Young Writers Society

Well, sorry for the usual wait...hopefully when school ends next month I'll have more time to write and it won't take me so long to post....So, hope you enjoy, crit welcomed!!!!

Lyla. Part 7.

We decided it would be best if we went round to Tom’s house, as my mum would be home from work by now, whereas his place would be empty.

Da-ja-vu hit me as I shuffled through his front door; the ghost of myself three months ago lingered.

“Would you like a hot drink? Tea?” Tom was talking oddly. He was being formative, almost like he was talking to a stranger, not me.

“No,” I replied, ignoring his confused look as I couldn’t be bothered to launch into the whole ‘the baby doesn’t appreciate it when I drink tea’ speech. Instead I hung up my blazer and made myself comfortable on the sofa.

Tom hovered, switched on the TV, changed his mind and switched it off again. He looked like a child who had the ultimatum of sitting on Granddad’s lap, which meant a toothless smile and a mole with a mind of its own, or Uncle Bob’s, which meant the stench of BO and stale beer.

I grabbed his arm and sat him down on the sofa next to me.

“I want you to be there for me when I have the baby. I want you to be a dad.” I thought my words would cause him to look shocked. At least do something slightly dramatic. But instead this huge grin appeared from nowhere, spread from ear to ear across his face.

“Don’t you see that’s what I want as well? It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time. But you wouldn’t listen; you didn’t want to know me!” Tom said exasperatedly. He grabbed my arm and led me out of the room. I felt dumbfound. Had I been that blind and oblivious to him? Had it been me shutting him out? Well, I suppose it had, but only because he had reacted so badly at first.

We were now stood on the upstairs landing, directly facing the cream door to his room.

“Close your eyes.”

"What?” I felt nervous suddenly. Surely…

“I just want to show you something,” he added quickly.

I obediently shut my eyes and allowed his warm, soft hand to guide me. “OK, here we are. Now…open!”

It was his bedroom. The same. The same cream walls, the same boyish smell, the same messy pile of clothes…except the corner. Now that was different. In the right corner, by the window was a beautiful white cot. Above it was a shelf, with a teddy balancing upon it.

I didn’t know what to say, my words got jammed in my mouth.

“And look!” He continued excitedly, picking up some papers and shoving them under my nose. “Plans for a nappy changing unit to go on the other side of the window!” He examined me inquisitively and his face fell. “You don’t like it.”

“It’s not that!” I protested. I must have seemed so ungrateful.

“What then?”

I sighed. “Does this mean you’re committed or does it mean you are for the moment? It’s all very well preparing your room, but are you prepared?”

Tom held his hands up as if to say ‘I give up’. “Are you saying that I’m going to run away the moment you give birth? I’m not like that!”

“Well I am like that!” I shouted. What was I saying? Tom stared hard at me and I burst into tears, sinking onto his bed.

“I’m scared. So scared,” I mumbled between sobs. Tom sat down next to me.

“You don’t have to be. You’re not alone. I promise you that no matter what I will be here for you.”

I focused my eyes on his. He wasn’t lying. I pulled him close and wailed into his shirt.

“Everyone thinks I’m a slut. That we’re filth,” I continued.

“No, we’re not. I love you and that’s how you got pregnant. Not from some guy you don’t even remember. I love you.”

I looked at Tom through still blurry eyes. He loved me and I loved him. That’s what was going to pull us through this and keep us together.

“I reckon it’s gonna be a boy,” I whispered.

Tom laughed throatily. “Why’d you think that?”

I shrugged and took his hand in mine. “Just from talking to my bump.”

“Talking to your bump?!” Tom grinned from one corner of his mouth in that sexy way that I remembered. We were back to how we used to be. Understanding how each other felt like no-one else could.

And that was the day that I realised that this green-eyed, tall, caring boy was mine. He loved me.

I awoke some time later. The lighting in the room had changed; there was no longer any daylight, only a soft orange glow coming from a lamp. I pushed myself up onto one elbow so I could see the room more clearly. Tom had covered me with a blanket, a silky, cuddly one that had made me sweat. I must have fallen asleep, although I had no recollection of doing so. I brushed my hair away from my face with my hand. The clock on the dresser read five-thirty. I’d told my mum that I would have been home half an hour ago. I hoped she wasn’t worried about me.

“Your mum called, I told her that I’d walk you home when you woke up.” Tom slipped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. I yawned and watched Tom sitting there and thought of my bump.

“God, I hope he has your hair. A boy with thick curls like mine isn’t always great,” I remarked.

“So it’s definitely a boy? Even though you didn’t check the sex.”

I shrugged, noting the annoyance in his voice as he mentioned the sex. “I know I didn’t want to know the sex and I think its best that way. A nice surprise on the day. But I do have a gut feeling. Do you know what I mean? I just have this kind of…sense that it’s a boy.”

Tom nodded knowingly and took my hand. “Your mum’s gonna think I’ve kidnapped you. Shall we?”

I stood up and ruffling my curls, made my way downstairs.

* * *

The cold jelly tickled my stomach. I let out a little giggle, trying hard to stifle the rest, as I didn’t want to come across as immature. I was already feeling extremely self-conscious about my age. I felt like every doctor that walked past me in the corridor was judging me or thinking ‘how horrible; a pregnant teenager.’

Mum however, was full of excitement and worry over how the baby was developing. She was sat next to the hospital bed now, staring intently at the monitor beside my head. Tom hovered by the door, intrigued yet slightly embarrassed to be with me for my five month scan.

The doctor moved the transducer over my maternal abdomen and the image on the monitor flicked to life.

“The head,” the doctor indicated. I stared at the image. My baby. Inside me. I knew I was grinning crazily.

“It’s gorgeous,” mum breathed, peering across the bed at the black and white ultrasound, fiercely holding back tears.

I turned my head to see Tom, who had now moved to stand by the bed so that he had a better view. He looked shocked, in disbelief that something so important was living inside me. That was just how I felt. I seeked out Tom’s hand and squeezed.

“Right, would you like to know the sex of the baby?” Doctor Mumt asked.

“Yes!” Mum said.

“No,” Tom and I chorused quickly. I raised my eyebrows at my mother. “Mum, we talked about this! You know that Tom and I want to find out the sex of the baby on the day,” I hissed.

Doctor Mumt laughed and took the transducer off my stomach. “It’s very common for grandparents to want the opposite of the parents.” She handed me a bundle of tissues and I rubbed the gel off and sat up. “Well, the baby’s very healthy and the right size for a five month old. You’re likely to feel the baby moving a lot more from now on; it’s going to start to roll around and change position. This can cause some pains and aches but nothing really to worry about.”

I nodded and tried to absorb the fact that I was in my second trimester and the baby was preparing itself for birth.

“Do you have an approximate due date?”

“Yep, November 25th,” I confirmed.

“Good, although I wouldn’t rely too heavily on that date.” Doctor Mumt scanned some of my papers that lay on her desk and looked back to me. “Remember to keep eating healthy, your appetite will be at its highest now (Mum mumbled something about me already eating her out of house and home) and to do some very gentle exercise such as going on walks. You’ll have more energy than you think at this time. Er…” she seemed to be wondering if there was anything she still needed to tell me. “Well, if you need anything or have any questions try ringing your midwife or health visitor and they’ll be happy to help.

“So all that’s left for me to do is give you this,” she handed me a little black and white photo, “and I’ll hopefully next see you on your due date.”

I placed the snapshot into my small purse and fixed my vest top; the smock style that sort of hid my bump. Saying goodbye, Tom slipped his hand into mine and we all left smiling.