And Baby Makes Two

So I told her the same thing I told my mother and everybody else, so they’d shut up and leave me alone.

“I reckon I’ll become an actress. I really like drama.”

Actually, acting was the one job I thought would really suit me. You make lots of money, you go to lots of parties and you don’t need any qualifications, you just turn up for auditions. What could be easier? You don’t even have to go to acting school, if you don’t want to. Scads of famous stars were discovered just walking down the street.

“I believe the correct term is ‘actor’ for both sexes nowadays,” said Mrs Mela. “And as far as your love of drama goes, Lana, Shakespeare is drama, but you don’t seem to like him very much.”

That’s the thing I’ve always found with preachers, they twist your words to suit themselves.

“I meant like films,” I explained. “You know, like Titanic. Or musicals.” Musicals were starting to interest me a lot. I’d watched at least six since I met Les. “Everyone says I have a really good voice.”

“You need more than a good voice to get on in this world,” said Mrs Mela. “You need to work hard and get proper qualifications.”

Mrs Mela had two university degrees, plus a teaching degree. If I was an underachiever, she was an overachiever. Fancy going to school for twenty years just to teach English to a load of kids who’d rather be at home watching telly.

I readjusted my school bag over my shoulder. “So, is that all?” I prepared for flight. “It’s just that I have to get home. My mum’s got the flu.”

I got the feeling from the way Mrs Mela frowned at me that my mum had had the flu before. Probably recently.

“How old are you?” asked Mrs Mela. “Fifteen?”

You didn’t need a university degree to guess that, either. I was in Year Ten, wasn’t I?

I nodded.

“Fifteen’s old enough to start taking things seriously,” said Mrs Mela. She smiled hopefully. “With a little effort on your part, this year could see your attitude mature a little more.”

“I’ll try,” I lied. “I’m sure it will.”

I couldn’t see how much more mature she expected my attitude to get. Only one more year and I’d be out of school for good.

My best friend, Shanee Tyler, was the complete opposite of me.

Shanee was small, dark, quiet and plain as a wholemeal digestive. I was into fashion, but Shanee couldn’t tell DKNY from CK. Plus, her mum had three kids and no husband, so they were always broke. Most of the time, she dressed in old jeans, and she didn’t even own a pair of trainers, never mind platforms or heels. She wore hiking boots and somebody’s hand-me-down motorcycle boots that looked like something out of Star Wars. And forget make-up. The only time she let me do her up, she’d moaned and moved so much that I nearly put her eye out. And, unlike me, Shanee was polite, well-behaved, worked hard and was good at school. The perfect daughter.

But even though we were so different, Shanee and I had been best friends since primary school.

She was waiting for me in the hall when Mrs Mela finally let me go.

“I saw you through the door,” said Shanee. “What’d she want?”

I shrugged. “Oh, you know…” Shanee didn’t really know. She never got in trouble. “She caught me passing notes with Amie, and then I didn’t know what page we were on in the stupid play and then it turned out that I didn’t have my homework—”

“Turned out?” Shanee smirked. “What do you mean it turned out that you didn’t have your homework?”

I gave her a look. “I forgot it.”

She spluttered. “You mean you forgot to do it.”

Shanee knew me too well.

“More or less.” I grinned. “Old mealy-mouth went mad. So I had to hear the lecture about making an effort and thinking about the future and all that stuff.”

Shanee adjusted her school bag on her shoulder.

“You’d think she’d get tired of saying it,” said Shanee.

I laughed. “Preachers are robots. They just repeat the same things over and over.”

Shanee kicked a drinks can out of her path. “On the other hand, I suppose you have let your usual low standards drop a bit lately…”

If my mother had made a crack like that, it would’ve been a criticism, but with Shanee I knew she was just joking.

“You know,” she went on, “you used to do your homework now and then.” She gave me a smile. “Or at least copy someone else’s.”

“I couldn’t copy someone else’s English, it was an essay. Plus, Amie’s useless at English and she’s the only one who would let me.”

Shanee laughed. “You really are too much sometimes…”

I was laughing, too. We stepped through the gates.

“I’ve got a life now, Shanee. I’m not going to waste my time trying to work out what some dead geezer wrote hundreds of years ago. It’s not redolent.”

“You mean relevant,” said Shanee. “Redolent has to do with smell.”

I flapped one hand. “Whatever you say.”

She stopped just outside the gates and looked at me with her head to one side.

“Where are you going?” she demanded. “The garden centre’s left.”

I was going right, towards the café.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m meeting Les for tea before he goes to work.”

Shanee’s mouth formed a perfect O.

“What about our science project?”

We were working in pairs. Shanee and I were finding out about the effects of light and water on plants. This was the day we were meant to buy our seeds.

“You don’t need me to pick out a packet of seeds.”

Shanee was quiet, but she was stubborn.

“What about planting them?” she insisted. “Do you expect me to do it all on my own?”

“I trust you,” I assured her. “I’m sure you’ll do a brilliant job.”

Shanee rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Who needs photosynthesis when they’ve got love?”

I forgot all about Mrs Mela and Shanee for the rest of the afternoon. I had a great time.

After tea, I walked Les to work. The other guy on the night shift hadn’t turned up yet, so I helped out behind the counter till he did. You had to log in each title that was being taken in or out on the computer. I’d done pretty well in my computer class, so I had no trouble. Les was impressed.

“It took me ages just to learn how to call up a file.” He gave me a quick kiss. “Not only pretty but clever, too.”

No one had ever called me clever before.

Later, he came up behind me while I was putting some titles back on the shelves and gave me a squeeze.

“And she’s a hard worker,” he informed an invisible audience. “What more could one man ask?”

I laughed. Mrs Mela and Hilary Spiggs would’ve had heart attacks if they’d heard Les describe me as “a hard worker”. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? I was a hard worker when there was some reason to be one. Plus, I liked working in the video shop. It made me feel grown up and in charge. And responsible, just like everyone was always telling me I should be.

I was about to kiss Les back, but at that moment someone came into the shop. He pushed me away.