Free Emma's Baby by Abbie Taylor Page A

funny.
    'I have to go,' he said, putting his glass on the counter. 'I've arranged to see someone in town. But it was nice meeting you. I'm sure we'll bump into each other again.'
    'Great,' Emma said politely. 'I'm sure we will.'
    'No vibe,' she said, deflated, to Joanne and Claire a couple of minutes later.
    'He only goes out with really attractive girls,' Claire said. 'Not that I don't think you're attractive,' she added quickly as Emma looked at her, 'but you know what I mean.'
    Emma did. Claire had been green with envy in case
Emma hit it off with Oliver and ended up going out with him. She'd always been like that, all through uni.
Putting people in their place, in case they got ideas above their station. Emma often wondered why they still hung out with her. But that was London for you.
It was so huge, and so hard to get to know new people, that even though you'd moved there to do precisely that, you ended up hanging out with all the old ones, just for security.
    'Oh well.' She shrugged, refusing to let Claire's snide remarks get to her. 'I gave him a chance, but I have my pride.'
    Back at Joanne and Emma's flat, two streets away, there was a message for Emma on the answering machine.
    'Hi, Emma. Mum here. I haven't heard from you for a few days, so just checking that you're well and hope to hear from you soon.'
    Emma jabbed the Erase button.
    'That's the third time this week,' she complained.
'It's only recently she's started doing this. Phoning me at all hours.'
    'Why d'you never ring her back, then?' Joanne called, clattering around in the kitchen.
    'Sunday is the day I ring. She knows that. Why's she calling the flat on a Friday night? Does she think
I have no life, phoning on a Friday?' Emma's voice rose. How tantrummy and hysterical she sounded.
There her mother went again. Turning her straight back into a nine-year-old.
    'My mum's a nag too,' Joanne said. 'It's being on their own does it.'
    Emma fiddled with the switch on the answering machine. She hadn't meant to imply that her mother was a nag. And then she was frustrated. What was there to feel guilty about? She owed her mother nothing. Nothing at all.
    'Your mum does care about you, love,' her gran had assured the five-year-old Emma whenever her mother snapped at her. And the eight-year-old, when her mum forgot to collect her from school. And the eleven-year-old, when Emma was spending most evenings and weekends at her gran's because her mother was too tired to look after her. 'She's just worn out because of her work. It's so there'll be money in the bank for you for university.' But really, her gran didn't see what the big deal was about Emma going to university. Emma didn't either, at the time. But she loved her gran, and the arrangement of spending so much time with her suited them both. Who needed her cold, distant mother?
    She marched through to the kitchen to explain it properly to Joanne.
    'I would ring her more,' she said, 'but once, when
I was four years old, I tried to climb on her knee and she pushed me off so hard I fell and smashed my face on the fireplace. Look.' She pulled her hair to one side and tilted her head, jutting her chin at Joanne. 'You can still see the scar. What kind of mother does that to a child?'
    'Keep your hair on. I was only saying.' Joanne had seen the
    scar before. She had lost interest and was reading a fashion magazine, winding
    her long, blonde hair around the top of her head.
     
    Emma saw Oliver a few times after that, usually in a Friday-night group with Barry and the City boys.
The Grape was the magnet for most of the twenty-somethings in their area. It had high ceilings, a dark wood floor, plenty of tables. The pub grub was cheap and tasty: steak and ale pie, chicken curry, sausages and mash. No snooker tables, which pleased the women. The blokes liked it because there was a large selection of real ales. Emma didn't try to approach
Oliver again, but secretly she was still fascinated by him. The way he rarely spoke to