On the Bright Side, I'm Now the Girlfriend of a Sex God Page 12

  “Was it ‘selfish’?”

  “No.”

  “The crappest person in humanity?”

  “No.”

  “Really horrible and like a wormey . . .”

  “Jas, shut up.”

  in bed

  8:00 p.m.

  Am I really horrible? Perhaps I am one of those people who don’t really feel things properly, like Madonna.

  10:00 p.m.

  Personally I think I have shown great maturiosity and wisdomosity.

  11:00 p.m.

  Dave will some day thank me for this.

  midnight

  Angus still on top of the wall across the road. Looking down at his beloved Naomi in her enclosure. He too is disappointed in love.

  3:00 a.m.

  Libby came in all sleepy. She said, “Move.” And climbed in with the usual accoutrements—Barbie, Charlie Horse, etc. I’ve got about half a centimeter of bed. Marvelous.

  Bloody marvelous.

  monday october 16th

  school

  break

  Well, at least life can’t get any worse.

  Oh, I beg your pardon, yes it can. Raining again and cold and we have been forced outside by the Hitler Youth. I said to Wet Lindsay who was the prefect on duty, “It is against the Geneva Convention that we are forced outside in Arctic . . . “ But she had locked the door and was sort of grinning through the window. She took off her cardigan as I was looking and wiped her forehead as if she was boiling. Oh très amusant, Wet Lindsay.

  Jas and I wandered round to Elvis’s hut to see if the old lunatic was in. If he wasn’t we could sit in his hut for a bit and warm up. But oh no, there he was, reading his newspaper. And he had ear muffs on underneath his flat cap! Mrs. Elvis must be very proud. I tapped on his little window so that I could say a friendly hello to him. But he couldn’t hear because of the muffs.

  I said to Jas, “As a hilarious joke I’ll pretend to say something very urgent to him but I won’t really be saying anything.”

  So I went up to the hut door and I was mouthing, “Mr. Attwood, my friend Jas is on fire!!!” and waving my arms wildly. In the end he took off his ear muffs, thinking that he couldn’t hear me because of them. When he realized the joke he went ballisticisimus. He leaped up in a quite scary way for a one-hundred-and-eighty-year-old man and came charging at us out of his hut. I hobbled off quite quickly. Unfortunately he didn’t remember he had parked his personal wheelbarrow round the corner of his hut and did a spectacular comedy fall over it. I thought I would die laughing. Me and Jas went and bent over a wall at the back of the tennis courts.

  I said to Jas, in between laughing and gasping for air, “Jas . . . Jas . . . he . . . he has got a flat head.”

  God it was funny. I had a real ache in my stomach from laughing too much.

  french

  3:00 p.m.

  For a “treat,” as it is Monday, Madame Slack (yes, that is her real name) taught us another French song. It was called “Sur le Pont D’Avignon.” About some absolute saddos dancing about on a bridge. All I can say is that the French and me have a different idea of having a cracking good time. Also, if I do go to French land, although I will be able to tell my new French mates that my blackbird has lost a feather, and be able to dance on bridges, I will not be able to get a filled baguette for love or money.

  At the end of the lesson Wet Lindsay came into the classroom in her role as Oberführer assistant. She smiled in an unfriendly way and said, “Georgia Nicolson, report to Miss Simpson’s office . . . NOW.”

  3:30 p.m.

  Outside Slim’s office. Oh dear. Quelle dommage. Zut alors and sacré bleu even. Now what? Unfortunately Wet Lindsay was my guard and as I looked at her I was reminded of her thongs lurking under her skirt. Going up her bum-oley. And it started me off again.

  The jelloid one called me in. I was like a red-faced loon trying not to laugh. She said, “Georgia Nicolson, this is an unforgivable offense. This time you have gone too far. Berets worn like lunchpacks, noses stuck up with Sellotape, false freckles painted on noses, all these childish pranks I have put up with . . . Last term there was the skeleton in Mr. Attwood’s uniform, the locusts . . .”

  Slim raved on and on, shaking like a gigantic jelly. “. . . I was hoping that you had grown up a bit. But to lure an elderly man, not in peak condition . . .” Blah blah blah.

