And Baby Makes Two

She wasn’t exactly subtle.

“No,” she said. “You don’t.”

I glared. “Well then…”

“This is what it means to be grown up,” she informed me. “You made your bed, and now you’re going to have to lie in it.”

I didn’t say anything. I hoped she could see in my eyes how much I hated her.

“Though knowing you, I shouldn’t think you actually made the bed first,” said my mother.

*  *  *

After the Spiggs left I got dressed.

I used to look forward to getting dressed in the morning. What mood was I in? What colours should I wear? You know, that sort of thing.

But not any more.

The only mood I was ever in was pregnant. My tummy was as big as a basketball, my breasts were like melons and my bum looked like it was padded. The only good thing about any of this was the breasts. Les was a breast man. He thought my breasts were great this size.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of my door.

I didn’t look like Cindy Crawford or Posh Spice. I looked like an inflatable girl that had gone wrong.

Plus, I didn’t have much that really fitted me any more. Stretch jeans and miniskirts aren’t exactly designed for a bulging body. And maternity clothes are. Which means that you might as well wear a dustbin bag with holes cut out for your arms. I’d seen a few pregnant women in dresses that actually showed the bulge, but there was no way I could go to school like that, it was asking for trouble.

I’d blown most of my savings on a maternity dress that was really cool. I found it in this trendy boutique for mothers-to-be. It was a knee-length A-line with a square neck and long sleeves, and an adjustable belt thing that tied high up at the back so you could wear it even after you had the baby. It came in green or blue. I reckoned green might make me look too much like a moving hillock, so I got it in blue. As per usual, Hilary Spiggs went mad when she found out how much I’d paid for it. She wanted me to wear the old junk she brought home. But I looked great in the dress. Only I couldn’t wear it every day, could I? I never wore the same thing twice in a row, unless it was pyjamas. I wasn’t going to let pregnancy force me to drop my standards.

The doorbell rang while I was trying on a heavy black jumper Charley’d left behind. It was so big that I didn’t look pregnant, I looked like I was swimming in treacle. I could leave my flies open and no one would ever know.

“I didn’t realize the ‘builder’ look was in this season,” said Shanee when I answered the door.

She used to wait for me at the post-box on the corner, but now she called at the house. I wasn’t sure if the Wicked Witch had put her up to it – to make sure I went to school – or if it really was because she got tired of waiting so long for me to get ready.

I struck a model-like pose.

“Am I radiant?” I gushed.

Pregnant women were supposed to shine like a radium dial. Everybody said so.

Shanee tilted her head on one side. “Well,” she said, “you do have a few more zits.”

It was all right for the headteacher and Hilary Spiggs to say I should stay at school. They didn’t have to put up with the teasing and taunting.

“What’s that you’ve got under your jumper, Lana?” shouted one of the Year Eights as Shanee and I walked into the building. “You smuggling footballs into school?”

So funny I forgot to laugh.

Sometimes it was footballs. Sometimes it was melons. Other times, they’d just laugh, without saying anything.

I wasn’t going to look over to count them, but there were about three of the pimply little cretins hanging out by the entrance. They were practically wetting themselves, they thought they were so hysterical.

“Ignore them,” said Shanee. “They’re baby dorks.”

It was what Shanee always said.

The baby dorks weren’t the worst, though. The worst were the older dorks. There were a couple of the real hard cases who would kind of slide up to me if I was on my own, smiling and drooling. “I hear pregnant women are always horny…” they’d say. Or, “I hear pregnant women are really desperate…” Or, “How about letting me have a taste of your milk?” Rude stuff like that.

“They’ll get tired of it eventually,” said Shanee.

This was also what she always said.

I didn’t say anything. A hot bubble of something that wasn’t quite air and wasn’t quite water had lodged itself in my throat. “Loo,” I muttered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

We headed for the loo.

There were about a million girls stuffed into the toilet. It sounded like a hut full of chickens. A couple of girls were actually using the cubicles, but most of them were squashed together at the sinks, checking their make-up in the mirrors.

“Jesus,” Shanee groaned. “You couldn’t get a lizard through here.” She glanced at me anxiously. “Can you wait?”

I clapped my hand over my mouth and shook my head.

“Coming through!” shouted Shanee. “Coming through!”

No one so much as looked over. They were all too busy with getting their eyes right and admiring each other’s clothes. Normally, I’d’ve been with them.

I forced my way in. There was a free toilet right at the end, but I couldn’t get to it.

The hot bubble was beginning to burst.

I choked.

“She’s going to be sick!” screamed Shanee. “Get out of the way. She’s going to be sick!”

The girl who was blocking my way made a face, but she flattened herself against the girl in front of her, holding her mascara wand in the air like a flag.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “No wonder everybody warns you about having sex.”

*  *  *

“So, Saturday,” Gerri was saying. “We’ll blitz the lot. Miss Selfridge, Hennes, Gap…” She winked at Shanee. “We can even hit the Notting Hill Housing Trust Charity Shop if you want.”

Amie opened her packet of crisps. Cheese and onion. The smell was enough to make me gag.

“Sounds great to me. I want to get a top like that one we saw in Cosmo. You know, with the V-neck and the stripes?”

I chewed on a plain water biscuit and tried not to yawn.

I was used to school being boring, but not lunch, for God’s sake.

“It’s tempting,” said Shanee. “I got a brilliant denim jacket in the Trust last time we went. But I can’t go on Saturday.” She made the face of someone who has suffered a lot. “I’ve got to mind the brats.”

“Bring ’em with you,” said Gerri. “We can handle three of them between us.”

Shanee groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding! I’d rather take a bear shopping with me. It’d behave better and we’d get on the news.”

Gerri turned to me. “What about you, Lana? You can still squeeze through the aisles, can’t you?”

“Oh, hahaha.” I bit into another biscuit. “Actually, maybe I will come along. I want to check out Mothercare. It’s time I started thinking about his clothes.”

“What makes you think it’s going to be a boy?” asked Gerri.

“I just know.” I shrugged. “You have a feeling about these things.”

Amie choked. “I’d’ve thought you’d’ve had enough of feelings.”

“And I should probably check out the baby books…” I went on. “I still haven’t decided about breast- feeding.”