Stop in the Name of Pants!

  I said, “Oh, Dave, thank goodness you came. What has happened to your hand?”

  He said, “One of the hard lads bit me—I may never play the tambourine again.”

  It was luuurvely to see him. And I felt really odd that he was hurt. I wanted to stroke his hand, in fact maybe I should. I may have healing hands—I was just thinking about doing it when I heard a voice say, “Dave, Dave, are you alright??? Oh God, your hand!! You poor thing, let me help you.”

  And it was Emma dashing about like Florrie whatsit, Nightingale.

  Dave looked at me and gave a sort of rueful smile. He said, “Too many trousers spoil the broth,” and got up and did pretendy limping off with Ellen.

  His girlfriend.

  twenty minutes later

  We were all turfed out. The police gave us a warning and asked us if we wanted to dob anyone in. I wouldn’t have minded seeing the Blunderboys behind bars, preferably in a zoo. However as Sven had in a way started the proceedings, we just mumbled a bit about things getting out of hand. Sorry, Officers, etc. And tried to shuffle off home.

  I saw Jas and Tom were talking together in the dark over by a bench. Oh Good Lord, I would be doing goosegog all the way home now if they made up.

  I was trying to think of something to say that would make her get in her huffmobile with Tom. Or perhaps I should just go and stand between them in a friendly way and not go away. Take my goosegog duties seriously.

  thirty seconds later

  A policeman came by me and said, “Stop ligging about here. Clear off home now and don’t cause any more trouble.”

  That’s nice, isn’t it? No words of comfort. No, “Now don’t you worry, young lady, the nasty boys won’t be bothering you anymore. Here’s five pounds for a cab home to see you safely on your way.”

  In fact as he looked at me I sort of recognized him. Uh-oh, he was the one who had brought Angus home in a bag one night after he had eaten Next Door’s hamster. Unfortunately Angus didn’t like the bag and had attacked the policeman’s trousers.

  Then he recognized me: “Oh, it’s you. I might have known. How’s your ‘pet’? Hopefully gone to that big cat basket in the sky.”

  I said with dignitosity at all times, “Thank you for your kind inquiry, Officer. I must go home now. Mind how you go and remember, it’s a jungle out there. Be safe.”

  Do you see, do you see what I did? I pretended I was a policeman to a policeman!!!

  But I was walking quickly away from him as I said it and calling to Jas, “Jas, we have to go now, the nice officer of the law said so.”

  Jas came over smartish. She is terrified of policemen and is like the bum-oley licking expert around them. She said to the officer, “Thank you so much, Officer, you do a wonderful job.”

  Oh, pleeeeease.

  Then she waved back at Tom. He blew her a kiss and she sighed.

  Good grief.

  Can’t they stay split up for more than half a day? It’s pathetico.

  We walked on home.

  I said to Jas, “Did you see Dave the Laugh getting stuck in to save us?”

  Jas said, “Yeah, Tom was keeping me behind him so that I wouldn’t get hurt. And when one of the Blunderboys said to him ‘Do you want some, mate?’ he said, ‘Oooh fear factor ten’ and did a judo hold that we learned when we went on our survival course and just marched him to the door. It was fab.”

  Oh, shut up about Hunky.

  I said, “When I said to Dave, ‘Are you OK, have you hurt your hand?’ he said, ‘I may never play the tambourine again!’ He is quite literally Dave the Laugh.”

  Jas said, “Oh no, you’ve got your big red bottom AGAIN!!”

  Have I?

  in bed with the owl (and her mates)

  1:00 a.m.

  Jas has built a small barrier of owls between us but has said that if I don’t wriggle about I am allowed to sleep in her bed because it has been such a traumatic night of violence. Blimey, she should live around at my house if she thinks this has been a traumatic night of violence. My bedroom is littered with dismembered toys and if I move in bed I am attacked viciously by either Angus, Gordy or Libby. Or all three of them.

  Jas said, “Tom still thinks we should go to different unis or see the world or something. He said we might never know if we had done the right thing otherwise. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me.”

  I said, “Well, what do you think?”

