The Tutti-frutti Collection. Jean Ure

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      No time to write in here yesterday so I am doing it now while Rosemary has her bath and gets ready to go out. She takes a long time to get ready, at least she did yesterday when we went for a pizza. We are going to go out every single day that I am here! This is because Rosemary doesn’t like cooking, which is all right by me. I like to go out.

      Tonight we are going for an Indian meal and tomorrow we are going for a Chinese one. To think that at home we only go out about once every six months! But Dad and Rosemary both do proper jobs and so I expect they earn a lot more money than Mum and Slimey, which is only right. Just sitting about reading books and drawing elves can’t be classed as proper jobs. I don’t think so.

      I have only met Rosemary two times before so that I do not really know her very well. The times that I have met her are once before she got married to Dad (they did it in a love temple in the Seychelles. Incredibly r-r-r-romantic!) and once after, when they came back. That was almost a year ago. Since then I have only seen Dad in London except once when I came to Southampton just for the day and Rosemary was not there.

      She is quite pretty and wears lots of make-up and really smart clothes. She is younger than Mum and of course much slimmer. Even if Mum weren’t having this baby she would still be much slimmer. She and Dad go jogging every morning and Rosemary also does aerobics. Dad has started to play squash and is not anywhere near as pudgy as when he was driving the cab.

      It is I must say a great relief to be in a house – well, a flat actually – where everything isn’t being got ready for a baby. There are no signs of a baby in this place, thank goodness!

      It was strange at first being in a flat after being used to a house but now I think that I prefer it. I think it would be sensible if everyone lived in flats because then there would be a lot more land where you could grow grass and trees. I think probably it is almost antisocial for people to live in houses. I am going to say this to Slimey next time he starts on about the environment and how we are ruining it. Dad and Rosemary aren’t taking up half the space that he and Mum take up! Also I enjoy everything being on one level so that you don’t have to keep rushing up and down the stairs all the time. Also there is a lift, in which you can meet people and talk. I shall live in a flat when I am grown-up – if I am not living in a cardboard box, that is.

      I told Dad about the cardboard box and he said that he will buy me a personal computer for my Christmas present. He said, “I cannot have a daughter of mine being computer-illiterate, but of course your mother has always had a tendency to be a bit of a Luddite.” I said what was a Luddite and he said they were people who went round smashing machinery. I said that I didn’t think Mum smashed it on purpose, she just wasn’t very good with it, like for instance last week she broke the handle off the washing machine and put the vacuum bag in the wrong way so that all the dust came flying out into the house.

      Dad said, “Typical! And I suppose he’s not much better?” I said, “Slimey? He’s even worse!” which isn’t strictly speaking true since it was Slimey who fixed the handle of the washing machine with superglue and changed the bag in the vacuum cleaner. But it’s true that neither of them knows the first thing about computers. Mum just uses her word processor like an ordinary typewriter, which was a thing that used to drive Dad mad when he was living with us. He was always trying to teach her different things that she could do with it and she wouldn’t listen. She used to say, “Oh, I can’t be bothered with all that!” Deliberate stupidity, Dad said it was.

      The journey from London to Southampton in Dad’s car was brilliant except that half-way here I started to feel sick, which Dad said was probably because I’d got out of the habit of travelling by car. I said yes, Slimey always insisted on going everywhere by bus or bicycle and Dad said the man was an idiot. He said, “Like it or not, the car is here to stay,” and, “You can’t put the clock back.” Anyway, we had to stop a couple of times so that I could get some air and then I felt all right again. But I have never felt car sick before. It is all Slimey’s fault.

      Today we went for a drive to the New Forest (I didn’t get sick this time) and had lunch in a pub, in the garden, and then drove to a place called Lymington, which is at the sea, but it was too cold to go swimming and so we just looked at it and came home again. Tomorrow Dad has to go into the office in the morning because there is a problem which only he can sort out, so Rosemary and I are going to meet him for lunch and then go round Southampton where there are some things to be seen, such as an old museum and an ancient wall. Also of course the docks. I am looking forward to it.

      I rang Mum last night to tell her that we had arrived safely as she worries about accidents, and she said, “So how are you getting on? I suppose everything is lovely?” I said that it was and that so far I was really enjoying myself (though in fact we hadn’t done very much at that stage). I said, “Dad’s told me I can stay till Friday if I want.” He told me in the car. It was one of the first things he said. He said, “Rosemary’s managed to wangle an extra two days and I’ll take off what time I can.”

      “That’s good, isn’t it?” I said to Mum. I thought she would be pleased but she didn’t sound very pleased. She just grunted and said, “If that’s what you want.”

      “Well, I thought I might as well,” I said. “Now that I’m here.”

      “That’s right,” said Mum. “Make the most of it. It doesn’t happen that often.”

      Then there was a pause and she said, “You left your book behind.” I couldn’t think what she was talking about. I said, “What book?” She said, “Roly’s book. The one he bought specially for you.” I knew from the tone of her voice that she was mad at me. I forgot all about his stupid book! I wouldn’t have brought it anyway. What do I want a book for, when I’m with Dad?

      Mum said, “You’re not worth giving things to, are you?” I am if they’re the right things, but anyway she needn’t go getting all wound up about it because I am also pretty wound up, if she wants to know. What I am wound up about is the thought of him actually opening my door and creeping into my room while I’m asleep. I don’t think he has any right to do that. He’s not my dad. But if I’d said so to Mum she’d only have got all defensive, like she always does where Slimey is concerned, and I didn’t want to quarrel with her over the telephone. So I just said, “Look, I’m sorry, I forgot,” and she said, “Yes, of course, you left in such a rush!” I think she was being sarcastic. It was the way she used to get with Dad when they were having words. I hope she’s not going to start on at me. It’s ever so nice and peaceful here. I don’t want Mum ringing up and making trouble.

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