Amelia O’Donohue Is So Not a Virgin (14 page)

I
don’t remember it for ages. Several people have to help me find the memory ’cause I’ve hidden it so well. Several people, mostly doctors, who arrive at the same time each day to talk to me. They use several methods, mostly talking ones, but they also give me medication.

After a few weeks, the methods begin to work, and I remember this:

I’m in my cubicle bed trying to sleep off the terrible pain I’m feeling, which I definitely don’t want to feel. Not now. Not on the day before my first exam. I fall asleep and dream I’m late for my English exam, I’m falling out of the classroom window. I land. It hurts. Everyone looks down on me. I’ve screwed everything up, haven’t I? I’ve ruined everything and everyone knows.

I realize now it wasn’t landing on the ground that had hurt. It was him, arriving so suddenly, so painfully. It hurts so much I make noises farm animals make, then I shake so hard that reality spills right out of my head.

“Good, Rachel, Good,” the doctors say.

Better as a dream, the insides of my mind apparently argued at the time. Better as a dream, my confused mind and body apparently argued in the hours afterwards.

“That’s right, Rachel. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

• • •

And, bit by bit, I see the last nine months as they really were.

The first three: feeling ill all the time, craving cauliflower cheese and Sammy’s chicken curries, thinking people smelled funny, taking people’s secrets and hiding them inside me along with my own, blaming my parents and the island for all the scary strangeness.

The second three: blossoming, focused, working like a dog, cut off from Sammy and friends and family. Ignore them. Ignore everything. Work.

The third trimester: nesting, cleaning my cupboards, and smoothing my favorite red duvet over and over.

All the while a baby was growing inside me, pushing at me, yelling, “I’m here! I’m here!”

A
melia O’Donohue here to see you,” a nurse says, and I realize I want to see her more than anything. For weeks I’ve only seen my parents and people in coats or uniforms, all with notebooks and pens, questions, opinions, concerns, ways to help me.

“How you doing?” Amelia asks, putting some books and a tin of cupcakes with coconut-covered icing on my bedside table.

“I’m totally crazy, apparently.”

She laughs, then holds my hand. “You caused quite a stir, Miss Rachel Ross.”

“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear.”

“I don’t care if you don’t want to hear. I’m going to tell you and you can tell whoever you want afterwards.”

I smile. “Okay.”

“The chef left his wife. He and Miss Rose have moved to Spain.”

“No way.”

Amelia was like, “Way. And Mr. Burns was sacked.”

“Oh shit.”

“No, don’t worry, he deserved it. Three past pupils have come forward since.”

“What about Mandy?”

“She fell asleep in the fridge, snug as a bug in the sleeping bag. She failed all but history. Starting hairdressing in Aberdeen. Apparently John chucked her ’cause she was a slut.”

“See that guy…” I say, shaking my head.

“Is John involved at all?” she asks. “I mean, now?”

“His folks offered. We declined…How’s Louisa?”

“English at Oxford.”

“Oh…good, I’m pleased for her.”

“I hated your guts for a while, telling everyone about my eating like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Amelia.” And I really am.

“It’s okay,” she says. “It was the best thing that could have happened, Dr. Halliday says. All out in the open now, and I have to deal with it. So I’ve decided not to move in with Piers, not till I’ve sorted it out. ”

“Good plan,” I say.

Amelia looks through a pile of books she’s brought for me and takes one out that looks nothing like a novel. After a moment, I recognize it—it’s the diary I stole from her.

“Seeing as you’re so interested…” she says with a wry smile. “I’ll continue where you left off.”

“How did you know?” I bite my lower lip with shame, but Amelia’s high chin and smug smile tell me all’s okay.

“You put it back on the wrong side of the desk.”

Blimey, I never knew she was so particular.

