The Bad Mother's Handbook Read Free

in. Ow ow OW it
stung so much it was all I could do not to cry out. A
football in the face was nothing compared to this. I held
myself rigid and clung on to his back, wondering why
something so universally billed as brilliant could be so
awful. Why didn’t they warn us at school? I’m sure if
some teacher had said, ‘Oh and by the way, it feels like
someone sandpapering your cervix,’ they needn’t have
bothered with all the Aids warnings and morality stuff.
I’d certainly have thought twice. He came quickly with
a series of great shudders and then collapsed into me,
hiding his face against my neck.
    It was at this point that Nan walked in, so all credit to
him really that he managed anything coherent at all.
    Afterwards it was embarrassing. Even though I ran
over and locked the door I still felt the horror of Nan’s
blank stare and half-smile. Neither of us knew what to
say and there was blood and we were still naked. Down
the landing we could hear Nan singing:

    ‘You know last night, well you know the night before
Three little tom-cats come knockin’ at the door
One had a fiddle, another had a drum
And the third had a pancake stuck to its bum.’

    ‘Don’t put that in the bin!’ I shouted as he scooped up
the condom and neatly tied a knot in it. ‘Hell’s bells, if my
mother finds that in with the tissues . . .’
    ‘So what am I supposed to do with it? Do you not
want to keep it forever?’
    He dangled it from his finger then made as if to throw
it at me. I screamed and flinched. He lunged and we rolled about on the bed, then somehow it became a pillow
fight. I bet that never happens in my mother’s Aga Sagas.
His ribs moved under his pale skin and his blue eyes
shone, and I thought, He’s still just a boy really. He was
panting and smiling, and I knew then I’d done the right
thing.
    At last we rolled into the bedhead. He banged his chin
and I knocked a picture off the wall which fell down the
back.
    ‘Aw, shit, sorry. I’ll get it.’
    He dived under the bed, all sharp shoulder bone, and
brought out the photograph; two hand-tinted ginger
kittens in a basket above the legend Happy Hours!.

    Hoping always for a meeting
With a friend I love so true
Dear I send this simple greeting
May the world deal well with you

    ‘The frame’s a bit jiggered.’
    He handed it over. The thin black wood was split at
the corner and the glass was cracked.
    ‘I can get a new one. Best not let my mother see,
though.’ I opened the bedside cupboard and slid the picture
in under some magazines. ‘I know it’s naff but it’s got
sentimental value. It’s one of Nan’s birthday cards from
when she was little, she used to have it in her room and I
always wanted it. I nabbed it when her mind began to go.
Sort of a way of preserving a piece of my childhood, do
you know what I mean? Against all the change . . . She’s
never noticed.’
    ‘Very nice. Do you want to come round on Saturday? Everyone’s out so, only I’ve got to get back to let Darren
in now. Sooner he gets his own key the better.’
    He was pulling on his sweater as he spoke.
    ‘Can you not stay just a bit longer?’
    ‘Sorry. Little brothers and all that. Have you seen my
sock?’
    I scrambled to put something on, we found the sock
and then he went home. I lay on the bed wishing he’d
kissed me goodbye instead of ruffling my hair. Should’ve
asked. Or maybe that’s not cool. What are the rules,
anyway? Perhaps some men just aren’t all that demonstrative;
it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, it’s the way
they are.
    So there it is, the great seduction. I suppose I’ve made
the whole thing sound pretty gross. Some of it was. But
the point is, the point is, I’m a woman now, an adult.
Perhaps people will be able to tell just by looking at me
(God, I hope not! The girls at school used to say you
walked funny afterwards). But the point is I have a life
that is not my mother’s and it is the