Читать книгу The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10 - Louise Rennison - Страница 16

Tuesday April 6th

5:00 p.m.

Had a game of tennis against Lucy Doyle from the fifth form and I beat her!!! I am a genius!!!

6:30 p.m.

Practising tennis against our wall at home but it’s hopeless. Angus gets the ball and then takes it a few feet away from me and guards it. I go to get it and he waits until I can nearly get it and then he walks off with it again. I managed to hit him on the head with my tennis racquet but he doesn’t seem to feel pain.

7:00 p.m.

Phoned Jas.

It’s quite relaxing not having Dad around. No one bellowing, “Get off that bloody phone!” I’m beginning not to remember what he looks like.

So there’s a silver lining to every cloud.

Jas’s mum answered the phone and I asked to speak to Jas. She came down from her bedroom.

“Jas, I’ve got a good plan.”

“Oh no.”

“No, you’ll like it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s brilliant and also because it allows you to pay back your debt to me.”

“Go on, then.”

“Well, you know you said Robbie didn’t know he was engaged, but Lindsay goes round with an engagement ring on...?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if she only wears it at school and then takes it off when she sees him, well, that means that she likes him more than he likes her.”

“I suppose.”

“Of course it does. He must be getting tired of her by now – what on earth does he see in her?”

“She’s supposed to be quite clever. I think she is applying for Oxford.”

“So, she’s a swot, that’s no reason to like her – anyway, learning stuff is not clever. Just because I can’t remember the Plantagenet line doesn’t make me not clever.”

“Well, no, I suppose.”

“Exactly.”

“You have quite a lot of trouble with quadratic equations as well.”

“Yes, all right, Jas—”

“And you can’t do the pluperfect tense—”

“Yes, I know, but what I’m saying is—”

“You’re hopeless at German – Herr Kamyer said he’s never known anyone so bad at it in all his years of teaching.”

“Look, Jas, can we just get back to the plan? What I think we should do is to stalk Lindsay.”

“Stalk her?”

“Yes.”

“What... follow her around and then phone her up and ask her what colour panties she has got on?”

“No, not that bit, just the bit where we keep her under observation.”

“Why? What is the point?”

“The point is, I will then be able to tell whether Robbie likes her or not.”

“Why do I have to be involved?”

“Because a) you are my friend and b) it looks less suspicious because we are always hanging around together and c) my mum is going away with Libby in a few weeks and you could come and stay the night and we could invite Tom.”

“When do we start stalking?”

That’s my girl.

Friday April 16th

Operation stalking Lindsay begins

Friday night

4:15 p.m.

We had to hang around at the back of the science block after the final bell. Old Swotty Knickers (Lindsay) was chatting to Hawkeye. We could see them laughing together – how sad – fancy having to laugh with a teacher! Then, whilst Lindsay got her coat, we crept along the narrow alleyway that runs between the science block and the main school building. It is disgusting down there, full of fag-ends from Jackie and co. But if you follow it right along you end up a bit beyond the main gate. The tricky part is getting past Elvis’s hut. I’d already made myself public enemy number one with him by putting a plastic skeleton with his hat on – and a pipe in its mouth – in his chair in his hut. I don’t know how he knew it was me, but he did. Anyway, we got to Elvis’s hut and he wasn’t about so we shot across and into the last bit of the alleyway. We were wearing all black and had hats on – it was very like the French Resistance. We got to the end just as Lindsay (the stalkee) passed by. She looked at her watch and you could clearly see the flash of her ring.

5:15 p.m.

Outside Lindsay’s posh house. The Yews.

The house is all on one level, which means that Lindsay’s bedroom would be on the ground floor, which means we might be able to see in through the window.

Teeheee.

First things first, though, time for a nourishing meal.

6:30 p.m.

Double chips and Coke. Yum yum.

6:45 p.m.

Stalkee spotted leaving the front room, did not reappear. We suspect she has gone to her room to start the long, desperate job of making herself look OK to go out with Robbie.

6:58 p.m.

We decide to risk going round the back of the house. I whispered to Jas, “I hope they haven’t got a cat.”

And she said, “Don’t you mean a dog?”

And I said, “Have you met Angus?”

There was a side path and we went really carefully down it. We had nearly reached the back garden when a head popped up from behind next door’s hedge. A really bald head, like Uncle Eddie’s. Quick as a flash, Jas said, “Sshhh, we are giving Lindsay a big surprise...” She winked at the man and he disappeared. We crept on round the back of the house. Lindsay’s bedroom faced on to the garden and she had her curtains half pulled back so you could see in.

Her bedroom was a nightmare of frilly white things, frilly pillows, frilly bedspread... Teletubby hot-water bottle cover!!!

Lindsay put on a tape and Jas and I looked at one another – it was Genesis. Jas mimed being sick. We had to keep bobbing our heads down if she turned directly to face the window. She disappeared off through another door and we could hear sort of gurgling noises. I said, “She’s got an ensuite bathroom – that’s very bad feng shui.”

Jas said, “Why?”

And I said, “I don’t know but it’s very bad, you’d have to have about fifty goldfish to make it OK again... Have you seen her alarm clock? It’s got a sleepy face on it.”

