Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum

by Vi Grim

  There's just five of us at Azziz's cafe for Nelly's birthday, her, me, Jesus, Azziz and Janice. It's a nice surprise to see Janice; I haven't seen her in ages. She's looking really healthy, like glowing. She's got a bit of a bump too.

  She smiles and says, 'It's contagious!'

  I look at Azziz and give him a wink. He gives me a little nod back. It's him; he's the dad! I wonder if the baby will have special powers.

  I said not to bother with presents but everyone has bought a little something. I don't want a house full of junk, but it looks like it is going to be. With a bit of help from me, Nelly tears the wrapping paper off the presents. There's a lovely little doll from Janice, a dinosaur from Azziz and crayons and paints from Jesus. Nel chews on the dinosaur and helps me to open the big box with the flashy thing. It's wonderful, like a cross between a pinball machine and a stove. It has drawers and doors and lights and buzzers and spinny things. I play with it and Nel plays in the empty box. She spends hours climbing in and out and playing peek-a-boo. The birthday cake looks so cute with just one little candle. We wash it down with hot tea while Nel smears her piece all over the flashy thing.

  After sunset, Azziz and Jesus's guests start arriving. It's great to see everyone but I feel shattered. Nel and me leave them to party and head for home and a comfy bed.

  Nel loves the crayons. She chews on them, posts them into the wood basket and draws on the walls with them. I try giving her paper but she prefers the bigger canvas. I'm so proud of my little graffiti artist that I leave her to it. Just one wall in the living room, that's all she's getting. When she's having her nap, I try to clean it off. As well as being carbon neutral, non-toxic, eco-friendly and ethically and sustainability produced, the crayons are also permanent. Nothing will move them. I scrub, I brush, I wipe, I use nasty products that take the skin off my hands but nothing will move them. I slip them into the bin and hide the paints in a high cupboard for when she's much, much bigger.

  Nel adores the box the flashy thing came in. She plays with it all day, she puts things in it and she sleeps in it.

  Using hot soapy water, I try to remove the chocolate cake that is smeared all over the flashy thing and has cemented itself into the rollers and spinny bits. The water gets into the workings and the thing goes haywire, flashing and buzzing, counting to ten in an annoying American accent and playing Old McDonald had a farm in Chinese. I bash it and hold it upside down and shake it but it won't stop. It's driving me crazy. Using my fang, I prise open the battery compartment and knock the batteries out sending them rolling in all directions across the floor. Silence, yes.

  Nelly laughs a deep rumbling belly laugh; Oh, mum you are so funny! She collects the batteries up and, after sucking on them, tries to put them in the flashy thing. No, no, no, I've had enough of it. Being the good mum I am, I stick the batteries back in and it buzzes and flashes and vibrates and counts to ten in that really annoying accent.

  'Does this man really exist?' I say, talking to the cooker. 'If he was my husband, I'd have killed him long ago.'

  'Dead, he's dead,' says Pollux. 'He was murdered by his wife.'

  'Good,' I say, feeling strangely satisfied.

  Nelly kicks and knocks and shakes the flashy thing and bashes the battery compartment with her dinosaur, saying, 'Kill, kill, kill.' I must be more careful what I say and do in front of her.

  It's driving me nanas. She plays with it, and plays with it, then plays with it some more. She has managed to get rid of the American and now there's a man reciting Hickory dickory dock in Chinese. I'm sure his wife killed him as well. Maybe Enzo can distract her. I let him out of his antimatter cage and he whizzes over to Nelly. He has a soft spot for her, I can tell. She pokes and prods the flashy thing and bashes it with her dinosaur while Enzo hovers about, vying for her attention. I nip out for just a second to put a pooey blanket in the tub to soak. When I come back, there's silence. The flashy thing has gone. Big, bright, flashy things don't just vanish into thin air, not unless there's a black hole around! I'm glad to see the back of it.

  By Christmas, Nelly is seriously mobile. She disappears on me, and I run around panicking like a headless chook until I find her on the beach eating dead fish. Sometimes she is truly horrible; she does the most disgusting things. I barricade the front door with a driftwood stump, figuring that it will keep me agile having to clamber over it each time I come and go. I must admit that now I'm pregnant again, I do teleport about the place. Sometimes I make a cup of tea, then checking she's busy, click my fingers and have a precious moment of peace and quiet, all alone on the battered old sofa outside.

