Read Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum Online
Authors: Vi Grim
Tags: #coming of age, #pregnancy, #emily taylor, #pregnancy and childbirth, #vi grim, #age 14 to adult, #the teenage mum, #young mum
Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum (15 page)
right on the beach. My house on Camillo is by the beach, but it's
freezing half of the year and the surf's usually too big for me to
let the kids out onto the sand. Here, the beach is like part of the
house, it opens out onto it. The sand is pinky-white and the swell
gently swooshes up the beach. We still need to watch our babies but
they're not going to be plucked off the beach and sucked under like
they would on Camillo.
cos we can't imagine Dr Florence fitting in on Zwingly. There is no
one else. Annie may be lucky and give birth with a gentle wriggle
of the hips but I need someone that knows what they're doing and is
good with a needle and thread. We invite her along, who knows, she
might let her hair down!
We do our best to accommodate
her, tiding up the house and watching our Ps and Qs. Our Sunday jam
session is classical, which we all really enjoy. I see Florence
waltzing with Shakespeare and when I take myself to bed, she's
sitting on the sofa between a couple of composers. She's sitting
upright and stiff and looks very starchy and serious. I wish she'd
relax and chill out.
first. She screams and complains and begs for mercy, but really her
birth is a doddle. It's over in no time and she needs nothing more
than a strong cup of tea and a ginger nut afterwards. No stitches;
not even one. Cow! She has a boy; he's going to be a right little
demigod with Annie's dark skin and black hair and Azziz's bright
green eyes. I suggest calling him Adonis, but Annie and Azziz
settle on Cosmo.
My baby is late. The
later it gets, the bigger it gets. It just keeps growing. It's
scary; I'll probably explode. I try to meditate, I go for long
walks and we dance around the house. Azziz suggests sex is the best
way; it's his answer for everything. I can't imagine the boys are
going to find me attractive with my huge belly, so we have a spicy
Indian takeaway and I wash mine down with castor oil. That does the
trick and, apart from a few stitches to get me looking beautiful
again, Vincent Azulay Taylor slides out without putting up too much
of a fight. Ha, ha, not!
and two of them mobile, I really have my hands full, but with five
adults in the house, it's fun. It's the way things should be.
There's enough people around that the babies are always being
carried around and fussed over. I can go out dancing or for long
walks along the beach knowing my babies will be okay. I almost
start to feel human again.
in human form. Jesus is always popular. I think that the rock stars
hope that by hanging out with him some of his karma will rub off on
them. They probably dream of getting back to Earth and doing a bit
of name dropping, 'When me and Mick hung out with Jesus on Zwingly.
He's a cool dude, Zen like.'
With Christmas coming up
there's talk of a Christmas bash. I know Jesus would rather be
paddling his surfboard or meditating on some mountain top than
being the centre of attention, but pleasing your public is one of
those things that go hand in hand with celebrity. He's using the
opportunity to push his corner: no one's to cut any trees down on
his account and if you want to give a present, make it an
investment in the future, give a child some of your time, plant a
tree, or create something for others to enjoy.
'I've done my bit, making lots
of beautiful babies,' says Azziz.
'You should be spending some of
your time with them rather than vanishing off making more,' says
Jesus.
'Every man to his own,' says
Azziz. 'When are you going to get on with the job yourself instead
preaching about what others should do?'
'Mind your own business,' says
Jesus, touchily.
Christmas spirit when you're living in the tropics. It's the sort
of climate that suits hanging out on the beach. Jesus organises a
reggae jam session with a feast in the evening. The invitations say
BYOT.
'What's this byot all about?' I
ask.
'Bring your own tree,' says
Jesus. 'I'm planting trees in Mos Eisley. By improving the
environment I'm hoping the aliens that live there will become nicer
people.'
'Good luck to you,' I say. I
really can't see a couple of shrubs turning hardened thugs and
bounty hunters into New Age model citizens. It would be boring
anyway. When did you last see a movie about a stay at home New Age
dad? Like never, we like action, fights, killing and sex, with a
bit of romance throw in for the grannies.
Us girls, me, Annie and Janice
give each other tattoos for Christmas. Janice gets a black widow
spider right on her knicker line so you can just see its front
legs. It's ever so cheeky and the kids are forever pulling at her
knickers to see more. Annie gets a Gaelic design as a ring on the
second toe along. It's simple and looks good on her. I want a huge
two-headed dragon running up my back and breathing fire over my
shoulders, but my tastes are starting to change and I sense that
him and me will fall out, big time. I still get a dragon, but he's
on my butt, covering up some more of my cigarette burns as he
breathes fire across at the scorpion. The Rasta uses special ink
that changes colour with my moods. Once it's done, it looks
fantastic but I regret the special ink. I might just want to keep
what mood I'm in secret, not that many people get to see my
butt.
so nice not to have those people trying to sell you stuff, like you
get on Earth. We celebrate his birthday by eating, dancing and
spoiling the kids. Cool.
worm outside and sit on the sofa and tune in to Sheffield. It's a
lovely crisp winter's day there and I look down and see Mum and Dad
puffing up the hill to the graveyard. They are holding hands
and-
'Mum, mum, mum, mum, mum,' says
Nelly, shaking me. 'Mum, mum, wake up.'
I blink my eyes and return to
being a mum.
'Mum, baby want you.'
I jump up and go to see Vinny.
He's pooed and smeared it on himself. 'Vincent!' I shout. 'Don't
move, don't touch anything.'
He beams up at me, delighted
with himself. I pick him up and, trying to hold him at arm's
length, carry him to the beach and wash him in the sea. Then he
gets hungry, then I clean up the poo on the floor and finally I
clean myself. Oh, the joys if motherhood! I don't get a chance to
see Mum and Dad until the following afternoon. They look sad. They
must feel cheated, after the dramatic display of nature at my
funeral and on my first birthday in Camillo and the next year, they
must have come to look forward to their visit to my grave. To sense
that I'm still there, that there is a little magic out there. Now
nothing, it must be a big disappointment. They look good, a little
older, but content.
