For Neil and Lizzy, with love – as always

Praise for Malorie Blackman:

Noughts & Crosses

‘A book which will linger in the mind long after it has been read’ Observer

Knife Edge

‘A powerful story of race and prejudice’ Sunday Times

Checkmate

‘Another emotional hard-hitter … bluntly told and ingeniously constructed’ Sunday Times

Double Cross

‘Blackman “gets” people … she “gets” humanity as a whole, too. Most of all, she writes a stonking good story’ Guardian

Boys Don’t Cry

‘Shows her writing at its best, creating characters and a story which, once read, will not easily go away’ Independent

Pig-Heart Boy

‘A powerful story about friendship, loyalty and family’ Guardian

Hacker

‘Refreshingly new … Malorie Blackman writes with such winsome vitality’ Telegraph

A.N.T.I.D.O.T.E.

‘Strong characterisation and pacy dialogue make this a real winner’ Independent

Thief!

‘… impossible to put down’ Sunday Telegraph

Dangerous Reality

‘A whodunnit, a cyber-thriller and a family drama: readers of nine or over won’t be able to resist the suspense’ Sunday Times

www.malorieblackman.co.uk

ABOUT THE BOOK

You’ve got it all planned out. A summer of freedom, university, a career as a journalist – your future looks bright.

But then the doorbell rings. It’s your ex-girlfriend, and she’s carrying a baby.

Your baby.

You agree to look after it, just for an hour or two.

Then she doesn’t come back – and your life changes for ever.

A gripping and original story about love, relationships and growing up the hard way.

1

Dante

Good luck today. Hope you get what you want and need.

PHONE IN HAND, I smiled at the text my girl Collette had sent me. My smile didn’t last long though. I was too wound up. Thursday. A level results day! I must admit, I didn’t expect to be quite so nervous. I knew for certain I’d done well. What I mean is, I almost knew for certain. But it was the almost that was the killer. Between having my exam papers collected and having them marked, there was a world of possibilities. The person doing the marking might’ve pranged their car or had a fight with their partner – anything might’ve happened to put the test marker in a really bad mood which they would then take out on my exam papers. Hell! A cosmic ray could’ve hit my exam papers and changed all the answers – and not for the better – for all I knew.

‘Don’t be a plank – you’ve passed,’ I told myself.

It was simple. I had to pass. There was no other choice.

Four good A level grades, that was what I needed. Then it was off to university. Up, up and out of here. And a year earlier than all my friends.

You’ve passed …

Positive thinking. I tried to dredge up confidence from somewhere deep inside. Then I felt like even more of a plank and stopped trying. But it was like Dad constantly said: ‘Temptation leans on the doorbell, but opportunity knocks only once.’ And I knew only too well that my A levels were my best opportunity to not just hit the ground running but to take off and fly. Dad was full of fortune cookie quotes like that. His ‘life lessons’ as he called them were all tedious homilies that my brother Adam and I had heard at least a thousand times before. But every time we tried to tell that to Dad, he replied, ‘I wasted all the chances that life threw my way. I’m damned if I’m going to let my sons do the same.’ In other words, Tough!

Dante, stop worrying. You’ve passed …

University was just a means to an end. I mean, yes, I was looking forward to college; meeting new people, learning new things, being somewhere different and being totally independent. But I was looking way beyond that. Once I had a decent job, things would be different – or at least they would when I’d paid off my student loan. But the point was, my family wouldn’t have to scratch for every penny. I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d had a holiday abroad.

Three impatient strides took me to the sitting-room window. Pushing aside the grimy-grey doily-effect net curtains, I stared up and down the road. The August morning was already bright and sunny. Maybe that was a good omen – if anyone believed in such things. Out loud, I didn’t.

Where the hell was the postman?

Didn’t he know he held my whole future in his satchel? Funny how one sheet of paper was going to change the rest of my life.

I need to pass my exams … I really need to pass …

The words played through my mind like a recurring phrase from a really irritating song. I’d never, ever wanted anything so badly in my life. Maybe because my A level exam results were my life. My whole future rested on a slip of paper and a few letters at the beginning of the alphabet – the closer to the top of the alphabet the better.

