40 Things I Want to Tell You

  The mouse ran down,

  Hickory, dickory, dock.

  I couldn’t sleep, though. I was too keyed up. And I couldn’t help thinking about the babies Mum had lost. I switched on the light. Tears blurred my vision but I pulled a pen and paper from my desk and began to write.

  I don’t know what to say. I look at the empty page and my heart feels like it’s ripping in two. I want to explain why I’m doing it—why I’m going along the adoption route. Although sometimes I want one thing, sometimes another, I have a list of practical reasons.

  This isn’t what I want to say. What do I want to say?

  Why is this so hard? Why can’t I do this?

  What am I doing? I hardly know myself anymore.

  I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

  I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel kicks in the night and I am sick with what I’m doing. But I don’t know how else to … I don’t know what to say. I. Don’t. Know. What. To. Say.

  I gave up and collapsed back onto my bed. I fell into a woozy, anxious sleep.

  When I awoke, Mum was gone. She’d left me a fruit salad in the fridge.

  THE NEXT DAY, I WAS SO TIRED I COULD HARDLY THINK AS I WENT from class to class at school. At one point I stumbled and leaned against my locker. When I looked up, Griffin was staring at me, his vivid blue eyes filled with pain. His hair was wet—he must have come from gym class and just had a shower. I attempted a smile. He pushed his hair from his face and his gaze ran down over my body. I wanted to say something to him but there were no words left. His lips puckered like he’d eaten something bitter. I could almost see his heart breaking all over again. He turned away.

  Cleo came up to me and said angrily, “What’s with you?”

  I knew immediately from her tone that she was furious. “What?”

  She leaned against a locker. “I have to talk to you.”

  “What’s up?”

  She wouldn’t look at me. “So, um, you didn’t tell Griffin.”

  “What?”

  “That Pete’s the father.”

  Oh no. I steadied my shaking hands. “Griffin found out? Pete knows? How?”

  “Nathan was being a jerk to Griffin all through Art. Calling him Big Daddy and pretending to rock a baby. Griffin finally just snapped and yelled that the baby wasn’t his. Then Pete went completely white. Like all the colour had been taken from him. Pete said, Not yours? You sure? Then Kitty made a joke, saying, What, do you think it might be yours?

  “Suddenly Griffin got it. He said, You? But although it was a question, it wasn’t, and I was sitting there trying to work out what to do or say. Why didn’t you tell him? Why would you treat him so horribly? Didn’t you learn from lying to him the first time round?”

  I stammered, “I didn’t … didn’t know how. And then more and more time kept going by and he wasn’t speaking to me and …” I looked at her beseechingly, willing her to understand. “I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

  She pushed herself off from the locker. A group of girls slowed to watch as she yelled, “Who are you? It’s like I don’t even know you.”

  TOP TIP 29: GETTING ANGRY WHEN SOMEONE’S YELLING AT YOU WILL JUST MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE

  “I didn’t say I’d tell Griffin everything. You have no idea what this is like.”

  “I do my best. I helped you through every step of this. You lived in my house when you had nowhere else to go. I held your hand through the scan, stood waiting for you at the stupid abortion clinic. I read stuff on the Internet about babies. But all you think about nowadays is you. It’s like everyone else has faded out the picture. You used to be so caring for other people. You used to care about me.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “You’re so screwing everything up. Yet you keep giving advice on your website like nothing’s changed. But everything’s changed.” She brushed a hand over the space in front of her face as if she were wiping me away. “You know what? I can’t handle you right now.”

  “Cleo, don’t go,” I called.

  She pushed her way through the group of people gathering round us. “I don’t think I know you the way I thought I did. You’ve changed.”

  I said, weakly, “Maybe I have. Maybe I was tired of being predictable.”

  “Well, I’m tired of you,” she said. And she was gone.

  CHAPTER 21

  TOP TIP 30: STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK YOUR BONES, BUT THE THINGS PEOPLE SAY HURT MORE

  Dad (said with a look of disgust): Griffin’s not the father?

  Cleo: I don’t want to hear it.

  Griffin: Pete?

  Pete: Why didn’t you just tell me?

  Mum (yelling at me down the landline): You can’t tell your father something like that and not expect me to find out.

  Kitty: Slag.

  Mr. Bennetts: Perhaps you should think about taking some time off school.

  Dad: You’ve never even mentioned a Pete.

  Griffin: It hurts so much, Bird.

  Mum: You have to talk to me. I’m your mother.

  Dad: And to think I was so angry with Griffin—it took every ounce of strength I had for me not to go over and kill him when I found out.

  Kitty: Whore.

  Cleo: I don’t want to talk to you.

  Pete: It’s really my baby?

  Griffin: Why him?

  Mum: We can’t go on like this.

  Dad: I’m so … so disappointed.

  Cleo: Just leave it for a while, Bird.

  Pete: Don’t walk away from me when I have the right to …

  Griffin: I don’t ever want to see you again.

  Kitty: Slut.

