40 Things I Want to Tell You
With that, he left the room and I broke down.
ON THE MORNING OF THE INTERVIEW, I WANDERED FROM CLEO’S house over to the photography shop. It was getting warmer and late spring flowers stuck up their colourful heads. I kicked over two purple crocuses. Their petals smeared into the ground and immediately I felt bad. I was so mired in my screwed-up, ridiculous world that I had to go round squashing pretty flowers. Thank God for my website. At least I was still Miss Take-Control in one area of my life.
Arriving at the shop, I checked my watch. I was on time. I smoothed down my relaxed-fit shirt and maternity skirt—both gifts from Cleo. The skirt had a secret expanding waistline that hid the baby pretty well.
The doorbell chimed into the quiet foyer as I entered. Stunning photos lined every wall: weddings and babies and families, and gorgeous images of urban landscapes. I thought of my Empty Streets project. Whoever had taken these would maybe be able to help me improve my own photos.
A tall, slim man with glasses and a goatee appeared. He wore Converse trainers, corduroys, a light T-shirt and a black suit jacket. Cool chic. He reached out a hand to shake mine. I felt suddenly encouraged.
“So,” he said, “you want to book photos of the baby when it comes?” He gestured at me with a broad grin. “I get ladies coming in all the time who are so excited they just want to book shots, but I always tell them to slow down, wait—once the baby comes you might be a bit too exhausted for photos. Certainly for the first couple weeks. When are you due? A few months?” Without stopping speaking he flicked open a diary. “We could book you in for the end of August or early September? Don’t ask me how I know when. I just know. I had my own little one a year ago.” He pointed up to a photograph of a sweet chubby baby. “So does September eighth work?”
I wished I could dissolve. I mumbled, “Um, Jake Angar?”
“Yep. Oh no, hang on, you’re not”—he scanned his diary—”Amy Finch?”
Suddenly unable to raise my eyes, I said, “I’m here for the interview.”
“Oh, Amy.” He rubbed his palms against his cords. “It’s not that you’re not talented. I loved your pictures. But I need someone long term.” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to find a good assistant. It’s taking ages and I had to get rid of the first two.”
“I’ll work hard. I promise. I really need this job.”
He forced a smile. “I, uh, look, it’s just not the right time.”
TOP TIP 24: RIGHT AND WRONG AREN’T ALWAYS EASY TO TELL APART
“I would be perfect.” I knew I was begging.
“Seriously, I don’t think you’ve thought about this. You’re not going to find it easy to have a job with a newborn.”
“I’m giving the baby away.”
His tone changed. “Look, Amy, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry.”
I could see in the thinning of his eyes that he was disappointed in me somehow. He figured I was a stupid teenager. He was judging me. What happened to lady, the word he’d used to describe me when he thought I was booking a shoot?
I wanted to ask him if he was allowed to discriminate against me like this. Surely there were laws or something to protect pregnant women so they could get jobs. But I was too ashamed. It was too much. I twisted away so I could get out of there before I wept.
CHAPTER 19
Fri 1 April
Dear Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life,
I’m apprehensive about my future. My parents and my teachers all pressure me. I’m hardworking, so they all want me to keep going with my education after my exams and become a lawyer. I feel like I’ve been sheltered by school my whole life and I want to explore the world, perhaps do a project with a volunteer organization abroad. I don’t want to let them all down, but I want to say that it’s my life.
Felicity345, 18
This was the sort of question I used to find easy to answer. Now I typed out the right responses, feeling like a fraud.
Dear Felicity345,
It’s totally normal to feel apprehensive about the future, especially when it feels like it’s set in stone. You’re right. It’s your life, and by being honest with yourself about what you want, you show your family and your teachers that you’re independent and strong. But you have to be honest with them too.
Tips to Take Back Control
Research some other options for the next year—there are loads of resources in school libraries about this sort of stuff—and show them to your family.
Show them how you plan to pay for it.
Tell them how important this is to you.
From one teen to another …
Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life
I looked over my answer. It was the right thing to say, but it felt like I wasn’t the one writing it. I was a liar. I sounded calm on the page when in real life I was trembling. But I couldn’t confess to Felicity345 that I wasn’t even a tiny bit in control of my life.
TOP TIP 25: BEING FREAKED OUT AND TERRIFIED IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD—IT’LL PASS
I climbed into the single bed in the rosy room at Cleo’s house and fell into a restless sleep. Sometime in the night I woke up to the baby moving. It kicked at my hand as I rested my fingers on the hardening balloon of my belly. I wondered if the baby was dreaming like I’d been dreaming. Do babies dream in the womb? I’d dreamed I was about to climb Everest. I stood at the bottom of the mountain and looked up to the clouds above. There was a sharp peak far, far away, jutting into the sky like a solitary tooth in a baby’s mouth.
I said, “I can’t.”
