly against her chest and sits down on the bed. The baby gives a little cough and a whimper.

  'It's a boy!' says Pollux. 'It wasn't too bad, was it?'

  Maybe I shouldn't have watched. I have to sit down. I put my head on my knees and cry.

  'Wasn't that neat,' says Pollux, trying to cheer me up. 'Out it popped, a new life. Shall we watch some more?' The cockpit screens fill with images of women in different stages of childbirth, panting and screaming and begging for mercy.

  It's more than I can bear. I click my fingers and are in bed, cowering under the covers.

  10

  It's scary being pregnant. There’s all sorts of things that can go wrong: the baby can die, or worst still have some serious disability. What's more there's all the nasty side effects the go with being pregnant: you pee, you cry, you throw up, you fart, you get clown feet, and you get stretch marks and saggy boobs. Scariest of all is that at some stage you have to give birth. Then there's the chance that you will die from bleeding or infection. The death rate is really high where there’s no decent medical facilities, like here.

  He hasn't kicked yet, maybe there's something wrong with him. I do hope he's okay.

  'He is one hundred percent a-okay,' says Pollux. 'Do you want to know if he's a boy or a girl?'

  'No, please don't tell me.'

  That's a relief. The baby is okay, I only have farting, certain death and childbirth to worry about. Maybe I need a midwife.

  'I'll help,' offers Jesus.

  'Do you have any experience?' I ask.

  'A little bit,' he answers. 'But it was a couple of thousand years ago.'

  'It would be lovely to have you there,' I say, 'but I need a mid-wife; someone who knows what they're doing to guide me through it and do the right thing if there's a problem. I'm sure Dr Florence could do it.’

  Summer arrives and so do my books. Azziz delivers them along with a big box of supplies: jelly beans, Marmite, Maltesers, Hula Hoops, chocolate-coated almonds and Caramello. When there's no one around, I lie out in the sun naked and read. My body turns beautiful and brown and my little bump grows a little every day. Being pregnant suits me. I like being pregnant. Best of all, I have to eat for him too. I open a packet of Maltesers and have one for me, then one for him, one for me, one for him, and in no time they're all gone!

  I have big long siestas that last from lunchtime to late afternoon. By the time I get up, it's almost bedtime. One afternoon in late June I wake up with ringing in my ears. It must be one of those funny side effects of being pregnant. I go outside and it gets louder, a lot louder. Cicadas, the cicadas have finally arrived! I call out to Zeus but he doesn't answer. He hasn't talked to me since I got pregnant. He's probably sitting on Isora, stoned out of his tree.

  After reading all seven Harry Potters and all three Hunger Games, I'm as brown as a button and the cherries are ripe. I climb up the old twisted tree and pick a basket full then walk up to the bluff and sit with my feet dangling over the edge eating cherries. After about a hundred I feel a funny sensation like popcorn in my tummy. Maybe I'm going to be sick. There it is again, and again, a little stronger. It's him, he's kicking. His dad needs to feel that!

  That night I set up the worm and look out for Zula. He's still in the desert. He can't have seen his boy yet. He's thinking of me too. Good! Let's really give him something to think about!

  I click my fingers and he's there beside me. I hold him tight. It's so nice to have him there. He gets all frisky but I don't want that just now. I do what's needed to keep him happy then curl up in his arms pushing my tummy against his. He reaches down and gently strokes the lump. I feel a little butterfly wing of a kick. I hope Zula can feel it too.

  'What-' Zula starts asking.

  I click my fingers before something happens to break the spell.

  It would be so nice if he could be here the whole time. I'm sure he would like Ca
millo. If he wanted a bit of action we could go out in the fighters together and blast slimeballs. I could click my fingers and steal him away from Ijju. I'd love to but I can't. You can't do things like that to people you love.

  Jesus said we'd have a rock concert. I liked the idea at the time but now I just want to laze through the summer. I don't want all those superstars hanging out on Camillo. I'd probably get seduced again. It would be nice but it would end in tears, my tears. They'd just want my body, like the thousands of groupies they've had before. I need something a little more, which they wouldn't understand or care about.