  Thurs 19 May

  Dear Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life,

  Hi. I just turned 15 and I’m worried about my friend. We’ve been best mates for ages but recently hes started hanging out with a different group of friends and ignoring and making fun of me when he does. They have a reputation for smoking a lot of dope and I think my mate has started … to fit in. I dont know if he is doing anything else but he seems all different. I dont really have any other friends and dont know what to do—perhaps I should try and b more like his new friends. He says such horrible things about me, I don’t know if we’re even friends anymore.

  Ben

  Dear Ben,

  You and your friend seem to have gone in different directions recently. You say you don’t really have any other friends, but perhaps if you turn your attention away from this friend, you might see there are other people who are more fun to hang out with. Are there things you enjoy doing outside of school where you can make new friends? You might feel shy but I bet there are loads of other people who would like to get to know you. As for your best mate … well, it sounds like he’s trying out stuff that is making him change.

  Tips to Take Back Control

  Talk to your friend about your concerns.

  But don’t try to be like his new crowd of friends—trying drugs to please someone else makes no sense.

  If talking to your friend doesn’t change anything, and it might not, let him be for a while.

  Try to meet new people and find your own path by doing things that interest you.

  From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  THE LAST COUPLE OF WEEKS OF MAY WERE THE WORST WEEKS OF MY life. I hadn’t realized just how much Cleo had been there for me through all this. She was the only real friend I had left and now I’d screwed things up with her. I felt like crying all the time, but instead I kept my eyes down and got on with things in my classes.

  My days were strange and quiet, my evenings quieter. No one called me or chatted with me online. I remembered a time when I was friends, or at least friendly, with everyone in my year. No one spoke to me anymore. It was like I was the woman in that book we’d had to do for English in September, The Scarlet Letter. What was her name? Hester? The one who wore the red letter A around her neck so people knew what she’d done and could judge her.
My baby belly was my own scarlet letter.

  When I woke up one gloomy morning at the end of May, Dad was standing at the door telling me it was time to go to school. Most of the time he hardly spoke to me, so I was surprised to see him. I half sat up, pulling the cover around me.

  “Dad?”

  He was quiet and frayed around the edges, like a worn piece of fabric ready to be thrown out. He told me one more time to get out of bed and then paused as if he had more to say. I thought about how we were so far from where we had been as a family six months ago. There was me, moving like I was swimming, pregnant, self-absorbed, hating school, hardly the daughter of his dreams. And then there was the absence of Mum: there was almost a Mum-shaped hole next to him where she should have been. She’d made him louder and larger than life. Without her he was like an unplugged TV. He pressed his lips together.

  I asked, “Are you going to work on your solar-brick business today?”

  “I sold the business.”

  “When? Why?”

  “I’ve been kidding myself for years. No wonder your mother left me.”

  “That’s not true, Dad.” As I spoke, I felt as if a tiny pebble had dislodged from my throat and was tumbling down.

  “It was too much for me. I need to have smaller dreams.”

  “But—”

  He shook his head. “You need to get up,” he said.

  “What are you doing instead?” I asked.

  “Bird, you’re late.” He left.

  I hauled myself out of bed and stared at my blank corkboard. I knew with a sickening certainty that I really was going to give up the baby. It was the right decision. It was the only way to get my life back in my control. The only way. I wanted to go to Oxford University, right? I wanted to take photographs of ancient spires and cobbled streets, or people boating down the river. I wanted to sit in seminars and listen to professors talking about intellectual things.

  The plan had been to go to Oxford with Griffin. That was when the two of us had been in love. Then the realization punched me in the gut: Griffin and I had never been in love. We just went from being friends and neighbours to dating … but along the way I forgot to fall in love with him. I wanted to call Griffin and chat like we used to. More than that, I wanted to go and see Pete. He’d tried to talk to me when he found out about the baby, but I’d shut him out. Perhaps that was a mistake—perhaps he would understand; perhaps he would be someone who could listen to me through all this. I rested my hand on my swollen baby bump. The baby kicked. I fingered my phone. I was about to dial Pete’s number when I stopped myself.

  Instead, I switched on my computer and stared at the empty screen. I wanted to write a letter to the baby, a letter that explained why I was giving him away, a letter that gave him some hint of who I was and of how I wanted him to live.

  Not a single word came to mind.

  CHAPTER 22

  Mon 6 June

  Dear MissTC,

  I usd to hang with a group of 3 girls and we were best friends but they made all these plans for the summer to go on holiday with one of their families and my parents wont let me go so now things are weird and we dont hang out together … well … we do but they’re always talking about the summer and Im left out.

  How can I make new friends … Im shy with new people but my old friendshps are sooooo over.

  Lonely, 14

  I missed Cleo so badly, tears stung my eyes. I wiped them away. I could try to help Lonely at least. She didn’t need to know I was the loneliest girl in the world right now.

  Dear Lonely,

  Huh, when I read your question, I got the feeling your friendship with these three girls isn’t so obviously over. It seems to me that if you’re all still hanging out like normal maybe the feeling of being left out is coming from you. It totally sucks that you can’t go on this holiday with them, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hear about it and share in some of the buildup.

  Tips to Take Back Control

  Find something your parents will let you do this summer—go to the pool or do an activity that sounds fun so you have something of your own to look forward to.

