Megan 3

by Mary Hooper

  ‘Anyway, I couldn’t really go out on Jack’s birthday,’ I said to Claire now.

  Josie smiled over at Mark and brushed a speck off her silk top. It was really expensive, I could see that from the cut of it and from the little designer logo. She stroked her bracelet tattoo, as if to draw attention to that and to her slim brown arms. I hoped and prayed Mark wouldn’t fancy her – either of them, actually, but especially her.

  ‘Megan!’ Mum called from the kitchen. ‘Can you give me a hand, please?’ She was speaking in her posh voice but it had risen to dangerously high levels.

  ‘Cut the crusts off those sandwiches!’ she snapped when I got in there. ‘Then stick that big blue candle on the birthday cake and find some serviettes in one of the drawers and put them out.’ She sighed impatiently. ‘I thought my days of children’s birthday parties were over and done with but now I find I’ve got to do them all over again. See if that jelly’s set, will you?’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to do a party. And no one will want jelly!’

  ‘This is a baby’s birthday party, Megan. People will expect jelly. You’ve got to do these things properly.’

  That was it, you see. She always knew best. She was my mother and no matter that I was a mum myself now, she knew how to do things: feed babies, wind babies, change babies, talk to babies, buy things for babies, put babies to bed, get babies up, teach babies to speak/wave/sit/stand/walk. She knew everything and I didn’t. This was all the more annoying because it was true.

  As I searched for serviettes I heard a familiar whimper which turned almost immediately into a cry. Jack had become really clingy lately – that was another reason it was difficult to go out and leave him. He was OK while I was in the room, but immediately I disappeared he’d start.

  I abandoned the search for the serviettes, stuck the candle on the cake and went towards the door. ‘Don’t just disappear – I want some help in here with this tea,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve told you before, you shouldn’t go to him straightaway. If you do that he’ll expect you to return and amuse him every time he cries.’

  ‘I don’t want him upset at his own birthday party!’ I said.

  ‘And I don’t want to have to cope with all this on my own – at my age I should be putting my feet up a bit, not running round after babies. Put the kettle on, get me a new packet of teabags out of the cupboard in the hall – and then find a small jug to put that cream in, will you?’

  Yes, oh slave mistress, I thought.

  ‘And don’t go back to that baby for at least five minutes. You’ll spoil him the way you’re going on, you mark my words.’

  No, in the circumstances, I wouldn’t ask Mum if I could go out…

  It was just as everyone was leaving that the phone call came. Lorna had gone earlier to get her train back home, and about six o’clock Mark said he had to go and do something in the office of the newspaper where he was a photographer. By sheer coincidence, Claire and Josie decided they wanted to leave then, too: I thought they’d probably walk up to the bus stop with him and then drop a big hint about going on to the wine bar, hoping that he might say he’d join them later.

  Ellie went to answer the phone, called out that it was for Mum and then came to join me in the kitchen. Jack was in his baby chair chomping on his dummy and I was warming a jar of baby food in the microwave. His T-shirt was rainbow-coloured with the remnants of pink jelly, chocolate cake, iced buns and yellow egg mayonnaise but I wasn’t sure if he’d eaten anything substantial enough to get him through the night. He only had a bottle of milk at night now and Mum always kept on about him getting enough vitamins and minerals and things.

  ‘Who was that?’ I asked Ellie, because Mum didn’t exactly have a load of people ringing her, especially on a Saturday night.

  ‘Dunno,’ Ellie said. ‘A man.’

  We looked at each other, mystified.

  ‘Must be someone selling something – double glazing,’ I said.

  ‘No, he asked for her by name. He said, “Can I speak to Christine?”’

  ‘I hope he said, “Can I speak to Christine, please.”’ This was one of Mum’s little rules. We both giggled and then I said, ‘Perhaps she’s got a boyfriend.’

  ‘As if!’

  I tipped Jack’s food into a bowl, whipped out his dummy and put a spoonful of creamed chicken into his mouth. Because he wasn’t really hungry he opened his mouth wide and the mixture ran out and straight down his plastic bib.

