5

5 Yazz was born nineteen years ago in a birthing pool in Amma's candle-lit living room surrounded by incense, the music of lapping waves, a doula and midwife, Shirley and Roland – her great friend, who'd agreed to father her child when the death of her parents triggered an unprecedented and all- consuming broodiness

luckily for her, Roland, five years into his partnership with Kenny, had also been thinking about fatherhood he took Yazz every other weekend, as agreed, which Amma regretted when she found herself missing her newborn instead of feeling deliriously free from Friday afternoons to Sunday evenings Yazz was the miracle she never thought she wanted, and having a child really did complete her, something she rarely confided because it somehow seemed anti-feminist Yazz was going to be her countercultural experiment she breastfed her wherever she happened to be, and didn't care who was offended at a mother's need to feed her child she took her everywhere, strapped to her back or across her front in a sling, deposited her in the corner of rehearsal rooms, or on the table at meetings she took her on tour on trains and planes in a travel cot that looked more like a carry-all, once almost sending her through the airport scanner, begging them not to arrest her over it she created the position of seven godmothers and two godfathers to ensure there'd be a supply of babysitters for when her child was no longer quite so compliant and portable Yazz was allowed to wear exactly what she liked so long as she wasn't endangering herself or her health she wanted her to be self-expressed before they tried to crush her child's free spirit through the oppressive regimentation of the education system she has a photo of her daughter walking down the street wearing a plastic Roman army breastplate over an orange tutu, white fairy wings, a pair of yellow shorts over red and white stripy leggings, a different shoe on each foot (a sandal and a welly), lipstick smudged on her lips, cheeks and forehead (a phase), and her hair tied into an assortment of bunches with miniature dolls hanging off the ends Amma ignored the pitying or judgemental looks from passers-by and small-minded mothers at the playground or nursery Yazz was never told off for speaking her mind, although she was told off for swearing because she needed to develop her vocabulary

(Yazz, say you find Marissa unpleasant or unlikeable rather than describing her as a shit-faced smelly bottom) and although she didn't always get what she wanted, if she argued her case strongly enough, she was in with a chance Amma wanted her daughter to be free, feminist and powerful later she took her on personal development courses for children to give her the confidence and articulacy to flourish in any setting big mistake Mum, Yazz said at fourteen when she was pitching to go to Reading Music Festival with her friends, it would be to the detriment of my juvenile development if you curtailed my activities at this critical stage in my journey towards becoming the independent-minded and fully self-expressed adult you expect me to be, I mean, do you really want me rebelling against your old-fashioned rules by running away from the safety of my home to live on the streets and having to resort to prostitution to survive and thereafter drug addiction, crime, anorexia and abusive relationships with exploitative bastards twice my age before my early demise in a crack house? Amma fretted the whole weekend her little girl was away adult men had been ogling her daughter since before puberty there are a lot more paedophiles out there than people realize a year later Yazz was calling her a feminazi when she was on her way out to a party and Amma dared suggest she lower her skirt and heels and raise the scoop neck of her top so that at least 30% of her body mass was covered, as opposed to the 20% currently given a decency rating not to mention The Boyfriend, glimpsed when he dropped her off in his car as soon as Yazz was in the door, Amma was waiting in the hallway to ask her the sort of harmless question any parent would ask who is he and what does he do? hoping Yazz would say he was in the sixth form, a relatively harmless schoolboy then Yazz replied with dead-pan insolence, Mum, he's a thirty-year-old psychopath who abducts vulnerable women and locks them in a cellar for weeks on end while he has his wicked way with them before chopping them into pieces and sticking them in the freezer for his winter stews before waltzing upstairs to her room leaving a whiff of whacky-backy

nor is the child she raised to be a feminist calling herself one lately feminism is so herd-like, Yazz told her, to be honest, even being a woman is passé these days, we had a non-binary activist at uni called Morgan Malenga who opened my eyes, I reckon we're all going to be non-binary in the future, neither male nor female, which are gendered performances anyway, which means your women's politics, Mumsy, will become redundant, and by the way, I'm humanitarian, which is on a much higher plane than feminism do you even know what that is? Amma misses her daughter now she's away at university not the spiteful snake that slithers out of her tongue to hurt her mother, because in Yazz's world young people are the only ones with feelings but she misses the Yazz who stomps about the place who rushes in as if a hurricane's just blown her into a room – where's my bag/phone/bus pass/books/ticket/head? the familiar background sounds when she's around, the click of the bathroom door when she's in it, even though it's just the two of them in the house, a habit begun at puberty which Amma finds affronting the exactly ten crunches of the pepper mill over the (canned!) tomato or mushroom soup that she prefers to Amma's lovely homemade ones the murmur of music and radio chatter coming from her bedroom in the morning the sight of her daughter curled up on the sofa under a duvet in the living room on Saturdays, watching television, until she's ready to go out at midnight Amma can just about remember that she too used to go out late and return home on the morning bus the house breathes differently when Yazz isn't there waiting for her to return and create some noise and chaos she hopes she comes home after university most of them do these days, don't they? they can't afford otherwise Yazz can stay forever really.

Yazz