This is more of 'a day in the life', so if you're looking for a plot, look elsewhere (not that I dislike them, just that this isn't that kind of story). It's quite long, and really I just hope that you don't get bored and stop reading. If so, skip down to the comments and let me know what I did wrong.
Thanks for reading,
Ceramix.

I'm on the train, going to visit mum in her new house. It's a Tuesday and the sun is bright, the train half full, mainly middle-aged women and their grown-up daughters heading to the seaside for sun and shopping. Livvy's asleep in her pushchair and my eyes wander from her pudgy nine-month-old face to the landscape unrolling with the train. Somewhere between Pitsea and Benfleet we leave trees and green fields behind, water curves round us and the sky gets bigger, it's as if someone's lifted the blinds and light floods in, the quality of it changing, it stretches out, unfurls itself into the space with nothing manmade to confine it. The sea is a chain of silver spread across the horizon, and I can see small fishing boats stranded in the hard, dry sand, leaning sideways as if pushed. No one gets out here; a few teenage boys get on, talking loudly about nothing and pushing each other along the carriage.

A few minutes later and shuffling feet announce the next stop, before the bland, perfectly ennunciated train announcement redundantly informs us of our approach to Leigh-on-sea. I wait until everyone has moved to the door, then push Livvy out into the gangway. When we get off, a mother and daughter duo help manoeuvre the pushchair onto the platform, smiling at Livvy and me conspiratorially; we're in the same club, on the same side.

They walk away and I watch their feet: brown-thonged sandals hugging tanned skin tipped with pink toenails, white skin and dark blue leather mules with wedge heels. I pull my hair into a rough ponytail and pull the shade over Livvy so she's protected from the sun. She wakes up and immediately decides to cry, short hiccupy bursts more to get attention than because she's unhappy. I pick her up and lean her against my shoulder, begin tickling her neck to make her giggle. I lower her back and strap her in, then head towards the exit. A teenager who was lolling against the wall comes over and helps me get her up the stairs, looking at Livvy, then at me. He's wearing loose-fitting battered jeans and a black T-shirt with the word Babyshambles in white. He pushes his long blonde fringe off his forehead and eyes me curiously. "Thanks for your help."

"Don't I know you?" he asks, "I think we went to the same college - "

"Yeah, maybe, you look familiar. Thanks again." I start walking away.

"It's Claire isn't it? And you were friends with that girl, Debbie something, the one who -"

I leave the station and walk into the open air, the sun feels good on my skin and Livvy is laughing at something, kicking her little legs in amusement. I feel like I could be in a movie, the opening shot, the camera catching sight of a young girl, slim, brown hair, short flowery dress showing pale legs contrasted with black sandals. I stand up straighter and smile, push the buggy faster. A young mum with her adorable baby, all peachy skin and dimples, the power of 'aahh' and that soft gooey feeling when you see something vulnerable and cute. The feeling that everything is ok, everything is just hunky-dory and even politicians and serial

rapists are nice people, really, underneath, if we just gave them a chance. The death of cynicism, the triumph of love, justice and tolerance.

Yeah, whatever. The feeling never lasts. I slip back into my usual semi-morose state without noticing it, my feet feel heavier, the pushchair slower. I'm not what I look like.

To get to mum's house we walk upwards while the sea glimmers away below, is caught in glimpses, then vanishes. We cross the road and I head left, past antique furniture shops and fashionably sparse designer boutiques that I'm too scruffy to even think of entering. The clothes are too demure for Essex girls, more suited to their mothers maybe - ladies who lunch in Leigh.There's a 'spa' across the road, two young women stand talking outside, big sunglasses shielding their hair rather than their eyes and cropped trousers revealing smooth tanned calves. At the next street I go left again and the road sweeps upwards, and now I'm in my favourite part, where Leigh slips back in time and I feel like I've lost my footing,

like I've stumbled into the past. The houses are old, mostly Victorian, with crumbly brick walls and panes of coloured glass above the front doors. Old people live here, you can tell. The gardens have neat little lawns and dozens of bright flowers,in full bloom and wide open like a big smile. I walk past a row of tall, closed-up buildings, shops and storehouses. They're in a line, five of them, each topped with an urn and trailing ivy leaves, glowered over by a lion's head, all in greyish plaster, all slightly surreal. The end one has a large sign over the front: Purveyor of fine foods to the gentry. I'm not quite sure who the gentry are, but I doubt there are many around here now.