I let the net curtain fall back into place, wiping my dusty hands on my jeans. What was it about the dust on grubby net curtains that made them seem almost sticky? I eyed the curtains critically. When was the last time they’d seen detergent and water? When was the first time, come to that? They’d been hanging there since I’d helped Mum put them up. When was that? About nine years ago, or thereabouts? Whenever it was my turn to vacuum, I’d suck the curtains down the vacuum cleaner hose, hoping to get rid of some of the dust that way. But the nets had become too fragile to withstand that sort of treatment any more. Dad kept promising to take them down and wash them or to buy some new ones, but somehow he never got round to either. Looking around the room, I wondered what I could do to pass the time? Something to occupy my mind … something to take my thoughts off—

The doorbell rang – as if on cue. I was at the door in a heartbeat, throwing it open with eager trepidation.

It wasn’t the postman.

It was Melanie.

I stared at her. It took a couple of seconds to register the fact that she wasn’t alone. I stared down at the contents of the buggy beside her.

‘Hello, Dante.’

I didn’t say a word. The baby in the buggy had all of my attention.

‘C-can I come in?’

‘Er … yeah. Of course.’ I stepped to one side. Melanie wheeled the buggy past me. I closed the door behind her, frowning. She stood in the hallway, biting the corner of her bottom lip. She watched me expectantly, like an actress waiting for her cue. But she knew where the sitting room was, she’d been here before.

‘Go through.’ I indicated the open door.

Following her, my thoughts flitted like dancing bees. What was she doing here? I hadn’t seen her in … it had to be well over a year and a half. What did she want?

‘Are you babysitting?’ I pointed to the bundle in the buggy.

‘Yeah, you could say that,’ Melanie said, looking at the many family photos Dad had placed on the windowsill, on either side of Mum’s favourite lead-crystal vase, and around the room. Some were of me; more were of Adam; most were of my mum. But there were none of her during that last year before she died. I remember that Dad had wanted to take some – he was always taking photos – but Mum wouldn’t let him. And after she died, Dad hadn’t picked up the camera again. Mel flitted from photo to photo, studying each intently before moving on. To be honest, I didn’t see what was so fascinating.

Whilst Melanie was looking at the photos, I used the opportunity to eye her. She looked the same as ever, maybe a little slimmer but that was all. She was dressed in black jeans and a dark blue jacket over a light blue T-shirt. Her dark brown hair was shorter than the last time I’d seen her, shorter and spikier. But she was still stunning, with the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen framed by the longest, darkest lashes. I glanced down at the bundle in the buggy which was staring up in fascination at the light-fitting in the middle of the ceiling.

‘What’s its name?’

‘Her name is Emma.’ Pause. ‘D’you want to hold her?’

‘No. I mean, er … no, thank you.’ The words came out in a panicked rush. Was Melanie barking mad or what? No way did I want to hold a baby. And she still hadn’t said what she was doing here. Not that I wasn’t pleased to see her. It’d just been a long time, that was all. Melanie had dropped out of school over a year and a half ago and I hadn’t seen or heard from her since. As far as I knew, no one had.

And now she was in my house.

As if reading my mind, Melanie said, ‘I went away to live with my aunt. I’m back for the day visiting a friend and, as I was just passing by, I thought I’d pop in and say hi. I hope you don’t mind.’

I shook my head and dredged up a smile, feeling unexpectedly awkward.

‘I’m going away today actually,’ Melanie continued.

‘Back to your aunt’s,’ I assumed.

‘No. Up north. I’ll be staying with friends for a while.’

‘That’s nice.’

Silence.

‘Can I get you something? A drink?’ I said at last.

‘Er … some water? Some water would be good.’

I headed for the kitchen and filled a tumbler from the tap. ‘There you are.’ I handed it to her once I got back to the sitting room.

The glass shook slightly on its way to her lips. Melanie took two or three sips then put it down on the windowsill. She retrieved a box from her jacket pocket and took out a cigarette, pushing it between her lips. ‘D’you mind if I smoke?’ she asked, the flame from her lighter already approaching the cigarette end.

‘Er … I don’t, but my dad and Adam will. Especially Adam. He’s an anti-cigarette fascist and they’ll both be back soon.’

‘How soon?’ Melanie asked sharply.

I shrugged. ‘Thirty minutes or so.’

Why the urgent tone to her voice? For a second there she’d looked almost … panicky.

