Was that all really only nine months ago? It feels like a lifetime has passed. In the gap, it’s taken on a hazy dreamlike quality, my memories of the night reduced to a series of flickering snapshots – Jojo reading from Sparkling Cyanide; Jojo creasing up with laughter as I danced around to ‘Superman’; the look in her eyes before we kissed for the first time; the way her skin felt against mine …
‘But we used protection,’ I say.
Another one of my memories – retrieving a condom from the box I keep at the back of my sock drawer, my fingers trembling as I ripped open the packet.
‘I know,’ Jojo says. ‘I was there too, remember?’
‘Did you realize it had split?’
‘Of course not. I would have done something about it if I had.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
There’s a pause.
‘When?’ I ask.
‘What do you mean?’ 258
‘When did you, er, give birth?’
‘The first of August.’
I begin to do the maths in my head.
‘He was early,’ Jojo says, cutting off my calculations.
He. It’s a little boy. I have a little boy.
Wait.
The first of August. That’s three weeks ago.
Three whole weeks.
Twenty-one entire days.
He’s existed all this time and I had no idea. Jesus, I didn’t even know Jojo was pregnant. Why didn’t Frankie say anything? She must have known. There’s no way she couldn’t have. We just spent three hours stuck in a car together. Did it not dawn on her to mention it? To think it was relevant somehow? Unless this was all just some elaborate ruse to get me down here. But that makes no sense either.
My head is spinning.
‘When were you going to tell me?’ I ask.
Jojo doesn’t answer.
‘OK, let me rephrase that. Were you ever going to tell me?’
Jojo’s eyes flash. ‘I didn’t know what I was going to do, OK?’ she says. ‘I still don’t know!’
‘You’re talking like you’re the only one who gets a say.’
She doesn’t answer, just continues to rock the baby, our baby, in her arms.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant in the first place?’ I ask. ‘I know we’re not a couple or anything, but surely I was entitled to at least know. Whatever you’d have wanted to do, I’ve have supported you.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Jojo says, her voice flat.
‘About what?’ 259
‘I didn’t know I was pregnant. And before you say, “that’s impossible”, let me assure you that it isn’t.’
‘But how could you not know?’ I ask. ‘Didn’t you put on weight and stuff?’
I picture my mum when she was pregnant with Laleh and then Roxy. Both times, she was huge, so huge I remember my dad wrapping his arms around her bump from behind and his fingers only just managing to interlace at the front.
‘I feel like a walrus,’ she used to sigh.
‘A very sexy walrus,’ Dad would say, kissing her on the neck and I’d groan, outwardly mortified by their affection for each other, at the same time as being secretly delighted by it.
‘I didn’t show,’ Jojo says. ‘I was carrying him up behind my ribs apparently.’ She relays what the doctors told her. From her slightly weary delivery, I get the feeling this isn’t the first time tonight she’s had to explain this.
I nod, trying to take it in.
‘So when did you find out?’ I ask. ‘How late on was it?’
‘The first of August.’
‘Wait, you didn’t realize you were pregnant until you were, what, in labour?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where were you?’
‘The bathroom.’
‘You had him at home?’
She nods.
‘Was someone with you?’
She shakes her head.
‘You were all alone?’
She nods once more. 260
‘But that must have been terrifying.’
‘Ha. That’s one word for it.’
She’s trying to make light of it, but I can see the darkness in her eyes.
‘Did it last long?’ I ask instead. ‘The birth, I mean.’
‘Honestly? I have no idea …’
‘You should have called me,’ I say.
Jojo lets out a hollow laugh.
‘I’m serious,’ I say.
‘And said what? Oh, hi, I know we haven’t spoken in eight months, but just so you know, I’m in labour, oh, and guess what, I’m pretty certain it’s yours.’
‘I wouldn’t have cared!’ I insist. ‘Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to call or text you? Probably hundreds. The only reason I never actually pressed “call” or “send” was because of that promise you made me make on New Year’s Day.’
She bites her lip.
‘I’d have been there for you, Jojo. Every step of the way.’
‘It’s not that simple, Ram.’
‘I didn’t say it was. But that’s no reason to keep me out of everything. I mean, Jesus, Jojo, I’m his dad.’
Saying it out loud is one of the most surreal moments of my life.
I’m his dad.
I, Ramin Jandu, aged seventeen years and four months, am someone’s father.
I always assumed I’d be a dad one day, but I always figured I’d be older, in my thirties at least, married with a good job and a mortgage – all the grown-up stuff already in place – and that the baby would be planned, the product of a series of mature conversations and careful planning – spreadsheets and budgets and a fully decorated 261nursery and all the proper gear. I never for one second dreamed it would be like this.
