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### The World According to Shardonnay

### By Hester Tingey

### Copyright 2011 Hester Tingey Smashwords Edition

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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### Chapter 1. Little Swimmy Spermy Things.

I dunno. It's typical bloke really. He just never had a clue the poor man. I would leave him spreadeagled on the bed, run up the corridor gaggin, spit into a jam-jar and trot over the road to Pat's. She handed over the hundred quid without a word. No probs.

Twice a day, at least, I were doin this. For about ten years. No, thinkin about it, it were more like thirteen. Or even fifteen, now I come to think of it! Don't the years go fast? That is one hell of a lot of little swimmy spermy things floatin about in the world. What a waste it would have been to have flushed all them down the sink though, or swallowed em, ahh poor little things. No, they deserved a chance at life, I thought to meself. And I were givin them that, Oh yes.

Runnin round Pat's, often in me dressin gown, I would curve me body around the jar. I felt like quite protective over the little things. So fresh. So new. So healthy and with all that potential for....well...for becomin little human beings, I guess. Oh, yeah, it weren't that I didn't know what I were doin. I knew exactly what I were doin. But I'd made the decision not to worry about anythin what would result from it. Kinda brave, I know. I am one brave lady. And I needed the money. My mum always says to me, she says 'Shardonnay, if you need the money, love, you need the money. Whatcha gonna do?'

Pat had ladies waitin, feet in stirrups. She'd put Matt's lovely fresh creamy bollock juice into a syringe and squirt it up em. The ladies would lie with their bums up on cushions for twenty minutes or so to make sure them sperm had the best old chance of gettin to whatever eggs might be comin down the tubes.

Pat got all her ladies to write down what sort of baby they was after. She showed me the slips of paper once. So funny some of them, honestly. Made you wanna die laughin. 'I want a blond clever boy baby. I want him to be good at maths and top of the class in science.' Like, that kinda stuff you can order? Surely, I may be wrong, but isn't it like how many hours the poor kid's gonna spend at his desk swottin what will give him that? Not just the one teeny tiny swimmy thing what starts him off.

One day I asked her, 'Do you ever think you might get found out, Pat? Cos, I mean, it can't be....like legal, all this, can it?'

She looked at me and laughed. 'It ain't legal, Shardie, you are completely right there. But I just don't think about it,' she said. 'I decided not to bother with all that a long time ago. I might be run over by a bus tomorrow. So who cares? And so far I only have satisfied customers.'

Well, that weren't quite true. She has been known to get her colours mixed up. One Indian lady pacifically asked for a darker baby, she only got one pale as the dawn. And another lady gave birth to rich dark brown twins what she were not expectin one bit!

### Chapter 2. The 'Fertility Clinic', Lol.

Sometimes when I would deliver the morning lot, Pat would invite me in for a coffee. I'd just sit there and help her label the jam-jars. A typical mornin would sound a bit like this:

'Tass, can you get Mrs F a towel and cushion, please? Delivery just come through from over the road. Ready to shoot.' Pat sighed and put the kettle on. 'Honestly, it's all go around here. The morning shift is mental.'

Tass reached up to the shelf for towels and a cover for the cushion. 'Come on, Mrs F. Let's get those yoga pants off of you, and get you ready for this jolly old conception. Third time lucky, eh, fingers crossed?'

'Ooh, I do hope so, dear. I've been wanting a baby for years. Just never realised I could get top-ranking sperm on my doorstep.'

'Until you bumped into Lisa in the Rosey Lea, right?' Tass positioned her syringe. 'Been taking your folic acid? Been drinking your Synergy drink?'

'Yeah, god, it's horrible, tastes like sludge. Ooh!' Mrs F grimaced slightly as the syringe went in.

Tass counted to ten under her breath. 'It's so good though. Boosts fertility by hundreds of percent.' She slowly pulled the syringe out from between Mrs F's legs.

'Does the sperm donor know who gets his sperm?' asked Mrs F, curious.

'Erm....don't know, you'd best ask Pat,' said Tass. 'Now, don't move, keep your butt on the cushions, let gravity help.' She smiled. 'Think Baby!' She pulled the soft blue curtain round the padded bench where Mrs F lay, and left her lyin there.

Pat hung some towels over the radiator. She took some jars out of a steriliser. The doorbell rang. Another delivery. She brought it in, looked at the small creamy offering at the bottom of the jam-jar and sighed, like disappointed, cos it were such a pathetic offering. She does make me laugh. She selected a small syringe, siphoned it up, and put it ready on a plate.

Tass washed her hands, dried them and came to pick up the syringe. 'Who's next?'

'Mrs P.....she's in the other room, cubicle 3.' Pat whispered: 'For god's sake don't mix her up with the one in cubicle 4 cos she has specifically requested dark hair.'

'Pat?' asked Mrs F. 'Do the sperm donors know who gets their sperm?'

'Mmm, sometimes...it depends,' replied Pat, a little bit shifty I thought, and busied herself with the plug to the steriliser and washing out jars. Truth was, she were probably thinking to herself, most of the donors don't even know they are donors! Tee hee, their wives and girlfriends just give em blow-jobs, spit into jars and sell that pricey juice without the bloke havin to know a thing.

'So let me get this straight,' said Mrs F. 'You're saying some of the donors could be dads several times over, and not even know it?'

'You don't even know the half of it,' I thought to meself. 'Some of them blokes probably have three hundred children they don't know about.' I giggled into me coffee at the thought. So funny, it does make me laugh.

### Chapter 3. Surfin the Profits.

Me and Shelley and Debs all donated to Pat's sperm factory every day, at least once. This meant we earnt quite a lot of money. Like three hundred quid a day! We would meet early after the morning donation, go into Baroosh for a coffee, drive to Harlow, go shopping in Matalan or TKMax or Primark, come back and try on all our new clothes, go out for cocktails around five and be back in time for another donation around seven. This way, our blokes was all satisfied and never gave no trouble.

Hmm, those were the days! Spunky times! Loved it. Don't regret any of it for a second. Shelley once said, 'Don't you ever think it might all come back at us?'

I were like, 'No. Any kids what get made can't prove it were us.'

'They got that DNA testin though, now?'

'Hm,' I said, 'Yeah, but you have to like get the DNA of the dad, doncha? I don't see no kids coming round asking for a sample of Matt's hair, do you?' I cackled me big cackle. 'Anyway, the tosser pissed me off with keeping that bitch ex of his on his phone. He deserves a bit of hassle in his life, the bastard.'

'But do you ever think he might find out?'

'Nah! Anyway, don't care if he does, the tosser. She were such a flat-chested freak, his wife. It weren't like I never warned him! I says to him, I says, 'Matt, if you keep her on your phone, I'm not gonna be happy.' And blow me if I don't find he'd been textin her and all.'

Anyway, us three girls saved up six grand over the first six months and went and booked boob jobs at the Rivers. I chose to have an E cup. Gorgeous they are. Lush. And it means it's even easier to get Matt to cough up the goods every morning and evening. Ha ha.

### Chapter 4. A Lady What Lunches.

So then Pat says to me she says, 'I need more, Shardonnay. A lot of my clients are askin for tall blond clever kids.'

'Well, yeah, course they are,' I agreed. 'But I am a lady wot lunches, me! Can I be bovvered to come back in the middle of the day to do another blinkin blow-job?'

'Shardonnay,' she says, all serious, 'I'll give you two hundred for the lunch-time one.'

'Pat!' I says. 'He already thinks I'm a nympho!'

'The posh mums are after it,' she goes.

'Hunh, course they are,' I says to meself. Everyone knew Matt's spunk made the best babies. 'Oh, all right,' I says.

Bit of a bind to tell you the truth. I'd prefer to be ordering me battered fish or onion rings down the Star or the Crown and they do a lovely roast in the Boar's Head. But bless him, Matt would deliver every time. Nice and fresh, creamy custard. Bit of alright. And I got time to grab a quick lunch in the caff around two.

Thing is, Matt's magnificent seed had started to get a bit of a reputation around town. It all began with one of Pat's clients having twins. OMG though, gorjuss or what? They was cherubic, chubby, chuckly. Everyone adored em. It were obvious soon as I saw em that they was Matt's. The upper lip gave it away. Matt's lip is kinda, well, muscly, twitchy almost, but in a good way. And their hair.... so blond it were blinding. After that, everyone looked at me in a different way, like with awe. It's like, I had the power, or something? I didn't mind that, I'm proud of me man. And I deserve him too, I am one classy bird.

So I really started churning it out to keep up with demand. I were earning five hundred a day by this time. I got meself a new car, a soft-top jag, lovely metallic blue. I even had a personalised numberplate. SSS77. Shardonnay Simone Stern. And seven is my favourite number like David Beckham, so I got it twice. When Matt asked how I suddenly had so much money, I just said I'd had it all along sittin in a forgotten old Lloyds bank account.

Then things got even more intense. Cos that lovely tall lady what looks like Phoebe out of Friends, she only went and had triplets, didn't she? Lush. You'd see gaggles of women in the street staring open-mouthed at them babies. Their eyes was so blue, so blue, I can't explain. Almost like there were a flash of purple in them. And they looked wise, like they was thinking about the universe and why we're here and all that fancy stuff! Bless em, so that caused a bit of a flurry round the town.

Oh, it did make me laugh! Honest to God, every day I had meself a good old chuckle about all them babies and how Matt never had an effing clue. What a hoot. And whenever anyone said that word: consequences, to me, I just laughed in their face. Partly because I din't know what the bloody word meant. But I got the idea it were to do with the future and it were NOT GOOD.

'Look, who bloody cares?' I would say to them. 'YOLO,' I would say. This means 'You Only Live Once.' And my life is so much better now I can buy lovely quality clothes, take Debs and Shelley out for Mojitos every day, order champagne on the internet. I got meself Netflix, I got an i-phone, I got me fancy car. God knows, I din't want no kids meself. Too much bloody work, if you ask me. I were also thinking about a hot tub. I got the brochures, I were just ditherin between a Norwegian pine sort of look or a more sleek modern look.

And who would have thought it? You know, me? Little me, who never had nothin. Now I could have anything I wanted. And all for a teensy bit of man-milk each day, which, I hasten to add, he were giving to me voluntarily. Did he ever complain? Nah, he did not. So there you have your answer. Were I gonna feel bad? Not one bit of it. No sirree.

### Chapter 5. Superior Love Bullets.

It must be said me man is a bit of a looker. Oh yes. Even if you couldn't tell yourself, you'd soon notice cos when you're walkin along with him in town all the ladies' heads turn. Don't they just? And at a party if he's chattin away to a couple of girls, oh, yes, they'll be gigglin away, and givin him the eye. He's just like...magnetic? You can't help but look at him. Basically what I'm tryin to say is, he is eye-candy, big time. Ticks all the boxes: symmetrical features, tick, startling blue eyes, tick, faintly stubbled manly jaw, tick, even teeth, tick, fuckin heart-stoppin smile, big tick, oh yeah.

He's so clever, he is, he's like litrally on another planet most of the time, thinkin about maths and that. He loves his work, loves writin lectures for all the students, loves doin his research at the university. But most of all he loves me. When he first met me I were only seventeen and he were twenty three. He told me I were the most beautiful thing he ever saw in his life. He couldn't keep his hands off of me! He were forever nuzzlin me boobs, strokin me hair. He tells me he were only half a man until he met me. Aaah! I put the light into his life, he says. In more ways than one, I think. I know how to look after a man. He leads one well cushy life. Oh, yeah, I give 110 percent to the job. He is one lucky guy.

I make everything nice for him. I take his suits to the cleaners, I iron his clothes and put them away all nice. I personally am one of them people what like everything to be just so, clean and tidy. If you were to see our house, you would see for yourself: it is lovely, every detail. There's always big lilies in all the vases, I polish the floors, I dust all the frames, I shine the mirrors, I make sure the window-cleaners have been round. We got a lovely big lounge with a massive settee and a big real fire what you can turn on with a switch. Our TV screen fills practically the whole of one wall. Big French windows lead onto a massive deck, a moss-free lawn, a pond with a fountain, me gnomes and me lion statues.

Our bedroom has the most largest en-suite you ever saw. It's all colour-cordinated in mauves, greys and purples with them massive shiny black tiles round the walls. Me man has his own walk-in wardrobe with his suits all hanging there, pressed, his shoes all laid out nice, all polished and waiting for him. T-shirts and underwear are all sorted and neatly stacked.

All these little touches really do make a difference to a man's life. I even fill up his car for him. I take the car for its MOT. I open his mail, take his cheques to the bank, massage his neck when he's tired, run him a nice bubble bath, warm his dressin gown for him on the radiator. Really, what I'm tryin to say is, he is one lucky man. And you know, he should maybe have appreciated that a little bit more, you know what I'm sayin?

So anyway, nuff said, it's all good, but it soon became obvious that most of Pat's clients was pacifically requestin the superior love bullets of my drop-dead gorjuss fella. The word had got around as I'd been Pat's regular supplier for years, since a coupla months after I met him. It didn't help that them two kids conceived like five years before had turned out to be ruddy geniuses. The little girl were the pride of the pre-prep. She'd gone and won a drama prize, the maths cup, the science award, and she were only five. She even wrote a little article what got printed in the paper. And the boy, conceived by a different mum, were the fastest runner in the infant school, had his picture in the paper every week with his football team, came top of the class in every subject. They was legendary! Famous.

And them triplets what I were telling you about. OMG. One of them only said his first word at four months! 'Tractor,' he said, and that is a difficult word for a baby. The others wasn't far behind neither. 'MY dolly,' I heard the baby girl saying when she were five months old. Thing is, you know, people want clever kids. It ain't gonna be no effort for them little chaps to get their GCSEs is it? Piece a piss. They'll probably go to uni and that, like no sweat. One of em'll probably be the Prime Minister for all I know.

Anyway what I'm saying is, I done a service to the world, by bringing them into it. To be totally honest with ya, sometimes I do like feel a teensy twinge of like, what is it? Guilt, maybe? But I push it away so quick I hardly feel it. No, the real crux of the matter is: Matt should never of pissed me off and then I never woulda done all this. Not being funny but it's a bit of a no-brainer, that. Anyone in their right mind could see he'd brung it on hisself.

### Chapter 6. A Knock at the Door.

So I opened up the door one day to a tall, rather hunky teenager wrapped up in a big woolly snood. Ooh, bit of a looker, bit of alright, I ain't gonna lie. Longish blond kinda windswept hair. Musta been about fourteen.

'What is it?' I said.

'Erm...does Matthew Stern live here?' he asked, just like that, the cheeky bugger. Oh, Jesus! Just like that I understood who he were. He had the lip, he had the eyes, he had the flash a purple. It all stood out a mile.

'No, he don't,' I snapped and slammed the door in his pretty face.

A couple of weeks later I opened up to a couple of gorgeous girls. Little snub noses, rosy cheeks. They was wearing matching furry Russian hats. Their hair were like silver straw.

'Excuse me,' one of em stammered. 'We're just wondering....we just heard....maybe...does our dad live here?'

