Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum

  Picasso seduces me. He has me pose nude then paints me from head to toe in red. I don't need to ask Annie where she's been when she comes home painted a funny shade of blue the next day!

  Annie has a fling with James and breaks his heart. She lets me have the pleasure of slamming the door in his face when he turns up begging on the doorstep.

  We have jam sessions each Sunday, and sing until we're horse.

  When we start arguing about what month it is, we decide it's time to head back to Camillo.

  18

  I want a boy. I have Castor remove the magic spirally thing, then picking the day carefully, have Zula visit. It's so nice to have him in my arms; I don't want to let go. I want him to stay forever and be my man. I want the kids to have a dad. Then I twiddle with the necklace around my neck and think of Ijju. I squeeze Zula so tight I nearly crush him, then click my fingers and he's gone, just the faint odour of desert left hanging in the air.

  A few weeks later I go for a walk along the beach with Annie.

  'I'm pregnant,' I say.

  'Snap, me too,' she says smiling.

  'James?' I ask.

  'Hell no!'

  I study her face carefully then say, 'Azziz?'

  She smiles.

  'Yes!' I say. 'That's so neat.'

  I'm really happy for her. She's always fancied Azziz. I wonder how Janice will take it. I think she'll be cool; she's a girl who's lived life to the full.

  Finally, Pollux's new moon arrives, an SM7.

  'Worth waiting for or what?' says Pollux, when I go to visit him. 'It's got voyeurscopic vision. It's just like being there.'

  I know the feeling. He means wormoscopic vision but slugs can't say the word Worm without going all funny.

  Hither and Thither say goodbye and shoot off in their fighters to sow some wild oats.

  With a toddler, a baby and another one in the oven, life becomes a bit of a blur. It would be easy to say that we lurch from disaster to disaster, but there's so many good memories that I forgive the kids and Zula for everything. It's all Zula's fault for being so charming and thinking about me like he does. He had all the pleasure with none of the hard work. He'll have to make it up to me sometime; I'm going to make him pay!

  It's fun having Annie here and pregas too. I feel like an old hand, giving her pointers and advice. I keep saying to her to make the most of life before the baby arrives. Once it's arrived, life as you know it finishes, you never get to sleep again and become a slave to you baby. I suggest she goes back to Zwingly and parties for a while.

  'It was fun but I want to be here with you and look after my growing baby.'

  It's great having her here. Sometimes Janice brings River Star along and stays for weeks on end. It's wonderful with her around. She sings and jokes and does daft things. Like, instead of measuring the kids and making a little mark on the door post, she paints them from top to toe, squishes them against the wall, then prints their name and the date in big red letters that no one can miss.

  I need to get a bit organised. God's good at sorting out asteroids but he's just not around. I go to see Castor instead.

  'I want more people on Camillo,' I say.

  'You seem to be doing a pretty good job of populating it single handedly,' he replies.

  'My babies are going to need friends and schools and soccer teams and jobs when they leave school.'

  'What do they need jobs for?'

  'That's what people do,' I say, stomping my foot. He's being so difficult.

  'The problem is that once you open the gates, you loose control. When Zeus controls who comes and goes, like on Juno or Vespa, there's no problem unless the inhabitants start breeding, but once you get an emotional beast like a cow as gatekeeper, every time they see someone suffering or hear a sob story, the gate opens.'

  'I'm not a cow!'

  'Daisy is. Let's look at Panacea,' His screen zooms in on the Daisy's tiny asteroid. When I first visited, there was just her and a grassy meadow. The only company she had was a tree. But she got lonely and let in the Brazilian football team and their friends and families. Five years later, her asteroid is covered with high-rise apartment buildings; the only grass left being the soccer pitch.

  'I see what you mean,' I say. 'But Daisy's a cow, I'll be strict, I will keep Camillo beautiful.'

  Castor rolls his eyes to the heavens, 'Well, don't say I didn't warn you. You're better off like you are.'

  'I want people?'

  'Who, which people?'

  'Who's available?'

  The screens fill with people, with new ones showing every few seconds.

  'Who are they?' I ask.

