Well I have to say I was getting worried about our Rosie. She was dressing like one of them depressed lassies you see in the centre of town. You know, the ones who loiter behind the bookshop in Buchanan Street. I don’t know what they do, they talk about music and watch the young lads play on the skateboards. And have their tights all ripped to shreds. Is that fashion? To me they all look the same, all dressed in black. And that make-up they all wear! What they need is a good wash, so they do. Anyway, I didn’t want our Rosie to follow suit. It’s not any parent’s dream, is it? But I’d have rather her run around with that crowd than have her knocking about with a group of NEDs.
It’s terrifying being a parent nowadays. You’re scared stiff to let them out of your sight, then there’s the whole teenage rebellion thing, not to mention the periods and growing up. As a mother you want to be pals with your daughter, good pals, you know, talking about girlie stuff and all that, but Rosie was no into all that, she hated all that pink girlie stuff, she even hated me washing her underwear. Well, she hated it being on show…like when it was drying. She washed it all herself and dried it in her room, which was an out of bounds area in our house. I don’t think she was embarrassed about her body, I suppose she was just like any other sixteen-year-old girl in that respect. But we never spoke about things like that. We knew our boundaries. And I’m no stupid I knew she’d relax her rebellious streak. Sure, I was just the same when I was that age. My parents couldn’t relate to me when I was sixteen, but now we’re best friends and me and my mum tell each other everything, and I mean everything.
I was into T.Rex and Bowie and they couldn’t understand why I dressed in platforms and had a face like an exploding rainbow. It’s no different with Rosie, she’s into all that miserable music, which I think is pure and utter rubbish. But I tell you something, you hear all these stories, don’t you? Well, about how teenagers get obsessive about the music they’re listening to and they carry out instructions they hear in the music. Look what happened in that school in America. Terrible that was. That was all to do with the music they were listening to, was it not? Anyway I was terrified that Rosie was becoming too dependent on that type of music. Not terrified as such, more concerned. She was becoming more withdrawn.
Rosie’s dad is not on the scene. He used to say that it would have been better if we had had a wee boy instead of a girl because with a boy you only have one penis to worry about. Oh yes, that was a concern. A big concern. Every mother worries about that, don’t they? I used to play the scene over and over in my head. I know my religion tells me that you can’t abort, but, if I’m honest, if Rosie came in at that age and told me she was pregnant I’d march her down to the nearest clinic, I’m telling you I would. It’d just waste her life. You see all the young lassies around here pushing their buggies up and down with nowhere to go. The poor souls haven’t a clue about how to take care of themselves never mind a bloody wean. She doesn’t see her dad anymore. She used to, but no anymore. It’s mostly his decision. It’s not a major problem.
Rosie and Cora had been pals since primary school. I liked wee Cora, but she was worrying me of late I have to say. In this place you can’t go to Tesco but everyone knows what you had for your dinner, and wee Cora had started to get herself that bad reputation that no lassie wants. Well, it’s plain to see, isn’t it? That she was putting it about a bit. And that’s up to her, as long as she’s being careful, but in my mind I was wondering what our Rosie was up to while Cora was gaining that reputation. Was she just standing around a corner waiting for her? Or was she with the guy’s pal? I tell you, my nerves were shattered. Don’t get me wrong I don’t expect her to be a saint or anything like that. Sure, I did the same when I was that age, well, just kissing and the like. What I’m saying is that, like any teenage girl, I was into boys and relationships, and first loves and going to the pictures and the discos. It was normal. But now it’s all about sex, sex and more sex. I blame that bloody internet. Another worry was that in our day there were few cases of disease. Nowadays loads of girls have got something wrong with them, haven’t they? I don’t know. Well Chlamydia is the main one these days, isn’t it? In my day we didn’t even know there was something called Chlamydia. I was just waiting for the day when Rosie came in and told me that Cora was pregnant. I wouldn’t have been that bit surprised one iota.
It wasn’t as though I was over the moon, or anything like that, when Rosie brought Clem home for the first time. Obviously I noticed his strange name and his posh accent. But he was a nice laddie. You get that instinct about things. My first impression of him was that he was well mannered and charming. I could see why Rosie had gone for someone like him. You see, our Rosie has always thought most of the guys at her school were stupid, whereas Clem was the opposite. I’ll tell you what was more important to me: Rosie seemed to be a lot happier after she met Clem. They became inseparable pretty quickly. He was always around at the house, always polite and friendly. I also noticed that she started listening to different music... Well, for example, I could hear her in her bedroom listening to The Smiths, who I remember from before I even had Rosie. I didn’t much care for them then; all that dancing with flowers and old men’s specs wasn’t for me, thank you very much. It was all the weird people who were into them. But it was a welcome departure from that other garbage Rosie listened to. Our own relationship grew stronger too, I think. We would talk more about things, not their relationship of course, but maybe what they’d seen at the pictures, or she’d tell me about a gig they had been to. We communicated better, but I was always aware not to probe too much or those bridges would have been destroyed.
There was nothing to suspect. On the surface it appeared to be like any other teenage relationship. Normal. It starts off as a form of infatuation but we all know how quickly that can change and, before you know it, your world has caved in. There was no change with them two. They were good together. They were a good couple. The one concern I had about the relationship was that Clem told me he was returning to England when he finished school. I don’t know where exactly. Where was he from again? Eastbourne? Well, I presumed that’s where he was heading back to then.
Naturally I didn’t want our Rosie to go to England, so a part of me was hoping that the relationship would collapse. Selfish I know. But it’s just the two of us. Always has been really. There has been no one else since Rosie’s dad. Regardless of what I felt, or what I secretly wished for, I didn’t want it to collapse quite in the way it did. No way did I expect that. No mother would want that. No person would want that. With what’s happened now I wish her going to England was the only concern I had.
I always regarded myself to being a good judge of character, how wrong was I?