On the Tuesday, efter lunch, Anne Marie said, ‘Are we gaun tae the beach this efternoon or d’you fancy a game of tennis, Da?’
‘Mibbe later, hen. Anne Marie, yer mammy and me have got somethin tae tell you.’
She looked fae wan tae another of us, sayin nothin. Jimmy looked at me. Ah took a deep breath. ‘Ah should probably have told you this afore, hen, but, well, anyway.’ Ah’d rehearsed whit ah was gaunnae say ower and ower again. Last night ah’d laid in ma bed rehearsin ways tae break it gently tae her, tell her aboot David first, but somehow when she was sittin there in front of me wi they innocent eyes ah just blurted it oot. ‘Anne Marie, ah’m pregnant.’
‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Aye, ah …’
Jimmy interrupted. ‘Now, Anne Marie, yer mammy …’
She put her airms round me and hugged me. ‘Mammy, that’s brilliant. When’s the baby due?’
‘January.’
She turned tae her da and hugged him too. ‘Da, it’s so cool – ah’m gonnae be a big sister!’ She stopped. ‘So will you be comin back fae the Centre noo then, Da? Ah mean you’re no gonnae stay there efter the baby’s born, are you?’
Jimmy’s face was completely blank. Mines must of been the same. ‘Anne Marie, ah …’
‘Have yous thought of a name yet? Alison’s just had a wee sister and they cried her Erin – ah think that’s nice for a lassie. Ah’m gonnae phone Nisha and tell her.’
‘Naw, don’t dae that, Anne Marie. Please don’t tell anybody the noo. We want tae keep it quiet for a wee while.’
She looked disappointed. ‘OK. Just don’t leave it too long. Right – are yous comin tae play tennis?’
Of all the scenes that had run through ma mind that was the last thing ah thought would happen. Ah’d visualised that many different ways Anne Marie could of reacted – burstin intae tears, bein angry, bein quiet, blamin me, runnin oot – ah’d went ower them all, but ah never in a million years imagined she would of thought it was Jimmy’s. Then again, it was the most natural thing tae think. Efter all she’d nae idea aboot David, she’d never seen him or heard me talk aboot him. And Jimmy was still around, nothin much seemed tae have changed between us except he wasnae sleepin in the hoose. What could be mair natural than tae assume that wan night we’d made up and this was the result?
Ah never got the chance tae talk tae Jimmy alone aboot it tae later that day, when Anne Marie had gone tae the shop.
‘Jimmy, what the hell are we gonnae dae? Anne Marie thinks it’s yours.’
‘Ah know. Ah couldnae believe it when she started jumpin around huggin us.’
‘What are we gonnae dae? Ah mean we’ll need tae explain. And its gonnae be harder noo.’
‘Aye. She’s that happy aboot it.’
‘D’you want me tae tell her on ma ain?’
‘Naw, ah think it’d come better fae the two of us.’
‘When?’
‘Ah don’t know. Look, let’s leave it till the morra. Ah cannae face this again the day. Let’s talk the morra.’
At six o’clock that night Anne Marie’s mobile rang. Ah should of known that meant somethin big had happened. Usually her and her pals text each other.
‘Nisha? No! You serious? When? Oh my God!’ Anne Marie flung her airms round ma neck. ‘Somebody fae the BBC phoned Nisha. We’re through tae the next round!’
‘That’s fantastic, Anne Marie.’
‘Ah never thought they’d tell us so soon.’
She went back on the phone, bletherin away tae Nisha, movin outside tae get a better reception or because she didnae want me tae hear, don’t know which. Then she came back in.
‘That’s brilliant, hen. So what happens next? How many folk have got intae this round?’
‘Well, there’s twenty been picked and ten of us will be on the CD. But they’re gonnae play all the twenty on the radio and on the TV! Our CD is gonnae be on the TV!’
