Then He Ate My Boy Entrancers Read online

  sunday may 15th

  midday

  seven days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  I hate my dad. He is so unreasonable it’s like dealing with a spoiled child. I asked Mum if she would be so kind as to slip my shoes in her case and all hell broke loose. Dad said, “Why don’t you put them in your case?”

  And I said, “Because, Father, all of my cases are full.”

  Vati came stropping into my bedroom, saw my cases, and said, “Don’t be ridiculous, you can take one case. That is it.”

  I said, “Excuse me if I am right, Dad, but do you want me to look like a poor person in front of the Hamburgese? I am representing the English nation abroad.”

  But you might as well be talking to yourself.

  2:00 p.m.

  I’ve repacked, but it is still three cases of essentials. Sacré bloody bleu.

  Jas phoned to tell me that she told Hunky about her trip and he has had the boy version of a nervy spaz. He phoned her eighteen times in two hours.

  “He was so upset.”

  “Yes, you said.”

  “Really really upset. He phoned me eighteen times in two hours.”

  “Er…I know.”

  “Eighteen times.”

  “Wow…how many times did you say he phoned?”

  I said it ironically, but Jas didn’t get it. She just went on and on.

  “Eighteen times, and then he came round this morning really early and posted a love-poem song-type thing through my door.”

  Oh, no. Not a love poem.

  “Do you want to hear it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s called ‘You are the only fish in my sea.’”

  Good Lord, the whole family is obsessed with livestock.

  To cheer her up and to get me out of my packing nightmare scenario I called a gang meeting.

  in the park sitting on the swings

  4:30 p.m.

  Jas has read her poem to everyone, so I hope she has got it out of her system now. It is truly crap. That is a fact, but I didn’t say so. I wanted Jas to perk up for our big adventure. I was soooo excited, and I was standing up swinging on a swing, singing, “‘I want to be in America! Everything free in America!!!’”

  Then Ellen said, “Georgia, have you actually snogged Masimo yet?”

  I laughed in a sultry way.

  “Have I snogged Masimo? Have I—”

  Jas said, “No, she hasn’t. Well, not unless you count two seconds, which I don’t, and anyway it’s not on the list, so it’s not…on the…list.”

  Oh thanks, bestest pally NOT. I wish I had told her what I thought about Fish Boy’s poem now.

  Jools said, “Do you think that Wet Lindsay has snogged him? You know when they went to ‘Late and Live,’ she must have, you know, wanted to.”

  Ohhhnooo. Get out of my head.

  I said, “Who in their right mind would snog Wet Lindsay?”

  Jools said, “Well, actually, Robbie must have snogged her because they went out together and—”

  I started humming in my head so I didn’t have to listen to this; it was making me feel quite sick.

  Jas said, “Perhaps some kind of boys like tiny foreheads. Tom said that he knows a boy who is mad for girls who wear really thick glasses.”

  Good grief. Still, at least, there was a chance for Nauseating P. Green.

  Ellen was obviously in her own dream world.

  “That mate of Tom’s—Speedy—asked me out when I was down the square, but, oh, I don’t know. It’s just, there is something. I mean, he’s nice but I still, you know, have feelings for…well, you know. Do you think?”

  I said, “Can I ask you something, Ellen? What are you raving on about?”

  I wished I hadn’t asked.

  “I mean Dave the Laugh. Is he going out with Rachel still…or…er…what?”

  Jas said, “He wasn’t with her when we saw him the other day, was he, Gee? Did he mention her when you went for a coffee?”

  Oh shutupshutup about Dave the sodding Laugh.

  Ellen was just about to start the “I didn’t know that you saw Dave the Laugh, what did you talk about, did he mention me? How come you went for a coffee with him?” scenario when Mabs saved my bacon(ish).

  Mabs said, “How do you know that Masimo wants to see you?”

  “Well, he asked me for my telephone number and I couldn’t give it to him because my head was about to drop off from redness. So he said ‘OK, Miss Hard to Get, I will see you later when I get back from America.’”

