Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 (8 page)

I was trying to think of something to say that would make her get in her huffmobile with Tom. Or perhaps I should just go and stand between them in a friendly way and not go away. Take my goosegog duties seriously.

thirty seconds later

A policeman came by me and said, “Stop ligging about here. Clear off home now and don't cause any more trouble.”

That's nice, isn't it? No words of comfort. No, “Now don't you worry, young lady, the nasty boys won't be bothering you anymore. Here's five pounds for a cab home to see you safely on your way.”

In fact as he looked at me I sort of recognized him. Uh-oh, he was the one who had brought Angus home in a bag one night after he had eaten Next Door's hamster. Unfortunately Angus didn't like the bag and had attacked the policeman's trousers.

Then he recognized me: “Oh, it's you. I might have known. How's your ‘pet'? Hopefully gone to that big cat basket in the sky.”

I said with dignitosity at all times, “Thank you for your kind inquiry, Officer. I must go home now. Mind how you go and remember, it's a jungle out there. Be safe.”

Do you see, do you see what I did? I pretended I was a policeman to a policeman!!!

But I was walking quickly away from him as I said it and calling to Jas, “Jas, we have to go now, the nice officer of the law said so.”

Jas came over smartish. She is terrified of policemen and is like the bum-oley licking expert around them. She said to the officer, “Thank you so much, Officer, you do a wonderful job.”

Oh, pleeeeease.

Then she waved back at Tom. He blew her a kiss and she sighed.

Good grief.

Can't they stay split up for more than half a day? It's pathetico.

We walked on home.

I said to Jas, “Did you see Dave the Laugh getting stuck in to save us?”

Jas said, “Yeah, Tom was keeping me behind him so that I wouldn't get hurt. And when one of the Blunderboys said to him ‘Do you want some,
mate?' he said, ‘Oooh fear factor ten' and did a judo hold that we learned when we went on our survival course and just marched him to the door. It was fab.”

Oh, shut up about Hunky.

I said, “When I said to Dave, ‘Are you OK, have you hurt your hand?' he said, ‘I may never play the tambourine again!' He is quite literally Dave the Laugh.”

Jas said, “Oh no, you've got your big red bottom AGAIN!!”

Have I?

in bed with the owl (and her mates)
1:00 a.m.

Jas has built a small barrier of owls between us but has said that if I don't wriggle about I am allowed to sleep in her bed because it has been such a traumatic night of violence. Blimey, she should live around at my house if she thinks this has been a traumatic night of violence. My bedroom is littered with dismembered toys and if I move in bed I am attacked viciously by either Angus, Gordy or Libby. Or all three of them.

Jas said, “Tom still thinks we should go to different unis or see the world or something. He said
we might never know if we had done the right thing otherwise. But it doesn't mean he doesn't love me.”

I said, “Well, what do you think?”

She mused (that is, flicked her fringe and cuddled snowy owl).

“Well, I like fun as much as the next person.”

I said, “Can I just stop you there, Jas? You have to be realistic if we are going to get anywhere. You do not like fun as much as the next person. Your idea of fun and the next person's idea of fun are vair vair different.”

“Well, alright, what I mean is, maybe Tom is right that we are too young to decide everything now. Maybe I could do things by myself and that would be good.”

I sat up. “That is the ticket, pally. I mean, there are many advantages to not having a boyfriend, you know. You wouldn't have to pretend to be interested in wombat droppings and varieties of frog spawn.”

She looked puzzled. “I'm not pretending.”

“Er, right, well—”

God, it was hopeless. Everything I thought of, Jas had an answer for.

She doesn't want to let her red bottom run free and wild. She doesn't mind the vole dropping stuff
and looking interested. She IS interested. She doesn't want to flop around in her jimmyjams if she wants to because she already can, because Tom, Hunky the wonderdog, likes her just the way she is, whatever she looks like.

In a nutshell, Tom is her one and only one and that is the end of the matter. I wish I were her.

Well, of course I don't wish I were her. That would be ridiculous.

I'd have to chop my own head off for a start, because I was annoying myself so much.

sunday august 21st

home
11:00 a.m.

I have got post-gig comedown, I think. Everything was tickety boo when we were doing the dancing and it was a laugh. And even the fight was sort of exciting. But then seeing Dave the Laugh go off with Emma, and Jas talking about being with Hunky, it's sort of made me a bit full of glumnosity.