  It's wild and stormy on Christmas Day and Jesus, Azziz and Janice arrive tousled and dripping wet at my door early in the afternoon. I throw a couple of extra logs on the fire and mix them a stiff hot toddy, and make a hot choccy for me.

  I add an extra slug of whiskey and say, 'This'll warm your cockles. Happy Birthday Jesus!'

  Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.

  We tap our mugs together and drink to Jesus's good health.

  We have a big fat roast chicken, with stuffing and Yorkshire puds and lashings of gravy. After a long siesta I bring in the Christmas cake. We sing happy birthday and Jesus makes a wish and blows out the candles.

  'About bloody time,' whispers Pollux.

  About time for what I wonder.

  We spend the evening drinking good red wine, singing and toasting up nibbles on the fire. They stay until after the New Year. They're fun and it's nice to have a full house. Looking after Nelly is a whole lot easier with people around, she adores all the extra attention.

  God is noticeable by his absence. I try calling him up to see how he is and wish him a happy New Year but there's no body home. Even the slugs don't know where he is.

  I haven't seen Tat for a while either. He'll be sitting cross-legged in his shack thinking lofty thoughts. It's like he chooses to suffer so much that he feels guilty if he's enjoying himself, like it's a sin to be happy. He really should let his hair down occasionally. I'll invite him around, Nelly adores him and he can spar with Enzo.

  'Am I spoiling Nelly?' I ask Castor. 'I'm always fussing over her.'

  'Give her all the love and kisses and cuddles you can. That's not going to spoil her. Kids get spoilt by a lack of love and attention, not too much. Number 2 will be along soon and you won't have as much time for Nel anymore. Make the most of it while it's easy.'

  Easy! What am I letting myself in for? I'll keep giving Nel lots of kisses and cuddles. They're coming her way, like it or not!

  16

  Me, Nelly and Tat are sitting in the middle of the paddock trying to make friends with the sheep. Tat doesn't eat red meat but I love it. The sheep don't have names like Minty, Gravy, Sizzle and Chops for nothing, they don't trust me an inch. We have been here all morning, Zenning out.

  'Patience Grasshopper,' says Tat. 'They'll come to us.'

  They haven't moved an inch yet. They're standing in the farthest corner jingling their bells as they fidget nervously.

  'Look out!' shouts Pollux suddenly.

  Slimeballs appear all around us. They gobble up some sheep then circle around, toying with us like a cat moving in on its prey.

  We try to run but the slimeballs block our way and start moving in towards us for the kill.

  'Relax,' says Tat, calmly.

  Relax! We're about to be massacred!

  The slimeballs move closer, squinting at us with their mean slanty eyes, slime drooling down from their fangs.

  I take a deep breath and relax.

  Bam!

  I'm in my fighter. We swivel to the left then back to the right firing torpedoes and lasers. The slimeballs explode, sending flaming slime flying in all directions. I click my fingers to teleport Tat and Nelly back to the safety of my house then go supersonic around Camillo mopping up the remaining slimeballs.

  'Thanks Em,' says Pollux. 'I've got to get a new moon.'

  Once Castor has appeared, I land t
he fighter on my front lawn and go inside to make a cup of tea, a strong cup of tea, with sugar and a just a little nudge of something stronger.

  Castor's kids, Hither and Thither arrive. It's wonderful to see them again. They're filling in while Pollux is waiting for his new moon. He's still with us, but now he's lost confidence in his moon, it's barely operational. There's not even enough oxygen in the cockpit for me to visit.

  'We're doing this as a favour to Dad, they were going to send Renard,' says Hither.

  'No, not Renard,' I say.

  'Yes Renard, but Dad wouldn't let them. We're standing in to help out, but we're not ready for the solitary life in a sentry moon yet, that's why we're in fighters.'

  'What would you rather to be doing?'

  'Partying,' says Hither. 'We're still got some wild-oats to sow.'

