One Month Later…
15th Of April
Life in my own house. Living with my boyfriend. Living with two things inside of me. Having to put up with people asking how old I am. Life is goooooooooood. Also, it’s been almost a month since I’ve last talked to Mum. Yup, you’ve guessed it, she still hasn’t said sorry. To be honest, I’m not really bothered. I haven’t got anybody lecturing me about how bad I iron, or how bad I vacuum. So, yeah. I luuurve life.
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, I don’t love it half the time. Having to do weekly shops, and doing the washing up. Lately, me and David have been going to Chinese shops, because soon, we’ll be needing it, to speed up labour. Apparently, spicy foods gets the labour going. And seeing as my Mum was eleven days late with me, and the same with my Nana, I’m not taking any chances.
Harry came to visit me at my new house. I love saying that. New house. New house. New house. Okay, I’ll stop now.
He came over, all red faced and beaming. I invited him in straight away.
“What brings you here?” I asked, calling from the kitchen.
“Mum wanted me to give you a few things,” he panted, throwing his shoes off and trudging into the living room. He passed me three books: one about motherhood, one about childbirth and one about yoga. “She says you could do with some exercise, and comes to think of it, she’s right,”
I slap him lightly on the arm and giggle. “The cheek of her, well… Give it back to her, I don’t need it. David’s mum gave me a few books,” I know, I know. I’m being a right cow, but I’m just doing the deeds Mum did to me.
“Oh. She’s well upset. She’s always going on about you. ‘I miss Jess’ ‘I treated her wrong’,” he mimicked. I smiled, but then he said some more: “But then she turns all angry and then has a right go at everyone. You need to go speak to her, this is driving me nuts, anyway, best be off. My girlfriends waiting outside,”
Harry’s right. Mum does change her tune very rapidly. But it’s not fair that poor Harry is in the middle of this, as is David. I do need to talk to Mum, and I’ll do that tomorrow. If I remember, that is.
16th Of April
I decided to go to Mum’s today, I prepared a speech, too. I know it sounds stupid but I want to get this right first time, no screw ups.
I walk out of my car, anxiously and step onto my mothers patio, where I used to play football when I was a kid. I was such a tomboy back then. I seem to recall myself saying to Mum I wanted a willy. Don’t ask, but luckily, that phase stopped when I was seven.
Anyway, I knocked on the door and Harry opened it, red eyed.
“Oh my gosh, what’s happened?” I asked, stepping inside straight away.
“It’s granddad……” he paused, sniffing, “he’s dead,”
I started to laugh hysterically, thinking this was a joke. Then I remembered, Harry NEVER cries, like, the only time I saw him weep was when I bit a chunk of his knee off. Long story short, he burst my football so I grabbed his leg and bit him.
“Mum? Grandmere? Is this true?” I asked, starting to get serious.
“Yes, my love. We have been calling you, he died from a heart attack,” I started to well up.
“Well you didn’t call me enough!” I screamed. I was just so angry. Wouldn’t you be if a relative who hasn’t even lived to see your children dies and your other relatives haven’t called you? Not that the phone has been ringing non stop. In fact, I haven’t got called since last month.
“Jessica! How dare you?! Yelling at us, at this sad occasion,” Mum complained. She can talk, I don’t see her crying.
“I actually didn’t get a call, it’s Mum I came to see,” I said, wiping the tears what were slowly rolling down my cheek.
“Well, if it’s anything to do with our barney then I don’t want to know,” she stuck her nose in the air, consoling Harry.
I was so angry I couldn’t focus on Granddad. It was how Mum was acting. Derek came over to me, apologized for Mum’s behaviour and ordered me to leave.
“I’d be happy too, it looks as if I’m not wanted anyway,” I barked, storming out the door.
I was never that close to Granddad anyway. We only saw each other three times a year. Christmas, Easter and Harry’s birthday. Grandmere was always in the middle of a family argument, wanting to fix it all the time. She always got in the way, though. Her fragile body couldn’t go any faster than two miles per hour.
Grandmere and Granddad used to live in France. It was such a pain on New Years, always driving from Belfast to Nancy ever year. This year I didn’t go, Mum said I was a bother driving there, always throwing up. That’s her fault for not cooking the turkey properly.
Grandmere and Granddad never liked coming over on my birthday, because it clashes with the carnival (or carnaval, as they say it in France) that happens for three days in May. I never cared, to be honest, they sent over ten euros, Harry got twenty euros, and I just exchanged it and spent it on new football or horse riding kit. Grandmere got pissed right off with me, saying it should’ve gone into my bank, but people want to spend, not save.
19th Of April
The funeral for Granddad is on the 28th, and David says I have to go because he’s my relative. But do you know what I found out the day after? No calls whatsoever. They lied. I never said anything because for one, Grandmere was talking down the phone in French to me (I can understand it, just not speak it) and also because maybe they called my mobile, just I had turned it off to save battery.
But still, if you tried ringing your mum, dad, sister, brother, dog and they didn’t answer, wouldn’t it be safe if you just rang them on their home number? That is what I would do. But nobody gives a shit what I say.
Totally changing the subject, I’m craving McDonald’s French fries. I don’t know why, I just am. Is that normal? I think they're so bland and whenever I eat them they taste of cardboard, but the twins are telling me to eat them. Not literally. Else that would be weird. And I would be famous. ‘Seventeen year old girl pregnant with talking twins!’ That would be the news headline. Cool, huh?
21st Of April
Seven more days to go until the funeral.
