On the Bright Side, I'm Now the Girlfriend of a Sex God Read online

  I had a look. She was right. Time for operation smoothy legs. I grumbled to her as we went to the bathroom. “What is the point of evolution? Why bother giving us hairy front legs and baldy back legs? When can that ever have been useful in our fight for survival?”

  Jas said, “Perhaps it was to frighten things off.”

  I said, “Oh yeah, that will be it. Stone Age girl would have said, ‘Here comes a big dinosaur chasing me from behind. It thinks I am a pushover because of my baldy legs, but wait till I turn round! I’ll scare off the big lug with my terrifying hairy front legs.’ That will be the explanation.”

  She wasn’t interested in my scientosity because she was looking through the bathroom cabinet. “Your mum has got loads of anti-aging creams, hasn’t she?”

  “I know. It’s sad. Why doesn’t she save all that money and put it toward some new spectacles or a hat? Or a decent bra that can contain her gigantic basoomas.”

  9:30 p.m.

  Mum’s hair remover worked a treat. My legs were smoothy smooth. I was tempted to use a bit on my eyebrows but I remembered the last time I had shaved them and they had taken two weeks to grow back.

  Clotheswise we decided on a turtle-necked crop top (implies that I am mature for my years, on the brink of womanhood, but doesn’t go as far as saying, “I am desperate for a snog”). In the leg department it was the tight Capri trousers.

  Jas said, “Tom is going away on work experience this term. I will be on my own for weeks. I’ll really miss him. Do you know, he said the other day that he . . .”

  In a caring way I said, “Go home now, Jas, I have to get my beauty sleep.”

  11:00 p.m.

  In bed nice and early. I’ve barricaded my door so that Angus and Libby can’t get in.

  midnight

  I am so nervous . . . What if I have forgotten how to snog? What if all my snogging lessons go out of my mind at the last minute and we bump teeth?

  1:00 a.m.

  Or I lose my grip altogether and go to the same side with my head as he is going, and knock him out?

  What if I have one of those laughing fits that you can’t stop? You know, when you remember something . . . like for instance when Herr Kamyer took us on a school trip and when we arrived at the railway station he said, “Ach yes, here ve are!” and then opened the door on the wrong side of the train and fell out of the carriage.

  Hahahahahahahaha . . . hahahahaa. You see, I’m doing it now; I’m laughing by myself in the middle of the night in my room.

  Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Hahahahahahahahaha.

  tuesday july 25th

  7:00 p.m.

  SG day. Setting off to his house.

  It’s taken most of the day to achieve my natural makeup look. I wanted the just-tumbled-out-of-bed look, so I only used undercover concealer, foundation, hint of bronzer, eye pencil, eight layers of mascara, lip liner, lippy and lipgloss, and I left it at that.

  7:20 p.m.

  Jas phoned to wish me luck. She said, “Tell me all about it when you get home. Remember what number you get up to on the snogging scale. Are you wearing a bra? I think it would be wise because you don’t want to wobble all over the place.”

  I said, “Good-bye, Jas.”

  I’m not wearing a bra; I thought I would go free and akimbo. I just won’t make any sudden movements.

  walking down arundel street

  7:30 p.m.

  Brrr, not quite as warm and bright as it was earlier. A bit overcast, actually, and . . . oh no . . . it’s starting to rain! It’s too far to go back home for an umby . . . it will probably stop in a minute.

  7:40 p.m.

  Outside Robbie’s gate. It really is raining quite hard now. I’m wet through and really cold. I think my trousers have shrunk; they are gripping my bottom in a viselike grip. I wonder if I look all right?

  I’ll nip into the telephone box opposite his house and check my mirror.

  in the telephone box

  7:45 p.m.

  My trousers have shrunk so tight around my bottom that I can’t bend my legs. This is hopeless. Brrr. Why is everything going wrong? I can’t go to see the Sex God looking like this. I’ll have to phone him up and say I’m ill.

  7:50 p.m.

  SG answered the phone. “Hello.”

  Swoon swoon.

  I said, “Roggie, nit’s ne, Neorgia.”

  “What’s wrong with your voice?”

