Читать книгу Angus, thongs and full-frontal snogging - Louise Rennison - Страница 7

Operation sausage

Tuesday September 1st

10:00 a.m.

Six days to school and counting. I wish my mum could be emancipated, a feminist, a working mother etc. And manage to do my ironing.

I thought I’d wear my pencil line skirt the first day back, with hold-up stockings and my ankle boots. I’m still not really resolved in the make-up department because if I do run into Hawkeye she’ll make me take it off if she spots it. Then I’ll get that shiny red face look which is so popular with PE teachers. On the other hand, I cannot possibly risk walking to school without make-up on. No matter how much I stick to sidestreets, sooner or later I will be bound to bump into the Foxwood lads. The biggest worry of all is the bloody beret. I must consult with the gang to see what our plan is.

5:00 p.m..

We’re having an emergency Beret and Other Forms of Torture meeting tomorrow, at my place again. I have got eyebrows now but still look a bit on the startled earwig side.

7:00 p.m.

After tea, when Dad was doing the washing-up, I said casually, “Why don’t you wear your special apron, Dad?”

He went ballistic and said I shouldn’t be prying through his drawers. I said, “I think I’ve got a right to know if my dad is a transvestite.”

Mum laughed, which made him even madder. “You encourage her, Connie. You show no respect, so how can she?”

Mum said, “Calm down, Bob, of course I respect you, it’s just that it is quite funny to think of you as a transvestite.” Then she started laughing again. Dad went off to the pub, thank goodness.

Mum said, “It’s his Masonic apron. You know, that huddly duddly, pulling up one sock, I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine sort of thing.”

I smiled and nodded but I haven’t the remotest idea what she is talking about.

11:30 p.m.

Why couldn’t I be adopted? I wonder if it’s too late. Am I too old to ring Esther Rantzen’s helpline? I might get Esther. Good grief.

Wednesday September 2nd

Five days to purgatory

10:00 a.m.

Oh. No, it’s here already. As a special “treat” my cousin James is coming to stay with us overnight.

I mean, I used to like him and we were quite close as kids and everything, but he’s so goofy now. His voice is all peculiar and he’s got a funny smell. Not hamsterish like Libby but sort of doggy-cheesy. I don’t think all boys smell like that, perhaps it’s because he’s my cousin.

2:00 p.m.

James is actually not such bad fun; he seems much younger than me and still wants to do mad dancing to old records like we used to. We worked out some dance routines to old soul records of Mum’s. “Reach out I’ll be There” by the Four Tops was quite dramatic. It was two pointy points, one hand on heart, one hand on head, a shimmy and a full turn around. Sadly there’s not much room in my bedroom and James trod on Angus who, as usual, went berserk.

Actually, it would be more unusual to say “Angus went calm”. Anyway, he ran up the curtains and finally got on top of the door and crouched there, hissing (Angus, that is, not James). We tried to get him down and also we tried to get to the bathroom but he wouldn’t let us. If we tried to get through the door he’d strike out with his huge paw. I think he is part cat, part cobra. In the end Mum got him down with some sardines.

7:00 p.m.

After “tea” James and I were listening to records and talking about what we were going to do after we ditch The Olds (as we call our parents). I’m going to be a comedy actress or someone like those “it” girls who don’t actually do anything except be “it”. The newspapers follow them all day and the headlines say, Oh, look, there is Tara Pompeii Too-Booby going out to buy some biscuits!! Or Tamsin Snaggle-Tooth Polyplops goes skiing in fur bikini. And they just make money from that. That is me, that is.

James wants to do something electronic (whatever that means; I didn’t encourage him to explain because I felt a coma coming on). He wants to travel first, though. I said, “Oh, do you, where?” Thinking... Himalayas, yak butter, opium dens, and he said, “Well, the Scilly Isles in particular.”

11:00 p.m.

