I'm soo sorry for the wait...........GCSE's and all. Please feel free to rip to shreds, the beginning is not as strong as it should be.
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Lyla. Part 15.
I was positive, as I turned the key in the lock that my boyfriend would be waiting for me on the other side of the door. In fact, when I saw that his bag was gone from the hallway I actually thought that it had been stolen. Why anybody would steal a suitcase of dirty clothes I don’t know, but it was my first thought. Then I saw the note.
Lyla,
Tell your mum thanks for everything that she’s done for me. I’ve gone back home for now, I’ll talk to you soon.
All my love,
Tom
“Mum…”
“Yeah.”
I walked into the kitchen and held up the note as if I was brandishing a lost piece of treasure. “He’s gone home. For good.”
Mum smiled at me like it was the best news she’d had in years.
“Good for him. I bet he’s really happy that he’s made it up with his mum. You know Lyla, his mum may come across as a hateful woman, but she loves Tom very much and it’s important that they’re on good terms.”
I simply chewed on the inside of my lip, my eyebrows rising on their own accord. Happy? Happy? There was no way that Tom had just gone home that easily. His mother had wanted to kill me the last time she saw me. He couldn’t possibly just forgive her and move out. He couldn’t possibly have left that quickly.
Mum pushed past me with a bundle of washing in her arms. I didn’t even try to move. My legs fastened me to the floor, my eyes unblinking as I thought of what to do. I decided to ring him.
Two dials and the answer phone kicked in. “You have reached the O2 messaging service….”
Slamming the phone down, I decided to start the dinner. Surely being productive was a lot better than storming off to sulk in my room.
“Mum, I’m gonna start chopping up some vegetables for dinner,” I called up the stairs.
“That’ll be great, Lyla.”
I wobbled into the kitchen, still confused and upset, and began to pick various vegetables out of the fridge, placing them on the work top. Wanting nothing more than to empty my aching head of all thoughts, especially Tom related, I found a radio station I liked on the old kitchen stereo and turned the volume up.
I opened the small draw under the stove and pulled out a knife. I laid the chopping board down gently on the marble, so as not to make a lot of noise. I could hear mum walking around upstairs. I washed the vegetables under the cold tap and lined them up on the work top. Carrots next to peppers, next to beans, next to potatoes. They looked like soldiers lining up, ready to go over the top to meet their death. My knife.
The song changed on the radio and I instantly recognised it.
“Maybe, I don’t really wanna know, how your garden grows…”
I picked up the heavy knife. It felt so strange in my hands, the blade glinting as I moved it around. How easy it was to end a life, with an object like this.
“You and I are gonna live forever…”
Perhaps I should have ended a life a while ago. Then I wouldn’t be so worried that my boyfriend had suddenly left my house. Then I wouldn’t feel the weight that was forcing me into the ground more each day.
I brought the knife down heavily onto the pepper, sending seeds pouring out of it like blood. I continued to chop the pepper into neat slices and placed them into a bowl, ready for cooking.
I heard the key in the front door and listened as my dad came in.
“Oh, hi, honey,” he said to me as he put his keys on the table.
I looked at my father in a different way, trying to see what attracted my mother to him. He was of average height; about five foot ten, with greying hair. He had a strong jaw, stubble starting to show on his chin. “What you making?” He picked up a slice of pepper and popped it into his mouth. I swatted his hand away as he went in for another slice.
“Veggies with rice.”
Mum made her way into the kitchen, the light coming from the open hallway behind her and framing her like a goddess.
“You’re home early, Sam. I thought you were in that shares meeting with Mr Khan,” mum said as he kissed her on the cheek and tore off his tie.
“Oh, the life of a poor banker,” dad sniggered. Mum moved further into the kitchen, the light shifting. She was no longer the goddess with the shinning hair, but rather just the tired mother, come to make dinner.
“I’ll carry on, Lyla. Thanks.”
I rinsed my hands under the sink, listening to mum as she re-tuned the stereo, allowing the cold water to stiffen my fingers. I kissed mum on the cheek, just like dad had, and left the room, stopping only to grab the note and my mobile on the way out.
The pink sky was obstructed only by light, harmless clouds. The sun was rising in a mist of canary yellow off in the east, its bright colour fighting the rose pink. An insect flitted around outside, bumping against the window every few seconds. I pressed my cheek against the warm pane of glass and listened to the distant sounds of an aeroplane further south. I was alone in the house, the only noises coming from the computer which was humming away on the desk and the steady tick of the alarm clock.
I thought of ringing someone – Tom or Sarah – but I decided against it. So far I had left Tom two voicemails that he hadn’t replied to. I was angry at him for leaving two days ago, with only a flimsy note by way of explanation. As for Sarah, I had kept her up half the night on the phone and didn’t want to disturb her during one of her August morning lie-ins.
I moved away from the window and sat down at my desk, moving the mouse so that the desktop flickered to life. I waited for the internet window to load, my palm sweating onto the mouse. Why was I so jittery? I began to type words into the search engine that had come up. I pressed the enter key on the dusty keyboard and clicked on the first link that came up.
I soon began to read through various articles, feeling almost embarrassed at myself for looking up teenage pregnancy on the internet. My bedroom door creaked and I quickly minimised the window, rubbing my neck nervously. I rolled my eyes at myself when I remembered that both my parents were at work and would be for the rest of the day. It had taken me ages to build up the courage to research teenage pregnancy and now that I was finally doing it I felt a bit on edge. Guilty, even.
I returned to the websites and began to read articles on other mothers’ worries. I felt a little more relaxed as I realised that I wasn’t the first person to be doing this. There were thousands of teenagers out there, all thinking of the same things as me.
I pulled open my stiff desk draw and fumbled around until I found a pad and working pen. I wrote the number one at the top of the page and next to it the word ‘cot’. Then down a line, the number two and the word ‘pram’. By number twenty my list of things I needed to get for the baby was complete. I continued to read through internet reports and articles, making a note on my pad every once in a while.
It was only when the phone rang that I noticed that two and a half hours had passed. I coughed before picking up the portable phone in the hall.
“Hello?”
“Lyla, it’s me… Tom.”
I walked back into my room and sat on my unmade bed, waiting for Tom to continue talking. I sat crossed – legged, my dove white nightdress fanning out around me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. It’s been mad here and my phone was dead so I only just got your voicemails.”
I tried to tell from the tone of his voice whether he was being sincere, but all I could detect was urgency.
“Why did you just up and leave? I mean, are things suddenly great with your mum?” I placed my free hand on the top of my bump, feeling the baby moving around, as though my voice had woken it.
“No. Well, not great exactly. I – I need to see you. We really need to talk face to face,” rushed Tom, like he was about to be thrown off the phone.
“Why? Has something happened?” I started to feel panicked.
He left so suddenly, then I didn’t hear from him for two whole days, and now, at ten in the morning, he wanted to see me. What was going on?
“Don’t worry; I just want to see you, honey.”
I noted the delicate way he said honey and how soft his words seemed.
“OK, come round mine. I’m alone anyways,” I said.
“I’ll be round in ten.”
