Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum Read online

'I'm not telling, it's private.'

  'You might need to get your tummy button pierced and a stud in your nose to match that outfit.'

  'Not just yet,' I say. 'Do you like it though?'

  'Of course, you look good in anything.'

  Next out are the short yellow jeans and the blue flowery T-shirt. 'Love it,' says Jesus. 'Perfect for gardening.'

  The rain has eased.

  I tear open another box and try the summer dresses on. 'We'll have to have a mid-summer rock and roll party so you can wear them,' says Jesus. 'Remind me when the weather has warmed up.'

  I open the box with the green knickers. They are so silky to touch. I decide to try them on some other time.

  I try on another pair of jeans and a surf shirt and hoody. Just right for today.

  'You are looking splendiferous,' says Jesus. 'It's going to be a lucky man that gets you.'

  'There's not many of them around here.' I say blushing. I wonder if he knows about the crush I had on Azziz. It's not so bad now, but I still think of him a lot.

  The rain has stopped. There's still one thing I need to do before we go out. I pull out all my old clothes and pile them on the table.

  Some I throw out right away. My torn belly-dancing outfit is first to go; I'd love to keep it, it's so much a part of me, but I throw it on the floor, it's from a past life. One has to move on. Now I'm tall and got curves my old jeans and T-shirts don't fit anymore, and the colours are yucky pastels. They go on the out pile.

  The black Emma Peel catsuit; I hardly ever wear it, but it's an alien one that grows with you and what's more, it's laser proof. I keep it.

  My bright red dress; it's lovely but it must go. I throw it out. Then I have second thoughts; I might have daughters one day. I put it on a hanger and it goes back in the wardrobe. My maroon shawl, I keep, and my big XXXL jersey will always fit, so I keep it too.

  The sun breaks through the clouds throwing a ray of sunlight down onto the beach. I watch it chase across the waves until it reaches us, bathing the house in yellow warmth. 'Com'on,' I say to Jesus, stop faffing about. Let's go plant some trees.'

  'Let's put the seeds on the table,' says Jesus. 'They'll blow away outside.'

  I push the clothes to one side and empty the little box of seeds onto my beat up wooden table. There's some like little helicopters, some like orange pips and others no bigger than an ant.

  'Let's do this properly,' says Jesus. 'Get it wrong and you'll be shivering through the winters in the shade, or you'll wake up dead one day because a branch blew off in a storm and landed on you.'

  It's hard to image that these tiny seeds can hold such power.

  Jesus grabs my box of pencils and draws my cottage and the beach on the table in red. Then he draws where the sun is at midday and where it comes up and goes down in the summer and winter, drawing neat yellow curves across the table. He carefully looks at the seeds, then makes an espresso and walks around outside lining up imaginary trees. Back in at the table he places the seeds in various spots around the house and garden and along behind the beach and draws circles around them.

  I say, 'Don't tell me what they are.' I think I know the ones he's putting along the top of the beach. The helicopter seeds look and smell like pine. I guess they're umbrella pines like in Spain. Pine nuts, yum, yum!

  Jesus clicks his fingers and some round tree protectors appear. 'They'll protect the trees while they're young and keep the winkles out,' he says, picking one up. 'Grab a seed, any seed, and we'll get started.'

  I pick up one of the pine seeds, carefully put it back in the little box and slip it into my pocket. With a click of my fingers the spade appears from the garden. How lazy! When we get to the right spot behind the beach, we clear the brush and weeds and dig a huge hole. I want to stop when it's an inch deep but Jesus is only happy when I've dug down a metre. We fill most of the hole with wheelbarrows full of compost from the garden then carefully plant the seed, crumbling the dirt up with our fingers so it's easy for it to grow. We bang in some posts and firmly attach a tree protector. When we have planted all the seeds, I send a message to Trigger that he’s not to eat them or knock them over. He agrees on condition that he gets first pick of this summer's crop of carrots. Sloshing water all over the place we carry heavy buckets down from the house and carefully water the seeds. Jesus says a few prayers. To who, I don't know, I never thought he was religious.

  'The tree gods,' he says when I ask. It seems fair enough, those little seeds will need all the help they can get if they are going to survive and grow into big trees.

  Two days later Jesus and me have finished. I'm all excited to see what grows.

  'Can't we just nip forward fifty years and see?' I ask Jesus.

  'No!' he says. 'That takes all the fun out of it.'

  I pull my old clothes out and make a little fireplace for them on the beach. I try to light them but they just smoulder and go out. A bottle of turpentine fixes that and in no time they are burning brightly.

  'Haven't you forgotten something,' says Pollux.

  'What?

  'The desert glass.'

  I jump on the fire and stomp around like a mad thing, singing the hairs off my legs. I pull out the smoking tatters of my belly-dancing outfit and, using my fang, cut the valuable piece of glass out from where it used to cover my tummy button.

  Soon the fire is burning brightly again and we pile up driftwood to make a big bonfire. Azziz and Janice come along and, when the fire has burnt down, we sizzle sausages and cook up potatoes in the embers. They drink lots of wine and sing and joke. I still find the wine a bit bitter so I have a cup of hot choccy and toast up marshmallows and eat them flaming.

