'Yes, it hurt. I don't want to see James again and everyone else there will think I'm a tart.'

  'Do you really think they're that interested in your life?'

  'Well no, but I'm not going.'

  Coco arrives with her designer friends. I make them tea and fresh melting moments and we walk up to the bluff and all sit on the very edge throwing bits of banana to the seagulls. They all have different ideas about what I should be wearing, so ask me what I would like.

  'I need more than one outfit, so why don't you each of you make something,' I suggest.

  Back at the cottage I model for them in my green knickers and they make sketches of me. Then they dress me up. It's so amazing to watch them work. They pick weird and wacky outfits out of thin air and sketch me wearing them. They even draw some in my diary for me.

  They measure me up and disappear, arriving back a few days later for fitting. I'm a bit of a moving target cos my bump keeps growing, but their outfits have ample space for growth. Coco has made me a flowing burgundy dress with a matching cashmere cardigan. Ozzie' creation is a bright yellow jump suit. It's made out of fine velvet, with stretchy stuff around the middle to support the baby, and has big zips and pockets all over the place. Vidal has gone for a more casual look with a pair of faded jeans that are stretchy at the waist and a loose shirt and sweatshirt. Now I'm sorted. I like the yellow jump suit most; it's so happy and bright.

  It's so neat having all these wonderful people turn up when I need something. I must do something for Zeus one day to thank him for saving me. I thank Coco and friends and they head off up the beach towards Azziz's cafe, splashing in the waves as they go.

  It's autumn, the time of plenty, and there's lots to do in the garden. Jesus and a pack of zinodes arrive and we work all day picking and pulling and harvesting. The zinodes store the potatoes, onions and big orange pumpkins in a shed built into the bank behind my house. It's nice and cool in there and they'll last for ages. The rest they freeze and preserve so I'll have plenty to see me through the winter.

  I sing to my baby, I talk to him, and play music to him. When he's in a playful mood he fights back when I poke him. He plays football all night and sleeps all day. I call him Zinzan, which quickly becomes Zinny.

  When the first cold snap of winter arrives, dusting the mountain with snow, Jesus and Azziz come around and chop firewood, filling up the wood shed, then piling the rest up against the wall of my living room, so it dries out quickly.

  My tummy is getting huge. I wonder if this is what it is like to be a fat person. It must be such hard work. Every movement is hard work and you can't see your knees. My tummy button, which has always been an inny becomes an outy. I push it back in but the baby pushes it out again. If I want it to stay in, I have to walk around with my finger on it.

  I get a call from President Obama. While I'm worrying about innies and outies, he has bigger worries. He has an election on his hands and can't reach God.

  'Sorry,' I say, 'God's not talking, can I help?'

  'It'll be the same as last election; I just need a little divine intervention.'

  'Get off,' I say,

  'Oh please, my ratings at the polls are down,' pleads the President.

  'Why,' I ask.

  'The health care reform, the war I inherited and the missile attack that killed Azziz, Son of God and that girl Emily,'

  'That girl Emily, that's me!'

  The President is silent for a moment, then says, 'Oops, sorry Emily!'

  'I should think so!'

  'I know it's a big ask but could you just do a little something to help, a major natural disaster like a hurricane strike on New York would be perfect. Sandy is forming in the Caribbean right now.'

  'You're not getting any help from me. That's cheating!'

  'All is fair in love and politics. I'll ask the other guys, just thought I'll try you first.'

  'Well, good luck to you Mr President,' I say, and break the connection. The cheek of it!

  What other guys?

  11

  When I start waddling, I try to get up courage to ask Dr Florence along. The baby may arrive early and we need to be prepared.

  I'm scared to ask her to come. She probably won't approve. I'm not married and not even fifteen. Just thinking about it, I can feel her vibes. She'll probably wash my mouth out with soap and scrub me with a scrubbing brush until I'm pink all over and cleansed of my sins.

  'What do you think?' I ask Castor.

  'Hmmm,' he answers, obviously thinking the same as me.

  'Is there anyone else?'

  'Not really, there's a quack and a witch doctor on Zwingly, but Florence is your best bet.'

  I'm tempted to just have the baby. It would probably be okay but I'd never forgive myself if something went wrong, like the baby lived and I died. Then it would have no mum or dad.

  'I'll tell her it was an immaculate conception, she'll understand that.'

  'She just might,' says Castor, 'and it's not too far from the truth.'

  'Only about a mile,' I say, giving him a wink.

  Jesus fetches her.

  After all the worry, she's surprisingly cool about me being pregas.

  'Children are a gift from God,' she says, and looking at my tummy adds, 'God is obviously smiling on you.'

  It's a bit of a contrast from having Janice stay. We wash the whole house down with vinegar, eat gruel for breakfast and say prayers three times a day. I can't swear, not even a proxy or a piffle, and have to watch my Ps and Qs. How badly do I want a midwife?

  Luckily my baby arrives early, he wasn't expected until after Jesus's birthday but he's dead keen to get out and start his footballing career.

