In fact, to be frank, what he had said really was, “I still like you and think about you a bit.”
Oh, why hadn’t he written this last month? Why had he written it after another Luuurve God had come along?
It’s too much.
break
I consulted with the ace gang.
They listened whilst Jas read the letter out loud. I don’t know why I let her, because she read it soooo badly, with a really crap New Zealand accent for some reason. I can safely say I am not optimistic that her performance of Lady Macbeth is going to bring the house down.
Then they all started the insane nodding-dog extravaganza.
I said, “So what do you think?”
Rosie said, “Dump him from your mind. He is yesterday’s snoggee: move on, move up. We’ve gone European now, we are Euro citizens and it is our duty to kop off with as many European types as we can. Within reason.”
Jools said, “On the other hand, he is very very groovy-looking.”
Mabs said, “And it would be quite nice to be Jas’s sister-in-law, wouldn’t it?”
Blimey O’Reilly’s knob, I hadn’t thought of that nightmare scenario.
Jas almost choked on her nibbly niblets.
It was, as ever, left to Ellen to completely and utterly confuse humanity. She said, “Well, I suppose, like really, you are like, well, not really anyone’s girlfriend.”
home
6:30 p.m.
I’d ask Mum for advice but you might as well ask Angus, for all the sense she makes. And also, she has gone out with Dad and Libby to the O’Shaunessys’ to show them our holiday photos.
8:00 p.m.
I wish I could talk to someone normal. Or even in. Even the kittykats are out. Gordy is worse than his dad. He sleeps all day, wakes up, eats anything he sees, destroys a bit of furniture or some tights and then buggers off out. They both treat this house like a furry hotel.
10:30 p.m.
I can’t believe this. Mum and Dad have come back Irish. We are being forced to be an Irish family. Vati says he has rediscovered his Irish roots. I said, “Yes, after six pints of Guinness.”
He wouldn’t shut up, though, and put on a Dubliners record. Libby is doing her version of Irish dancing. I don’t remember the knickerless part, but…
In between slapping his thighs and shouting, “Come on there, girl, get them pegs moving!!” Dad said, “You see, there is a story in my family that my great-great-grandfather was an O’Dwyer from Killarney, but they changed the family name to protect them against the villainous English.”
I said, “Dad, when you say ‘villainous English,’ do you mean us?”
But he wouldn’t be stopped. “They changed the name to Nicolson.”
I said, “What, that grand old English name? NOT. Why would they change their name from an Irish one to a Scottish one? The English, i.e., us, hated the Och Aye landers just as much as the Leprechaun-a-gogo folk. More. That is why we built Hadrian’s wall at the top of England…to keep the ginger-beardey folk out.”
Dad was still rambling on like Paddy O’Mad. “And another thing, we look Irish. That man in Memphis spotted it—he asked you if you were Irish. He asked you that because you have the look of the Emerald Isle about you.”
“No, he didn’t, Dad. He was an American—he doesn’t know where anyone comes from unless it’s Texas. He was wearing gingham.”
I slammed up to my bedroom.
bed of pain
Ohgodohgodohgod.
I lay on my bed with a pillow over my head.
I am in a ditherosity of love and I have now become Oirish.
thursday june 2nd
Jas got top marks again in history. She went all red and girlish. As we walked home I said to her, “You are vair clever, Jassy, you are as clever as Professor Clever at the University of Oxford department of Cleverosity.”
I feel a bit better about the whole Robbie thing. If I don’t mention his name, then I won’t think about him. It’s like voodoo, isn’t it?
It is definitely beyond the Valley of Deffo and entering the Vale of Very Nearly Quite Sure that I luuurve Masimo.
bathroom
4:45 p.m.
I checked the orangutan situation: you can practically comb my legs.
4:48 p.m.
I can’t be bothered with using Veet. Actually, what I mean is that Mum has run out.
4:50 p.m.
Dad has got one of those razors that leaves your skin smoothy smooth and attractive to women. So it says on the TV ad. I do want smoothy-smooth skin but I don’t want to be attractive to women.
