Читать книгу ‘Stop in the name of pants!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 52

I watched her bustling about making our delicious supper (i.e. opening a tin of tomato soup). She was so full of herself burbling on and on.

“Honestly, you should have been there, it was a hoot.”

I said, “Oooooooh yeah, it would have been great to have been there. Really great.” But she didn’t get it.

Libby was still kissing my knees and giggling. She had forgotten that they were my knees; they were now just her replacement friends for Josh. But then she had a lovers’ tiff with her knee-friends, biffed me on the knee quite hard and went off into the garden, yelling for Gordy.

I said, “Mum, you didn’t take Libby with you to the baldy-o-gram fiasco, did you?”

“Don’t be silly, Georgia, I’m not a complete fool.”

I said, “Well, actually, you are as it happens.”

She said, “Don’t be so rude.”

I said, “Where’s Dad? Have you managed to shake him off at last?”

And then Vati came in. In his leather trousers. Oh, I might be sick. Not content with the horrificnosity of the trousers, he kissed me on my hair. Urgh, he had touched my hair; now I would have to wash it.

He was grinning like a loon and taking his jacket off.

“Hello, no camping injuries then. No vole bites. You didn’t slip into a newt pond or anything?”

I looked at him suspiciously. I hoped he wasn’t turning into Mystic Meg as well in his old age. I said, “Dad, are you wearing a woman’s blouse?”

He went completely ballisticisimus. “Don’t be so bloody cheeky! This is an original sixties Mod shirt. I will probably wear it when I go clubbing. Any gigs coming up?”

Mum said, “Have you heard anything from the Italian Stallion?”

Dad had his head in the fridge and I could see his enormous leather-clad bum leering at me. I had an overwhelming urge to kick it, but I wasn’t whelmed because I knew he would probably ban me from going out for life.

I gave Mum my worst look and nodded over at the fridge. I needn’t have worried, though, because Dad had found a Popsicle in the freezer and was as thrilled as it is possible for a fat bloke in constraining leather trousers to be. He went chomping off into the front room.

Mum was adjusting her over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder and looking at me.

I said, “What?”

And she said, “So… have you heard anything?”

I don’t know why I told her, but it just came tumbling out.

“Mum, why do boys do that ‘see you later’ thing and then just not see you later? Even though you don’t even know when later is.”

“He hasn’t got in touch then?”

“No.”

She sat down and looked thoughtful, which was a bit alarming. She said slowly, “Hmm – well, I think it’s because – they’re like sort of nervous gazelles in trousers, aren’t they?”

I looked at her. “Mum, are you saying that Masimo is a leaping furry animal who also plays in a band and rides a scooter? And snogs?”

She said, “He snogs, does he?”

Damn, drat, damnity dratty damn. And also merde. I had broken my rule about never speaking about snognosity questions with old mad people.

I said quickly, “Anyway, what do you mean about the gazelle business?”

“Well, I think that boys are more nervous than you think. He wants to make sure that you like him before he makes a big deal about it. How many days is it since he went?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been counting the days actually, I’m not that sad.”

She looked at me. “How many hours then?”

“One hundred and forty.”

We were interrupted by Gordy and Angus both trying to get through the cat flap at once. Quickly followed by Libby.