  6

  I wake up worrying. There's something important I should be doing that I've forgotten about, like I've missed an appointment or something. I've been so caught up in my little world and my problems that I've forgotten about everyone else. Have I forgotten someone's birthday? I sit out in the sunshine on my sofa and wonder what it is. I poke little holes in the weathered fabric with my fingers and pull out bits of stuffing. I really need to sew some patches on before it falls completely to bits. I fiddle absentmindedly with the piece of desert glass in my pocket.

  God, that's what it is, I'm God! I'm sposed to be looking after Earth. Zeus said, 'Do nothing,' but surely I should be doing something, like at least watching all of those people. I've done absolutely zilch. I hope Earth is going okay. I might get the sack if it's not!

  I click my fingers and the worm appears on the front lawn.

  Who first? Mum and Dad. They must be worried. Every year they go to my grave on my birthday and something just a little special happens to remind them that I'm there. This year I forgot. Oops!

  Mum and Dad seem okay. I cry when I see them. Once I've pulled myself together, I watch them going about their daily life. Danny and Julie are growing up. They’ve started school and look ever so cute in their school uniforms. The little one, Toby, is now two. He's sitting in the high chair being fed and is ever so cheeky. His face is covered with chocolate yogurt. With the worm it's just like being there. I'm there but they can't see me. Tele is on in the background. There's nothing on the news, just a political scandal. One of the MPs is dodging tax on her house rentals. No news is great news, everything is good on Earth; I've got nothing to worry about.

  I sit on the stool and watch. Dad keeps looking over, like he knows that I'm there. Good.

  Annie is okay but only just. Her dad has been beating her up again and abusing her. Her mum tried to help but got beat up and has a black eye and bruises on her face. I wish she would call the police or the social services. She's too scared. Maybe I should. No, God said not to intervene so I won't, not for the moment. I'll keep an eye on them.

  It makes me sad seeing Annie, I could just click my fingers and have her up here but I know I shouldn't, not too often. It might upset the delicate balance of things.

  It makes me sad to see Annie but seeing Zula makes me sadder. Ac
tually to be truthful, jealous is the word. I kick Negrita and don't see her a few days. She made the mistake of being too close at the wrong moment!

  Zula is married and Ijju is pregnant. I love Ijju but that doesn't stop me being jealous. She's too beautiful and too nice and she's the one lying in Zula's arms. Cow!

  I keep the worm at my place; no one else seems to want to use it.

  Later that week a scaffold pole falls off a building and lands on Annie's dad, killing him dead. It's very messy. I expect Annie to be delighted to be free of the nasty tyrant but surprisingly she's sad that her dad is dead. Her and her mum go into mourning. I guess Zeus was right about not getting involved. I feel better though. Don't mess with my friend, buster!

  It's lonely up here; my life feels a little empty like there’s something missing. I do have company; there's the slugs, Castor and Pollux; there's Azziz and Jesus, who are just wonderful; there's Zeus, when he's not drunk or high on ozone; there's Negrita and Trigger and I always have Enzo in my pocket. I could always visit Juno or Zwingly and have some human company but wonderful as they are, I do find the superstars of the human world slightly hard work. They are all so self-assured, so perfect, so on top of things. I want some normal company, some more people on Camillo. I could bring some dead people up from Earth but I don't want to. I want to do what Ijju's doing and start a family with Zula!

  Isn't fourteen a bit young? Many people these days wait until they are positively geriatric to have babies. Is that better? My body feels like it's ready. I want babies.

  I pay a visit Castor.

  'Castor,' I say sheepishly, 'can I have a private look on the Internet?'

  'Private, no trouble. Of course I'll see, but as you know, your secrets are safe with me.' He gives me a wink then closes both eyes tight making his face crumple up.

  I laugh and give him a kiss on the cheek.

  I make some Internet searches: Is my body ready to have children at 14? Are teenagers ready to have children? Teenage mums.

  I read all that the Internet has to say.

  The first page I open says, 'Teenage girls are not physically or physiologically mature enough,' but when I read all the posts by teenage mums, it seems that most of them very quickly do become mature enough as soon as they've had the baby. There's a lot of waffle from the Christians and the politicians, but they do make some valid points. It costs a lot of money of raise a baby in the modern world, money that young people don’t have. I don't think that's really a problem for me. Then there's education, but why not just get educated later when you know better what you want, like kids first when your bodies ready for it and education later when you've grown up and know what you want to do. Having babies late does slow down the population time bomb, but that's not something normal people think of when they are wrestling with a sexy partner, and definitely not a worry on Camillo. Not yet, anyway.

  The most sensible person I can find is an author, Hilary. What she says agrees with what my body is telling me and most of the teenage mums say.

  I thank Castor and sit out on my old sofa in front of my cottage. I sew patches on where the holes are. I wish now that I hadn't been so rash and had kept my old clothes for patches. I watch the clouds come and go and the waves pounding on the beach, and I watch the world through the worm.

  Teenage mums are fraught, they get no sleep, they smack their babies, they leave them at granny's place and go out partying and make more babies. Lots of them don't have a steady partner and that makes then sad. It's tough being a teenage mum.