I sink down on the bed and let out a long deep exhale. I’m a dad. I’m a dad. I’m a dad. No matter how many times I say it to myself, it doesn’t seem real.
I look up. Jojo is watching me, her lips pressed together, her eyes wide. I lower my gaze to the baby.
‘Can I hold him?’ I ask.
She blinks, as if thrown by my question.
‘Please,’ I add.
‘OK,’ she says.
Slowly, carefully, she lowers the baby into my arms. ‘You got him OK?’ she asks.
‘I’ve got him.’
He’s warm and smells like Laleh and Roxy did when they were babies – sort of sweet and milky.
‘What’s his name?’ I ask. I can’t believe I haven’t thought to ask until now.
‘Albie,’ Jojo says.
‘Albie,’ I repeat. ‘Albie what? What’s his surname?’
Jojo’s face pales. ‘I, I don’t know yet. He hasn’t been registered.’
‘Right.’
There’s a long pause. My head is swimming. Jojo and I have made a baby. Together. Fuck.
‘I’m going to use the loo if that’s OK,’ she says.
I nod.
‘Will you be all right with him?’
‘Of course.’
She hovers for a moment, chewing on her thumbnail before padding towards the bathroom, closing the door behind her with 262a soft click. I look down at the baby nestled in my arms. Albie. My son. I take in his features one by one – his button nose, his long sooty black lashes, his plump lips, his squished ears, his masses of thick dark hair. As I make my inspection, about a billion different emotions fly around my head and body, bashing and colliding, fizzing and exploding.
Fear and anger and hurt and confusion and frustration.
And love.
Love like I’ve never known.
Jesus, I’ve only know this baby exists for a few minutes and already I’m drunk on love for him. I’m dizzy with it.
And it’s fucking terrifying.
How could Jojo not tell me about him? I know we haven’t been in touch but it’s not like I’m some stranger to her. I thought she liked me. No, scratch that, I know she liked me, and I’m pretty sure she thought I was a decent guy too. How did she think I was going to react? Did she think I was going to kick off or something? Shout and scream and throw stuff around? Or start making crazy demands? That makes literally no sense.
Then it hits me.
I know exactly why she didn’t tell me. It’s the exact same reason why she bolted from my house on New Year’s Day and begged me to pretend it never happened.
‘Frankie,’ I say, as Jojo returns to the room, wiping her hands on a towel.
‘What?’ she says.
‘That’s why you didn’t tell me. Because of Frankie.’ Jojo doesn’t say anything.
‘Jesus, Jojo. I know she’s your best friend but were you really prepared to keep Albie a secret from me just to protect her?’ 263
‘It’s not just about Frankie.’
‘But she’s a big part of it, right?’
Jojo doesn’t answer, instead pushing her hands through her hair. It’s longer than it was at New Year, brushing her collarbone, her grown-out fringe just about long enough to tuck behind her ears.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I know Frankie’s upset and I get why, but she can’t stay mad at us for ever.’
‘Can’t she?’ Jojo whispers.
‘Of course not.’
‘But we completely betrayed her.’
‘Not on purpose.’
‘It’s doesn’t matter. She’s hurting and it’s all our fault.’
‘She’ll come around.’
‘You didn’t see the look on her face when she figured it all out, Ram. She hates me.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think she’s my number one fan right now either.’
‘What time is it?’ Jojo asks.
I check my phone. ‘One thirty.’
‘She’s been gone for over half an hour now.’
‘She’ll be OK.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Frankie’s not stupid. Once she’s had her strop, she’ll come back.’
‘How do you know that?’ Jojo snaps.
I blink. ‘What?’
‘How do you know what she’s going to do?’
‘I did go out with her for seven months.’
‘Yeah well, I’ve been best friends with her for twelve years, and I think this is a bit more serious than a “strop”.’
I sigh. Everything is coming out all wrong.264
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say. ‘But this is Frankie Ricci we’re talking about, remember? She’s all about making a big splash, then moving on. It’s her signature move. Once she’s made her point, she’ll come back, I’m certain of it.’
‘And until then?’
‘We wait.’ It’s not like we haven’t got stuff to talk about, I add silently.
Jojo responds by grabbing a long-sleeved T-shirt from her bag. She pulls it on over her camisole and slips her feet into a pair of flip-flops. She then reaches for what looks like a baby carrier, yanking it on over her head and fastening the straps around her torso.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she says, holding her arms out for Albie. ‘I’m going to look for her.’