Startled by His Furry Shorts

  He laughed again, “OK, but for me, you don’t have to.” And he laughed. “I will wait for you outside. Oh, here are your cats.”

  I said, “Don’t let them near your trousers.”

  He said, “Er, que?”

  But I had bounded upstairs.

  two minutes later

  Hysteria headquarters.

  Quickly, quickly put something on. Something sexy yet casually morningy. Jeans? Fringey skirt? Jeans or skirt? Skirt or jeans? OH NOOO I’M NOT GOING THERE AGAIN. Jeans on and top with “Groove on, groovster” on it? Yes, yes, good, get on with it.

  two minutes later

  I didn’t have time to cleanse and tone, so I just cleaned up the panda bits and reapplied mascara and lippy. My hand was shaking, so I didn’t attempt eyeliner. I would have ended up with noughts and crosses all over my face. And for the pièce de résistance, my brain was having a little conversation with itself. Oh good.

  “Masimo sounded quite relaxed and cheerful, don’t you think? Not in a dumping mood.”

  “Yes. And he said that thing when I said I had to get dressed. He said, “OK but for me you don’t have to.” That was like a display of red bottomosity. Wasn’t it?”

  “Deffo.”

  two minutes later

  Dashed down to the bathroom. I had the original bombhead. Oh noooo!!! I slicked it down with gel as much as I could. Then I swallowed about half a tube of toothpaste. My nose seemed still a bit flat, so I rolled it around in my fingers to give it a bit more shape.

  one minute later

  Now then, just a practice spontaneous smile. Tongue behind teeth and smile.

  Good good.

  Get manic laughing out of system. Hahaha-hahahahadihahahada!!! And a quick burst of Viking disco inferno to stop the urge to show it to him.

  Kick kick stab stab and huddly duddly…HOOORRRNNN!

  one minute later

  Ready.

  Sunglasses?

  Good plan.

  Sunglasses on.

  And open door.

  And breathe.

  There he was by the gate. His scooter was parked in the street and he was sitting on the seat with his back to me, looking at the kittykats. Mr. Across the Road must be cleaning his car, because there is a bucket of soapy water that Gordy is drinking out of. He has got foam all over his chin. Angus is actually in the car lying across the steering wheel. Oh yes, and there is Naomi, her head popping up from the front seat. Mr. Across the Road will go ballistic when he finds them. But who cares?

  I didn’t say anything. Partly because I was so nervy, but also because my smile meant I couldn’t actually form any words. Masimo must have sensed me being there because he looked round. I nearly fainted. He was wearing a really cool ice blue zip-up top and shades. He took his shades off and in the sunlight his eyes were almost yellow. They were amazing with really thick curly eyelashes that made him look like he was half asleep. He got off his scooter and walked slowly over to me. He even walks in an Italian way, sort of like slow dancing. He is tall and his hair is a bit longer than the lads here have been wearing it, dark and slightly curly. I had forgotten how fabby-looking he is. I couldn’t move because I had lost all gross motor control. He kept coming toward me. Maybe he would whip my shades off and say, “Why, Georgia, you are beautiful!” like they do in crap films. Or maybe he would whip my shades off, see my squashy nose properly, and shove the shades back on quickly. Shut up, brain, you are not in this! After what seemed a zillion years, he was right in front of me.

  He still didn’t say anything. He leaned down to me and I thought, Sound out the bells of England, he’s going to kiss me, everything is going to be alright.

  He did the taking off of my shades thing and then he gave me a kiss on one cheek and then the other. What did that mean? It was like a stereo Lezzie Auntie kiss!

  He said, “Let us go and have a little ride somewhere, caro.”

  I managed to nod. And amazingly my head didn’t fall off.

  It was a lovely sunny morning and he handed me his spare helmet. I got on the back of the scooter. As he started the engine I was too nervous to touch him, but on the other hand I didn’t want to shoot off the back of the scooter when he accelerated away. I put my hands on the back of my seat to hold on, but he said, “Hold on to me.”

  I put my hands on his waist. Just a bit. But he took my hands and put them right round his waist and then accelerated off.

  I was so happy to be with him again. He accelerated up the High Street, which was rammed with people. Sadly I didn’t see anyone I knew. I wished old Octopussy had seen us. Then we tore down the street and off out of town. I hoped the helmet wouldn’t give me the famous Richard III haircut look that is so popular with the criminally insane. I’d worry about that later. We didn’t talk. Well, he said, “Are you alright?” and I did confident nodding until I realized he wouldn’t be able to see that unless he was part owl and could turn his head 360 degrees. So I yelled, “Yes, fine!”