They do better than most.
When I peek into the neighbours' houses, I can see how lucky Mum
and Dad are. They’re relaxed with each other's company, they touch,
they hold hands, they talk lots about all sorts of things and they
listen to what each other says. Not many couples do that. They do
argue sometimes, but that's not a bad thing either.
to see him and give him the biggest kiss. He looks glum.
'What's up?' I ask.
'I've been replaced,' he
says.
'Replaced?'
'Yes, by Renard.'
'No way, Renard has replaced
you?'
'Yes, Renard. It's so they can
sell off slices of Heaven without us knowing.'
'Heaven, you mean
Camillo.'
'Yes, they-'
'Don't tell me, I don't want to
know.'
each day, usually when I'm doing the housework. You can just sweep
the floors, or sweep the floors, kung fu. The kids do laugh when
I'm folding the laundry and washing the dishes, kung fu. It's a
state of mind. I don't get much time for meditation though. I
really enjoy it but it's one of those selfish pastimes that young
kids won't let their mum do.
I work hard at staying fit and
getting my body back in shape. These babies don't half take a toll
on it, I've got stretch marks and my tummy wobbles like a jelly,
and my boobs, which did their best to defy gravity when they first
arrived, have given up the fight.
I've been playing beach
soccer. It's right on our doorstep and it's great fun, running on
the sand and splashing about in the water. There's usually someone
to kick the ball around with and in the evening, when they've
knocked off for the day, the zinodes train and play friendly games.
Once every few weeks there's a big game at the local soccer pitch
at the edge of town on the duney fringes of the desert. Usually a
team from Vespa or Panacea come and plays the Zwingly team.
Sometimes we go and watch. It's always fun and the local team needs
all the support it can get.
a big game, do you want to come with me and Jesus.'
'No way!' I say, remembering
our last misadventure. 'Anyway, I got kids now. I can't leave them
and bobby off half way across the solar system on a boozy soccer
trip.'
'I have kids too,' says Azziz.
'It never stopped me.'
'I noticed!' I can be so sarky
sometimes.
'You don't have to go anywhere;
the stadium is coming to Zwingly. It's Szabo playing Psyche. Play
kicks off at sunset on the first of May. It's the cup final so they
are playing on neutral territory. I've got tickets for all of
us.'
'Cool,' I say, with just a
little trepidation. 'But what about the kids?'
'Organised, there's two nannies
coming.'
soccer match.
'I must see it,' she says.
'It's a shame we can't take the bus to get there.'
It looks like
we
are
going.
but there's no sign of the stadium. Jesus says that it's not broken
down but is hiding in hyperspace. Apparently the local bars have
bribed the Soccer Federation to delay its arrival. The Federation
is wonderfully corrupt, openly fixing matches by coercing players,
or letting a slimeball in at a critical moment. Zwingly is packed
with all manner of aliens and intergalactic riffraff. I can hear
the szabo this time. Most of them are totally invisible but there's
a few empty jerseys in the szabo colours of navy and maroon
vertical stripes playing soccer or lazing under coconut palms.
There's zinodes everywhere, hovering just above the ground or
playing in the sea, splashing on the surface or diving deep to
chase fish. Normally naked, they wear their colours when they play
footy; yellow and gold, blue and white, all orange, black and white
stripes, and Manchester red, just to name a few.
play a football tournament while they wait for the missing stadium.
Everyone takes part. Me, Annie, Jesus and Azziz put on green and
red shirts and play for Zwingly, while Janice helps the nannies
look after the kids. The zinodes are kind to us, keeping the ball
relatively close to the ground so we have half a chance of getting
a foot to it. We invented the game so it's only fair that they play
by our rules when we're playing. The tournament goes on for weeks.
One of the wonderful things about living here is that time doesn't
matter. No one wears a watch and time is usually indicated by
breakfast, morning, lunch, tea, sunset, dinner and night. People
are quite happy to wait and just chill until things happen, which
most of the time they do.
Two burly guards arrive at the house wearing body armour and
carrying assault canons.
'Why?' I ask. 'It's odd to
protect stuff; aliens normally have no interest in things.'
'It's to protect the kids,' he
says. 'With all these people around they could easily go
missing.'
'Missing! What do you mean
missing?'
'Stolen,' he says. 'Kids are
one of the most valuable commodities in the Universe.'
Stolen!
Commodities! I want to go back to the sa
fety of Camillo. Now; before my kids are stolen and
sold to slavery. I can't though; I'd probably be burned at the
stake for being a witch.
please Castor, guard our kids. We've got security, but can you keep
an eye out too?'
'No problem. I always do. I'll
station myself directly over the house. It's those guards you
really have to watch.'
'The guards,' I screech. This
is going from bad to worse.
'We've had problems with them
in the past. Don't worry, I'm here, I'm watching.'
'Thank you, Castor. I
don't know what I'd do without you,' I give him a big kiss and with
a click of my fingers are back with my kids.
guards, who stand impassive, hiding behind their dark glasses.
such a noise that I drag the kids down into the hurricane shelter.
Even there, it's loud and we wait until the ground stops shaking
before we venture out. The stadium has landed in the desert and
kicked up a huge cloud of dust, which coats everything in yellow as
it settles. I'm looking forward to being up in the grandstand with
Annie and Janice. We head out to the stadium late in the afternoon,
fooling around with a football as we run across the dunes to reach
it. It's wonderful being in the desert. There's no clutter, just a
vast expanse of sand, like an ocean hiding unknown secrets in its
depths.
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