  It was useless my trying to explain. Mr. Attwood has dislocated his shoulder and I am being held responsible. Fab. Anyway, the short and short of it is that I’m suspended for a week and Jas is on cloakroom duty. Slim said she was going to write a stiff note home to my parents telling them the circumstances. I helpfully offered to take the stiff note home myself but Slim insisted on posting it.

  Hobbling home with Jas and the gang. I was a bit depressed. Again. I couldn’t even be bothered putting my lunchpack beret on.

  I said to Jas, “Slim is so ludicrously suspicious! What she implied was that I would not take the note home and would pretend that I am not suspended!!”

  Jas said, “Hmmm . . . What were you going to tell your mum after you had destroyed the note?”

  “You’re as bad as everyone else, Jas.”

  “I know, but just for interest’s sake, what were you going to say?”

  “I thought I might try the mysterious stomach bug. I haven’t used it since just before last year’s maths test.”

  4:00 p.m.

  Home. Great. Life is great. Just perfectamondo. Suspended. Suspended just in time for Vati to come home and kill me. In love with a Sex God who calls me a kid. Called a heartless whatsit by Dave the Laugh. And the spot on my bum is probably a boil. I wonder what Buddha would do now?

  4:30 p.m.

  Waiting for Mum to come home so I can break the brilliant news.

  5:00 p.m.

  Phoned Jas. Her mum answered.

  I said, “Hello, can I speak to Jas?”

  I heard her shouting to Jas, “Jas, it’s Georgia on the phone.”

  And I heard Jas shout back, “Can you tell her I’ll talk to her later? Tom is showing me a new computer game.”

  A new computer game? Are they all mad?

  If I had called down and said that a boy was showing me a computer game my bedroom would have been full of parents within seconds!

  Unless that boy was my cousin James, in which case I would have been left up there for years, because my family doesn’t seem to mind incest.

  6:30 p.m.

  Mutti went ballisticisimus about the suspension. Even though I explained how it was not my fault and how provoked I was by Elvis.

  When she calmed down she said, “Don’t you think you might have a bit of a stomach bug?”

  I said, “Here we go. Look, Mum, this is no time to be visiting Doctor Gorgeous. We should be thinking about Vati.”

  She said, “I AM thinking of Vati. And do you know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking that he’ll go mad if he comes back and the first thing he hears is that his firstborn has been suspended. Now, aren’t you feeling a bit poorly?”

  in my room

  8:30 p.m.

  Mum “suggested” I go to bed early and think about the important things in life for once. She’s right. I will think about the important things in life. Here goes:

  My hair. . . quite nice in a mousey sort of way. I still think that a blond streak is a good idea, even after the slight accident I had last time I tried it. The bit that snapped off has grown back now, but I notice Mum has hidden all the toilet cleaners and Grandad’s stuff that he puts his false teeth in when he stays. She really is like a police dog.

  Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, eyes . . . Nice, I think, sort of a yellow color. Jas said I’ve got cats’ eyes.

  Nose . . . Yes well, it doesn’t get any smaller. It’s the squashiness I don’t like. It doesn’t seem to have any bone in it. I still can’t forget what Grandad said about noses, that as you get older they get bigger and bigger as gravity pulls on them.

  8:35 p.m. />
  You can make a sort of nose sling out of a pair of knickers! Like a sort of antigravity device. You put a leg hole over each ear and the middley bit supports your nose. It’s quite comfy. I’m not saying that it looks very glamorous. I’m just saying it’s comfy.

  8:40 p.m.

  It’s not something I would wear outside of the privacy of my own bedroom.

  8:45 p.m.

  It’s a good view from my windowsill. I can see Mr. Next Door with his stupid poodles. He’s all happy now that Angus has gone off poodle baiting in favor of the Burmese sex kitten.

  8:46 p.m.