Mum's house has a small lollipop-shaped tree in the garden, dotted with bunches of pink flowers, scattering blossom over the path like confetti. She opens the door before I've had a chance to ring the bell.

"Hello mum. Tree looks lovely, pretty flowers."

"Yes, but they make an awful mess on the lawn. Oh, doesn't Livvy look sweet! Is that a new skirt? She's a real little cherub, aren't you Livvy-Livvy?" Mum catches Livvy's chubby hands and gives them a loud clownish kiss, but Livvy only struggles to get out of the buggy. I carry her into the living room and settle her on the sofa with her favourite toy, a small squishy toy dog with close-set eyes, ingeniously named Dog.

"Claire, your shoes."

"Ok, ok." I go back and obediently leave my sandals on a little mat mum has especially for shoes. We never bother at home, and I'm sure I have more visitors than mum.

"Are you ready for lunch yet? I've done a potato salad and some cold salmon."

I grimace. "Last time you said we'd have fish and chips."

"It's too hot. And they're unhealthy."

"So? I don't eat them everyday."

"And they're fattening. You'll - we'll put on weight."

"From one plate of fish and chips? I don't think so."

"I know what you cook at home Claire and it's not good for you, all those chips and fish fingers. You should make more of an effort."

I've barely sat down and she's already started on her favourite subject: Claire's Decline and Why she is such a Disappointment to her Parents. She'll start asking me why I'm not wearing make-up next, or if I have anything nicer in my wardrobe than this charity shop dress. Mum, of course, is impeccably dressed in black linen trousers and a cream blouse, her short (dyed) brown hair carefully brushed forward to frame her face, which looks more defined than usual with lipstick and mascara. She doesn't look bad for 46, but there are frown lines between her eyes that give her a strict, school-marmish appearance, and she's been talking recently about having 'a bit of botox'. I don't think she'd want to hear that I doubt it's worth the effort - I mean, who is she trying to impress?

"Oh I don't care! I'm not hungry anyway." I sit on the floor and hide Dog under a shiny satin cushion, making 'ruff' noises. "Where's Dog Livvy? Can you show me?" She points to the cushion. "Clever girl! Here he is!"

Mum sighs loudly and goes into the kitchen. I listen to the sounds of a cupboard opening and closing, the kettle filling up. I look around and wonder if it's really true that this woman is genetically linked to me, or if this is something that comes out with age, like bad eyesight and grey hair. For a start, everything matches and is carefully coordinated, as if she started off thinking of one colour - a sort of buttery yellow - and then went colour blind. The sofa and chairs are yellow with cream stripes, the carpet and curtains are cream, the walls are yellow and - this is where I want to throw something at her for a complete lack of imagination - there's a reproduction of Van Gogh's Sunflowers on the wall. The table and chairs from our old house have been re-upholstered in - no clues for guessing - the same

material as the three piece suite, which is fine I guess, but it just screams to me 'Trying too hard' or 'I don't have anything else to do but look at furniture fabric' or 'Desperate to forget my old life'. And I think that's why I feel so uncomfortable coming here, because everything is so bloody different to the house I grew up in, the one with the battered furniture because our cat used to scratch it all the time, and stains all over the carpet because we loved watching TV and eating dinner together - Eastenders and Corrie and all that trash TV that used to seem like a real escape, but now just depresses me. I don't blame her, it just makes me sad that she's so determined to put everything behind her, all my childhood I guess, as if there's nothing that she wants to remember. And sometimes, when I watch her

doing something like getting ready to go out or talking to her new neighbours, I really feel that she might not be my mum at all, that this smart, sophisticated but rather cold and conventional woman has taken her place, and I don't know where I am any more. I wonder if it's a natural part of growing up, to suddenly realise that your parents are other people, not just mum and dad and have lives independent of you, or if everything that's happened has changed her and me for good.

Suddenly I notice something new on the wall: an old photo of me and my sister taken at school. We're both in uniform, white blouses and black pleated skirts, I've got my hand on her shoulder and we're smiling, happily I think. I can't remember it being taken, I look about eight so Michelle would have been six. Mum must have had it enlarged and framed since the last time I was here, three or four weeks ago.

