Read Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum Online

Authors: Vi Grim

Tags: #coming of age, #pregnancy, #emily taylor, #pregnancy and childbirth, #vi grim, #age 14 to adult, #the teenage mum, #young mum

Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum (7 page)

 

On Sunday afternoons we have
jam sessions on the beach in front of Janice's. The Stones come,
Jim Morrison, Jimmy Hendrix and lots of other dead musicians. They
know each other so well that they make amazing music. It flows
randomly about the place while always moving forward, like a river
washing us all along with it.
I'm getting more confident now
and take the microphone and sing; I even do some solo bits. It's so
neat to be able to sing. Thanks Janice.
I drink rum punch and
smoke the sweet cigarettes they pass around. I get happy as, then
throw up everywhere and can't even look at food for two days. I
stick to fizzy water after that.

 

I'm enjoying myself so much
that I lose track of time.

Then,
disaster!
We're in a gay club;
it's one of James's favourite hangouts. His friends are really cool
and we have good fun with them but I do find it a bit odd seeing
blokes snogging blokes and girls kissing passionately. I even saw a
girl with her head up inside another girl's T-shirt. I can't wait
to tell Annie, she won't believe me! Anyway, this boy comes in and
slaps James across the face, like girly like. Then James bursts
into tears and next minute they're snogging! I'm devastated. James
mumbles, 'Sorry, I had a tiff with Timmy and was just trying to get
back at him.'

He doesn't love
me, I've been used! What's more he left me for him.
Him! For a bloke!

All he can say
is
sorry
after I've given him my body.
Bastard!

I punch him so hard he'll
never forget, set fire to his apartment with his precious records
and his awards from Hollywood, grab my bag and head for
home.

 

 

 

8.

 

Jesus is
waiting for me. I'm so pissed off that I hit him when he tries to
give me a hug. He comes back later to find me upside down with my
head stuck in the corner of the sofa sobbing
. 'Pull your head in woman,' he says.

'Go away!' I scream.
He taps me on the shoulder a
few minutes later and says, 'Em, drink this down. It'll make you
feel better.'
His hot toddy burns its way
down my throat, sending shudders through my body, but does the
trick. I burst onto tears and cuddle up against Jesus.

 

He's been looking after
my place. The lawns are mown, the garden is weeded and dinner is
cooked. It's almost too much. No wonder he's got so many followers.
Azziz and Janice come round and we have dinner. It's all laughter
and tears. The tears being all mine. After dinner we sing the most
depressing blues and country and western songs that Janice can
think of. They make me laugh. I feel like shite but it's so good to
have friends.

 

My cottage needs redecorating.
I don't like the colour. The aqua marine bathroom is okay but
everything else needs changing. I want the living room to be bright
yellow, my bedroom purple, the other bedroom red and the toilet
green, and I want it to happen now.
Jesus, Azziz and Janice
help. We have good fun. We sing and splash paint on each other and
I change my mind all the time. I don't like the red bedroom so we
paint it blue. The green in the toilet makes me throw up,
literally, I actually throw up, so we paint it orange and Janice
uses a football to make big yellow blobs all over the
walls.

 

My body has been going through
all sorts of changes the last couple of years. I like the way it is
shaping up, with all the curves and dips. It seems to be having
another growing spurt. When will it stop? My nipples hurt and my
boobs are growing bigger. I don't want them too big, they are just
fine like they are. Stop, stop, stop!
I've missed another period
too.
I want to go and see Castor,
but go to see Pollux instead.
He looks me up and down, looks
serious for a moment, then winks and in a big loud voice that I'm
sure can be heard all over the universe says, 'Congratulations
Emily, you're pregnant!'
I don't know whether to jump
for joy or run around screaming. I hope it's not that bastard
James. If it's his, I don't want it, I want to get rid of it, right
now.
There's no space in the moon so
I jump up and down a few times on the spot, then gather my wits.
'Do you mind if I go and see Castor?' I ask.
'Go ahead,' says Pollux.
Bing!
I'm in Castors moon. He looks
happy. I'm not, I start crying.
'Come close,' whispers
Castor.
I put my ear right up against
his lips and he whispers, 'It's seven weeks old.'
'Yes!' I shout and jump in the
air, hitting by head on the roof. Once I've picked myself up, I
give Castor a big kiss. Yes, Zula is the dad!
Seven weeks, no wonder
I've been feeling weird!