‘Oh, OK. Well, the smell will be gone by then,’ said Mel, lighting up anyway.

Damn it. To tell the truth, I wasn’t keen on cigarettes either. Melanie drew on the cigarette like she was trying to suck all the tobacco in it down her throat. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then a rush of swirling grey vapour shot out of her nostrils. Minging. And the smell was already filling the room. I sighed inwardly. Adam was going to do his nut. Melanie opened her eyes to look at me, but she didn’t say a word. She inhaled from her cigarette again like it was an oxygen tube and her only source of air.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ I said.

‘I started almost a year ago. It’s one of the few pleasures I have left,’ said Melanie.

We regarded each other. The silence stretched between us like taut elastic. Oh God. What was I supposed to say now?

‘So … how are you? What’ve you been up to?’ It wasn’t much but it was all I could find to ask.

‘I’ve been looking after Emma,’ Melanie replied.

‘I mean, apart from that?’ I persisted a little desperately.

A slight smile curved one corner of Melanie’s mouth. She shrugged but didn’t reply. She turned her head to carry on looking around the room.

Silence.

The baby started gurgling.

Some noise to break the scratchy quiet. Thank goodness for that.

‘What about you?’ Melanie asked, removing the baby from the buggy and holding it on the left side of her body as she moved the cigarette to the right side of her lips. ‘What’ve you been up to?’ Her eyes weren’t on me though. She was looking into the face of the thing in her arms. The thing gurgled louder, trying to wriggle closer into her. ‘What are your plans now you’ve done your A levels, Dante?’

For the first time since she’d arrived, she looked directly at me and didn’t immediately turn her gaze away. And the look in her eyes was startling. Her face hadn’t changed that much since the last time I’d seen her, but her eyes had. They seemed … older somehow. And sadder. I shook my head. There went my imagination, running off in all directions again. Melanie had aged by exactly the same amount of time that I had.

‘I’m waiting for my exam results,’ I said. ‘They’re supposed to arrive today.’

‘How do you think you’ve done?’

Crossing my fingers, I held them up. ‘I worked my butt off, but if you tell anyone, I’ll hunt you down!’

‘God forbid that anyone should find out you actually … revised. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,’ smiled Melanie.

‘If I’ve passed, I’m off to university to do history.’

‘And after that?’

‘Journalism. I want to be a reporter. I want to write stuff that everyone wants to read.’

‘You want to work for one of those gossip magazines?’ queried Melanie.

‘Hell, no! Not a celebrity reporter. How boring would that be, interviewing talentless airheads who are famous for absolutely nothing except being famous? No, thank you,’ I said, warming to my theme. ‘I want to cover proper news. Wars and politics and stuff like that.’

‘Ah, that sounds more like the Dante I know,’ said Melanie. ‘Why?’

The question took me by surprise. ‘Pardon?’

‘Why does reporting on that kind of stuff appeal to you so much?’

I shrugged. ‘I like the truth, I guess. Someone needs to make sure that the truth gets told.’

‘And that someone is you?’

How pompous must I have sounded? Embarrassed, I smiled. ‘Didn’t you know? Dante Leon Bridgeman is only my Earth name. On my home planet I’m known as Dantel-Eon, fighting for truth, justice and free computer games for all.’

Melanie shook her head, her lips twitching. ‘I’m beginning to remember why I used to like you so much.’

Used to? ‘Past tense?’

She glanced down at the baby in her arms. ‘I’ve had other things on my mind since we split up, Dante.’

‘Like.’

‘Like Emma for one.’

‘Whose baby is she? Is she a relative?’

Just at that moment, the baby started to grizzle. Hell! It sounded like the thing was winding up for a long, loud bawl.

‘Her nappy needs changing,’ said Melanie. ‘Hold her for a second. I need to get rid of my cigarette.’

Melanie thrust the baby at me and was already turning so I had no choice but to take it. She headed out of the room and made her way to the kitchen. Getting rid of her cigarette was now academic. The whole room stank. I held the baby at arm’s length, pulling back my head like a turtle to put maximum distance between myself and the thing. There was the sound of running water from the tap, then the bang of the bin lid snapping shut. My hearing was switched up to maximum as I waited for the second I could pass back this thing in my hands.