  Ellen was looking at me. “So he said ‘see you later’ then?”

  I said, “No, not just ‘see you later’ like in ‘see you later,’ but more—”

  But Ellen was locked into her own ramblosity.

  “Dave the Laugh said ‘see you later’ to me and I did the flicky hair and everything and dancing by myself and so on…and then he went off with Rachel.”

  The gang started nodding wisely (not).

  I said, “Yes, but Masimo said ‘see you later’ after I had become Mystery Woman.”

  Rosie said, “‘Mystery Woman?’”

  “Yes, after I had accidentally treated him to my glaciosity.”

  Rosie had her face really close to mine.

  “You are Mystery Woman?”

  All the gang looked at me.

  Jools said, “You are MYSTERY Woman?”

  Then Mabs said, “YOU are Mystery Woman?”

  What is this, a parrots’ convention?

  Rosie said, “Mystery Woman. You are Mystery Woman. At least he doesn’t still think you’re Oooooooh My Boy Entrancers Have Stuck Together Woman?”

  home

  5:30 p.m.

  Oh, boo. Now I have got the screaming heebie-jeebies and doubtosity all rolled into one. Perhaps Masimo says “See you when I get back, Miss Hard to Get” to everyone.

  5:45 p.m.

  Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, they take a turn for the worserer.

  Grandad has canceled his cat duties because he is going on a bicycling tour to the Lake District. He says he has heard the call of the wild and is setting out tonight with his backpack.

  I cannot believe the utter selfishosity of the elderly.

  5:50 p.m.

  Family “conference” (aka Dad shouting a lot).

  We can’t think of anyone stupid…er…kind enough to look after Angus and Gordy.

  6:15 p.m.

  Mum has tried all her so-called aerobics friends and none of them will come over. I said to her, “Did you tell them about the mice cream incident?”

  Of course she has, so she has only herself to blame.

  6:30 p.m.

  Sadly, I have also shown off about Angus and Gordy’s “adventures” and alluring little habits vis-à-vis woodland animals, pooing, etc. So none of my friends will have anything to do with them. Rosie said that Sven said he would look after Angus and Gordy in a cave he has found. But the whole idea of that is far, far too weird.

  Vati said, “What about a cattery, then?”

  That is when Angus came in with a spade. We all just looked at one another.

  Vati said, “Well, there is only one thing for it. I am going to have to ask for a bit of neighborly support.”

  7:15 p.m.

  Dad went to Mr. Next Door first. As he went through the door he said, “Alfred and I have always had a bit of a understanding. I know we’ve had our differences vis-à-vis the damage Angus has done to his rhododendrons but—”

  I said, “And when he rounded the Prat Poodles up and trapped them in the greenhouse.”

  “Yes, well…”

  “And then rode them round like little horsies.”

  “Yes, well…”

  “And the dog psychiatrist having to come in…”

  Dad took his coat off.

  7:25 p.m.

  Dad said, “I’ll just pop across the road to Colin and, you know, see if maybe he could just keep an eye on feeding them.”

 
7:28 p.m.

  Dad’s back. He said, “He laughed.”

  Dad has slammed off to the pub to talk to Uncle Eddie and see if he knows any fools who might help us out.

  7:33 p.m.

  Doorbell rang. I looked down the stairs from the safety of my bedroom.

  Mutti answered. Uh-oh. It was one of our beloved boys in blue. And as policemen go, he didn’t look pleased.

  Now what? I scampered down the stairs next to my mutti to give her moral support. Although, as it happens, basooma support would have been more appropriate. Hasn’t she got one single piece of clothing that doesn’t reveal far too much flesh?

  I put an interested look on my face. It’s the one I use when Hawkeye asks me where my homework is. It usually results in double detention, but you can’t have everything.

  The constable looked at me, and it wasn’t his “guardian of the community and servant of the people” look. He said to Mum, “Good evening, madam, can you tell me if you know this person?”

  And he held up Grandad’s O.A.P. card, the one with the photo of him with the earring in. Don’t ask.

  Mum said, “Yes, it’s my father…. Oh my God, is he alright?”

