Rachel said she hadn’t thought it was possible for Vanessa to be so sweet and sugary. ‘I kept expecting her to say that she believed in fairies and that the stars were God’s daisy chain or something,’ she said. The ad had definitely cheered her up. She looked positively happy. So maybe Vanessa can be a force for good after all.
I don’t understand the world anymore. Nothing makes sense. Today was even worse than I feared. Unsurprisingly, everyone at school saw the ad last night. But very surprisingly, everyone at school seems to love it! Girls from other classes kept sticking their heads into our form room at lunch, trying to catch a glimpse of Vanessa. They were even following her around as she went from class to class. I swear to God, some of them were even asking for her autograph. And she, of course, was in her element.
‘Form an orderly queue, girls,’ she commanded as a bunch of first years held out pieces of paper.
‘They’re too young to know any better,’ said Alice.
‘I don’t know,’ said Cass. ‘When we were their age, we certainly wouldn’t have wanted to get Vanessa’s autograph.’
We mightn’t have had a choice. She was actually offering to sign people’s copies and folders during the mid-morning break. I half expected her to start grabbing them out of our hands and scrawling all over them.
‘I told you I wouldn’t forget you all when my ad came out,’ she assured us. ‘And I won’t!’
If only she would. The thing about Vanessa is that you simply can’t ignore her because she won’t let you, so she is a constant source of annoyance. Of course, none of us (not even Caroline and Karen) took her up on her autograph offer, but she didn’t care. At one stage, in our form room during lunch break, when the flood of girls from other classes had died down, she turned to me and said, ‘So, what did you think of the ad?’
I said the only polite thing I could think of.
‘Um, it was very colourful,’ I said. ‘I liked Handsome Dan.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Vanessa. ‘He was a pro. I actually asked his owner about buying him. I thought it would be good for the brand if we were seen walking around together in public.’
What a terrible fate for poor Handsome Dan! Imagine being bought by Vanessa purely as a marketing tool and forced to parade through the streets with her. Luckily, his owner immediately said no. Apparently, she runs a performing-animal agency called The Li’l Tykes and has two other dogs of her own which also appear in ads. What a brilliant job that must be – just hanging around with nice, cheerful dogs all day and teaching them how to ride in bike baskets (because putting a dog in a bike basket should only be done under expert supervision). Although, on the downside, you’d have to hang around with people like Vanessa too. Still, swings and roundabouts, as my annoying aunt likes to say.
‘I didn’t realise you could play the ukulele, Vanessa,’ said Alice politely.
Vanessa looked at her in a very patronising way.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I was doing a little thing I like to call … acting.’
And because Alice has much better manners than I do, she just said, ‘Oh. Well, it looked very realistic.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Vanessa, and before any of us could say anything else she turned back towards her fan club (aka Karen and Caroline. Alison was there too, but she looked very bored). Karen started telling them how Bernard the Fairytale Prince went over to her house last night so they could watch the ad together.
‘You’re an inspiration to us all,’ said Karen to Vanessa. ‘Bernard and I are going to start looking out for auditions ourselves.’
Vanessa looked a bit taken aback for a moment. Clearly she didn’t like the idea of someone else, especially her devoted pal, stealing her thunder. But then she seemed to decide that being copied was another form of flattery, as well as an opportunity to show off even more.
‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll be able to give you plenty of tips.’
The thing is, she probably could. She does seem to know what she’s doing. Whatever I might think about her, she clearly has the x-factor, or whatever factor you need to do well in advertising. And if our school is anything to go by, people really do seem to love the ad. I was in the loo between classes this afternoon and I overheard some second years talking about it.
‘It’s just so cute!’ said one of them.
‘And I love the song,’ said the other. ‘Did you see the posters? There’s one on the bus stop on Drumcondra Road. As soon as I saw it this morning, the song got stuck in my head again.’
