Skinny Melon and Me (14 page)

Now I suppose I must write and say thank you. It is much easier to pick up the telephone, even all the way to Texas, but Mum would have a fit so I’d better not.

I took the armadillo droppings to school and everyone thought it was hilarious except for Mrs James who said, “What on earth have you got there, Cherry?” and when I showed her she pulled a face and said, “That is what I call bad taste.” I don’t call it bad taste! I call it scrummy! She should have tried one, but she wouldn’t. Some people just have no sense of humour.

I went over to Sereena’s place when I got in from school
and showed her the box (which now alas was empty). I waited till we were in her bedroom as I didn’t think her mother would like it. All Sereena said was, “I bet they didn’t look anything like the real thing!” I said, “They did. They looked just like it.” She said, “How do you know? Have you ever seen an armadillo dropping?” I had to admit that I hadn’t. Then she told me something really gross.

She told me that the brother of her best friend Sharon where she used to live works as a camera man for a TV crew and one day they went into this prison to make a film and they wanted to show the prisoners emptying their buckets that they’d done things into during the night and she said, “They didn’t want to use the real thing ‘cos that would be horrid and smelly so they made up this yellow mixture with lemonade powder and then they got some brown
playdo
and rolled it in porridge oats and dropped it into the lemonade water with bits of toilet paper and you couldn’t tell the difference.” She said, “That’s the sort of thing they do when they make films.”

Ugh! I think that’s far nastier than armadillo droppings. And that was in
England.

When I got in from school Mum told me that there had been a telephone call from Dad saying that unfortunately he wouldn’t be able to get to Parents’ Evening after all as he
had a meeting to attend and wouldn’t be finished in time. Mum said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know you really wanted him to come.”

It isn’t very often that Mum calls me things like sweetheart. I knew it was because she was feeling sorry for me, and not wanting to gloat (on account of she’d said all along that Dad wouldn’t turn up, or if he did it would only be to annoy her).

“It is quite a long way for him to travel,” she said, trying, I suppose, to make things seem better.

I said, “He promised!” But what do grown-ups’ promises mean? Mum promised me a dog, Dad promised to come to Parents’ Evening. Neither of them did what they said.

I tried ringing Skinny Melon, thinking it would be nice to have a bit of a laugh about something – anything, really – but all the Melon wanted to do was moan about our maths homework which she said she couldn’t understand. If the Melon can’t understand it I certainly won’t be able to. I’m not going to bother with it. Why should I?

Tomorrow is Parents’ Evening, which a few days ago I was looking forward to. Now I just think it’s a drag. Last year when I was at Juniors, Mum went on her own.
This year she’s making me go with her. She’s also taking Slime, which is what she wanted all along.

I said, “Why do I have to come?” She said, “Because you’re the one it’s all about.” So then I said, “Why does he have to come?” and she said, “If you’re referring to Roly, it’s because he’s just as interested in your welfare as I am.” Then she added, “Though sometimes I wonder why he bothers.”

I haven’t asked him to bother. I don’t want him to come. Trying to get round me, Mum said, “Surely it will be nicer for you to have both of us there?” I said, “Why?” And she said, “Well, it’s more normal to have two parents, isn’t it?” I said, “Not really. Not these days. There’s lots of kids with only one.” To which she snapped, “So what have you been making all the fuss about?”

What fuss? I never made any fuss.

She said, “If there are all these other kids whose parents have got divorced, what’s so special about you?”

I never said there was anything special. And just because I’m not the only one whose mum and dad have split up doesn’t make it any better. It’s my dad I care about.

I didn’t say any of this to Mum. We don’t ever really talk about things like that. We just get mad at each other and she snaps and tells me I’m selfish and ungracious, which is what she did now.

It’s true I was in quite a bad mood tonight. I don’t know why. Sometimes I just am.

As we were about to set off for school to go to Parents’ Evening, Slimey suddenly said, “Cherry, do you mind me coming along? I won’t if you’d rather I didn’t.”

It made me feel terrible. He’d got dressed up specially in his best clothes. He looks all funny and peculiar in them, like a sort of long floppy beanstalk inside a suit. His trousers bag at the back because he hasn’t got any bum and his pockets sag because he keeps things in them. Pens and pencils and little notebooks for drawing. I wanted to say that as far as I was concerned I’d rather he didn’t come anywhere near the place, but I couldn’t bring myself. I just mumbled something like, “That’s all right, I don’t mind.” His face went into this big happy beam and that was that. I was stuck with him. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t looked so odd, but what with Mum being all fat with the baby and Slimey being all bean-stalky and thin, they made a right weird couple.

