'Too much, too young'

1980s - the next pregnancy was a lot more straightforward.

No rushed wedding; no inappropriate wedding reception song; no cyst the size of a grapefruit to be removed during the gestation period; just another baby born to a young woman of about 20. I can't remember the course of events very clearly as I was having quite a strange time myself back then. At 19 I'd left University as I was pining for the boyfriend back home and I couldn't hack it without him. I was very young. It didn't last. So I moved into a flatshare and started working and studying for my degree part-time. I was alright.

So my friend had another baby, another boy, Andrew. I can picture him now as a little boy looking like the 'milky-bar kid' with his blond hair and glasses. He really did look like that.

With the birth of a second child they got off the 14th floor and into a little council house round the corner. Two bedrooms, very near our old school. Other young couples in the same street. It was fine.

I can picture that house now. Full of noise, of children running about. Friendly children talking at me incessantly when I went round to see Elaine. Which I did, every couple of months or so. The husband would look after the kids and Elaine and I would go to our favourite Chinese restaurant for lemon chicken and white wine. The husband would give me a lift home. I never really knew what to say to him. I didn't really know him at all. He always use to say to me that he knew it was important for Elaine to have some time away from the kids, to go out with her friends. I was never sure why he said that to me.

She seemed happy enough. Until she wasn't.