Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging Page 4
9:35 a.m.
After assembly I popped into the Ioo and looked in the mirror. Worst fears confirmed—I am Mrs. Ugly. Small, swollen eyes, hair plastered to my skull, HUGE red nose. I look like a tomato in a school uniform. Well, that is that then.
4:00 p.m.
The bell. Thank God, now I can go home and kill myself.
7:00 p.m.
In bed. Uncle Eddie says there is an unseen force at work of which we have no comprehension. Well, if there is, why is it picking on me?
tuesday september 8th
8:00 a.m.
Still no time to do my yoga. Not that it matters anymore. I did manage to do the sausage beret and the lip gloss and the concealer. Nothing like shutting the stable door and tarting up the horse after it’s bolted.
8:20 a.m.
Nice and early with Jas. This time we are both ready. We walked up the hill really chatting and laughing. Waving at friends (well, actually, waving at anyone, just to give the impression that we are really popular). We walked slowly at the end bit leading up to the gate, and although there was the usual crush of Foxwood boys ogling, there was no sign of Tom or SG.
9:30 a.m.
I’d forgotten how utterly crap school is. In assembly there was a bit of chatting going on before Slim took the stage, and do you know what she said? She said, “Settle, girls, settle.” Like we were a bunch of pigeons or something. She’s already started her fascist regime by saying she has been told that some girls were not wearing their berets as they arrived at school. She would like the older girls to set an example to the younger ones, rather than the other way round. Is this what my life is now? Talking about berets? While a Sex God strolls around on the planet? I felt like shouting out, in front of assembly, “Get a life, Slim!! In fact, get two . . . there’s enough of you!!”
But Hawkeye was looking at me. I know she was thinking about the locusts. She’s always watching me. She’s like a stoat. I don’t think I can stand much more of this and it’s only nine thirty.
5:00 p.m.
What a nightmare! Jas, Ellen, Jools and I are NOT ALLOWED to sit together at the back. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. Instead, I have been placed next to Nauseating Pamela Green. It is more than flesh and blood can stand. Nauseating P. Green is so boring it makes you want to slit your wrists just looking at her. Plus Hawkeye is our form teacher. Quelle horreur and triple merde. And it’s physics last thing Friday afternoon. What is the point?
wednesday september 9th
8:40 a.m.
I have perfected putting a little bit of mascara on so that you can’t tell I have got any on.
No sign of the lads.
1:00 p.m.
After lunch Alison Peters and Jackie Mathews came by. They were smoking and I must say they are common girls, but obviously I must not say it to them as I do not want a duffing up, or chewing gum in my tennis shoes.
Jackie said, “We’re doing a new thing tomor_row, so you can all come and meet us in 5C form room tomorrow after second lunch.”
Cheers, thanks a lot. Good night. It is, of course, strictly forbidden to be in school after second lunch. I sense something . . . what is it? Oh yes, it’s my first poor conduct mark coming along.
6:00 p.m.
Is my life over? Is this all there is? Downstairs my parents are laughing at something and in the other room Libby is playing with her dolls, I can hear her talking to them. It’s so sad, that she is so young and she doesn’t know the sadness that lies ahead. That’s what is so sad. I can hear her little voice murmuring . . . what is she saying . . .
Oh, it’s “Poor Georgia, poor Georgia.”
thursday september 10th
5:00 p.m.
Boring day at school, then home to my even more boring home life. I wanted to debrief with Jas but she had to go to the dentist. Jackie and Alison’s proposed extravaganza was put off this lunchtime, thank the Lord. The message got passed along at assembly that Jackie was off sick. She has started taking sickies very early on in term. Anyway, we are spared whatever they had in mind for a few days. I think they take drugs. Horse tranquilizers, probably.
tuesday september 15th
4:30 p.m.
