Non Pratt - Trouble

“Be reasonable, Geoffrey…”

Dad. I guess family gossip has worked its way over to him. There are lots of cousins on Facebook.

“…It’s not as simple as you’re making out…” Mum sounds knackered — this evening has taken it out of everyone. “Please don’t use that tone with me. I am not one of your assistants. I am your ex-wife and the mother of your daughter — the one you haven’t seen in over six months.”

I wait, imagining the indignation coming down the phone line all the way from Ireland. Dublin. It’s not even like he lives in Australia or somewhere properly far away. It costs less than a pair of new shoes to fly here. Takes less time than it does to watch The Incredibles.

“Shouting about it won’t get you anywhere — she’s made up her mind — and there’s the father…” It seems Aaron’s timing has been perfect. “Of course I’ve talked to her about her options!”

Flashback to Gran’s on Boxing Day. I blink away the memory.

“Don’t you dare.”

I wonder what Dad could have said to make her use the Voice.

“Her father? Is that what you think you are? Since when? Since you asked me to lie to her on her birthday when you missed your plane because you were too busy working to notice her turning ten? Since you refused to allow her to have a private education because you couldn’t stand the thought of Robert paying for her when you wouldn’t? Since you needed reminding that she was taking her mocks just over a month ago?”

I close my eyes. I didn’t want to hear this, but now I can’t walk away.

“You listen to me” — the Voice has changed; it’s in its killer phase now — “you come over here and you talk to her face-to-face. If I hear you have sent an email I will stop you from ever seeing her again.”

A pause.

“If that’s the way you want it to be.”

I hear the phone crashing down on the base unit then toppling out, and Mum swearing as she pushes it back in place.

So. He’s cutting me out. Not properly — it’s not as if Robert’s about to sign the papers and adopt me (although since I took his name when Mum did, I’m halfway there already, right?). It’s just that my father has a new project on that means he’s going to be away on set for the next eight months and he really doesn’t have time to deal with this right now. The meeting with the producer was brought forward, things kicked off really quickly. No time to come over and tell me in person that he’s not ready to become a grandfather yet.

He phoned his mother to tell her. He emailed mine. But he left it up to them to tell me. I knew something was wrong when Mum parked the car and came into the home with me. She’s sitting on the other side from Gran, who’s glowing with anger. Frail as she is, I’d worry for Dad’s safety if there wasn’t the Irish Sea between the two of them. Both Mum and Gran are watching me as if I’m about to break down into floods of tears.

But I don’t.

It’s exactly what I thought would happen and, in a weird way, I’m just relieved that I was right. I’ve spent a lifetime assuming the worst of him and if I’d discovered he was capable of anything else… Then I would have been the villain, not him. I’d rather it wasn’t that way round. I’ve had enough of getting it wrong.

So. No crying over this one.

You can’t lose someone who was never there in the first place.

On Monday I walked up to Rex and told him Hannah’s baby was mine. It seemed the most efficient way to get it out there and it worked. By lunchtime the whole school was talking about it — even the teachers. The look Dad gave me as we passed in the corridor was martyred to say the least. By the end of the day, three boys were suspended for the Facebook thing. Apparently the Kingsway administration takes cyber-bullying seriously — although Anj said that Marcy deleted her status before she got caught.

The next day it became very clear that I’d been dropped from the basketball crowd, but almost immediately Anj and Gideon picked me up. Hannah too. Something tells me I’m safer down here than I ever was at the top of the food chain. Not least because, for the first time since October, no one has asked whether I’m going to the park tonight. I’m spending it with my mum, compensating by watching a rom com with her on the sofa. Definitely preferable to the park.

In amongst all this, we got our results back. Mine aren’t too bad — a haul of Bs, As and a couple of A*s is enough to reassure my parents. But Hannah’s haven’t exactly been good news. I found her kicking a bin outside the gym when she was meant to be meeting me for lunch. It was tanking down and her uniform was soaked through. She pulled the scrumpled bit of paper out of the bin and showed me before she started kicking the bin again.

I can’t say I blame her.

Mum’s back. She’s rustling about in the kitchen and I think about sneaking upstairs—

“Hannah?”

I stay quiet, but I can’t mute the TV in time and Mum comes in.

“I’ve made you a cup of hot chocolate, love.”

“Can’t have too much caffeine,” I mumble and she sighs.

“There’s not enough caffeine to keep a flea awake in the mug I’ve made you.” Tiniest of pauses. “The baby will be fine. Come and drink it in the kitchen.”

When I go into the kitchen there’s some magazines on the table which give me The Fear. They are magazines I have only started noticing in the last few months, magazines I didn’t even know existed until I became an under-age member of the MTB club. Don’t know what MTB means? I didn’t either. It means Mum To Be.

On the front are pictures of women with terrifyingly white smiles and tanned skin — presumably exuding that glow I have yet to give off — hands proudly resting on bumps that look more like beach balls than bellies. On one of them you can see the woman’s belly button — only you can’t because IT’S NOT EVEN THERE. Gross. On others the women are holding babies whose faces must have been Photoshopped because no babies I’ve ever seen look so fresh-faced and happy. Nor mums for that matter.

I look at mine as she walks past and sits at the table next to two gently steaming mugs and the landslide of glossy magazines.

“I’m not looking at those,” I say warily.

“Just come and sit down with me, Hannah.” Mum sounds tired, but she doesn’t look cross or anything, which is new. I sit down and pull the hot chocolate towards me. She’s used my favourite mug with the extra thick rim and the giant smiley and I wrap my fingers around it, an echo of the night Aaron offered me hot chocolate from a Thermos in the park. Who knew how much more he’d be offering me now? The boy’s a lifesaver — well, a reputation saver.

Mum sips her drink and looks at me.

“I’ve not handled this very well,” she says. Which is an understatement. “I never thought you’d get pregnant so young, but, even so, I see girls in your situation every day, terrified of what their parents will say when they find out they’re pregnant. I tell them that their parents will love them no matter what and I reassure them that it’s their body and they have a right to make their own decisions and not to let other people pressure them into anything…”

She trails off and sighs. “But all that goes out of the window when it’s your own daughter.”

I say nothing and concentrate on not thinking about Boxing Day. Or the way she flew off the handle at Aaron for taking advantage of me. If she knew the truth… So. Much. Worse.

“We all make mistakes, Hannah.” She puts her hand over mine, around the mug. “Me included. I should have said this right away, but I love you. You are my precious little girl, and you always will be, no matter what. I’m not saying that I’m not hurt by some of the decisions you’ve made, but perhaps they were made for the right reasons. Perhaps you were right to confide in your gran before me. Perhaps you knew me better than I knew myself.” Her fingers brush my skin. “But I’m your mother and I love you and I would walk through fire for you — you won’t understand until you become one yourself. But I’ll be with you through this.”

Her eyes are filling up and my mouth and throat feel run through with sandpaper at the effort of not crying. Then, for what feels like the first time in months, Mum pulls me into a proper hug and squeezes me so hard that the tears are forced out of me. I rest my head on her shoulder and smell her perfume and close my eyes and let the weight of worry lift off me. It’s not all gone, but still… having Mum hold me like this makes things seem a little more do-able.

“But we’re going to have to do something about those exam results.”

Bollocks. I knew this was too good to last.

Gideon holds the door open for me and I walk out into the corridor and straight into Marcy. I back off quickly, not wanting the hassle, but she turns the second she sees me, her posse surrounding me like a shoal of piranhas.

“Watch who you galumph into, pregna-slut.”