  Try to meet some new people—when you feel shy, be interested and ask questions (people love talking about themselves). Be open and be yourself. And remember, the new person might be just as shy as you.

  From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  BY EARLY JUNE, OUR SCHOOL HAD SHIFTED INTO EXAM MODE. BECAUSE we were in the sixth form, we didn’t have to keep normal hours, and it seemed the teachers were pretty pleased I wasn’t regularly in school anymore. They’d been trying to persuade me to stay home for a while. Study leave, they called it. It made my life even lonelier than before.

  One afternoon I was walking home from my Spanish Literature exam. I headed down the hill and was turning onto my tree-lined road, listening to the birds tweet and various dogs bark. It was completely empty of people. I wished I had my camera to photograph it. The line of the empty street leading off into the distance looked like a road map to a certain future.

  I reminded myself that once I gave the baby away, everything would go back to normal.

  I pushed open the front door of my house and stepped into the cool corridor. It felt even emptier than the street. I went through to the kitchen. It was dim in there because of the shade provided by the bushy trees out back. I ran my hands over the recipe books stacked haphazardly on the small bookshelf, and then I pulled out an old, tattered book. It was one my granny had left in the house—one I remembered her using.

  I decided not to study for once. Forget the exams, I felt like cooking.

  TOP TIP 31: THIS RECIPE MAKES THE BEST FLAN IN THE WORLD

  ⅔ cup sugar

  4 eggs

  2 (3 oz.) packages cream cheese, room temperature

  1 (14 oz.) can sweetened condensed milk

  1¾ cups milk

  ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Boil a kettleful of water. Heat sugar in a medium skillet over medium-high heat until melted, clear and light brown.

  The kitchen was quiet apart from the gentle hissing of the sugar. I turned on the oven and filled the kettle to let it boil. I put on the radio, but I didn’t like the song, so I turned it off again. The quiet came back louder.

  Stir occasionally so that sugar will melt evenly.

  I stirred the sugar until it was brown and clear. I remembered Mum used to make this dessert. Dad and I would hover around her, trying to dip our fingers in the hot saucepan. She’d beat us off with the wooden spoon, telling us we’d burn our fingers. I was amazed that hard white granules of sugar could turn into such seductive golden liquid. It was so easy for everything to change.

  Spoon syrup over bottom and around sides of a 1½ quart glass baking dish. Set aside to cool.

  The evening turned the sky pinker, and a gorgeous summery light fell into the garden. Last year on a night like this, Cleo and I would have been out somewhere, perhaps having coffee together, sitting at an outside table of a café, or perhaps we’d have been getting ready to go to a party. Or Griffin and I would have been lying around, looking at the sky, comfortable together. Friends.

  Combine eggs and cream cheese in a blender; blend until smooth.

  The sound of the blender shattered my thoughts. I watched the eggs and cream cheese mixing together.

  Add remaining ingredients; blend just until combined. Pour into prepared baking dish.

  I wondered what it would have been like to have a brother or sister. I imagined how Mum must have felt losing those babies. I laced my fingers, resting my hands on my belly.

  Place in a larger pan; add boiling water to come halfway up outer sides of dish.

  I’d taken everything for granted. My friends, my family, my life.

  Bake 1 hour, until knife inserted in flan comes out clean. Flan may still quiver in centre.

  The whoosh of the baby’s gymnastics made me lean against the coun
ter. I switched on the oven light and watched the flan bake. It was funny how time didn’t seem to matter anymore. I knew I should be studying or dealing with my website, but I just wanted to stand with my hand on my big bump and do nothing. Very Zen, or whatever. Just letting life go on around me without trying to make it perfect. It felt good.

  Remove from water; cool on rack. Cover and refrigerate. To serve, invert onto a platter.

  When the flan was done, I flipped it onto a plate and watched the syrup drip down the sides.

  Makes 8 servings.

  Dad came in. He said, “That looks delicious.”

  “I felt like cooking. My exam didn’t go well.”

  “How did we get to this?” he said suddenly.

  Tears glossed my vision. “Would you like some?”

  He opened the cutlery drawer. “After you,” he said, giving me a spoon.

  The flan was creamy and sweet. He watched me eat, cleared his throat and said, “I thought I might clean out the spare room. Set it up as an office for you to use once you’ve, you know, given the baby away. When you need to study. Get you ready for Oxford. Give you your own space. I don’t know.”

  “That would be great. I mean, thank you.” I rested my hip against the warm oven. “I wish I wasn’t, um, putting you through all this.” I added, “You know I’m sorry, right?”

  TOP TIP 32: IT REALLY ISN’T TOO LATE TO SAY SORRY

  He studied his thumb, picking at a hangnail. “What’s happening with the baby’s father?”

  “Nothing. We’re not really talking.”

  “And the, um, social worker. Your adoption lady? Don’t I need to be involved somehow? I’m your father.”

  “I don’t have to sign anything until six weeks after the baby’s born. I haven’t— They want me to think about some details, lots of stuff … have another meeting, a family meeting maybe … go to counselling, but I’ve just been sort of waiting. I dunno …” I moved my weight from foot to foot.