The Baby (20 page)

He shakes his head. ‘I hate you.'

She smiles so he feels the bulge of her cheek against his. ‘I don't care, because I love you.'

He pulls her to him. ‘I can't believe this.' He looks over her shoulder at the crowd of friends who are now moving to the living room. The music is too strong a pull.

He counts at least thirty friends. Mostly from school, a couple from the cafe. Their shadowy figures make a party scene, where only an hour earlier there was just his mum and stepdad.

Someone shoves a can of lager in his hand and he thinks of the shirt hanging in his wardrobe which he would like to wear rather than the scruffy hoodie that he's got on at the moment.

People throw their arms around him. He can't stop grinning. It's like frogs are bounding behind his eyes.

Nicola grabs his arm and pulls him down on to the sofa. She clutches his arm and smiles warmly. ‘You OK, honey?'

He nods at her. The awkwardness from last week fades off her face. ‘We'll chat later, yeah?'

Relief seeps through him. She's tapping away at his arm, determined to be bright. ‘Your mum's been brilliant.' She yells in his ear. ‘She's agreed to leave us to it. She won't be back until midnight.' She nods at a stack of cans. ‘She's even bought some drinks.'

He swallows. He's always known his mum was the best person in the world. Tries not to think about how she's going to react when he tells her his news. ‘What about Bella
and Dave?'

Nicola nods. She's looking cute in a short dress which pulls tight over her curves. He can't get over how much she's changed since Eliza's been born. Instead of just being Olivia's friend, it's almost like she's the strongest person he now knows.

She carries on. ‘They're going too. Think they're going to your grandma's.'

He sinks his head against the back of the sofa and sighs.
This is happiness
. This is worth every bit of the misery he's experienced in the last fortnight.

Olivia stands in front of him. Her cheeks are pink and shiny and she looks lush in a shorts-and-tights combo. She puts her head to one side knowingly. ‘You want to go and change, don't you?'

He groans – only Olivia would realize this. ‘You know me too well.'

She points a ballet pump at his shin. ‘Yeah. I know what a vain little shit you are.'

Later, feeling properly dressed and smelling like he should at a party, he goes downstairs. Music still thuds from the living room. Kids from school sway from one room to the next. It's hard to take in. Wonders about Josh. Hopes he's been invited.

He spots Seb from the cafe talking to Dan from History. The football crew are dancing with Nicola and Mel from his old Science class in front of a pile of DVDs for five-year-olds.
Ben's world, it seems, has gone very, very mad.

But it's a good mad.

He takes another drink from the table and looks around.

Music. Good music. Music from his iPod. And people are actually dancing to it.

The French windows bang open as somebody slides through. He smells the scent of cigarettes. He'd like one.

He spots Josh Strong wading through the throng of figures between the kitchen and living room. Ben's mouth turns dry as he catches his eye. He slaps Ben on the back ‘Happy Birthday, mate,' he shouts, his breath warm on Ben's face. There's a stab of something hot at the back of his throat. Josh scrubs Ben's head and moves along, some girl from English clinging on to his arm and laughing. Ben can't say anything. Just ducks his head.

He walks past the kitchen table which is littered with cards. Cards which must be for him.

After a cigarette and a can of beer, he slides into the corner of the kitchen where Olivia is standing. She smiles. ‘You enjoying yourself?'

He nods. ‘Thanks, Livvy. This is the best.'

She's had just enough to drink, he realizes, to be even softer than normal. She swigs from a glass and speaks in his ear. ‘I hated it when we weren't friends.'

‘Me too.'

‘Promise it won't happen again?'

He slips his hand around her waist. ‘Promise.'

‘I love you, Ben,' she says again. And he knows whatever
happens, this love will be there for life.

They stand softly against the kitchen cabinets, watching the party unwind around them. His hand stays attached to her warm skin. Jonty walks into the room, followed by Nicola. They're laughing. He's holding a bottle of cider high above her head; she's reaching for it so Jonty lifts it higher. There's something in the air around them. It crackles. Ben feels Olivia breathe in beside him. He nudges her gently. ‘You OK?'

She nods quickly, perhaps too quickly. Then smiles. ‘She's changing, isn't she?'

‘Yeah.'

She leans into him. ‘But it's a good change, isn't it? I mean, she was always clothes, clothes, clothes. But now, since Eliza,' shakes her head. ‘I dunno … it's like she's more happy underneath the clothes.'

He knows this is hard to say. Loves her for it. Watches as Jonty finally hands the drink over to Nicola and she takes a swig. His eyes are softer than Ben's ever seen.

Winces. Thinks about the new ball of knowledge sitting in his stomach. He's sure Jonty will flip. Can't imagine the conversation. Won't think about it. It's his party. His birthday. Olivia and Nicola have gone to all the trouble.

Sighs, turns away from the way Jonty and Nicola are now openly flirting in the middle of the room. Pulls Olivia through to the living room. ‘C'mon. Let's dance.'