 

I sit there looking down on
Camillo and thinking about my baby. Next year it'll be down there,
a new little person, running about. How neat!

'Castor, give
me the rundown.
'

'Right, pregnancy,' he says,
flicking up some web pages. The first one we read treats it like
it's a disease that's best avoided, giving ten ways to avoid
catching it, then listing the signs and symptoms to watch out for
if you have caught it and methods of curing it, like killing the
baby dead. Castor finds a friendlier page that mirrors my feelings.
Now I know Azulay is the dad, I'm happy to be pregnant
'Okay, here we go,' says
Castor, 'Fatigue, feeling extremely tired at any time of the day or
night.'
'Yes.'
'Tender breasts, slightly
swollen.'
'Yes.'
'Nipples hurting.'
'A little bit.'
'Funny coloured circle around
the nipple.'
I have a quick check,
'No.'
'Headaches.'
'Yes.'
'That's the hormones,' says
Castor. 'They cause you guys so much trouble. Next, dizziness and
fainting'
'Yes.'
'Odd smells suddenly bother
you.'
'Ummm, yes.'
'Mood swings.'
'Yes!'
'Periods light or missed.'
'Yes.'
'You don't like things that you
normally like, and crave things you normally don't like.'
'Yes, I had to have burnt toast
this morning, lots of it.'
Castor stops reading and says,
'Large bump appearing in tummy.'
I pull up my T-shirt and we
both look. I like to think that I can see the tiniest bump at the
very bottom. 'Yes!' I say, delighted with myself.

 

Jesus and Azziz are at my
cottage. Azziz has a cut on his head that is bleeding down his
face. I get him to sit down and hold a rag on the cut until the
bleeding's stopped, then I clean the wound and Jesus stitches him
up.
'It doesn't look like you
slipped on the bath mat,' I say to Azziz. 'What happened?'
'I was just having a word with
your friend James.'
'He's not my friend,' I say,
stomping my foot.
'He's not mine neither,' says
Azziz.
'I can see,' I say, wiping away
some blood that's seeping from his wound.
'You'll be delighted to know
that his friend Timmy as dumped him.'
'Good,' I say
triumphantly.
'Anyway,' says Azziz, 'I've
been having a word to him about supporting his baby-'
'It's not that slimeball's
baby. I was pregnant before I went to Zwingly. I'm seven weeks
pregnant.'
'Seven weeks!' says Azziz,
adding things up in his head. 'There was only me and Jesus on
Camillo -'
He doesn't finish his sentence
because Jesus hits him really hard, knocking him across against the
wall on the other side of the room. I've never seen Jesus mad
before. His eyes get huge and round and his crown of spikes glows
red.
'NO!' I shout, but they're not
listening.
They are like a couple of
robots fighting. They throw each other around, smashing up my
cottage. I've got to stop them before they hurt each other. I grab
the photon canon from my wardrobe and fire a shot between them,
knocking a huge hole in the front wall.
'Stop!' I yell. 'You're not the
dad, not Jesus not Azziz.' I fire another shot at the floor in
front of them and they get blasted out through the hole in the
wall. That worked. I hope they're okay.
Once they've picked themselves
groggily off my front lawn, I march them on my sofa, still pointing
my canon at them and clarify things. 'Boys, neither of you is the
dad. Aren't congratulations in order? Isn't the tradition a bottle
of champagne?'
Jesus looks a bit sheepish,
'Well who is the father then?'
'Not telling, it's none of your
business!'
'So it's an immaculate
conception,' says Jesus.
'You could say that,' I say,
giving him a wink.