'Not on your life, Nellie,' I rasped, prising their fingers off of the door-jamb.

I leant on the wall once they'd gone, breathing heavy like. My heart had gone all of a flutter. I felt like I were gonna pass out. Little upstarts. How dare they? Come round here tryina get me stuff off of me no doubt. Hunh. Little bastards.

### Chapter 7. So Not an Easy Job.

One day Shelley an me we was in Baroosh and she comes out with, 'You is getting a fair amount of money, Shardie, for not very much work.'

'Oh, like, SOO not true!' I shot straight back. 'Oh, my god, I can't believe you just said that!' Ooh, me indignation got me chokin on me pain au chocolate. Course what you gotta remember is, Shelley's bloke can only get it up once a day, so maybe she were a touch jealous of all the cash what I were getting. 'It's a lot of work, Shelley! And it's awkward, as you well know. Nicking sperm day in day out, without the person finding out? Skill required! People say blokes never want to indulge in conversation after having an orgasm? That's like sooo not true! Matt's always trying to get me to talk or lie there and cuddle. How long can you cuddle with a gob-load of spunk? You try it, it ain't easy.'

I stopped talking for a long slurp on me latte. But I got more to say, this here is me pet subject! 'And then I keep worrying like the little darlins are gonna die if they don't get their chance to be shot up someone quick!' I can't help it, I let loose a big cackle at this. I am just so funny, I can't stop laughin at me own jokes. And honest, I ain't being funny or nothin, but that sperm is well fizzy in yer gob. You can like feel it being alive, and eager to get crackin in its little race!

But it weren't easy. Often Matt would grab me as I were headin off. 'Oy, come back here,' he said, his voice husky and warm. 'Don't go rushing off.'

With a big valuable mouthful of sperm whatcha gonna say? Whatcha gonna do? I would make a cooing little moany sound and nuzzle his neck. Then, very carefully, I went off and flushed the loo so he would think I had had to go. Then I rushed downstairs to spit into me jam-jar.

Another time he sighed, out of the blue, as he'd just shot his load: 'You know, Shardie my darling? I know you're quite a lot younger than me but....do you think we might be ready to start having children?'

'Mmm, mmm?' I said, wiggling my eyebrows. I rushed off to spit, charged over the road and came back to nip that little idea in the bud! Thing is, no way were I going to get into that trap. Long boozy lunches'd be out of the question with kids. I've seen em the mums with babies and toddlers. They can't have a proper chat with their mates. They're always hunched over in the caff, feeding em, fussing over em. Them babies always start to cry. And OMG all mums with kids, don't they just let themselves go? They forget to make up, they forget to dress! It's like the kid sucks all of the life out of em! No way, Jose, that's what I say.

For sure though, I were too bloody smart to tell him that. 'Sure, my love, let's think about it,' I soothed. 'I'll come off the pill in a few months, eh?'

He went all soppy at the thought. Ugh, doncha just hate it when a man gets soppy. 'What will we call our little baby?' he simpered.

I rolled my eyes (to myself of course.) 'Oi, give us a bloody chance, mate! Don't go puttin the cart before the orse!'

### Chapter 8. The Horde Come Knockin.

So one day, just before Christmas, I were halfway through painting a 'statement wall' in my bedroom a pale mauvey violet, when the doorbell went. Cursin and swearin, I got down off of me ladder, went downstairs and opened the door. OMG if it weren't a whole horde of the little buggers, a dozen or so of em, all ages like from about six to fifteen. The lip, the purple flash, the white hair, I'm tellin ya, this lot had it all. I stared at them like I'd seen a ghost. So odd to see, like all developed in the flesh, that tiny thing what you just held in your mouth for one brief minute.

'Jesus Christ! Where did you come from?' I muttered.

The tallest boy, the one I knew already, with creamy skin and the bluest most startlin eyes you ever saw in yer life, holding the hand of a little girl in a furry hood, stumbled over his words: 'Um, please, could you tell us...maybe...does our father live here?'

'No,' I hissed. 'I told you before. You probably ain't got no father.' ('Little bastards,' I thought to meself.) 'And me husband ain't got no kids! Can't you just get that in yer thick head?'

I felt a hand round my waist. 'Darling?' said Matt. 'Who are all these people?' He surveyed the throng and turned back to me. 'Are they carol singers?'

OMG I nearly wet myself trying not to laugh. 'Yeah, yeah, they are,' I said firmly. I turned to the kids. 'Go on then, sing!'

The horde's mouths dropped open as they feasted their eyes upon me husband.

'Yes, go on,' he encouraged them. 'I'm sure it'll be lovely.'

This seemed to spark them into life. They drew closer to each other, clutchin one another by the hand.

'Whatever you say,' said the tallest one, looking straight into Matt's eyes. The kids exchanged glances, and started to sing: 'Lead us, Heavenly Father, lead us...'

Bloody Hell. I felt my face goin red. I were gonna laugh out loud. I managed to keep it in. My husband, do you know what? He din't even get it! He listened, kind of entranced, cos, I ain't gonna lie, their singing weren't bad. I'd even go so far as to say, it were nice. At the end of the song, Matt reached into his pocket and pulled out a fiver. 'What are you raising money for?' he asked the boy.

The lad looked dazed. He stared around him wildly. His eyes alit on that little girl what were holding his hand. 'Orphans,' he burst out with. 'Yes, little orphans.'

The little girl smiled up at him. God, she were a bit of a looker apart from the fact she din't seem to have no eyelashes. Same cheekbones, but a reddish tinge to the hair pokin out of her hood.

'Oh, OK,' said Matt, absently. 'Thanks very much.' He looked at them, puzzled, because they was all just standing there staring at him like they'd been brained or somethin. 'Run along,' he said briskly, 'and keep singing' he added. 'You never know, you could turn professional if you worked at it.'

They was still all staring at him with a deep longing, like they was all on the point of saying somethin, but didn't quite know what to say. They was hangin on his every word, that's for sure.

'Yes, well, just....never give up! That's my advice to you!' said Matt cheerily. 'That was lovely, thank you,' and he shut the door.

We went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. 'They were a bit odd, weren't they?' Matt mused.

'Nah, looked pretty normal to me.' I said. 'Now, I been thinkin about painting the units in here a sort of pale green......'

'Shardie! They were! They were very weird. So blond. So pale. So intense! Didn't you think?'

'Nah,' I replied. 'They're just after making theirselves a bit of money. Don't worry about them.' I massaged his neck as he sat there at the table. 'Come on, let's watch somethin on Netflix.'

I din't know what to do about them kids. I were frankly at a loss. What could I do? Sometimes me mum says, 'Shardie, sometimes there ain't nothin you can do. If there ain't nothin you can do, there ain't nothin you can do.' She's right. Sometimes there just ain't no way out. I realised it were only a matter of time until one of them kids got brave enough to tell me husband face-to-face that he were their father. But...how on earth did the little buggers find out? Had they felt it in their bones? Surely their mothers wouldn't of told em.

Truth were, from my point of view, the best thing would be just to wipe them kids off of the face of the Earth. I thought about maybe asking em in the next time for a big jug of poisoned cocoa. Loool. Just thinkin about it makes me die laughin! It's not as good an idea as it sounds though, as someone would probably trace it back to me and I don't wanna end up in jail, I got things to do, places to go....

I thought maybe the best thing were to move. Move away somewhere where they couldn't track us down. I started lookin at properties in Scotland, Wales, as far away as I could get, like Wick. Matt thought it very strange, but I just told him I had a strange hankerin to live in the country.

But you know, I suddenly remembered that I had decided I weren't gonna be bothered with, what was it again, oh yeah, 'consequences', so.....I just weren't. I just din't think about it. I blanked the whole bloody thing from me mind. Whenever I started thinkin, like 'OMG what is going to happen here?' I just made myself stop it and thought about happy things instead, like what colour statement wall I wanted in the bathroom and what lovely ponyskin wedges I wanted to buy next time I went London and the like. And when I did think of it in the middle of the night, I thought to meself, 'At the end of the day, Shardie, it's one big planet what we're livin on. All them kids and me, we can learn to share. It don't have to be a matter of me or them, them or me. We can co-exist like them native Americans had to when them explorers turned up.' Pocahontas didn't go shootin that John chap with her arrows when he turned up, now did she? No, she snogged him instead! Well, that's one way of dealin with intruders!

And I weren't so fast to open that door neither. I'd learnt me lesson. Several times in January the horde or some of em came back and knocked. I din't answer. I just breathed real quiet, tiptoed to the peep-hole and peered out at them. Ugh, horrible creatures. It were a bit spooky really how much alike they was one to the other. Them fuckin cheekbones. Honest to God, sharp enough to cut.

### Chapter 9. Shoulda Looked It Up In The Directory.

Yeah, so the 'just not thinkin about it' weren't working that well. I started to wake up in the middle of the night worryin about the horde coming round and gettin me husband off of me. Or askin for loads of money, or like fightin over the house, like it were theirs or something.

I went round Pat's with a fresh loada man-milk and asked if I could go in for coffee. 'Course, love,' she said.

'Pat?' I said. 'How many babies do you think have been made out of Matt's sperm?'

She looked at me and dragged a hand through her grey frizz. 'Oh, not that many,' she said.

'I think...they're like.... comin to get me?' I said. 'If that makes sense?'

'No, no, that can't be true,' she reassured me. 'They wouldn't know where you live.'

But later, when she'd gone into the other room to check on a lady, Tass whispered, 'Hey, Shardie.'

'Yeah?'

'Pat told me the other day she reckons your Matt's got like three hundred and fifty kids.'

'What?'

'Three hundred and fifty, she said. She's been keeping a tally.'

'Bloody Hell!' I shrieked.

'Sshh,' Tass whispered, 'She'll not be wanting you to know that! Shush!'

'But what am I going to do? Three hundred and fifty of the little bastards? And all wantin a bleedin Father no doubt.'

'Well, did you never think of that before? Did you not think of the consequences of all this sperm donation?'

I stared at her with my jaw like litrally hitting the floor. OMG, so that's what consequences meant! Truth of it were, whenever anyone asked me about them 'consequence' thingies, I'd never liked to say I didn't really get what the word meant. I shoulda taken the time to look it up in the directory shouldn't I?

'I....I just decided not to think about it really. I kinda thought they wouldn't know. How did them little buggers find out who their father were? Who told em? That were never part of the deal?'

'It's not that. No one breathed a word. But unfortunately in your case, it's the visuals, innit? Those kiddies are just the spittin image of him aren't they? Something about the lip....the eyes, the hair....'

'Yeah,' I sighed. 'Don't I know it.'

'And truth of it is,' she whispered, 'Pat's 'clinic' here does mainly serve quite a local population. We've never had to go far to find clients. The demand is just....phenomenal, really.'

'Oh, well, damage is done now, I spose,' I sighed. I'll just have to learn to live with the...you know.....bloody consequence thingies.'

I went and booked meself a spray tan so's I wouldn't think about it no more. Cos at the end of the day, I personally think that if it's doin yer head in, that's not helpin anyone is it? No one is bein helped by me havin me head done in, is what I'm saying. So might as well get on and get out, meet Shelley in Nando's, see what bargains is to be had in Asda, have meself a posh sandwich in Subway, maybe even see what's on at the Square in Harlow. Me and Debs coupla times even went to a silent disco! You wear headphones and dance to whatever you like. I'm tellin ya, it's a scream! It's like LMFAO, that means laugh your fuckin arse off, you should give it a go.

### Chapter 10. Sebastian.

So I went out for cocktails at Baroosh Friday around five thirty. Met up with Debs and Shelley. We did have a larf. The lads behind the bar was giving us extra big measures. I drank three Mojitos and two Screwdrivers and one Pleasant Fucker. Came over all wobbly on the way out. Fell over on the pavement! What am I like?! Had a right giggle with a chap who helped me up. Debs drove me home.

I could hardly get the key in the lock I were that pissed. Seeing double and that. I threw me bag on the chair and staggered into the lounge. Oh, God. That hunky lad were back, with just one girl this time, and they was only sittin on the settee talkin to me husband.

Matt stared at me. His eyes looked afraid. Something had changed in him.

'Shardie,' he started. 'I have to be brave and come out with it, darling. This...young man.....Sebastian....is claiming somehow that....' he hesitated, 'I am his father.'

The girl looked embarrassed. She looked down. Sebastian took her hand.

I rolled my eyes. 'Well, yeah, he would do!' I said. 'Everyone wants a bit of all this. Shnormal.' I gestured around the lounge at the shag pile and our enormous wide-screen TV what is as big as the whole wall. (I know! Half price, since you're askin, from The Range in Harlow.)

'Shardie?' questioned Matt, narrowin his eyes. 'Did you know about this?'

'What? Shuddup!' I said. 'You shouldn't of kept on texting Miss Prissy Pants now should ya?'

He came right up to me and whispered fiercely: 'Shardie, are you really saying that you knew anything about all this? You knew that it was possible I had a child?'

Oops, Loooool, A child! Ha, bloody Ha! He din't know the half of it!

He turned to the boy. 'Listen, Sebastian. I don't quite get this. Who is your mother? Is she claiming that I somehow had....relations with her? How old are you? I have been solely with Shardonnay here for the last sixteen years.'

'I am fifteen,' said Sebastian. 'I don't know how I know it, I just feel it in my bones. I saw you in the street, I had to follow you home. I'm sorry but...I feel that you must be my father. And...oh God...' He clutched the hand of the girl so tight he were twistin her skin.

'What, dear child?' asked Matt.

He whispered it. 'I know around ten other kids who believe you're their dad as well....'

The girl stared at Matt out of unblinkin eyes, noddin, noddin away, her hair shining reddish, like strawberry blond she were, under me spotlights.

Luckily this were all too much for Matt. He just couldn't take it in. 'Sorry? What did you say? Oh, no, now you're being ridiculous. Go on, get out. Had enough! Bugger off.' He hustled them to the door and shoved them out. 'Go on, get away with you, you scheming creatures.'

'Honestly!' I exclaimed, as we listened to their feet scrunching away across the gravel. 'Some people stop at nothin, eh? Thing is, love,' I said, stroking my husband's face, 'you're so gorgeous, there's a whole load of poor deluded people going to wish with all their hearts that you was their father, course they are.'

Flattered, he let himself be guided to bed, where I extracted the evening dose, spat into the jar and ran it across the road. I then took him some hot chocolate to soothe his nerves, aah bleeess the poor man.

### Chapter 11. He Should Never of Done That Though, Should He?

The reason I got so pissed off with Matt in the first place were he lied to me. Those first few months we was together he told me many times that he'd deleted ol Clarissa, his ex, from his phone. Yeah, you wouldn't like her, she's a real toff, teaches at the university, if you please. Now don't get me wrong, I ain't got nothin against her type, but lord they just don't seem to get it, do they? It's as if they is litrally livin on a whole different planet from us mortals. All la-di-da and hoity-toity she were ol Clarissa. I had a quick look though his phone when he were out mowing the lawn, and there were her name, Clarissa, plain as day. I looked at his conversation with her and it were, shall we say, ongoin. With texts like, 'Alright, have a great day,' and 'Life's just not the same without you.' I mean, cheeky bloody bastard. There were even a bitchy comment about me! 'Gotta go otherwise I'll get grief!' Ha, makes me mad! He thinks he can do that to me, he's litrally got another think coming.