  'Dead people; they're the people who have just died, like you did,' says Castor.

  'Good, I'll have some.'

  'You sound like a kid in a lolly shop.'

  'What's wrong with that?'

  'Nothing, pick some people then. You'll need someone who’s organised to keep order, like on Juno, there's Napoleon.'

  'I am organised,' I snap.

  'You don't want to talk to Jesus about this first?'

  'No,' I say, stomping my feet again. 'It's my asteroid, I'm in charge.'

  'You're in luck,' says Castor. 'A jumbo jet has just crashed. It's full of American families.'

  'Perfect, grab them.'

  'Where will you put them?'

  'Stop being tricky, just do it!' I screech. I'm not to be trifled with when I'm pregnant.

  Suddenly there's people everywhere on Camillo. They're wandering about like zombies looking battered, dazed and confused. I got my people; I just don't know what to do with them all. They've eaten all my vegetables and stripped the orchard bare. Having seen a few bolts of lightning coming from the other end of the beach, it looks like Jesus's garden is under attack as well. Janice and River Star arrive puffing along the beach, saying that the zombies have taken over the cafe. We barricade ourselves into my cottage and there's people outside, milling around waiting for something to happen.

  What am I to do?

  'Castor, can't you send them back or something? Get rid of them!'

  'So you've saved them from the dead, now you want to kill them again,' says Castor.

  'I don't want to kill them; I'm just not ready for them. Not yet.'

  'Yes or no? Make up your mind woman!'

  'Let's see if things settle down in a day or two,' I suggest.

  A couple of days later, there's something going on. I hear the sound system at the cafe belting out gospel music and can see a huge crowd gathering along there.

  'Annie, can you look after the kids?' I ask.

  'Of course,' says Annie. 'Do be careful.'

  I stomp off up the beach with the photon canon slung over my shoulder. Although the people's clothes are ripped and torn, they look surprisingly smart. All the men and boys wear suit jackets and ties, and the ladies and girls have long dresses. Many of them are wearing hats; the men black bobbly ones like I've seen on tele and the ladies headscarves. I kind of stand out in my bright yellow jump suit.

  People stare at me as if I'm some sort of weirdo.

  There's an ear-splitting screech of feedback over the speaker system and a rounded lady takes the stage. Speaking in a squeaky American accent, she says, 'Hi everyone, for those of you that don't know me, I'm Barb Dwyer. I must say it is wonderful to be here, it is what I have been praying for all of my life. We have been saved, ladies and gentlemen, saved from our sins and it has all happened because of one man. One man who is closer to God than Jesus himself. You paid your money, and he got you here. He bought you on the holiday of a lifetime. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome the Preacher Man, Will Godbehere!'

  The crowd claps and cheers as a tall, thin man with a gold suit comes on stage. He looks like a complete slimeball. I bet he started out as a used car salesman or a game show host.

  Taking the microphone, he says, 'Will God be here? Yes he will!'

  The crowd goes wild.

  Once the cheering has died d
own, Will continues in his slow southern drawl, 'Thank you Barbara for your rousing welcome, may God be with you. I bet you're all glad you signed up and paid your dues to the Church of Christian Finance. It might have seemed a lot at the time but no price is too high to pay for happiness. Look what it got you, a direct flight to heaven. I've been talking to God and he says it's ours to do whatever I want with. I'm going to subdivide it and sell it off to the highest bidders. May the glory of God be with you. Hallelujah!'

  'Hallelujah,' repeats the crowd.

  'Yes, hallelujah,' shouts Will. 'We need to get a little organised here. Mr Zaster will be looking after the logistics of setting ourselves up. Dee, would you like to say a few words -'

  'Preacher Man we're starving,' interrupts a tall, skinny man. 'Excuse me, but my children are starving. We need food.'

  'Hallelujah,' shouts Will.

  'Hallelujah,' repeats the crowd.

  'Hallelujah, The Lord has provided. There's fish, just like in the bible. The sea is teeming with fish; they're swimming up on the beaches. Smell the air, do you smell anything? Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, that's the sweet, smell of loaves a baking. We have grain enough to feed us all the way to Christmas. The Lord has provided wine, there are barrels of it, but as you know, the Church of Christian Finance is teetotal. We've sealed the door of the wine cellar and left it as an offering to God.'

