Duncan and I woud go to the beach. We woud sit and look at the waves and the gulls and the bowts. Then we woud practise are darncing. I did ballay and he woud copy me and do ballay too. Some times pepol woud wotch us in quite a crowd and laugh in dilight because we were so good at are darncing. Arfter, I woud hug Duncan because I loved him so much and he woud wisper in my ear, ‘I love you Sally-Anne and I love LittelBaby Sprinkels.’
I want to talk more abowt love. Pepol in movies, and in books probly, but I dont read meny books, thay are all weys talking abowt love. Its a big thing. Meny pepol woud say it is the most inportent thing. But what is it? My love for LittelBaby grew in big chunks like…oh I dont know how to discribe it…like I was being run over by a massiv lorry again and again. I was flatterned by it. I will tell you how one of the chunks happerned. It was abowt five munths in to being pregnunt. It was erly july.
I had wandered thrugh the town and owt the uther side, up the hill and up a track by a corn fiyeld. At ferst I was skipping but arfter a wiol I walked stedily. I walked sloer and sloer as the parth got steeper. There were flowers on the sides of the parth, and a fiew butter flies and bees. I stopped to look at a partikly luvley butter fly. It was blue and black and yello and wite. So intricut and simetricle. I said ‘Butter fly,’ like the bunny in Bambi says it. ‘Budder fly! Budder fly!’
Then I said it sloly. ‘Butter fly, butter fly.’ I loved the werd. It was jus so right for the butter fly. Then I thort, ‘Oh, LittelBaby will love butter flies. She will say Butter fly!’ I imagined her saying it and all of a suddern I coud see her, as if I was seeing into the fiucher. She was very small, in my arms, with soft blond hare. She was pointing to the Butter fly in wunder. ‘Butter fly,’ she said. Oh, she was so sweet and so clever! The werld was all new to her, like a big beautifle gift to be un rapped. We stared at the Butter fly for a wiol. There was no rush. Time jus parsed very slo. We were in a bubbel of happy ness. We looked at the wings and antennas of the butter fly. It was so so delicut. Its like I looked at the baby looking, and I coud see thrugh her fresh eyes and see it propely with owt all the lares of grime that my eyes have on them from years of living. My hart suffered a big pang, an ake of love. I felt my self tumbel. Down down, like Alis in to the hole. It was scary, and all most sick making. It was so strong. Like drugs.
And normerly we are all stuck in time to gether, arent we? We carnt iscape owt of this particuler secund what we are all in. But when I thort abowt LittelBaby I felt like I had iscaped. Its like I stepped side weys in to anuther werld wich is not guverned by the same rules, like graverty probly dusent ixist there neether. I was not held by time eny more. I was fiyuling some thing aynshunt and misterius.
Eny way, Mr and Mrs Collins came again a fiew weeks later. This time I had no warning. I was jus looking at a magazine, siting at a tabel of ladies who were painting, and a voice bihind me said, ‘Hello, Sally-Anne.’
I terned rownd. She was holding a big parsel, rapped in pink and perple tishoo paper. She held it owt to wards me. ‘Sally-Anne, this is for you,’ she said. I knew what she was trying to do. It was kind of obvius. I coudent be rude. I stood up and took the parsel, and said ‘Thank you Mrs Collins.’ I dident mene for it to sownd so dull, but it did sownd dull. The man was hovvering bihind her. His hare was so oyly it looked wet. He looked like a sele who has popped his hed owt of the sea.
‘I hope youv bene kepeing well,’ she said. ‘I hope evry thing is going well for you.’
It sowndid like she had been rihersing what to say for days. My eyes were drawn to her waste. It got tighter and skinier the more mine grew bigger and stronger. Her blond strekes looked even more fake than bifore. I cort her eyes trying to look in side my tummy again. I held the parsel in frunt of my tummy, as a baryer to her gaze. I dident want the baby fiyuling the look. I had to prertect her.
‘Sally-Anne,’ said the lady. ‘We carnt afford to have eny funny bisness, do you under stand?’ She looked at me quite fiersly, right into my eyes. ‘This baby menes a lot to me and ….my husbund. We need this baby. We have wated a long time for him.’
Stupid fool. She still thort the baby was a boy. I thort abowt her saying that a lot arfter werds. The way she said ‘me and….my husbund,’ made me think thay were not married. I was not even shure thay knew each uther that well. I jus got that suddern flash you some times get, yeh, where you know some one is lying.