That were roundabout the time that my neighbour Pat, the only one what had been at all friendly really since we moved to Church Langley, bumped into me in Tescos. 'Hey, Shardonnay,' she had whispered shiftily. 'Do you fancy earnin a bit on the side?'

When she told me what it was I'd been expecting worse! I thought she meant like high class escort service type stuff. Now that woulda been hard work. This in comparison seemed a bit of a doddle.

And it were so well paid. I mean, for litrally three minutes (sometimes two! Ha! Honestly I got it down to a fine art!) of mouth work, you're getting a hundred and fifty quid. Well, hello! What's not to like?

Debs though, me mate, one day come out with this: 'Shardonnay, do you realise how many sperms is in just one mouthful?'

I shook me head. 'Not a bleedin clue, Debs,' I admitted with one of me bigger cackles. 'How many?'

'Millions,' she said solemnly. 'Millions and millions.' She sucked on her fag.

I were a bit shocked. 'Really, Debs? What? Millions? Can that be right?'

'Yeah, Shardie. I think you is being diddled. For them millions you should even be paid even more 'n what you is gettin.'

I were still sayin 'Millions? In every little gob-load? That can't be right.' I mean, I knew they was fizzy, the little buggers, but not that fizzy! I lit a fag meself, to calm me down.

'You don't want to undervaluate the work what you is doin, Shardie,' she went on. 'You is doin a good job. You is providin a service for poor ladies what find it hard to get a man.'

'Yeah. I am that.' I got all teary after she said that. I felt proud, and like a really good person, like I were helping all them ladies get their dream baby. And whenever I did worry about it, like about Matt not knowing, I would say to meself, 'yeah, Shardie, but he should never of done that, should he now?' And then I would answer meself too, and I would answer, 'No, he effin well should not of done that. End of. Ta very much. Bob's yer uncle. Whatever.'

### Chapter 12. Another of Them Consequence Things.

One day, it were sunny, I remember, so it must of been summertime, I saw a massive orange truck draw up on the road outside me house. It had a skip on the back. I hadn't ordered no skip, so I wondered what were goin on and opened the door. There were an enormous ugly chap, probably in his mid-thirties, who came round the cab, opened the passenger door and like yanked out this poor skinny kid what were only about three or four. He kept him grabbed by the shoulder in a strong, painful grip. The man had thick coarse curly black hair and massive stained teeth. His nose were bulgy and misshapen. His skin were red and unhealthy-lookin. He spoke in a kind of raspy whisper. 'I come for a bloke named Matthew. Is 'e 'ere?'

'Erm, no,' I said with a swift look over me shoulder to check Matt were not around. 'He's not often here....working abroad, I'm afraid.'

The man stared me out with his own dark brown eyes.. 'People....' he rasped, with some difficulty, 'people....keep saying that my 'son' here looks very very like this Matthew chap, resembles him more than he does me. I just wanted to see it for meself.' He craned his neck to look over me shoulder into the house.

I looked at the tot. He seemed to have difficulty raising his head. He were silent, just staring at the ground. His dad grabbed him by the chin and held his face up to the sun.

'Hmm,' I said, looking past the dirty smears at the boy's cheekbones, the deep blue of his eyes, that top lip, that sharp chin. The absolute spittin image of me husband TBH. 'Nah, you got nothing to worry about, mate. This lad ain't nothing like our Matt. This lad's gorgeous, aincha mate? Our Matt though, bless im, ooh no, he is so not a looker! Poor man, not a looker at all!'

I coulda gone on and tried to convince the chap that the boy looked like himself, but that woulda been a lie.

The man let go of the boy's chin. The kid immediately hunched right back over, and stuck his dirty thumb in his mouth. He looked right royally pissed off actually, well, would you blame him? The man reluctantly shoved the boy back in the truck, turning his head to look at me balefully. Ooh, it give me the shivers all over, that look did. I did wonder just for a minute if the sadness in that lad's eyes could maybe be one of them consequence thingies of what I done. I hoped not. I banished his eyes from me mind and went down town to get me acrylics done, cheer me up.

### Chapter 13. Trouble Brewin.

Ok, so a few weeks after that boy Sebastian came round for a chat with Matt, a whole load of em came round. Again, I were out. Couldn't stay in on guard all the time, could I? I'd been shoppin in Harlow, getting some lovely designer stuff in Matalan and got me nails done. I got back, all ready to try on this lacy blouse and tartan mini-skirt, but OMG my heart sank, din't it, as I walked in and clocked em. They was all standing there, in a row, all ten or eleven of them. All starin at Matt.

Matt were sittin in his director's chair, head in hands. He really had the hump this time. He were swaying back n forth. Looked just a bit like a mental case. He looked up as I banged the door. He looked right through me, it were well odd.

He stood up. 'Shardonnay. I'm struggling to understand something. How come all these children seem to think I am their father?'

'I dunno,' I shrugged. I got out me packet of fags. 'Maybe they've all gone mental.' I laughed but I couldn't help but be a bit scared at the look in his eye. He really were vergin on lookin a tad demented.

'Sebastian here says that it's possible that...' he choked slightly, 'my....sperm...' he looked desperately at the children, '....could have made its way to a...fertility clinic.'

I snorted. Couldn't help it. The description of Pat's motley old house as a 'fertility clinic' were just too funny.

There were a bit of a horrible pause. I would say 'pregnant' pause but that would be for lols only. All the children was lookin well embarrassed, stealin glances at each other. It were frankly a bit of an interestin moment.

'Oh, don't be daft!' I scoffed. 'How on earth could your....sperm, go of its own accord, like, to a fertility clinic, like what you say?' I spat out these words and made them drip with ridicule as much as I could. I lit me fag from the cooker.

The kids all looked suitably shame-faced. But then, that girl with the strawberry blond hair with them eyes what don't never seem to blink, chipped in with a bit of a bombshell. 'The sperm could have been...let's say....'extracted' from Matt here, and sold, possibly?'

Them fuckin eyes was starin straight at me as she said this! She ain't got no eyelashes nor eyebrows. Weird. Them eyes give me the shivers. But, give her her due, she's one smart bitch. Takes one to know one, eh? Sebastian shook his head at her and said, 'Izzy, just let it go.'

'Yeah....Izzy!' I breathed smoke at her, lookin straight back at her. She got another blinkin (or unblinkin more like!) think comin if she thinks she can stare me out, little cow! 'I like litrally can't believe you just said that!' I said. 'That is just so ridiculous. No one would be mad enough to do that!' I were thinking 'Ha ha but I am! and I were! Looool.'

'Besides which,' I went on, frownin, like lookin confused and innocent and affronted at the same time, as I am a good actor, 'sperms don't last long. You'd litrally have to be shootin them up people straight away for them to have any hope of getting anyone up the duff. So how would that work then, eh? You thinkin I had long lines of ladies waitin with their legs open up the street somewhere? Hunh? You been watchin too much sci-fi?'

OMG I sooo should of been in movies. Wanted to be Eliza in My Fair Lady I did, I woulda been brilliant, 'All I want is a room somewhere....far away from the cold night air.....'

Anyway, 'Come on, darlins,' I went on. 'Give it a rest! Leave the poor man in peace. He's a good looker, and you know, you're not bad lookers yourselves, but everyone wants a piece of the poor guy! Enough's enough, now, toodle-oo.'

They filed out, hair gleamin in the late afternoon sun. They stole backward glances at me man but for quite a few months after that, we didn't hear a peep.

### Chapter 14. The Lost Boys.

I were sittin on the settee watchin the X-factor. I weren't paying much attention really as I were textin Debs at the same time, but a sudden gasp from Matt made me look up.

'Look!' he exclaimed. 'It's those children!'

'What children?' I asked.

He were leanin forward in his chair, mouth open. 'You know, those carol singers that came round about six months ago. They're on the telly.'

I had a good look. Oh my Lord, it were them an all. A dozen gorjuss boys all in a line. A proper choir, all dressed in blue, with furry white collars and cuffs. That tall lad what came round ours were in the middle of em, tall and still. Stunnin cheekbones as ever, and them unforgettable flashin blue eyes.

Matt had gone right up close to the telly. 'It's that Sebastian, Shardie, look!' he said.

They was singin all together you know, when they all sing different notes what go together, what's that called? Harmony. That's it. Their song actually, don't know why, it gave me the goosebumps it were that spooky. Kind of slow and hauntin, a song of loss and despair.

Halfway through the song the music suddenly swelled, and a whole load more boys and girls filed in behind the first lot, loads of em, like loads and loads, all of em joinin in with the low notes, the high notes, til the stage was like completely packed out with em and it's like every note that you can think of were bein sung at once, seemed like to me. OMG the audience was goin wild for it, they was all standin up. The atmosphere were electric.

The song got more and more powerful, sort of like the sea when there's really big massive crashin breakers, they was all well into it. Must admit, even though it weren't my type of thing, I did go a bit teary.

Occasionally one of them or two would get a little solo. The camera stopped on two little boys what looked like twins and they sang a solo together, then it stopped on a girl. Oh, jeez, I recognised her, that pushy one with no eyelashes, what were her name, she had come round with Sebastian. OMG though, got a bit of a voice on her! High, very high. Her voice soared over the top of all of it. I had to put me fingers in me ears.

'Shardie! It's Izzy, remember?' said Matt. Oh, yeah, I din't really want to remember, little cow.

I were thinking it were such a sad song they'd probably get buzzed off, but no, the judges went all teary too didn't they? Typical.

I tutted and said 'Pathetic!' I always like to do me own commentary on all the acts. I could be an X- factor presenter. Easy as. They earn a packet too.

A sudden snorty noise from Matt made me look at him. I thought he were laughin, but no – tears was only streamin down his face! I know, what a wuss! The daft bugger, bless him, he's got a heart like so big, it'll be the death of im.

Simon (ooh, love him! Gorjuss!) were askin that Sebastian, who seemed to be the leader of the choir, what the group's name were. Sebastian blinked. The blue of his eyes looked like it were gonna come right out of the telly. He were even more dazzlin on telly than in real life. 'We twelve,' he looked along his row of boys, 'are called 'The Lost Boys.' We feel like we don't know where we're going...nor where we come from....but together we feel whole. That's why we hold hands all the time, and stick together.'

The judges was speechless. Honest to God, they just sat there, open-mouthed. I could see the dollar signs in Simon's eyes, oh yeah, you couldn't miss em!

'The children in the rows behind are called The Heavenly Host,' he said. 'We couldn't produce the richness of our sound without them. They are our very valued backing singers and their ranks are swelling every day.'

Then Simon went on for a bit about how the Lost Boys would be bigger than the Military Wives, and how the whole world were going to warm to em. I were rolling my eyes. I wouldn't buy that song in a million years! Too bloody moany and borin if you ask me. Simon asked the leader what his name was.

'I'm Sebastian,' he said.

'Are you related to one another?' asked Simon. 'It's just...' he looked genuinely curious...'you seem so alike...you're like little clones of each other.'

The audience laughed, but you could see on their faces, they was all wantin to know.

'Well... Our Father... ' Sebastian blinked again like a camera taking a picture, dark lashes sweeping his cheeks, '.. told us to sing,' the other kids was all nodding their little heads in agreement, 'so... we sing.'

A little boy of about five next to him stood on tiptoes to reach the mic. 'Our Father told us never to give up, so we won't never give up.' Aah, his voice were really cute actually must be said.

'Next week,' continued Sebastian, 'we want to do 'We Are Family,' if you guys out there vote to keep us in the competition, that is! We do feel like Family, so yeah, maybe...maybe we are related.'

'Ooh, cryptic words there,' cooed the presenter, 'from the leaders of the Heavenly Host, The Lost Boys, who are now the favourites to win this competition.'

The next day, I walked into my kitchen and found the CD of 'The Lost Boys with the Heavenly Host' on the table! Bloody Norah, that were quick. My husband were like an instant and complete 110 percent fan of them kids, unbelievable! What a sucker.

### Chapter 15. You Never Gonna Believe This.

So me mum and me and Matt we never missed a single X-Factor after that. The Heavenly Host were never in the bottom two. They was like more addictive than fags. You just wanted to see more of em. Even as soon as they finished singin, you was gaggin for their next song. I know Matt and all me mates was voting for them endlessly. It's like they had some special power over people. I would always vote for somebody else but I knew I were losin the battle. Them kids was gonna be famous and there were nothin I could do about it.

It were around then that I got pregnant. I know, right? I don't know how that happened! I so had not wanted it. I'd managed to reach the ripe old age of thirty three free of screamin brats and were planning a couple more decades of fun. I'd been so careful too, darn it. I only remember the zillions of blow-jobs, I don't remember never agreeing to any of the other. Oh well, them pregnancy kit things don't lie. I had to get on with it.

I couldn't bear the idea of nappies and bottles and becoming fat and tired. But me mate Shelley, she said, 'Don't worry, Shardie, you got yourself enough money you'll be able to afford a nanny!' So from that moment I cheered up, and booked meself a shoppin bonanza in Dubai for just after the baby were due to be born. 'Gotta keep your spirits up, Shardonnay, bit of retail therapy required,' I said to meself with one of me bigger cackles.

When I tell you what happened with the birth and that, you will laugh! Honest, every time I tell it to someone I end up almost wettin meself laughin. So, here we go: I always fill up Matt's car and take it for a little valet, keep it nice and tidy for him, see, but you won't believe this, I only went and put diesel in it by mistake din't I? I think bein pregnant had messed with me brain. So we'd realised I were in labour cos me waters had broke all over the kitchen floor, we rushed into the car, and we was five minutes up the road on our way into Harlow and blow me if the car din't start doing these hiccups. Like big jerks, jumpin all over the place. It jolted the baby somewhat rotten. Matt swore and pulled over at a bus stop.

We was stuck there in the lashin rain with the windscreen wipers going squeakety squeak, squeakety squeak, wonderin what the hell we was goin to do. Matt started messin around with the engine and trying to phone the garage to ask them what to do, and then, out of the blue it were, I started to feel the baby comin out! Oh, my God, this story makes me die! I were like, 'Matt, it's comin out! It's comin out!' and he were like 'It's never!' I put me hand down and actually felt the baby's head tryina get out me knickers! Not being funny or anything but if that ain't gonna make you panic, what is?

He phoned the hospital with one hand and helped me to the bus shelter with the other as it were pissin down and sittin in the car were well painful. Din't have time to take me heels off, (nor me vajazzle, lol!) I just yanked down me knickers, knelt down on Matt's coat and clung onto the bench in the bus shelter. I remember thinking, 'Lucky I ain't one of them women what makes a fuss! I'm glad I'm a girl what just gets on with it!' and our baby just slipped out easy as! Matt caught him and wrapped him in the coat. I just couldn't stop laughin. Honestly, what am I like! We sat on the bench, giving him a cuddle.

