Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 06 (11 page)

Now he was really getting on my nerves. I was just about to rip the parcel out of his hands when I had a vair vair amusing idea. I said, “A way of identifying myself? Yes, I believe I have. Would you just wait a moment?”

I came back a minute later with a mirror, looked into it and said, “Yep, it is definitely me.”

8:40 a.m.

In the end he handed over the parcel.

Hmmm, what was the postmark?

Oh. New Zealand. If Tom has sent me a copy of “You are the only fish in my sea” or some photos of wombat snot, I may go mad.

It wasn't from Tom.

It was a letter from the Sex God. Robbie.

Blimey O'Reilly's panties.

I had a really queasy feeling as I began to read it.

[I was thinking, oh, here we go back to hugging wombats and plucking guitars in the river…but no]

Oh God.

The photo was of him in jeans and a T-shirt sitting by a river. He was looking straight into the camera with those deep blue-black eyes that I thought I would never ever be able to look at again. He was just so…oh, I don't know.

8:45 a.m.

Got to Jas in a state of shock.

She was rambling on as usual.

“Come on, come on, we'll be late. What is wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost. Anyway, Tom phoned last night, he said they found this amazing mushroom that was about two feet across; it's apparently delicious if you—”

“Jas, I…I—”

“And he said, do you know what, the Maoris eat the larvae of the Hu Hu bug, they are big fat white grubs and they roast them and then they eat them. Tom went to a hangi out there, he has a new
Maori friend, and his traditional Maori name is Brian and—”

“Jas, look at this.”

Jas took the letter as we jogged along, and even she was silent.

She finished it and then looked at me.

“Bugger my giddy aunt.”

For once Jas is not exaggerating.

I just don't know what to think. I had given up on the Sex God. I really had.

french

I kept looking at his photo.

He was bloody gorgey. And I mean that most sincerely.

But what in the name of Jas's commodious botty huggers was I supposed to do or think?

He hadn't said, “Come to Kiwi-a-gogo and be mine.”

Nor had he said, “I am coming home to get you.”

In fact, to be frank, what he had said really was, “I still like you and think about you a bit.”

Oh, why hadn't he written this last month? Why
had he written it after another Luuurve God had come along?

It's too much.

break

I consulted with the ace gang.

They listened whilst Jas read the letter out loud. I don't know why I let her, because she read it soooo badly, with a really crap New Zealand accent for some reason. I can safely say I am not optimistic that her performance of Lady Macbeth is going to bring the house down.

Then they all started the insane nodding-dog extravaganza.

I said, “So what do you think?”

Rosie said, “Dump him from your mind. He is yesterday's snoggee: move on, move up. We've gone European now, we are Euro citizens and it is our duty to kop off with as many European types as we can. Within reason.”

Jools said, “On the other hand, he is very very groovy-looking.”

Mabs said, “And it would be quite nice to be Jas's sister-in-law, wouldn't it?”

Blimey O'Reilly's knob, I hadn't thought of that nightmare scenario.

Jas almost choked on her nibbly niblets.

It was, as ever, left to Ellen to completely and utterly confuse humanity. She said, “Well, I suppose, like really, you are like, well, not really anyone's girlfriend.”

home
6:30 p.m.

I'd ask Mum for advice but you might as well ask Angus, for all the sense she makes. And also, she has gone out with Dad and Libby to the O'Shaunessys' to show them our holiday photos.

8:00 p.m.

I wish I could talk to someone normal. Or even in. Even the kittykats are out. Gordy is worse than his dad. He sleeps all day, wakes up, eats anything he sees, destroys a bit of furniture or some tights and then buggers off out. They both treat this house like a furry hotel.

10:30 p.m.

I can't believe this. Mum and Dad have come back Irish. We are being forced to be an Irish family. Vati says he has rediscovered his Irish roots. I said, “Yes, after six pints of Guinness.”

He wouldn't shut up, though, and put on a Dubliners record. Libby is doing her version of Irish dancing. I don't remember the knickerless part, but…

In between slapping his thighs and shouting, “Come on there, girl, get them pegs moving!!” Dad said, “You see, there is a story in my family that my great-great-grandfather was an O'Dwyer from Killarney, but they changed the family name to protect them against the villainous English.”

I said, “Dad, when you say ‘villainous English,' do you mean us?”

But he wouldn't be stopped. “They changed the name to Nicolson.”

I said, “What, that grand old English name? NOT. Why would they change their name from an Irish one to a Scottish one? The English, i.e., us, hated the Och Aye landers just as much as the Leprechaun-a-gogo folk. More. That is why we built
Hadrian's wall at the top of England…to keep the ginger-beardey folk out.”

Dad was still rambling on like Paddy O'Mad. “And another thing, we look Irish. That man in Memphis spotted it—he asked you if you were Irish. He asked you that because you have the look of the Emerald Isle about you.”

“No, he didn't, Dad. He was an American—he doesn't know where anyone comes from unless it's Texas. He was wearing gingham.”

I slammed up to my bedroom.

bed of pain

Ohgodohgodohgod.

I lay on my bed with a pillow over my head.

I am in a ditherosity of love and I have now become Oirish.

thursday june 2nd

Jas got top marks again in history. She went all red and girlish. As we walked home I said to her, “You are vair clever, Jassy, you are as clever as Professor Clever at the University of Oxford department of Cleverosity.”

I feel a bit better about the whole Robbie thing.
If I don't mention his name, then I won't think about him. It's like voodoo, isn't it?