  It's hard to imagine a couple of hermaphrodite slugs sowing their wild oats. The mind boggles. Do they splash down in the primeval swamps on the prehistoric asteroid and hang out with Neanderthal slug?

  'Where do you sow them?' I ask.

  'Never you mind.'

  'Will you show me your yellow bits if I show you mine,' I ask cheekily, loosening my bra strap.

  'Ummmm, no,' answers Hither.

  I nearly got him!

  'Thank you so much for coming,' I say, and climbing onto their fighters, give each of them a big kiss.

  'Have you still got that black hole?' asks Thither.

  'I do,' I say, pulling Enzo out of my pocket. He's going to have to stay in his cage for a while, the less people that know about him the better.

  'Have you been practicing with your white rings? asks Hither.

  'White rings?' I ask.

  'Remember, we gave you some white rings to practice with.'

  I can't for the life of me remember. Motherhood has frazzled my brain.

  'They're in the drawer by your bed, right at the back under that secret bar of Caramello,' says Castor.

  When I get home I look. The white rings have slipped my mind again, but I haven't forgotten about the secret bar of Caramello. It was so secret that I'd completely forgot about it; now I'm craving it. There's a rustling of wrappers and soon all that's left is a few crumbs. Number 2 kicks appreciatively, obviously a girl after my own heart.

  What will I call her? Emma-Lou and Sarah-Jane are my favourites at the moment, but I'm bound to change my mind. She can be Cara, as in Caramello, for the moment.

  Spring arrives and so does Cara. By the time she has fought her way out and found her way to my breast she's called Lillian Tsul Taylor. Zula's dad, Saleem, called me Tsul in the desert. It means lively one, which is fitting for the new arrival, she's full of beans.

  Janice moves into Azziz's river boulder house, which sits on a hillock behind his cafe. She has her baby, River Star, but as I'm struggling to cope with two kids while recovering from a difficult birth, I haven't had the time, or been in the mood to visit. I hope she's doing okay. I wonder what her baby looks like. Does it have a crown of spikes or is it an angelic demigod?

  17

  Castor calls me up to his moon in the middle of the night.

  'Wha, wa, wa, what's happening?' I ask, trying to gather my wits.

  'It's Annie, she's committed suicide.'

  'Oh no. Can we save her?'

  Castor is silent for a little while.

  'Okay,' he says. 'She's here.'

  'Where?'

  'Here, on Camillo. Give her some time to adjust; she's been through a lot.'

  I'm in no state to go looking for her, so I get back to not coping, and wait.

  There's a faint knock on my door three days later.

  Annie collapses over the piece of driftwood into my arms. She's skinny, soaked to the bone and covered with cuts and bruises. Her eyes are milky and distant and she is cold to touch, like she's dead.

  She needs help, I click my fingers and Freud and Dr Florence appear in my living room.

  Once Florence has got over the surprise, she says, 'Emily, how are you? Are the stitches holding? I'm sorry but I'm not a surgeon.'

  'I'm fine,' I say, lying. 'Me and the Lilly are alive thanks to you.'

  I make her and Freud a cup of tea and putting a hand on Annie, who's huddling in the corner of the sofa, say, 'This is my friend Annie, she needs help.'

  They help Annie to the bathroom and put her in a tepid bath.

  Freud comes out and says, 'We'll warm her up slowly. What happened to her?'

  'I don't know. She committed suicide. Can you help?'

  'I'll try. If I know what she has been through it will make it easier.'

  I click my fingers to send him up to visit Castor in his moon.

  He comes back half an hour later.

  'Castor says you need help.'

  'I do, but she needs it more.'

  Tat arrives a few minutes later and without saying anything, sets himself up in the kitchen and starts cooking up a big pot of soup. Jesus arrives a few minutes later, puffing and panting. He gives me a big hug.

  'Sorry I haven't been along. Azziz has gone on a bender on Zwingly, so I've been helping Janice. Can I help you?'

  'Please,' I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  He picks up Nelly, who's been sulking in the corner, pooing her pants. He cleans her up and before long I hear her deep belly laugh coming from the bedroom. Just hearing it makes me smile.