A nice girl with a fancy briefcase gave me some of her chewin gum. An air-hostess waiting for the bus to Stansted in her lovely electric blue uniform (ooh, I wouldn't mind having a go in that I'm a sucker for uniform!) had a 'blanket in a bag' what they give you on planes in her suitcase. She gave it to us to wrap round me bits, cos, as you can imagine, I felt a bit exposed. An old lady passin with her little dog gave us a plastic poo bag to put the plassenta thing in. Ugh, that bit were disgustin, yeah, you don't wanna know! By the time the ambulance arrived to take us to the hospital there were quite a queue of people waitin for the bus, all of em quite surprised to see a baby what had got hisself born right there in their bus shelter! And I were on the phone to me mum, telling her about the baby and his blue eyes and how we was thrilled to bits.

OMG though, I were not prepared for how lush our little baby were. I had to admit, he were gorjuss! Nicholas, we called him. He had the most flawless skin and chubby little fingers. Hair as blond as blond can be, but the darkest, longest eye-lashes you ever saw. I'm not really into babies, no, let's be honest, but seriously, he were lovely. His biggest fan of course were his dad. Matt were workin from home still, solvin some science problems for his lectures, so he spent hours walkin round the house with Nicholas. They was like that, you know, bonded, father and son. I were so glad for em, really.

I never were that good with the baby. Did me best though. And me mum she always says, 'You can only do your best, Shardonnay, no one can do more'n their best.' One thing I did like doin for him were shoppin. I bought him tractors and lovely booties and car transporters and baby computers and that. But the only thing he seemed to like were paintin, like with his fingers at first, then with brushes in his high-chair. We had to let him do it, otherwise he would grizzle and frown. And that bloody music had to be on the whole ruddy time, didn't it?

Matt always used to put on the 'Lost Boys with the Heavenly Host' CD and rock Nicholas to sleep. It were odd but that were the only music what worked and stopped him cryin. By the time he were one, he were pointin at the telly and saying 'Ost boys! Ost boys!' When the Lost Boys did come on, which were often because they was so damn famous by now and had the Christmas number one for the second year runnin, Nicholas would wiggle his little body in delight, and try to sing along! So funny, it did make me laugh.

The Lost Boys that year had released a single called 'From Little Acorns' and even I liked it. You couldn't help but like it really. It just got to you, made you cry with the harmonies and that. The chorus went 'We're rocked in our cradle, we're rocked in our tree, we're rocked in our Father's arms, and he's close to me.' See, I can sing, when I want to! You shoulda heard little Nicholas when he were only just one singin 'Fwom wittle aaacooooorns, come lovely leeeeeeves, from wittle aaaacoooorns, come ancient tweeeees.' Bleeeeeess. Made us die! I got a video somewhere.

The Lost Boys was gettin bigger and bigger. After that Christmas they started a world tour, and new members kept joinin their bigger group, the Heavenly Host. There was like a hundred of em! Female fans around the world was having theirselves screaming fits, like with the Beatles. They knew every name of every boy, their birthdays, their favourite meals, colours. They could distinguish between em, for starters. I couldn't. For the life of me, they all looked the same. Just like their dad, in other words! Ha ha. He still didn't have a clue. Maybe had inklins of a suspicion but could not put his finger on it at all.

Then I had a bit of an awkward thing happen. Matt came into the bathroom unexpectedly after sex one day, lookin for his phone. I were only in the middle of spittin his sperm into me jar. Oops. 'What are you doing?' he asked.

'Cleanin me teeth,' I said briskly, seizin a brush and rinsin the jar quickly. Oh, bloody hell, I thought, that's two hundred blinking quid and one or more poor unborn Lost Boy litrally down the drain!

Me man looked a bit flummoxed, but said no more.

### Chapter 16. Let's Hope it's a Bloody Phase.

One day around a year later, we was in London doing some Christmas shoppin. Nicholas were nearly two years old by then. Matt were pushin the buggy. Nicholas were clutchin the Eskimo doll he'd screamed for in Harrods. Me mum always says, 'If they want something real bad, Shardie, what you gonna do? You just gotta get it for em.' So I did. I got it for him. It had a white fur collar and cuffs. I knew why he were obsessed with that. It's because them bleedin Lost Boys on the telly always wear fake white furry collars and sing in the snow and that.

We was walkin through Trafalgar Square when a couple of violins started up near that north plinth thing and we noticed a crowd gatherin. I went to get some candy floss from a stall but Matt pushed the buggy to the front of the crowd.

By the time I got there and realised it were only the Heavenly Bloody Host, it were too bloody late. Matt and Nicholas was litrally transfixed. BBC cameras was everywhere and big fuzzy mics pickin up their latest carol. I must admit, it were lovely. A huge audience gathered, all of em weepin real tears. Me attention must of wandered, because I looked down, and Nicholas weren't in his buggy! 'Matt!' I said. 'Where the fuck is the baby?'

Matt pointed a shaky finger. I saw Nicholas toddlin over to Sebastian. He reached him and held out his arms. Sebastian, mid-verse, crouched down and opened up his arms. My baby walked into them and were lifted up. Sebastian and Nicholas' faces were centimetres apart, grinnin at each other. OMG the likeness were just undeniable. The crowd gasped. The cameras whirred. Nicholas beamed.

That clip got millions of views on Youtube. It had Nicholas in Sebastian's arms singin at the top of his voice 'Fwom wittle Aaacoooooorns, come ancient Tweeeees,' with the violins in the background and the snow falling on his dark lashes. OMG, people just cried their eyes out.

From then on, as a family, we had to go to every flippin Heavenly Host concert there were. O2, Wembley Arena, Milton Keynes Bowl, we was there. If I tried to book somethin else, or God forbid actually take Nicholas to something else, he would just point blank stick his heels in and refuse to go. The only thing he would watch on the telly was the Heavenly Bloody Host. Oh God, I just so hoped he would go off them soon. I prayed it were a phase.

But it weren't a phase. He just went on and on lovin em. Obsessed he were.

From around the time he got to two and a half, he never stopped singin. You could hear him in his room, bless im, hollerin 'All Things Bright and Beautiful,' and 'Jerusalem' at the top of his voice, lovely little man. Course, I tried to get him into football, rugby and that, buying him all the latest goals, balls, kits, but he weren't havin none of it.

One time at the O2, Nicholas were five, and he went missin. Yeah, we went to lost kids and everythin, we had them calling for him on the tannoy, we was runnin round like headless chickens. Turned out he was in their dressin room, chattin away to the Heavenly Host. Askin for their autographs. Askin em questions. Serious head-case that boy.

Me and Matt just stood at the door, bent over double with runnin, pantin, shouldn't smoke so many fags, the panic wearin off. But I'll never forget how much fear I felt in me gut and how much relief I felt at findin him. I kind of realised then I think, that though maybe I hadn't been that good at showing it, and I weren't the best mum in the world....no, let's be honest, I'm the first to admit it....I kinda did love that little boy.

### Chapter 17. The Massive Strop.

It's so like harder than you think bringin up a kid. I did get meself that nanny, and she were well good with Nicholas, so I still got to have good times out with Debs and Shelley, but as soon as the nanny went home it were like he were controllin me. If I did anythin he didn't like, he would make a right fuss. In a nice way though, mostly. It weren't like he screamed the place down nor nothin, he just somehow made it clear that he were not pleased.

He did have one well bad strop though once at Mums and Tots. We'd started taking him to Bunnies in Spellbrook only the week before. He kinda liked it for the first couple of times, cos they let you do paintin, which he loved. But then they said we was going to do music. Me heart sunk, cos I knew what Nicholas would be like. If the music weren't the Lost Boys, he weren't havin none of it.

So they gave all the kids a little drum or tambourine and started singin 'the Wheels on the Bus.' Nicholas listened for all of twenty seconds, his frown deepenin and deepenin. Then he got up, threw his tambourine at the ceiling and went round the circle kickin the drums and triangles out of the little kiddies' hands, roaring in anger. 'STUPID BUS!' he yelled. 'NO STUPID BUS! ONLY WANT MY OST BOYS.' He rushed over to the craft table and tipped it over. Playdough and scissors went flyin. He grabbed the snack table and tipped it over, and kicked it. Crackers and marmite and Fruit Shortcake went all over the floor. Everyone were just lookin on in shock and horror. I mean, how were he even that strong? He were only like two and a half. It's like he'd been taken over by something that were not even himself, like he were possessed or somethin.

Thinkin about it I realised that since the only music he had ever put up with were the Lost Boys, he sort of thought that were the only music what existed in the world. To see other people suddenly indulgin theirselves in other music seemed like All Wrong, if you get my drift. I sort of get it, why he thought it were So like Wrong.

So it were a shame but we couldn't go to the Mums and Tots after that, which meant it were harder for him to make friends. So we sat at home a lot. He did his paintin at the table, you shoulda seen the amount of paper that lad got through, forests and forests of the stuff, and I would smoke and chat to Debs or Shelley on the phone. When he started school, we was nervous, because his teacher were this young lady what loved to sing. We had heard that she sang all day to the kids. Matt went and had a quiet word with her about Nicholas' obsession. She were so nice and said that for the first couple of music lessons they would play and sing some Lost Boy songs, and introduce other songs little by little, which eased him in and made him slightly more acceptin of other things.

### Chapter 18. You Can't Do More'n Your Best.

When he got to eight, Nicholas came to me, took me fag off of me and stubbed it out, I were like 'Oy, give that back,' but he said, all serious, 'Mother, I've made up my mind. I want to join the choir at the church.'

I know! Makes me die! His way of speaking is like so...formal. I rolled me eyes. But whatcha gonna do? I don't think I'm a bad person right? I don't. I am just a person who did her best. And my mum always says, 'You can't do more than your best, Shardie.' So I done the best I could for that kid, I give it 110 percent, but he's just turned out the way he is. My mum says, she says, 'Shardie, they are gonna do what they are gonna do. There ain't no other way.' She's right, you know. There ain't no other way.

So off he went. And you'll never guess who the visiting choir-master was. Only flippin Sebastian. He were on a 'boostin the community' type mission back in his home town, he told us, to recruit and train talented youth for his choir. Me little boy's eyes all lit up when he saw him. He broke away from me and ran. Ran into the guy's arms. From that moment on we hardly saw Nicholas. They was constantly rehearsing, they was tourin with the choir. He were so good at singin, Sebastian promoted him into the Heavenly Host on his ninth birthday. I'm not gonna lie, we was thrilled, but we was also a bit sad, because our boy had to go off on world tours. It were generally expected that we would pull him out of school as it were an honour to be excepted into the Heavenly Choir. We had to arrange like home tutoring for him in Maths, English, French, Science and all that.

We went with him on trips of course. Stayed in hotels nearby. Had him back to our room for the night so he could sleep enough. He grew older and more confident. His voice improved but were still very high. He sang the highest of em all, apart from that girl, Izzy, who practically made your eardrums burst. He were given solo parts. His voice sang out over all the world. When the press interviewed The Heavenly Host as it were now called, they would get a few quotes from Nicholas. He would always say well cute things. Like, 'I grew up with the sounds of the Heavenly Host in my ears. I wanted nothing else from my life except for that beauty. It made me feel peace within my soul.'

We just gave ourselves up to it really. Accompanied him on his travels. Accepted that he were an important and talented person. As my mum always says, 'A person's gotta do what a person's gotta do, Shardie, it's no good tryina stop em. It's just not gonna work.'

Luckily the other members of the choir had given up pesterin Matt about him being their father, but I often noticed them stealin looks at him when he were turned away. They gazed at him with adoring eyes. It were clear to me that they was still convinced he were their father. I damn well knew he were, but no way were I going to admit it!

The choir got bigger and bigger. Every country we went to another five or ten kids seemed to be scooped up. Always with the same look. White hair, blazin eyes, long cool fingers, clear-cut cheekbones. They was becomin legendary in the world. I began to wonder to meself, how on earth was all these kids really Matt's kids? Were that really possible?

I phoned Pat one day from a hotel in Rome up near the Spanish steps. I were havin a sudden fit of curiosity. 'Pat,' I says, 'did you ever send any of Matt's sperm abroad?'

'Erm, well, now you mention it,' she says, 'I suppose I did really, yes. I used to send it by special van to Amsterdam and Milan. Why? Is there a problem?'

'No, not a problem....er, Pat? How often did you send it?'

'A couple of times a week. Over like, what was it? Fourteen, fifteen years? There's like fifty two weeks in a year.... Oh, bugger, I don't know, you do the maths! I'm no good at all that, Shardie, you know me!'

I put the phone down tryin a do the maths! I got as far as fifty two times two that's a hundred and four and then would it be times fifteen? Can't be! That would be a massive number. I couldn't do it, so I gave up. All I knew was, it were well possible that Matt had one hell of a lot of kiddies that he didn't know about, I didn't dare think how many, like could it be hundreds? Like even a thousand kiddies out there? Thinkin about it made me feel like I wanted to throw up, so I booked meself a nice haircut and highlights at a posh Italian hairdressers rather than go worryin me head about it.

### Chapter 19. Our Heavenly Father, LOL.

So the Heavenly Host were on 'Later with Jules Holland'. Suddenly their spokesperson always seemed to be our boy. Nicholas, dressed in the choir's lovely blue fleece with the furry white collar and cuffs, stood straight and still. 'What is it like being so young and yet so famous?' asked Jules.

'Fame does not interest us,' said Nicholas. We was on the edge of our seats. 'I am only interested in singing. When I am singing with my group I feel free. It's like I am out of my body.'

Jules' jaw litrally dropped to the floor. 'What would you say was your motivation for doing such a great world tour?' he asked.

'When we are raising our voices together we are as one,' said Nicholas. 'It matters not from where we have come. It matters not where we are going. We are in the moment. Engaged and thereby free.'

Remember this little fella is only like ten years old. Me and Matt was just like starin at one another. What the fuck had got into our kid? Moments like that, we didn't feel like he were our kid. To be honest with ya, I wouldn't have minded a kid who liked playin video games, sat around with his mates, wanted to go paint-ballin or go-kartin, like a normal lad. Where did he get all this poncy stuff from? Weren't from me, that's for sure. It blew me mind.

Jules' last question was this. 'Would you say that religion plays a part in your drive to succeed?'

Sebastian leant forward to the microphone. 'We do invoke Our Heavenly Father. We try to do Our Father's bidding. He told us not to give up. So we are doing just that.'

'Ha!' said Matt, with a self-satisfied air, eyes glued to the TV. 'I told them that as well, right when they started out! Just goes to show, I know what I'm talking about. They don't need bloody God to tell them.' He muttered on for a bit about being the next Simon Cowell, like a massive talent-spotter. I snorted me little umbrella right out of me cocktail tryin not to laugh. He so wouldn't believe it if I told him he litrally is this Heavenly Father what they're on about. Oh, my god, it makes me die!

'And your name: The Lost Boys and the Heavenly Host. Are you still lost, do you think?' asked Jules.