“OMG like where do I start?” she reads. “That kid in the cupboard? It was only Rachel Ross’s! Like my only friend here. And I had no idea. And neither did she! What the fudge! Next we’ll not know if we’re girls or boys or alive or dead or vampires or bloody hamsters. And today Rachel only like exposed the whole entire school for the screwed up turds they are. Most excellent! And I thought a bit of puking was an issue! GASP! And guess what? Ten minutes ago this boy Rachel liked just knocked on my cubicle door. Don’t know how he got in the building. I nearly died. He’s really cute. And I think he’s like in love with her or something. Anyways, I told this boy Sammy all about it and he cried. He even asked if he could see the baby, but Rachel’s father had taken him to the hospital with the social worker. I’ve never seen a boy cry before. I was like, ‘Stop crying, you retard.’ And he was like: ‘But is that it for us then? Is that it? Does that mean it’s really never going to happen? My dad’ll be so upset. He agreed with me. He thought she was
the one.’ I had to call Miss Rose to take him away in the end. She was very nice to him. Didn’t get him into trouble at all. Now I am pure buzzing. Today was the most exciting day I’ve ever had. Ah…F*** it all…I’m starving. I’ve got macaroons but apparently they have potatoes in them. Gross!”

Amelia stops reading because I’m snort-laughing and I can’t stop. I end up writhing on the floor with an ache in my middle that I would’ve described as the worse stomach pain ever before some daft idiot retrieved my memory of labor. (Could they not have let that one stay where it was?)

Near-peeing done, I get back into my bed, exhausted, and Amelia reads from her favorite childhood book. It’s about fairies. Her words twinkle on me. I fall asleep.

A
few months after getting out of hospital, I meet Sammy for a coffee. He seems a bit nervous when I approach his table, so I sit down and make it as easy for him as I can.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” I say. “I’m, well, complicated. I thought you’d run a mile.”

“I still might,” he answers. There’s an awkward pause.

“Three surprising things,” I say. “When I was nine, I told my dad my mum was having an affair. When I was sixteen, I lost my virginity to a boy I didn’t even like beside a wheelie bin. And I have never successfully used a tampon.”

He smiles at me. But he’s still a bit uncertain. I don’t blame him.

“Oh, and remember how you told me about the three essential ingredients for happiness?”

“Fresh air, exercise, and giggling…” he says.

“Yeah. Well, I’ve worked out the fourth ingredient…”

“You have?”

“I have.” Slowly, I lean over the table, moving my face towards his. He doesn’t move an inch, but he doesn’t have to. When I kiss him—a soft, long, closed-mouth kiss—he takes a while to respond. When he does, it’s worth the wait.

I move my head away from his and sit in my chair, proud that I had worked out that the most important ingredient to happiness is
giving
.

“Actually, I was thinking curry,” he says, breaking into a smile.

And then a laugh. The ice is broken.

“I want to tell you all about this new recipe I’ve created,” he says, plonking a large brown paper bag on the table before me. “It’s called Sammy’s Lamb Sensation. It’s so good it puts you in a trance-like state.”

“You know, I think I’m just about ready to eat lamb again,” I say.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. But he’s not going to run a mile.

W
hen I get home—ten containers of Sammy’s curry in hand—a report has arrived on the doorstep.

REPORT TO THE CHILDREN’S PANEL

NAME: SAM ROSS

ADDRESS: 2/2, 178 ARGYLL STREET, GLASGOW

Sam Ross was born in the dormitory of Aberfeldy Halls, a girls’ boarding school in Perthshire, Scotland. His mother, seventeen-year-old Rachel Ross, abandoned him in a linen cupboard shortly after giving birth.

The attached psychiatric report indicates that the mother had been suffering from a condition known as denied pregnancy, where the mother hides the fact that she is pregnant. As argued in this report:

Women who deny pregnancy are usually the good girls in a very difficult, either chaotic or dysfunctional, family. They
are the cheerleaders, they are the leaders. They are also very isolated. The will to conceal the pregnancy is so strong in these women that not only do they hide it from the people closest to them, unconsciously they conceal it from themselves. They can even suppress their physical symptoms. By not telling anyone, the pregnancy remains unreal.