Absolutely no sign of SG. However, I have found out some gossip because Katie Steadman’s parents know SG’s parents from some naff card club the really old go to. Apparently he’s called Robbie Jennings. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings, own the shop—the so-called greengrocer-cum-delicatessen, according to Jas. I don’t normally like Katie Steadman that much. She’s OK but I get the impression she thinks I am a bit on the superficial side.
She’s bloody tall, I’ll say that for her, and her hair is nice, but she sort of tries too hard. She puts her hand up in class, for instance. Properly, I mean. She doesn’t do the putting your hand up but leaving it all floppy at the end of your arm, so it just flaps around. That is the sign of someone who is obliged to put their hand up because that is the fascist way, but isn’t really putting their hand up. I have taken to putting my hand up and pointing one finger forward—you know, like at football matches when everyone points at a chubby player and chants, “Who ate all the pies?” But as usual any sign of humor is stamped down in this place. Hawkeye said, “Georgia, if you are too tired to put your hand up properly, perhaps you should go to bed earlier . . . or perhaps a few thousand lines might strengthen your wrist?”
I may try it out on Herr Kamyer—we have him for German and physics, which is the only bright spot in this hellhole. He has the double comedy value of being both German and the only male teacher in an all-girls’ school.
8:00 p.m.
Listening to classical music. I thought it might be soothing, but it’s really irritating and has no proper tune.
8:05 p.m.
I love life!!! Jas has just phoned to say we’ve been invited to a party at Katie Steadman’s and . . . Katie has asked Tom and Robbie. YESSSSS!!!! I must have done a good job of being nice to Katie. WHAT ON EARTH CAN I WEAR??? Emergency, emergency! It’s only a couple of weeks away.
8:10 p.m.
I’d better do my yoga.
8:15 p.m.
I’d better start applying face masks now.
8:20 p.m.
I wonder if I slept with a peg on my nose, like Amy in Little Women, if it would make it smaller? Why couldn’t Mum choose someone with a normal-sized hooter to marry?
8:30 p.m.
I asked Mum why she married Dad (he was bowling with Uncle Eddie—I ask you). She thought for a bit and then she said, “He makes me laugh.” He makes her laugh. He makes her laugh. Well, Bart Simpson makes me laugh, but I’m not going to marry him.
midnight
Hahahahahahahaha.
monday september 21st
8:00 a.m.
Eleven days to the party.
tuesday september 22nd
9:30 a.m.
Someone farted in assembly this morning (I suspect Nauseating P. Green). Whoever it was, it was really loud and during the silence we were having to think about all the poor people. And it wasn’t just a quick one, it was a knee-trembler. Jas, Ellen, Julia and me were shaking with laughter—well, everyone was. I was laughing for most of the day and now my stomach hurts.
thursday september 24th
5:30 p.m.
In bed. I’m absolutely frozen. I may have TB. Honestly, Miss Stamp is obviously a sex pervert as well as clearly being a lesbian. Why else would anyone make girls run around in sports knickers hitting a ball with sticks? She calls it hockey—I call it the sick wanderings of a sick mind. If I miss this party because of Miss Stamp SHE WILL DIE.
friday september 25th
10:00 a.m.
A sighting at last!! On the way to school we saw Tom. He actually stopped to chat. He said, “Hi, having fun?”
I said, “Yes, what could be more fun than being with sadistic loonies for eight hours every day?”
He laughed and said directly to Jas, “Are you going to Katie’s party?”
Jas went all p
ink and white, then sort of pinky-white apart from the tip of her nose, which remained red. I must remember to tell her what she looked like. She managed to reply and he said, “Well, I look forward to seeing you there.”
Jas was ecstatic. “Did you hear what he said?”
“Yes.”
“He said, ‘Are you going to Katie’s party?”’
“Yes.”
“He said, ‘Well, I look forward to seeing you there.’
“Yes.”
“He said, ‘I look forward to seeing you there.”’
“We’ve been through this.”
“He said, ‘I look forward to seeing you there’ . . . to me. He said ‘you’ because he meant me.”