'We are all lost,' said Sebastian. 'And we are all seeking that which we have lost, we want to feel whole. Together we are one, and together we will find what we are looking for.'

I felt shivers go up me arms at this, and had to have another Tequila Slammer to calm me nerves. The camera panned out to show all the Heavenly Host, the twelve Lost Boys at the front holding hands, their furry hats framing their pixie faces. All except one little lad on the end of the row, looked a bit older than Nicholas. I looked closer, I were sure I'd seen him around somewhere, but then again all them kids look the same to me. This kid had his arms folded, never looked up, his hood down, and a bit of a scowl on him. They all smiled at the camera except him. He just stared down at the floor. Looked like trouble to me.

### Chapter 20. Like a Massive Dettox Wipe.

By now it were so normal to see Nicholas on the telly we hardly batted an eye. He spent weeks away from home with the choir. We would sometimes fly to Paris to have lunch with him, or fly to Venice for a couple of days to see him in concert. He were constantly in demand.

We got to a rehearsal room at Barbican one time, and crept in at the back. The choir were singin. Nick were at the front facin them with a white baton, conductin away. We'd never seen him do this before. He looked way too little to be doin it somehow. Sebastian were standin to his side, curvin his own arm around Nick's, helpin to bring in them singers what sing lower, and them ones what sing really high, at the right times. All of em was singing, and then with one twitch of the baton they bought in that girl with the really high voice to soar above it all. I thought 'Here we go, I'm gonna have to put me fingers in me ears if that Izzy's gonna start howlin.' But actually, it weren't that bad. I could sort of see why people liked it. She were really getting famous, she were all over the papers. If she dared go on a beach in a bikini, oh yeah, you knew about it. You knew all what she had in her shoppin trolley, you knew where she'd been for a night out.

That one grumpy lad weren't singin though. He were glarin at Nick and Sebastian. I thought to meself, oh my god, he's probably jealous cos Nick gets on so well with Sebastian. Maybe he don't get to have a go at conducting. Maybe that's why he looks so pissed off.

Sebastian stopped the singers. He took the baton from Nick. 'Look, Nicholas,' he said. 'Feel the strands, invisible strands connecting the end of this baton to everyone in the choir. Your every tiny movement is magnified along the strands and tweaks the sound, controls it, affects the blend of sound, do you see?'

The choir were completely silent, staring at him, transfixed by his lovely liquid voice. That Izzy, you could see she were all gooey over him. I think they was probably all in love with him. Not hard to see why. Couldn't keep me eyes off of him, meself! Lush is the only word for him.

'If I weren't here to help you,' Sebastian continued, 'you would have to have confidence. Learn to take up this baton and wield it...' Nick, listening carefully, twitched the baton experimentally, '...with care, though, with authority, with power. It's like you have to picture sizzling lightning coming out of the end. Lightning which can wake people up! Zap them out of their stupor.' He smiled at Nicholas. Ah, that smile. You'd have to see it to believe it. 'Feel the power, little lad! Wake up the people!' He laughed a low laugh.

I clocked that little jealous chap turning his head angrily away with a grimace. I'd been right then! Good judge of what's goin on, me!

Sebastian spotted the lad turn away. 'Hey, Finn!' he called out. The little guy turned towards us with a scowl. 'Would you like to have a go now?'

There were a pause. Everyone in the choir turned to look at Finn. 'Nah,' said Finn. 'Why would I? You've already found someone to do it.' He closed down his face and turned away again.

It were a couple of weeks after that that the first like miracle happened. The Heavenly Host did a concert in Vienna and there were a whole bunch of kids from the local hospital at the front of the theatre. Sebastian and little Nicholas came to the front and held out their hands. Screaming fans reached out to them, grasping their fingers, desperately tryinga touch any part of them.

The next week it were all over the Vienna news that nine of the sick children was litrally miraculously better. Don't know if it were just the press makin it up for the sake of a good story, it probably were, you know what they're like, but all nine apparently claimed to have touched the boys.

By now, Matt were seriously hasslin me for more kids. Ha bloody ha, as if! No way were I going to go through another pregnancy. Did me head in the first time. I wanted to just point to them kids on the stage, and say to him: 'Look, all them fuckin children is yours mate! Just gimme a break. You got enough!!' But I din't of course.

Everywhere Sebastian and Nicholas went they was followed by cameras, film-crews and screamin fans. Somebody brought up the rights to the film of their life. They started to write the script and score and everythin. As we spent more time visitin Nicholas so we got to know the other kids better every time. OMG there was so many of them by then. Two hundred in the Heavenly Host. Still twelve boys in the Lost Boys though, a core of em.

Watchin one of the concerts at the O2 on the telly, Jeez, it were massive, I noticed they had a new girl singin the really high bits. 'That's not right,' said Matt, puzzled. 'That new girl isn't as good as Izzy. People won't like it.'

'She's probably buggered off, can't be bothered with it no more,' I said. We asked Nicholas. He were sad about it, I could tell. He just said she left out of the blue. 'Unfortunately, Mother, drugs were becoming a problem for her,' he said. I know! He always calls me 'Mother,' like he's in a dusty old book or somethin. 'The poor girl couldn't cope with the fame. You can see what it's like with the press stalking you all the time: horrendous! Some people just can't take it.'

Finn, that little jealous one, bothered me. He just never looked happy. Nicholas told me his mother had died and his father had chucked him out when he were thirteen. He'd been the youngest of the Lost Boys till Nick turned up. Yeah, Nick joinin really put his nose outta joint. Finn's dad had always been in a constant rage that his kid din't look nothing like him. OMG, talking to Nicholas about him, I suddenly remembered that horrible scary man with the orange skip truck what came to me door like years before when that kid were only a tot. That were where I'd seen him before. I'd clocked he'd been litrally smacked about by his 'dad', yeah, you could tell, no wonder he looked so messed up.

Anyway, apart from that poor Finn lad, The Heavenly Host moved over the world like a great army, a pure human mass of cleansin power. Kinda like a massive Dettox wipe, if you think about it, cleanin up people's shit. The songs made you feel clean, that's what. You'd hear one on the radio and it's like you got yerself brainwashed. You'd think, OK, let's not worry about what I done yesterday, I'm gonna think about today! I'm gonna try hard today, I'm gonna do me best, I'm gonna help people. And I did go out and help Shelley choose some new shoes to go with her new clubbin outfit cos we was going to the ball at the Country Club in Epping.

I just let meself go along with the whole thing. It were fun, it were glam, people treated us like royalty. I were just lovin life. Thing is, I never knew what were going to happen, did I? There were no way I coulda known. My mum always says, 'yeah, but you couldn't of known, Shardie? How could you of known?' And she's right. There were like litrally no way I coulda known.

### Chapter 21. Should of, Should of.

Basically what happened next is well sad. I'm telling you that because you might go all teary and you might wanna get your tissues at the ready. It makes me all teary just rememberin it all. But me mum says, 'there ain't no good gonna come of pretendin it din't happen, Shardonnay. You gotta accept when something happens that it's happened. You can't change it, cos it's happened, it's in the past.'

Sebastian got shot. Out of the blue. Some crazy fan on masses of medication for schizophenia heard voices and that tellin him to kill him. Just got hold of a gun, bought a ticket for a concert, sat in the front row and blasted him in the forehead in the middle of their biggest hit: 'From Little Acorns.'

We was all devastrated. We was in shock. The whole world were. No one could get over that. Sebastian were still so young. He were only twenty six. Too young to die in anyone's book. He were so pure and beautiful. And this is the saddest thing of all: he never really found what he were lookin for, did he?

I felt bad after this happened. I realised I were in up to me neck. I realised that I should of said something. Sebastian should of known who his father was. I should of told the truth. He should of had a father. Shit. Too late now, Shardie. One of the things about life is, you can't turn the clocks back.

I din't sleep that night, the first night after he died. I din't know what to do. In the mornin, I bought Matt a cup of tea, sat down on his side of the bed. I so badly wanted to tell him, but I just couldn't. I were afraid he would hate me and leave me if he knew the truth.

He slurped down his tea, then shut his eyes again and slept. He moaned softly in his sleep, surfin waves of grief. Tears squeezed out of his shut eyes.

Nicholas had come back home to his room, hit hard by grief. We could hear his hard rackin sobs through the wall. He had loved Sebastian. Sebastian were his teacher, his role model, his friend. Oh shit, thinkin about it, he were his blinkin brother too, I spose.

At around eleven in the morning the sobs stopped. We heard occasional bumps and thumps. Then Nicholas came out of his room, dressed in many layers, with one of Matt's rucksacks on his back and Sebastian's white baton in his hand. 'I'm going off,' he said.

### Chapter 22. Nicholas On His Journey.

'Nicholas,' we protested, 'you're only twelve. You can't go off.'

He looked at me. 'Mother. Goodbye,' he said, but politely, not in a rude way. And then he started walkin. And walkin. We ran up the road after him. A photographer who had been waiting outside the house followed, snappin him. Nicholas refused to stop. He sang softly at first, then more lustily. A couple of teenagers joined him, singin along. By the time he reached the park down the bottom of the hill he had six or seven followers. People was dropping everything and running alongside. By the time we got to the outskirts of town there were a whole crowd. Nicholas stalked along at the front, tireless, frowning, singing and waving that bloody baton. A press car drew alongside, massive cameras pokin out the windows. 'Where are you going, Nicholas?' asked the journalists.

'It doesn't matter,' he replied. 'I am on the move, that's all. On the move, until I feel better.'

The followers took shifts, hoppin on buses and that to keep up. Nicholas just kept going. I had to stop and come back home. I were out of breath. Shouldn't smoke so many fags. Din't matter, I could watch him on the telly. At nightfall he put up a little one-man tent he had in his rucksack and crept into a sleeping bag. Six hours later he were again on the move. His shoes wore out. People bought him new ones. He never had to worry about food. People handed it to him in the street. Crowds now lined the streets, waiting for him to pass by. People chanted for him. The telly devoted a 24 hour channel to him.

I found the whole thing quite exhaustin. The power of the little guy were quite extraordinary. Me mum and me we watched most of it on the telly. Me mum said, 'There's no stoppin im, Shardie. Sometimes you just gotta let em go. No sense in holdin em back. You just gotta let em go.' She's right you know. Sometimes you just gotta let em go.

I just felt it were strange, but fittin, in a way, that I had now lost me boy. And that feeling of loss were not unfamiliar to me, know what I mean? And I thought how, really, we've all lost somethin, we're like born like that, none of us feel complete, do we? I mean, look at Nicholas. He had his dad, but he's still one of them, one of them Lost Boys, inne? And I cried because I wondered suddenly if it were his mum what he felt he didn't have. Like, had I been a good enough mum to him? My mum hugged me. 'Shardie,' she said, 'You been a great mum to Nick. That's how he's so brave that he can go off like that!' She made me some popcorn to cheer me up.

The TV came round to me house to see what I had to say about it all. I put down me popcorn and shoved me face right into that camera. 'Go it, Nicholas!!!' I yelled at the top of me lungs. 'We're all behind ya!!!! Don't know where you're goin, but we don't care, do we Nan?' I laughed and pointed the camera at me mum.

'Go On Nick!!!' she screamed. 'You can do it! We believe in ya!'

'Just send us a postcard when you get wherever it is you're goin!!' I yelled. 'Alright?' I waggled a finger at the camera.

Nicholas reached the coast. He bought a ticket for the ferry. Went across to Cherbourg. As soon as the ferry got to the other side, there he were again, on our big screen, walkin and walkin. There were a whole scrummage of people walkin with him now. They kept tryin to talk to him, but all he would do was sing Sebastian's songs and clutch that baton with a white-knuckled grip.

My mum said 'He's upset, Shardie. When someone's upset, there's no tellin what they'll do. And I'm tellin ya, he is one upset little kid.'

We gazed at the screen, at his little face, his little limbs goin. He seemed determined but in such a calm way, like he knew he had to do this from some other knowledge. Lookin at him, I realised I wanted to feel like that, I wanted to be like him. I think everyone in the world, watchin him, would want to be like him, to not care where they was goin, but go there anyway type thing.

Matt had not gone back to work since Sebastian died. He were just watchin telly with us all day, big bags under his eyes. Suddenly he stood up. 'I'm going after him,' he said.

Me and mum just looked at each other. 'He's a man, Shardonnay,' said me mum. 'Sometimes a man's just gotta do what a man's gotta do.'

He packed a bag with a few things, a coupla changes of clothes. And off he went in his car over to France to follow his son.

### Chapter 23. Are We Meant to Know What's Going On Though?

So I were alone at home, with me mum. We just ate pizza and watched that screen. Then one night, I were not sleepin well, must be said, I had a well strange dream. I saw Sebastian, very still, very clear, in front of me. His eyes looked me right in my eyes and he said, 'I forgive you.' I felt a wave of peace wash over me. 'You knew not what you were doing,' he said, calmly. 'And if it weren't for you, I would never have lived.'

I watched him as he stood there. He had a robe on, which were billowin in the wind. He held out his arms and I saw Nicholas comin towards him, and they embraced. The Heavenly Host were behind them, singin. The song made me flesh creep. It were not from this world. It were of new harmony things what people have not discovered yet. I can't explain, but it made me shiver, not with horror but with excitement.

I spoke to Nicholas on the phone the next day. 'Nick,' I says, 'I saw Sebastian in a dream. He were givin you a hug. The Heavenly Host were singin new stuff.'

'Oh, thank you Mother,' he replied. 'Yes, he's looking after me. And I know what the new material is. I'm formulating it as I go. Sebastian's teaching me from the other side. It's coming to me, I can feel it.'

'Oh, well, good lad,' I replied, faintly.

On the telly you could see him singin. His companions was singin too. Sometimes, walkin along, he would turn to them and instruct them, tell them what to sing. Then you would see them tryin again, and Nicholas would be noddin away. It were amazin. There was whole teams of commentators takin over from each other all day. There were a whole channel devoted to me son. I just din't know what to make of it. I were well and truly flummoxed. Me mum she said, 'Shardie,' she said, 'We're not meant to know what's goin on, really. Sometimes you just don't know, and we're just not meant to know.'

Day after day, Nicholas walked. He covered about twenty to thirty miles a day. We just din't know what to make of it, but we settled into a routine with our cups of tea in front of the telly. One day the Social came round to talk about Nicholas. The lady were a bit of a scream with her grey hair and bobbly jumper. She started tryin to tell me that it would be better for Nick to come home and do his studies, 'You must remember, he's only twelve, Mrs Stern,' she said, but she ended up just sittin on the settee and watchin him walk with us. She even dipped into the popcorn! It weren't really helping her case that in the twenty minutes we sat there we saw him talkin French to a bloke on a bike and Italian to an old lady what gave him a bun and he taught a whole new song to his gaggle of followers. 'This kid don't need no studyin!' I said to her. 'He already knows everythin!'

