Chapter 4

Jessica is perched on the edge of the toilet seat, lost in the mosaic of coloured tiles before her. ‘Jessie?’

‘Just give me a minute, Saz.’

She looks around the unfamiliar bathroom. In place of the tatty poetry books and National Geographics that clutter up the same space at home, there are brightly coloured ducks, boats and pirates. Sarah doesn’t know how lucky she is having siblings. A house full of laughter instead of heavy expectation and silent resentment. Her gaze is drawn to a bedraggled princess propped up against an oversized yellow sponge and she finds herself thinking back to the countless Disney movies she watched, nestled in the crook of her father’s arm. The rainy Saturdays spent at the cinema as a child. To this day, that warm buttery smell of popcorn is the closest she ever feels to unconditional love. Only now she’s old enough to know there are no happy ever afters. In the end, the King fucks off and leaves the Queen for some 20-something whore bag. And the Queen takes her fury and disbelief out on the princess. As for Prince Charming – he’s nothing but a smarmy bastard who weaselled his way into a young girl’s pants at a crappy party. Got his fumble in the conservatory and split. It has been 37 days now and he hasn’t even called her. There’s only so long a girl can kid herself.

Then again her mum has managed a lifetime of denial. She remembers the day, leafing through their wedding photos she’d clocked the telltale empire line of her mother's ivory dress and put two and two together. ‘We would have got married one day anyway, love,’ her mum had reassured her. She looked uncertain. ‘You coming along just sped things up a bit.’ If it wasn’t for Jessica, Dad could have fucked off long ago rather than waste years pretending he loved them both more than booze. And now the hangover.

She thinks about not existing. Would it really matter if she never had? Instead of weeping into the dishwasher, her mother could have made something of herself. Taken that trip to India she always dreamed about. Met a man who knew the difference between love and intoxication.

It's terrifying, realising that the two people you’ve looked up to your whole life are nothing but massive fuck ups themselves. Everything suddenly goes from certain to… She’s dragged from this spiral of despair by the tinny tone of her mobile. Dad.

It rings off. What’s there to say? Like he ever listens anyway. Of course she wants to tell him that he’s making a fool of himself. That it’s only a matter of time before this young student with daddy issues works out what a twat he really is; that his whole ‘let’s live for the moment’ thing is an act. ‘Seize the day,’ he’ll say, while drinking himself into such a stupor he can barely face the following one. What a fucking joke of a bastard liar.

And that whole thing of old men and young girls. Beyond gross. Her friend Sal had fooled around with a 24 year old once and even that seemed a bit creepy. What could this Helen possibly hold up to her mother anyway? Apart from a perky arse and tits, maybe. The truth was her mother was a princess who’d married a frog. One so jealous of her carefree beauty and golden aura, he’d locked her away in a cage. Starved of affection, she faded away until all the frog could see was the cage. Raging at the world, he longed for his lost princess. All he had to do was open the door, his heart, but instead he drowned his self-pity in whatever was on offer at Thresher’s. Disney has a lot to answer for. A wave of nausea passes through her. She knows she should eat something. One more minute and…

The phone is ringing again. Mum. She presses the reject button. Spiteful little bitch she’d called her. How could she? When all she’d ever done was help her stick up for herself? Maybe the truth was every time she looked at her daughter she saw only what could have been. And what never would. And who could blame her? Because now Jessica knows exactly how her mum felt all those years ago. Scared and stupid and lost and alone and… She looks at the stick in her hand. So completely and utterly pregnant.

The phone. For fuck’s sake. This time she picks up:

‘Dad.’

‘……’

‘I don’t care. There’s something I need to tell you. I’m…

‘……’

‘For Christ’s sake! What do you mean you’re bleeding?’