“Er, Jas.”
“Yes?”
“Will you shut up now?”
5:00 p.m.
She didn’t, though.
Herr Kamyer didn’t take us for physics as he has a cold. Double damn. When am I going to have any fun? Sacré bleu.
saturday september 26th
10:00 a.m.
Went for a moody autumn walk with Libby in her pushchair. She was singing, “I am the Queen, oh, I am the Queen.” She wouldn’t take off the fairy wings that I had made for her. It was a nightmare getting her into the pushchair. The clouds were scudding across the sky but it was quite sunny and crisp. I cheered up enough to join in the singing with Libby. We were both yelling, “I am the Queen, oh, I am the Queen!” and that’s when he got out of a red mini. Robbie. The SG. He saw me and said, “Oh hello, we’ve met before, haven’t we?”
I smiled brilliantly, trying to do it without making my nose spread out over all my face. It’s a question of relaxing the mouth, putting the tongue behind the back teeth but slightly flaring the nostrils so that they don’t go wild. He looked at me a bit oddly.
“Apples,” I said wittily.
“Oh yeah,” he said, “the shop, you and your friend.”
He smiled again. He was dreamy when he smiled, Then he bent down to Libby who, true to form, gave him one of her scary “I am a crazy child” looks. She said, “I am the Queen,” and he said, “Are you?” (Ooohhh, he’s so lovely to children.)
Then Libby said, “Yes, I am the Queen and Georgia did a big poo this morning.”
I couldn’t believe it. He could not believe it. Nobody could believe it. It was unbelievable, that’s why. He stood up quickly and I said, “Er, well, I’d better be going.”
And he said, “Yes, see you later.”
And I thought, Think Sharon Stone, think Sharon Stone. So I said, “Yes, well I’ll probably see you at Katie’s party,” and he said, “No, I’m not going, I’m doing something else that night.”
7:00 p.m.
“Georgia did a big poo...”
7:05 p.m.
“No, I’m not going, I’m doing something else that night.”
7:06 p.m.
Does life get any worse?
8:00 p.m.
Yes it does. Dad has just put his head round the door to say, “James is popping over tomorrow. We thought we’d all go to Stanmer Park for the day.”
sunday september 27th
10:00 p.m.
James tried to kiss me!!!
It was disgusting. He’s my cousin. It’s incest. I can’t even think about it or I’ll be sick. Erlack erlack.
10:05 p.m.
It was in my room after a horriblement day spent tramping around a bloody park. How old do they think I am? They made me go on a seesaw. I, of course, snagged my new tights.
So a summary of my lovely day out is . . . snagged my tights, then I was attacked by my cousin. Perfectamondo. In my room!!!
10:07 p.m.
When we got back James and me were listening to records and reading old joke books and suddenly he switched off the light and said, “Shall we play tickly bears?” Tickly bears!! We used to play that when we were about five. One person would be the tickly bear and they would chase the other person and tickle them and, er . . . that’s it. I was so shocked (and also couldn’t see a thing in the dark) that I just sort of went “Nnnnnn-nnnn.” And then he said, “Grr gotcha!” and started tickling me. It was the most embarrassing thing. But it didn’t end there—a sort of wet thing touched my face near my nose. I leaped up like a salmon and stumbled for the light. James sort of stood up and then he picked up a joke book and started reading it. So I did as well. Then he got taken home by my dad. The wet thing on the nose incident was never mentioned. Like the leg.
I don’t think I can stand much more of this.
monday september 28th
11:00 a.m.
At break I told Jas and Jools everything. They went, “Ergghhhlack, that’s truly disgusting. Your cousin? That is sad.” Jools said that she had actually seen her brother’s “how’s your father” quite often. She said, “It’s quite nice, really, like a mouse.” She lives in a world of her own (thank God). Well bless us, Tiny Tim, one and all, I say.
4:15 p.m.