In the end she sighed, the lady, and said, 'What do we know anyway? He seems to know more than us about life. Maybe we shouldn't interfere.' She could see full well that he were bein looked after. The older Lost Boys was runnin along beside him, and the managers and producers of their songs had cars tailin him. The teams of cameramen was kind to him, you could see. He chose little back roads and lanes, so it weren't like he were gonna get run over by a lorry. He weren't lackin for food, neither. The roads was lined with people offering him home-cooked goodies and lemonade. He would accept them but he never stopped walkin.

Eventually, after about a month of this, seemed like for ever, but we din't miss a minute of it, Nicholas reached a wood in the North of Italy. He stopped for the night. Everyone saw him go into his tent. In the mornin he came out, stretched, and smiled, I think, for the first time since Sebastian died. He looked around at the pines, the banks, the meadow and the gurgling stream. 'I'm staying here,' he said. 'The spirit is here. There is no more need to move onwards.'

He spent the rest of the day creating a shelter out of bendy twigs. Someone bought him along a tarpaulin which he stretched over his construct. A local huddle of women bought him a carpet which he laid out on the pine needles. One of his companions made him a little table out of logs. His dad, who had been part of the band of followers for a few weeks by then, handed him a little camping chair. Nicholas put it at the entrance to his shelter, and sat in it, baton in hand and closed his eyes. The camera just stayed on him. The birdsong came over, the creakin of the forest, the hootin of an owl. You could see bats start to flit about, and glow-worms shinin their little lights. And Nicholas just sat there, mediatin like what them gurus do.

It were the most peaceful TV ever. And Honest to God, it weren't borin. I could sit there for hours with me mum just watchin him. It grew darker and darker on the screen. Nicholas' friends gathered twigs and branches and lit a fire. We could see their faces reflectin orange in the firelight. You couldn't hear what they was sayin, just hear a muffled conversation goin on.

The next morning, mum and me we stumbled towards the telly in our dressin gowns. Turned it on. There was about seven tents now. Lucky it were already April. The dew had fallen on them tents and were glistenin in the mornin sun. It looked magical to me. Like a fairy glade. Nicholas were sleepin still. One of his friends had fallen asleep by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. Oh, no, not a friend, when he turned his head, I saw it were his dad. Aaaah, bleess. I guess he forgot his tent. The sun were still red, and castin a reddish glow over everythin. The pines was dark green, almost black and still.

A soft humming started coming from Nicholas' tent. It were gentle, so soft and lush it were I can't tell you. The blokes with the cameras, the commentators, the friends, all was lookin at the tent, listenin hard. They all looked a bit like bedazzled, like they was hypnotised or somethin. People settled down on the pine needles, and waited all solemn like, for Nicholas to appear.

One of his friends made him a cuppa tea on the fire and passed it in to him. I were glad about that. I might not have been the best mum but I always liked to feed the boy and keep his little tummy happy. Some Italian woman turned up with a brioche thing, like a plaited loaf, and that were handed in to him as well.

Then, after about an hour, out he came. He only had shorts on. He looked refreshed, his eyes was gleamin, he looked fantastic. He looked at the people sitting there, and smiled. More people was comin all the time. Italian women, men, children, all gathered silently and sat down amongst the trees. Nicholas opened his arms and started to sing. It were a low song, calm and assured. He told a story in his song, a story of a boy who did not know where he had come from nor where he were goin. It were beautiful. Me and me mum cried buckets. The audience there were all cryin buckets too. People had begun to realise that Nicholas did not speak much any more, he only sang.

I began to feel more and more like I had played a part in this story. I hadn't thought it were an important part but I were beginning to see maybe it were more important than what I had thought.

### Chapter 24. Sitting on the Settee with our Popcorn.

So the next day there were a steady stream of people coming up the hill to see the boy. A right weepy lady in a beautiful purple coat (I wondered if it were from Prada cos that's Italian innit?) surrounded by weakly wailing relatives and a priest carried her ill child to him straight from the hospital. OMG were that baby ever sick! Horrible yellow colour. Yellow and bloodshot whites of the eyes. One mass of floppy limbs. Yuk, not good. I weren't holdin out much hope for it, really. I mean, there weren't much you could do. It were on the way out. Bit of a no-brainer. Sorry, but some situations, you just gotta say, there ain't no comin out of this one, matey.

Nicholas took the baby in his arms. He stood very still, took a deep breath, shut his eyes. There were an odd silence in the woods. Weird. Almost like time had stood still for a little minute. He passed the child back to the mother. She babbled thanks, wrapped the child in her purple coat and scurried off down the rocky path.

A family bought their grandmother what were coughing her guts up. Nicholas placed his hands on her achin shoulders. He shut his eyes and again you could see that strange concentration about him. Other worldly it were.

That grumpy boy Finn had set up camp over on some rocks. He had some of the edgier chaps and a bunch of girls from the Heavenly Host with him, they was singin, and drummin, and some of em was laughin and smokin.

People turned up all day all that week. On the Thursday we was sitting on the sofa with our popcorn, like wondering how Nicholas were gonna cope, there were such a queue building up to see him. People were sat in huddled groups all around. Nick spoke with hundreds of people in turn. It got later and later. Dusk started to fall. I felt worried for Nick, cos he'd been working so hard for hours and hours.

Matt and some of the Lost Boys was cooking a vegetable soup in a big pot over the fire. Nick finally finished workin with a little girl who seemed to have some awful thing like Leukaemia or somethin. He came over to the fire. He looked absolutely knackered. Matt passed him a bowl of soup. Nick looked at it, then he looked around him. He walked over to a miserable lookin tramp what were sittin against a tree. 'Here,' he said, 'Eat.'

The Lost Boys started handing out food to all the people. 'Oh, no,' groaned me mum, 'We ain't gotta start feedin the bloody tramps now, ave we?'

I were scared they wouldn't have enough for everyone and me boy wouldn't get nothing, but people started rummagin around in their bags. The Italian families started gettin out some bread and pots of olives, ugh don't see what people see in olives meself, someone had bags of tomatoes and peaches. The cameramen pulled a massive cheese out of their huge black bag and carved it all up and took pieces around. The groups of kids what had come trudgin up the hill got out big slabs of chocolate what their mums had given em. Mmm. The feast, apart from the olives that is, looked good even from here! Even better than our popcorn and ice-cream to tell you the truth.

The people ate and ate and laughed and drank. The atmosphere were like infectious! I phoned Debs and Shelley and got them to come over and have some Margaritas with us. I say some, I mean quite a few! We only had about seven each! Debs hadn't been to work for a whole two weeks she'd got so addicted to watchin Nicholas. Shelley's OK, cos at her work, she's a hairdresser, they have the TV on all the time so she don't miss any.

We watched telly together till all the people had gone off or settled down in the firelight.

The next day, the first people to come up the hill was only that lady in purple – maybe it were Dolcie and Gabbana that coat? just by the way it were hangin you could tell it were expensive – with the priest and all her family with the yellow dyin baby. 'Oh, no, ere we go,' said me mum. We all watched them approach in a scared silence. OMG, I thought to meself, they're going to have brung the body for Nicholas to do a blessing. I don't like bodies of little babies. It's just not right, is it? I hid me head in the cushions and just peeked out a tiny bit I were that scared. Me mum held me hand. The lady looked Nicholas in the eye. She looked very serious. She opened up her coat. Ooh, you could see the mauvey satin lining, lush. The baby looked out. She weren't dyin no more. She were bright and sparkly, bouncin on her mother's hip, wavin a squeaky giraffe.

Then the priest and the family and the lady all bowed down before Nick, like kneelin there in the damp pine-needles with their heads down. He held their hands. The granny were like strokin his feet! I thought how odd it were, I mean, he were only my little lad what liked to make a mess with his paints and what used to ask for soldiers with his boiled egg, know what I mean?

### Chapter 25. Gotta Find Your Own Path.

The next day, I turned on the telly at about seven in the morning. I screamed, 'Mum! Come here! Have a look at this! You not gonna believe this!'

The cameras was not at the camp no more. No, they was following Nick who had his backpack on and were leaping down the hill over the rocks. The only person who'd managed to keep up with him were that grumpy Lost Boy, Finn and a couple of half-dressed cameramen. The cameras was bumping around, as the path were not smooth.

'Oy, Nick, where are you going?' asked the cameramen, breathless they were and tryin to button up their jeans.

Nick din't answer them. It were as if he never heard em. He were talkin with Finn. You couldn't hear what they was sayin, but they never stopped talkin and, it sounded like, singin. It were like a mini battle of two voices.

The path opened out onto rough scrub-land. A wide moor stretched ahead. The two lads faced each other, nodded and carried on walking but their paths split. All the people runnin after em stopped in confusion. Their heads went both ways, then they chose a way. Most went with Nick, but some went with Finn. Some of the cameras went with him too. As he walked he ripped off his furry hood, left it on the heather. He pulled off his blue coat and dumped it. Underneath he were all in black.

Me mum could see I were upset. She said, 'Shardie, they gotta go their own way. Everyone's gotta find their own path in life, no good followin someone else's, you gotta find your own.' I thought, she's right, they're different kids, different situations. You can't fit a round peg in a square hole. They ain't lived the same life, they gotta find their own way.

Our screen followed Nicholas. If you wanted Finn you could change channel. Nick got to a road, turned left, walked into a little Italian town. He asked one of the film crew manager people if he could borrow their phone. We watched him talkin on the phone. Next thing we knew he were picked up in a sleek grey car and he and his core of Lost Boys, minus Finn of course, was whisked off. The commentators was having a field day! It were like that day the Twin Towers fell down and none of the commentators knew what the blazes were happenin? They was falling over theirselves with their little theories what went nowhere. And there were a big ol scramble with the press trying to get hold of vehicles so's not to let em get away, as they'd probably be fired if they let the biggest story of the decade get past em.

### Chapter 26. Edgy, Angry Vibes.

The telly were all of a buzz about Finn breakin away from the Lost Boys. None of the Lost Boys had ever left before, except of course, Sebastian, but he never chose for that to happen. There were only that one girl, Izzy, who had left the Heavenly Host cos she couldn't handle the pressure of the fame. Fans was grievin, as you do when your fave band loses a member like remember when the Spice Girls split up? And Take That? Horrible. Nick din't seem too worried though. He apparently got on a plane to New York. They was in a recordin studio with the same producers what made 'Little Acorns' with them, working on the new sound.

Finn had come back to London with around thirty of the Heavenly Host. He went to a place in Camden, also to do some recordin. He rented a massive old house and got a band together out of his followers. There were a big chap on bass, a skinny drummer with long spiky hair, a crusty guitarist, and Finn on vocals. And this were genius: there was also about ten girls, all with black nails, black lipstick, blank eyes, not a single smile between em, and big big drums. They just pummelled them drums like their lives depended on it! They was big news. See, they had the sound of the Lost Boys and a bit of the fame and allure of the Lost Boys, but they was taking it in altogether a new direction. Yeah, girls, basically. Lost? Yeah probably! Matt's kids? Let's just say, they had the look, so again, yeah, probably.

Some of the words what came out of that boy's mouth though! Ooh, wash out yer mouth son! It were like, oh I can't even say it, it's too dirty: 'f*** your mother in the c***, f*** her, f***her,' and the like! Me and me mum would sit there on the sofa with our hair litrally standin on end. Frankly shockin! But guess what? People was flockin to them gigs. They was spillin out onto the street. People couldn't get enough. The band were edgy see. They was angry. And all the edgy angry people out there was pickin up on the new vibe.

Within a month they was being interviewed on Jules Holland. Jules asked them what everyone wanted to know which was why was they so angry? Finn flared his mega-pierced nostrils, not in a good way, and said, 'some people manage to deal with loss and pain by looking at all the positives, like all the things they've still got. But all this positive shit....you know, I've like had enough of all that new-age hippy crap?' He leant forward and in a coarse whisper and with a sneer of his multiple-pierced lip said, 'Life is full of shit, people! Get used to it.' He gave a grin, again, not in a good way.

'What shit happened to you then, Finn?' asked Jules.

There were a pause while Finn's eyes looked up like he were asking for patience from the Lord!

He sighed. 'Where to start? The person I thought were me father, he wanted me dead? Me mum died when I were ten? Me real father don't want to know....what more do you need? Half of me brothers have gone all soppy and religious, like losing their minds? No, it's time to make a stand. See if I can save the other half from turnin to mush.' He gesticuled to his followers.

'By 'brothers', do you mean the Lost Boys?' asked Jules softly.

Finn twisted his face in a bit of an ugly way. 'Yeah. They're my brothers,' he said.

'So at Christmas, will you be up against your 'brothers' for the Number 1?' asked Jules.

Finn laughed. 'Yeah, I'm up for thrashing it out with them, why not?' he said.

The next week he went into a recording studio with his band and twenty of the Heavenly Host. They stayed in for more than a month. No one heard a peep out of them during this time. The tension were unbearable. What sort of a sound was they making? Everyone wanted to know. Little clips of them on Youtube from the several angry spittin gigs with them crazy blank-eyed drummer girls went viral. People was gaggin for more.

Equally, Nicholas had gone quiet. He were recordin in New York. We went over to visit just for a long weekend. It were well hot and humid, but I thought I might check out Fifth Ave while I were there, did meself a nice bit of shoppin at Barney's and Macy's. We took Nick out to a diner for eggs on toast, always his favourite. He were well distracted but that weren't nothing new. Couldn't get much sense out of him. I asked him if he'd been shoppin since he'd been there. He just looked at me like what's shoppin? I sighed. While I were there I brought him some nice Calvin Klein underwear and jeans and a couple of trendy t-shirts from Canal St. I mean, not being funny or anythin, but a guy needs some clothes. He didn't need much heavier stuff as it were boilin hot that summer.

Anyway, then I needed to get back. It were me mate Shelley's birthday and we was going to the Ice Bar in London in a limo to have drinks in them big coats. I'm never one to miss a party, you know me, and I told Nick not to worry, I'd be watchin out for him on the telly. His dad stayed out there another week just to help him with practical things, make sure he were getting enough to eat and that.

### Chapter 27. A Girl's Gotta Have Some Fun.

August came and went. I got meself a couple of weekends in Southend and Matt and me we got the BBQ going out in the garden. I am partial to a Barbeque but I only like steak and only if it's well done. I don't like none of that half raw shit.

I saw that Finn on the telly talkin to someone about music. They was asking him when his new album would be ready. 'People are waiting, people are desperate to see what you've made,' they said.

'Yeah, they're like fuckin leeches, the lot of em,' he answered. 'I'm not fuckin ready yet, if it's OK with you.'

Bit of a sarky bugger. He were gettin quite a reputation, going out in Camden and gettin wasted, causin trouble in pubs, gettin in fights. He were all over the celebrity news. Bit of a rock n roll lifestyle. He smashed up some lights and mics at a festival. He leapt around the stage so much it frightened me, I thought he would hurt hisself. He were like raw, that's the only way to describe him, raw. Tiny little hips, tight black jeans, scrawny chest and them angry angry lips shouting horrible obskenities.

