for chips,” she says and turns to call back the waitress.
“Mum, don’t – it’s fine,” I hiss and she turns back to me.
“I knew that girl wasn’t listening.” She starts trying to shuffle some of her chips onto my plate.
“What are you doing?” I move my plate away and some chips tumble to the floor. “Stop it. I’m fine with a baked potato.”
“Fine, Aaron.” She slams down her plate so some more chips escape. “I’m just trying to have a nice day with my son. Is it too much to ask that our waitress gets the order right?”
This isn’t about chips.
“Mum, we are having a nice day.” She looks at me dubiously. “You know I don’t have to have everything my own way to enjoy myself.”
“You should have your order your own way,” she says, but she’s smiling and I smile back.
“Whatever, I just mean stop trying to please me all the time. If I say I don’t care about something, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about anything . It just means I want you to choose.”
“OK.” Mum nods, then adds, “But, Aaron, you’re my son, and what I want is to make sure you’re happy, so don’t bite my head off for trying.”
“No, Mum,” I say. “I’ll try to remember that.”
She never used to worry about making me happy.
But they found a new school, new jobs, new house – new life.
My happiness means more than it should to my parents.
HANNAH
It’s late but Mum’s in the sitting room finishing a coffee – I don’t see another mug, which means Robert’s having his in his study. Now is the perfect time. I psych myself up in the doorway: just do it, just do it, just do it—
“What is it, Hannah?” Mum hasn’t even looked up from her magazine. All I can see from here are upside-down pictures of soap stars in bikinis. I walk round until they’re the right way up and sit on the arm of the chair.
“She’s put on a lot of weight,” I say, pointing to one of them.
“She’s skinnier than me,” Mum says, pursing her lips.
“Not really.” I’m lying because I want to get into her good books.
Mum gives me a sideways glance and an eyebrow-raise. “Smaller than a size-six midget, am I?” She shakes her head. “Whatever it is you want, the answer’s no. You’ve been out ever since school broke up and I’ve not seen you so much as look at that fancy new computer you made such a fuss about getting to help you with school work.”
The words stall between my brain and my mouth.
Mum turns the page and the banner reads, “Grandmother at thirty – and pregnant!” There’s a picture of an impossibly-young-looking woman and her daughter both posing with their giant bellies touching so it looks like a Maths diagram.
Mum tuts and turns the page. “I get enough of that at work.”
This is not the right time.
WEDNESDAY 28 TH OCTOBER
HALF-TERM
HANNAH
I have failed to tell my best friend.
I have failed to tell my mother.
Who else is there?
My thumb shakes as I scroll through my phone looking for an answer. I make it to the bottom before I scroll back up, mentally crossing out each entry as I go. For a moment I pause when I get to his number and before I know what I’m doing I’m holding the phone up to my ear, not sure whether I actually want him to answer.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.” My voice is so quiet that I clear my throat ready for whatever I’m going to say next.
“Of course it is.”
Is that a sigh in his voice? I can’t help but react to it. “You didn’t have to answer if you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“What? Where’s that coming from?” He’s annoyed now.
“It’s not like you’ve made an effort…”
“We talked about this.”
“No, actually, we didn’t. We texted about this. Texting isn’t talking.”
“Whatever, Han, this isn’t a good time.”
“It’s never a good time!” I snap, thinking about all the times I have tried to tell the people that matter that I’m pregnant.
“Was there a reason you called? Or did you
“Mum, don’t – it’s fine,” I hiss and she turns back to me.
“I knew that girl wasn’t listening.” She starts trying to shuffle some of her chips onto my plate.
“What are you doing?” I move my plate away and some chips tumble to the floor. “Stop it. I’m fine with a baked potato.”
“Fine, Aaron.” She slams down her plate so some more chips escape. “I’m just trying to have a nice day with my son. Is it too much to ask that our waitress gets the order right?”
This isn’t about chips.
“Mum, we are having a nice day.” She looks at me dubiously. “You know I don’t have to have everything my own way to enjoy myself.”
“You should have your order your own way,” she says, but she’s smiling and I smile back.
“Whatever, I just mean stop trying to please me all the time. If I say I don’t care about something, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about anything . It just means I want you to choose.”
“OK.” Mum nods, then adds, “But, Aaron, you’re my son, and what I want is to make sure you’re happy, so don’t bite my head off for trying.”
“No, Mum,” I say. “I’ll try to remember that.”
She never used to worry about making me happy.
But they found a new school, new jobs, new house – new life.
My happiness means more than it should to my parents.
HANNAH
It’s late but Mum’s in the sitting room finishing a coffee – I don’t see another mug, which means Robert’s having his in his study. Now is the perfect time. I psych myself up in the doorway: just do it, just do it, just do it—
“What is it, Hannah?” Mum hasn’t even looked up from her magazine. All I can see from here are upside-down pictures of soap stars in bikinis. I walk round until they’re the right way up and sit on the arm of the chair.
“She’s put on a lot of weight,” I say, pointing to one of them.
“She’s skinnier than me,” Mum says, pursing her lips.
“Not really.” I’m lying because I want to get into her good books.
Mum gives me a sideways glance and an eyebrow-raise. “Smaller than a size-six midget, am I?” She shakes her head. “Whatever it is you want, the answer’s no. You’ve been out ever since school broke up and I’ve not seen you so much as look at that fancy new computer you made such a fuss about getting to help you with school work.”
The words stall between my brain and my mouth.
Mum turns the page and the banner reads, “Grandmother at thirty – and pregnant!” There’s a picture of an impossibly-young-looking woman and her daughter both posing with their giant bellies touching so it looks like a Maths diagram.
Mum tuts and turns the page. “I get enough of that at work.”
This is not the right time.
WEDNESDAY 28 TH OCTOBER
HALF-TERM
HANNAH
I have failed to tell my best friend.
I have failed to tell my mother.
Who else is there?
My thumb shakes as I scroll through my phone looking for an answer. I make it to the bottom before I scroll back up, mentally crossing out each entry as I go. For a moment I pause when I get to his number and before I know what I’m doing I’m holding the phone up to my ear, not sure whether I actually want him to answer.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.” My voice is so quiet that I clear my throat ready for whatever I’m going to say next.
“Of course it is.”
Is that a sigh in his voice? I can’t help but react to it. “You didn’t have to answer if you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“What? Where’s that coming from?” He’s annoyed now.
“It’s not like you’ve made an effort…”
“We talked about this.”
“No, actually, we didn’t. We texted about this. Texting isn’t talking.”
“Whatever, Han, this isn’t a good time.”
“It’s never a good time!” I snap, thinking about all the times I have tried to tell the people that matter that I’m pregnant.
“Was there a reason you called? Or did you
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