Mel re-entered the room. With a practised hand, she opened the outsized navy-blue bag hanging on the back of the buggy and removed a pale yellow plastic baby mat decorated with multicoloured flowers. She lay it down on the ground, smoothing it out. Next came a disposable nappy, a small orange plastic bag and some baby skin wipes. With a rueful smile, Melanie took the baby from my unresisting hands. My sigh of relief was unintentionally audible. But damn! I didn’t want to do that again in a hurry. I watched as Melanie knelt down on the carpet to lay the baby on the plastic mat. Whilst I opened the windows, Mel started talking a whole heap of rubbish.

Words like: ‘Am I going to change your nappy now? Yes, I am. Oh yes, I am!’

And it was getting worse. Stricken, I watched as Melanie undid the yellow, all-in-one baby-gro, gently extracting the baby’s legs from the outfit. She wasn’t seriously going to change the baby’s nappy on our carpet, was she? It looked like she was. Gross! I wanted to stop her but what could I say? I watched in horror as Melanie unfastened the disposable nappy.

Urgh!

It was filled to overflowing with poo. Sticky, nasty, ultra-smelly baby poo. I was amazed I managed to hold down my breakfast. But I backed up and backed off double fast. I couldn’t have moved faster if the nappy had suddenly sprouted legs and started chasing me round the room.

‘You should watch this,’ Melanie said. ‘You might learn something.’

Yeah, right!

‘It’s quite straightforward,’ Melanie continued. ‘You lift up her legs slightly by the ankles till her bum is off the nappy, then wipe her off till she’s nice and clean.’ Melanie dropped the wipes on the soiled nappy. ‘Then you whip out the old nappy and place a clean one under her. After that you just fasten it like this, making sure it’s not too tight and not too loose. See. It’s so simple even you could do it.’

‘Yes, but why would I want to?’ I asked.

I mean, duh!

After placing the soiled nappy in the orange bag and tying a knot at the top of it, Melanie refastened the baby-gro before holding Emma to her, rocking it gently. The baby’s impossibly long eyelashes fluttered against its cheeks as its eyes closed. Melanie handed me the soiled nappy bag. I recoiled in horror.

‘Could you put that in your bin, please?’ she smiled.

‘Er … the kitchen is in the same place. Help yourself.’

‘Would you mind holding Emma then?’

Oh God. Poo or a baby? A baby or poo?

I took the nappy bag out of Mel’s hand, holding it at arm’s length between my thumb and index fingertip. I started off carrying it gingerly but decided that speed would be better. Much better. So I sprinted to the kitchen, dropped it in the pedal bin, then washed my hands in the kitchen sink like I was scrubbing up to perform surgery. I headed back to the sitting room, Mel’s laughter ringing in my ears. Melanie looked at me and smiled, her eyes crinkling with amusement. I didn’t quite see what was so funny, but Mel’s toothy smile brought back a rush of unbidden memories. Memories of things that I hadn’t exactly forgotten, but memories I’d buried somewhere where they weren’t easily accessible. I sat down, more puzzled than ever. What was Melanie doing here? Just passing by didn’t quite ring true somehow.

‘Mel, why …?’

‘Shush. She’s fallen asleep,’ Melanie whispered. She placed the baby back in its buggy and she was so gentle, the baby didn’t stir once. Melanie straightened up, biting repeatedly on one side of her bottom lip. I remained seated. Abruptly, as if deciding something on the spur of the moment, Melanie dug into her oversized baby bag and withdrew a folded sheet of beige-pink paper.

‘Read this,’ she said, thrusting the paper at me.

I hesitated. ‘What is it?’

‘Read it.’

Frowning, I took it from her unresisting hand and unfolded it.

I stared at her. ‘You … you’re the baby’s mother?’

Melanie nodded slowly. ‘Dante, I … I don’t know how to say this without … well, without just saying it.’

She didn’t have to say anything. The birth certificate explained so much and said so little. Melanie had had a baby. She was a mum. I had trouble taking it in. Melanie was my age. And she had a kid?

‘Dante, I need to tell you something …’

Mel wasn’t even nineteen yet. How could she have been stupid enough to have a kid at our age? Hadn’t she ever heard of the pill? Kids were for people in their late thirties who had mortgages and steady jobs and serious savings in the bank. Kids were for those sad people who didn’t have anything else to do with their lives.