  I discuss the concert with Jesus because I think he'd like to do something. He suggests inviting Bob Marley and his reggae band and Janice. We all like Janice. Jesus and Azziz will invite their friends who normally hang out at the cafe. They're really laid back and cool.

  Janice arrives a few days early and comes to stay with me. We sing, we paint wonderful abstract paintings and hang them on the walls, then paint ourselves bright yellow and chill out and chat.

  We do the grisly job of killing a sheep, and on the day of the reggae concert we catch fresh fish and prepare the food. It's really simple; spit roasted lamb with potatoes and corn and fish wrapped in tin foil cooked in the embers. No messing around with salads, or puddings. The afternoon passes in a flash; well it does for me anyway. Having been up since dawn helping set things up, I have a sudden unexpected weary, and curl up on a sofa in the shade of a coconut palm, surfacing occasionally to listen to the reggae beat but not opening my eyes until the sun has slipped behind the hills and our guests have departed.

  Negrita has started buzzing. She struts around the house buzzing, then opens her mouth and out flies a cicada. She toys with them until they buzz no more, then lightly roasts them and swallows them whole. She's caught so many, it's surprising that there's any left on the asteroid. As the end of August approaches and the sun starts to lose its hard edge, the few surviving cicadas run out of puff and their song falters and dies.

  If I've been wearing anything all summer, it's been my lightweight summer dresses. They float about me like I'm hardly wearing anything. Now the weather's cooler, I need clothes, but nothing fits except my XXXL jumper. I wrap myself up in a sheet and walk around the house being Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of fertility. What can I wear? I need fat people's clothes.

  'You could go to Zwingly and see Coco?' suggests Jesus.

  'No,' I say abruptly, 'I'm not going to Zwingly.'

  'You did get your fingers burnt, didn't you?'

  'Yes, it hurt. I don't want to see James again and everyone else there will think I'm a tart.'

  'Do you really think they're that interested in your life?'

  'Well no, but I'm not going.'

  Coco arrives with her designer friends. I make them tea and fresh melting moments and we walk up to the bluff and all sit on the very edge throwing bits of banana to the seagulls. They all have different ideas about what I should be wearing, so ask me what I would like.

  'I need more than one outfit, so why don't you each of you make something,' I suggest.

  Back at the cottage I model for them in my green knickers and they make sketches of me. Then they dress me up. It's so amazing to watch them work. They pick weird and wacky outfits out of thin air and sketch me wearing them. They even draw some in my diary for me.

  They measure me up and disappear, arriving back a few days later for fitting. I'm a bit of a moving target cos my bump keeps growing, but their outfits have ample space for growth. Coco has made me a flowing burgundy dress with a matching cashmere cardigan. Ozzie' creation is a bright yellow jump suit. It's made out of fine velvet, with stretchy stuff around the middle to support the baby, and has big zips and pockets all over the place. Vidal has gone for a more casual look with a pair of faded jeans that are stretchy at the waist and a loose shirt and sweatshirt. Now I'm sorted. I like the yellow jump suit most; it's so happy and bright.

  It's so neat having all these wonderful people turn up when I need something. I must do something for Zeus one day to thank him for saving me. I thank Coco and friends and they head off up the beach towards Azziz's cafe, splashing in the waves as they go.

  It's autumn, the time of plenty, and there's lots to do in the garden. Jesus and a pack of zinodes arrive and we work all day picking and pulling and harvesting. The zinodes store the potatoes, onions and big orange pumpkins in a shed built into the bank behind my house. It's nice and cool in there and they'll last for ages. The rest they freeze and preserve so I'll have plenty to see me through the winter.

  I sing to my baby, I talk to him, and play music to him. When he's in a playful mood he fights back when I poke him. He plays football all night and sleeps all day. I call him Zinzan, which quickly becomes Zinny.

  When the first cold snap of winter arrives, dusting the mountain with snow, Jesus and Azziz come around and chop firewood, filling up the wood shed, then piling the rest up against the wall of my living room, so it dries out quickly.

  My tummy is getting huge. I wonder if this is what it is like to be a fat person. It must be such hard work. Every movement is hard work and you can't see your knees. My tummy button, which has always been an inny becomes an outy. I push it back in but the baby pushes it out again. If I want it to stay in, I have to walk around with my finger on it.