  She mused (that is, flicked her fringe and cuddled snowy owl).

  “Well, I like fun as much as the next person.”

  I said, “Can I just stop you there, Jas? You have to be realistic if we are going to get anywhere. You do not like fun as much as the next person. Your idea of fun and the next person’s idea of fun are vair vair different.”

  “Well, alright, what I mean is, maybe Tom is right that we are too young to decide everything now. Maybe I could do things by myself and that would be good.”

  I sat up. “That is the ticket, pally. I mean, there are many advantages to not having a boyfriend, you know. You wouldn’t have to pretend to be interested in wombat droppings and varieties of frog spawn.”

  She looked puzzled. “I’m not pretending.”

  “Er, right, well—”

  God, it was hopeless. Everything I thought of, Jas had an answer for.

  She doesn’t want to let her red bottom run free and wild. She doesn’t mind the vole dropping stuff and looking interested. She IS interested. She doesn’t want to flop around in her jimmyjams if she wants to because she already can, because Tom, Hunky the wonderdog, likes her just the way she is, whatever she looks like.

  In a nutshell, Tom is her one and only one and that is the end of the matter. I wish I were her.

  Well, of course I don’t wish I were her. That would be ridiculous.

  I’d have to chop my own head off for a start, because I was annoying myself so much.

  sunday august 21st

  home

  11:00 a.m.

  I have got post-gig comedown, I think. Everything was tickety boo when we were doing the dancing and it was a laugh. And even the fight was sort of exciting. But then seeing Dave the Laugh go off with Emma, and Jas talking about being with Hunky, it’s sort of made me a bit full of glumnosity.

  And I haven’t spoken to the Luuurve God for ages, anything could be happening.

  Boo and also poo.

  It’s all gloomy in the house, even though it is sunny outside it is raining inside. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. Mum has gone off with Libby, I think trying to placate Josh’s mum. I’d like to think it’s because she cares but really I think it’s because Grandvati has gone off for a camping trip with Maisie. She has probably knitted the tent. Who knows where Vati is, he is never in these days.

  I didn’t think the day would ever come when I said this, but I wish they would get back to “normal.” I would even try not to be sick if they touched each other.

  What if they split up? They would make me do that choosing thing. The judge would say that I could decide whom I lived with.

  It is so clearly not going to be Dad. I may warn him that he is dicing with never seeing me again by his brutal lack of care for me. He will not give me the least thing. I tried to ask him for a couple of hundred squids toward my trip to Rome yesterday. And he laughed.

  two minutes later

  I wonder if he will laugh quite so much when all he has to remember me by are the press cuttings of me on world tours, etc. Doing backing dancing for the Stiff Dylans in exotic locations. And when I do interviews in showbiz mags, etc., and they ask me about my father, I will say, “I would have liked to have been close, but once the family split up and my work took me all over the world, I sort of outgrew him.”

  I won’t add “like he outgrew his trousers” because that would put me in a bad light pop culture wise.

  five minutes later

  Hey, maybe I could say that if he will give me 500 pounds to go to Pizza-a-gogo, I will consider s
eeing him three or four times a year for an afternoon.

  Excellent plan!!!

  ten minutes later

  I have got an Italian book for idiots, so I must look through it. Mind you, if it is anything like our French or German textbooks it will be wubbish. They are always to do with losing your bike. They are not really based on real life, there is nothing about how to snog in different languages. Absoluto stupido and uselessio.

  And also too late-io.

  phone rang

  At last, I bet this will be my Pizza-a-gogo Luuurve God type boyfriend on the blower from Roma bella.

  I picked up the phone and said, “Ciao!”

  “Oh, erm, ciao or something—er—I, well, it’s me or something, I don’t know if—”

  “Hello, Ellen.”

  “Georgia—could I—I mean, are you in?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I’m not.”

  “Oh, well, will you be in later or something?”

  “ELLEN, I am answering the phone, how can I not be in???”

  half an hour of ditherosity later

  Miracle of miracles Declan has actually asked her on a date. They’re meeting by the clock tower tomorrow evening, so she has come to the Luuurve Goddess (moi) for advice.