Something a bit weird happened. We went to bed – James slept in a sleeping bag on some cushions on the floor, and we were chatting about Pulp, and so on, and then I felt this pressure on my leg. He had reached out and held my leg. I didn’t know what to do so I kept really still, so that he might think he’d just got hold of a piece of the bed or something. I stayed still for ages but then I think I must have dropped off.

Thursday September 3rd

9:00 a.m.

At last the eyebrows are starting to look normal.

2:00 p.m.

James went home. The “leg” incident was not mentioned. Boys are truly weird.

5:00 p.m.

Libby has the flu. She was all pale and miserable. I let her sleep in my bed and she was snuffling, poor thing. Poor little thing, I really love my little sister.

8:30 p.m.

Took Libbs some hot milk and thought she might like me to read The Magic Faraway Tree. She said, “Yes, now, more please,” and sat herself up in my bed. Then, as I opened the book, she took my duvet cover and blew her nose on it. It’s absolutely covered in green snot. Who would have thought such a tiny girl could produce a bucket of snot?

10:00 p.m.

I had to sleep in the sleeping bag. What a life.

Friday September 4th

11:00 a.m.

Emergency Beret and Other Forms of Torture meeting to be held this afternoon. I’ve decided that my eyebrows have recovered enough to venture out (obviously not on their own). I feel like one of those blokes who have been held in solitary in a cellar and come out into the daylight blinking.

We go to Costa Ricos for cappuccino. I hate cappuccino but everyone drinks it so you can’t say no. I haven’t been out for weeks – well, five days. Town looks great. Like New York... but without the skyscrapers and Americans. We decide we’ll have the meeting and then go and sneak a look at the boy that Jas likes, Tom. He works in Jennings. I said, “What, the grocer’s?”

Jas said, “It’s a greengrocer-cum-delicatessen,” and I said, “Yes, well it sells houmus.” And she said, “And yoghurt,” and I said, “Quel dommage. I forgot the yoghurt. Yes, it’s like going to Paris going into that shop, apart from the turnips.”

Jas sort of went red, so I thought I would shut up. Jas doesn’t get angry very often but she has a hefty kick.

Jools said, “Shall we talk beret plan?” At our stupid school you have to wear a beret with your outdoor uniform. It’s a real pain because, as we know, everyone – and especially the French who invented it – looks like a stupid prat in a beret. And they flatten your hair. Last term we perfected a way of wearing it like a pancake. You flatten it out and then pin it with hair grips right at the back of your head. Still a pain, but you can’t see it from the front. Ellen said she had made up a different method, called “the sausage”. She showed us how to do it. She rolled her beret up really tight like a little sausage and then pinned it with hair grips right at the back in the centre of her head. You could hardly see it at all. It was brilliant. We decided to instigate Operation Sausage at the beginning of the term.

It has been a constant battle about these berets. The so-called grown-ups will not negotiate with us. We sent a deputation to the headmistress Slim (so-called because she weighs twenty-five stone... at least. Her feet cascade out of her shoes). At the deputation we asked why we had to wear berets. She said it was to keep standards up, and to enhance the image of the school in the community. I said, “But the boys from Foxwood call out, ‘Have you got any onions?’ I don’t think they do respect us, I think they make a mock and a sham of us.”

Slim shook herself. It was a sort of habit that she had when she was irritated with us (i.e. all the time). It made her look like a jelly with shoes on.

“Georgia, you have had my last word on this, berets are to be worn to and from school. Why not think about something a bit more important, like perhaps getting less than twenty-one poor conduct marks next term?”

Oh, go on, play the old record again. Just because I am lively.

We did have another campaign last year, which was If You Want Us to Wear Our Berets, let’s Really Wear Our Berets.

This involved the whole of our year pulling their berets right down over their heads with just their ears showing. It was very stunning, seeing one hundred girls at the bus stop with just their ears showing. We stopped eventually (even though it really infuriated Slim and Hawkeye) because it was terribly hot and you couldn’t see where you were going and it played havoc with your hair.

Meeting over and time for boy-stalking. Jas was a bit nervous about us all going into the shop. She’s not actually spoken to Tom – well, apart from saying “Two pounds of greens”.

