I stared in disbelief at my son, his ashen face full of anxiety and fear as fat tears coursed down his cheeks. His expression told me this wasn’t a joke, so why did I feel on the brink of laughing in that hysterical fashion favoured by the mentally insane.

Torn between slapping him about the head and drawing him close to comfort him, I paced the living room floor, my mind whipping up a storm.

“Don’t be silly Jack? It’s not yours. It’s just not possible; you’re a little boy for God’s sake.” I turned and looked at my fragile little offspring.

He sat blot upright in the armchair, grinding his clenched fists against his red and swollen eyes. Although15, he looked so much younger, he could easily pass himself off as a youthful 11 year old. “It is mine.” His whisper was followed by a noisy sob.

“No it’s not possible; someone’s been having you on.” I shake my head as if to dislodge the idea, “You have to have sexual intercourse to have a baby. Do you even know what that is?”  

“Of course I know what sex is Mum, I’m not that stupid. We get sex education at school you know.” His voice, which held the disparaging quality perfected by so many hormonal adolescents, was at odds with his childlike appearance.

With trembling hands, I searched the back of the DVD cabinet for my cigarette stash. Fumbling with the packet, the contents spilt to the floor. I picked one up, lit it, and inhaled the acrid smoke. 

“Of course… you get sex education at school,” I mimicked his offended tone. “Well, that doesn’t seem to have done you any good, has it? It was supposed to educate you, not encourage you to try it out. I knew I shouldn’t have signed that permission slip.” A wave of light-headedness and nausea forced me to sit down; I looked around for somewhere to stub out the cigarette, dropping it into Jack’s empty Coke can. “This is ridiculous, do you realise you’re asking me to believe that I’m going to be a Gran? Please tell me she’s going to get rid of it?”