The Cows. Dawn O’Porter

is, Mel is more like Cam than she would ever like to admit. She was never maternal, she never needed to be in relationships to be happy. But she was weaker when it came to standing up to tradition. Their mother saw no future for her four daughters other than marriage and babies. The two eldest, Tanya and Angela, were happy to conform. They both married guys they met at university and have seven kids between them. Tanya teaches yoga and Angela runs a daycare; it’s all pretty sickening and ideal in Cam’s view. Like they read House & Garden and try and live within one of the pictures. But Mel, like Cam, wasn’t designed that way. She was clever, academic and top of the class. She wanted to study law and work in the city. She had plans well beyond being a stay-at-home mum. But then she met Dave and got pregnant with Max. She stupidly told their mother, despite Cam warning her not to, and the guilt laid upon her for even considering an abortion was too much for her to fight against. So she had a kid at twenty-six, even though she didn’t want it. And ever since then, she has lived a life that she wasn’t supposed to live.

      ‘So, kids, you excited to go to the park?’ Cam asks, walking over to see them. They all turn around, like monkeys in an enclosure who know they’re being watched.

      ‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’ asks Tamzin, a mini version of Cam, even down to the massive hands.

      ‘Maybe I do have a boyfriend,’ Cam says, not willing to take any shit from a monkey.

      ‘No, you don’t. Mum said you might like girls,’ Max states, casually.

      ‘Max, that was a private conversation between me and Granny,’ Mel says sharply, trying to silence him with her eyes.

      ‘Then why did you say it when we were all at the dinner table?’ Max says, closing that conversation. It’s no surprise to Cam that her mother and sister talk about her when she isn’t around. She is all they talk about when she is in the room, why on earth would they stop when she isn’t?

      ‘Guys, one day you will be grown-ups and you will see there is much more to life than having boyfriends and girlfriends. Like having lovely homes and jobs that you enjoy,’ Cam says, spreading her arms as if to draw attention to her gorgeous new apartment. They all turn back to the window. ‘Do you like it?’ They don’t answer. Kids are so unobservant, Cam observes.

      ‘I want to get married and have three children,’ says Tamzin, proudly, looking back over her shoulder.

      ‘Or maybe you won’t, maybe you will change your mind, or maybe you won’t meet anyone that you love and you’ll happily while away the years on your own in a nice flat surrounded by expensive art without the fear of a little monster drawing on it with a marker pen?’

      Mel rolls her eyes at her little sister. ‘She’s not one of your “women don’t need men” crew Cam, every little girl wants the same dream.’ Her wind up is triumphed by her son.

      ‘I hate art,’ says Max, moving towards Cam’s laptop. He broke her last one by jumping on it because Cam’s connection wasn’t strong enough to illegally download Kung Fu Panda.

      ‘No way,’ she says, snatching it out of his way. ‘You can’t go anywhere near that.’

      ‘Why? Has it got porn on it?’ Max says, very rudely.

      ‘Max! How do you know about porn?’ interjects Mel, looking genuinely aghast.

      ‘From Aunty Cam’s blog. She wrote about how porn was good for you.’

      Cam looks at Mel with a guilty face. Mel looks back at her with an angry one. ‘What? Oh come on, it’s not like there were pictures! And I didn’t show him my blog.’

      ‘No, but he looks at it whenever he goes online. It’s out there, Cam, anyone can see it. Can’t you write about other things? Stuff that won’t psychologically damage my children if they read it?’

      ‘Oh calm down, he’s not damaged. And perhaps you need to sort out your parental settings.’ They both turn to look at Max, who is now pulling a moonie out of Cam’s window, while Tamzin is banging on it to get the people on the street’s attention. Jake is watching and learning.

      ‘You better put that away, Max,’ Cam says. ‘I’ve heard little boys go to prison for exposing themselves around here.’

      Max pulls up his trousers. He’s a cocky little so-and-so but in that childlike way, he looks like he is debating if what Cam just said is true. He obviously doesn’t want to risk it.

      ‘OK, well, I suppose we better go,’ says Mel, looping the bags back over her wrists and making a ‘huggghhh’ noise as she bends her knees and lifts them. ‘SO great you live so close to the park, lucky you. I hate the tube, it’s so hot, my veins can’t take it. Come on, kids. Park, now.’

      ‘Look, I have to work for a bit, but why don’t I come join you in the park today?’ Cam says, wanting to be with them all, but not in her lovely new home.

      ‘Sure,’ says Mel, and herds the kids together. They run down the stairs, leaving Mel struggling with the bags. ‘Please put a bra on!’ she shouts and trudges behind.

      Back at the kitchen table, Cam, as usual after seeing one of her family members, feels alive with motivation. For some, being misunderstood by the people closest to them would lock them in a box, make them insecure, shy away. But for Cam, it’s been the inspiration for almost everything she has ever done. She’s been gently tapping on her mum and sisters’ shoulders most of her life saying, accept me, I’m different from you, but I’m happy. Yet for whatever reason, they’ve never been able to do it. She knows her mother has a hard time reading her blogs, and as much as she tells her she shouldn’t, Cam also loves that she does. www.HowItIs.com is her place to say everything she needs to say, to speak her mind and not be belittled by what society, or her mother, deems as normal. She’s proud of who she is. Not fitting in has been the catalyst to her success. It’s time to write a blog for anyone who is happy to feel alone in a crowd.

       Does anyone want to hear a love story? It’s not one that has ever been told before. It’s called, Cam Stacey and her great love, The Internet. Let me start at the beginning …

       Once upon a time, there was a girl called Cammie. She was generally quite good at things at school, working hard and keen on doing well. She had a rebellious streak, in that she smoked fags and kissed boys and drank too much cider, but as a whole, she was a pretty good kid.

       She wasn’t one for trying to be cool, but by not trying to be cool, she probably came across a bit like she was trying to be cool. She wore tight trousers and band t-shirts when the other girls were wearing short skirts and low-cut tops. She didn’t have many close friendships. Instead, she sat around talking about music with boys, rather than gossip sessions with the girls. All in all, she got through her teenage years without too much trouble; girls found her a bit intimidating, boys probably did too. All she wanted was a bit of peace and quiet. With three older sisters at home, leaving the house was like a holiday, and she didn’t want to fill that time with too many people, so she generally kept herself to herself.

       Yes, you’ve guessed it, Cammie is me. Here is how the story goes on …

       I left school, went to uni, and studied English. I was one of those people who read everything on the course modules. I was never without a book, and I had a freakish tendency to read multiple newspapers a day from cover to cover. Why? Because I knew that I had to be a writer. I knew I had to absorb words to be good at it. It was the only way that I was ever going to get the billions of thoughts and opinions that were in my head, out. In a way that anyone would understand. Because socially, I really sucked.

       I did what all aspiring writers did back then, and I wrote pages and pages of articles, printed them off and sent them to editors in yellow envelopes. I never got any replies. Then, this amazing thing happened … they called it email. Suddenly I could send my work as attachments to emails, so I did that, but still,