I had forgotten about the posters. I can only imagine what they’re like. I’d like to hope they just show Handsome Dan and some biscuits, but I’m pretty sure they’re all about Vanessa. She seems to be everywhere. It’s funny (and not in a funny ha-ha way), she’s been telling herself that she’s a celebrity for years and now she actually is one. I’m not sure that Rachel laughing again is worth it if it’s given Vanessa an actual legitimate reason to believe she’s a superstar.
Anyway, I didn’t see the ad again today because I didn’t watch much telly tonight, even though Mum and Dad were out at their rehearsal so Rachel and I could have had the sitting-room telly to ourselves. Instead, I put a playlist of some of my favourite songs on the stereo and played along on my snare drum. It’s good practice, even though we don’t want to do cover versions with Hey Dollface. I also played the recording of our own song ‘The Real Me’ that we made during the summer camp. It still sounds pretty good, if I say so myself. I hope we’ll get to try recording more stuff soon at the Knitting Factory.
Anyway, I do appreciate being able to play the drum(s) at home more than ever now since I realised I might have to give them back. I suppose I was making quite a lot of noise, but for once Rachel didn’t mind because she was on the phone to Jenny for hours on end, talking very intensely about Tom. Well, I presume it was about Tom. Every time I went upstairs to go to the loo or get something from my room, I could hear Rachel through the door saying things like ‘I just don’t understand why he could change his mind about me’. Later, I heard her say something like, ‘Oh, I dunno, Jen. I just miss him.’
That was when I felt really bad for her. I know I really, really missed Paperboy when he flew off to Canada, but apart from the fact I knew he hadn’t chosen to leave me, I hadn’t actually been going out with him for very long. Not that that meant I wasn’t really, really sad, or that my sadness wasn’t serious, but he hadn’t had time to become, like, an integral part of my life. Whereas Rachel and Tom saw each other all the time for years, so he’s left a big hole in her life.
She just needs something to fill it up. Not another boy (yet). But something else. I mean, if I’ve learned anything this year, apart from lots of scary facts about climate change courtesy of Miss Kelly, it’s that going out with someone is just, like, a bonus. There was a stage, in the summer, when I was kind of depressed that all my best friends were going out with people and I wasn’t, and I didn’t even fancy anyone. But I had a really good chat with Daisy which basically made me realise that if everything else in my life is actually good and fun (more or less), then I should enjoy it and stop worrying that I will never love anyone ever again. I suppose that if I still haven’t met anyone I like by the time I’m, I dunno, thirty or something I might start to worry. But, in the meantime, I feel more or less okay. And so will Rachel. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I must try and think of fun things for her to do to stop – I almost said moping there. I meant being miserable. I almost wish she was into amateur dramatics (not that it would help if she was, I suppose, because it’s her Leaving Cert year and she wouldn’t have time to do them) because my parents certainly seem to get a lot of fun from their production of My Fair Lady. Too much fun, if you ask me. They were singing as usual when they came home tonight, or at least Dad was.
‘How did your rehearsal go?’ I asked.
‘Very well,’ said Dad, looking pleased with himself. ‘I really think my interpretation of Henry Higgins is going
to be pretty interesting.’
‘What does the director think?’ I said.
‘She likes it!’ said Dad. ‘It’s her first time directing, remember, so I think she welcomes creative input. Doesn’t she, Rosie?’
‘Um, yes,’ said Mum. ‘She does. I’m not sure Dearbhla would have been so … open-minded.’
Dearbhla was the old director.
‘What sort of things are you doing?’ I asked Dad.
‘Oh, you know,’ said Dad. ‘A dance step here, some jazz hands there. Whatever feels natural.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I see.’
When he’d gone upstairs to put away his tap shoes, I went over to Mum.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘You know the way Dad’s jazzing up Henry Higgins.’
‘Yes?’ said Mum, in a rather wary voice.
‘He’s not … well, he’s not going too far, is he?’ I said.
There was a pause.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she said. ‘He’s got great stage presence, as you know.’
I nodded.
‘But yes, he’s taken a very … well, it’s not how Henry Higgins is normally played. He’s usually shown as a sort of reserved, haughty character. Now he’s a bit more, well … vibrant.’