‘So look arfter the littel chap for us, wont you?’ She smiold with a wurried frown.
There was a pawse. Then I had to say it. ‘Its not a boy,’ I said. ‘Its a gerl. She is a gerl.’ I opernd my hand and let the parsel drop. There was no tinkel of braking glars at least. It jus flumped to the floor. A dress, probly. A dress that woud not fit me. I walked of to the loos. I sang ‘Black berd singing in the ded ell night‘ softly to the baby. When I got back, the lady had gone. The parsel was on the tabel, unopernd. I unrapped it. It was not a dress. It was a large silk scarf, paterned with swirly shells. There was also a box of fansy chocolats. I put them back in the rapping and stuffed them in my bag. I woud give them to my muther. No sense wasting them.
On my way home that day I said ‘Narsty Lady,’ again and again, until it became NarstyLady, NarstyLady. I coudent skip and I coudent even hi five the beautifle new conker tree leaves because I felt so cross with NarstyLady.
All thrugh july I was in like a night mare. I knew I dident want eny one laying there hands on my baby but I knew I needid help with giving berth. If I tolled them I wantid to kepe her what woud happern? I had no idea. May be thay woud forse the baby owt and take her of me. I dident know who to trust. Fler had been the kindist, all weys had time to have a littel chat with me, but she had all redy had her babies at the end of June and had left the center with her wodgis of muny. I wundered if my friend Jess, or may be Liz, woud help me give berth. Some times when Liz plattid my hare she woud wisper in my ear: ‘Sally-Anne, you are a luvley persen.’ She was kind but a bit of a goody goody. I dident know if she woud brake rules for me and if I arsked her what I shoud do, she might run and tell Zoe because we are tort that we coud never give berth on are own. If she tolled Zoe then thay woudent let me owt juring those larst weeks of wating, and I woud never get awey.
‘Coud I may be take a trane some where where I coudent be fownd?’ I thort. I did go on a trane once with my dad when I was abowt five. We went to a wiold life park because it was my berth day. We saw kangaroos and a jirarf and some norty munkies wich threw things at us. But it was so long ago that I coudent member how we bort the tickits nor nuthing abowt how to do it or wich trane to get on. I dident think I coud do it on my own. I probly woud get of at the rong plase and end up some where dangerus and have the baby on a strange plat form or in the tickit offis.
So I kept my secret to my self. I felt very alown. I wantid to say some thing to some boddy, but there was no boddy. There was no use telling my mum who had not even clocked that I was pregnunt. She never notised eny thing because she was to bisy moning abowt her pane killers and sending me owt for her Tramadol, Oxycodone, Solpadine, Insulin and all those uther things she needed.
One day I was sitting on the settee drinking cold chocolat milk and I did arsk her, I said, ‘Mum, when I was born, what was it like? For you I mene?’
She dident even look at me. She jus said, ‘You popped owt, Sally-Anne, no bother. You jus slid owt. It dident even hurt much….but then again, Iyud had your sisters and your bruther by then.’
She wotched telly a bit more. Then she said, ‘If you ever have a baby, Sally-Anne, I woudent worry, it dusent even hert much.’
My tummy was getting bigger. The center previdid luvley flowery dressis in soft cottern. I chowse a brigt grene one and a pink one and a oringe one with pink flowers what no one else semed to want. I loved them. My big sisters, Elsie and Jo, came to visit, but they never stay for long. Thay are all weys disgustid by the state of the plase. They opern the rustid up windos, put a wash on for mum and make a mele for her, then they leve again for a fiew munths. Thay dident notise I was pregnunt eether. And thay dident say what a good job I am doing with Mum. Thay never do.
All thrugh Orgust, I was still wurrying abowt how to get the baby owt of me with owt giving her up. I kept thinking, ‘Soon, Sally-Anne, its soon. You have to come up with a plan, some sort of plan.’ I felt a mild panic inside, but how ever much I racked my brane, I couldent come up with eny thing. What shoud I do? How shoud I do it? I thort again abowt arsking my muther. But if I tolled her, she woud say that if I promised I woud give them the baby then thats what I must do. I think. Some times I jus wunder if she woud want to go owt and buy booties and baby gros. But you carnt buy booties and baby gros for a baby that will be taken awey from you.