And I haven't spoken to the Luuurve God for ages, anything could be happening.

Boo and also poo.

It's all gloomy in the house, even though it is
sunny outside it is raining inside. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. Mum has gone off with Libby, I think trying to placate Josh's mum. I'd like to think it's because she cares but really I think it's because Grandvati has gone off for a camping trip with Maisie. She has probably knitted the tent. Who knows where Vati is, he is never in these days.

I didn't think the day would ever come when I said this, but I wish they would get back to “normal.” I would even try not to be sick if they touched each other.

What if they split up? They would make me do that choosing thing. The judge would say that I could decide whom I lived with.

It is so clearly not going to be Dad. I may warn him that he is dicing with never seeing me again by his brutal lack of care for me. He will not give me the least thing. I tried to ask him for a couple of hundred squids toward my trip to Rome yesterday. And he laughed.

two minutes later

I wonder if he will laugh quite so much when all he has to remember me by are the press cuttings of me on world tours, etc. Doing backing dancing for the
Stiff Dylans in exotic locations. And when I do interviews in showbiz mags, etc., and they ask me about my father, I will say, “I would have liked to have been close, but once the family split up and my work took me all over the world, I sort of outgrew him.”

I won't add “like he outgrew his trousers” because that would put me in a bad light pop culture wise.

five minutes later

Hey, maybe I could say that if he will give me 500 pounds to go to Pizza-a-gogo, I will consider seeing him three or four times a year for an afternoon.

Excellent plan!!!

ten minutes later

I have got an Italian book for idiots, so I must look through it. Mind you, if it is anything like our French or German textbooks it will be wubbish. They are always to do with losing your bike. They are not really based on real life, there is nothing about how to snog in different languages. Absoluto stupido and uselessio.

And also too late-io.

phone rang

At last, I bet this will be my Pizza-a-gogo Luuurve God type boyfriend on the blower from Roma
bella
.

I picked up the phone and said, “
Ciao!
”

“Oh, erm,
ciao
or something—er—I, well, it's me or something, I don't know if—”

“Hello, Ellen.”

“Georgia—could I—I mean, are you in?”

“No, I'm sorry, I'm not.”

“Oh, well, will you be in later or something?”

“ELLEN, I am answering the phone, how can I not be in???”

half an hour of ditherosity later

Miracle of miracles Declan has actually asked her on a date. They're meeting by the clock tower tomorrow evening, so she has come to the Luuurve Goddess (
moi
) for advice.

It passes the time helping others.

I said, “Ellen, here in a nutshell are my main top tips. Don't drink or eat anything, not even a cappuccino unless you know for sure your date is an admirer of the foam mustache. If he is—dump him. Secondly and vair vair importantly, do not say what is in your brain. And above all, remember to
dance and be jolly. Although be careful about where you do spontaneous dancing. If you do it in a supermarket he will just think you are weird.”

4:00 p.m.

Right, this is it. I can't stand waiting anymore. I am going to quite literally take the Luuurve God by the horn and ring him up.

I've been going through my Italian book for the very very dim. (It's not actually called that, but it should be. It has got the crappest drawings known to humanity. I think it must be the same person who did the illustrations for our German textbook about the Koch family. Under the section “Fun and Games” it has got a drawing of some madman with sticky up hair and big googly eyes juggling balls. That cannot be right in anyone's language.)

Anyway, I have worked out what to say from the section called “Talking on the Phone.”

4:30 p.m.

I think I have got the code right and everything.

Rang the number. Ring ring. Funny ring they have in Pizza-a-gogo land.

The phone was picked up and I said, “
Ciao.
”

A man's voice said a bit hesitantly, “
Ciao.
”

I wonder if it was Masimo's dad. What was the word for “dad” in Italian? I hadn't looked it up—it couldn't be daddio, could it?

I thought I would try. “Er,
buon giorno,
daddio,
je suis
—erm,
non non—sono
Georgia.”

“Georgia.”

“
Sì.
”

Masimo's dad said, “Ah,
sì
.”

Then there was a bit of a silence. Oh, buggeration. How did I say I want to speak to Masimo? I said, “Io wantio—
un momento, per favore
.”

