'Mam, Jessica called us a fat slag today.'
She's not listenin. Cos she's lookin at these pictures of houses on the computer. Sayin 'Mm' and 'Ooh' like as if she's stuffin pieces of chocolate into her gob.
'Mam, she called us a fat slag.'
And what does she say? She says I'm fourteen now and I've got to live with it. And what does that mean? Did I miss summick? Eh? Did summick happen on me fourteenth birthday and nobody told us? A law was passed that any old bitch like Jessica could call us what she liked and it'd be alright, cos I was fourteen? I'm fourteen. I've got to live with it. That's what me mam says. And goes back to her pictures.
'Live with what?' I say. 'Bein called a fat slag? Or bein a fat slag?'
And she looks us up and down, like she just can't decide if I'm a fat slag or not, like she's only just set eyes on us, like I'm a total stranger.