Thay kept a very clowse eye on me at the center, more and more. I think thay coud see that I was geting more and more dremy. Its like I was in anuther werld. A werld that is cushuned from this werld. Evry thing was soft. The owt lines of things were fuzy. I felt a constunt warmth and joyus fiyuling in all my boddy and mind, exept when I was panicking abowt what to do.
One day in erly Septemba Zoe called me into her offis. She was waring a soft cash mere rap thing like a ponsho wich was like an olivey grene culour. She pulled it arownd her as it was geting slightly chilliyer. She had pulled her grey shete of hare back into a bun. She had also painted brown eye brows over her eye brows. It looked a bit weerd, I thort. ‘Sally-Anne,’ she said. ‘One of the ladies tells me you are talking abowt ‘your baby.’ You do member you have to give the baby up as soon as it is born?’
I looked down into my lap. ‘Yes,’ I said, trying to kepe my voice stedy. I realised it was time to be an actriss. I had to act like I dident want the baby. Very confusing acsholy seeing as how I did want the baby very very much.
‘Some boddy else said that you were signing to the baby all day,’ she said like acuzing me.
Dam, that must of been Ella herd me in the showers.
‘Well,’ I said, looking up at her, ‘even babies who are going to be givern awey….sold….need to be sugn to!’
I had said it more hotly than I ment to. That is what happerns with me. I carnt cuntrol how things come owt. She had narroed those grene eyes and tiltid her hed to the side as she rigardid me. ‘Jus be care full, Sally-Anne,’ she said softly. ‘Try not to get….moshunly in volved…with the baby. Do you under stand? It will only hert later.’
I wantid to tell her it was too late, it all redy hert. And I wantid to ask what moshunly ment. Is it jus abowt moving arownd? Evry time you walk arownd thats moshun, isent it? And the baby comes with me when I walk, obviusly, derr, so we must be moshunly in volved. But I jus shook my hed and said, ‘No, I wont,’ and stood up. She opernd the dor for me and wotched me go. But arfter that moment, I felt like evry nerse in the plase was following me, wotching me, kepeing tabs on me. I woud see them ticking boxis on there charts when I went to the toilet, when I ate up my food, when I went to drawing clars. It made me feel like I was choking.
The next time I bort donuts of Duncan, it was a clowdy but windy, warm day. We walked of to gether to buy chips and sit on the beach with them. The tide was owt. I looked arownd. No one was nere us. Jus some toddlers with there mum digging a hole in the sand wey over by the sea and beach umbrelas flaping in the wind and bits of randerm rubish blowing along the shore. ‘Duncan,’ I said. I stopped. I was scared to say it.
‘Yes, Sally-Anne,’ he said.
I said it anyway. ‘I dont want to give them the baby. I want to kepe the baby.’
Duncan frowned a bit and popped anuther chip in his mowth. ‘Well….have you tolled them?’ he arsked, wiping his hands on his jeans.
‘No. No, I carnt,’ I said. ‘Thay woudent be happy. I met the parents. Thay woud be angry with me.’
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Yes, thay probly woud.’
I cried. He pulled a napkin owt of his pockit and gave it to me.
‘Thayuv pade lots of muny for her, and thayuv gone to lots of ….well, thats not true, a bit of….hassel. But I carnt give her to them. I hate them.’
He hugged me and buried his fase in my neck. I held tight onto his mussly arms. He is so cumferting. I wotched a lady going parst with a littel kiddie. She was so sweet, running arownd picking up strands of sea weed, in pink spotty wellie boots and a pink denim jackit and a littel sun hat and tiny sun glarsis.
‘Are you shure you dont want to do it, like for the muny?’ he said.
‘Duncan, I am quite shure,’ I said. ‘I have never really seen the point of muny.’
‘OK,’ he said. He lit a fag and looked owt to sea. ‘So, what you gonna do?’ he arsked.
‘I dont know,’ I said. ‘I have to get the baby owt on my own.’
‘When is it jue?’ he arsked.
‘In like two weeks, like eny minit now.’
Duncan took my hand in his and kissed me on my cheke. ‘Dont worry, Sally-Anne, Iyull think of some thing.’
The next day I got there at five as he was finishing his shift. Big Steve took over from him, grumbling as ever. Duncan hung up his aprun and came and put his arm thrugh mine. ‘Where we going?’ he arsked.
‘To the end of the pier to see the seles?’ I said.