I scrabbled through the book, oh here we are, a lovely big ear drawing to show me that it is the on the phone section. “I want to speak to—” I read it out slowly and loudly: “
POH TRAY PAHR LAH REH CON MASIMO?
”

There was a silence and then a Yorkshire voice said, “Po what, love? You've lost me.”

It turned out that I was actually speaking to a Yorkshire bloke on holiday in Rome.

I said, “Oh, I'm sorry, but you said
Ciao
and I thought you were Italian.”

The Yorkshire dad said, “No, I'm from Leeds, but I do like spaghetti.”

two minutes later

Anyway, he was having a lovely time although you couldn't get a decent pickled egg in Roma apparently, but he wasn't letting that spoil his fun.

Blimey, it was like a Yorkshire version of Uncle Eddie. He was rambling on for ages like I knew him.

ten minutes later

In the end I got off the phone. I must have got the number wrong. Or misdialed it. I could try again. No, I couldn't take the risk of getting hold of “Just call me Fat Bob” again.

tuesday august 23rd

in the kitchen
5:30 p.m.

My darling sis is back at Chaos Headquarters (that is our house). Mum said, “I've managed to get Libby off with a warning. She can go back to kindy later this week but I have to promise that she won't be allowed to play with sharp implements. So don't let her have any of your knives and so on.”

“Mum, I haven't got any knives, it was you that let her have the scissors to cut Pantalitzer doll's hair. Has Josh got the word ‘BUM' off his forehead yet?”

Mum said, “Blimey, that was a fuss and a half, wasn't it? It was only indelible ink, not poison.”

I said, “Mum, some parents actually, like, DO parenting. They act like grown-ups, they protect their young.”

Mum was too busy flicking through
Teen Vogue
to listen.

6:00 p.m.

Libby is preparing a cat picnic on the lawn. Some crushed-up biscuits on a plate and three dishes of milk. I can see Angus, Naomi and Gordy skulking off to hide. They have been made to go to her cat picnics before. And once you have had your head shoved violently into a saucer of milk and a spoonful of jammy dodger rammed down your throat, you don't accept another invitation easily.

Time to start buttering up the mutti.

I said, “Mum, if I stayed with you and not Dad, well, he would pay like maintenance and child support and so on. And I could use a bit of it, say like five hundred pounds, because it would be mine really, wouldn't it? It's like me that is being supported, isn't it?”

Mum went, “Hmmm, but I would need a lot of help round the house.”

I said, “Yep, yep, I could do that. It would be like sort of earning my own money and I could pay my own way to Pizza-a-gogo land and then it would be alright, wouldn't it? Because actually it wouldn't really be costing you anything because I would be being paid out of my own money really. And you want me to be happy and have a boyfriend and so
on, even Ellen has got a boyfriend now. And when you leave Dad you might get one. You never know. Never say never.”

Mum said, “Georgia, are you saying that you would be prepared to do the ironing and help around the house and be pleasant?”

I said, “Oh,
mais oui
, yes!!”

“OK, well, start on that big pile of Libby's stuff in the wash basket.”

Lalalalalala. It's the ironing life for me. Quickly followed by a snogtastic adventure in Luuurve God Heaven.

half an hour later

How boring is housework. I tell you this for free, I will not be doing any more of it when this is over. I said to Mum, “I think I have got ironer's elbow, it won't go from side to side anymore, it will only go up and down. I hope it hasn't ruined my backing dancing career.”

7:15 p.m.

I am a domestic husk.

I said to Mum, “I think I will go Saturday as I suggested.”

She said, “Yeah, good idea.”

I said, “I will ask Dad if he will drop me off at the airport.”

“He's away that weekend. He and Uncle Eddie are going away fishing, or prancing round in the clownmobile. He says it will give him time to sort his mind out.”

I said, “So can you take me, then?”

“Take you where?”

“To the airport.”

“Why are you so interested in watching planes all of a sudden?”

“I'm not interested in watching them. I am only interested in getting on one to go to Pizza-a-gogo.”

“Well, that is not going to happen, is it?”

And that was that.

She never intended to let me go, she just wanted me to do the ironing. That is the sort of criminal behavior I have to put up with. I know you read all sorts of miserable stories about kids being holed up in cellars by their mean parents and called “Snot boy” all the time, but I think my story is just as cruel.