On the way home. I could kill Jas. She’s all excited about the party and I might as well not go now. Jackie and Alison caught up with us on the way home. Jackie had so much makeup on. And her hair was all done. As we passed the loo in the park she made us stand lookout while she changed out of her school uniform.
“I’m off clubbing,” she said from inside the loo, mistaking me for someone who was remotely interested in what she did.
“I didn’t think that clubs opened at four thirty,” I said.
She called out, “Don’t be dim, Ringo.” (I hate her, I hate her.) “I’m off to my mate’s first to get ready, put my makeup on and everything.” Put her makeup on? If she put any more makeup on, she’d hardly be able to hold her head up because of the weight.
She emerged in a sort of satin crop top and tight trousers; she looked about twenty-five.
“I’ve got a date with the DJ at Loveculture—he’s so cool. I think he’s about thirty but I like mature men.”
After they’d gone I walked on with Jas. “Do you think that Jackie has ‘done it’?” I asked her. Jas said, “Well, put it this way—is the Queen Mother really, really old?” Sometimes Jas is quite exceptionally mad. Just to prove my point she went on, “Gemma Crawford was telling me that she knows a boy who gives kissing lessons. Do you think we should go before the party?”
I just looked at her. “Jas, are you suggesting that we go to a male prostitute?”
Jas went on, “He only does kissing and you don’t pay.”
I just tutted.
10:00 p.m.
I lay on my arm until it went numb and then I lifted it (with the nonnumb arm) onto my breasts. I wanted to see what it felt like to have a strange hand on them. It was quite nice, but what do I know? I’m too full of strange urges to think properly. Should I wear my bra to the party?
10:05 p.m.
Urgh, it’s horrible when the feeling starts coming back into your arm when it’s been numb.
11:07 p.m.
Kissing the back of your hand is no good because you can’t tell which is which—which is lip and which is hand—so you don’t get a proper sensation from either. Do boys have this trouble or do they just know how to do stuff?
11:15 p.m.
“No” is the answer, if the “tickly bear” incident is anything to go by.
tuesday september 29th
8:30 am.
Biology, double maths, Froggie and geoggers. Qu’est-ce que Ie point?
in my room
6:00 p.m.
What a fiasco. Jackie and Alison decided that today was the day for the fandango in the 5C form room.
It’s amazing how few people stand up to them, including the teachers.
We all trooped up to 5C after second lunch. This in itself is a fiasco—you have to lurk outside the main door until the coast is clear, then dart to the downstairs Ioo, check if the coast is clear, then leap up the stairs to floor one and so on, up to the fifth floor.
I was shattered by the time I got up there. The
re were seven of us all in peak condition—i.e., spluttering and coughing. Jackie said we were going to do a black-art act of levitation, calling on the dark forces to help us. Oh goodie, we’re summoning the devil. What larks.
Why, I thought, oh, why am I here? Maybe if we are going to be forced to commune with the devil, I could strike some sort of bargain with him, like swap my dad’s soul in exchange for bigger breasts for the party on Friday.
Abby Nicols “volunteered” to be the sacrificed one and she had to lie down on a desk. Jackie went at her head and Alison at her feet and then the rest of us spread out evenly around her. Jackie said, “Please be very quiet and concentrate. We are summoning dark forces. Put one finger of each hand underneath Abby’s body and then we will begin.”
We all did as we were told. Then Jackie shut her eyes and started chanting in a low, husky voice, “She’s looking poorly. She’s looking poorly,” and we all had to repeat it after her one by one round the desk. Then she said, “She’s looking worse. She’s looking worse. She’s looking ill. She’s looking ill.”
Actually, she was looking a bit peaky by this time. It went on for about five minutes as Abby’s condition deteriorated. Finally Jackie whispered, “She’s dying. She’s dying. . . .” We all repeated it. “She’s dead. She’s dead.” She certainly did not look at all well and she was as stiff as a board. I couldn’t see her breathing.