Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum Read Online Free PDF Page B

Jesus.
'What, making babies?' I
joke.
'No!' says Jesus looking deadly
serious. 'Planting trees.'
'You must be joking,' I
chortle, as the wind rattles the windows.
'No. They like a good wet day.
Gets then germinating. It's new Venus too, the most fertile time of
the month.'
We have a cup of tea and some
of Zeus's crunchy scones. It's still raining outside. 'Let's open
the parcels,' I say. 'I'll try everything on.'
     
First out is the black
swimsuit. I put it on and model it in front of Jesus. He laughs
because I'm all goosey with the cold and it's a bit baggy.
'It'll be perfect by the time
summer arrives,' says Jesus. 'Next.'
Next are the slashed jeans and
graffiti T-shirt. As I spin a round he laughs again, 'I never knew
you had a tattoo. What is it?'
'I'm not telling, it's
private.'
'You might need to get your
tummy button pierced and a stud in your nose to match that
outfit.'
'Not just yet,' I say. 'Do you
like it though?'
'Of course, you look good in
anything.'
Next out are the short yellow
jeans and the blue flowery T-shirt. 'Love it,' says Jesus. 'Perfect
for gardening.'
The rain has eased.
I tear open another box and try
the summer dresses on. 'We'll have to have a mid-summer rock and
roll party so you can wear them,' says Jesus. 'Remind me when the
weather has warmed up.'
I open the box with the green
knickers. They are so silky to touch. I decide to try them on some
other time.
I try on another pair of jeans
and a surf shirt and hoody. Just right for today.
'You are looking
splendiferous,' says Jesus. 'It's going to be a lucky man that gets
you.'
'There's not many of them
around here.' I say blushing. I wonder if he knows about the crush
I had on Azziz. It's not so bad now, but I still think of him a
lot.
The rain has stopped.
There's still one thing I need to do before we go out. I pull out
all my old clothes and pile them on the table.
    Some I throw
out right away. M y torn
belly-dancing outfit is first to go; I'd love to keep it, it's so
much a part of me, but I throw it on the floor, it's from a past
life. One has to move on. Now I'm tall and got curves my old jeans
and T-shirts don't fit anymore, and the colours are yucky pastels.
They go on the out pile.
The black Emma Peel
catsuit; I hardly ever wear it, but it's an alien one that grows
with you and what's more, it's laser proof. I keep it.
    My bright red
dress; i t's lovely but it must
go. I throw it out. Then I have second thoughts; I might have
daughters one day. I put it on a hanger and it goes back in the
wardrobe. My maroon shawl, I keep, and my big XXXL jersey will
always fit, so I keep it too.
     
The sun breaks through
the clouds throwing a ray of sunlight down onto the beach. I watch
it chase across the waves until it reaches us, bathing the house in
yellow warmth. 'Com'on,' I say to Jesus, stop faffing about. Let's
go plant some trees.'
'Let's put the seeds on the
table,' says Jesus. 'They'll blow away outside.'
I push the clothes to one
side and empty the little box of seeds onto my beat up wooden
table. There's some like little helicopters, some like orange pips
and others no bigger than an ant.
'Let's do this properly,' says
Jesus. 'Get it wrong and you'll be shivering through the winters in
the shade, or you'll wake up dead one day because a branch blew off
in a storm and landed on you.'
It's hard to image that these
tiny seeds can hold such power.
Jesus grabs my box of pencils
and draws my cottage and the beach on the table in red. Then he
draws where the sun is at midday and where it comes up and goes
down in the summer and winter, drawing neat yellow curves across
the table. He carefully looks at the seeds, then makes an espresso
and walks around outside lining up imaginary trees. Back in at the
table he places the seeds in various spots around the house and
garden and along behind the beach and draws circles around
them.
I say, 'Don't tell me what they
are.' I think I know the ones he's putting along the top of the
beach. The helicopter seeds