The midwife claps her hands and the murmuring of mum-to-be bonding quietens down. I shift in my chair and it makes a farting sound. Charming. Even the chair is against me. I shove in a biscuit and glare at anyone who dares make eye contact.
Ten minutes in and I’m tempted to walk out. So far I have heard too many men ask questions about lady parts that make even me — the owner of actual lady parts — feel queasy. How are these people ever going to have sex with each other ever again? Not that sex is the first thing on my mind when I see the midwife push a plastic doll through a frighteningly life-sized rubber vagina.
One of the men actually asks if the doll is to scale.
It can’t be. Babies aren’t that big except in hospital shows where they don’t have minutes-old babies on standby for the end of a birth scene.
You can almost hear all the women let out their breath when she says no.
“This doll’s head is proportionally smaller than a baby’s.”
Shit.
In that silence there comes a quiet knock on the door. The midwife looks up, pleased to have something to distract the fifteen women who want to tear her face off. I don’t bother turning round as it would be way too much effort — instead I watch her frown and say the name of the class like she thinks the person there is lost.
“What is it that you’re looking for, love?”
“It’s OK, I’ve found it, thanks.” I recognize that voice, but before I have a chance to turn, Aaron’s sitting in the seat beside me and giving me a hug. “Your mum texted me.”
That boy. Best. Fake. Baby Daddy. Ever.
Fact.
AARON
There are some things it is best not to repeat. I think I heard most of them in that antenatal class.
SATURDAY 8TH MAY
HANNAH
He calls at 11.17 on a Saturday night. I shouldn’t answer it.
“Jay?”
“Did you tell Katie?”
I don’t understand what he’s going on about and my brain’s too slow to form the right questions.
“Did you tell her?” He’s almost shouting and I don’t like it.
“Of course not! Do you know anything that’s happened in my life the last six months? We fell out. And stop shouting,” I add as an afterthought.
“Well, she sent me a text saying she knows I’m the dad.”
That makes a twisted, Katie-Coleman kind of sense. Her plan with Aaron backfired, so she’s come back to the identity of the dad. She knows it’s not Aaron, not Tyrone… somehow she’s finally worked her way round to Jay. Good job she didn’t start there. I wish she’d just leave me alone, but that isn’t Katie’s way — once she starts, she finishes and she hasn’t finished with me yet.
“Katie knows nothing,” I say, although there’s a little niggling doubt in the back of my mind. After all — she’s right. Maybe she’s just trying to get a reaction out of him and then she’ll know… “You haven’t replied, have you?”
“No. Why do you think I’m calling you?”
That sentence is so disappointing. Why would I think he’d call? He hasn’t so much as emailed since I saw him at Easter.
“Just tell her she’s mental or something. No one else knows.”
“Aaron does.”
I close my eyes. Jay can be so difficult. But when I picture him, I still fancy him. Hate my stupid hormones — now is not the time to get horny again. Besides, why am I giving him advice on how to hide the truth when I want him to face up to it? I’m such an idiot.
“I don’t care what you do, Jay. Goodbye.”
“Wait.” And like a muppet, I do. I shouldn’t. I should hang up right now. “Hannah?”
“Yes?” I try to sound like I don’t care, but he knows he’s scored a point.
“She really doesn’t know?”
“Not unless you tell her.”
“Good. It’s Dad’s birthday coming up and I don’t think he needs to find out like this…”
“It’s not like he’s ever going to find out, is it?” I say viciously and hang up before I can hear him tell me not to.
Jay calls back instantly but I reject it. He sends a text.
Ure not doing something stupid right now ru?
I text back.
Did something v stupid a long time ago. ANYTHING is a shitload more sensible than that.
He texts back: Dont tell them now, Han. Not now.
When?
But he has no reply to that.
And neither do I.
TUESDAY 18TH MAY
AARON
There’s something in the air as we gather outside the hall. No one’s in uniform and it’s interesting looking at some of the people I’ve never seen at the park or a party. There’s one guy who’s not in any of my classes, but I’ve seen around and always thought he looked pretty cool — the kind of person that in another life I might have ended up mates with. Judging solely on his faded Joy Division T-shirt, I come to the conclusion I was right.
Katie is wearing something that is meant to be Juicy Couture — only “Couture” is spelled with a double “O”. For a moment I feel sorry for her. She isn’t the person she wants to be and no matter what she wears or who she sleeps with, it’s not going to change that.
“What you looking at?” Katie mouths off and all my pity evaporates. I heard she tried to tell Nicole that Hannah’s stepbrother was the father. Nicole told her she was pathetic — oh, how the bitchy have fallen. It doesn’t matter that she’s telling the truth.
Everyone turns when the front door bangs against the wall as someone pushes it with too much force. It’s Hannah.
The word “radiant” springs to mind. It’s a pregnant woman cliché for a reason — Hannah is glowing. Her skin is clearer than Marcy’s and her dark hair looks model perfect. Everyone’s used to seeing her in an oversized school shirt that makes her look blousey and fat, but today she’s wearing her favourite outfit — a skin-tight khaki dress that displays her curves to full effect. Flip-flops show off perfectly painted toenails (courtesy of Anj) and pale curved calves lead up to her half-length leggings.
I watch other people as she approaches, the way they reassess the girl they’ve been sidelining since January. Fletch’s eyebrows hit his hairline and even Joy Division boy frowns, pondering a moment before remembering who the pregnant girl is.
“I’m bricking it.”
The spell is broken. This isn’t some fecund goddess. This is Hannah Sheppard. Only the Hannah in front of me isn’t the same one I met back in September — that one would have been hyper-aware of the glances her way, would have swung her hips a little and made eye contact with a minimum of three boys before reaching me.
Dad pulls open the door to the hall and calls us inside. There’s a pause, a gathering of breath, a steeling of minds and then the rustle of nerves personified as plastic bags and pencils as we make our way into our first exam. As we pass Dad, he winks at me, then at Hannah, who gives him a nervous smile.