  Oh hello, here comes Mark, my ex, the breast fondler. At this rate he will be the one and only fondler. I will die unfondled. He must be coming home from footie practice. I don’t know how I could ever have thought about snogging him; he wears extremely tragic trousers. He is looking up at my window. He has seen me. He’s stopped walking and is looking up at my window. Staring at me. Well, you know what they say—once a boy magnet always a boy magnet. I’m just going to stare back in a really cool way. All right, Mr. Big Gob, Mr. Dumper. I might be the dumpee but you still can’t take your eyes away from me though, can you??? I still fascinate him. He’s just looking up at me. Just staring and staring.

  Mesmerized by me.

  8:50 p.m.

  Oh my god! I am still wearing my nose hammock made out of knickers.

  8:56 p.m.

  Mark will tell all his mates.

  8:57 p.m.

  He will now call me a knicker-sniffer as well as a lesbian.

  midnight

  Oh for heaven’s sakes! What now? Woken by loud shouting and swearing. Surely Dad is not home already? Looked through the window. It was Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road. They were hitting things in their garden, shouting and shining torches. What on earth is the matter with them? This is no time for a disco inferno.

  2:00 a.m.

  Woke up fighting for breath from a dream about my nose getting bigger and bigger and my breasts getting bigger and bigger. And someone laughing and laughing at me. I couldn’t seem to move anything except my head. Paralysis for being so horrid to Dave the Laugh.

  Libby was laughing like a loony. (Which of course she is.) She pulled my hair, “Look, bad boy! Aaahhh.”

  The weight was Angus curled up on my chest. Purring. I couldn’t move, he weighs a ton. Big fat furry thing. I’m going to cut down on his rations. He’s like a small horse.

  Hang on a minute. He’s not alone. He’s got Naomi with him, curled up on top of him!!! Oh Blimey O’Reilley’s trousers!

  I managed to get them off me and they slunk off into the night, not before Angus had bitten my hand for my trouble. Naomi is a bit forward for a pedigree cat. She had her head practically up Angus’s bottom as they went off.

  I’ll think about it in the morning. I mustn’t do anything hasty. Like tell Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road.

  tuesday october 17th

  8:45 a.m.

  All hell broke loose. Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road came round “asking” about the Burmese sex kitten. Mr. Across the Road had a spade, and the words “Skinned and made into slippers” were mentioned. As she shut the door Mum said, “Honestly, Angus gets the blame for any bloody thing that goes on round here.”

  I said, “Yes . . . he’s a scapewhatsit like me.”

  She said, “Shut up and get the balloons out.”

  4:00 p.m.

  Balloon city.

  The house is covered in balloons. I even made a banner for the gate; it says VELCOME HOME, VATI.

  Libby has made something disgusting out of playdough and bits of hair. She is wearing ALL of her dressing-up things; her Little Red Riding Hood outfit, fairy wings, deely boppers and, on top, her Pocahontas costume. She can hardly walk about.

  No sign of Angus and Naomi. They will have made a love nest somewhere. Pray God my knickers are not involved in any way,

  5:00 p.m.

  First of the loons arrives.

  Grandad almost broke my ribs; he’s surprisingly strong for someone who is two hundred and eight. He gave me a sweet and said, “Don’t send your granny down the mines; there’s enough slack in her knickers!!”

  What is he talking about? Mum gave him a sherry.

  Oh good grief. That means he will take his false teeth out soon and make them do a dance.

  6:00 p.m.

  Excitement mounts (not). Uncle Eddie and Vati turned up on Uncle Eddie’s prewar motorbike. Vati leaped off the bike in a way that might have caused serious injury to a man of his years.

  Mum and Dad practically ATE each other. Erlack! How can they do that? In public.

  I think Dad was crying. It’s hard to tell when someone is as covered in facial hair as he is. He hugged me and went, “Oh, Gee . . . I . . . oh, I’ve missed you! Have you missed me?”

  I went, “Nnnyeah.”

  Then Mum gave me a look and I pretended my stomach bug was quite bad. We’d “agreed” that we would do the stomach bug scenario early on, so as not to arouse suspicion tomorrow morning. I was beginning to feel quite ill, actually. It’s weird having him back. At least Mum more or less ignores me. Vati tends to take an interest in, well, exam results and so on.

  7:00 p.m.