  “Der nl’d gut a trrible cold nd Im nin bed.”

  “Do they have beds in telephone boxes?”

  “Dnno.”

  “Georgia, I can see you through the window.”

  When I looked across at his house, he waved at me.

  Oh GODDDDDD!!!!!!

  He said, “Come over.”

  What can I do, what can I do? My top is all wet. And there are two bumpy things in it. Great! It looks like I’ve got two peas down the front of my top. Typical; the only thing Mum has ever ironed for me and she has ironed it wrong.

  As I walked up to the door I tried to flatten out the bumpy bits. But it wasn’t my top sticking up . . . it was ME!!! My nipples!!!!! What were they doing?!!! Why were they sticking out? I hadn’t told them to do that. How could I get them back in again? I’d have to cross my arms in a casual way and hope he didn’t offer me a cup of coffee.

  7:55 p.m.

  The back door opened and there he was!! The Sex God had landed. I went even more jelloid. He was so gorgey . . . so . . . oooooh and er and yum yum and scrumbos and yummy scrumbos. His hair was all floppy, he had on dark jeans and a white top, and you could see his shoulders (one on each side). He’s got really, really dark blue eyes and long dark eyelashes and a big mouth, sort of soft-looking. He’s not a girlie boy, though, he’s definitely a boyie boy, which I think is handy in a boy myself.

  midnight

  I love him, I love him. I love you, Robbie, oh yes I do. When I’m not near to you I’m blue . . . What else rhymes with Robbie? Gobbie? Knobbie? Snoggie?

  12:30 a.m.

  I can’t sleep; life is too brilliant. I may never sleep again.

  It was such a fab night. We talked for a bit—well, I said, “My dad had his shoes blown off by a rogue bore,” and he said, “Does anything normal ever happen to you?” Which I took as a compliment.

  He played me a song on his guitar. I didn’t really know what to do when he did that. I just sat on the sofa next to him with an attractive half smile on my face. (And my arms crossed.) It was quite a long song and by the end of it my cheeks ached like billio. In fact, I think I might have cheek strain. I tried to keep my nose sucked in at the same time; I didn’t want it wandering across my face.

  He told me that he is going to go to university to do music properly. I said, “I’m going to be a vet.”

  I don’t know why I said that as I’m not. I didn’t seem to be able to make anything come out of my mouth that had anything to do with my brain. He looked into my eyes and went quiet, and I went quiet and looked back at him. I tried not to blink. That seemed to go on for about a million years. In the end I had a sort of nervy spasm and went and looked at a photograph of a dog that was on a table. He probably thinks I am obsessed with animals as I am a trainee vet (not).

  He came over and put his arm round my shoulder. I had an overwhelming urge to start doing Cossack dancing as a very funny joke, but just in time I remembered that boys don’t like girls for jokes. Then he kissed me. I think he may be the best snogger in the universe. Although I have only snogged two other boys so far, and one of those was part boy part whelk, so I can’t be entirely sure. SG does that varying pressure thing that Rosie says foreign boys do. You know, soft and then hard and then medium and then hard again. I could have quite literally snogged until the cows came home. And when they came home I would have shouted, “WHAT HAVE YOU COWS COME HOME FOR? CAN’T YOU SEE I’M SNOGGING, YOU STUPID HERBIVORES???”

  I think I may be a bit feverish.

  1:30 a.m.

  I am going to be nice to everyon
e from now on. Even Wet Lindsay, Robbie’s ex. I won’t say to her, “Yesssssss!!!!” I will be grown-up and nice.

  The only fly in the landscape is that when he walked me to my gate and said good night he tweaked my nose. And he said, “I’ll see you later.”

  1:35 a.m.

  What does that mean? Not the “see you later” bit, because no one knows what that means. I mean the tweaking the nose business.

  1:40 a.m.

  Does it mean, “Hey, you adorable cute thing,” or does it mean, “Cor, what a size that conk is, I wonder if I can get all of it in one hand?”

  wednesday july 26th

  3:35 p.m.

  I am a Sex God’s girlfriend. But I will not let it spoil my naturalness.