"Why d'you put that photo up mum? It's so old."

She comes back in and stands in the doorway. "What photo? Oh that one. I like it, it's a lovely one of you girls, I don't have that many of the two of you together."

"Well you must have a more recent one than that. Anyone seeing it would think we were your grandchildren."

"No! I'm not that old Claire. At least you're both smiling. I wanted one from our holiday in Italy but in every one, either you or Michelle was frowning or looking miserable, anyone would thihk a holiday in Rome was pure torture."

"It was with you and Dad arguing all the time."

"Oh Claire we were not! You've always been a little drama queen and that holiday was no exception."

"Well, forget that picture. We can have a new one done, me, Michelle and Livvy. I'll ask Michelle tonight, I'm sure she'll be up for it."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I don't want it. I like the one I've got thank you."

"You mean when me and Michelle were both cute and didn't do anything to disappoint you? Before I'd ruined my life you mean?"

"Claire! I don't think you've ruined your life, there's still time for you to go to

university - "

"And what would happen to Livvy if I did that? I can't just leave her you know. Steve couldn't cope on his own and no one else would help. And I want to stay, I'm learning more looking after her than they could teach me at university. More useful stuff anyway." We've had this conversation before but I still get riled, I can't help it. She thinks she knows what's best for me and doesn't listen to what I really want.

"No one's going to pay you for changing nappies Claire! At least if Steve had a decent job he could pay you for what you do, so you'd have some savings. I know a lot of people get their degrees when they're older, they work or travel and then to go university. What you're doing now, it's going nowhere Claire, and it's got nothing to do with Livvy, I love her to bits but you can't give up your life for hers!"

"Why do you think like that? I'm doing what I want to be doing and I haven't given up anything. If you can't support me then I don't know why I even bother seeing you, you just get on my case as soon as I walk through the door! No wonder Michelle lives with Dad, she'd go mad having you on at her all the time!" Mum goes white then then her cheeks flush and her lip trembles. We stare at each other. I won't say sorry but I feel guilt blooming in my stomach. Livvy dumps Dog on the floor and starts crying. Mum goes back in the kitchen and I squat down, bring Livvy onto my lap with Dog, rocking the two of them and laying my cheek against the softness of Livvy's hair.

Mum brings in a teapot with cups and saucers: dainty pink rosebuds on a white background - I guess it wouldn't surprise you if I said the kitchen had white wallpaper with pink stripes. With the milk she brings in a plate of chocolate digestives and pushes them towards me, a peace offering. She pours tea for both of us, then sits down opposite, smoothing her skirt and then her hair. I feel like the vicar, she's so bloody prim and proper.

"Where's Steve today then?" she asks in a fake cheery voice.

"Colchester, he left about six this morning, said he wouldn't be home until ten."

She tuts. "It's not right, making them work so far away from home."

"But that's where the work is. He said next week he might have a job in Billericay, a pub on the high street is having an extension or something. Might last a couple of weeks. They're all looking forward to free drinks every day."

"I hope they won't be driving back then."

"Oh Mum, ligthen up."

"You've got to be serious about something like drinking and driving. If anyone should think about driving carefully, it's Steve."

I dip a biscuit in my tea and don't bother replying. Livvy is sitting quietly in my lap,

smiling at the table and the teapot, then looking round the room and beaming baby

benevolence at the tasteful sofa and the tasselled lamp on the sideboard. I watch her smiling at nothing and suddenly it doesn't matter that Mum and I don't agree on anything, that she uses everything as an excuse to nag me or remind me of what (in her eyes) I've done wrong. I knew it wouldn't be easy to see all my friends go off to University while I stayed in the boring old town I've lived in all my life, the place I'd vowed to leave as soon as I could. My hands shook when I dialled the number of the admissions department and told them I wouldn't be coming, my voice sounded small and unsure even to me, but I did it. I borrowed Steve's mobile to make the call and he hugged me afterwards, a real bearhug, and put Livvy in my arms, all wrapped up in a white blanket and even cuter than the first time I saw her, lying in Debbie's arms in the hospital. I don't think I've ever been happier.