In the case of Rachel Ross, she did conceal the pregnancy from herself. She ignored any symptoms and gained little weight, her bump barely visible within the cavities of her petite pear-shaped frame. Rachel Ross states that she continued to have her period throughout the pregnancy and was not aware in any way of the massive changes her body was undergoing.

While the subject must have been conscious of her labor and of giving birth, she appears to have undergone some kind of psychotic episode following delivery (see attached report). After having the baby in the bed of her tiny cubicle, she clamped and cut the cord, hid the child in the linen cupboard, changed her sheets, showered, and fell asleep. When she woke, she had no recollection of the birth and became confused and disorientated, embarking on what she calls a “who had it”—an investigation to find out who had given birth. Her good friend, Amelia O’Donohue, assisted her in this endeavor. During this
twelve-hour investigation, Rachel Ross cared for the child in the darkroom of the school, unintentionally bonding with her baby in the process.

As outlined in the psychiatric report, the mother seems to have been under a significant amount of stress at school. At the time, she felt unsupported by her parents and desperate to succeed at school in order to flee them and the island-home she hated. She had also suffered some degree of bullying by her old friends. The combination of these pressures may have resulted in the denial of her pregnancy.

Medical reports indicate that no harm came to the child as a result of the mother’s actions. In fact, he appears to be thriving and at the time of writing is a healthy 10 pounds 8 ounces.

After Rachel Ross collapsed at school, she was taken to Perth Hospital. She had lost a lot of blood, and the stress had possibly sparked a serious asthma attack. She was treated successfully and allowed to return to the family home after three weeks. She is now healthy and living at home with her parents, at 2/2 178 Argyll Street, Glasgow.

Rachel Ross now appears to have a supportive and loving relationship with her parents. Archie and Claire Ross have made it clear that they will help their daughter bring up the child—indeed, they seem besotted with him. According to the
parents, they had always wanted a second child, but work pressures, marital problems, and an early menopause had conspired against them.

Despite being unable to sit her exams, Rachel Ross was allowed to do her exams several weeks after the birth. She gained the second highest marks in the school. She says she is proud to have come second to her old friend Louisa MacDonald.

Rachel has just started her medical degree at the University of Glasgow. Her parents are delighted to finance her studies and to take care of baby Sam while she is there.

In the writer’s opinion, there is no need for compulsory measures of care for baby Sam. He is well loved and well looked after. As a result, the writer recommends that no further action be taken in this case.

I finish the report and walk over to the window, where Mum and Dad are huddled over the crib, arm in arm. I force myself between them for a gentle family cuddle, no elbows. Sam gurgles happily, a soft breeze washing over him from Kelvinside Park.

I inhale the breeze and soak in the view: the art galleries, the university, the people walking, the buses honking.

Sam starts crying. The honk has scared him.

“My turn to hold him. I’ll give you £5 each,” says Mum.

“No mine,” says Dad. “Or I’ll pour freezing water over your heads.”

And even though I have a lecture in ten minutes, I’m like, “Out of my way, you old fogies, he’s mine.”

Thanks to Daniel Ehrenhaft; to everyone at Sourcebooks Fire; to my agents, Allan Guthrie and Lucy Juckes at Jenny Brown Associates; to Ciorstan Campbell, Karen Campbell, Evie McGowan, Alex Kelloway, and Anna Casci, for their thoughts and advice; and a big thanks to Blether Media for the fab book trailer.

One of thirteen children, Helen FitzGerald left her native Australia to get some attention. She worked as a parole officer and prison social worker in Glasgow for more than ten years. Her gritty and steamy adult thrillers have been translated into numerous languages and widely praised as glorious black comedy.
Amelia O’Donohue Is
So
Not a Virgin
is her first novel for young adults. Helen is married to screenwriter Sergio Casci and has two children. Visit her website www.helenfitzgerald.co.uk.