Jimmy
LIZ IS SITTIN on the purple and orange towel; the wan we always take tae the beach. She’s rubbin suncream intae her legs and her sunglasses are shoved up ontae the tap of her heid. Ah’ve brung the buckets and spades wi me but of course Anne Marie’s decided she’s far too auld and sophisticated tae make a sandcastle so she’s lyin on the towel next tae Liz. Liz turns and rubs some of the cream on the back of her neck. Ah’m watchin them fae a wee distance, nearer the sea, where the sand is damp and better for makin sandcastles. Ah’m diggin a trench in the sand and pilin it up, makin a big heap. It’s no that busy the day; a few weans playin in the water, clumps a folk sittin up along the fringes of the sand dunes, sunbathin, readin the papers, watchin clouds birl across the sky. It hardly ever rains here bar the odd shower that clears the air and waters the flooers. Ah know somebody must get the rain but all the years we’ve been comin we’ve been lucky.
Anne Marie throws a tee shirt and shorts ower her bikini and wanders doon tae me.
‘Ah’m away tae the café for an ice cream, Daddy. Want anythin?’
The café’s where the young yins hing aboot.
‘Naw, hen, ah’m fine.’
‘See you later.’
‘Right.’
As she heids aff, Liz starts tae pick her way across the sand tae me. There’s nothin tae show yet, nothin anybody could notice, but she’s movin different, cairries hersel in a different way. Mibbe ah’m imaginin it, mibbe it’s just the sand, but she’s walkin slower, mair graceful, like wanny they African women cairryin a pot on their heid. And suddenly ah can see her in three months’ time, her bump up in front, her sarong pushed oot, swayin as she moves, and a sick feelin rises in ma throat. How could ah of let this happen? It was ma fault. If ah’d no been that blind, ah’d of known how much she’d wanted another wean … and another wave of sickness as ah thought of her, big and beautiful, graceful, breists full and heavy, eyes soft and joyful, and the bairn no mines. The sickness subsides and a shootin pain stabbbed me. It should of been mines.
‘Need a haund?’
Liz hunkered doon beside me, started tae dig the trench wi a spade, heapin up the sand, smoothin oot the sides of the pile ah’d made.
‘Jimmy, we need tae talk aboot this noo, afore things go any further.’
‘Ah know.’
‘Jimmy, whit are we gonnae dae – whit are we gonnae say tae Anne Marie?’
Ah looked at her, sittin on the sand, the breeze blowin strands of hair in front of her eyes. The dye in her hair had nearly all grown oot noo, but there were still a few wee pinky edges lit up by the sun. And the beach stretched oot behind her tae a blue sea and a blue sky dotted wi clouds. It was like every year’s holiday photie; different hairstyles, different claes, but the same auld sea, same sky, same Liz.
Ah dug ma spade intae the sand. ‘Ah wisht it was ma wean.’
‘Me too.’
‘Ah feel as if it’s mines.’
‘Do you?’
Ah put doon the spade, looked at her straight.
‘Does anyone need tae know it’s no mines?’
She looked past me, up beyond the sand dunes. ‘Well, he knows, but he’s gaun away tae America. And ah don’t think he’d be sorry if he never heard fae me again. Naebody else knows.’
‘Well?’
‘Could we dae this? Could you dae it?’
‘Could you?’
‘Ah don’t know, Jimmy. Ah’m feart. Part of me wants tae, but ah keep thinkin it’s the easy way oot, no the right way.’
‘Sometimes the easy way oot is the right way.’
‘Mibbe noo, but what aboot later – it could be a right mess.’
‘It might. But whatever we dae will be a mess. At least this way there’s a chance we might all be happy.’
‘But, Jimmy, are you sayin you could really take this wean as yours, when it grows up, even if it looks like him? Could you honestly say you’d feel the same aboot this wean as you dae aboot Anne Marie?’
Ah patted the sand, kept smoothin and smoothin it as if ah was plast
erin a wall. ‘Liz, ah don’t know. Ah cannae say how ah’m gonnae feel. All ah can say is that mibbe this is our best shot. For us all. Ah mean, think aboot all these folk that have weans through artificial insemination and transplanted eggs and all that … the papers are full of it. And they must love their weans just as much.’