  Freud and Dr Florence stay for two weeks. I might be at a bit of a low, baby blues or whatever you call it, but Annie is in a mess. She's quiet and unresponsive, not like her former bubbly self at all. Freud says that she ran away from home and fell in with the wrong crowd. They got her hooked on drugs then forced her into prostitution. She killed herself in front of a train after being attacked by a client. Once she arrived on Camillo she found her way to the bluff, sat there for a day, then jumped. Thither managed to fire a torpedo into the water as she fell but it was touch and go. She has shrapnel wounds and was knocked unconscious by the explosion. The cold water bought her round again and she swam around to my cottage, the waves bashing her against the rocks on the way. No wonder she's in a mess.

  Freud decides she needs further help and sends her off to the Betty Ford clinic on Zwingly.

  It's almost summer by the time I'm feeling on top of things again. Lilly has started smiling at me; such a little thing, but it makes all the pain, suffering, stitches and sleepless nights seem worthwhile. She's a little cutey. She has the same dark skin and hair as Nelly but big dark brown eyes that trap you at a glance. Oh, she is going to break some hearts! Nelly has taken a while to adjust to having a little sister. All the toilet training went out the door and I nearly went back to putting a nappy on her. Tat and Jesus have been a big help, giving her lots of love and attention and getting her happy again. Now she's fascinated by Lilly and tries to look after her, covering her up and giving her toys. Nel has taken to the doll that Janice gave her for Christmas and carries it everywhere, twiddling with its ribbon to get to sleep.

  My body has recovered; I'm even starting to feel horny again. I'm ready to let my hair down and I'm sure Annie is too. She's coming out, like it or not. I'm off to Zwingly.

  Castor has a word with me about contraception and puts a little coil thing inside my womb that he says will stop any unwanted babies.

  'I'll be good,' I promise him. 'I'll try to stay out of trouble.'

  He laughs, 'Like hell you will!'

  Janice comes too. She wants to show off her baby and is ready for a bit of action after Zenning it out on Camillo for a few months. We stay in her house on the beach. It's wonderful to be sitting under a palm tree listening to the swoosh of waves, with snatches of reggae wafting in on the breeze. She's hired two nannies and we express bottles and bottles of milk, just in case we don't make it home.

  Annie is looking great. She's beautiful anyway with her Indian complexion and long black hair but has been working out and her body is toned and positively glowing.

  She gives me a big
hug and says, 'Sorry, sorry, sorry.'

  'You have nothing to be sorry about. It's wonderful to see you looking so good.'

  'I'm dead!' she says, positive beaming. 'We can be together forever.'

  I give her another hug.

  'Are there any tattooists on Zwingly?' I ask.

  'There's a couple in Port Royal and there's this new guy, a Rasta who turned up a few weeks back. He's from somewhere weird, Timbuktu I think. He lives just down the beach.'

  'Timbuktu, cool!'

  An hour later we're poring through the Rasta's scrapbook of designs while he smokes his sweet cigarettes on the terrace. I'm dead keen on a two headed dragon but Nelly keeps turning the page back to a little swallow, so the decision is made: a swallow on my right arm and a yinny-yangy thing between my shoulder blades.

  I try to talk Annie out of getting one, it seems a shame to mess up such beautiful skin, but she insists, choosing an Indian script armlet on her left forearm. I've got no idea what it means but the flowing writing will look really classy on her brown skin.

  'What does it say?' I ask.

  'Not telling.'

  The Rasta says that things aren't the same in Timbuktu. There's a lot of bad men, a lot of death. He was shot for not being a Muslim.

  'Cool,' he says. 'Now I'm in heaven.'

  I worry about Zula; I hope he's okay.

  The first couple of nights we stay in and chat and get the babies settled and used to the nannies, then we go partying. We have such fun. I've never really been bad before and I might not get another chance, I might grow up or something. One morning I wake up with these two gorgeous Italian guys, they're like love gods. Yes!

  I have breakfast with the girls.

  'Aren't your boobs killing you?' asks Janice. 'Mine are.'

  'They're just fine,' I say, and tell them why the Italian boys haven't joined us for breakfast. We laugh so loud that we get thrown out of the restaurant.

  We go dancing, we go surfing and we hang out with the rock stars.