Then it were the launch of the Lost Boys new album. They had a big party in London where they was to play two of the new tracks live. I went with Matt. We was excited to see Nick and hear the new songs. From the first chord it were very odd. I din't feel it much, but looking around me I saw people go a bit trancey, if you know what I mean. They all looked like they'd smoked a bit of waccy baccy, like they was out of their tiny minds. It's like the music were doin somethin to the atmosphere. It's like everyone had taken a step sideways in their minds, like the music had let them into a room where normally you're not allowed to go or something. I tried to chat to some people but honest to God, they'd gone glassy-eyed. I were like 'Hello!? Anyone home?!' I wondered if their drinks had all been spiked.

The second song weren't no better. I couldn't get no sense outta no one there. Matt were backstage so I couldn't talk to him. Everyone were lost to me. I were startin to wish I'd bought me mum with me. Then, little by little, oh my god, I started to feel it. Did I ever! I guess at first I had just been more resistant than other people. But, not being funny or anythin, this were scary. It were like coming up on E or something. It were like a mighty whoosh in your chest, from the vibrations like working on you, working on you, til you give in, you crack, you can't take it. But then again, I never been that good with drugs. I prefer to know what's goin on. That's why I stick to Mojitos.

It were like a horrible tickly buzzing inside me ribs, then in me pelvis, in the tops of me thighs, I felt meself start to sway, I couldn't think no more, me mind were suddenly full of colours, sliding slabs of colour what were floodin into corners of me mind what I din't know was there. Oh, my God, maybe my drink had been spiked, I started to think! Parts of me long forgotten from when I were just a slip of a girl was being wakened up. I started to pay real attention. I listened and listened, and shut me eyes, and felt like I weren't meself, I were like transported, I were like someone else, someone much better than me, someone older, but younger, fresher...oh, my lord, someone kinder and with nothin bad in them. This made me cry. I were just standin there sobbin me heart out. Because I knew in me heart, I knew that in me normal life I had been a bad person. I had done wrong. Plain and simple. It were clear to me. And I felt sorry, suddenly. Very very sorry for what I done.

The song came to an end. All you could now hear was sobs, the sobs and moanin of everyone in the audience. People turned to complete strangers and hugged them. I hugged the lady next to me. Big and fat, she were, and she had nasty perfume on, but she were comfortin none the less, in my moment of pain. I looked around me and could see that all the people there felt sorry, like me. They wanted to be better people.

I did wonder as the sobs died away and the applause started, if Nick had got it wrong. Music what makes people feel bad and sad? Is that a good thing? Music what freaks out bits of your mind what you'd rather keep under wraps thanks very much? Ooh, I'm not sure. However, havin said that, I did start to feel better inside after the song. Like as if bad stuff had been taken out of me. Like all the shit had just poured itself into the ground.

Anyway, after this everyone relaxed a bit and got drunk. There was bottles and bottles of champers, which I love, so I found a waiter with a tray of full glasses, and took three of em, one at a time, necking em right there and then. There was people lookin at me like a bit disapprovin, but I din't care. Me mum always says, 'Shardonnay, a girl's gotta have some fun. If you can't have some fun, life's not worth livin.' And she's right. If I go out, I wanna have some fun. There ain't no point in goin out otherwise, is there? I grabbed another couple of champagne flutes.

I were starting to spin a bit when I came face to face with Finn in the crowd. 'I din't know you was here, Finn!' I says. 'How are you gettin on?'

He looked me in the eye long and hard. God, that boy has so many piercings, lips, nose, cheeks, eyebrows. It's hard to concentrate on what someone's saying when there's so many distractions. But you'd have to be pretty thick-skinned to miss what he next said to me, he said: 'Shardonnay. Well I never. Face to face at last.' He leant close and whispered: 'I know what you did.' There were a pause. I were so pissed I couldn't help myself, I burst out laughin. He looked angry. 'You may well laugh,' he said, 'but one of these days I'm going to get proof and then,' he leant over again and hissed in me ear, 'I'm gonna tell him, and you won't be able to stop me.'

Oh, Lordy, probably woulda been better if I hadn't been quite so drunk. But I drew meself up tall, hopin I wouldn't fall over, and I says to him, I says, 'Well, Finn, you do whatever you like, but without me you wouldn't even be here to do it! I carried ya...well, ok, maybe half of ya... carefully across the road in your little jam-jar! I took care! I cared about ya! I din't trip! I din't lose ya! You should be saying 'well done,' to me, 'well done,' for doing that little service for ya.'

'Yeah, well, if you had refrained from carrying out 'that little service,' then maybe the man who brought me up would've provided his own seed to make his own baby and maybe...' his voice cracked, 'maybe he would've loved me,' he said, desperately.

'Yeah, well,' I countered drunkenly, slopping me champers out of me glass as I tried to focus on the lad's eyes, 'a.) he probably couldn't get it up or had sperms what didn't know how to swim and that's why yer mum came to the 'clinic,' and b.) if he had 'provided his own seed' then you wouldn't be you, you'd be some other kid, if you get my drift, and c.) even if the kid made out of that man what brung you up's spunk was 'you', would you really want to have a dad like that?' I finished my speech with a flourish of me champagne flutes, and leant over to puke in a plant pot. I were rather proud of me reasonin. I always think clearer when I've had a few.

Poor lad, I think he knew when he were beat. He backed off anyhow. Must say, I don't take kindly to threats. Best nip em in the bud.

### Chapter 28. No Peace for the Wicked.

So it were a few months later and I were in the middle of pourin meself a nice glass of white wine when the doorbell went. 'Oh lord, no peace for the wicked!' I sighed to meself. I tell you, over the years, that front door has seen plenty of action. I opened up and there were a young lass there holdin a whingin toddler in her arms. Her face were all streaky and her mascara were runnin. She were like way too thin.

'Is Nicholas here?' she asked, her breath cloudin in the cold night air.

I din't know what to say. She looked familiar. Oh, my God, it were that girl with funny eyes. It were Izzy, the one who guessed what I done with the sperm. Shit, I never liked her. Smartarse.

'My baby...my baby is sick,' she said. 'I just thought maybe Nick could help her?'

I looked at the kid. It did look sick. Like grey. Unconscious. I sighed. 'You're in luck,' I said. 'He's due back from New York later. Should be in about eleven.'

I don't know why I let her in. If I hadn't everything might of been different. But as me mum says, 'You couldn't of known, Shardonnay, how could you of known?' And it were well cold! You can't leave someone with a baby out in the freezin cold!

We waited for Nick in the lounge. I made her a cuppa tea. Gave her a crumpet. The baby were moanin softly into its cloth with its eyes tight shut.

Lucky the telly were on cos otherwise there would of been a well embarrassing silence. I finally thought of something to say. 'You sing well high,' I said. 'Got a bit of a voice on ya, haven't ya?'

She smiled. 'Used to have,' she whispered. A tear plopped out of her eyes. It don't help if you ain't got no eyelashes.

'What's the baby called?' I asked.

She took a little sip of tea. 'Gloria,' she said.

I woulda said 'Nice name,' but I really weren't feelin it, I mean, really, Gloria? The poor little scrap, with a name like that! La di da, or what, and I don't like to lie so I din't say nothin.

'Why did you leave the Heavenly Host?' I asked, curious suddenly. 'We always wondered, cos you was like so good and you was getting so famous?'

She din't answer. She just patted the baby, and I understood, she must of left cos she were pregnant.

'D'you mind if I smoke?' she asked.

'Not at all, you go ahead,' I said and pushed me Silk Cut over to her.

She smoked away, silently, with shaky fingers. Ooh, she were a bit of a mess, must be said. 'At the end of the day,' I thought to meself, 'you only got yourself to blame, gettin pregnant so young.' Honestly, the youf, whatcha gonna do with em, they ain't got no clue. Honestly, to have a baby, you need a house, you need a bit of security, let's face it, you need yourself a man. You can't go doin all that when you is still a kid yerself, yer just not ready.

A car dropped Nick off nigh on midnight. He walked in and dropped a whole pile of recording stuff on the floor in shock when he saw the girl. 'Izzy!' he said, 'For God's sake, we thought we'd never see you again. Why didn't you get in touch?'

'I'm sorry, Nick,' she said, crying again, scrumpling a disinteglating tissue into her eyes. 'I'm so sorry.'

'We looked for you,' said Nick, looking into her eyes. 'After Sebastian died we tried all your old addresses.'

'I was only fifteen, Nick! The press would've done me in! Oh, yeah, you know what they're like. They would've loved a pregnant celebrity teen. My parents knew I had to disappear....' She looked down at the baby who were suddenly breathing very fast. 'Nick, can you help her? You're her last chance. Please.' She held out the floppy toddler to him, her head down in shame.

Nick turned off the telly and took the kid, wrapped in its fleecy blanket, in his arms and walked over to the window. With his back to us, we couldn't see what he were doing, but he stood really still. The orange glow from the street lamp outside shone around his body. It looked like he had a halo all around him. He hummed really low in his throat and swayed slightly. He stayed like that for maybe three minutes. Then he turned and passed the baby back to the girl. The baby were asleep, its eyes shut and a frown on its little grey face. Poor little mite.

### Chapter 29. Got Me Knickers in a Right Ol Twist.

The next day were Finn's album launch in the Old Vic Tunnels. Matt couldn't come cos he had a meeting, so I went with Debs and Shelley. Bit of a wacky place OMG it's like a rabbit warren down there. He had them crazy girls on drums, lots of em. They don't never smile, they just bang on them drums. Havin said that, I were listening for about two minutes and I just had to start dancin! And once I started, I couldn't stop! It were fantastic. The rhythms is like brilliant, they gets you goin. Even if you was dead it would get you goin! The words what Finn was singin was not real words, it were like a foreign language. And he weren't really singin he were speakin a bit like rappin. He sounded like that weird Rafiki in the Lion King. A mix between that and some serious clubbin shit what you like if you done tons of E.

We brought ourselves a couple of bottles of white wine. Me and Debs and Shelley was all like totally getting into the dancin. It's like we had tickly hips. We danced for hours. Shelley were makin me die! She were bouncin around squealin and fallin into people. When the music finally stopped we was sweatin like mad. I wanted to tell Finn how good his music were so I were lookin out for him thinkin he might come in to spend time with his mates. He were takin ages comin out. I pushed open a door under one of the arches to see if I could get backstage. It led into a cold corridor. I turned a corner, and there were Finn, talkin to Nick. 'OMG, Finn, that were soooo good,' I yelled. They both just looked at me, eyes all dark and nasty. I were scared. I din't know what were up but I left em to it. What can you do? It's lad stuff I thought to meself. Went back through the door to go home with me mates. How could I have known, see? I couldn't of known. There weren't no way I could of predicted what were gonna happen.

I went round Shelley's on the way home for another coupla drinks and a fag. We had a good old giggle us girls. We was litrally screamin our heads off with laughin. Can't remember what about, but it were makin us laugh whatever it were! I do love a night out with the girls.

Anyway, I got home and there were Nick on the settee in the lounge. He had his head in his hands. 'Whassa matter love?' I asked him.

'Mum, it's just so, so bad...' he said.

'Nothin a nice cuppa tea won't sort out,' I said.

'No, Mum,' he groaned. 'This is worse than you can know.'

What?' I asked. 'Nick, you can tell me! I'm yer mum!'

'The little girl...that baby,' he couldn't speak, he were crying his eyes out. I hadn't never seen my Nick like this before.

'What? What baby?' I asked.

'Izzy's baby....Gloria.' He gulped. ' I couldn't heal her. I made her worse. She's dead, Mum.' He dissolved into sobs.

Ooh, that were a blow. No wonder he felt upset. 'Dead? Oh! The poor little soul!' I said.

'Finn...' he looked up at me, '...Finn told me, she just got worse...and worse, after seeing me.'

'Nick, that baby were very very ill!' I said. 'You could tell. Her skin were grey! And how come Finn knows that Izzy anyway?' I asked.

'She...lives with a couple of the drummer girls.' Jesus, the light had gone out of his eyes. 'Mum,' he whispered. 'Finn says people are sayin I'm a...a fraud. And that I always have been. A fraud.' It's like he were tryin out the word, like he'd never come across it before.

'Nick,' I says, indignant, 'you ain't never been a fraud! That Finn's always been jealous of you. He's a nasty piece a work as well...not his fault, fair to say, his mum died and his dad smacked him about and that...but don't you go listenin to what he has to say. He is one messed up boy.'

I made my son a nice cuppa tea and a rich tea biscuit. The poor lad were in shock. Never nice hearin bad news. Dead baby, not easy though is it? It's never easy that sorta thing. Whatcha gonna say? Nothin helps. Although I did say this, I said, 'Nick, whatever's done is done. You can't change it. It's done.' And maybe I think now I should never of said that. Because maybe it made Nick realise that there weren't no mendin what had been done. What do I know? I'm beginnin to think I know nothin! I probably shoulda said to him what me mum always says to me when I'm havin a hard time, she says, 'Shardie, you done your best. You can't do more'n your best, no one can do more'n their best.' I shoulda said, 'Nick, you done your best! There ain't no more you can do than your best.' Because that woulda helped more than tellin the poor boy that what were done were done. Oh my god, I'm so confused now, I got me knickers in a right old twist.

Anyway, it's too late now, Shardie, what's done is done! Let's face it, there ain't no goin back now.

### Chapter 30. Not Good.

So I went upstairs and fell asleep. Oh, I don't even know if I can tell you this bit. It's just too bad. You won't believe how bad it is. I'll light meself a Silk Cut and take a deep breath, that's what I'll do. See if that helps.

OK, so in the morning around half nine I were in the middle of frothin a coupla cappuccinos for me and mum and I had a phone call from Nick's London studio. They had to repeat theirselves a couple of times, cos I weren't really getting it: Nick'd been found by some stalking press guy, half hung from a rafter by his recordin cables. Problem from Nick's point of view is them cables had stretched a bit, so's his feet was on the floor, so he din't die, he just nearly died! He basically got in a coma, broke his spine, and is now like completely palarysed. The only thing what he can move is one eyebrow and that not often.

I were pretty gutted when I heard all this as you can imagine. I think I went into shock. Me mum made us a cuppa sweet tea. I were shakin like a leaf. Matt came home and we rushed to the hospital and was there for like the next three weeks. It were touch and go. We kept thinkin he'd died. He would drift in and out of conscience but mainly he were out for the count. The machines was all bleepin. We was exhausted.

It's funny, right, but Nick still looked so gorjuss, lyin there, his blond hair flicked back like it were blowin in the wind, his cheekbones so defined, his fingers so long and relaxed. Only just fourteen years old! Still a child, but he'd seen so much. I just sat there by his side lookin at how beautiful he were, and prayed and prayed that he would come back to us. Me and Matt sat there for hours and hours every day, holdin hands and holdin Nick's hand.

The doctors called us in to tell us stuff. They basically said that Nick were trapped in his palarysed body, but so far as they could tell his mind were still alive and workin. But there weren't like any way for Nick to tell us that he were still here. After three months we would be allowed to have him at home and look after him there, they said.