‘Well, ah didnae exactly get artificially inseminated, did ah?’
Ah couldnae look at her face. Ah looked beyond her, the white clouds movin faster noo, scuddin across the sky.
‘Liz, what dae you want?’
‘Tae turn the clock back, that’s what ah want. For this bairn inside me tae be yours.’
‘It is mines.’
She looked at me, narrowin her eyes against the sun, eyes dark as earth. If only thon wean has her eyes, ah’ll love it, ah know ah’d love it as ah love her.
‘This is your wean, Liz; ah’ll see it growin, watch you get bigger cairryin it, be with you when it’s born. It’ll be our wean, Anne Marie’s wee sister or brother.’
‘And you really think you’ll never look at him or her and think on …’ She stopped. ‘Anne Marie’s comin.’
She was walkin across the sand in her orange tee shirt and shorts, that tall she was, grown up. Ah waved at her and turned tae Liz.
‘Naw, ah cannae say that, you know ah cannae. All ah can say is that ah’ve loved you since ah was eighteen and ah still love you and ah think we should gie it our best shot.’
Liz
THEY’VE WORKED ON the garden since last year. That purple flower wasnae there, or the pansies, purple and orange, roses tidied up and climbin ower a frame. And here ah’m are, sittin on a bench, cup of coffee in ma haund. The sun is warm on ma airms and ma belly where this new life is growin inside me.
Mammy always loved this garden, loved the peace in the village, the slower pace. Ah did too, but only for a wee while, couldnae staund tae be here mair than a week – efter that ah’d be twitchin tae get back tae the city; big shops, buzz of folk, no everyone knowin who you are. But noo, sittin here, ah could see masel stayin, just bein here. It’s the wean, ah suppose, bein pregnant, no masel. Then again, ah’m mair masel than ah’ve ever been, except when ah had Anne Marie growin inside. Funny how when you’re expectin, everythin seems tae slow doon, time stands still, then when they’re born it all flies past in a flash. There she is in the kitchen helpin her daddy make the lunch. The pair of them gigglin and laughin, her on a high wi this CD. Ah hope she doesnae get too disappointed if it doesnae work oot the way she wants. Wish ah could make a future for her, turn it intae a peaceful suntrap like this gairden. And the same for the new bairn inside.
She’s that excited aboot the baby. And ah still don’t know if we’re daein the right thing. Fae the ootside it all looks that idyllic; me sittin in this perfect gairden, pregnant, contentit, Jimmy and Anne Marie in the hoose. Happy faimly. But what aboot the future?
Wish there was some way of knowin if we’re daein the right thing, but there isnae. Never is.
Anne Marie
DA CAME IN fae the hall.
‘Ah just phoned the Rinpoche. Had tae tell him aboot yous bein on the TV. He was dead chuffed.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Specially wi the lamas chantin on it.’
‘Aye.’
‘Ah mean if you and Nisha get tae be pop stars and want tae dae a live version, they could tour wi yous – that’d be fantastic, wouldn’t it?’
‘Aye, right, Da.’
He opened the fridge and took oot some cheese, wrapped in foil.
‘And if yous ever want tae dae some punk rock live, don’t forget yer daddy’s Scotland’s answer tae Johnny Rotten.’
‘Ah don’t think so somehow.’
He was cuttin big thick slices of cheese and puttin them on the bread.
‘Well, you never know.’
Ah turned on the grill. ‘Did you tell the lama aboot the baby, Da?’
‘Naw, ah never. Yer mammy wants tae keep it quiet for a wee while longer.’
‘Ah know.’
‘But a funny thing …’ He put the bread and cheese on tae the grill pan.
‘Remember thon time we went tae Carmunnock, when they thought they’d found the new lama?’
‘Aye, Da. Couldnae forget that in a hurry.’
‘Well they’ve been daein mair calculations. Think that last time they’d got mixed up wi different time zones or somethin. But they reckon that the new lama will definitely be born in Glasgow next year. In January.’ He winked at me. ‘Round about the 15th.’