‘Dante, are you listening?’

‘Huh?’ I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Melanie was a mum.

Melanie took a deep breath, closely followed by another. ‘Dante, you’re the dad. Emma is our daughter.’

2

Adam

HOW MUCH DID this suck? I’d woken up with a splitting headache and my morning was rapidly going downhill from there. I made the mistake of not hiding how much my head was hurting when I came down for breakfast.

‘Adam, another headache?’ Dad frowned at me as I sat at the kitchen table.

I nodded. Thousands of wildebeest were stampeding through my head. Again.

‘Is it a bad one?’ asked Dad.

‘It’s not good.’ I rubbed my fingers back and forth across my temple. For the last couple of weeks, I’d been getting irregular but really bad headaches.

‘Why don’t you get over yourself and take some painkillers?’ my brother Dante grumbled.

‘Because my body is a temple,’ I informed him. ‘You know I don’t believe in popping pills.’

‘It’s hardly popping pills to take a couple of paracetamol when your head is hurting,’ Dante argued.

‘I’m not taking any tablets. OK?’ I snapped.

‘Suffer then,’ said Dante evenly.

‘Enough is enough, Adam,’ said Dad. ‘It’s time for you to go to the doctor.’

No way. I mean, no way. ‘It’s not that bad, Dad,’ I denied quickly.

‘Adam, you’ve been having far too many headaches recently.’

‘It’s the heat,’ I said, pushing away my bowl of cornflakes. Just the sight of them made me want to upchuck. ‘I just need to lie down for a while. It feels like the beginnings of a migraine.’

‘You’ve been having headaches since the match against Colliers Green School,’ said Dante thoughtfully. ‘Are you sure you’re …?’

‘Don’t you start nagging too,’ I said.

Dante gave me a frosty look. ‘Well, excuse me for giving a damn.’

‘I don’t need you clucking round me like a mother hen,’ I told my brother. It was a bit unfair, I know. But the only word worse than ‘doctor’ in my vocabulary was ‘hospital’. Beads of sweat were already breaking out all over my body – and I hate sweating.

‘What match?’ asked Dad.

‘It was no big deal,’ I said. I really didn’t want to get into this now.

‘Apparently the ball hit Adam on the head,’ said Dante. ‘Luckily his head is totally empty, so no harm was done.’

‘Adam, you never told me that,’ frowned Dad.

‘There was nothing to tell,’ I replied. ‘I just headed the ball when I should’ve ducked.’

‘I’m surprised they picked you for the match,’ said Dante. ‘Scraping the underside of the barrel there.’

‘Listen, Dante, why don’t you—?’ I was winding up for a full and frank.

‘Dante, that really isn’t helping,’ Dad interrupted.

‘I’ll shut up then,’ said Dante, focusing once again on his bowl of wheat flakes.

‘Dad, I don’t need to go to the doctor. It’s just a headache.’ Which both Dad and Dante were making worse. I just needed somewhere dark and quiet.

Dad shook his head. ‘Adam, what is it with you and anything medicinal?’

‘Not all things medicinal. I’m more than happy to wear medicated plasters.’

Dad stood up. ‘Nope. Not this time, Adam. Get your shoes on. I’m taking you to the doctor.’

No. No. NO.

‘But you have to go to work. If we go to the doctor’s now, we’ll have to wait at least an hour before we get seen,’ I said, desperation creeping into my voice.

‘Can’t be helped,’ said Dad stonily. ‘As you can’t be trusted to go on your own, I’ll just have to take you.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll phone work and tell them I’ll be late. Adam, go and get yourself ready.’

As Dad left the room, Dante raised his head and grinned at me.

‘Dante, you’ve got to get me out of this,’ I pleaded.

‘No can do, mate. Not this time. Sorry,’ grinned Dante, not sorry at all. ‘Look at it this way, at least you’re only going to the doctor’s, not the dreaded “H” word.’

‘Thanks a bunch,’ I scowled.

‘Any time, scab-face,’ said my brother. ‘Any time.’

So here I was sitting in our car on my way to the doctor’s, and for the life of me I couldn’t think of a single thing I could do to get out of it.