Lindsay emerged from the bathroom with her hair all scraped back from her face and wearing a bra and a thong. I don’t understand thongs – what is the point of them? I tried one of Mum’s that she uses for aerobics... well, she is supposed to use it for aerobics but she only went once. She said that she nearly knocked herself out during the running on the spot because her breasts got out of hand. Anyway, I tried her thong on and it felt ridiculous... they just go up your bum as far as I can tell. Then I saw something even more grotesque. Lindsay didn’t have any hair on her womanly parts! What had she done with it? She couldn’t have shaved it off, could she? I thought of the state of my legs the last time I had shaved them. I felt quite faint.

Lindsay was so skinny!! At least I filled my bra. Then, before our eyes, the stalkee did two things that were very significant and would have gone in our notebook had we had one:

1. She took off her ring and kissed it!!

2. She got some sort of pink rubber things and put them in her bra underneath her “breasts”. The rubber things pushed up her “breasts” and made it look like she had a cleavage. What a swiz.

I said to Jas, “I bet you Robbie doesn’t know about that...” But I noticed that I did not have Jas’s full attention, she was looking over my shoulder at Mr Baldy-man, who had reappeared, peering at us over his fence. What is it with neighbours, don’t they have lives of their own? He seemed a bit suspicious. So I said as naturally as I could. “She’s certainly playing her music very loudly – she hasn’t heard us tapping on her window. Do it again, Jas.” Jas looked a bit stunned but fortunately had the presence of mind to do some mime. She mimed tapping on the window, then she mimed waving at Lindsay (who fortunately had gone back into the ensuite) and then she mimed hysterical laughter.

It’s very tiring, this stalking business, but we seemed to satisfy Mr Baldy-man because he disappeared again and we crept round to the front of the house and along to the big hedge next door. We hid just inside next door’s driveway to wait for Lindsay to come out.

7:40 p.m.

Brrrr... bit chilly. At last the front door opened and Lindsay came out with her hair up (mistake) and in a black midi (mistake for long-streak-of-water type person). We huddled back into the shadows of the hedge as she passed and gave her a few minutes before we followed. When she got to the main street she stood under a streetlamp and got out a compact to look at herself. Instead of running screaming home, she snapped the compact shut and walked on.

Suddenly I had the feeling that we were doing something wrong. Up until now I had been caught up in my French Resistance fantasy but what if I found out something I didn’t want to know? What if she met Robbie and it was quite obvious that he really liked her? Could I stand it? Did I want to see him kissing her? I said to Jas, “Maybe we should go now.”

And Jas said, “What, after all this? No way. I want to see what happens next.”

7:50 p.m.

Outside the Odeon Robbie was waiting. My heart went all wobbly, he looked so cool. Why wasn’t he mine? Lindsay went up to him. The moment of truth. I wanted to yell out, “She has bits of pink rubber down her bra... and she wears a thong!!!”

I held my breath and Jas’s hand. She whispered, “Get off, you lezzer.” Then... Lindsay put her face forward and Robbie kissed her.

8:00 p.m.

Walking home, eating more chips, I said, “What sort of kiss do you think it was? Was there actual lip contact? Or was it lip to cheek, or lip to corner of mouth?”

“I think it was lip to corner of mouth, but maybe it was lip to cheek?”

“It wasn’t full-frontal snogging though, was it?”

“No.”

“I think she went for full-frontal and he converted it into lip to corner of mouth.”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t seem keen though, did he?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you think so either?”

“No.”

“No, neither did I.”

Outside Jas’s gate

8:40 p.m.

I said, “The facts are a) she doesn’t wear her ring when she is out with him, so that makes it clear that she says they are engaged but they are not, and b) he doesn’t really rate her because he didn’t do full-frontal with her.”

Jas undid her gate. “Yes. Right, see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to fix the sleepover.”

Midnight

So... the plot thickens. All I have to do is get rid of Lindsay, convince Robbie I am the woman of his dreams, stop Mum splitting up the home, grow bigger breasts and have plastic surgery on my nose and I have cracked it...

Thursday April 29th

6:30 p.m.

Phone rang and I answered it. A strange voice said, “G’day, is that Georgie?” I was a bit formal – it might be a dirty phone call. (I had had one of those from a phone box in Glasgow. This bloke with a Scottish accent kept saying, “What colour pa—?” and then the pips would go and I’d say, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” and then he’d start again. “What colour panties...?” pip pip pip. Eventually he managed to say, “What colour panties have you got on?” and then the line went dead. So you can’t be too careful.)

This strange, echoey voice said, “It’s your dad, I’m calling from Whangamata.”

I was a bit surprised and I said, “Oh-er-hello-Dad.”

He was all enthusiastic and keen. “How’s school?”

“Oh, you know... school.”

“Is everyone all right?”

“Yes. Angus got next door’s guinea pig.”

“Did he give it back?”

“He did when I hit him with my tennis racquet.”

“And Libby?”

“She can say ‘tosser’ now.”

“Who the hell taught her that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should take better care of her.”

“She’s not my bloody daughter.”

“Don’t swear at me.”

“I only said bloody.”

“That’s swear— look, look, get your mum on the phone, this is costing me one pound a minute.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where is she?”

“Oh, I don’t know, she’s always out.”

“Well, tell her I called.”

“OK.”

There was a bit of silence then. His voice sounded even weirder when he spoke again. “I wish you were all here, I miss you.”

I just went, “Hmmmpgh.”

I wish parents wouldn’t do that, you know, make you feel like crying and hitting them at the same time.