‘OK,’ he said. As we walked he carried on, ‘Sally-Anne, Iyuv had a good idear. My mates mum has a beach hut…could you have the baby in a beach hut?’
I thort abowt it. Beach huts are kind of nice. Woodern, paintid, with a kettel. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A beach hut. Why not? I can do that. At least, I think I can. I have never given berth bifore so I dont know what its like.’
‘I will get the key,’ he promised.
The next day, it was a munday and his day of, so we met at one therty and walked abowt harf a mile up the far beach, parst the car park and along the sandy lane thrugh the gorse bushis to the long row of brigtley painted huts. Duncan finerly stopped at a grene one. ‘This is it,’ he said.
I looked at it. ‘Yeh, itul do,’ I said. ‘But its getting cowlder. Dont babies have to be kept warm?’
‘You can cuddel her to kepe her warm,’ he said. ‘We can take lots of blankits.’
We endid up at Duncans flat again. Big Steve was still owt werking, so we did sex, then Duncan got up to get a beer. I lay on his bed signing ‘Oh dragen fly, with your wings so blue, where do you jerney your hole life thrugh?’
Duncan came back with the beer. ‘You know, Sally-Anne?’ he said.
‘Yes?’ I replied.
‘You really carnt sign! Not at all.’
I propped my self up on my elbow. I was truly suprised. ‘Can I not? Not like really? Dus it sownd terribel?’
‘Terribel,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ I said and snugeled into his showlder. ‘Never mind. I can darnse.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘you can darnse.’
‘And you can darnse to.’
‘Yes, I am brillyunt at darncing.’
We laughed because we know hes not really brillyunt, hes just quite good.
‘And LittelBaby loves my signing.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘LittelBaby Sprinkels loves you.’
We had reched Septemba. Sitting on the warm stownes on the beach, I stroked my huj tummy. The sun was making me slepey. Children were making sand carsels nere me, but when I shut my eyes there laughter sowndid far off. I herd the waves on the shore, rusling the pebbels quiertly, like the sea was stroking the land, like saying ‘dont worry, hush now, evry thing is good, you can slepe.’ I brethed in time with the waves. In owt, in owt… I dont know how long I sat there, but I was a ware that bihind my shut lids there were spots of black. One spot was larger than the uthers. It grew and then vanished, and anuther black spot grew in its plase. This carried on for a wiol. Arownd the black there was a bright grene culour, all most yello. This terned to a mauve culour. It was really pritty. I wundered why I had never discuvered this bifore. I wantid to stay there for ever with these pritty things pulsing in my hed. Then, owt of the blue, I herd a voice. It was sweet and piure. It was clere like a littel ringing bell. It said, ‘Show me… show me….. show me.’
I all most stopped brething. I all most opernd my eyes to see if eny one was there, but then I dident bother because I coud tell that this voice was coming from in side me. Only I coud here it. It was like really, majic. I had not really bileved in majic til then, but I bileved it now. I said in my mind, ‘Show you what?’ and the voice came again: ‘Show me the werld. Show me, show me.’ The voice was there and it wasent there. Its hard to explane. Its like the noise of the waves was like the ‘show’ bit of it, but the ‘me’ bit was coming from in my hed.
I was sitting there on the hard pebbels, dilighted with this darling voice. It was like mapel sirup what we have on pang cakes at the center, it was that sweet. I wantid to lisen and lisen. Bifore long thogh, I herd feet crunching on the pebbels and I opernd my eyes. Some teenagers were running along the shore to gether with a beautifle bownding collie. The spell was broken.
Arfter that, I made time evry day to go to the shore and lisen to the waves and hope to here the littel voice. Often it came. It maniged to say more complicatid things to me. The therd time, it said, ‘Let it be, we can be free.’
‘Free?’ I arsked it.
‘Yes, free, free as a berd.’
‘How?’ I arsked.
‘To gether,’ it said, ‘we can fly.’
I looked arownd this time, as the voice was so lowd. I coudent bileve that these things coud jus come owt of my hed. I realised it must be the baby talking to me. I woud never be abel to come up with such randerm things. I am a bit of a dum dum, I know it, pepol have tolled me so often. But this voice was so lilting, and so sensitiv. Its like it coud ditect things that my mind coud not. My mind often closis down for tricky problerms, like maths. But this voice was not scared. It was brave and exitid abowt the wunders of the werld and wantid to under stand them and werk them owt. I thort the baby must be really very clever to have fownd a way to talk to me. Or may be uther pepol who have babies in side them also have this happern? I dident know. I wantid to ask the uther pregnunt ladies but I was afrayd thay might laugh at me. They certunly never menshuned hereing eny thing there baby might be saying.
