183 Times a Year (6 page)

No, I only pay for and drive you to all your lessons, and have done since you were 6 years old. Then there's all your books and exam fees, but no, I never support you do I?

‘You can practice later,' I promise. ‘Maybe you can play Cannon in D or Fur Elise? You're always so happy when you play those two.'

‘Oh. My. God. Oh my actual god, and what, may I ask, is wrong with Adele?'

‘There's absolutely nothing wrong with Adele. She's amazing, it's just you…'

Cassie cuts me off before I can finish.

‘You know your problem?' she glares. ‘You're a bloody Palestine.'

I'm a what?

After a few seconds the penny drops and I can't help laughing.

‘Don't you mean Philistine?' Cassie looks at me with disgust, gives her best dramatic pause and haughtily barges past me.

‘Don't be so bloody condensing,' she says.

‘Don't you mean condescending?' I shout after her.

‘Oh just shut bloody up.'

CASSIE

Oh my actual god, how many followers does Chelsea have? It's like she's some sort of celebrity. I mean really, what does she have that I don't? Well besides like being really pretty, having a washboard stomach, junk in her trunk, hair like the shampoo adverts, long toned, tanned legs,
and
big boobs (not that I've seen her boobs in real life. All the boys would love it if I had though.
All
the boys at school love it if girls are lesbians. Chelsea's not a lesbian though and neither am I – although Chelsea does sing that Katy Perry song a lot. The one about kissing a girl. So … I dunno? Whatevs. She's clever too and her brother is gorgeous and her parents are still together and they live in a mansion and her Dad drives an Aston Martin.

OMG she
is
a celebrity.

She still hasn't invited me to her party. Not that I care. I'll just check my Facebook again in case she's left me a message. I scroll quickly through my phone. Nothing. I don't care. Oh no, she's just tweeted. I really can't be bothered to read it.

I look at my revision notes. History – another one of Mum's favourite subjects and sooooooooooo boooooooooooooooooooring. I mean really, what is the point of it. What's done is done. It's not like anyone seems to learn anything from it is it? I mean pick a year, any year from now back to pre-historic times when the Romans were around and you can bet somewhere there's a war going on. Some country thinks they're better than another one and uses excuses like trying to make them civilised or religious or whatever to make them do what they want. But it's like, not really about any of that crap is it? It's usually about taking stuff, like people or money or animals, or gold or oil, or sugar or tea, or coffee or diamonds, or bananas and just, well… stuff. The powerful and the powerless. What's changed?

I spread myself across my bed and try to make a start. I will not read my phone. I will not read my phone. Maybe I should do some Buddhist chanting and make that my mantra or maybe I could add some piano music to it and send it to Beyoncé. It would of course be a world-wide hit and I would become Beyoncé's best friend and rich and famous overnight.

Everyone would want to know me then. Dad definitely would, although, I'd tell him he'd have to sleep on the sofa
bed
in my enormous mansion if he ever visited. And Joe would definitely fancy me then and when he asked me out I'd say, “no thanks, I'm going out with Jay-Z's brother.” I don't even know if Jay-Z has a brother but that's what I'd tell Joe.

My history revision fights with my phone for my attention. Some of it is quite interesting I suppose. Women's rights and getting women the vote really like opened my eyes. I didn't realise how depressed, or is it oppressed (probably both) women were. I mean like, throwing yourself in front of horses or going on hunger strike was like a bit extreme but women had no voice, no rights and they were owned by their husbands. That's like, well out of order. I'm never going to be owned by anyone. I'm strong and independent like Beyoncé. That reminds me I must ask Mum for a lift tomorrow.

I suppose that's why Mum says it's important to vote. She said this bit of history is just one small part of a much bigger picture. She said that when Nan was my age I am now, she got paid half the wage of a man doing the same job. She also said abortions were illegal and you couldn't go on the pill unless you were married. I secretly like that Mum knows and tells me all this stuff but sometimes it makes me feel different to a lot of my friends.