  More and more people arrived. The drive was full of cars and old drunks. Mum and Dad were holding hands. It is so sad to see that sort of thing in people who should know better. I wondered if I should tell Vati he was in a love triangle with Dr. George Clooney. But then I thought no, can’t be bothered.

  12:30 a.m.

  What a nightmare! All the so-called grown-ups got drunk and started “letting their hair down.” Well, those of them that had any.

  Uncle Eddie was spectacularly drunk. He put one of Libby’s rattles with a sucker bottom on his head, to look like a dalek. Libby laughed a lot. Uncle Eddie was going, “Exterminate, exterminate,” for about a million years. But then Libby wanted it back and Uncle Eddie couldn’t get the sucker off his head. All the drunkards had to pull on it together, and when it eventually came off Uncle Eddie had a round purple mark about a meter wide on his forehead. Which actually was quite funny.

  1:00 a.m.

  I went down to tell them that some of us were trying to sleep, so could they turn down Abba’s Golden Hits, please. I saw them “dancing.” God it was so sad. Dad was swiveling his hips around and clapping his hands together like a seal. Also he kept yelling, “Hey you! Get off of my cloud!!” like a geriatric Mick Jagger, and as Mick Jagger is about a million years old you can imagine how old and ludicrous Dad looked. Very old and ludicrous, that’s how.

  Mum was all red and flushed—she was TWISTING with Mr. Next Door and they both fell over into a heap.

  wednesday october 18th

  12:30 p.m.

  Up at the crack of midday.

  Mum in the kitchen in her apron making breakfast for us all. Oh no, sorry, I was just imagining being part of a proper family where that sort of thing happens. In Nicolson land the mum and dad are still in bed; even Libby was in there with them. I tried to get her to come into bed with me last night but she hit me and said, “No, bad boy, I go with Big Uggy!” (That’s what she calls Dad—Big Uggy.) Angus was somewhere with the sex kitten and I was just . . . alone. In my room. In my bed of pain. Because my ankle still hurt, not that anyone cared. Very, very alone as usual.

  As alone as a . . . er . . . an elk.

  You never see elks largeing it up with other elks, do you? They are always on their own, just on a mountain. Alone.

  Ah well, I decided to take a Buddhist viewpoint and just be happy that everyone else is happy.

  12:45 p.m.

  Doorbell rang.

  I called down, “The doorbell to your home is ringing.”

  No reply from the drunks.

  The doorbell rang again. It would be Mr. and Mrs. Across the Road wanting to search the house for Angus and the Burmese sex kitten.

  Ring ring.

  I yelled as I hobbled down to answer it, “D
on’t worry about the fact that I have a limp and a very serious stomach complaint that makes me too sick to go to school . . . I will get up and answer the door. You recover your strength from lifting glasses up to your mouths!”

  Silence. Well, just a bit of snoring from Libby.

  I opened the door.

  It was the Sex God.

  At my door.

  Looking like a Sex God.

  At my door.

  The Sex God had landed at my door.

  I was wearing my Teletubby pajamas.

  He said, “Hi.”

  I said, “Hhhnnnnnggggghhh.”

  1:00 p.m.

  I got dressed as quickly as I could. The Sex God said he would meet me by the telephone box so we could go for a walk round Stanmer Park. I dithered for about five minutes about lippy. I mean, if there is going to be snogging, is it worth putting it on? But then, if you don’t put it on, does it look like you are expecting to snog, and is that too much pressure for boys who might go springing off in an elastic band way again?

  Ooohhhh, I could feel my brain turning to soup. I knew I’d say something so stupid to the SG that even I would know it was stupid. That’s how stupid it would be.

  I didn’t take any chances with the nipple department; I wore a bra and a vest. Let them get out of that if they could.

  I must be calm. Om. Om. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. My tongue seemed too big for my mouth. Do tongues grow? That would be the final straw if I had a tongue that just lolled out of my mouth. Shut up, brain!

  1:25 p.m.

  There he was, leaning against the wall! He was just so cool. His hair was flopping down over one eye.

  When he looked up I went completely jelloid. He said, “Hi, Georgia. Come here.”

  And I said, “My dad has grown a little beard and I thought I was going to be lonely as an elk.”