I did want to have my boy at home. It felt right. It were hard work, but carers came in every day to help us. Me and mum put him in the lounge in his special raised bed. We made sure our massive telly were within his line of vision and chose good stuff for him to watch all day. TOWIE, Big Brother, Jeremy Kyle, Britain's got Talent, America's Next Top Model and that. If he did have an active brain, I din't want him gettin bored. He could actually twitch one eyebrow, and when I put on TOWIE for example he twitched it like mad, so I could tell he liked it. 'Alright love?' I would shout. 'You doin OK in there?'

Once a week we would give him Songs of Praise cos he used to like that when he were little. I think he probably still liked it. Hard to tell really. We did our best though, me mum and me. And you can only ever do your best.

If I ever went out with Debs and Shelley, cos you gotta have a break, you just gotta, Matt would take over and just sit there readin him poems, for hours and hours, one hand holdin the book and one hand holding Nick's hand. I thought to meself, 'Lucky the poor sod can't hear any of that shit!' But I din't say nothin. What can you do? His dad were only doin his best as well. And you can't do more'n your best.

Me mum says, she says, 'Shardie, it'll take time. He's gone and hung hisself, you can't expect it to get better overnight. These things take time.'

### Chapter 31. The Visitor.

We looked after Nick for four years, Matt and me mum and me. It were not easy. It were constant. Like all the time, you had to be helpin him. But I am a practical girl and I just got on with it. You just gotta get on with it, whatcha gonna do? People came to visit Nick, they bought chocolate with em, not that he could eat it really. He could only be fed through a tube, soup and liquidized stuff. The Lost Boys came, of course, and members of the Heavenly Host, lots of em. They bought flowers, balloons, cards, and gave him a kiss, held his hand. It's hard though, when someone don't react! He just din't react. Not a word, not a flicker, not a twitch. His eyes stayed completely blank. He just acted completely unconscious. You din't even know if he knew someone had come round! So little by little the visits grew less. You can't blame people. Obviously, if the person you're visiting can't move even a tiny bit, it's not gonna be the most entertainin of visits. Matt and me mum and me, though, we din't care that Nicholas couldn't move, we still loved him and looked after him and chose his favourite TV programs for him.

Then one day, after four years of this, there came a knock on the door. It were a girl. A young girl of about seven. She had reddish blond hair. She were very very pretty. 'I need to see Nicholas, please,' she said. OMG posh voice or what? There was two people sitting out in a car in the street. I said she could come in, and she signalled to them to wait.

She brushed past me, walked straight past Matt with her little heels going click click click across the floor and went in to Nicholas. 'Nick,' she said. 'I'm Gloria.'

Nick did not move, of course, as he couldn't.

'Nick,' said the girl. 'You saved me when I was three. Do you remember? You made me better?'

OMG could this really be that Izzy's kid? We was convinced the kid had died wasn't we? We never knew Nick had saved her! Nick's eyebrow twitched. This were rare and only ever normally happened when his favourite TOWIE were on so I were quite surprised.

'Nick! Do you know who my father was?'

Nick's eyebrow twitched again. 'My father,' she said, and paused for a little moment, 'was Sebastian.'

Matt and me, watchin from the doorway, gasped. Oh, my giddy aunt! Sebastian's child! So that saintly boy were the one what got that poor underage druggy up the duff.

'Nick, this is important. Please listen. My mother Isobel, who used to sing with you, died a month ago from a drugs overdose. I have nowhere to go. You are my only hope. I need you to look after me.'

Nick's eyebrow twitched. The girl looked at him in despair. She put her hand on his arm. 'Nick, please! Can't you...can't you just make a superhuman effort to come out of this? My mum always believed you were superhuman. Come on! I need you. Sebastian needs you.'

She looked around. She went over to the telly and turned off Britain's Got Talent. I made a move forward to say 'Oy! That's one of his favourites, that is!' but Matt put a hand on me arm and stopped me. We both watched her walk round to the head of the bed and place her little hands on either side of his head. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. She stayed there, very still, very calm. She seemed in no hurry. The world seemed to slow down for a minute or two. I felt very sleepy suddenly, and kind of cosy, like peaceful and happy and light. Then she opened her eyes and walked round to Nicholas' side, cupped her hand round his, and said in her little clipped voice, 'Nick, they're taking me off to be put up for adoption. It's just too random. I might end up with really very nasty people. I would much much rather be with you. You are my uncle. You were my father's friend and brother. That is enough for me.'

There were a horrible silence. Oops, I were crossin me fingers that Matt hadn't picked up on the 'uncle' and 'brother' bit. Gloria looked and looked into Nick's blank eyes, searchin, searchin, for somethin, anythin. Course, there weren't no hope. We coulda told her that and she coulda saved her breath. She leant over him for one last try. She whispered, 'Nick, if you let me stay, I could turn off the telly for you whenever you like!'

Then she just stood there, holding Nick's hand with her eyes shut, her head bowed. Maybe she were prayin. I were just about to ask if she were OK when she started to sing. She had a sweet little voice, like that little girl in Les Mis. She sang soft and high: 'From little acorns, come lovely leaves, from little acorns, come ancient trees.'

Matt were grippin me arm so tight it hurt. I understood. Hearin her sing that song transported us back to a happy time when Nick were little.

Sfunny but you don't realise you're like litrally in heaven when you're litrally in heaven. You only realise it years later, lookin back, when somethin triggers a shadow of it, a memory of that delicious time.

The emotion wellin up in us were unbearable. I got a massive lump in me throat and had to put me hand over me mouth so's not to let out a big sob. Gloria got to the chorus: 'We're rocked in our cradle, we're rocked in our tree, we're rocked in our Father's arms, and he's close to me.'

She finished the song, stood quiet for a second. Her tears had fallen on Nick's hand. She bent down and wiped them off with a lock of her hair. Then she turned to us and said, 'Thank you, Shardonnay. Thank you Matt,' in a quiet voice. We saw her to the door. She shook us politely by the hand. She looked all blurry through me tears. She went out to the waiting car.

### Chapter 32. Massive shizz happens.

Gloria's tan character shoes scrunched on the gravel then went tap tap tap on the kerb. A man got out of the car and opened a rear door for her. She got in, arranged her coat tidily around her, wound down her window and gave me a polite, controlled little wave. Her face were pinched. She were tryin not to show her disappointment. Brave little kid, I thought to meself, sadly.

I were aware of a movement by my side. Matt had let go of me arm and started forward. I turned to look at him. I could see from his eyes what he were gonna do. 'For God's sake,' I said in a loud whisper. 'We got enough to look after without a little prissy girl and all!' I grabbed his shirt sleeve.

He yanked his arm away from my grip, almost violent he were. 'Yeah, Shardonnay, it is for God's sake that I'm doing this and I'm gonna do whatever I bloody like!' he hissed. Bloody hell, not like him at all, such a pussy he is normally.

He legged it down the steps, stumbled over the gravel towards the car which were already movin away, sprinted after it and banged his fist on the roof. The car jerked to a halt. Gloria's window slid down.

'Gloria!' said Matt. 'Would you....would you, please...' he sniffed and sobbed, honestly, he's a right wuss, 'do me the favour of...coming to live here, with us?....You're so good with Nick, you see, and you could, you could sing to him every day. He...he would really love that.' I rolled me eyes cos he were blubbin away as he said all this. Honestly, that man! His heart'll be the death of him. Gloria opened her car door and got out and hugged Matt. They just stood there quiet, arms round each other, tears pourin down their faces.

Then a voice behind us groaned 'OP!'

All our heads swivelled round. There were a silence. You coulda heard a pin drop. Even the birds was holding their breath. I walked back to the doorway of the lounge. Nick were moving his mouth and eyes.

'OP?' I says to him. 'Funny word to say, if it's your first word in four years!' Then I let out one of me bigger cackles.

'OP!' Nick said again, and me mum and me we burst out cryin and laughin with relief and happiness. Third try Nick got his mouth to work better. 'STOP!' he shouted.

'Yeah, it's OK, Nick,' I said to him. 'Your dad's taken care of it. That little kid's comin to live with us.' Soon as I said it in words, I realised it were right and that Matt had done a good thing.

Matt and Gloria came runnin back in. None of us could believe it that our boy were back. We was yellin and huggin and shriekin and dancin. Gloria hugged Nick. He said, slowly at first then faster, 'Sebastian's child. You are Sebastian's child! Of course you are!' over and over again.

He only had his mouth and eyes so far to work with, but over the comin days, with Gloria doin her healin on him, he got to sit up in a wheel-chair and got back the use of his arms. First thing he did, he asked us to wheel him over to the telly. I were thrilled to bits. I thought he were gonna show us how independent he were by changin the channel himself or something and you know, every little helps, that would be another good step in the right direction. Matt wheeled him over. I were just about to say, 'Oy, Nick, you could just use the remote like everybody else,' when he picked up me lovely silver ornamental King Charles Spaniel and smacked it into the TV, smashin the screen to bits. He smacked it again and again, every inch of it, until he were breathless. It were well weird. I mean, what had that telly ever done to him? I think the poor lad's gone a bit soft in the head. Luckily the telly were a few years old and we was due for a new one otherwise I would have been a bit pissed off really.

Little by little he got walkin again. It's takin time but I think he'll be there soon. Could even be completely better for his eighteenth which is in like three weeks. Yeah, I know! The little guy's not even eighteen. It's like he's lived several life-times innit? It's all too much, really. Too much, too young.

### Chapter 33. Oops.

A week later I took some letters off of the doormat and took them in to Matt in his office. He were in front of his computer. He looked at me and turned the screen to face me. It were Youtube. I just love Youtube. I sat down on a swivel seat to enjoy whatever it were. Oh my god, it were me! I must say, I were lookin well hot! I were dressed in a gorjuss gold lamay top, all shiny and tight. I were waving a glass of champers around in each hand, LOL what am I like? Wherever the camera were, I were right there in its face. I'm always like that, I am, really photojeanic. I started listening to the words comin out of me mouth. They kinda rung a bell. Oh...yeah, not good...a cold feelin of dread were going up and down me spine. I held me breath as I listened:

'Well, Finn, you do whatever you like, but without me you wouldn't even be here to do it! I carried ya...well, ok, maybe half of ya... carefully across the road in your little jam-jar! I took care! I cared about ya! I din't trip! I din't lose ya! You should be saying 'well done,' to me, 'well done,' for doing that little service for ya.' Oh, Lord, me voice were going on and on. Talk about diggin yer own grave. I were diggin me own fuckin canyon! I listened right to the end, me heart thumpin away in me chest like a fuckin herd a fuckin elephants:

'....couldn't get it up or had sperms what didn't know how to swim and that's why yer mum came to the 'clinic,' and b.) if he had 'provided his own seed' then you wouldn't be you, you'd be some other kid, if you get my drift, and c.) even if the kid made out of that man what brung you up's spunk was 'you', would you really want to have a dad like that?'

I couldn't help but nod along as the me in the video were actually making some rather good points, I thought. But oh! That bloody bastard Finn! Not only had he made out to poor Nick that Gloria were dead, but he'd also secretly got me on film the night of his show. Little shit. Sorry, I don't like swearing, you know I don't, but there ain't no other word for him. I made a mental note to meself to go round and give him a piece of my mind, and a good smack while I'm about it. Yeah, and if Shardonnay wants to give you a good smack, you are gonna know about it! You can feel sorry for that little shit. Very very sorry!

I carried on watchin. Couldn't tear me eyes away. The person what were me lurched off to the side, sloppin her champers everywhere, and threw up in a plant pot. That did make me giggle just a tiny bit cos honestly, what am I like?!

However, I kinda knew the game were up. There were no point hidin nothin now. Everyone in the world would know the truth. That's the problem with Youtube and the internet innit though? If one person knows it, everyone knows it. And oops, that video already had three million views and had only been put up yesterday. 'Matt.' I swallowed. ' You might as well know everything now, I spose.' I took a deep breath. Here goes. I paused and could hardly get the words out. 'Sebastian were... your child.'

He looked at me and his eyes filled with tears. 'I knew it,' he whispered. I have never seen a man look more sad. 'He was mine. I loved him. How many are mine?'

'I'm not sure,' I said sadly. 'Most of the Heavenly Host. All of the Lost Boys. Hundreds I think,' I whispered: 'Maybe even thousands. I'm sorry.'

My husband were lookin a bit pale and shocked. You can't blame him really. 'How did you take my sperm? Was it all the blow-jobs?'

'Yes, all them lovely blow-jobs.' I perked up a bit. 'Lookin on the bright side, they never went to waste,' I said.

'No, I suppose they didn't,' he said, a bit stunned. Out of the blue he started smiling a massive smile, ear to ear. 'You know what this means though, don't you?'

I were like, 'What?' thinkin, 'Oh, no, I got another one what's gone in the head!'

'It means.....Gloria is my grand-daughter!'

Yeah, as me mum always says, 'Every cloud, Shardonnay,' she says, 'Every cloud...' and she also says, 'If you got your heart in the right place, Shardie, you can't go wrong,' and I still feel, deep down, that when I carried all them little half humans across the street in their little jam jar oh, bless em, I were only actin out of the kindness of me heart. OK, I'm not gonna lie, the money came in handy, and let me live the life I wanted to live, but I wanted the best for them little babies too, I did. I wanted them to live. And live is what they done, oh yeah, not half! So it might not of turned out exactly how I wanted it, but as me mum always says, 'it could be worse, Shardie, things could always of turned out worse.' She's right you know. At least we got our Nick back. And Gloria is a lovely kid, bit weird but yeah, whatever, and she got to live with us.

Me mum and Matt and Nick absolutely love her, and that is good. One last thing what she says, me mum, is 'Shardie, everythin happens for a reason.' And, thinkin about it, I can only see one reason and that is that it had to happen. If something has to happen, it just has to happen. Also, what goes around comes around and now you know, it's actually quite nice that Matt's got all them kids. It ain't borin, that's for sure. We got one big fuckin family! Yeah, can't argue with that!

They come and visit him for advice and fatherly times. Like loads. It's like he runs a counsellin service for his own kids. They have to make appointments for ten minute slots. He had to give up his job to fit em all in. That's all right. We're gonna claim child benefit for the ones what ain't got no mums and that's already a fair few. He does it all day long and even then he still don't know all their names. It's a bloody full time job even gettin to meet them all. So, although he lost Sebastian and Izzy, he gained a whole load more. A bit more than he bargained for, some would say! LMFAO.

Well, you know, you win some you lose some. Gotta expect a bit a that. This is Life, after all, what's got its ups and downs. Life in the World According To Shardonnay, yeah, that's me! Been nice getting to know ya! Next time you come round I'll tell you about that other adventure I had after I went down Baroosh with Debs and Shelley and ended up drinkin That Really Really Big Mojito. OMG you will laugh! That story makes me die! Tara for now.

### ###

Hester Tingey is a mother of four children, her oldest at the time of writing being 20 and the youngest 13. She studied French and Modern Greek at Exeter College, Oxford. She is the author of a self-published novel 'A Breast of the Times', a comedy about a human milk factory. A year ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer. In response to this she started writing an award-winning blog called 'The Breast Blog In The World'.