  Phoned Jas: “Even when I have loads of interesting and glamorous friends I would still want to be friends with you. Because we are proper friends. We should never let boys come between us.”

  Jas said, “Tom is going to buy me one of those stick-on transfer tattoos. I’m going to put it on my bottom while he is away and not wash it off until he gets back.”

  “Jas, can you leave your bottom out of this? Please.”

  friday july 28th

  5:00 p.m.

  Made my dear mutti and sister a meal today. Mashed potatoes and sausages. I thought Mum was going to cry.

  10:00 p.m.

  Early to bed, early to rise, makes a girl . . . er . . . anyway, it gets a girl out of the way of her mutti who had a nervy b. when she saw the state of the kitchen.

  10:15 p.m.

  Why do I always get the blame for every little thing? Is it really my fault that a couple of pans caught fire? I put them out.

  Still, I refuse to be upset. I will remain calm beneath my egg and olive oil face mask.

  saturday july 29th

  7:55 p.m.

  Dreamy dreamy, smiley smiley.

  However no phone calley.

  Never mindey.

  sunday july 30th

  8:00 a.m.

  I’ve persuaded Jas to come to church with me to thank God for making Dad have his shoes blown off and also for giving me a Sex God as a plaything.

  10:00 a.m.

  When I got round to Jas’s house she was sitting on her wall in the shortest skirt known to humanity. When I wear skirts like that my grandad says, “You can see what you had for your dinner.” I don’t know what on earth he is talking about but then neither does anyone else, except probably dogs.

  Jas leaped off the wall. Her skirt was about four centimeters long.

  I said, “Is it a long time since you went to church, Jas?” and she said, “It’s OK, I’m wearing really big knickers.”

  church

  10:40 a.m.

  Good grief. Now I know why I don’t go to church much. It is not what is generally known as Fun City Arizona. I was forced to sing “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” which is bad enough, but there was a further treat in store. The vicar (“Call me Arnold”) tries to be “modern.” So to really get “with it” Call me Arnold had got some absolute saddos to play guitars as an accompaniment. One of the boys on guitar was called Norman and as if that is not cruel enough he had acne. And not just ordinary acne; he had acne of the entire head.

  But as we left I remembered I was supposed to be being grateful so I said, “Sorry about Spotty Norman, God, I will be nice to him next time I see him,” and put a pound in the collection box.

  monday july 31st

  12:10 p.m.

  Still no news from the SG. I’ve been going to bed really early to make the hours pass more quickly.

  I tried snogging the back of my hand to stave off snogging withdrawal but it’s no good.

  12:11 p.m.

  Cor, phew . . . boiling again. The sun was shining like a great big fried egg. Jas and Jools and Ellen and me went sunbathing in the park. I took off my shades and got the shock of my life: in the sunshine my legs looked like Herr Kamyer’s legs. They were all pale-looking. Not as hairy as his legs, obviously.

  I said, “Ellen, why are your legs so brown?”

  She said, “Oh, I used some of that Kool Tan stuff.”

  Maybe the SG noticed my Herr Kamyer legs? I must get some Kool Tan.

  august

  snogging: withdrawal

  tuesday august 1st

  10:30 p.m.

  Jas came round for us to practice hairstyles and I made her let me kiss the back of her calf to see if she could feel any teeth. She leaped about, going, “Erlack, erlack, get off, get off, it feels disgusting, like a sort of sucky Spotty Norman.” Which is not very reassuring.

  She said Tom touched her basooma the other night. In revenge I said, “How would he know it wasn’t your shoulder?” She honestly does think she is like Kate Moss. It is very, very sad.

  midnight

  SG didn’t touch my basooma. I wonder if that is bad? Mind you, I had my arms folded for a lot of the time because of the nipple emergency.

  wednesday august 2nd

  4:00 p.m.

  Phoned Jas.

  “I’m really worried now. It’s been over a week. I wonder if it is my nose? Perhaps SG only likes little sticky-up noses like Wet Lindsay’s?”

  Jas said, “Maybe a headband would help. You should make more of your forehead and that would take the emphasis away from your nose.”