3

Dante

MELANIE’S WORDS HIT me like a bullet between the eyes. I stared, searching her expression for a sign, some sign, any sign that this was some kind of joke. But Melanie’s expression didn’t change. I leaped out of the armchair ready to fling her words back at her, only my legs started to dissolve so I collapsed back down. My gaze never left Melanie’s face. I didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think, certainly not over the sound of my heart pounding like a heavyweight boxer’s blows.

I sat waiting, willing, wishing for Melanie to take back her words.

Ha! Not really.

Just kidding.

April fool.

Had you going though.

But she didn’t say any of those things.

It wasn’t true.

How could it be true?

My stomach was heaving. Dry heaving. My body started to shake, starting deep inside and working outwards like ripples on the surface of a pond. My heart wasn’t the only thing that was pounding. My head was beginning to hurt.

I started to remember things I didn’t want to.

The night of my friend Rick’s party. The day after Boxing Day, almost two years ago now. Nineteen, no, twenty months ago to be exact. Rick’s parents were away on holiday, leaving Rick and his older sister home alone. Except Rick’s sister had decided to spend a few days with her boyfriend. Leaving Rick all alone, to party. I’d drunk far too much that night. But then so had Melanie. So had everyone.

I remember that night like viewing a series of snapshots. And as the night got later, the snapshots get blurrier. Melanie and I had only been going out a couple of months. And I’d had a great Christmas. I’d got the electric guitar I’d been pestering Dad for, even though I knew he couldn’t really afford it. Melanie bought me a watch. I bought her a necklace. On the way to the party, I warned her that the necklace would probably turn her neck green.

‘That’s OK,’ she smiled. ‘You’ll need a tetanus shot before you wear the watch. Just thought I’d warn you.’

We both laughed and started exchanging kisses, which by the time we got to Rick’s house had grown into one long, long kiss, before Rick flung open his front door and dragged us both inside.

We danced.

And drank.

And snogged.

We danced some more.

We drank some more.

We snogged some more.

Someone called out that we should get a room. So a few minutes later, for a laugh, we snuck off and did just that. I remember Melanie giggling as we went up the stairs. We were holding hands, I think, but I’m not really sure. And I had a bottle in my other hand. Something alcoholic but I can’t remember what. We went into the first room we came to and shut the door. And I took another swig of my drink. And Melanie giggled. And we started kissing.

More snapshots.

It’d been the first time – for both of us.

The one and only time.

And the whole thing … well, it was over before it’d barely begun. It had been a blink-and-you’d-miss-it sprint, not a practised and polished marathon. To tell the truth, it’d kind of put me off. I remember thinking, Is that it then? All there is to it? So how could one encounter that lasted … No, that was the wrong word. It hadn’t lasted. It wasn’t meant to last. And certainly not in the shape of a … of a …

‘Oh my God …’

My gaze fell away from Melanie to the still-sleeping contents of the buggy.

A baby.

A child.

My child?

‘I don’t believe you.’ I was on my feet again. ‘My name’s not even on the birth certificate. How can you be sure it’s mine?’

4

Adam

‘DAD, I REALLY don’t need to be here.’ The desperation in my voice was very evident but I couldn’t help it.

‘Adam, you really need to get over this phobia you have of doctors.’ Dad frowned. ‘We’ll see Doctor Planter and then leave. OK?’

No, it wasn’t OK.

If I jumped up and ran, how long before Dad would catch up with me?

I gave the answer some serious thought, but finally decided against it. I had speed but Dad had endurance. He’d just wait me out and then he’d drag me back here. And on top of that, he’d be pissed at me.

Hang in there, Adam. In less than ten minutes, it’ll all be over. The doctor will tell me to take some painkillers and throw us out and that’ll be that. And then at least Dad will be off my back.

I looked around the doctor’s waiting room, which contained six rows of five chairs, and health posters covering up as much of the disastrous lime-green painted walls as possible. The waiting room was half-full, mostly with mums and their kids or old gimmers of forty plus. And half the people in the room were coughing. I mean, what’s up with that? It’s August, for God’s sake. Who gets a cold in August? God only knew what germs I was breathing in.

What were we even doing here? I had a headache, plain and simple. Since when did anyone need to see a doctor about a headache? I’d tried to tell Dad that throughout the ten-minute car journey to get here, but he wouldn’t listen. Once he gets a bee in his boxers about anything, that’s it. Case closed. End of story. Dante is just the same.