  The baby has stopped moving so much, he has no space to move. The only direction to go is out, and out he comes. I won't go into all the details expect to say that it's like giving birth to a glasshouse. I need a lot of stitches and have to sit on a donut shaped cushion for a couple of weeks. It's a conspiracy; they keep it secret how bad it is. No one would have any babies otherwise. It's very messy, very painful, and very noisy and I'm not doing it again! When he comes out, he's all covered with white stuff.

  I think he's dead, then he cries. It must be such a shock for him to be out in the big wide world after being cocooned in my warm, cosy insides. He's probably half sloshed after the triple whiskey Jesus gave me when I threatened him with death if he didn't give me painkillers. Zinny's lovely, his head is all distorted, sort of squished.

  He doesn't have a willy. At first I think he does but it's just the umbilical cord. I was right; he’s a she!

  I'm sure she'll be a great footballer with all the practice she's had!

  I put her against my breast. She searches around until she finds a nipple and latches on.

  Jesus says that the natural way of doing things is to chew through the umbilical cord and eat the placenta. I leave things to Dr Florence who clamps and neatly snips the cord.

  Wow! I have a baby! That's the easy bit done, what do I do now?

  Zinny doesn't have a name. I had thought of a few boys’ names but I was waiting until I saw him to make my mind up. Daisy, no; Jennifer, no; Louise, no; Caroline, yes, that will do nicely, and I will call her a Tuareg name for her middle name, Nwella after Zula's mum, perfect. Caroline Nwella Taylor.

  'How do we get a birth certificate?' I ask.

  'Birth certificate, why?' says Jesus.

  'Everyone needs a birth certificate; it means they can get a passport.'

  'It's all a load of rubbish. The only sensible reason for having a birth certificate would be if you get banged on the head and forgot who you are. If your mum wrote you name on the inside of your jumper, you'd be just fine. Teroids love control. Papers mean control, they use them to make sure you pay tax. It would be a lot easier if they just branded you or implanted a microchip when you were born.'

  'But I want one.'

  Jesus gives in, 'Okay, I'll make you up a nice little certificate; Caroline Nwella Taylor was born on Camillo at 11 minutes past 11 on the morning of 17th December 2012.'

  'It's done,' says Castor. 'And by the way, congratulations from Pollux and me. We want to see her soon. Do come and visit.'

  I wrap her in my dark red shawl to keep her warm and put her back against my boob. I'm still shaking from the effort of squishing her out. I'm going to need clothes for her. I don't want designer stuff. I want simple clothes like Mum uses for her baby. Just for the winter, when it's warm in the summer, she can run around naked.

  'We can sort that out when you come and visit,' says Castor.

  I must be thinking loudly.

  'Florence, do I need to feed her?'

  'She's already feeding; the milk won't come right away but should be on tap in a day or two. Your milk is all she needs. We'll just need to make sure you eat well and stay healthy. I'll stay and help for a few days, there'll be lots of little things that need sorting out.'

  'And what about her going to the toilet?'

  'Good question,' says Florence. 'She'll go, there's no problem there. It's just a question of how you clean up the mess. I recommend starched cotton nappies.'

  They sound a bit stiff and Victorian to me. Personally I like the idea of disposable ones but when I was in the desert I didn't see babies wearing anything at all. I'll check things out when we're up visiting the moons.

  Whaa, whaa, whaa.

  She wants attention. I've been too busy talking and worrying about things and not looking after her. I give her a little kiss and hold her tight. She's all covered with blood and gunge; we'll have to clean her up.

  Suddenly I have another contraction and the placenta pops out.

  Yuck!

  Florence inspects it closely and when she's happy it's all there, she sends Jesus out to bury it amongst my roses. I'm glad to see it go, I don't want it sitting in the fridge or cooked up with Bolognese sauce.

  I'm absolutely bushed.

  I sit back against the pillow and look in wonder at my little baby.

  Jesus brings me a cup of sweet, milky tea and a couple of biscuits. Just what the doctor ordered!

  12

  It's a bit of a shock being a mum. I've had quite a challenge looking after myself these last few years and now I have someone else to look after too. Her fragile life is in my clumsy hands.

  It's great having Florence here. She's quite severe and a little scary but her no-nonsense approach to motherhood is just what is needed. We'll start off doing things her way. I can always change later.

  I'll like to go and visit Castor and Pollux but I'd better wait until Florence has gone. She would freak if she saw me teleport, that's something for gods and aliens.

  After a week, Florence says, 'Emily, I really must go, my patients need me. Take care and don't hesitate to call if you need help. If you need a governess I could ask that Poppins woman. Let me know.'

  I thank her, give her a hug and say goodbye, then Jesus takes her on her way.

  As soon as they go, young Caroline and me go visiting. So it doesn't look like I have any favourites, we visit Pollux first. Caroline has her father's dark skin, thick black hair and green brown eyes. To start with, she's scared of Pollux's huge round eyes but after he winks and smiles at her, she looks at him, fascinated, then hides her head on my breast. Cute or what?