  The officer said, “Yes, he is, madam, but he is a danger to himself and others.”

  I said, “You can say that again, Officer. I don’t need a helmet and truncheon to figure that out.”

  Mum said, “Shut up, Georgia.”

  Which I think is probably abusive behavior, but I let it go.

  It turns out that for once, the officer was the bearer of glad tidings. Grandad had set out on his six-hundred-mile bike ride to the Lake District and fell off at the end of his street. But not before he knocked the policeman off his new community bike.

  “I’d had it for only a week, madam.”

  I tried to look concerned.

  The policeman opened his notebook. “The gentleman we have now positively identified as your father was wearing Lycra shorts and kept falling off his bike. I asked him to walk a straight line.”

  Mutti said, “Oh my goodness, had he been drinking?”

  The officer said, “I don’t know, madam, but he refused to walk the line on account of an old war wound. Then he said”—the officer looked down at his notes again—“‘Do you want to come back to my place, Constable, and have one for the road?’”

  You have to give Grandad full marks on the lunacy scale.

  8:00 p.m.

  The policeman radioed in to his station and Grandad was released from chokey after being charged with careless biking and not having a bell. Apparently the budgie bell he had sellotaped onto the handlebar doesn’t count.

  He now has a criminal record.

  Mum was all flustered and apologizing to the policeman as he went off.

  “I am so sorry, Officer, I hope you can mend your bike and you haven’t been hurt at all.”

  The policeman said, “No, well, I’m quite tough, madam.”

  “Yes, well, you do seem very fit. I do a bit of aerobics myself, it’s awfully good for keeping in shape.”

  The policeman winked at her—honestly!—and he said, “Yes, I can see that. Anyway, madam, I’d better be on my way.”

  And then he said that classic thing that you only see on TV. He said, “Mind how you go, it’s a jungle out there.”

  Mum practically wet herself with laughing; she is so so sad and embarrassing. After the policeman had gone I just looked at her and she said, “What? What?”

  I said, “You know what. You were practically slavering over him.”

  “Well, he was a nice young man—of course, far too young for me.”

  Unbelievable!!!

  in my bedroom

  How very embarrassing my family is.

  midnight

  Still, on the plus side, Grandad’s cycling days are over and he can now be on house-burning-down duties for when we go to Hamburger-a-gogo land. Hurrah!!! And also zippety do dah!!!

  tuesday may 17th

  five days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  evening

  Oh, I just can’t stand this hanging around waiting to go on the Luuurve plane.

  Come on come on!!!

  I’ve been trying out arrival outfits. Boots or shoes? It’s hard to know what to do weatherwise. Also I may have to go from day wear to evening wear, depending on the time zone business. I am practicing speaking Hamburgese, even in my own head. The key seems to be to add stuff, so instead of weather you say weatherwise. Timewise. Day-wise. Luuurvewise, etc.

  But on a more seriouswise note, this time business is v. v. aggravating fashionwise.

  I said to Jas on the phone (she is opting for sensible sports casual for traveling), I said to her (Mistress of the Time Lords): “Are we flying backward in time or what?”

  “Yeah, they are five hours behind us.”

  “Why are they? Why can’t they just keep up with us? Didn’t we invent time?”

  “What?”

  “You know, Greenwich mean time—didn’t we invent it? So why don’t they just be the same as us?”

  “Because they would be getting up in the middle of the night.”

  “So?”

  But you can’t reason with Jas.

  wednesday may 18th

  four days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  evening

  I am still in a ditherspaz about what to wear. I’ve been through all of my clothes about a million times.

  Still, on the plus side I have definitely decided what to wear nailwise. I have chosen Pouting Pink.

  I am absolutely full of exhaustosity.

  Dragged myself downstairs for a reviving snack.

  Grandad has come round for instructions about looking after the house and cats.

  in the front room

  Grandad started fiddling about in his pockets.

  “I’ve got something for you.”

  Oh joy unbounded. A boiled sweet.

  I love him and everything, but why does he have to be so, you know, so grandad-ish?