5:00 p.m.
I could risk it on my legs. What sensible lesbian is going to be at knee level with me?
5:01 p.m.
I won’t think about the possibility of midget lesbians that are only one foot high.
5:45 p.m.
Actually, Dad’s razor is really tip-top. I have no open gashes at all and my legs are like the advert says: smoothy smooth.
MMMmmmmmmmm.
Washed the soap off Dad’s razor and put it back where it was.
in my room
7:00 p.m.
Now then, the age-old question of what to wear for the Stiff Dylans gig. I must of course wear a short skirt to show off the smoothy smoothness of my legs. I would be a fool to waste the smoothy smoothnosity.
7:30 p.m.
I think if I am wearing a really short skirt I should wear a more covery-up top so that the nungas are not on display. I want to hint at sophisticosity, not prostitutenosity.
8:00 p.m.
I was just trying things on when my father went mad. Yelling and barging about downstairs. I think I might tell him that swearing is an indication of lack of vocabulary. But not just now…
8:10 p.m.
He barged into my room, his face covered in bits of loo paper. Is this his new Irish look? He yelled: “Did you use my bloody razor?”
I looked hurt and puzzled.
“Your razor? I know this is your first shot at fatherhood, but perhaps you have noticed I am a girl. I am beardless. Mostly.”
He said, “Don’t be so bloody cheeky, you know what I mean. HAVE you been using my razor?”
“Well, only a bit, just for my, you know, legs.”
Why do I have to discuss my body with my father? I am sure there is a law about it.
Fifty years later, after his famous lecture about not using his stupid razor ever again, he went off.
8:30 p.m.
Shame about his face being all cut.
8:40 p.m.
Still…nice smoothy-smooth legs.
friday june 3rd
8:15 a.m.
There is a certain amount of tensionosity about not knowing whether the Luuurrve God is back in the country. I had relaxed my makeup regime because he was not around, and now I have to be on high alert all the time just in case. Also, and I know this is even for me bordering on the Universe of Madnosity, now that I have heard from Robbie, I sort of have to wear makeup all the time because I have got a letter from him, which has put him in my head and that might mean he can see me. From my head. Or from his letter. I told you I have entered the Valley of the Unwell.
Get out of my head, ex–Sex God!!!
I am going to try a bit of nostril breathing even at the risk of expanded nostrils.
Aaaaahhhhhh.
four minutes later
I am an xxxxxx-free zone and I think you know that the xxxxxx starts with an R.
Donner and Blitzen and also schiessenhausen!!! I’ve thought of him again.
Makeup plan.
My routine is a bit of lippy and gloss with a hint of mascara and just a really tiny bit of eyeliner. The difficulty is getting past sniffer-dog Hawkeye. Today I will be returning to that old favorite of putting my head as far into my bag as it will go and saying as I go past Hawkeye: “Oh now, where did I put my French homework? Mon Dieu and au sec-ours, it must be in here somewhere.”
As we ambled up the h
ill Jas said, “Did you reply to Robbie?”
Oh God…
“Er…no…”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know, Jas.”
“Well, you used to really like him and he has written to you, so are you going to reply or not?”
I didn’t say anything so she just went on.
“And if you do reply what will you say?”
I still didn’t reply.
“I mean, are you going to talk to Tom about it when he gets back and ask his advice? He’s back next week, you know, so will you wait until then and reply or what?”
Eventually I was driven to having to reply to her.
“Jas, shouldn’t you be wearing a doublet and a false mustache and burning me at a stake? You are quite literally the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Well, I am just saying—”
“Well, don’t.”
“Usually you want to go on and on about Robbie and Masimo. Your so-called boyfriends.”
“Jas, don’t start, and anyway, you’re having a laugh, aren’t you? If I go on about MY boyfriends all the time, how come I know all the words to ‘You Are the Only Fish in My Sea’? How come?”
Jas got the hump.
“Oh, well, I’m sorry to bother you with MY life! Of course YOUR life is the only important thing, isn’t it? Yes, yes, Georgia Nicolson is the only person in the universe. Not.”