  It passes the time helping others.

  I said, “Ellen, here in a nutshell are my main top tips. Don’t drink or eat anything, not even a cappuccino unless you know for sure your date is an admirer of the foam mustache. If he is—dump him. Secondly and vair vair importantly, do not say what is in your brain. And above all, remember to dance and be jolly. Although be careful about where you do spontaneous dancing. If you do it in a supermarket he will just think you are weird.”

  4:00 p.m.

  Right, this is it. I can’t stand waiting anymore. I am going to quite literally take the Luuurve God by the horn and ring him up.

  I’ve been going through my Italian book for the very very dim. (It’s not actually called that, but it should be. It has got the crappest drawings known to humanity. I think it must be the same person who did the illustrations for our German textbook about the Koch family. Under the section “Fun and Games” it has got a drawing of some madman with sticky up hair and big googly eyes juggling balls. That cannot be right in anyone’s language.)

  Anyway, I have worked out what to say from the section called “Talking on the Phone.”

  4:30 p.m.

  I think I have got the code right and everything.

  Rang the number. Ring ring. Funny ring they have in Pizza-a-gogo land.

  The phone was picked up and I said, “Ciao.”

  A man’s voice said a bit hesitantly, “Ciao.”

  I wonder if it was Masimo’s dad. What was the word for “dad” in Italian? I hadn’t looked it up—it couldn’t be daddio, could it?

  I thought I would try. “Er, buon giorno, daddio, je suis—erm, non non—sono Georgia.”

  “Georgia.”

  “Sì.”

  Masimo’s dad said, “Ah, sì.”

  Then there was a bit of a silence. Oh, buggeration. How did I say I want to speak to Masimo? I said, “Io wantio—un momento, per favore.”

  I scrabbled through the book, oh here we are, a lovely big ear drawing to show me that it is the on the phone section. “I want to speak to—” I read it out slowly and loudly: “POH TRAY PAHR LAH REH CON MASIMO?”

  There was a silence and then a Yorkshire voice said, “Po what, love? You’ve lost me.”

  It turned out that I was actually speaking to a Yorkshire bloke on holiday in Rome.

  I said, “Oh, I’m sorry, but you said Ciao and I thought you were Italian.”

  The Yorkshire dad said, “No, I’m from Leeds, but I do like spaghetti.”

  two minutes later

  Anyway, he was having a lovely time although you couldn’t get a decent pickled egg in Roma apparently, but he wasn’t letting that spoil his fun.

  Blimey, it was like a Yorkshire version of Uncle Eddie. He was rambling on for ages like I knew him.

  ten minutes later

  In the end I got off the phone. I must have got the number wrong. Or misdialed it. I could try again. No, I couldn’t take the risk of getting hold of “Just call me Fat Bob” again.

  big furry paw of fate

  tuesday august 23rd

  in the kitchen

  5:30 p.m.

  My darling sis is back at Chaos Headquarters (that is our house). Mum said, “I’ve managed to get Libby off with a warning. She can go back to kindy later this week but I have to promise that she won’t be allowed to play with sharp implements. So don’t let her have any of your knives and so on.”

  “Mum, I haven’t got any knives, it was you that let her have the scissors to cut Pantalitzer doll’s hair. Has Josh got the word ‘BUM’ off his forehead yet?”

  Mum said, “Blimey, that was a fuss and a half, wasn’t it? It was only indelible ink, not poison.”

  I said, “Mum, some parents actually, like, DO parenting. They act like grown-ups, they protect their young.”

  Mum was too busy flicking through Teen Vogue to listen.

  6:00 p.m.

  Libby is preparing a cat picnic on the lawn. Some crushed-up biscuits on a plate and three dishes of milk. I can see Angus, Naomi and Gordy skulking off to hide. They have been made to go to her cat picnics before. And once you have had your head shoved violently into a saucer of milk and a spoonful of jammy dodger rammed down your throat, you don’t accept another invitation easily.

  Time to start buttering up the mutti.