‘Vibrant,’ I said. ‘Wow.’ I could well imagine how vibrant he was.
‘But the director doesn’t seem to mind it!’ said Mum, brightly. ‘So I’m sure it’ll all work out! Now I’d better put away my own dance shoes.’ And she basically ran out of the room so she didn’t have to say anything else about it.
I am pretty sure this means that Dad has let his Beadle triumph go to his head and is prancing all over the place like a loon. I just hope he doesn’t push it with the new director. She might decide he’s jazzed up Henry Higgins a bit too much and take the part away from him! And surely having a lead part, even if it doesn’t involve loads of jazz hands, is better than no part at all?
Even our teachers are talking about Vanessa’s ad. It has caused a sensation. Mrs Harrington told her it was ‘the cutest little thing she’d ever seen’ yesterday, which I suppose is what I’d expect from someone whose taste is so bad she thinks my mother’s books are the greatest works of literature ever written.
More surprisingly, Miss Kelly brought it up in geography today. I didn’t think Miss Kelly would approve of any ads, given how much energy they cost to make and how opposed she is to consumerism in general, but she clearly doesn’t have a problem with this one.
‘I like your ad, Miss Finn,’ she said. ‘Good to see someone using a bicycle on screen! And Bluebird Bakery are committed to ethical trading and sustainable business. They use Irish suppliers whenever possible.’
I don’t know why she was praising Vanessa for this. It’s not like she makes the biscuits herself. But Vanessa took the praise as her due.
‘I’m proud to be a Bluebird Bakery spokeswoman,’ she said, in a ridiculously grown-up way.
‘And that’s a very catchy song, too!’ said Miss Kelly.
For a moment, I was afraid she was going to start singing it, but luckily she just moved on and started talking about how if flooding patterns continue all of Dublin will be under water in a few years. Which was actually more cheering than hearing about Vanessa’s ad. At least if we’re all under water, we won’t have to watch her poncing around on that bike.
Miss Kelly was right, though, it is a very catchy song, even though it’s incredibly annoying and doesn’t rhyme properly. I found myself singing it this evening when I was loading the dishwasher. As soon as I realised what I was doing, I felt ashamed of myself, but I was still humming the song an hour later. That’s all I need, Vanessa’s ad stuck in my head! It’s bad enough having to watch it when it airs, which it did twice this evening. Mum and Dad saw it too.
‘She was in your production of Mary Poppins, wasn’t she?’ said Dad. ‘She’s very … cheerful.’
‘It’s just an act,’ I said grumpily. ‘She’s a stuck-up egomaniac in real life.’
‘The dog’s very cute,’ said Mum. ‘And the production design is great. And she can sing very well!’
‘She wants to play Ruthie if they make a film or a TV series from your book,’ I told her.
Mum looked a bit taken aback. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘I didn’t imagine Ruthie being quite so … in your face.’
‘I did,’ I said, because Ruthie certainly felt just as annoying as Vanessa to me.
Mum seemed quite insulted by the thought that Vanessa could be a perfect Ruthie, but I’m afraid it serves her right for embarrassing me by creating such an irritating character.
Also, Sorcha Mulligan is up to her old tricks again. I was doing my homework just now and she and one of her friends were both standing at the window, staring at me in a scary way. So she seems to have given up on the dancing. I’d be relieved, except this is actually more unsettling. Anyway, I just ignored her, but I couldn’t help looking up every so often and I swear, they were always in the same place. It can’t be normal for a kid to do this, can it? Oh well, it could be worse, I suppose. She could be skipping around pretending to play the ukulele.
Oh God, I hope I haven’t tempted fate just by writing that. The last thing I need is to look up and see the Mulligan kid playing a ukulele, or even just waving one at me. I just hope she doesn’t see Vanessa’s ad and get notions.