In fact, often thay said things that really suprised me, like ‘Carnt wate for the littel bugger to come owt, want to be done with it.’ I winsed when I herd things like that. Dident thay know there babies coud here and under stand evry thing?
I had stopped eating pop corn. I dident want it eny more. The littel voice tolled me to find frute. Frute and berries and jusis. Evry day I picked black berries from the bushis nere my howse or the brambels on the coast parth. I ate appels from the trees in are nayburs garden. And I wantid fish. I woud go to the chippie and jus arsk for the fish. One day, I was on the shore for awers, and the sownd of the waves terned into ‘Fish, fish, fish, fish,’ until I got up and all most ran down the shore, up the woodern steps and along the strete til I got to the fish shop. I went in and arsked for a big slab of hadderck. I went home and fried it in a pan, in some butter, and I ate it owt of the pan. ‘Whats that stink, Sally-Anne?’ moned my mum.
‘Its fish, Mum. Dyou want some?’
‘Nah, I dont like fish,’ she said.
‘Well, I dident think I did eether, but its not bad.’
I spent quite a lot of time at the center. Evry one had to so if you dident it looked saspichers. We had yoger clarses, and art clarses. I liked the yoger teacher. She had a very low, carm voice wich LittelBaby liked. She tolled us when to brethe in and when to brethe owt. Its kind of rilaxing to have some one else telling you when to brethe. You can hand over the rispons erbility and jus obay, in a carm way. One lessern, she said, ‘Sally-Anne, you are very good at yoger. Look at you, in that beautifle triangel pows.’ The uther ladies came owt of there pows and looked at me. I stayed in it, twisting my boddy up to the sky, and stretching my hand up, and looking up. I was happy. It is not often that eny one tells me I am good at some thing.
Ha, well now I am good at some thing. And even if it is only being a triangel, well, thats better than being…a blob..or a…oh, think Sally-Anne, what is it better than being? A twat. Yes, its better than being a twat or being a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
Mostly pepol tell me Iyum no good. Evry day of my life Iyuv had pepol tell me Iyum no good. And I bileved them. It was true arfter all. I dropped things, and tripped over things, and fergot things. But get this, the yoger teacher tolled me I was a creativ moover. I liked that. A creativ moover. I thort may be it was like being a darncer. I did all weys love wotching pepol darnce. And I loved doing my darnsing on the beach but Iyud never been to a ballay. I wished I coud go.
Arfter the class, I squeezed my tummy jently with my rists and arms, and wispered to the baby in my mind, ‘LittelBaby, I will take you to the ballay. I will take you to the theater. I will take you to see Billy Elliot, and Mary Poppins, and I will take you to see the museums in Lunden, the dinasors. I will even take you one day, if you help me get my pars port, to see that volcano plase what got buried under the larva, oh, whats it called? Not Rome, not Vennis, the uther one…. I will, I promise you I will.’
It was a Wensday in early octoba. I had my wekely helth check. Fler had come back to the center with a big bag of her late pregnuncy clothes for me. I had on some of her soft bluey dungarees. I ate my vitermins, then I iscaped arfter painting, saying I needid to have a walk. I hurried along in the ortum wind, hed down. Leves were running along the pavement with me. Thay were going the same way as me. It was weerd. It was as if thay were accumpanying me. The really funny thing was, if I stopped, thay stopped and like swuwled arownd me. I jus stood there, wotching them werling abowt. ‘Am I may be going mad?’ I arsked my self.
‘No, your not,’ said LittelBaby. ‘Your the only sane one. And you can cuntrol the leves, thats brillyunt. You are a cunducter.’
I loved that idea. Shes so clever. I walked with my hed held high, cunducting the leves with my hands. It was the best fun ever. LittelBaby giggerled with me. The sun kept braking thrugh the clowds and making parts of the grey sea shine brigt wite, all most too brigt to look at, and making the leves shiney because thay were wet. I bort mums donuts from Duncan and we had a snog bihind the van but he coudent stop werk til six as it was Steves day off.