  Next we visit Castor. Using his radar, backed up with a bit of Internet browsing, we look at how people in different countries bring up their kids. At one extreme are the French who take the babies from their mums almost at birth and institutionalise them in crèches. At the other end of the scale are remote tribes and islanders, still living much as they always have. While a few mums and babies die during childbirth, only the strong survive and they're looked after by everyone; their mums, the extended family and neighbours. Those babies are the happiest, they're not trapped in cots, prams or car seats but are carried everywhere, getting constant warmth, love and attention.

  Castor looks up babies going to the toilet. It's funny because the Americans can't use the word toilet. They happily use the f-word but using the t-word is like touching poo. They can't say toilet or pee or poo, ones or twos, it's called elimination, just like happens to England in the early rounds of the World Cup. Once we've sorted that out, there's some good web pages. If you're carrying your baby around all the time, like the third world people do, you become tuned-in enough to know when your baby wants to pee or poo. After a few months, she has much the same control as you or I do and wants to poo in her knickers as much as you do, like not at all, it's horrible. The trouble is, she can't get to the toilet so you use your noggin and take her to the toilet when she wakes up or before you go to the shops and watch for the signs in between. I might start with nappies, and then when we get in tune, eliminate them.

  Things went quite well when Dr Florence was here, my milk started to flow, little Caroline had a strict routine and by getting my head down between feeds, I got enough sleep. Within a few days of her leaving I'm a jabbering wreck with my eyeballs hanging out. Caroline cries all the time and sucks my nipples raw trying to get a bit of comfort. I don't want to call Dr Florence back; I want to do this myself. Castor and Pollux offer no end of advice, all of it probably good, but I'm too frazzled to take any notice.

  Christmas and the New Year slip by in a daze.

  I try to remind myself why I wanted this baby. Why would anyone want to have a baby?

  In the end I put her to sleep in the back bedroom and sleep out on the sofa under the stars. Even with two duvets it's chilly, but both of us get some sleep and are not so grumpy with each other. Dr Florence pays a visit to check up on us. She checks on me first then the baby, weighing and measuring her and carefully writing the figures in my diary. She says that the first baby is tricky. Child rearing is the most important skill in a woman's life and they don't teach it at school. You've got to get to know whether they need a cuddle or a bit of space, and recognise all the different cries and be able to tell the difference between them; I'm bored, I'm hungry, I want love, pick me up, put me down, I'm tired, I need to go to the toilet and, you've stuck that safety pin through my leg!

  It's not as simple as that, like what say she's tired and hungry and filled her nappy and has a nasty rash that's hurting?

  After a few weeks, I get the hang of it. I start to enjoy being a mum.

  'Cafe con leche,' says Azziz, raising an eyebrow at the colour of my gorgeous baby

  'Immaculate conception,' I say firmly.

  'Piffle,' he says, giving me a wink.

  God comes to visit on my fifteenth birthday.

  'Zeus,' I say, going to give him a hug. 'It's lovely to see you.'

  He grunts and pushes me away.

  'There's something wrong, he says.' Everything seems okay on Earth. Petra has The Book, good things are happening. There's no news, that's good news. But something's wrong, there's a storm coming. It's Hades. I can feel it.'

  He looks me in the eye. Usually bright, his eyes are dull and lifeless.

  'Em, keep an eye on Earth for me.'

  'I will.'

  Bing!

  He's gone, no happy birthday or nothing. I burst into tears. I wanted to show him my baby. I guess he's still not talking.

  13

  I start calling Caroline by her second name Nwella, it's just more her. It quickly becomes Nelly or Nel; depending on what mischief she's up to.

  We get along really well for a while, then fall out. She's happy during the day but cries and cries at night. She has diarrhoea, she throws up, she has nappy rash and she's gone all spotty. She won't let me sleep. Even if I lie on the sofa outside I can still hear her. She's real distressed and I don't know what to do. The Christians and the do-gooders are right; fifteen year olds are not emotionally mature enough to have babies. I carry her around for hours trying to comfort her, then toss her out the window.

  Slurp!

  Pollux is there, holding her coiled up in the tip of his bright yellow tail. She's smiling at him. Her first smile.

  When he sees me he says, 'I always wanted to hold a baby.'

  He's gone all gooey. I tease him, 'I can see you yellow bits!'

  'Piffle!'

  'Thanks for saving her.' I say, giving him a big kiss.

  Jesus turns up, and a few seconds later, Azziz and Dr Florence.

  She looks a bit startled to see the big yellow slug.

  She's easily startled. I make her a sweet cup of tea and add a splash of whiskey.

  'Oooh, that warms the cockles,' she says, after she's had a sip.

  While she's drinking it, I run out to the garden and pick a couple of lettuces from the green house.

  I wash the dirt off and give them to Pollux. While he's munching, I gently lift Nelly from his coils. She's so slippery I can hardly hold her.

 

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