The jabber of voices over music. The flicker of candle light. The smell of wine and beer and cider. The feel of warm fingers and hands and hair everywhere he goes. The Stone Roses.
Echo & the Bunnymen. Killing Joke. The Clash. INXS. All his favourite bands.

Dancing. Maybe to forget: punching his fist into the air to ‘Teenage Dirtbag'. All thirty-two of them in one room. Like the crest of a wave. Thirty-two beautifully formed fists under the lights, like thirty-two pink creatures. Dancing with Olivia who kicks off her shoes because they hurt. One lands in the warm space between the back of the sofa and Sam Rhodes's neck where he's passed out, his mouth open with a slick of saliva glistening down his cheek. Dancing with the football crew to Public Enemy; shoulders shoving, feeling the warmth of Josh Strong's palms on his back. Looking at him, diamonds of sweat dangling from the dark strands of his hair. Laughing as he shakes like a dog so that Ben can taste the salt. Dancing, dancing, dancing.

He finds himself pulled down on to the sofa. Warm fingers in his hand. Nicola. All fragrant of musky body spray and shampoo, her cheeks high with colour, her eyelashes dark against shining eyes. She's smiling next to the passed-out Sam Rhodes. Her dress clings to a gently rising stomach, not even a reminder of the baby. She has to shout in his ear for the noise.

‘Sorry again about last week – springing it on you like that.'

He shrugs, shifts against her. Smells her warmth. His lips against her ear, ‘S'OK. You had to tell me somehow.'

‘How'd you feel about it today?'

‘Still a bit shit.' He fiddles with her fingers. ‘Why didn't we use a condom, Nic?'

She sighs, crosses her legs, flexes and points her toes. ‘You were off your face.' Grimaces. ‘So was I. We're the original teenage cliché.'

Some Nirvana through the speakers. The room gets clogged again. A wave of bouncing friends. Some sweat. Waves of cider. Flashes of skin where tops come out of jeans. From down on the sofa he can swim in the glow of the party. He'd like to dance. Knows he can't. Not with the conversation still going.

‘What shall I do?'

She presses his fingers. ‘You don't have to do very much for now. Just carry on being you. Stick with me. Help me now and again. We'll work something out.'

Hears a shake in his voice. ‘I can't believe I actually have a daughter.'

She smiles. It fills her face. She's got no idea how pretty she is. ‘You have.'

In the corner, slightly away from the dancing, by the television in a small animal huddle are Jonty and two of his friends. They're big, they're laughing and they're drinking. There's the knot of knowledge again, at the base of his stomach. Ben jabs his toe towards the corner. ‘There's our biggest problem.' Jonty's grinning wide at something his mate has just said. He senses Nicola's sigh next to him.

‘I know. I'm not sure what to do there.'

‘He'll freak.'

‘I know.'

‘He's just got used to the idea. Just started to come round.'

‘I know. And he's actually quite good at it.'

Pulls a face. ‘You sure?'

‘Yeah … surprisingly.'

‘It'll mess with his head. He'll go ape-shit.'

He feels a quiver in her fingers. ‘I know.'

‘So what the hell are we going to do, Nic?'

Glances at her profile. Sees the eyelashes close. ‘Do you mind … do you mind if we keep it a secret for a bit? Till I've got my head round it. Till I've found a way of telling him.'

‘Course.' There's a funny sensation of protection and fear and anxiety on his tongue. It's hard to understand. It's all so new. He sighs. ‘Let me know when you've thought of a way though. Cos I reckon I'm going to need a bulletproof vest. That or a one-way ticket to Australia.'

She shakes her head. ‘He's not that bad.'

She's wrong. He's certain of that. But right now it's not worth telling her. Instead, he lets Nirvana thrash through his living room and vibrate through the sofa.

Much later, there are empty bottles everywhere. Every surface seems to be covered in party debris. Ben wanders outside. He thinks about a cigarette but likes the idea of just sitting there in the darkness with the jostle of voices through the living-room window. There's so much to think about.

He grins to himself. Peers up into the bright dots of stars pin-pricking the night sky. Doesn't hear the back door open. Closes his eyes in contentment.

The creak of the bench where he's sitting has him opening
his eyes and fumbling for his cigarettes. Josh's pine fragrance hits Ben before he even realizes who it is.

‘All right?' Josh grins and settles himself on the bench.

Ben pulls a half smile and lights up. Josh's knee bumps against Ben's thigh. It burns. ‘Yeah.'

He smokes quietly, watching the stars, feeling the whole of his left side tingle.

Josh inhales. Seems to start to say something then stops. Ben swallows.

Finally: ‘You sometimes stare at me, you know?' Said quietly. Half a mumble.

Ben feels a blush flash on to his cheeks. He takes a hurried drag and squeezes his eyes in embarrassment. ‘Um, yeah, sorry.'

Josh shakes his head quickly. ‘No – it's OK.'

A cheer of something in the house through the windows. Laughter rippling through the party. It's going on without them. That's OK. Ben likes the idea of all these people in his house while he's sitting out here with Josh.

Prickles of tension.