  Then I look at the thirty-something mums. They are fraught, they get no sleep, they want to throw their babies out the window. Their parents are old and usually live a zillion miles away so the mums and dads get to bring up the babies on their own with no support. All in all, the teenage mums do better and are happier, especially if the dad sticks around. They don't spend their youthful years chasing a career when they know there's something more important, more fundamental that they should be doing first.

  I watch Azulay and Ijju. I hope they don't mind. They're really happy; their halos are pinky-purple and sometimes even tending towards white. Ijju's got a lovely rounded belly, which she strokes and talks to. Zula has to go on a caravan. Things are different now in the desert, there's drug lords and warlords and religious fanatics all fighting for power. If things carry on as they are the caravans will not be able to operate anymore. This might be their last desert crossing. It's lucky that Saleem bought the land for them in Algeria.

  I watch the caravan in the evenings. Zula often climbs up the dunes and watches the stars just like we used to. I wish I could be there with him. No one would notice, would they?

  He often thinks of me. When he lies down to sleep he dreams that I'm there with him in his arms, making love. He loves Ijju through and through, and misses her, but in his dreams he's with me. Most of the time anyway, sometimes he dreams of other girls, but then that's boys for you!

  I start lying in my bed and dreaming of him when he's dreaming of me. It feels good! Then I click my fingers and he's in my arms. He starts a little, but I kiss him gently and he seems happy to be with me. We make love. It hurts the first time but when we do it again it feels so, so good. Afterwards I kiss him tenderly and tell him that I love him, then click my fingers and he's gone.

  Over the next few weeks Zula visits me often. I only do it when he's dreaming of me. The moment anything doesn't seem right, I click my fingers and send him back to the desert. I wonder what Zula makes of it all. He blows me kisses from his camel, so my charms must be working! It's so nice having him close and I fall in love with him again, not that I ever fell out of love.

  Then I think better of it. Something could go wrong. He could get stuck here and not get back to Ijju. I might steal his heart from her and they'll split up. Do I really love him? If I do, I need to let him go. I fret about it for days.

  Then I click my fingers and the worm is gone. Now I can't peek in on his life anymore, not unless I watch from the sentry moon.

  Weeks later, I go and visit Castor. When I arrive, he already has an image of Zula up on his screen. The caravan is in Taoudenni picking up salt. It's very different than before and there's trucks and soldiers and an air of danger. I don't want him to be there. But it's man stuff; I'll leave him to it.

  Castor gives me a wink and blushes.

  I look sheepish and blush.

  'I'm sorry,' he says. 'I couldn't help but watch your dreams.'

  I slap him. 'You nosey so and so,' I whisper. I want to scream but everyone will hear me.

  'It's what we sentry slugs do,' he says. 'You know that.'

  'But it's my life, my private dreams.'

  'Dreams?' he says, giving me another wink. 'Don't worry, us slugs have as much interest in watching humans making babies as you do in seeing slugs mate. That is of course with the exception of David Attenborough, who's too nosey for his own good. Us slugs have been arguing with Zeus about whether we'll let him come up here and have resorted to a disinformation campaign to keep him out. Otherwise we won't be able to enjoy a good shag for the next ten thousand years for fear he has set up hidden cameras and catch us in action, yellow on yellow.'

  The slugs are funny without even trying; I do like them, even if they are nosey.

  'Anyway,' continues Castor, 'your secrets are safe with Pollux and me. Do make sure that you visit him sometimes. He gets so jealous when you do all the sneaky stuff with me.'

  With a click of my fingers, I arrive in Pollux’s moon, and give him a peck on the cheek. I like him too, and what's more I need to stay on side with these sentry slugs.

  A minute later I'm back on my sofa thinking about how I can get David Attenborough up here. We could have fun together trying to catch the slugs at it, yellow on yellow. I haven't even managed to see one in my lettuce patch yet so we'll have to be ever so sneaky.

  7

  Spring is in the air. The birds start their dawn chorus even before the sun comes up. They're too cheer
ful too darn early and I get up and slam the window shut. The compost from the slimeball has made the soil super fertile and my garden is flourishing; it’s full of tall weeds. With so much happening since Christmas I haven't spent enough time in the garden. Now it's spring, I need to get out there and get it planted. Top of the list is lettuces for the slugs followed by carrots for Trigger. I need to feed me for the next year; I’ll plant potatoes, onions and carrots, and green beans and peas and pumpkins, red peppers and tomatoes. Yummy things too, like strawberries and raspberries. There's so much to do.

  I should be spending a few hours a day out there digging and weeding, composting and planting, but I’m not. There's a lot of catching up I do if I'm not going to be going hungry this year.

  Jesus and Azziz and a team of zinodes very kindly come and help and we spend a couple of days getting it dug over and planted out.

  I'm grumpy with myself for having left it for so long and are all out of sorts. I've got a splitting headache and snarl and grumble at my volunteers. I'm surprised I don't chase then away. I wouldn't put up with me if I was them. Normally they work with me, now they're all down the far end of the garden, planting potatoes and celery and staying as far away from my storm cloud as they can get.