  Jesus will be happy about that.

  'Before I hand over to Dee, there's sumthin else I should tell ya. When we opened the wine cellar the devil himself was hiding in there. He had skin like a reptile and four horns on his head. Ladies and Gentlemen, I spoke to the devil himself. He claimed he was the Son of God. I said I am the Son of God and we sealed that door with spikes and boulders and concrete. What's more the devil had a brother who was guarding his rum. We sealed him in his basement with his evil spirits. So the devil and his brother can drink themselves to death and go back to hell where they belong.'

  'GOD!' I call loudly in my thoughts. 'God, I need you.'

  Nothing, he's not there.

  'He's not around,' says Pollux.

  Dee, who's got plenty of middle age spread and no dress sense, gets up on stage and takes the microphone.

  I don't know if it's his hideous Hawaiian shirt that does it, but I've had enough.

  'Hello!' I shout at the top of my voice.

  No response.

  'Hallelujah!' I shout.

  'Hallelujah,' chants the crowd.

  'Folks, I'm Emily, I'm God's assistant and this is my-'

  'God's son, God's assistant! Seize her folks, she's in with the devil,' bellows Will over the speaker system.

  I set the canon on low power and fire a shot at his feet.

  'Seize her folks!'

  I spin around firing at the ground, think Zen and disappear.

  'We've got to get out of here,' I screech, as I arrive back home. 'Janice, can we stay in your house?'

  'Of course, as long as you like.'

  'Get packing,' I order.

  We run about pulling out everything we might need and piling it in the middle of the floor.

  'Castor, Pollux,' I call, 'We're going to be gone for a while. Don't let those slimeballs anywhere near my house, or the garden, or-' I stop and think or a moment, 'or, the paddock, or the bluff, or Tat.'

  'It'll be our pleasure,' they answer together.

  Everything's piled up in a big heap and we're just about to go when I remember Negrita and Trigger.

  'Zwingly? No, I'll be fine here,’ says Trigger, when I ask him. 'I've had enough of movie stars and their egos. I'll hang out with Tat.'

  Negrita stays too. She says that there’s too many dogs on Zwingly.

  19

  We tumble out of nowhere and arrive in Janice's house in a tangle of arms and legs, babies, duvets, pillows and blankets, books, marmite and spaghetti.

  It looks like being a long stay. We'll try to behave this time.

  Jesus and Azziz arrive at the same time. They're completely sozzled.

  'I don't want dem Christians drinking my wine,' slurs Jesus as he staggers out the door and falls face first onto the beach.

  Azziz gives his girls a big hug and passes out. They seem happy to share him. He's not the sort of guy you can tame.

  Nelly throws a wobbly. She stomps her feet, then goes red in the face and lies on the floor going crazy, flailing her arms and legs. What a monster. It's all over breakfast; the marmite on her toast didn't reach quite to the corners. Yesterday it was over toilet paper; she wanted three squares, I gave her two. Isn't she adorable - not! I hope Janice doesn't throw us out of her house.

  She doesn't mind. 'It's the terrible twos,' she says. 'Most kids grow out of it. I didn't. Just ignore me, when I do it.'

  The kids love living right on the beach. My house on Camillo is by the beach, but it's freezing half of the year and the surf's usually too big for me to let the kids out onto the sand. Here, the beach is like part of the house, it opens out onto it. The sand is pinky-white and the swell gently swooshes up the beach. We still need to watch our babies but they're not going to be plucked off the beach and sucked under like they would on Camillo.

  We try to find another midwife cos we can't imagine Dr Florence fitting in on Zwingly. There is no one else. Annie may be lucky and give birth with a gentle wriggle of the hips but I need someone that knows what they're doing and is good with a needle and thread. We invite her along, who knows, she might let her hair down!

  We do our best to accommodate her, tiding up the house and watching our Ps and Qs. Our Sunday jam session is classical, which we all really enjoy. I see Florence waltzing with Shakespeare and when I take myself to bed, she's sitting on the sofa between a couple of composers. She's sitting upright and stiff and looks very starchy and serious. I wish she'd relax and chill out.