I got an ice cream, with lots of sprinkels, and startid walking back to the center. A skinny chap in a track soot, with thin strands of wite hare blowin arownd his hed, was approching me at an angel from the sea. Oh no, not again. It was that same inter fereing nutter as bifore, the crazy stranger. He said to me, quiertly, in a bit of a funny voice, and again I coud hardly hear him what with the wind: ‘Your baby is Not Normel.’
I hiccupped pane fully on my ice creme. ‘What do you mene, Not Normel?’ I said, panik rising in my brest. Did he mene she woud be born with only one arm, or twelv fingers or some thing?
‘Shes very speshul,’ he wispered. He had teres streming down the rinkols in his fase from the wind. ‘Your baby has been made from the deeyenay of anshunt pepol who were not the same as us.’
What a fuckin nutter. I terned awey from him and startid walking the uther way. He was still there thogh, jogging along biside me. ‘Sally-Anne,’ he hissed, ‘you know that we are all homo sappiens….’
I shook my hed. ‘Leve me alown,’ I said sharpley.
He cupped his hands arownd his mowth to stop the werds getting swollowed by the wind. ‘Well, we are. Its a tipe of human. But meny yeres ago, thowsands of yeres ago, there was anuther tipe who were called homo neyander tharlis. Your baby is one of them. Shes a cone.’
I dident know what those long werds were. I dident know what deeyenay was, nor neyander thingy. I dident know what he ment by cone. I jus wantid him to shut up and go awey.
‘Look Mister,’ I said, practickly choking on a bit of ice cream what had gone down the rong way, ‘My baby is a baby, thats all. Shes not a neyander thingy or a…’ I waved my ice-cream cone at him, ‘…cone. I dont care abowt her being all those things you said, I dont see it makes eny diffrence….so, so jus leve me alown.’
‘It dus make a difference,’ he said. God, he was hard to shake off, CrazyStranger. I was getting mad with him. ‘You need to know this!’ he showtid, clutching my arm. ‘There is only one uther homo neyander tharlis baby in the werld, Sally-Anne. You have one of only two. A lot of pepol are very very intrestid in your baby and how her brane werks.’
‘Well, thay can bugger of, to,’ I said. ‘I dont bileve eny of it eny way. And I dont even know what neyander thingy menes. My baby is jus my baby,’ but even as I said it, I realised she wasant my baby, she was the centers baby. That made me cry. Stingey teres startid jetting owt of my eyes. ‘And shes a brillyunt baby.’
‘Yes, I think she probly is. Oh, plese lisen to me,’ he said, looking alarmed at my teres. I kept walking on, my eyes fermly to the frunt. He was a narsty con man. You do get a lot of them on the sea frunt trying to make a bob or two. He was still trotting along biside me.
‘You are a stranger!’ I showtid at him. ‘And I dont talk to strangers!’
‘Your baby is hyper speshul, Sally-Anne. Your baby is an anthoperlojical marvel. Plese….’ he reached owt to me with a card, ‘Plese take this, and call me if you ever need help.’
I rowled my eyes, took the card reluctuntly, stuffed it in my frunt dungaree pockit, and swung awey from him. He aloud me to go and I brethed a sigh. Thank god. What a loser.
Later I had a shower at the centre. I stood under the water, with my eyes shut and the water running over my hed. It was hot and dilishus. I sang, ‘intsy wintsy spider, climes up the water spowt, down comes the rane, and washed the spider owt.’ When I got to ‘Owt comes the sun shine and dried up all the rane,’ LittelBaby was nocking jently but rithmicly on my belly. I laughed and said, ‘you like that song best, dont you, LittelBaby?’ My bump suddernly went hard, really hard. I felt a strong pulling, down there. It made me garsp. When I came owt of the shower, I jumped, because Maria was there, putting high lites in her hare in the mirrer. She jus looked at me, her hed tipped to the side.
‘You know some thing?’ she said.
‘No, what?’ I said.
‘You like really, really carnt sign.’
I was glad it was Maria, because she dident care that I loved my baby. She woud never say. Eny of the uthers might have tolled on me, but Maria is yung and hates the unit and the nerses. She finds the hole job to anoying and woud rather be owt in joying her youth, drinking beer in the pubs. Wich is one thing we really are not aloud to do. Alcahol is banned. I dont care, because I never liked it eny way. I got dressed, and the strong pulling thing happerned a few more times. I dident know but I thort probly it was the baby coming.