As I slammed out I said to Mum, “Mum, I quite literally hate you.”

at rosie's in her bedroom
8:00 p.m.

Her parents are out again. It's bliss at her house, I think she only sees them about twice a year. I told her what happened. She said, “That is crapola, little matey. When you are all stressed out and having a nervy spaz you have to look after your health—have a jammy dodger and some cheesy wotsits.”

As we crunched through a couple of packets I said, “I am just going to sneak off, anyway, creep out at night with the money I will get from my guilty dad and hitchhike to the airport. Or maybe get one of the lads to take me. Dom might do it, might he?”

Rosie was really into it now.

“Brilliant plan, just say, ‘Devil take the hindmost' and
Ciao
, Roma!!!”

9:00 p.m.

I was going to call Dom about taking me to the airport, but I sort of chickened out. If I could I would ask Dave the Laugh because he would understand. Or maybe not. Maybe asking my matey type matey person to take me to catch a plane to see a Luuurve God is not mega cool.

Anyway, he would only go on about my lesbian affair with Masimo.

9:20 p.m.

Still at Rosie's. Making a list of what to take with me clothes and makeup wise. It will be hot, so I will have to take most of my summerwear and bikinis and flip-flops.

I said, “Do you think I should take a book to read on the beach for those quiet moments?”

Rosie looked at me. “What are quiet moments?”

10:00 p.m.

Oh, I feel quite pepped up now. In fact, I think I will start packing when I get in.

As I was leaving I said, “Thank you, tip top pally.”

She said, “
De rigueur.
Hey, and don't forget your passport, chum.”

I laughed.

on the way home
fifteen minutes later

Hmmm, where is my passport?

an hour later

I'll tell you where my passport is.

At Dad's bloody office, that's where.

Why?

What sort of person takes official documents to work with them?

My dad, that is what sort of person.

I said to him, “Why would anyone do that?”

He said, “They're all there. I know you, you would lose yours or put makeup on it or Angus would eat it. I know where it is now.”

I said, “Well, now I know where it is as well, so why don't you go and get me MY passport. Which is issued to me in my name. By her Maj the Queen. Because it is my passport, do you see? Not yours. And whilst you are in the safe, you may as well get me the five hundred pounds' child support you promised me.”

He said no.

I said to Dad as I stormed off to bed, “Dad, I quite literally hate you.”

ten minutes later

So this is my life.

I am best friends with some Yorkshire bloke called Fat Bob.

I will have to explain to my marvy and groovy new pop idol Luuurve God boyfriend that I am not allowed my own passport.

And I have got £1.50 to get to Pizza-a-gogo land.

What could be worse?

midnight

Libby put an egg under my pillow to “get a baby chicken.”

It has gone all over my pajamas.

wednesday august 24th

8:00 a.m.

I am the prisoner of my utterly useless and mean parents. Just because they have a crap life they are determined to make mine crap as well. I would have said that to them if I were speaking to them. Or they were speaking to each other.

in my bedroom

Dad came knocking on my door.

I said, “The door is locked.”

Dad pushed open the door and said, “You haven't got a lock on your door.”

I said, “You might not see the lock but the lock is there, otherwise I wouldn't be.”

But he's not interested in me. He said, “Look, I am going away for a few days and—”

I said, “What is it like to be able to walk around on the planet wherever you like?”

He said, “You're not still going on about not visiting this Italian Stallion lad, are you? He'll be back in a week or two, anyway.”

“Dad, I might not be alive in a week or two, things happen, if I were a mayfly I would be dead in about half an hour and that would have been my whole life.”

He just looked all grumpy like a big leatherette grumpy fool. What was he wearing? A leather jacket.

I said, “You're not thinking of going out in that jacket, are you?”

He said, “Look, don't start, I've just come to say good-bye and to say that, well…you know that Mum and I have been, you know, not hitting it off.”

“She threw your undercrackers away.”

“I know she bloody did, most of them were covered in cat litter when I fished them out.”

Oh really, do I have to listen to this sort of
thing, I will quite literally spend most of my superstar money on psychiatric fees. He still hadn't finished, though.

