Chapter 1
Then
Nat and Tim are both 15
Nat
“You’rebloody luckyI’m not pressing charges against your son!” My mother screams at Tim’s enraged father and sobbing mother, before whirling on me and putting her finger in my face for the hundredth time since the doctor’s appointment earlier today. “And you,” she snarls, lost to her fury, “should be thankful your father isn’t alive to see this. It would havekilledhim.”
My eyes fill with tears at that low blow, but I just meet her gaze, refusing to break down in front of her. Not after a comment like that.
I just want to die right now.
“You arenotcalling the police about this,” Mr Stewart says in a tone that brooks no opposition. Predictably, it makes Mum bristle, but he ploughs on. “Say what you want about Tim, but it takes two to tango.” My skin crawls, even though I knew someone was going to fling thattwo to tangoline at me. It’s the sneer he gives me that finally puts my head in my hands. If I don’t look, I won’t see it. It’s the same scant comfort a child clings onto.
Like the one I’m now carrying.
“How could thishappen…” Mrs Stewart sounds utterly heartbroken, and that’s worse than any anger I’ve had thrown my way. “You’re not old enough, either of you…”
I make myself look up, and my eyes don’t fall on her. They go straight to Tim. My love. My boyfriend. The only person I’ve everfelt good around. He’s white as a bed sheet, sat there all muddy after football practice, his kit damp with sweat. Just a kid, home from his sports club, the furthest thing from a father figure you can imagine. He’s pulled his mop of thick brown hair in all directions, and the shattered expression on his face will live rent free in my head forever. I know it takes two. Iknowthis. But I can’t get over the feeling that I’m the one who just ruined his life.
Tim’s the best person I know. He’s smart and he’s kind and he’s gentle, and I’m so in love with him. And, somehow,helovesme. Helovesme. As soon as he enters the room, I light up and feel like my insides are fizzing. Better still, he looks at me the same way, automatically reaching for my hand every time I turn up like we’re two halves of the same whole finally coming back together. It’s like nothing and no-one else even exists when we’re together, whether that’s sitting next to each other in class, or walking home hand in hand, or…
‘Doing our homework’ in one of our bedrooms.
It went too far. We knew it at the time. But it was like we couldn’t help ourselves, like our love for each other took possession of us and overrode all common sense. He did get condoms, but the first time we used one, we didn’t really know what we were doing so it might not have gone on right.Ithought it did, though. His fingers may have been shaking as he rolled it on, but he took his time and didn’t rush. He wanted to do it properly, so we didn’t end up…well, in the exact position we’re in now.
And there was this one time when we didn’t have one, but we wanted each other so desperately that he pulled out and we just hoped for the best. The same way we were warned never to do in sex ed. But it seems the universe likes to screw kids over, while simultaneously screwing over older people whowanta baby and can’t have one no matter how hard they try. If I was twenty-fiveand did withdrawal, I wouldn’t be in these shoes, I know it in my bones. Life is just that cruel.
But that doesn’t matter, because now I’m four months pregnant before I’ve even hit the age of consent, and these adults don’t care that Tim and I are just young and in love and made a mistake. They just see two stupid, oversexed kids who mucked up everyone’s lives with their recklessness.
“Can I just - ” Tim speaks up in a voice that somehow sounds so young, even though his voice has already broken, but Mr Stewart cuts across him.
“Timothy Louis Stewart, you do not say asingleword,” he spits close to Tim’s ear. I’ve never liked Mr Stewart.
“Natalie was supposed to be attending aSadler’s Wells programafter this academic year. Do you haveany ideahow hard we’ve worked to get there?!” I swear Mum is more upset about that than anything else.I’mmore than a little heartbroken, too, not that it seems to matter to her. Dancing is my life, and I was beyond thrilled to get a place there. It was my dream since I was tiny. The first time I was taken to a dance show, I was enraptured by the performers, the way they moved and twisted so gracefully in time to the music, and in that moment I found my passion, my life’s purpose. And after all the discipline and hard work, all of the parts of myself I gave to it, it was all finally within reach, only a case of marking time until I finished my GCSEs and then got the chance to learn from the best dancers in the country and become a respected professional dancer. Maybe even end up in a West End show.
It’s all gone now. Placed out of my reach forever. Aside from the time out of my training regime and the time it would take to get back up to speed, I will have a child to parent. I won’t be ableto give as much of my time and my attention to dancing as I did before. And the West End? Forget it. I’d never be able to keep up with rehearsals and performances.
I place a hand on my abdomen, still mostly flat. This poor little one didn’t mean any harm. I’m abruptly sorry for feeling sorry for myself, when his or her mere existence has been made the subject of angry arguing and mud-slinging before they even get here. It’s not the baby’s fault. No child deserves that. They should be loved and wanted, not regretted and resented.
Oh my god. Is this…are these the first stirrings of motherhood? Of loving and defending the baby inside me from any and all comers? I wrench my mind away from the question, scared to answer it even to myself. Scared of what I’m becoming.
“Yeah, well, what about Tim? My son had a bright future ahead of him before your daughter spread her legs - ”
Tim stands and glares at his father. “You don’t speak about Nat that way again,” he warns his outraged father. “Not ever. Do you hear me?” My heart almost stops beating at how steady his voice is as he stands up for me. It packs more of a punch than if he’d shouted it. Gratitude floods my heart; hedoesstill feel the same way I do. Itcanstill be us against the world.
Before Mr Stewart can open his mouth to shout any more abuse, a red-headed whirlwind enters the room, jabbing her finger in his face the way my mother did in mine. “Now is not the time for your stinking misogyny,father dear,” Sadie snaps. She was sent to her room when my mother banged on the Stewarts’ door, barging in to break the news that I’m having Tim’s baby and it’s too late for an abortion. I guess Tim’s twin didn’t do as she was told; she’s my friend, and, knowing her the way I do, I’msurprised she even agreed to leave the room. “What you just said to Nattie was disgusting, and you should apologise to her for it.”
“Sadie,” Mrs Stewart begins in a shaky voice, holding her hands out to placate her, but Mr Stewart has gone purple.
“Keep out of it andgo back to your room,” he seethes. I wonder if Sadie barged in to deliberately take the heat off us, distracting her dad to give Tim and me a moment to breathe. From the way their dad glares at her, she couldn’t have done a better job.
While tempers fray and voices get louder and louder, Tim looks across at me. His dear boyish face, normally so full of warm smiles and good cheer, has crumpled. I’ve never seen him so close to tears before, not once since Mum and I moved to Foxton two years ago. I liked him straight away, but we’ve only been properly going out since the end of Year Ten, when he invited me to the cinema and paid for both ticketsanda large popcorn that we shared. I don’t remember which movie we saw. I only remember the way his smile made my soul gallop.
Our eyes meet, and the depth of the desperate apology I see in his bright blue eyes makes me want to weep. I can almost hear what he’s thinking:I’m so sorry I did this to you.Like he feels responsible, and ashamed. Just like I felt. I shake my head, refusing to let him feel like the guilty party. Webothdid this. This is something we did together, not something that he did to me. Anyone who says otherwise is not just wrong, but disgusting.
“We’ll do what we can to help,” Mrs Stewart begins.