It was hard of course, I didn't know what the bloody hell I was doing for the first month or so, couldn't cook anything unless it came with toast and had never really seen the point of ironing. And Livvy, I guess I thought it'd be like having my own doll, a real live Tiny Tears, I wasn't prepared for a baby that wanted feeding or her nappy changed or a dummy or a toy or to go to sleep or to be cuddled - hundreds of things that aren't on any A-level syllabus. Steve did his best to show me but the bills were piling up, and anyway, I knew he felt better at work, away from where it happened, just round the corner from our front door.

"You've surprised me Claire, your Dad as well I think."

"How's that Mum?" I ask, expecting another little lecture.

"You never wanted children, even as a little girl you weren't really interested in dolls. Books, that was what you wanted. And look at you now." I look up to find a strange expression on Mum's face, her eyes looking mistily at Livvy. "You struggled a bit in the beginning but I think you've got the hang of it now. You've done really well with her." She looks me in the eye, smiles, pats Livvy on the head and takes a sip of tea. I smile and kiss Livvy's blonde curls.

It's the middle of the afternoon when we make our way back to the station, and the sun's so bright I have to squint to see where I'm going. The only other people around are a couple in front of me, holding hands and sporting matching sunburns and sportswear. She says something and they both laugh, and I wonder how they met, if they knew right away they belonged together. Debbie and Steve did, I was with her in the pub when they first met, the two of us wearing too much make-up so we'd get served. She saw him and said, "He's mine" just like that, no doubt in her mind. And we didn't go out to meet men, not really, and she'd only had one serious boyfriend before Steve, so I knew it was something special.

They were engaged within a few months, but oh my god, you would've thought Debbie was joining a satanic cult, the way her parents acted. The party was awful, everybody standing around awkwardly and the in-laws glaring daggers at each other across the room. Debs' Dad didn't even go, and still refuses to have anything to do with Steve or Livvy, motherless at two weeks old. That was the summer before our second year at college and we were still too young to drink, but that was the only time Debs and I got completely plastered together, swearing to be best friends forever, no matter what, and inventing fabulous dresses for the wedding, all ostrich feathers and sequins. In the end it was white satin with a lace bodice,

and she never got to wear it, it's at her mum's house, although I only know that because that was the last time her Mum spoke to me, at the funeral, and that's what she said.

It's hot and past Livvy's nap time. Dog's already been thrown out of the pushchair twice, and now her hands are little red waving fists, her mouth puckered up and preparing to cry. I push quicker and soon we're in the shade of the station, but Livvy's already in full throttle and I know it'll take a while before she quietens down. I pick her up and pace around the station, singing under my breath.

"You'll miss your train if you're not careful." It's the guy in the Babyshambles T-shirt, I didn't see him come back.

"Will I? How do you know where I'm going?"

"You still live in Stanford don't you? Train's coming in a few minutes." He's a bit flushed, carrying a can of coke which he takes brief sips from.

Livvy's almost worn herself out, and she's already drifting off to sleep by the time me and Babyshambles have carried the pushchair onto the platform, just as the train pulls in.

"Good timing. Thanks again."

"No problem, I'm going the same way." We get on and I choose four seats together, enough room for Livvy without getting in anyone's way, not that the train is very busy. Without asking, the guy takes the seat opposite and starts watching me, taking regular pulls from the can. I don't know his name and feel uncomfortable that he knows so much about me. I realise now that he's a bit drunk, the smell of fags and alcohol intensified in the heat of the carriage. I look out the window, but when I look back he's still staring. I raise an eyebrow and frown.

"You look like my mum when I tell her I'm going down the pub. Is that what having kids does to you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That look, very disapproving, something parents have."

"I'm not disapproving. Just stop staring at me." Weirdo.

"Sorry, just thought it'd be nice to catch up, I don't see that many people from college anymore. So what you doin' now Claire, apart from looking after the littl'un?" His tone is friendly, his words slightly slurred.

"That's enough. You try looking after a nine-month old baby."

"Yeah, must be tough. She's lovely though, looks like you." He doesn't know as much as I thought, and I relax a bit.

"Thanks, it's hard work but she's worth it." Pause. "So, what about you? Uni or something?"

"Yeah, just back for a few weeks. Doing history at Exeter. Lots of essays and reading but I really enjoy it y'know. Didn't really think much of college but uni's completely different, much more relaxed, teachers treat you like adults, new people, new place." He nods, grins, runs his fingers through his hair.