TOP TIP 26: LIFE CAN BE AS LONELY AS A MOUNTAIN, AND AS DAUNTING
I WAS MELTING. THE WEATHER WAS FREAKISHLY HOT FOR APRIL. Unbearable. My thighs rubbed together under my dark green dress. It was like a sack. The short sleeves showed off the thickness of my wobbly arms. I’d gained so much weight and was way bigger than I’d expected, and than any of the women I’d looked at on YouTube as they sailed through their first five months. As I waddled along the corridors of school I wondered if I’d ever get my body back the way it used to be.
Kitty sneered at me one day, “You’re so fat already.”
I ignored her, so she gave up and left.
Cleo came over and kissed me on the cheek. “You look so pretty. Glowing.”
“I look fat. And everyone thinks I’m a slag. And I’m going to fail all my exams. And I can’t imagine ever having a life again. Moan, moan.”
“You were so little to start with, you were bound to get, you know, big.” Her fingernails were yellow and black.
“I knew I was extra fat. Interesting nails,” I said. “Like bees.”
She wrinkled up her nose. “I know. Who does yellow and black?”
“At least you can stay awake to study. I’m worried, Cleo. I can’t take my exams. I keep falling asleep on my homework. I wish I could handle a latte.”
She wasn’t listening. She pulled a torn-out newspaper article from her pocket. Underneath the headline was Cleo’s name.
It was about a band. “You wrote this? When did you do all this? I didn’t even know you’d been to see these guys. Were they good? Hang on, don’t tell me,” I said when she tried to speak. I read, “Opening with a thin sound, unsure and shy, but finishing with explosive anarchy, Diet Nations grabbed hold of the stage halfway through and made it their own …”
When I got to the end, I said, “Wow, Cleo. It’s great. It’s so, I don’t know, so well written. I can’t believe you got something published in the paper. I didn’t know you were even interested in writing for newspapers.”
Cleo shone with pleasure. “I’m a girl of many talents.”
“I can’t believe I haven’t even noticed what’s been going on with you. We’re living in the same house!”
“You’ve been busy.”
I was about to reply when all the muscles around my swollen tummy tightened like a corset being tied.
“You okay?” she said.
“I think
I had a contraction.”
Her eyes grew wide. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Tight. Weird.” I rubbed my belly and said, “It stopped as suddenly as it started.”
“It’s probably Braxton Hicks. Fake contractions. Your body is preparing itself for the baby. They can come and go for weeks.”
“Fake contractions?”
“I read about them on the Internet. I’ve been trying to keep up with the pregnancy week by week, you know.”
I turned to her. “You’re, like, the best friend ever. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, enough of that. How d’you feel now?”
“It’s stopped. Nothing’s happening now.”
“Good, that’s good.”
“So the baby isn’t coming?”
“I don’t think so. We’ll wait and see. Let’s skip English. We can go to the doctor if you’re worried.”
“I think I’m fine. I should read those sites.”
“I still think we should skip.” She leaned through the open door into the classroom. “Mr. Bennetts, I have to take Bird to the nurse.”
I couldn’t hear his reply. But Cleo said in an exaggerated whisper, “Do I have to explain, sir?” My cheeks grew hot. Cleo swung back out the door, grinned, spun me round and guided me down the corridor.
“Let’s go sit outside,” she said. “Here, have this.” She gave me a chocolate bar from her bag.
TOP TIP 27: CHOCOLATE ALWAYS HELPS
EASTER CAME AND WENT AND THE DAYS BLURRED INTO EACH OTHER. The next meeting with Nicole was pretty much like the first one, just with more details. She gave me stuff about the new family and asked me to read it, but it stayed on the floor next to my bed at Cleo’s house. I didn’t book an appointment with the counsellor. Several people wrote in to my website, but I didn’t answer their problems. Mum stopped calling but sent frequent texts telling me she loved me. I guess she’d decided a new approach might work better. School started again. The weather grew colder and then hotter again, and the worst April of my life turned slowly into May.
One lunch break, I took a walk in the park across from the school. I was sitting by myself on a bench in the shade of a tree when Pete came over and sat next to me.
“How’s it going, Amy?”
“What do you think?”
“You don’t need to be so angry,” he said.
He’d told everyone I was pregnant. God. I should hate him for blurting out my secret, but the baby wriggling inside me made me feel connected to him.
He said, “Are you okay?”
I looked at him and started laughing. I laughed so hard, tears sprang to my eyes and I knew that in about half a second I was going to start crying and getting hysterical. I said, trying to calm down, “Pete, just leave me alone, would you?”
He clenched his jaw. Got up. Walked away.
I sat very still and watched him. I wished I had my camera with me so I could photograph the image. His outline made a Pete-shaped exclamation mark against the bright sky. He’d made a Pete-shaped exclamation mark in my life.
I wished I could ask him to come back and tell me everything was going to be all right.
But it was too late for that.
CHAPTER 20
Wed 4 May
Miss Take-Control,
my best friend is sooooo mad at me because i told our teacher she was being abused. i was trying to protect her but now she wont believe me and she hates me. i got everything wrong.
SuzyBlue, 17
Dear SuzyBlue,
You were in a difficult situation and you did what you thought was right.