  ‘She must have had someone since Dad, though,’ I said. I put another mouthful in and this time a lot of it stayed there. Jack made chewing movements with his mouth. He couldn’t actually chew anything properly because he didn’t have back teeth, but he was trying.

  Ellie shrugged. ‘I can’t remember anyone.’

  ‘In twelve years, though!’ I lowered my voice. ‘I mean, she’s not that bad.’

  Jack stopped chewing, opened his mouth wide and removed something – a piece of potato. He looked at this and squished it between his fingers before rubbing it on his cheek.

  Ellie shook her head. ‘No, I just can’t see her with a boyfriend. She’s too… too something. Too grownup. Too much of a mum.’

  I pulled a face. I didn’t think I was… but maybe I was too much of a mum as well. Maybe I’d never have a boyfriend again in my life.

  I finished feeding Jack and was wearily wondering if I could possibly get away without giving him a bath that night, when Mum came back into the kitchen. She didn’t look at either of us, just went straight to the sink and started washing up. Ellie and I rolled our eyes at each other and after a moment Mum said, ‘What’re you two looking at me like that for?’

  ‘We just wondered who was on the phone,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing to do with you,’ she said sharply.

  ‘I was only asking!’

  ‘We thought you’d got a boyfriend!’ Ellie said, and burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Mum said. That was all she said, but it was the way she said it.

  Ellie and I made incredulous faces at each other. ‘I’m just going to give Jack a once-over with a flannel and put him to bed,’ I said. ‘He’s really tired.’

  Mum turned. ‘You’re not putting that baby to bed without a bath!’

  ‘I’m really whacked,’ I said. ‘It won’t hurt. I’ll bath him in the morning.’

  ‘He’s filthy!’ Mum said. ‘And not only that, a bath will relax him.’

  ‘It won’t relax me, though.’

  ‘We’re not concerned with you, we’re concerned with the baby. He should come first… it’s what’s best for him that’s important.’ She gathered strength. ‘A baby isn’t something you can pick up and put down when you want to, you know. A baby is for life.’

  ‘I thought that was a puppy,’ I said. But I went to run the bath. It was easier.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Of course, in my days, girls didn’t have babies before they were married,’ the taxi driver said.

  ‘Is that right?’ I asked politely. Big deal, I thought.

  ‘Or if they did have them, they had them adopted.’

  I glowered at the back of his fat neck. It was a few weeks after Jack’s birthday party and I was in the back of a taxi on my way to Poppies – the educational unit-with-a-nursery where I was taking my A Levels. All last term I’d had the same, nice, younger driver who’d made jokes with me and taken an interest in Jack. That morning, though, the first day of a new term, a different, older man had turned up to collect me.

  ‘All these taxis going backwards and forwards must be costing the authorities a packet. How many girls are there in that place you go to?’

  ‘Depends,’ I said. ‘Eight or nine. Sometimes more.’

  ‘And they all have taxis twice a day?’

  I said yes and he went on, ‘I might be talking myself out of a job, but I can’t see why you girls can’t get there and back under your own steam.’

  I didn’t say anything. Next to me on the seat sat
Jack, in his new little carry seat I’d bought with some money my dad had sent me for his birthday, and on the floor in front of us was a big rucksack full of the things he needed to get through the day: nappies, food, changes of clothes, piece of blanket, feeding cup, changing mat and washing stuff. Alongside the rucksack was a big bag of books for the exam subjects I was taking. Imagine taking all that lot on three buses…

  ‘It must cost the government thousands having you lot driven around,’ he continued.

  I pretended to be busy with Jack.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got a nice flat, have you?’ he went on after a moment.

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Because that’s what they do, innit? They get pregnant and they get themselves on the housing list, and then they get a flat. Two–three bedrooms! And then they let out the spare rooms to their friends and make a mint. Oh, I’ve heard all about them.’

  I began to hum under my breath.