  I get a call from President Obama. While I'm worrying about innies and outies, he has bigger worries. He has an election on his hands and can't reach God.

  'Sorry,' I say, 'God's not talking, can I help?'

  'It'll be the same as last election; I just need a little divine intervention.'

  'Get off,' I say,

  'Oh please, my ratings at the polls are down,' pleads the President.

  'Why,' I ask.

  'The health care reform, the war I inherited and the missile attack that killed Azziz, Son of God and that girl Emily,'

  'That girl Emily, that's me!'

  The President is silent for a moment, then says, 'Oops, sorry Emily!'

  'I should think so!'

  'I know it's a big ask but could you just do a little something to help, a major natural disaster like a hurricane strike on New York would be perfect. Sandy is forming in the Caribbean right now.'

  'You're not getting any help from me. That's cheating!'

  'All is fair in love and politics. I'll ask the other guys, just thought I'll try you first.'

  'Well, good luck to you Mr President,' I say, and break the connection. The cheek of it!

  What other guys?

  11

  When I start waddling, I try to get up courage to ask Dr Florence along. The baby may arrive early and we need to be prepared.

  I'm scared to ask her to come. She probably won't approve. I'm not married and not even fifteen. Just thinking about it, I can feel her vibes. She'll probably wash my mouth out with soap and scrub me with a scrubbing brush until I'm pink all over and cleansed of my sins.

  'What do you think?' I ask Castor.

  'Hmmm,' he answers, obviously thinking the same as me.

  'Is there anyone else?'

  'Not really, there's a quack and a witch doctor on Zwingly, but Florence is your best bet.'

  I'm tempted to just have the baby. It would probably be okay but I'd never forgive myself if something went wrong, like the baby lived and I died. Then it would have no mum or dad.

  'I'll tell her it was an immaculate conception, she'll understand that.'

  'She just might,' says Castor, 'and it's not too far from the truth.'

  'Only about a mile,' I say, giving him a wink.

  Jesus fetches her.

  After all the worry, she's surprisingly cool about me being pregas.

  'Children are a gift from God,' she says, and looking at my tummy adds, 'God is obviously smiling on you.'

  It's a bit of a contrast from having Janice stay. We wash the whole house down with vinegar, eat gruel for breakfast and say prayers three times a day. I can't swear, n
ot even a proxy or a piffle, and have to watch my Ps and Qs. How badly do I want a midwife?

  Luckily my baby arrives early, he wasn't expected until after Jesus's birthday but he's dead keen to get out and start his footballing career.

  The baby has stopped moving so much, he has no space to move. The only direction to go is out, and out he comes. I won't go into all the details expect to say that it's like giving birth to a glasshouse. I need a lot of stitches and have to sit on a donut shaped cushion for a couple of weeks. It's a conspiracy; they keep it secret how bad it is. No one would have any babies otherwise. It's very messy, very painful, and very noisy and I'm not doing it again! When he comes out, he's all covered with white stuff.

  I think he's dead, then he cries. It must be such a shock for him to be out in the big wide world after being cocooned in my warm, cosy insides. He's probably half sloshed after the triple whiskey Jesus gave me when I threatened him with death if he didn't give me painkillers. Zinny's lovely, his head is all distorted, sort of squished.

  He doesn't have a willy. At first I think he does but it's just the umbilical cord. I was right; he’s a she!

  I'm sure she'll be a great footballer with all the practice she's had!

  I put her against my breast. She searches around until she finds a nipple and latches on.

  Jesus says that the natural way of doing things is to chew through the umbilical cord and eat the placenta. I leave things to Dr Florence who clamps and neatly snips the cord.

  Wow! I have a baby! That's the easy bit done, what do I do now?

  Zinny doesn't have a name. I had thought of a few boys’ names but I was waiting until I saw him to make my mind up. Daisy, no; Jennifer, no; Louise, no; Caroline, yes, that will do nicely, and I will call her a Tuareg name for her middle name, Nwella after Zula's mum, perfect. Caroline Nwella Taylor.

  'How do we get a birth certificate?' I ask.

  'Birth certificate, why?' says Jesus.

  'Everyone needs a birth certificate; it means they can get a passport.'