  Annie's baby arrives first. She screams and complains and begs for mercy, but really her birth is a doddle. It's over in no time and she needs nothing more than a strong cup of tea and a ginger nut afterwards. No stitches; not even one. Cow! She has a boy; he's going to be a right little demigod with Annie's dark skin and black hair and Azziz's bright green eyes. I suggest calling him Adonis, but Annie and Azziz settle on Cosmo.

  My baby is late. The later it gets, the bigger it gets. It just keeps growing. It's scary; I'll probably explode. I try to meditate, I go for long walks and we dance around the house. Azziz suggests sex is the best way; it's his answer for everything. I can't imagine the boys are going to find me attractive with my huge belly, so we have a spicy Indian takeaway and I wash mine down with castor oil. That does the trick and, apart from a few stitches to get me looking beautiful again, Vincent Azulay Taylor slides out without putting up too much of a fight. Ha, ha, not!

  With three under three, and two of them mobile, I really have my hands full, but with five adults in the house, it's fun. It's the way things should be. There's enough people around that the babies are always being carried around and fussed over. I can go out dancing or for long walks along the beach knowing my babies will be okay. I almost start to feel human again.

  On Zwingly, Jesus and Azziz are in human form. Jesus is always popular. I think that the rock stars hope that by hanging out with him some of his karma will rub off on them. They probably dream of getting back to Earth and doing a bit of name dropping, 'When me and Mick hung out with Jesus on Zwingly. He's a cool dude, Zen like.'

  With Christmas coming up there's talk of a Christmas bash. I know Jesus would rather be paddling his surfboard or meditating on some mountain top than being the centre of attention, but pleasing your public is one of those things that go hand in hand with celebrity. He's using the opportunity to push his corner: no one's to cut any trees down on his account and if you want to give a present, make it an investment in the future, give a child some of your time, plant a tree, or create something for others to enjoy.

  'I've done my bit, making lots of beautiful babies,' says Azziz.

  'You should be
spending some of your time with them rather than vanishing off making more,' says Jesus.

  'Every man to his own,' says Azziz. 'When are you going to get on with the job yourself instead preaching about what others should do?'

  'Mind your own business,' says Jesus, touchily.

  It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you're living in the tropics. It's the sort of climate that suits hanging out on the beach. Jesus organises a reggae jam session with a feast in the evening. The invitations say BYOT.

  'What's this byot all about?' I ask.

  'Bring your own tree,' says Jesus. 'I'm planting trees in Mos Eisley. By improving the environment I'm hoping the aliens that live there will become nicer people.'

  'Good luck to you,' I say. I really can't see a couple of shrubs turning hardened thugs and bounty hunters into New Age model citizens. It would be boring anyway. When did you last see a movie about a stay at home New Age dad? Like never, we like action, fights, killing and sex, with a bit of romance throw in for the grannies.

  Us girls, me, Annie and Janice give each other tattoos for Christmas. Janice gets a black widow spider right on her knicker line so you can just see its front legs. It's ever so cheeky and the kids are forever pulling at her knickers to see more. Annie gets a Gaelic design as a ring on the second toe along. It's simple and looks good on her. I want a huge two-headed dragon running up my back and breathing fire over my shoulders, but my tastes are starting to change and I sense that him and me will fall out, big time. I still get a dragon, but he's on my butt, covering up some more of my cigarette burns as he breathes fire across at the scorpion. The Rasta uses special ink that changes colour with my moods. Once it's done, it looks fantastic but I regret the special ink. I might just want to keep what mood I'm in secret, not that many people get to see my butt.

  Jesus's birthday is great. It's so nice not to have those people trying to sell you stuff, like you get on Earth. We celebrate his birthday by eating, dancing and spoiling the kids. Cool.

  On my birthday I set up the worm outside and sit on the sofa and tune in to Sheffield. It's a lovely crisp winter's day there and I look down and see Mum and Dad puffing up the hill to the graveyard. They are holding hands and-