Tips to Take Back Control
Don’t be too hard on yourself, even though your friend is really angry.
Remember, she’s dealing with a lot. Tell her how sorry you are, but tell her too that you were trying to protect her.
Keep saying it. As time goes by, she may forgive you. If she can’t, understand that there is more going on here than your friendship—she might not be ready to be friends for some time.
From one teen to another …
Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life
I read over what I’d written. Forgiveness. SuzyBlue needed to forgive herself, and her friend needed to forgive her too, but I wasn’t sure either girl would be able to do it. I rubbed my arms, feeling suddenly shivery, then I posted my reply. I flipped from my website to my personal inbox.
Dear Bird,
Your mother and I have decided that you should move back to the house. I’m still very angry with you and very disappointed, but she feels that you should be under this roof.
I wish I wasn’t so angry, and you must understand I do still love you, but this course of events has been very difficult for me to live with.
I expect you back this evening. I will be away at a solar energy conference.
Your father
I shut down my laptop and folded it up, chucking it into my small rucksack. I rubbed my hands over my out-of-control curly hair. I’d pictured moving back home as some sort of wonderful reunion with hugs and I love yous, but Dad wasn’t even going to be there.
Later that evening, I unlocked the front door to my empty house. I wandered from the front room to the kitchen and then up the stairs to my room. Across the way I could see Griffin’s window, curtains wide open. He wasn’t there, but I couldn’t help but remember all the times we’d spoken to each other through those panes of glass. I drew my curtains.
I looked at the printout from Oxford University I’d pinned on my corkboard. With a rush of anger, I ripped it down and tore it into tiny pieces. I tore off the quotations and the inspirational messages. I ripped down the photograph of myself smiling into the distance and threw it away. The corkboard was empty.
TOP TIP 28: A SILLY SONG CAN STOP YOU FROM GOING CRAZY
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock …
The clock struck midnight and I was wide awake. Ominous night filled my bedroom. The baby moved inside me, small flutters and then two hard kicks.
I tried to imagine the baby—its eyes, hands, tiny feet—but only other people’s babies came to mind.
The clock struck one …
Two …
Three …
Four …
My legs cramped and I had to get up to pee and then I drifted off, but the baby wriggled and woke me. I heard a soft footfall in the living room and I wondered if Dad was home. But what if it wasn’t him? Fear jolted me like an electric current. Not fear for me: fear for the baby. I lay there, stiff and frightened, waiting to hear any other noise. I held my breath until I worried that the baby needed air. I tucked my phone in my hand, ready to call for help. The baby kicked me, harder than before.
A moment later, I heard a creak in the corridor by the front door. I sat straight up, the covers falling off my body so I was exposed. Someone was in the house, but it didn’t sound like Dad. Even when he tried to be quiet, he moved far more loudly than this person. Silently, I put my feet onto the carpeted floor, pushed myself off the bed and tiptoed to my door. My heart thudded like the baby was kicking me repeatedly, except he was still now, frightened too. Or sleeping, oblivious. I stubbed my toe on the doorframe. Wincing, I listened for the intruder. Silence. But I knew someone was there. As if to confirm my suspicions, there was another creak.
Cautiously, I peered at the upstairs corridor from my room. Strange shadows lurked like huge dark bats hanging from the ceiling. I padded along to the top of the stairs, smelling my dad’s aftershave, all spicy and warm, as I passed his room.
My heart was so loud, I was convinced the intruder would hear it. I imagined a great hulking man in the living room—perhaps he was stealing the TV. I imagined what he would do when he saw me, shivery in my nightgown, pregnant and vulnerable. Another soft footstep came from the kitchen. A light flickered on.
My heart fluttered to the top of my throat.
>
I flipped open my phone. I yelled, “I’m calling the police.”
The kitchen door opened. From within came a surprised voice. “Bird? Did I wake you?” A woman’s voice. My mum’s voice.
Fury replaced fear like I’d been injected with it. “What are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me.”
She came into the hallway, fragile and childish somehow in the semi-dark, illuminated only by the kitchen light behind her.
I cried, “Why are you here? This isn’t your house anymore.”
I could see her willing herself not to correct me. It was her house. Never Dad’s. If it had been Dad’s, he would have invested it in the business. I felt my throat constrict. I wondered how Mum had survived worrying about money for all those years.
“You scared me half to death,” I said. “What are you doing here? I nearly had a heart attack,” I added.
She said, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Your father told me to come by so you weren’t on your own tonight, but I knew you wouldn’t want to see me, so I waited until you were asleep.”
“It’s five in the morning.”
“I’ve been here since about midnight. In the living room, reading. We just wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“I’m fine. I’m not a kid.”
She appraised me. “No, no. You’re not.” She rubbed her neck. “Your father tells me you’re giving the baby away.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I think it’s a good idea. You’ll be able to carry on with your life.”
“Yeah, okay. Good night.” She made to speak but I lifted a hand to stop her. “Really, Mum, I just need to sleep.”