  “At least I’ve got a forehead, not like Wet Lindsay who has got a tiny little forehead. In fact, she is really just hair and then eyebrows. How could the SG go out with someone with no forehead?”

  “She’s got quite nice legs.”

  “What do you mean? Nice—not like mine? Shut up, Jas.”

  “OK; keep your hair on.”

  “Nauseating P. Green, on the other hand, has got the HUGEST forehead known to humanity. In fact, she is a walking forehead in a frock. I must get away from this forehead business; it’s making me feel a bit mad.”

  4:30 p.m.

  In the bathroom experimenting with a headband. Hmmm, headband seems to emphasize my nose. In fact, it’s like wearing a big notice on my head that says, “Hey, everyone!!! Look at my incredibly big schnozzle!!”

  While I had been doing headband work I hadn’t been paying much attention to Libbs. She had come into the bathroom and got up on the lavatory seat. Her hair was all sticking up like a mad earwig but she won’t let you comb it. I said, “Libby, things will start nesting in it,” and she said, “Aaahh nice.” Then she started going, “Bzzz, bzzz, bzzy bzz, bzz,” like a mad bee.

  I was experimenting with sucking in my nose to see if it made it look any smaller when Mum came barging in. (Not bothering to knock or anything.) Anyway, she went even more bananas than usual. Libby had put all of the loo paper down her knickers because she wanted to be a bumblebee. I’d heard her buzzing but I didn’t pay any attention. Mum was all red-faced.

  “Georgia, all you think about is how you bloody look. The house could burn down around you before you would stop looking in that mirror.”

  I raised my eyebrows ironically. Talk about the pot calling the other pot a black kettle, er . . . well whatever. She really has got a volatile temper; she should go to anger management classes. I will suggest it to her. But not just now as she has got a brush in her hand.

  4:50 p.m.

  My violent, bad-tempered mother has gone out. Nothing in the fridge. Oh, I tell a lie, there is a half-eaten sausage. Yum yum.

  4:55 p.m.

  Grandad said that as you get older gravity pulls on your nose and makes it bigger and bigger.

  5:00 p.m.

  Why couldn’t I come from a decent gene bank? Nice, well-formed parents, like Jas’s mum and dad. Nice and compact, nothing too sticky-outy. Instead I get massive “danger to shippings” from Mum and a massive conk from my dad. If Robbie doesn’t like me it is Vati’s fault. If it is true about the gravity business then Dad will need a wheelbarrow to carry his nose around in soon. Good; serve him right for ruining my life.

  7:00 p.m.

  I’m so hot a
nd restless. Oh Robbie, where are you? My nose feels tremendously heavy.

  8:00 p.m.

  I put on a really loud record and danced about to get rid of my excess snoggosity.

  8:05 p.m.

  When I looked in the mirror I could see my basoomas bobbling about. Good grief and sacré bleu!! They look like they are doing their own dance!

  In Mum’s Vanity Fair it says that all the posh-type ladies go to a special woman behind Harrod’s to get their bras properly fitted.

  8:15 p.m.

  The queen must go there, then. Apparently this woman who does the bras is such an expert that she can just look at someone and say what size bra they should have. No suggestion of pencil cases. I wish I could go to her.

  8:30 p.m.

  When the queen goes, this woman must just look at her and yell to her assistant, “Get the queen a bra in size forty-eight D.” Or whatever the queen is.

  9.00 p.m.

  The queen is about five foot high, so if she was a size sixty D that would make her like a five-foot ball.

  9:30 p.m.

  I wish I didn’t have that in my head.

  midnight

  Should I call him? Oh I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do.

  thursday august 3rd

  still boiling

  4:00 p.m.

  Jools, Ellen, Rosie, Jas, and me went to town to try on makeup in Boots and Miss Selfridge. I cheered up a bit, especially as we did this limping thing on the way home. You link up and all limp together. And you’re not allowed to break arms no matter what happens. This tremendously old bloke got shirty with us because we accidentally stampeded his Labrador. After that we went into the park and sat on the swings for a rest. Rosie said, “Oh I fancy a fag.”