Mum looks like she's been on hunger strike sometimes. I swear she's even thinner than normal lately. I think she does it on purpose to make me feel even fatter. Yeah thanks Mum, you can't just put me down mentally, you have to put me down physically too, by being thinner than me. I mean really, what kind of mother does that to their child?

I try to concentrate, not really sure if the ball of sticky tac I'm snapping between my fingers is really helping. I don't actually know where I got it from but I find it strangely comforting to roll, stretch and snap across my notes.

I stare at the words on the pages before me. Okay, so there's
the
1832 Reform Act, the 1835 Municipal Corporations Act, the National Union of Women's Suffrage Societies or the NUWSS and the Women's Social and Political Union or the WSPU.

‘Arrggghh.' I screw the grubby piece of tac back into a ball and aim it at a blank piece of wall. I give it my best shot. I'm not very good at throwing so instead of making the part of the wall I aimed for it actually hits Ed Sheeran smack in the mouth – the poster that is. I wish Ed Sheeran was here with me, in my bedroom.

‘Arrggghh, DILLIGAS! Work that one out Mr Examiner.'

Oh shit, what the hell, I'll read Chelsea's stupid tweet. Then maybe I can get on with my revision proper.

Hey ladies, do I wear the blue or the red for my fabulous party? #Dior or Chanel?

Decisions, decisions!

Cow.

My phone pings. It's a text from Pheebs.

Hey babe. Think I may have got you an invite to the party. Laters xxxx

Oh my actual god! Yay! Chelsea is actually really nice. OMG what will I wear?

LIZZIE

God I feel tired tonight. Maybe I really am getting old?

Have another glass of wine
.
What a good idea.

I'm happily conversing with myself because Andy is prattling on and is actually pissing me off. I didn't realise how blinkered he is, how narrow his perspective is. He's actually preaching the virtues of sterilising young teenage mothers.

‘Well while you're at it lets sterilise the young teenage fathers too then shall we?' He actually ignores my comment and continues his one-man argument.

‘
I mean
not
having a baby takes planning and intelligence,' he states in a voice that always seems too high for his build but never more so of late due to his ever increasing physical demeanour. He was never particularly slim but he's let himself go a bit recently and definitely carries his share of middle age spread.

I look across at Ruby. Her grin is impish. She rolls her eyes but seems content to sit this one out. She drinks greedily from her wine glass then excuses herself from the table in search of more.

‘Do you know the teenage pregnancy rate is so high in this country we are now officially the worst in Europe. It's a disgrace,' Andy continues, safe in his knowledge of statistics.

Who comes up with these bloody stats anyway?

I sigh heavily.

‘So you want to bring in mass sterilisation do you Andy? State interference in women's reproductive lives? Did you – do you – even read your history books? You're an educated man. Don't you realise how far women have come in the western world and how fragile that progress is? You must have
some
idea of the struggles of women to get to a place where we finally have some control; or at least some choice about our own bodies?'

I feel my anger escalate within me. It's a small but intense heat rising rapidly from the pit of my stomach.

I stare at Andy and marvel at how my dislike of someone's bigoted point of view manifests itself as an aversion to his or her physical flaws. What I would usually see as a minor physical imperfection – and certainly of no consequence under normal circumstances – suddenly appears positively grotesque. In Andy's case it's his stomach I've focused on. His visceral fat, bloated, pot-bellied, beer-guzzling gut protrudes far more than mine ever did during both my pregnancies. His abdominal obesity is, if only for that moment, as offensive to me as his smug attitude.

‘
So you like the idea of eugenics?' I continue. ‘Why don't you just start preaching Mein Kampf, establish a few concentration camps and be done with it?' My intonation is curt but controlled. ‘Why does everyone blame the underdog, the weaker members of society for our country's problems?'

The room is uncomfortably quiet for a moment. I should leave it at that but I can't.

‘Free money,' I state. Andy looks puzzled.

‘What do you mean free money?'

‘That's what Amber, one of the young women that visit's the library a lot, equates having a baby will provide.'

