And Baby Makes Two

“And then we went to that virtual reality thing.”

“Shinola,” I begged. “Please… Why don’t you give Shanee a big smile? Show her what a good baby you can be…”

They call it projectile vomiting for a reason.

Shanee wiped it off her hand with a bib that was so dirty you couldn’t tell if it was decorated with rabbits or bears.

“I’d better get going.” She pushed back her chair. “I’ve got a ton of homework. I’ll give you a ring later on, all right? After Shinola’s asleep.”

She’d be lucky.

Shanee never rang. For days after her last visit I rushed to the phone every time it rang, but it was never Shanee. Sometimes it was my nan or Charlene, and a couple of times it was Dara on her mobile, ringing on her way to a meeting or a business dinner, but most of the time it was the same person. The last person on earth I had anything to say to. Hilary Let-me-run-your-life Spiggs.

“So how are you doing?”

“About the same as I was doing when you rang last time. Just blooming fine.”

“How’s the housekeeping money holding out?”

This was something Hilary asked every time she phoned, as if she was programmed, and it was also a trick question. If I told her the truth – that if it wasn’t for my Child Benefit and the fifty quid my nan sent me in case I wanted to buy myself a treat, and the fifty quid Dara sent me so I’d have some extra money for Christmas, and the twenty-five quid Charlene sent me for Shinola, I’d have about fifty pence to my name – she’d’ve done her impersonation of Hurricane Mitch.

“Just great,” I assured her. “Everything’s brilliant. I should get my first giro soon.”

“And how’s Shinola?”

“She’s brilliant, too.”

I could hear her sigh.

“Charley’s doing a job up in Camden,” my mother went on. “We were thinking he could pick you two up on his way home one night and you could come down for supper. You could spend the night if you wanted, or he could run you home afterwards.”

This was another irony. When we lived together she was always shouting at me, and now that she didn’t live with me she was always trying to get me to go down for a visit. I reckoned she just wanted to check up on me. You know, make sure I hadn’t been beating the baby or taking drugs or something.

“We’d love to,” I lied. “But I’m pretty busy this week.”

“Next week then.”

“I’ll have to see how things go.”

There were a few seconds of silence that I took to be defeat. But it wasn’t. It was her regrouping.

Hilary Spiggs cleared her throat. “Mrs Mugurdy says she’s seen your boyfriend a couple of times.”

It was just as well I didn’t go out much. Mrs Mugurdy probably had a key so she could go through the flat when I wasn’t in to make sure I wasn’t trashing the place.

“Mrs Mugurdy should mind her own business, too,” I told her.

“She said he seems very nice,” said my mother.

I couldn’t believe it. Maybe she missed me – or maybe just missed the flat – but she was ready to make peace. This was her way of giving up. Mrs Mugurdy obviously reported back that Les not only didn’t have face piercings or a motorcycle, but that he had a nice car and dressed well and was very polite. Hilary Spiggs was relieved.

But I wasn’t going to fall into her trap and say anything more about Les. I knew her. If I said he was nice, within five minutes she’d have his name, address, and NHS number.

I said, “Um…”

“I hope he’s contributing,” said my mother.

I didn’t say anything.

“Well?” she persisted. “Is he contributing?”

If I said yes, I wouldn’t be able to come up with some unexpected expense to get some more money out of her. If I said no, she might forget how nice Mrs Mugurdy said he was and lie in wait to confront him herself.

“Of course he is,” I assured her. “He’s not a wanker.”

“That I already know,” said my mother.

Nothing to do and Nowhere to do it

I was feeling kind of down by December.

All of a sudden, everybody was really busy. Now that he was a manager on a distant planet, Les had even less free time than he’d had before. Shanee’d started going out with the guy from the shop, so she didn’t have a minute. Charlene never had any time, and now she had less because she was organizing the school’s Christmas fair. Dara was in New York. My nan usually rang every day or two, but Christmas is a big time for quilters and she hadn’t rung for a week. Even Hilary was too busy to check up on me much. It made me feel really lonely, with only Shinola to talk to day after day. And only Shinola things to do.

Plus, things weren’t going exactly right.

My giro still hadn’t come through, and I’d had a letter from the council, reminding Mrs Spiggs that the rent was overdue. I barely had enough left to cover it. I splurged on our velvet dresses for Christmas, but I reckoned they were worth it because we’d wear them for Les. Aside from them, though, I didn’t know where the money went, but it went there faster than Concorde. And it wasn’t like I was living it up or anything. I’d been existing on Kwik Save No Frills beans and Kwik Save No Frills bread for weeks. I hadn’t had any Coke for a month. To economize.

I was still trying to work out how to pay the phone bill when the nurse at the well-baby clinic shouted at me because of Shinola’s nappy rash. She said it was practically terminal. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain that the reason Shinola’s bottom looked like pizza was because I was so broke and had to save on nappies. She piled on the guilt.

“You young mothers seem to think babies are dolls,” she snarled. “But if you break a leg off her you’re not going to be able to glue it back on.”

The day after that, I saw the housing officer. He had a face that looked like it never smiled. He said I wasn’t exactly homeless or desperate, was I? He said I had less points than a bowl of jelly and he put me on the bottom of the list. He said to let him know if my circumstances changed.

“You mean, ring you if I die?” I asked.

“Something like that.”

After I saw the housing officer, I went home and cried. I just sat on the sofa with my jacket on and Shinola gumming my finger and wept. I really wished Shanee would come over like she used to, and we’d get a couple of bags of crisps and some chips and a few videos and sit up half the night just talking. But the thought of videos made me cry even more. For a few minutes I felt really angry. So angry I took Shinola’s giraffe from where it was poking into my bum and hurled it at the telly.

But I didn’t exactly know who I was angry with. It wasn’t Shanee. And it definitely wasn’t Les. I mean, it wasn’t Les’s fault that he was so good at his job he’d been made the youngest manager in the nation, maybe even in the world. It wasn’t his fault that he got transferred to Finsbury Park. It wasn’t his fault that Hilary didn’t leave me enough money to live on. I could hear the Spiggs say, “But it is his fault you got pregnant,” and then I knew who I was angry with.

I could see now that Hilary had planned the whole thing. She knew what having a baby was like. How hard it was to look after one on your own with no one to ever help you out or mind her for a few hours. She knew how much it cost. She knew my friends were all going to be tied up with school and have no time for me. She