  ‘It’s always the same. Free handouts to anyone who wants them! Bet you get a nice little allowance each week, taxi rides anywhere you want, free nurseries…’

  I could feel myself beginning to get really angry. ‘I’m taking my A levels next year,’ I said, ‘and then I’ll be able to put my son in a nursery and get a decent job. I won’t need any handouts then.’

  ‘So you’ll be out to work all day, will you? Who’s going to look after your kid, then? That’ll be the state again, will it?’

  I gave up, leaned back in my seat and stared out of the window. Jack had gone to sleep. He was teething and had been up three times in the night – not for long, though, but long enough to lose his dummy and need a cuddle. And for long enough to wake me up properly, so that each time I’d spent an hour or so staring at the ceiling, trying to sort my life out, wondering just what it was that I wanted to do with it. Or – not what I wanted to do with it – what I possibly could do with it now that I had Jack.

  The traffic was bad that morning. We stopped and started and jolted around, and I was feeling sick by the time we got to Poppies.

  The driver pulled up with another big jolt, waking Jack. ‘You’re here,’ he said, and he didn’t help me out with Jack, as the other one had always done, but left me to manage bags, baby, chair and everything on my own.

  ‘Thank you very much!’ I said. ‘Lovely journey,’ I added sarcastically – but very quietly. I had to be careful in case I had him for the rest of the term. I put the rucksack on my back, Jack over my arm in the seat, and dragged along the bag of books with the other hand.

  Vicki appeared at the office door with a big smile on her face. She was the manager of the place and she was lovely – all the staff were. There were usually four or five of them: half looked after the babies and half tutored the lessons. Girls came and went: there were usually a couple of pregnant ones or girls with brand new babies, but there were also girls with toddlers; children up to three.

  Poppies was actually four Portakabins linked together. Each had two rooms, and together they made a small school unit with a nursery attached. We were in the grounds of a big comprehensive, Oakley, although we were completely separate from them and couldn’t actually see the school building from where we were.

  ‘Good summer?’ Vicki said, and beamed at Jack. ‘Hello, my favourite boy!’ she said, and he gave a scream of delight. ‘He’s getting along well, Megan,’ she said, opening the inner door for me. ‘He’s looking really grown-up.’

  ‘He’s a year and a month now,’ I said proudly. ‘He’s taking a few steps on his own.’

  ‘Any words?’

  ‘A few,’ I nodded. ‘He says “bye-byes” and “g’bye” and “’lo”,’ I said. ‘But sometimes he gets the goodbye and hello muddled up and says goodbye when you meet him.’

  Vicki laughed. ‘We’ll have him saying lots of words by the end of term,’ she said.

  As I went in, another taxi drew up at the gate and Vicki waved to the girl inside – someone I didn’t recognise – and went down to greet her. I carried on to the nursery to settle Jack, really pleased to be back. Here, I had something to do and girls to chat to. If Jack was getting on my nerves I could offload him, and if I was worried about anything I could ask the staff. They obviously knew better than I did, but, unlike Mum, they didn’t ram it down your throat.

  Our lessons weren’t like they’d been at real school, either – not half so disciplined. They couldn’t be really, because although the girls turned up most days, if their babies were ill, their taxis didn’t arrive or they just didn’t fancy it, they didn’t bother to come in. And sometimes lessons were disrupted by the babies or, more excitingly – as had happened last term – by a girl going into labour. It was all much more laid-back than school: if it was a nice day your tutor might take you out somewhere, to see an interesting building or something, or lessons would be shelved because someone had turned up from the health service and wanted to talk to us about a baby’s speech development or the like.

  I said hello to Joy and Stacey, two girls who’d been there last term, and we chatted a bit about what we’d done in the summer. Stacey had just got engaged to her boyfriend and was wearing a blue sapphire ring, which she flashed in front of our eyes at every opportunity.

  There was a girl I’d never seen before sitting by the window with a very small baby wrapped tightly in a shawl on her lap. She was my age, or a bit younger, had fair curly hair and was pale and quite thin considering it couldn’t have been long since she’d had her baby. She had some funny old clothes on, like jumble sale stuff, but maybe that was because she couldn’t get into anything of her own yet.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked, because she was looking anxious.

