‘Luuurve is a many trousered thing…’. Louise Rennison

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СКАЧАТЬ lost her rag immediately over the slightest thing and said, “I was just getting in the mood, actually, and anyway this is stupid, practising to be casual. I know how to be casual.”

      I said, “Well, why don’t you BE casual then?”

      She gave me her worst look, but eventually after Mabs gave her a Midget Gem they started again. Jas said to Rosie, who now had a pipe, “Tommy-wommy?”

      “Oui.”

      “Well, I was just, you know, thinking about Robbie. It’s nice he’s back, isn’t it?”

      “Mais oui – très très magnifique.”

      It was pointless objecting about the Froggyland language, especially as Ro Ro was now plaiting her beard.

      Jazzy said, “Did he come back, you know, because he missed England and his mates? Do you think he will join the Stiff Dylans again?”

      I looked at Jas in amazement. She had asked an almost good question in a quite subtle way and not mentioned me. Blimey.

      And it only took four-and-a-half hours of torture. We had to leave it there because Sven came along yodelling through the trees (no, I am not kidding).

      5:30 p.m.

      When would be a good time to call Radio Jas? Surely she must have had time to talk to Tom by now? I should exercise discipline and patience, of course.

      5:31 p.m.

      Phoned Jas.

      “Jas.”

      “What?”

      “It’s me.”

      “Oh, well, this is me, too.”

      “Jas, don’t start.”

      “I’m not.”

      “Well, don’t.”

      “Well, I won’t.”

      “Good.”

      And I put the phone down. That will teach her.

      Two minutes later

      “Jas, what have you found out?”

      “I’ve found out that I am having scrambly eggs for tea. Byeeee.”

      And she put the phone down.

      Damn.

      I have my pride, thank goodness. No one can take that away from me. I won’t be bothering Jas again, not while she is so busy stuffing her gob with eggy.

      6:00 p.m.

      This is torture but I will never give in. Never, never. The Eggy One will never get the better of me.

      6:10 p.m.

      Phoned Rosie. I’ll get her to phone Eggy and casually ask her, but not on my behalf.

      6:20 p.m.

      Rosie is out with Sven at the “pictures”, her mum says. Oh yeah, as if. And the film they are watching is, Number Seven on the Snogging Scale.

      I daren’t ask Ellen, Jools or Mabs to phone Jas as they are bound to spill the beans to Eggy. The tragedy is that all three of them are such crap liars; it’s a curse, really.

      7:30 p.m.

      She is soooooo annoying. She will never phone me if she has got the hump.

      7:35 p.m.

      Masimo hasn’t called or anything. Maybe he really does think I am insane. Or maybe he thinks I caught the train from the shopping centre and have gone away for a few days. In which case he is insane.

      If I have an early night I can do skincare – cleanse and tone, and get everything ready for tomorrow just in case I have a chance encounter with one of my many maybe boyfriends on the way to Stalag 14.

      8:15 p.m.

      Blimey, I look about two and a half, I am so shiny faced and clean. Also, I am nice and baldy everywhere, except on my head, of course. I do not want to have an Uncle Eddie hairstyle.

      Actually, my hair is a bit of a boring colour. It hasn’t got je ne sais quoi and umph.

      Bathroom

      Five minutes later

      Ahaha, Mum has got some hair dye. Warm chocolate. That would be nice and groovy. I could just put a couple of streaks in the front, like highlights, or is it lowlights? Hi, lo – it’s lights anyway, which is all that counts.

      Got the dye and went into the front room. Oh, how I wish I hadn’t. Mum and Dad were all over each other on the sofa watching some old film with crying in it and blokes in tights and an Uncle Eddie bloke in a frock. Mum said, “Come and watch Robin Hood. It’s good.”

      I said, “Mum, I’m just going to use your hair dye for a bit.”

      “No.”

      “Er, Mum, I think you are being a bit negative.”

      “No.”

      “But I—”

      “No.”

      “Look at the colour of my hair! It’s crap. I might as well be the Invisible Mouse.”

      “No.”

      “But I…”

      Then Vati joined in. “Georgia, no, no, no, and thrice no. And also no.”

      “Vati, I am not asking you, actually, I am asking my dear dear mum about her hair dye.”

      “It’s not her hair dye, it’s mine.”

      What??? What fresh hell? HIS hair dye? My vati, not content with growing small badgers on his chin and wearing leather trousers and having a clown car, was now trying to be Lady Cliff Richard. Or Lady Paul McCartney.

      “Please say you are not serious.”

      Vati said, “I am very serious. I am a man in his prime, as your mother knows.” And he did that disgusting thing of grabbing one of her nungas, squeezing it, and going, “Honk honk!!!”

      Mum СКАЧАТЬ