‘Adam Bridgeman to room five, please. Adam Bridgeman to room five, please.’

The announcement came over the PA system and the scrolling electronic messaging system on the wall at the front of the waiting room said the same thing. Dad was already on his feet.

‘You can wait here if you like, Dad. I’ll go in by myself.’

Dad raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s OK, son. I’ll go in with you.’

I sighed and got to my feet. That was exactly what I was afraid of. This was turning out to be a really crappy day – and it wasn’t even noon yet.

5

Dante

MELANIE’S LIPS TIGHTENED; her brown eyes turned obsidian dark. Her expression hardened like she’d been turned to stone.

‘I don’t sleep around, Dante. Plus I’ve never been with anyone but you,’ she stated icily. ‘And if you say that again, I’ll slap your face. For your information, I couldn’t put your name down on the birth certificate because you weren’t there with me when I went to register Emma’s birth. I was told I could only put your name down as the dad if we were married or if you were present.’

She glared at me. I stared at her, finding it harder and harder to breathe. Then Melanie sighed. ‘Look, I … I didn’t come here to argue with you. That wasn’t my intention.’

‘Then why did you come?’

Melanie fished in her pocket for her cigarettes. She took one out and it was almost at her lips when she unexpectedly snapped it in two. Tobacco drizzled onto the carpet. Mel dropped the two ends into her pocket before running a shaky hand through her hair.

‘Dante, I need to talk to you but I’m running out of time.’

‘I don’t understand.’

I didn’t understand a lot of things. Melanie had turned up at my house and thrown a bomb into my whole life. A bomb that was still sleeping peacefully in its buggy.

‘How … how come you didn’t have an abortion?’

Melanie regarded me, then shrugged. A shrug which was meant to mean very little but, combined with her sombre expression, showed just the opposite. ‘Dante, I did think about it. I thought of nothing else for days and weeks. I even went to my doctor so he could send me to my local hospital to have it done. But in the end I didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because from the time I found out I was pregnant, Emma never felt anything less than real to me. So how could I go through with it? I just couldn’t do it.’

‘Did you … did you think about giving her up for adoption when she was born?’

Melanie studied me, her face a mask. ‘You blame me,’ she said quietly.

‘No. No, I don’t. I just … I’m trying to wrap my head around all this.’ Trying. And failing.

‘I took one look at Emma and I couldn’t do that either. My aunt did her best to persuade me to give her up but I just couldn’t. My mum had already chucked me out for getting pregnant and my aunt only agreed to let me stay because I said I’d have the baby adopted once it was born.’ Melanie’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. ‘But the first time I looked at Emma, she felt like the only thing I had left in the whole world. If I lost her, I’d have nothing …’

‘Your mum kicked you out?’ I didn’t know what to say, how to react to that. How could ten forgettable minutes of not much turn both our lives inside out and upside down like this? ‘Why didn’t you let me know?’

The faintest of smiles. ‘What would you have done, Dante?’

‘I … I … I have no idea. But to go through all that alone …’

‘Dante, you had trouble holding a bag containing a pooey nappy. You held Emma like she was a ticking bomb. So what is it that you think you could’ve done?’

My blank look was answer enough, I guess.

‘Exactly,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s why I didn’t even give your name to the child support people when they asked about the father.’

‘But your aunt let you stay after the baby was born?’

‘Yeah. Only temporarily though,’ said Mel. ‘But I’ve found somewhere else to live now.’

‘Is that why you and the baby are heading north? Because of your aunt?’ I asked.

Melanie nodded. She glanced down at her watch. ‘Dante, could you do me a favour?’

‘What?’

‘Could you look after Emma for a while? I need to pop to the shops and buy more nappies and some other stuff.’

Hell, no! ‘Why can’t you take it with you?’

‘Stop calling her “it”. And Emma doesn’t like to be moved so soon after falling asleep. She’ll wake up and cry and get really miserable.’

How exactly was that my problem?

Except that the baby was supposed to be … my … my … mine. I started to turn to look at it, but I couldn’t. If I didn’t look, didn’t … acknowledge it, then it wouldn’t be real. None of this would be real. How I wished there was someone standing in front of me to tell me what to think and how to feel. Because I didn’t have a clue. All I felt was … scared. Scratch that – terrified. Heart-thumping, cold-sweating, sick-to-my-stomach, mind-numbingly terrified. What did Melanie want from me?