We decided that we’d lurk casually outside and then, when she went in to be served, we’d sort of accidentally spot her and pop into the shop and say “Hi”. This would be casual and give us the chance to give him the once-over and also give the (wrong) impression that Jas is a very popular person.

Jas popped to the loos to make herself look natural with panstick etc. Then she went into Jennings. I gave it five minutes and then I was the first one to walk by the shop doorway. Jas was talking to a tall, dark-haired boy in black jeans. He was smiling as he handed over some onions. Jas was a bit flushed and was twiddling with her fringe. It was a very irritating habit she had. Anyway, I stopped in my tracks and said in a tone of delight and surprise (which convinced even me), “Jas... hi! What are you doing here?” And I gave her a really warm hug (managing to say in her ear, “Leave your bloody fringe alone!”).

When I stopped hugging her she said, “Hi, Georgie, I was just buying some onions,” and I laughed and said, “Well, you know your onions, don’t you, Jas?”

Then Ellen and Jools came in with arms outstretched and shrieking with excitement, “Jas! Jas! How lovely! Gosh, we haven’t seen you for ages. How are you?”

Meanwhile, the boy Tom stood there. Jas said to him, “Oh. I’m really sorry to keep you waiting,” and he just went, “It’s cool,” and Jas asked him how much she owed him and then she said, “Bye then, thanks,” and he said, “See you later.” And we were outside. When we got a few metres away we didn’t say anything but sort of spontaneously all started running as fast as we could and laughing.

7:00 p.m.

Just spoken to Jas on the phone. She thinks Tom is even more gorgeous but she doesn’t know whether he likes her, so we have to go through the whole thing.

I could hear Jas’s dad in the background, saying, “If you are seeing each other tomorrow can’t you wait and not add to my phone bill?”

Parents are all the same – all skinflints. Anyway, Jas said, “He said, ‘See you later.’”

I agreed but added thoughtfully, “But he might say that to everyone, like a sort of ‘See you later’ sort of thing.”

That upset her. “You mean you don’t think he likes me?” I said, “I didn’t say that. He might never say ‘See you later’ unless he means, ‘See you later’.”

That cheered her up. “So you think he might mean ‘See you later’, then?”

I said, “Yes.”

She was quiet for a bit; I could hear her chewing her chewing gum. Then she started again, “When is ‘later’, though?”

Honestly, we could be here all night. I said, “Jas, I DON’T KNOW. Why don’t you decide when ‘later’ is?”

She stopped chewing then. “You mean I should ask him out?”

I could see my book sort of beckoning to me, saying, “Come and read me, come and read me, you know you want to.” So I was firm but fair. “It’s up to you, Jas, but I know what Sharon Stone would do. Goodnight.”

Saturday September 5th

10:00 a.m.

Same bat time. Same bat place.

10:15 a.m.

Jas called. She wants to launch Operation Get Tom. We’re going to go to Costas for more detailed planning.

10:30 a.m.

Lalalalala. Life is so fab. Lalala. I even managed to put mascara on without sticking the brush in my eye. Also I tried out my new lipliner and I think the effect definitely makes my nose look smaller. In a rare moment I shared my nose anxiety with Mum. She said, “We used to use ‘shaders’. You know, light highlights and darker bits to create shadow – you could put a light line of foundation down the middle and then darker bits at the sides to sort of narrow it down.” Wrong answer, Mum, the correct answer is, “You are gorgeous, Georgia, and there is nothing wrong with your nose.”

I didn’t say that, I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead I said, through some toast so I could deny it if I had to, “Mum, I don’t want to look like you and your friends did, I’ve seen the photos and no one wants to look like Abba any more.”

11:30 a.m.

Mrs Next Door complained about Angus again. He’s been frightening their poodle. She says Angus stalks it. I explained, “Well, he’s a Scottish wildcat, that’s what they do. They stalk their prey.”

She said, “I don’t really think it should be a household pet, in that case.”