 

All is quiet for a moment, then
Azziz plucks a bottle of champagne out of mid-air and Jesus
produces four glasses.
Pop!
Azziz uncorks the bottle
and fills the glasses until they overflow sending waterfalls of
bubbles cascading down the sides. He clicks his fingers and Zeus
appears.
He staggers around, high on
ozone, and falls over. Jesus and Azziz help him to his feet,
carefully place a glass of champagne in his hand, and he's gone
again.
'Silly old fart,' curses Azziz
under his breath.
Jesus raises his glass and
says, 'I would like to propose a toast. To Em's baby.'
Clink, clink, clink!
The champagne tickles its way
down my throat and makes my knees go all wobbly. It's a welcome
relief after the evening's excitement.
Once the bottle is empty, Azziz
asks, 'If neither of us is Dad, can we be the God parents?'
'What sort of example will you
be?' I say, nodding my head towards my smashed up house.
'Sorry,' says Jesus. 'It's just
because we care about you.'
'Alright then, but you must set
a good example for him.' I give them a big hug. 'I've been a bit
off lately, sorry about that.'

 

When the zinodes arrive to fix
my cottage the next morning, I give them some plans. I couldn't
sleep during the night so I redesigned my cottage, turning it into
a house. I want lots of kids, so there's three new bedrooms. They
look at the plans and change them around so they're much better.
Zinodes are really good at that sort of thing. As soon as they've
started work, I change my mind. I want lots of kids, but if I build
lots of rooms, it'll never happen. Life's like that.
They repair the holes in my
walls and build an extra bedroom out the back. Azziz and Jesus come
and help and it's all done by the evening, walls up, paint dry,
furniture in.
We light a bonfire on the beach
and barbecue fresh fish, then the zinodes set up a screen on the
front lawn and we watch Manchester United playing Liverpool.

 

 

 

9
God's not talking.
He won't wear the immaculate
conception story.
He won't talk to Azziz or Jesus
because he's sure one of them is the dad. Even if they're not, they
should've been taking better care of me.
I don't see what's so bad about
being pregas, it's really exciting that there's new life coming.
What does it matter who the dad is anyway? As long as it's not that
creep James!
If they want to fight about it,
that's their problem.

 

We are now well into spring.
It's a wonderful time to be pregnant. There's magic all around. The
trees have new green leaves, there's lambs in the meadow and the
pesky morning chorus has worked its charm and the bird nests are
now full of fluffy chicks. Negrita is looking very plump as well. I
hope she doesn't have kittens; one of her is quite enough.
Apart from burnt toast, there's
other things I crave, chocolate for one and cherries. it's not
quite cherry season yet, so I'll have to wait. The ones on the tree
are still green.

 

I've had enough of travel
and the outside world for a while; I don't want to know about
slimeballs or gays. I just want to do homey things, chill out and
let the baby grow. I find Trigger and we go for long rides. I take
him to the prairie then he takes me to all his favourite places, we
push through dense forest and find a little clearing full of wild
strawberries and follow a stream to a gushing waterfall. The
jiggling makes me want to pee at the time, but Trigger doesn't mind
stopping, it gives him a chance to grab a mouthful of fresh grass.
He has explored all over Camillo, and knows it even better than the
slugs.

 

The garden's
doing well; w
ith the slimeball
compost, everything is growing like crazy. I try to spend a couple
of hours gardening each morning, weeding, training the beans and
bougainvillea and eating strawberries as soon as they turn
red.

My trees are growing.
They're an inch high. I weed and water and sing to them then
threaten to turn them into firewood if they do not get a move
on.

 

I want to tell Mum and
Dad about the baby and tease then about becoming grandparents. I
wonder if they'll ever get to see him. I could go and visit. It
might turn weird though. Dad will probably freak out and have a
heart attack or the social services will catch me and make me go to
school. Or I'll click my fingers to come back and nothing will
happen and I'll be stuck in Sheffield in the rain.
I'll just stay here.
Castor says that I need to take
it easy, that I should eat well and get lots of rest.

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