"That's great. Good luck with it." I look at Livvy, then back at him.

The grin vanishes and he blurts out, "I failed half my exams, got to to re-take them next month before I can go back in September. I don't know what I'll do if I fail again." He stares hard at the floor and I suddenly feel ten years older.

"Sorry, I'm sure it'll be all right. You've got loads of time to study, you'll be fine."

"Maybe, it's just that my parents gave me money to do the course and I don't want to disappoint them. If I fail I'll have to get a job and what bloody work is there round here apart from going up to London every day and turning into a zombie? That or bloody telesales." He scuffs his feet on the floor, drains his coke and stomps on the can. Livvy wakes up and starts to grizzle, just as I was thinking she might sleep all the way home.

"Oh God, sorry, I didn't think. Sorry. Sorry." He stands up and takes an unsteady step towards the pushchair, then sits back down.

Irritation makes me ignore him and concentrate on Livvy, taking her hands in mine and trying to shush her. She feels hot so I undo the first two buttons of her top and blow on her skin, making her giggle. She looks around and her hands reach towards Dog. "Wan' Dog" she says, leaning over. I hand him to her and watch as she grasps the soft toy and holds it close, his tail rubbing her cheek.

"Phew! Sorry about that. You can handle it though."

"Yeah, well I'm used to it now." I avoid looking at him, continue staring at Livvy and

marvel how her emotions change so quickly, one moment crying like it's the end of the world, the next sitting on my lap as contented as a little buddha.

"So who's the dad then? Someone from around here?"

"Grays, don't think you know him."

"I might. What's his name?"

"You wouldn't know him."

"Go on, I'm from Tilbury, I know lots of people from Grays."

"It's really none of your business."

"Oh come on, what's the big deal? Is he married or something?" He leans in, fighting a grin, and I can see him sizing me up, wondering if I fit the role of home-wrecker, a bit of gossip to relay on Friendsreunited.

"Martin. He's not married and we're not married, ok?"

"Martin what? I know a few Martins from Grays."

"Martin Smith."

"Yeah right. Think I'm stupid or something." His mouth twists in anger.

"Well you have just failed your exams."

"Fuck off." Ouch, that's a sore spot.

"You asked." He suddenly sits back and looks away. My heart is beating fast and I'm alert, but not scared, not really angry either. Now he's squirming in his seat, wondering if he's gone too far. His fringe is in a sweaty clump and there's sweat marks under the arms of his T-shirt. He'll  probably sober up and feel rotten, you can tell he's not a real bastard, just an idiot, a social incompetent, a teenager with acne worried about exams. I think I remember him now. He used to wear glasses and hang out in the canteen at lunch time. There was a group of them, always wearing blazers and jeans, probably copying some new fashion made popular by skinny boy drug addicts in NME. Geeks trying to be cool. I wonder when he'll

grow up.

Serried rows of semi-detacheds outside the window and I know I'm home. Just before I leave, I wish Babyshambles good luck with his exams. He says thanks to the window, a sulky catch in his voice. This time I struggle with the pushchair alone, the platform is empty apart from me. As I walk through town, past blocks of new houses with identical windows, then Victorian terraces with overgrown front gardens and peeling wooden doors, then a row of locally-owned shops with hand-written signs in the windows advertising the latest video releases and offers on cheap kitchenware, I suddenly feel light-hearted, sort of free somehow. When I was

at school, then college, I had this yearning to be somewhere else, someone else. Getting ready to go out at the weekend, I always thought, if I wear this dress and those shoes and do my hair nice and put on this lipstick, something will happen, I'll get out of this dump and my real life will start. It was always in the future. I assumed that real life was something elsewhere, in a more exciting place with glamorous people and I just had to find it. I told myself that when I got there, I would never come back, I could forget the first 18 years of my life as if I was a butterfly bursting out of a chrysalis, flying away without a thought for the caterpillar.

I'm not that butterfly yet, but I've still got time. I'm  not going to be here forever, just until Livvy's a bit older and Steve doesn't need me any more. Then I'll think about University or maybe travelling first, I haven't decided yet. For now, I've got two people that need me and that feels good.