  The TV was on, with my extremely unfit vati lolling around in front of it. As I sat down to try and get my tights away from Gordy, Vati said, “Now then, Georgia, why don’t you tell me how much spending money you expect for the holiday. Then we’ll have a good laugh and go from there.”

  Vair vair amusing. Sadly, I have to humor him though. I said, “Well, it’s only for a week, isn’t it? And we’ve got the hotel rooms and food and so on, so actually, all in all, I think a thousand quid would just about cover it if I don’t buy anything extravagant.”

  Mum said, “Don't be silly, Georgia.”

  Grandad said, “Do you remember when you took Georgia to the doctor's surgery when she was a couple of weeks old?”

  Mum ruffled my hair (very annoying) and looked all nostalgic. “I remember every single thing about your life, darling girl. You've been a pleasure and joy to me from the moment you were born.”

  Dad said, “Bloody hell, Connie, calm down.”

  But Mum had gone off into mumland. “Do you know you had no hair when you were born, all baldy, like Uncle Eddie? So sweet.”

  Oh God.

  Grandad was still rambling on. “Yes, and there was that woman in the waiting room.”

  Mum went, “Oooh yes, I'd forgotten her.”

  Grandad said, “And she was looking in all the prams and going, 'Oooh, what a lovely baby,' and then she looked in at Georgia and said, 'Christ, look at the conk on this baldy one! Come and look!'”

  What???

  All the “grown-ups” were laughing.

  Mum said, “Well, that's why I always used to stroke your nose every time I fed you so that I could sort of squeeze it into shape a bit.”

  in my bedroom

  I looked in the mirror. My nose had been fondled from birth and it was still like it was.

  2:00 a.m.

  Woke up from a dream where a customs official at the airport charged me excess baggage for my nose.

  thursday may 19th
/>   three days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  in bed

  I am sleeping on my back, and I have made a sort of splint for my nose out of elastoplasts and matchsticks so at least it can't grow anymore.

  friday may 20th

  8:00 a.m.

  two days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  Tore off the elastoplasts, ow bugger and ow and buggery ow. I hope Masimo appreciates what a lot of trouble I am going to, beautywise. Although unless my brain drops out I will not be telling him that I sleep in a nose splint.

  Went down into the kitchen for brekky. Yip yip and three times yip, in fact yipyipyip!! Last day at Stalag 14 and then I set off on the grand adventure de LUUURVE.

  bathroom

  8:05 a.m.

  I have been keeping up a daily plucking plan to keep the orangutan gene at bay. However, I may get Jas to do an impartial inspection of the backs of my legs, as it is useless being smoothy smooth on the front if you are chimpish at the back.

  Lalala.

  Massage in exfoliating products (Mum’s) and make small circles to slough off naughty old cells and leave skin like baby’s botty (without the poo).

  The flight is eight hours so I should have just about enough time to apply my makeup, do my nails and then be ready to bump into Masimo in a casual and natural way.

  lunchtime

  As it is raining quite hard, for once we are allowed to loll around in the canteen. Sadly, that means we have spectacular sad sacks as company. The rest of the ace gang went to the loo to redo their hair—they are so vain, they are like a bunch of Chelsea footballers. I bagsied a table by putting all my things on five chairs and then pretended to be learning my part as MacDuff in MacUseless, just in case Nauseating P. Green saw me by myself and came to tell me about her hamsters. Or her new enormous glasses. Her being cast as Lady MacDuff is the worst thing that has happened. I think she thinks that we are actually man and wife. I was so busy pretending to read that I didn’t notice the whiff of tiny foreheadedness until it was too late. I looked up to see Wet Lindsay sitting down with her skungy mates at the table next to me.

  She said, “Georgia, normal people need only one chair to sit on. Clear those bags up.”

  I looked at her, and I was going to say something like “Normal people have a bit of skull between their eyebrows and their fringe,” but she was quite likely to give me detention even on the last day of term. So I let a small smile play around my lips and imagined her in her thong crashing into the sanitary towel dispenser like she did last term. Happy memories.