And she stalked off like a stalking stalker at a stalking contest.
Blimey, she could get huffy.
Ah well, I might try my Oirish charm on her when I can be bothered.
geoggers
Jas kept up her cold shoulder all morning, even when I sent her a little gift of two pieces of chocolate. She ate them and then went on ignorez-vousing me!!!
break
Jools was telling us the latest about her and Rollo. They have been to an all-nighter and spent the whole night together.
She has snogged so much that she has got a cold sore coming on her lip. She showed us all.
Erlack.
Apparently sixteen of them stayed round at this mate of Rollo’s whilst his parents were abroad and snogged the night away.
Ellen, as usual, was a bit baffled. “Did you all, you know, snog at the same time, or…er, was there dancing?”
Mabs said, “So, is Rollo like your bloke now?”
Jools said, “Well, I think so, but I never know when he is going to see me or ring me.”
I said, “Blimey, so it’s a sort of full-time S’later situation.”
Jools said, “Yes, I suppose it is. Like on Saturday, I don’t know if he is going to the gig with me or whether he will turn up there and be with me or…”
Jas said, “I wouldn’t stand for that. I need to know where I am.”
I said, “You’re here, Jas.”
And I gave her my bestest smile. She didn’t smile back. But she did say quite nastily, “And who will you be seeing at the gig, Georgia? Or will you be just having a LAUGH, if you know what I mean and I think you do.”
Oh, God, she is playing dirty now, with this Dave the Laugh thing. She knows that I still haven’t told Ellen anything about me and Dave.
school gates
4:05 p.m.
We were all ambling out of the playground when I saw him. Masimo on his scooter. Parked outside the school gates!!! Ohmygiddygods pajamas! I couldn’t believe it was him. But it was! He is absolutely gorgey. He has a tan as well. His hair is so black and wavy and he’s got long legs and a fit body and everything. He was just sitting on his scooter with his helmet in his lap and leaning back on one arm. He had shades on.
He is sooooo sexy. You could feel like a beam of sexicosity coming off him. What was he doing here? Was he waiting for me? The ace gang were doing their marvelous impression of walking goldfish.
Rosie said, “My God, he is fit.”
Jools said, “Blimey. Did you know he was going to be here?”
Jas said, “He’s brown, isn’t he. He’s browner than you.”
I couldn’t speak. All the girls streaming out of the gates were looking at him and doing that silly flicky-hair thing and smiling. Shut up smiling, you smiling minxes. I didn’t know what to do. Should I just walk casually by him and ignorez-vous him, carrying on with my Mystery Woman scenario? Or should I be friendly and nice and smiley? Oh, I don’t know.
I dithered around and made the ace gang walk really really slowly.
Had I got enough lippy on?
Was I wearing clothes?
I was just saying, “Oh my God, ohmygod. What shall I do???” when I was saved from any decision making because Lindsay appeared at the gates. She wasn’t wearing her uniform. She had a short white suit on and a head scarf. She went straight up to Masimo, doing a sort of ridiculous little run thing, and kissed him on the cheek!
He was smiling at her. And they were chatting. God, he has a nice smile. He has a really generous, big mouth, not like Mark Big Gob, just normal big. I couldn’t help looking and watching like a sort of horror film. Even Jas stopped ignorez-vousing me and linked arms with me because she knew how horrible it was.
We were very near to the gate now and I couldn’t avoid going through it and passing by Masimo. The gang sort of shielded me and I kept my head down, but I still saw Lindsay putting on the spare helmet. It was awful. I was so miserable and trudged off with the gang. I heard the scooter rev up and roar off behind me.
Rosie said, “That was a bit intense.”
Everyone was really nice to me. Which sort of made it worse. They kept saying, “Are you alright?” “Do you want some chuddie?”
But nothing helped.
4:30 p.m.
After they had all peeled off home it was just me and Jas.
She said, “Blimey O’Reilly, that is a turn up for le livre.”
I said, “I must be jinxed in love. What have I done in a past life to deserve this?”