I said, “He’s not a household pet, believe me. I have tried to train him but he ate his lead. There is only so much you can do with Angus.”

Honestly, is it really my job to deal with hysterical neighbours? Why doesn’t she get a bigger dog? The stupid yappy thing annoys Angus.

1:00 p.m.

I’d better be nice though, otherwise I’ll be accused of being a “moody teenager” and the next thing you know it will be tap tap tap on my door and Mum saying, “Is there anything you want to talk about?” Adults are so nosy.

1:30 p.m.

Went next door and asked Mrs Fussy Knickers if she wanted anything from the shops as I was going. She sort of hid behind the door. I must be nicer. I start out being nice and then it’s like someone else takes over. Am I schizophrenic as well as a lesbian?

2:00 p.m.

Jas phones. She wants me to help her with part two of her plan to get Tom. The plan is subtle. Jas and I will pass by Jennings, and as we pass the door I will pause and then say, “Oh, Jas, I just remembered I said I’d get some apples. Hang on a minute.” Then I go into the shop and buy the apples. Jas stands behind me looking attractively casual. I smile as Tom hands over the grannies (Granny Smiths) and then – and here is the masterstroke – I say, “School in two days. Back to Stalag 14. Which centre of boredom and torture do you go to?” (Meaning, which school do you go to, do you see?) Then he tells me and then we know how to accidentally bump into him.

4:00 p.m.

Well, we got to Jennings and Tom was in there – Jas went a bit swoony. He is nice-looking, I must say, with sort of crinkly hair and great shoulders. I said my “Hang on, Jas, I promised I’d get some apples,” and we went in, so she could lurk attractively behind me, as planned.

When he saw her Tom looked and smiled. I asked for my grannies and he said, “Sure. Are you looking forward to going back to school?”

(Hang on a minute, those were my lines. Still, I’ve done drama for four years so I improvised.) I rejoined, “Does the Pope hate Catholics?”

He smiled but I didn’t really mean to say anything about the Pope, it just popped out. Tom went on, “Which school do you two go to?” I was just about to tell him (even though in our plan it wasn’t really his turn)... when a Sex God came out of the back room.

I swear he was so gorgeous it made you blink and open your mouth like a goldfish. He was very tall and had long, black hair and really intense, dark-blue eyes and a big mouth and was dressed all in black. (And that’s all I remember, officer.) He came over to Tom and handed him a cup of tea. Tom said, “Thanks,” and the Sex God spoke. “Can’t let my little brother slave away, serving apples to good-looking girls without even a cup of tea.” Then he WINKED at Tom and SMILED at me, then he went out the back.

I just stood there, looking at the space where SG had been. Clutching my apples, Tom said, “That’s forty pence. Did you tell me what school you both go to?”

I came out of my trance and hoped I hadn’t been dribbling. “Er... I...” and I couldn’t remember.

Jas looked at me as if I had gone mad and said, “Oh, it’s only the one we’ve been at for four years, Latimer and Ridgley. Which one do you go to?”

7:00 p.m.

I am still in a state of shock. I have just met Mr Gorgeous. And he is Tom’s brother. And he is gorgeous. He saw me with my mouth open. But, fortunately, not without eyebrows. Oh God! Quick, nurse, the screens!!

7:05 p.m.

I tried opening my mouth in the mirror like I imagine it looked like in the shop. It doesn’t make me look very intelligent but it also doesn’t make my nose look any bigger, which is a plus (of sorts).

1:00 a.m.

I wonder how old he is? I must become more mature quickly. I’ll start tomorrow.

Sunday September 6th

8:00 a.m.

When I walked into the kitchen Dad dropped his cup in a hilarious (not) display of surprise that I was up so early. “What has happened, George, has your bed caught fire? Are you feverish? It’s not midday yet, why are you up?”

I said, “I came down for a cup of hot water, if that’s OK.” (Very cleansing for the system; I must avoid a spot attack at all costs.)