  Unfortunately as I spoke, a flying bug flew into my mouth. A really big one, part bug part bat. I nearly choked to death and was trying to spit it out.

  Thank God Masimo couldn’t see me.

  I was coughing and gagging and Masimo said, “What did you say?”

  Erlack erlack, I had had a bug’s bottom in my mouth!!! But I couldn’t say that to a Luuurve God. I finally managed to spit it out and shouted, “I was just singing a song.”

  He laughed and squeezed my hand. Blimey.

  fifteen minutes later

  He pulled up by Downland woods and helped me off the scooter. I hope I didn’t have bits of bug leg round my mouth, or stuck onto my lip gloss. We left our helmets on the seat and started to walk toward the woods. I walked behind him and did a bit of hair jusshing. Crikey, it was like concrete. My knees were knocking together. He didn’t say anything until we got into the woods and then he sat down on a fallen tree and sot of patted the space beside him.

  Oh this was fabby and marvy and everything. He was going to snog me. Thank God I had gone easy on the lip gloss. But what if we did that thing where you don’t know which side to put your head and you crash heads? He turned my face toward him and looked right into my eyes and sort of sighed. Or, what if I got Jas disease and had a lip spasm halfway through the snog and had to do pucker release pucker release. And darty tongue darty tongue. Then he kissed me. It was quite a hard kiss and I gripped onto the log because I didn’t want to do the famous clown falling over. Oh it was so nice to be snogging him again. He put both of his hands on my back and pulled me into him. What were my arms doing just lying there like fools? I thought back to the snogging lesson days with whelk boy, what had he said about arms? Ah yes, put your hands on his waist. I tried that. Good. The arms were obeying me. Nice work, arms. I don’t know how long we were snogging because I didn’t have my watch and also my brain had fallen out.

  I could have easily done it for the rest of my life.

  Oh thank you, Baby Jesus, my prayers have not been in vain. You have not as I thought been too busy to be bothered. I promise I will rescue you from the transvestite world as soon as I get home. And make you new sandals. And a beard.

  Eventually Masimo pulled away from me. He gave me a little kiss on the mouth so I had time to recover. He had his hand on the side of my face and he was looking into my eyes. My brain quite literally stopped working. He smiled a really soft, slow smile. Oh I love him I love him. He kissed me again softly on the mouth and stroked my hair. (I bet that felt nice with twenty-five pounds of gel on it.)

  Then he cleared his throat and said, “Ah the lovely Georgia, I have missed seeing you. I think you are how you say, ‘mad.’ In fact, the Stiff Dylans, they all say, ‘Yes, she is mad, that girl,’ but they like you. And I like you, very much. Dom told me that you tried to get off with his dad and fell through his drum.”

  Was I going to have to go through this all my life?

  Also that was when I was with Robbie, the boy whose name I will never
mention in this life.

  Anyway, never mind about him, whose name I have forgotten again, this was all good goody good good. I felt like singing “The hills are alive with the sound of pants.” But I didn’t.

  Then Masimo squeezed my shoulder and stood up. He turned to face me and said, “You asked me, you said you wanted me for you, like how you say in England, to be going out? Is this it?”

  Oh yes indeedy, my pop star Rock God Luuurve Machine, that is it. He hadn’t finished, though.

  back in the cakeshop of agony

  in my bedroom

  4:00 p.m.

  I’m no longer on the rack of love. I have got off the rack and I have been to the oven of luuurve, and popped by for a cake from the cakeshop of aggers. I’m now lolling in the dustbin of despair. With half-eaten cake all over me.

  Masimo said that he doesn’t want me to be his girlfriend. He doesn’t want anyone to be his girlfriend. He said that it is too soon for him to have a serious relationship with anyone. He would like to still see me, but just like we were before. He said he just wanted to have “fun.”

  Fun.

  He said I was “a lovely girl.”

  Not lovely enough, though, apparently.

  I couldn’t bear to be with him after he had told me. He put his arm around me and said, “Can we please still see each other? Can I call you?”

  I managed to have enough dignitosity to say, “No, I don’t think so.”

  And he said, “I am very sad.”

  Then for some reason I cheerfully said that I was just popping off to see some friends of mine who lived at the other side of the woods. And I walked off leaving him there. After a few minutes I heard his scooter roar off.

  And I was alone in the woods.

  And I didn’t have any friends that lived in the forest.

  And it took me two hours to walk home. I was in shock after he had said the bit about not wanting to go out with me. I didn’t even notice the two-hour walk home.