Jas said, “Perhaps you were, you know, like a wasp or something.”
“A wasp?”
Jas is what is known in the business as an unhelp. But she can’t help being a tiny dim pal. At least she is not me, though.
As she went off into her house she gave me a little squeeze on the arm and said, “I don’t care what anyone else says about you—I like you.”
I MUSTN’T cry, I must not cry until I get into my bedroom.
5:00 p.m.
Tosser Thompson and his mates passed me and said something, but I don’t know what. I felt like a ghost in the world.
I got to my gate and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. No one would be home yet so at least I could get into bed and just wail.
What a hopeless fool I was.
I had even phoned up people with the same name as him in Manhattan.
One of them was a Chinese takeaway.
That is how pathetic I am.
5:20 p.m.
I was opening the gate when I heard the roar of a scooter coming up my road. I didn’t turn around. Even if Dad has got an even more embarrassing vehicle than the clown car, nothing mattered anymore.
But then the scooter stopped behind me. And he spoke. Him. In person. Himself. Not a facsimile of a sham. Him. The person I had been dreaming of for so long.
“Georgia, ciao, how are you, come siete?”
I couldn’t speak. I turned round. And looked at him. I looked straight into his eyes. I had forgotten how amber they were, sort of soft-and hard-looking at the same time. He half smiled at me, and he has gorgey teeth—let’s face it, he was gorgey all over.
“I just stop to say ciao, I have been away.”
I still couldn’t speak. Maybe nodding was alright? I nodded. Oh good, I was being a budgie in a school uniform. Eggscellent. Shut up, brain. You haven’t joined in so far, don’t start now.
He revved up his engine and said, “I too must go. We are rehearsing. Are you coming to the gig? I hope to see you there. Ciao.”
Oh, dear Gott in Himmel!!!
6:30 p.m.
Lying on my bed, I think I might be in a coma.
I have to speak to someone normal about this.
6:45 p.m.
Can’t think of anyone.
7:00 p.m.
Still can’t think of anyone.
7:45 p.m.
Gave up on talking to someone normal and called an ace gang meeting at Luigi’s.
9:30 p.m.
In between slurps of coffee, the ace gang gave me the pep talk to end all pep talks. I have to go out and get my man!!! Yee-ha. Rosie even sang the national anthem and said, “Gird your loins, and adjust your nungas for battle.”
midnight
I mean, why would he come round to my house to say ciao if he didn’t like me a bit?
saturday june 4th
1:00 a.m.
What is it with boys? Just when I thought I had forgotten about my heartbreakosity vis-à-vis Robbie (merde, I’ve thought of his name again, I am going to have to call him something else so as not to attract the voodoo thing. I will call him…er…the guitar plucker.)…Anyway, where was I before I so rudely interrupted myself? Oh yes, just when I thought I had forgotten about my heartbreakosity vis-à-vis the guitar plucker, he sends me a really nice letter. Then Masimo pops by.
Oh, I don’t know!!!
churchill square
11:00 a.m.
Rosie said, “In this sort of situation, she who dares, shops.”
So in preparation for the Battle of the Chicks I am going to get a fabby and marvy pair of shoes.
ravels
11:30 a.m.
I saw these cool shoes in the window, with a bit of a kitten heel and some groovy strappy bits round the toes and the heel.
in the shoe shop
We all trooped in and I asked for my size. The woman said the biggest they had was a size 4 until next week.
Next week! Is she mad? I have to go to the gig, like, tonight!
I said to her, “OK, please bring me them.”
Jas said, “What’s the point of that, you take a size 7?”
“Sometimes.”
Rosie, who was trying on some ludicrous furry boots that made her look like a yeti, said, “So do your feet change size, then?”
I said, “Well, you know, it SAYS a size 7, but then if they are made in Japan where they have very tiny feet, size 7 is like a size 15 over here.”
They all looked at me.
Then the lady with the shoes came back. They were groovy as anything. Masimo would love them, because as every fool knows, Italians are the mistresses of footwear.