Mum said, “Well, I’m off, Libby, give your big sister a kiss before we go.” Libby gave me a big smacking kiss which was nice but a bit on the porridgey side. Still, I must get on.

10:00 a.m.

I have completed the Cosmo yoga plan for inner peace and confidence. I vow to get up an hour before school and go through the twelve positions of “Sun worship”. I feel great and two or three foot taller. The Sex God will not be able to resist the new, confident, radiant, womanly me.

2:00 p.m.

Face pack done and milk bath taken. I must try and get the milk stains off the bath towel somehow, it already smells a bit sour.

Jas rang. She thinks we should track Tom tomorrow after school. Tom – what is he to me?

4:00 p.m.

Just discovered that Libby has used the last of my sanitary towels to make hammocks for her dolls.

4:30 p.m.

She has also used all of my Starkers foundation cream on her panda: its head is entirely beige now.

5:00 p.m.

I have no other foundation or money. I may have to kill her.

5:15 p.m.

No. Peace. Ohm. Inner peace.

8:00 p.m.

Aahhhh. Early to bed, early to rise.

9:30 p.m.

Woke with a start. Thought it might be time to get up.

Midnight

Should I wear my pencil skirt or not tomorrow.

Monday September 7th

8:30 a.m.

Overslept and had to race to get a lift to Jas’s with my dad. No time for yoga or make-up. Oh well, I’ll start tomorrow. God alone knows how the Dalai Lama copes on a daily basis. He must get up at dawn. Actually, I read somewhere that he does get up at dawn.

8:45 a.m.

Jas and I running like loonies up the hill to the school gate. I thought my head was going to explode I was so red, and also I just remembered I hadn’t got my beret on. I could see Hawkeye at the school gate so no time for the sausage method. I just rammed it on my head. Bugger bugger, pant pant. As we ran up to the gate I catapulted into... the Sex God. He looked DIVINE in his uniform. He was with his mates, having a laugh and just strolling coolly along. He looked at me and said, “You’re keen.” I could have died.

9:00 a.m.

My only hope is that a) he didn’t recognise me and b) if he did recognise me he likes the “flushed, stupid idiot” look in a girl.

9:35 a.m.

After assembly I popped into the loos and looked in the mirror. Worst fears confirmed – I am Mrs Ugly. Small, swollen eyes, hair plastered to my skull, HUGE red nose. I look like a tomato in a school uniform. Well, that is that then.

4:00 p.m.

The bell. Thank God, now I can go home and kill myself.

7:00 p.m.

In bed. Uncle Eddie says there is an unseen force at work of which we have no comprehension... Well, if there is, why is it picking on me?

Tuesday September 8th

8:00 a.m.

Still no time to do my yoga. Not that it matters any more. I did manage to do the sausage beret and the lip-gloss and the concealer. Nothing like shutting the stable door and tarting up the horse after it’s bolted.

8:20 a.m.

Nice and early with Jas. This time we are both ready. We walked up the hill really chatting and laughing. Waving at friends (well actually, waving at anyone, just to give the impression that we are really popular). We walked slowly at the end bit leading up to the gate and although there was the usual crush of Foxwood boys ogling, there was no sign of Tom or SG.

9:30 a.m.

I’d forgotten how utterly crap school is. In assembly there was a bit of chatting going on before Slim took the stage, and do you know what she said? She said, “Settle, girls, settle.” Like we were a bunch of pigeons or doves or something. She’s already started her fascist regime by saying she has been told that some girls were not wearing their berets as they arrived at school. She would like the older girls to set an example to the younger ones, rather than the other way round. Is this what my life is now? Talking about berets? Whilst a Sex God strolls around on the planet? I felt like shouting out, in front of assembly, “Get a life, Slim!! In fact, get two... there’s enough of you!!”

But Hawkeye was looking at me. I know she was thinking about the locusts. She’s always watching me. She’s like a stoat. I don’t think I can stand much more of this and it’s only nine thirty.

5:00 p.m.