Five more days until I have to arrive in Nancy, France. (You all know where THAT is… Because I don’t.)
Packing is such a drag. Not only have I got to unpack my stuff that I’ve just got from Derek and my so called mother’s house, I have to pack for going to France. Grrr.
Luckily, I’ll be having David coming with me. He said he’ll go if I go, and that suits me.
What do the French eat? All I’ve ever had when I went there was party food and roast dinner. I wonder if they have French fries…
Ew! Gross! I just looked up on the internet on what French people eat. They like frogs legs and even snails! I am officially feeling ill now. I sure hope Granddad hated snails and frogs.
Comes to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a bit of frog leg. It might taste of chicken. Every other meat does except from chicken that taste of something completely different. That’s what Harry’s ex-girlfriend, Megan, said.
23rd Of April
Five more days to go until the funeral.
Three more days until I arrive at Nancy.
Miranda, Kelsey and I went out for a bite to eat. We talked about things. Things like babies, boyfriends and well… Miranda. She was wondering if she should have another boob job. Seriously, she doesn’t need one. Before her first boob job, she was a 36B. After, she got a 36F. That’s huge, considering I’m only a 32DD. When I was thirteen, I had nothing. And I mean nothing. I wore a vest top when we were changing for gym. When I turned fourteen, I shot up to a 32B, then by the time I was fifteen, I went up three letters.
Anyway, Miranda has bag loads of money since she runs her own salon and suntanning centre.
“I want to be a G,” Miranda complained, scrunching her boobs up, where most of the waiters tripped up on their tongues.
“So do most people but you can’t get what you want all the time,” Kelsey sighed, finishing off her milkshake.
“Well, I can. But, on a more serious note, what’s going on with you and your mom?” Miranda is Canadian, as you can tell.
“We still hate each other,” I groaned, pushing my cappuccino away from me.
“Bummer.” Kelsey said.
“Yeah. Well, this was lovely, but I have to go, David wants me home by four and it’s… Four, so I’m off,” I giggled, picking up my purse and walking away.
25th Of April
Three more days to go until the funeral. Dreading it.
One more day until I arrive at Nancy. Crap. Crap. Crap.
27th Of April
I’m here in France. Eating a croissant with Harry and Dave in the hotel café. There is a bowl of snails on the table, right next to the bread. Which sucked because I wanted to make a cheese sandwich but the look at the grey, slimy things made me shiver. Plus, the smell was wafting over onto the bread.
I’m watching some woman tuck into a snail. She’s looking at the others on the plate, while she’s eating another one, as if she’s saying: “that one looks nice. I want that one, it looks scrummy.” Ugh, it makes me sick.
In two days time, I have to go to the funeral. I’m not exactly looking forward to it, because there’s going to be people who will be crying. CRYING. I know, I’ve cried in my past life, even when I found out I was pregnant, but I’m not good with other people doing it. It makes me sad.
28th Of April
I was just sitting around in the hotel (which is called Hotel D’Haussonville, to be specific) until eleven when David said he wanted to go sightseeing. There isn’t much there, to be honest. There’s a two-minute walk to get to this Ducal Palace of Nancy, which I’ve seen about a million times.
Mum came over to our room, and apologised to me for being so childish! Yes, I was surprised too! She came over saying we should put this at bay to benefit the twins and Granddad. I agreed, but I’m still fuming about the way she acted. Total bitch if you ask me.
I bet she was put up to it, by Harry or Derek. Or Grandmere.
29th Of April
This is how the funeral went…
It started of where I was getting changed. I slipped into my black boob tube dress and nude killer heals (I couldn’t find my black ones, okay?) and made my eyes look dull and crap and stupid. But I lagged it on because it’s not like I’m going to cry?
Then we made our way to the church. Mum and Derek and Harry was already there, probably sucking up to Grandmere. She was weeping already and we hadn’t even got in yet.
“You look like a slut!” Mum yelled at me as I approached.
“Thanks,” I said, sarcastically. I did, though. My boobs were practically bulging out of my dress, my make-up was running from the rain and I had a bump on my stomach the size of two watermelons. Speaking of which, I was really craving watermelon.
Anyways, when we sat down, the service began with some French carols. I never sang, but every time Mum looked over I would start to mouth the limericks to pokerface by Lady Gaga.
That was when I felt it. I felt one baby kick me. The little bugger was having a right go, probably because I’m a rubbish singer. Then the other started squirming about. I jump and let out a tiny yelp and most of the people in there stared at me, putting their finger to their lips.
I grabbed David’s hand and shoved it on my stomach, he jumped to, and started mouthing “we are family.” Don’t ask.
There was a buffet afterwards, which we all needed really. Grandmere’s make-up was everywhere and Mum was crying a river. She started having a go at me for eating all the turkey, but I was so hyper and giggly I told her it’s making up for her crappy make of the turkey at Christmas. She got really angry and stormed off, and came back with her hair everywhere and mascara rubbed across her forehead. Drunk. D.R.U.N.K. Typical. That ruined Grandmere’s night, the fireworks she wanted to set off exploded and the man in charge was rushed to hospital, but luckily his face is in place, and when she opted for balloons, everybody started popping them.
Poor Grandmere. Oh well, she’ll recover.
At least I’m going home tomorrow! Whoop!
30th Of April
Last day of April, best day of the month they say. Well, probably not, but still. I’m finally home, and now sleeping in my bed. So I’ll write in the morning. Yawn.
Please, take everything that I say with a grain of salt-- I am only being honest.