I started to shake my head.

‘Please, Dante,’ Melanie wheedled. ‘I’ll be back long before Emma wakes up, I promise. She’ll sleep for a good couple of hours now.’

‘Melanie, if she wakes up, I wouldn’t have a clue what to do.’ And God knows, that was the truth.

‘You won’t have to do anything. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or less. OK?’ Melanie was already heading out of the sitting room and towards the front door.

‘You can’t just dump her on me,’ I protested.

‘At least you’re calling Emma “her” now rather than “it”.’

‘Melanie, I’m serious,’ I said. ‘No way are you leaving a baby here.’

‘Oh, get over yourself, Dante. I’m coming back, aren’t I?’

‘You can’t leave your baby here,’ I insisted, my tone broken-glass sharp with panic. ‘I was going out.’

‘Yeah, but not immediately. You said you were waiting for your exam results. I’ll be back soon.’ Melanie was at the now-open front door. ‘And she’s not just “my” baby. She’s yours too. Remember that.’

‘Melanie, hang on. This isn’t right. You can’t just—’

But she was already heading along the pavement. ‘See you in a minute.’

‘Why don’t I shop for the things you need and you can look after your baby?’ I called after her.

Melanie turned round but didn’t come any closer. Her gaze kept skidding away from mine. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was only a breath away from tears. ‘Dante, what brand of nappies do I buy? What kind of food does Emma like? What do I put on her skin each night after her bath? What cream do I use when she has nappy rash? What book do I read to her every evening before she goes to sleep?’

‘Well, you’re not going to get all that now, are you?’ I pointed out. ‘So just tell me what to buy and I’ll get it.’

‘Dante, what’s wrong with you? Are you worried she’s going to jump up and bite your ankles or something? I’ll be back soon. OK? And then we can have a proper talk.’

No, it wasn’t OK. And I didn’t want to talk or anything else with Melanie. I wanted, needed her to go away with her baby and never come back. If only I could just go back to bed and erase my morning, wake up and start all over again. With increasing frustration, I watched as Melanie carried on walking. With each step she took away from me, the knot inside my stomach grew tighter. I went back indoors. I wanted to slam the front door and keep on slamming it until the thing fell off its hinges, but I couldn’t handle the baby waking up before Melanie returned.

I had a kid. Called Emma. My daughter …

Oh God …

What was I going to do?

Dad …

What was Dad going to say?

And my brother?

And my friends?

Oh God …

The doorbell rang.

Melanie. She’d come back. Thank goodness. But that was quick … Oh … I got it now. She was going to tell me it was all a joke. Probably set up by my mate, Joshua. This was just the kind of stunt he would pull. Josh by name and josh by nature. If this was his idea of a wind-up, then when I got hold of him, it’d be on! I wrenched open the door.

‘Hiya. Package for your dad that needs signing for and some letters,’ said the postman cheerily.

In a daze, I scribbled across the electronic signature box with the inkless pen the postman held out. He handed me an A4-sized padded envelope and an assortment of letters. The top letter was addressed to me. I raised my head to thank the postman but he was already on his way to the next house.

Shutting the front door, I half fell, half leaned against it. I didn’t want to move from the spot. And I certainly didn’t want to go into the sitting room. To tell the truth, I was petrified to go back in there. And if I stayed still, closed my eyes and waited, then maybe, just maybe, none of this would be real.

I placed Dad’s padded envelope and what looked like two utility bills on the telephone table in the hall. On autopilot, I tore open the envelope addressed to me. It was my exam results. Feeling icy-cold and very alone, I looked down at the sheet of paper in my hand.

Four A-stars.

In the sitting room, the baby started to cry.

6

Dante

I SAT IN the armchair opposite the buggy and watched the baby’s scrunched-up face, tears flowing like rivulets from its eyes and down its cheeks. It watched me just as I watched it. It struck me that at that moment, the baby and I were feeling exactly the same. And I mean exactly the same. The baby cried and cried and then cried some more. It was lucky. God knows I wanted to join in. But I couldn’t. Boys don’t cry – that’s what Dad had always told me and my brother. And besides, what good would it have done?

still