  She nodded. ‘First day nerves,’ she said.

  I grinned. ‘It’s not like school – you don’t have to worry. Everyone’s really nice.’

  She shot a nervous look around the room. ‘My landlady said they watch you all the time and if you don’t look after your baby properly they tell you off.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ I said. ‘If you do something wrong they tell you how to do it.’

  She smiled a little. ‘That’s OK then.’ She looked at Jack. ‘You’ve got a little boy, have you?’

  I nodded. ‘He’s Jack and I’m Megan.’

  ‘This is a girl and her name’s Stella. That means star,’ the girl said. ‘My name’s Kirsty.’

  I told her Jack was just over a year old and she said Stella was only three weeks.

  ‘Where d’you live?’ I asked, and she named an area in the opposite direction to where I came from. ‘I’m in a Bed and Breakfast place,’ she said, and pulled a face. ‘It’s horrible.’

  ‘Haven’t you got any family? Why aren’t you living with them?’

  ‘My mum said I’d get a flat quicker if they made me homeless.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t really want to, but I went along with it.’

  ‘Don’t you and your mum get along, then?’ I asked. I put Jack down on the floor and he leaned on the chair in front of him and reached towards Kirsty’s baby, patting her foot. ‘Didn’t she want you at home?’

  ‘We’ve never really got on well,’ the girl said, ‘and then she met this bloke and now she wants to have a baby of her own with him. She said there wouldn’t be room for me anyway, and that I’d get a place of my own quicker if they turfed me out.’ She hesitated. ‘Is it really OK here?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s fine!’

  ‘Guess anything’s better than walking round the streets. It’s what I do mostly – I’m not supposed to stay in the B and B place during the day.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked, shocked.

  ‘Stella’s crying wakes people up. There’s a couple of men who work shifts and they don’t like it.’

  I pulled a face. ‘That’s their hard luck, then.’

  ‘And the landlady says it’s regulations or something – everyone’s got to be out of the house for a certain number of hours.’

  ‘I should ask Vicki about that,’ I said. ‘
She’ll have a word with them.’

  She shook her head quickly. ‘No, it’s OK. I don’t want to cause any fuss. They might think I’ve been complaining and then they’ll be horrible to me.’

  ‘So what’s your room like?’

  ‘Grim.’

  ‘So’s mine – and I live at home!’

  Jack let go of the chair he was holding on to and lurched towards the big dolls’ house. He took about five steps on his own before he fell on to it. I called, ‘Hurray!’ and he turned to smile at me, well pleased with himself. ‘He’s just starting to walk properly,’ I explained to Kirsty.

  ‘I can’t imagine Stella walking. I can’t imagine her any older than she is now.’

  I grinned. ‘I used to say that, but the time goes really quickly.’

  The nursery was beginning to fill up. Girls gave their babies a last-minute rusk, or changed their nappies, or wiped their faces before they started lessons.

  ‘Is Jack’s father still around?’ Kirsty asked. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

  ‘Was my boyfriend,’ I said. ‘He’s hardly been in touch since. What about you?’

  She shook her head ruefully. ‘I met him on holiday. Haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘Didn’t you write to him?’

  ‘’Course. The address he gave me was a false one.’

  I tutted – but the thing about having a baby when you’re fifteen or so is that everyone had some sort of hard-luck story to tell. At Poppies last term there was Gilly who’d had a baby by her best friend’s boyfriend, Sinna who hadn’t told her mum until half an hour before she’d given birth, Hannah who’d had a dozen boyfriends and had absolutely no idea who the father was and Suzie who’d got pregnant by her stepfather.

  The holiday romance one was a new one on me, though. ‘What a pig,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ she nodded. ‘I thought he was really nice, too. He said he loved me.’

  ‘Were you gutted?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘What about writing to the hotel you stayed in? Or getting in touch with the holiday company or something?’