A look of triumph flashes across Andy's eyes. ‘That's exactly what I'm saying. So they're
not
controlling their bodies are they? They're churning out kid after kid and expecting the state to foot the bill.'

‘Do you know why Amber sees having a baby as access to free money?' I continue; my exterior voice far calmer than my internal one. ‘Because she lives in a system that's set up to fail her.'

Andy nearly chokes on his wine. ‘How does free money, which is made up of
my
taxes incidentally, fail her?' he snorts.

‘Because,' I reply, inhaling deeply. ‘If Amber's been through and seen half of what she says she has in her 17 years then that's far too much for any one lifetime. Right from the word go, the people that should have loved and cared for her abused her. The system set up to protect her from those abusers failed to do so.

Now, add to that an absent father unwilling to pay a penny towards her upbringing and Amber is the end product. What about mass sterilisation for absent fathers then eh?'

Andy opens his mouth to speak but changes his mind again. ‘Then of course there's her education. Have you noticed how it's always those that have nothing that fall through the safety net? If the same amount of time was given to her education as it was
to
her continued isolation and being suspended or expelled, the poor girl may have actually learned to read and write properly.'

‘Well, what was she doing getting herself expelled? She should have had a better attitude.'

‘Of course, yes, you're
so
right. She shouldn't have let minor things like her mother's boyfriends trying to rape her – again – or her uncle using her arm as an ashtray for his cigarettes, affect her attitude. No, she shouldn't let any of that affect her attendance or attitude towards school should she?'

Andy is taken aback, his face flustered and red. He coughs and smooth's his tee shirt over his fat belly.

‘God, no, no, of course not,' he says. ‘What …where were Social Services?' I roll my eyes and shake my head.

‘Overstretched, understaffed and at breaking point, like every other public sector service.'

‘Couldn't she at least try and get a job?'

‘Doing what? What has her poor education left her qualified to do? I'll tell you shall I? Drifting from one meagre minimum paid job to another, scratching around for a fulltime contract but most probably offered one of those god awful zero hour one's. The sort so many employers now seem to be so fond of. Legal contracts that specify workers must be flexible and available at short notice but are only paid for the hours they work on the days the employer stipulates. These would be the same contracts that mean a disposable, throwaway workforce walking down a one-way street where employers bear no risk, avoiding sickness and holiday pay and overtime? Christ Andy, even Maisy has had trouble getting employment and she's got us behind her. Add to that the breakdown of many industries in this country and we're left with a whole section of society where many options are non-existent or just not available.'

Andy looks thoughtful for a moment. I look across the kitchen. Ruby appears to be guarding the second bottle of wine
she's
now opened and Simon is conversing with her. They both look in our direction from time to time, grinning and raising their eyes in mild amusement.

‘So,' I continue. ‘What does Amber and girls like her, see as their way out? Yep, you've guessed it, to get pregnant. This leaves respective mothers dependent on a system where yes, they receive a level of child support three times what it was twenty years ago, but that was done in a deliberate attempt to reduce child poverty. But for a lot of young women, having a baby is an opportunity to break away from their surrounding misery and start their own life, albeit a life dependent on the state. It's a well-known fact that a lot of the young mothers you seem to be referring to mostly come from poorer backgrounds and communities.'

‘Look Lizzie, step down from your feminist soap box. I was merely stating…' I cut Andy off mid-sentence.

‘And you Andy, step down from your thinly veiled, crude, cruel and misogynist one.'

‘I'm not a misogynist.'

‘Really? I have two teenage daughters that god knows I'm trying – and struggling sometimes – to help navigate, negotiate and fight when needed, their way through this crazy world we live in. A world where despite, and thank god for, the definite advance of women's rights and freedoms over the years, is still a world where advertising, the internet, celebrity culture, television and the media at times, pose a real problem to young and impressionable young women. If any of those ridiculous reality programs are anything to go by for god's sake we're in real danger of cultivating a whole generation of unstable, over-sexualised, bullied young women with very little or no self-esteem. And, as if that isn't hard enough, you, one of my oldest friends, is trying to preach to me the virtue of sterilising young women.'