We were the
only people
who didn’t turn up in a car. At least, I should think we were. Amanda Miles said to me the other day, “Can’t your dad afford a car?” I don’t know how she knew he hadn’t got one, but anyway as I pointed out he’s not my dad. And as I also pointed out, he could probably afford half a dozen cars if he wanted them. The number of elves he draws, he ought to be able to. I said, “It’s a matter of principle. He happens to care about this earth and the creatures that live on it.” She said, “What are you talking about?” I said, “Pollution. Cars ought to be done away with,” and she said, “Oh, that’s just nutty!”

I used to think it was but now I’m not so sure. Slimey pointed out the other day that all the fir trees up and down our road have gone brown and died. All of them. Mum says maybe it’s a tree disease, but Slimey and I think it’s acid rain.

Parents’ Evening was quite embarrassing, actually. I knew it would be. I had to stand there while Mum and Slimey slunk about talking to all the teachers and I could just feel that people like Amanda Miles were looking at Slimey and sniggering. And then old Slimey keeps making these pathetic jokes all the time and some of the teachers are polite and pretend to think it’s funny while some of them – Miss Milsom, for instance, she’s really sour – just pinch their lips together and make their nostrils go all thin and you can tell they’re thinking, “What an idiot!”

As a matter of fact I felt a bit sorry for him. I mean, he’s completely ludicrous-looking, with his silly
scraggly beard and this huge Adam’s apple that keeps bobbing up and down every time he swallows and these enormous hands and feet that go clump, clump, clump, everywhere. He’s really clumsy. But he does try ever so hard to be liked and I guess it’s not his fault he keeps doing it all wrong. He just doesn’t know any better. I didn’t like the thought of Amanda sniggering at him. I felt like telling her that at least old Slimey doesn’t go round eating animals or poisoning the planet with noxious fumes like I bet her dad does. Drawing elves might strike some people as a pretty drippy thing to do but no one can deny that it’s harmless. And I suppose if you were only four years old it might bring pleasure to your little infantile life. I expect if I am to be truthful I probably quite liked elves when I was four years old.

Actually as a matter of fact I am not being fair to Slimey. He doesn’t only draw elves. He doesn’t really draw elves at all. Just in this one particular book that he did for tinies. Mostly what he draws are animals and people. Funny animals and people. Even his elves were funny elves.

I wish I could draw like he can!

Sereena wanted to know whether I would go and have tea with her again, but I said I couldn’t as I was going swimming with Skinny Melon. Mum got a bit cross when she heard. She said, “Why couldn’t Sereena go with you?” It’s hard to explain that Skinny and I don’t want anyone with us. We are a pair. We like being just us. Mum ought to understand since she seems to like being on her own with Slimey.

I told this to Skinny and she said that Mum probably likes being with Slimey because he makes her laugh. She said, “He’s really funny, he ought to be on telly.”

Slimey? Maybe there is more to him that I thought!

Dad rang up tonight. He said he was very sorry he hadn’t been able to get to Parents’ Evening. “But you know how it is … meetings that go on for ever.” I said that it was all right. I added that he hadn’t really missed much. He said. “No, but I do feel bad about it.”

I was going to suggest that maybe he could come to the school play instead, and hear me sing, but before I could do so he was called away by Rosemary. I could hear her voice yelling at him up the hall. “Gregg, are you coming?” Dad said, “Oops, got to go! I’ll ring you back tomorrow.”

I have decided that I hate Rosemary.

Wonders will never cease! Slimey has shaved off his beard!!! Unfortunately he looks even more peculiar without it. He has these rabbit teeth and not very much chin.

Oh, what does Mum see in him?

I know what she sees in him. It is what Skinny says; she thinks he is funny. And also he doesn’t keep shouting or losing his temper. I have never heard him shout. He has quite a quiet sort of voice altogether, really. And he does these silly nice things like the other day for instance when we were walking up the road and he saw this worm in the middle of the pavement. Instantly he stopped and broke a bit of twig off someone’s hedge so that he could pick it up and put it in a garden. He said it would dry out if it were left where it was.

There aren’t many people that would care about a mere worm. I wouldn’t have done before. Dad used to
go into the back garden and tread on snails. Not purposely, but simply because they happened to be there and got in his way. Slimey never does that. He steps over them. Whenever you go into the garden early in the morning he says, “Watch out for snails!” It used to madden me but I’ve kind of got used to it. I suppose you can get used to most things.

The only thing I will never get used to is Mum breaking her promise about my dog. How could she do that to me?