What a nightmare! Jas, Ellen, Jools and I are NOT ALLOWED to sit together at the back. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. Instead, I have been placed next to Nauseating Pamela Green. It is more than flesh and blood can stand. Nauseating P. Green is so boring it makes you want to slit your wrists just looking at her. Plus Hawkeye is our form mistress. Quelle horreur and triple merde. And it’s physics last thing Friday afternoon. What is the point?

Wednesday September 9th

8:40 a.m.

I have perfected putting a little bit of mascara on so that you can’t tell I have got any on.

No sign of the lads.

1:00 p.m.

After lunch Alison Peters and Jackie Mathews came by. They were smoking and I must say they are common girls, but obviously I must not say it to them as I do not want a duffing up, or chewing gum in my tennis shoes.

Jackie said, “We’re doing a new thing tomorrow, it’s a sort of Aleisteir Crowley thing, so you can all come and meet us in 5C form room tomorrow after second lunch.”

Cheers, thanks a lot. Good night. It is, of course, strictly forbidden to be in school after second lunch. I sense something... what is it? Oh yes, it’s my first poor conduct mark coming along.

6:00 p.m.

Is my life over? Is this all there is? Downstairs my parents are laughing at something and in the other room Libby is playing with her dolls. I can hear her talking to them. It’s so sad, that she is so young and she doesn’t know the sadness that lies ahead. That is what is so sad. I can hear her little voice murmuring... what is she saying...?

Oh, it’s “Poor Georgia, poor Georgia.”

Thursday September 10th

5:00 p.m.

Boring day at school, then home to my even more boring home life. I wanted to debrief with Jas but she had to go to the dentist. Jackie and Alison’s proposed Aleisteir Crowley extravaganza was put off this lunchtime, thank the Lord. The message got passed along at assembly that Jackie was off sick. She has started taking sickies very early on in term. Anyway, we are spared whatever they had in mind for a few days. I think they take drugs. Horse tranquillizers, probably.

Tuesday September 15th

4:30 p.m.

Absolutely no sign of SG. However, I have found out some gossip because Katie Steadman’s parents know SG’s parents from some naff card club the really old go to. Apparently he’s called Robbie Jennings – his parents, Mr and Mrs Jennings, own the shop – the so-called greengrocer-cum-delicatessen, according to Jas. I don’t normally like Katie Steadman that much. She’s OK but I get the impression she thinks I am a bit on the superficial side.

She’s bloody tall, I’ll say that for her, and her hair is nice, but she sort of tries too hard. She puts her hand up in class, for instance. Properly, I mean. She doesn’t do the putting your hand up but leaving it all floppy at the end of your arm, so it just flaps around. That is the sign of someone who is obliged to put their hand up because that is the fascist way, but isn’t really putting their hand up. I have taken to putting my hand up and pointing one finger forward – you know, like at football matches when everyone points at a chubby player and chants, “Who ate all the pies?” But as usual any sign of humour is stamped down in this place. Hawkeye said, “Georgia, if you are too tired to put your hand up properly perhaps you should go to bed earlier... or perhaps a few thousand lines might strengthen your wrist?”

I may try it out on Herr Kamyer – we have him for German and physics, which is the only bright spot in this hell-hole. He has the double comedy value of being both German and the only male teacher in an all girls’ school.

8:00 p.m.

Listening to classical music, I thought it might be soothing, but it’s really irritating and has no proper tune.

8:05 p.m.

I love life!!! Jas has just phoned to say we’ve been invited to a party at Katie Steadman’s and... Katie has asked Tom and Robbie. YESSSSS!!!! I must have done a good job of being nice to Katie. WHAT ON EARTH CAN I WEAR??? Emergency, emergency! It’s only a couple of weeks away.

8:10 p.m.

I’d better do my yoga.

8:15 p.m.

I’d better start applying face masks now.

8:20 p.m.

I wonder if I slept with a peg on my nose, like Amy in Little Women, if it would make it smaller? Why couldn’t Mum choose someone with a normal sized hooter to marry?