The End is Where We Begin

work as a team to help you. But we don’t even know how much time the baby will be spending here, Jamie. We have no idea how all this is going to work yet.”
“I know that!” I snapped. “We don’t know anything, that’s the whole point. The whole situation is just…” A nightmare, I wanted to say, but how could I say that about my own baby?
Several months after the initial blow, it seemed like everyone was expecting me to man up to the situation, come to terms with the position I’d put myself in. You made your bed! my mum had snapped at me during of one of many stress-fuelled arguments. She’d even started buying “bits and pieces” for when the baby arrived. But I couldn’t come to terms with any of it.
I still awoke each morning believing I was back in my old life. As I opened my eyes, I spied books scattered around my bedroom, my bag, a calculator, pens… But then, as my brain stretched and yawned, it started to dawn on me that everything looked different. Instead of seeing one of the smart suits my parents had bought me for sixth form hanging on the back of the door, hooded tops and jeans were scattered around the room. In place of my leather satchel emblazoned with the crest of St John’s, a rucksack slumped beside my desk. And then every morning the realisation hit me, making my stomach lurch. St John’s had suggested, not too politely, that I might be better off continuing my A levels elsewhere, given my current situation. If, indeed, continuing my A levels would even be possible.
“And after we lifted your suspension and allowed you back to school,” the headmaster had tutted with a despairing shake of his head, “what a waste of a second chance.”
Fast-forward a few weeks and at least the local community college didn’t care for smart suits, crests and stuck-up attitudes. They didn’t even care if I turned up or not.
“Jamie, I know everything’s hard right now,” said my mum, reaching out to touch my hand.
I pulled it away.
“I just can’t believe you’re doing this. To Dad. To…” I was about to say “to Laura”, but would she even be bothered? She’d moved in with Steve, her dopey new boyfriend, and only ever called in for food, washing or money. I wanted to say “to me”, but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to need her anymore. If you’re about to become a dad yourself, is it okay to still need your mum? I had a feeling that I was expected to be all grown-up now. And yet my parents still paid for everything, my mum cooked my meals, my dad drove me into the college where he worked…
My dad. My heart ached when I thought about what he must be going through. How could my mum be leaving him? Hadn’t he always been there for her? Hadn’t he supported every decision she’d ever made? All the hours she’d spent buried in her thesis, the conferences, the meetings, and then, later, her long working hours at the university. Or had she been with him all that time? It made my stomach turn to think about it. And the way my dad had been ever since the pregnancy announcement – unflappable, stoical, quietly supportive. My mum always said he must have the patience of a saint in order to spend so many years teaching maths to young people who had failed their GCSE first time round and were highly likely to do so again. She’d always urged him to move on, to get into management or higher education like her, but he was committed to his job, as challenging as it could be.
Still, as much as I appreciated my dad’s patience and understanding, those qualities weren’t going to help me handle a baby. My mum was the one who knew what she was doing when it came to these things. She was the one I needed.
“Your dad understands that I haven’t been happy in a long time,” she said. “He understands that I need to go. I’m grateful to him for all the years we’ve been together—”
“Grateful?”
“Yes, grateful,” she repeated, tersely, “for being a good father, a good husband. But I’m not just a wife and mother, Jamie, I’m a person, a human being. I have my own needs and desires and ambitions, and I’ve been supressing those for a long time.”
I stared at the tabletop, following the familiar patterns in the wood grain with my finger. I didn’t want to hear about my mum’s desires. Why was she suddenly talking to me about such things? Because now it was evident that we had both had sex she thought we could be open about such things? I’d done it once, just once, and it felt like the biggest mistake of my life. Because, unlike her, I didn’t get to walk away. And mixed with the anger and the hurt came a surge of jealousy.
“You said I needed to own up to my responsibility,” I said, bitterly, “but you… you’re just walking away from yours.”
“I’ve done my time!” she snapped, colour rising in her cheeks.
“God, you make it sound like a prison sentence!” I retorted. “I’m sorry we’ve been such a burden!”
“You haven’t! I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that I’ve been here for as long as I can be. You and Laura are both grown up now.”
“So now I’m a grown-up?” I asked angrily. “Because four months ago when I told you about the pregnancy, I was a child. That’s what you said, wasn’t it? That I was just a child and how could I possibly have a baby? But now that it suits you, I’m suddenly a grown-up, and so it’s okay for you to just leave?”
“If you really want to know, I’d been planning to leave when you turned sixteen all along! It was only the fact that you stupidly got yourself