  I said, “Mum, if I stayed with you and not Dad, well, he would pay like maintenance and child support and so on. And I could use a bit of it, say like five hundred pounds, because it would be mine really, wouldn’t it? It’s like me that is being supported, isn’t it?”

  Mum went, “Hmmm, but I would need a lot of help round the house.”

  I said, “Yep, yep, I could do that. It would be like sort of earning my own money and I could pay my own way to Pizza-a-gogo land and then it would be alright, wouldn’t it? Because actually it wouldn’t really be costing you anything because I would be being paid out of my own money really. And you want me to be happy and have a boyfriend and so on, even Ellen has got a boyfriend now. And when you leave Dad you might get one. You never know. Never say never.”

  Mum said, “Georgia, are you saying that you would be prepared to do the ironing and help around the house and be pleasant?”

  I said, “Oh, mais oui, yes!!”

  “OK, well, start on that big pile of Libby’s stuff in the wash basket.”

  Lalalalalala. It’s the ironing life for me. Quickly followed by a snogtastic adventure in Luuurve God Heaven.

  half an hour later

  How boring is housework. I tell you this for free, I will not be doing any more of it when this is over. I said to Mum, “I think I have got ironer’s elbow, it won’t go from side to side anymore, it will only go up and down. I hope it hasn’t ruined my backing dancing career.”

  7:15 p.m.

  I am a domestic husk.

  I said to Mum, “I think I will go Saturday as I suggested.”

  She said, “Yeah, good idea.”

  I said, “I will ask Dad if he will drop me off at the airport.”

  “He’s away that weekend. He and Uncle Eddie are going away fishing, or prancing round in the clownmobile. He says it will give him time to sort his mind out.”

  I said, “So can you take me, then?”

  “Take you where?”

  “To the airport.”

  “Why are you so interested in watching planes all of a sudden?”

  “I’m not interested in watching them. I am only interested in getting on one to go to Pizza-a-gogo.”

  “Well, that is not going to happen, is it?”

  And that was that.

  She never intended to let me go, she just wanted me to do the ironing. That is the sort of criminal behavior I have to put up with. I know you read all
sorts of miserable stories about kids being holed up in cellars by their mean parents and called “Snot boy” all the time, but I think my story is just as cruel.

  As I slammed out I said to Mum, “Mum, I quite literally hate you.”

  at rosie’s in her bedroom

  8:00 p.m.

  Her parents are out again. It’s bliss at her house, I think she only sees them about twice a year. I told her what happened. She said, “That is crapola, little matey. When you are all stressed out and having a nervy spaz you have to look after your health—have a jammy dodger and some cheesy wotsits.”

  As we crunched through a couple of packets I said, “I am just going to sneak off, anyway, creep out at night with the money I will get from my guilty dad and hitchhike to the airport. Or maybe get one of the lads to take me. Dom might do it, might he?”

  Rosie was really into it now.

  “Brilliant plan, just say, ‘Devil take the hindmost’ and Ciao, Roma!!!”

  9:00 p.m.

  I was going to call Dom about taking me to the airport, but I sort of chickened out. If I could I would ask Dave the Laugh because he would understand. Or maybe not. Maybe asking my matey type matey person to take me to catch a plane to see a Luuurve God is not mega cool.

  Anyway, he would only go on about my lesbian affair with Masimo.

  9:20 p.m.

  Still at Rosie’s. Making a list of what to take with me clothes and makeup wise. It will be hot, so I will have to take most of my summerwear and bikinis and flip-flops.

  I said, “Do you think I should take a book to read on the beach for those quiet moments?”

  Rosie looked at me. “What are quiet moments?”

  10:00 p.m.

  Oh, I feel quite pepped up now. In fact, I think I will start packing when I get in.

  As I was leaving I said, “Thank you, tip top pally.”

  She said, “De rigueur. Hey, and don’t forget your passport, chum.”

  I laughed.

  on the way home

  fifteen minutes later

  Hmmm, where is my passport?

  an hour later

  I’ll tell you where my passport is.

  At Dad’s bloody office, that’s where.

  Why?

  What sort of person takes official documents to work with them?