‘Now there’s a coincidence.’ Ma mammy was staundin at the door. For a minute ah thought she was mad at him for makin a joke aboot it but she didnae sound sarcastic. And the way she looked at him, ah couldnae figure oot what she was thinkin.
Ah took the toasted cheese oot fae under the grill.
‘Karma, Mammy. Karma.’
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Being Emily
The following pages contain an extract from Being Emily, Anne Donovan’s acclaimed second novel.
Things are never dull in the O’Connell family. Still, Fiona, squeezed between her quiet brother and her mischievous line-dancing twin sisters, thinks life in their tenement flat is far less interesting than Emily Brontë’s.
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THROUGH IN THE livin room Patrick was paintin the fireplace while Mona and Rona practised their line dancin. Silver bells and golden needles they won’t mend this heart of mine. Step two three, cross two three, turn. It’s threads, no bells, says ma da, weavin his way through their routine.
Mona and Rona are twins. At first the doc thought it was gonnae be triplets and Da wanted tae call them Mona, Rona and Shona. Mammy says she’s thankful for small mercies – ah’m no sure if she means havin two babies at once insteidy three, or if it’s the name. The neighbours doonstairs have a dug called Shona, it’s a sheltie.
Patrick’s on the nightshift at the bakery, and when he gets hame the back of six he’s wired up, cannae sleep for hours. That’s when he paints the fireplace. He’s done it three times – first white but that was too borin, then dark red, but Da said it hurt his eyes. Noo he’s tryin a marbled effect wi lilac and pink through the red. When everybody else gets up, we have cornflakes and Patrick has bacon, egg and tattie scones, then he goes tae bed and we go tae school. Except this was the first day of the summer holidays so we werenae.
Ah was at the sink in the kitchen, washin the dishes wi Spirit of Haworth propped up behind the taps, practisin bein Emily Brontë. Ah’d read that she baked the family’s bread and learned German at the same time, book in fronty her. Since then ah’d developed a new interest in housework, so long as you could dae it while you were readin. Up till then ah thought if you were gonnae be a poet you had tae float aboot in a dwam or lie on a couch all day.
I wander’d lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vale and hill
If you’re a poet it’s dead important tae know how tae use apostrophes when you miss out bits of words to make it scan. Last year ah wrote a poem for the school magazine that started: ‘I wander’d ‘mongst the flow’rs fair’.
Mammy put a knife in the soapy watter.
Watch you don’t get that book all wet, Fiona.
D’you think ah could start bakin our bread?
Your brother brings hame three loaves fae his work every day. If you’ve spare time on yer haunds there’s plenty other jobs round the hoose.
Usually ah skived aff at this point but since ah’d discovered Emily, ah just smiled and said, Okay, Mammy.
Da was pointin out the windae. Oh my God – would you look at that!
Mammy and me followed his finger but all ah could see was Mrs Flanagan next door hingin out her washin in her yellow velour tracksuit. It looks as if she’s stuffed it wi newspapers, lumps and bumps jigglin round as she bends and pegs.
What?
Can yous no see thon pig, over there, just up above the roof … look at its wings flappin.
Very funny.
First time ah’ve heard Princess Fiona here volunteerin tae dae a tap round the hoose.
Well, be thankful. Everyone is gonnae have tae pull their weight this holiday. Ah don’t know how these weans have tae get six weeks aff anyhow.
The first day of the summer holidays Mammy always does her spiel aboot how they’re far too long and we get intae lazy habits. Da sloped aff tae his work efter the first sentence. Ah trailed ma haund in the soapy bubbles, cairried on readin ma book. Miss Hughes had lent me it for the holidays. She was ma English teacher last year, first year of secondary, and she was the wan that got me interested in Emily.
Ah done the hooverin wi the book in wan haund then went and made the beds wi it stuck up on the headboard. Patrick’s room’s dead neat and when he started work he bought hissel a new downie cover – navy blue wi a cream stripe through it. When ma granny was alive she’d say he should join the forces he’s that tidy and Mammy’d get really mad at her.
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