I wish I could just stay away from school until all the fuss over Vanessa has died down. I got a lift to school today because Mum had to go into town and she ended up dropping me off at a bus stop that had a giant poster of Vanessa on it. She stood there smirking with a ukulele in one hand and a cookie in the other, and the words ‘Have Yourself a Kooky Little Day’ were emblazoned above her head in quite cool pink letters. Handsome Dan was on the poster too, but he was at Vanessa’s feet so you barely noticed him.
And Vanessa was just as bad in real life today too. She brought in her iPad purely so she could show us all the bit of the Bluebird Bakery website devoted to ‘Kookie’.
‘I could have just shown you on my phone, of course,’ she said. ‘But you need a larger screen to get the full effect.’
She basically marched around the class shoving her stupid posh 3G iPad in people’s faces. I suppose she knew it’s the only way we’d ever see the website – I certainly wasn’t going to look it up at home. Anyway, unsurprisingly, the website was terrible. As soon as you opened the page, an animated Vanessa cycled across it and winked out at you, which would have been bad enough on its own. Then the words ‘Have Yourself a Kooky Little Day!’ appeared over her head in the same cute retro lettering as the poster, along with a pack of Bluebird Bakery Yummy Scrummy Cookies. Several links popped up on one side of the page. The top one had a picture of Vanessa’s face with the words ‘All about Kookie!’
I can’t imagine anyone would want to know all about Kookie, or indeed anything about Kookie, but I didn’t have any choice in the matter because Vanessa clicked on the image and, a moment later, we were looking at yet another picture of her smirking features. Obviously, I wouldn’t have bothered reading what was written underneath, but unfortunately Vanessa immediately began reading it all out loud.
‘Meet Kookie!’ she began. ‘She’s not like everyone else. But then, neither are you!’
Cass and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.
‘Kookie likes to dance her way through life,’ Vanessa read on. ‘She’s always looking for fun, quirky things to do by herself, with her friends or with her cheeky pet pug, Handsome Dan.’
It’s good to know that Handsome Dan is being credited by name, I suppose.
‘She loves old French films, 1980s pop music and playing her hot pink ukulele,’ Vanessa continued. ‘That’s how kooky she is! But there’s one thing Kookie has in common with everyone else – she loves Yummy Scrummy Cookies.’ Vanessa looked at us as if she expected us to applaud. ‘That’s it.’
‘Wow,’ said Alice, polite as ever. I don’t know how she does it. ‘Very cool.’
Actually, I think those words crossed over from ‘politeness’ to ‘barefaced lie’. But they seemed to satisfy Vanessa, and she went off to show the site to some other unfortunates.
You know, sometimes I wonder what would happen if we all started being as rude and arrogant to Vanessa as she is to all of us. Maybe it would show her the error of her ways, but I have a feeling she wouldn’t even notice.
Also, I think it’s very unfair that she has an iPad at all. There is no chance of my parents splashing out so much money on one for me. My mum has one but she barely lets me use it in case I ‘drop it and break it’. As if I would! I only dropped it once and it fell on the sofa so it was fine. Not that she even knows about that. Anyway, I would love a tablet, but considering my parents will only let me have a crappy phone that is like something out of the olden days and can barely go online, I think I will be waiting a long time until I get one. Every time I tell my parents how unfair this is, they just laugh and tell me they didn’t have mobiles at all until they were in their mid-thirties.
‘And we grew up perfectly well,’ says Dad, which is a matter for debate if you ask me.
Anyway, as if all that wasn’t bad enough, I think I am getting a spot. It hasn’t emerged yet, but I can feel it lurking under the surface. I suppose I am lucky because I don’t get spots that often (presumably because nature realised having hair that often looks like a bushy mop is more than enough trauma for one girl), but when I do they are awful. This one is on my chin and I just know that it’s going to get bigger and redder for ages until my whole chin looks like Rudolph the Reindeer’s nose. I asked my mum this morning when you finally stop getting spots and she said, ‘Oh, I don’t know, I still get the odd spot now.’ And she is forty-eight! It hardly seems fair that I have over twenty more years of lurkers ahead of me.