“Don't worry too much, we'll sort it out, and if, well, if things don't get any better, sometimes people have to…”

Oh no, I think he might be going to get emotional, if he starts crying, I may well be sick. But then he did something much much worse, he came over and kissed the top of my head. How annoying. And odd.

one hour later

As Mum went off to “work,” she said, “You look a bit peaky.”

I said, “It's probably a symptom of my crap life. Which is your fault.”

She just ignored me.

I know what she is up to, though. She isn't bothered about me having rickets or something, she just fancies a trip to Dr. Clooney's. That will be the next thing. She'll start peering at me and saying stuff about my knees being a bit nobbly or that I don't blink enough or something and then suggest a quick visit to the surgery. She will have to drag me there.

10:40 a.m.

The post arrived.

I may as well check if there is anything for me.

one minute later

Oh joy unbounded, there is a postcard from the Luuurve God! It has a picture of a donkey drinking a bottle of wine on the front of it. Is that what goes on in Rome? You never know with not English people.

Shut up, brain, and read the postcard from the beluuurved.

Aaaaaahhhh. He has a song in his heart for me. I hope it is not “Shut Uppa You Face, Whatsa Matta You.” Or, as it is in the beautiful language of Pizza-a-gogo land, “Shut Uppa You Face, Whatsa Matta You.”

Oh, I sooo want to see him.

I wonder if I had a whip round of the ace gang I could get the money. I bet Jas has got hundreds stashed in her piggy bank. But then what about my passport? Maybe I could make a forgery?

I HATE my parents.

evening

To celebrate our last days of freedom before we get sent back to Stalag 14, we have decided to have a spontaneous girls night in. We are all staying round at Jools's place because she has her own sort of upstairs area with her own TV and bathroom.

Now that is what I call proper parenting. Getting a house big enough so that you don't actually have to have anything to do with your parents. No growing girl should ever run the risk of seeing either her mutti or vati in undercrackers.

11:00 p.m.

I've perked up a bit.

Rosie, Jools, Mabs and me are in one huge bed and Jas, Ellen, Honor and Sophie are in the other one.

Jas amazed me by saying, “Actually, it's quite
nice being single for a bit, isn't it? You can really let yourself go mad and wild. I mean, this is the first time I've worn my Snoopy T-shirt for ages.”

I said, “Blimey, Jas, calm down.”

Rosie said, “What we all have to remember is that yes, boys and snogging are good, but luuurve with a boy may be temporary and Miss Selfridge and Boots are yours for life.”

Vair vair wise words.

Then we got down to serious business.

Mabs said, “Well, I dunno really, what do you think of this? I saw Edward in the street, across the road with his mates, and he did that phone thing…you know when you pretend you have got a phone in your hand, and you do a dial thing. Meaning you know, bell me.”

We all looked at her.

I said, “So have you?”

She said, “No, because I didn't know if he meant, like, I'm going to bell you or you should bell me. I'm sort of all—”

I said, “Belled up?”

And she nodded.

Blimey.

This was worse than s'laters.

ten minutes later

We've decided that Mabs can't take the risk of an ad hoc bell-you fandango and therefore the only thing to do is to accidentally bump into him and see what happens.

Jools said, “I know that they play five a side in the park on Wednesday arvies, so we could accidentally on purpose be there. The last time I saw Rollo he said the same to me. He said, ‘Give us a bell.' But then I did and he seemed sort of busy. He was on his way out to practice and he said, ‘Give us a bell later.' But I didn't because that was like a double fandango, give us a bell and also s'later. Nightmare scenario.”

Hmmmmm.

Then Ellen told us about going out with Declan.

I said, “Please don't tell me you went to a knife shop for the evening.”

Ellen said, “No, we, well—erm…we and I—”

I said, “I know you feel sort of sensitive about this, and, you know, shy and a bit self-conscious, but you are amongst your own kind now, you are amongst the ace gang. Your best pallies, your bestiest most kindiest maties. So let me put it this
way—WHAT NUMBER DID YOU GET UP TO ON THE SNOGGING SCALE AND ARE YOU GOING TO SEE HIM AGAIN???”

forty years later

So just to save precious hours I will sum up Ellen's evening with Declan. After a lot of chatting and Coke drinking (wise choice drinkwise
vis-à-vis
foam mustache, etc.), Declan had said good night and they had done 1, 2, 3 and a bit of 4. Hurrah, thank the Lord!!!