And Baby Makes Two

“No fraternizing on company time,” he whispered, giving me another squeeze.

A thrill ran through me. It was like having a secret no one else knew. How grown up could you get?

The other guy didn’t show up till nearly six, so by the time he was settled, and Les and I had said goodbye, and I’d walked home, it was after seven.

She was in the kitchen, drinking a beer and making a curry.

She turned as I reached the doorway.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Out.”

I hadn’t told her about Les, of course. It was my private, personal life and had nothing to do with her. She’d only try to ruin it for me. Plus, she’d probably want to meet him, you know, check his teeth and his intentions and stuff like that. The mind boggled. Even if Les didn’t get scared that I was going to turn into an old bag with dyed hair and the dress sense of a tramp – and even if she didn’t tell him how old I really was straight away – she’d be sure to tell him enough of my faults to put him off for good. I could just hear her. “Did you know she cuts her toenails over the living-room carpet? Have you seen the state of her room? She’s violent, you know. She threw the remote control through the front window last winter because I told her to do her homework…” That’s what she was like. Moan, moan, moan. Worse, though, was the fact that if she knew I had a boyfriend who came round after work on the nights she went to Charley’s, she’d stay at home. I knew her. She was mean. Anything to spoil my fun.

She put down the knife she’d been chopping carrots with.

“Out where?”

I threw my bag on the table and draped my jacket over a chair. “Doing my science project with Shanee. How long till we eat?”

She gave me her mind-reading stare.

“I had a call from Mrs Mela.”

She said it like it was some kind of threat. Which I suppose it was.

I took an apple from the fruit bowl. “Have I got time for a shower?”

She leaned against the counter, her arms folded in front of her in typical telling-off mode.

“She says your work is slipping.”

I bit into the apple. “Shakespeare’s boring. I don’t understand it.”

I could see the tip of her tongue between her lips.

“That’s why you’re doing Shakespeare at school. So someone can tell you what it means.”

“Yeah … right…” I took another bite. “Well, I am doing it at school, aren’t I?”

“Apparently not,” said Hilary Spiggs. “Apparently you’re writing notes and making jokes at school.”

I started to ease back out of the kitchen. “I’m going to have a shower before sup—”

“You’re going to stay right here and tell me what’s going on.”

I met her eyes, my face expressionless. “Nothing’s going on. I don’t like Shakespeare.”

“Mrs Mela says it’s not just her class.”

“Well, she’s wrong.”

Old stone-face didn’t even blink.

“Something’s going on,” she informed me. “Ever since your birthday you’ve been acting oddly.” She narrowed her eyes into two dark, probing slits. “Are you seeing someone, Lana? Is that what it is?”

I didn’t think my mother was the stupidest person on the planet, but I definitely thought she was one of them. I mean, she knew nothing about life or love or anything like that. And if she’d ever been younger than thirty she’d blocked it out completely. But sometimes she surprised me. Like now. How could she tell?

“Of course I’m seeing someone.” I smiled very sweetly. It drove her mad. “I see dozens of people a day. Shanee, Amie, Gerri, Meryl, Lisa—”

“Please,” said the Grand Inquisitor. “Spare me the list. You know what I mean. Are you seeing someone? A boy?”

I tossed my apple core into the bin. “It’d be pretty hard not to see a few hundred of them. It’s a mixed school, remember?”

She picked up her beer. “Yes,” she said. “I do remember.”

Not Quite Romeo and Juliet

“So how’s your science project going?” Amie asked one lunch-break.

Shanee squashed her drink carton under her foot.

“OK. My plants seem to be doing what they’re meant to be doing. You know, different stuff depending on how much light and water they get … I haven’t lost any yet.” She looked over at me. “What about yours, Lana?”

I groaned. “Oh, my God, the plants…”

Shanee bought the seeds, planted the seeds, separated the tiny plants out into pots, and then gave me a dozen to look after. I was meant to put three in a place where they got a lot of light, three in a place where they got a bit of light, three in a place where they didn’t get much light, and the rest in the dark. I was meant to check them every day and keep notes. I was meant to be making scientific observations.

“I totally forgot about them … I’ve been so busy lately…”

“Not doing homework obviously,” said Gerri.

Shanee bit back a smile.

“No,” said Amie in this baby voice. “With Les…” She gave me one of her sour looks. “I thought he had a job. Doesn’t he ever go to it?”

“You know, you’re not the only one with a boyfriend, Lana,” purred Gerri. “Other people manage to have a love life and occasionally get some work done.”

It was as if their bodies had been taken over not by aliens but by preachers. What was wrong with everyone all of a sudden?

“I never said I was the only one with a boyfriend,” I snapped back. “I just said I’ve been busy.”

Amie snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“So what’d you do last night?” asked Shanee, the Peacemaker. “Anything exciting?”

The other two spluttered.

“Nothing special. The old bag went to Charley’s, so Les came over after work and we hung out.”

The first couple of weeks we were going out, Les and me did do things. We went to the park and had tea in the café; we went to the cinema; we had a meal in the pizza place by the station; he took me for a drive up to Hendon because he loved roundabouts. But as time went on, nothing special was all we did. Not that I was complaining. I wasn’t complaining. I’d be happy watching paint dry with Les. Doing nothing with Les was a hundred times better than doing something with anybody else. I’d meet him for tea after school, or I’d drop by the shop, and, if Hilary was out, he’d come round at about eleven-thirty or twelve, after he finished work and the pubs had closed. We’d watch a bit of telly, then we’d snog for a while, and then he’d go home. He never invited me round to his, because he lived with four other guys and there wasn’t any privacy. He wanted me all to himself.

Gerri glanced over at me. “Have you slept with him yet?”

Gerri’d been having sex since the day before her fourteenth birthday. So, since she was thirteen. At least that’s what she said. She never actually went into much detail.

“No, not yet.” I crumbled up my sandwich wrapper. “Les is a gentleman. He never pressures me.”

This was true, but it did puzzle me a bit. Boys were meant to want sex; they were meant to pressure you. But Les never did. We’d snog in his car, we’d snog in my flat when Hilary was out, we’d even snogged in the Blockbuster office a couple of times, but he never tried to go any further. Most of the time I didn’t think about it, but when I did think about it I couldn’t decide if there was something wrong with Les, or with me.

I wasn’t the only one.