And then, before either of them say anything else and before Ben can even sense it, Josh reaches over and kisses him. On the lips. Firmly planted on his mouth. Ben lifts his chin and kisses him back.

The kiss says the thousand things that he can't find the words to say.

It isn't very long. Josh draws back and Ben takes a final pull on his cigarette then flicks it on to the floor where it smoulders gently.

There's a fog of embarrassment. In the corner of Ben's eye he sees Josh flex his fingers. His knee is still blazing into Ben's thigh.

The dart of a silent owl wings its way across the width of the garden. Josh shakes his shoulders. He stuffs his hands under his thighs. ‘I've never done that before … with a boy, I mean.'

Ben holds his breath, winces. ‘Me neither.'

Josh raises his eyebrows but doesn't push the point. He turns to Ben. ‘You want to come to mine sometime? Next week maybe? We can watch a film or go on the Xbox?'

Ben coughs in surprise.

‘You don't have to, if you don't want to?'

Ben smiles. Then nods his head. He can feel his cheeks swell until it feels like they might burst. He nods again. ‘Yeah – OK.'

Josh gets up. He brushes his thighs with the palms of his hand. Ben likes Josh's hands. They're solid but signal so much information. He jerks his head back into the house. ‘Well, I'd best get back in.'

Ben nods. Inhales. Nods again. ‘Yeah, I'll be there in a bit.'

He watches Josh's back as he saunters out of the light into the gasp of the party.

He leans his head back against the wall and the graze of the brickwork snags at his hair. He's happy. In love.

In love with this boy; in love with his friends … and now … in love with his baby.

His blood and his breath are buzzing with it.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I haven't done this on my own. From the moment I started thinking about this book I've been in partnership with someone. I'm going to start with Dan Tunstall. He was before
The Baby
– he was my inspiration. His book,
Big & Clever
, got me so inspired that I wanted to write a book there and then – literally walk out of the library where I was working and start within seconds of being at my computer. He gave me years of support and encouragement. I'll never forget that.

Thanks to Leicester Writing School. They brought me together with some fantastic authors and writers. Writing's a bit solitary. That's why it's good to sit with others who are doing the same thing. I enjoyed those courses.

Then the sublime Writing East Midlands. Winning a place on their Mentoring Scheme was wonderful, but then pairing me up with the Great and Godly Maxine Linnell was their true stroke of genius. Maxine is brilliant. We worked so hard on getting this book right. Loads of coffee, loads of rewrites and most importantly loads of laughs. Wow, Maxine, you are the wisest woman I know. Truly, truly, thank you. (You getting bored of me saying it yet?)

Then, of course, to Chicken House. To Barry Cunningham, Rachel Hickman and Rachel Leyshon who made me feel welcome from the start and who gave me stacks of advice while always ensuring
The Baby
remained mine. Their emails and phone calls continue to make me smile, but Rachel Leyshon's ‘twist' phone call was the best. She was so nervous
at the suggestion. And I didn't stop laughing for hours afterwards. It was a genius idea, Rachel. Thank you.

I got my inspiration for
The Baby
from
The Slap
. I loved the structure and hoped I could do something similar for young adults. So thank you for writing it, Christos Tsiolkas.

Thanks to Mum, Dad, Jan and Bill. They have always been there with their interest and support. Mum started my enjoyment of books right from when I was little – taking me to a library that I eventually ended up working in. And Dad, well, he taught me how to be determined and strong. Thank you.

To Kate, Owen and Rob. Rob for his relentless support, peeling me off the ceiling for the good news, pulling me from the depths of despair for the bad. Kate for being my first reader. She's plucky for a daughter – never worrying that her criticism might result in a major-league mum-sulk. And Owen for our fights over the computer, where he almost always let me win. Thank you, lovely little family. X

To my brothers Alister and Peter and my wonderful sisters-in-law Julie and Su. To Jill, Paul, Keith and Karen – thank you for your interest and enthusiasm. Alister recommended
The Slap
to me in amongst a shedload of other ‘interesting' books. Julie, you have my back – I know it, and it's a lovely feeling.

To three people who won't ever read this – Dan, Karen and Eurydd. You might not be here any more – but I still talk to you and I know you'd be happy for me.

Thank you to all my friends, old and new. I'm blown away by your support, enthusiasm, interest and suggestions. You're all blimmin' wonderful. To Sarah L and Sherralyn for not
laughing when I told you, all those years back, that this was what I wanted to do. Your love, friendship, coffees and wine have kept me going.

To the staff and friends at Leicestershire Libraries for letting me work in such a fabulously inspiring environment. (It's also where I first borrowed
The Slap
.)

To my teaching colleagues past and present – I always threatened to do this. And to my students who continually make me smile – thank you.

And finally to my sparkly new agent, Anna Power, who I hope is going to help me keep up with this writing lark.

Thank you, brilliant people. I hope you enjoy my baby, called
The Baby
, which has been my actual baby for over a year now. It has given me sleepless nights and has spent the best part of its life under a blanket. But now it's time to rock up to playgroup, throw open the doors and let someone else see the tantrums. Let me know what you think.