It is definitely beyond the Valley of Deffo and entering the Vale of Very Nearly Quite Sure that I luuurve Masimo.

bathroom
4:45 p.m.

I checked the orangutan situation: you can practically comb my legs.

4:48 p.m.

I can't be bothered with using Veet. Actually, what I mean is that Mum has run out.

4:50 p.m.

Dad has got one of those razors that leaves your skin smoothy smooth and attractive to women. So it says on the TV ad. I do want smoothy-smooth skin but I don't want to be attractive to women.

5:00 p.m.

I could risk it on my legs. What sensible lesbian is going to be at knee level with me?

5:01 p.m.

I won't think about the possibility of midget lesbians that are only one foot high.

5:45 p.m.

Actually, Dad's razor is really tip-top. I have no open gashes at all and my legs are like the advert says: smoothy smooth.

MMMmmmmmmmm.

Washed the soap off Dad's razor and put it back where it was.

in my room
7:00 p.m.

Now then, the age-old question of what to wear for the Stiff Dylans gig. I must of course wear a short skirt to show off the smoothy smoothness of my legs. I would be a fool to waste the smoothy smoothnosity.

7:30 p.m.

I think if I am wearing a really short skirt I should wear a more covery-up top so that the nungas are not on display. I want to hint at sophisticosity, not prostitutenosity.

8:00 p.m.

I was just trying things on when my father went mad. Yelling and barging about downstairs. I think I might tell him that swearing is an indication of lack of vocabulary. But not just now…

8:10 p.m.

He barged into my room, his face covered in bits of loo paper. Is this his new Irish look? He yelled: “Did you use my bloody razor?”

I looked hurt and puzzled.

“Your razor? I know this is your first shot at fatherhood, but perhaps you have noticed I am a girl. I am beardless. Mostly.”

He said, “Don't be so bloody cheeky, you know what I mean. HAVE you been using my razor?”

“Well, only a bit, just for my, you know, legs.”

Why do I have to discuss my body with my father? I am sure there is a law about it.

Fifty years later, after his famous lecture about not using his stupid razor ever again, he went off.

8:30 p.m.

Shame about his face being all cut.

8:40 p.m.

Still…nice smoothy-smooth legs.

friday june 3rd
8:15 a.m.

There is a certain amount of tensionosity about not knowing whether the Luuurrve God is back in the country. I had relaxed my makeup regime because he was not around, and now I have to be on high alert all the time just in case. Also, and I know this is even for me bordering on the Universe of Madnosity, now that I have heard from Robbie, I sort of have to wear makeup all the time because I have got a letter from him, which has put him in my head and that might mean he can see me. From my head. Or from his letter. I told you I have entered the Valley of the Unwell.

Get out of my head, ex–Sex God!!!

I am going to try a bit of nostril breathing even at the risk of expanded nostrils.

Aaaaahhhhhh.

four minutes later

I am an xxxxxx-free zone and I think you know that the xxxxxx starts with an R.

Donner and Blitzen and also
schiessenhausen
!!! I've thought of him again.

 

Makeup plan.

My routine is a bit of lippy and gloss with a hint of mascara and just a really tiny bit of eyeliner. The difficulty is getting past sniffer-dog Hawkeye. Today I will be returning to that old favorite of putting my head as far into my bag as it will go and saying as I go past Hawkeye: “Oh now, where did I put my French homework?
Mon Dieu
and
au sec-ours,
it must be in here somewhere.”

As we ambled up the hill Jas said, “Did you reply to Robbie?”

Oh God…

“Er…no…”

“Are you going to?”

“I don't know, Jas.”

“Well, you used to really like him and he has written to you, so are you going to reply or not?”

I didn't say anything so she just went on.

“And if you do reply what will you say?”

I still didn't reply.

“I mean, are you going to talk to Tom about it when he gets back and ask his advice? He's back
next week, you know, so will you wait until then and reply or what?”

Eventually I was driven to having to reply to her.

“Jas, shouldn't you be wearing a doublet and a false mustache and burning me at a stake? You are quite literally the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Well, I am just saying—”

“Well, don't.”

“Usually you want to go on and on about Robbie and Masimo. Your so-called boyfriends.”

“Jas, don't start, and anyway, you're having a laugh, aren't you? If I go on about MY boyfriends all the time, how come I know all the words to ‘You Are the Only Fish in My Sea'? How come?”

Jas got the hump.

“Oh, well, I'm sorry to bother you with MY life! Of course YOUR life is the only important thing, isn't it? Yes, yes, Georgia Nicolson is the only person in the universe. Not.”

And she stalked off like a stalking stalker at a stalking contest.

Blimey, she could get huffy.

Ah well, I might try my Oirish charm on her when I can be bothered.

geoggers

Jas kept up her cold shoulder all morning, even when I sent her a little gift of two pieces of chocolate. She ate them and then went on
ignorez-vous
ing me!!!

break

Jools was telling us the latest about her and Rollo. They have been to an all-nighter and spent the whole night together.

She has snogged so much that she has got a cold sore coming on her lip. She showed us all.

Erlack.

Apparently sixteen of them stayed round at this mate of Rollo's whilst his parents were abroad and snogged the night away.

Ellen, as usual, was a bit baffled. “Did you all, you know, snog at the same time, or…er, was there dancing?”

Mabs said, “So, is Rollo like your bloke now?”

Jools said, “Well, I think so, but I never know when he is going to see me or ring me.”

I said, “Blimey, so it's a sort of full-time S'later situation.”