  There were loads of messages for me when I got in. All from the ace gang.

  Like:

  “Phone.”

  “Double phone with knobs.”

  And one from Sven:

  “Oy missus!!!”

  But I couldn’t bring myself to ring them back.

  5:00 p.m.

  Mum brought me a cup of tea. I tried to hide my face when she came in by reading a book, but tears were plopping onto the pages. And it wasn’t because the book was Cinderella.

  Mum said, “Don’t worry, the prince comes along in the end, and the shoe…”

  But then she realized I was really upset and she came over and put her arms around me. That made me blub like billio. I told her everything. I said, “He, I (gulp snort), when he came he said…at first I thought he wasn’t coming, but he…and then I…to the woods, snogged but I didn’t fall off the log, then he said no and I went to visit my forest friends, which I don’t have.”

  Mum told me I would feel better.

  I said, “No, I won’t.”

  And she said, “You will.”

  And I said, “When? In forty years’ time, when I am dead? When will I feel better? Today?”

  She said, “Well, no, not today.”

  “This week then?”

  “Well, maybe not this week.”

  “Next week then?”

  In the end she said I would feel better “sometime.”

  It’s not much to look forward to, is it?

  She asked me if I wanted fish and chips, but I can’t eat anything. My stomach feels as if it has been punched in by twelve very annoyed blokes. And then their mates have come along and jumped on me for a good laugh.

  6:30 p.m.

  Libby came in to show me her clown shoes. Uncle Eddie has been buying her things from the joke shop. Normally it would have made me laugh, especially as she also had those glasses with eyes that come out on springs. I said, “Not today, Bibbsy. I’ve got a headache. You have to be quiet.”

  Amazingly she did go away, saying “Sssshhhhh” and trying to tiptoe on her enormous shoes. She got out into the hall still creeping and saying “Sssshhhhh.” Then she closed the door really quietly.

  Then she yelled, “Mummmmmeeeeee!!!”

  Mum yelled back, “What is it, Bibbs?”

  “Ginger’s got a headache. FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, SHUT UP!”

  Where does she get all this appalling language from?

  fifteen minutes later

  I got dressed and went outside into the night. No one would miss me.

  8:30 p.m.

  I am sitting up the tree in the front garden. Like a dumped owl. My eyes are all swollen up, but I can see into Mr. and Mrs. Next Door’s kitchen window. I wish I couldn’t. Mrs. Next Door has got a pink flowery winceyette nightie on. Ummm attractive. Mind you, you can’t blame her. She is married to the dullest, fattest bloke in the universe (no, not my vati, otherwise that would be bigamy). The Prat Poodles are seated up at the kitchen table drinking from saucers. How disgusting. AND they have little pajamas on. Honestly. Now Mr. Next Door has come lumbering in to complete the nightmare scenario.

  He’s got a dressing gown on and you can see his very thin legs. Straining to support his vast bottom. They are very very white legs.

  More like bean sprouts than legs.

  Erlack a pongoes, I nearly fell out of my tree. Mr. Next Door isn’t wearing ANY pajamas. He is in the nuddy-pants under his dressing gown. I have been exposed to his nakednosity. When he picked up one of the Prat brothers, his dressing gown came apart. I have inadvertently witnessed a porn film.

  I quickly changed my position so that I had my back to the Next Doors.

  Naomi is on the Across the Roads’ wall dragging her bottom along it and mewling. It doesn’t seem very romantic as such, but it is the only way she knows to communicate her love to Angus.

  two minutes later

  Well, the mewling and bottom dragging has worked because here comes the Manky Tom from up the road. Sniffing around Naomi. Quite literally. And she is not would you call playing hard to get. Unless you consider lying on your back and sticking your bottom into someone’s face playing hard to get.

  But that is the harsh reality of life.

  ten minutes later

  I wonder what Masimo is doing now? Enjoying himself and his freedom. I bet he’s not thinking about me. He probably says that all the girls are lovely. I wonder if he has taken other girls to that wood?

  The only thing I can think of that is worse than what I can think of now is if he starts seeing Wet Lindsay. I bet she would agree to anything he said. Like, “Will you wear a bag over your head when we go out anywhere?”

  Which I must say I don’t think is an unreasonable request.

  five minutes later

  I was getting a bit cold and stiff up in the tree, so I thought I would go back into my bed of pain. Just for a change of places to be miserable in. But then I heard voices and Mark Big Gob came by with The Blunderboys and they sat down on our wall under the tree. He and his mates were all smoking like ninnies. You know, in that really crap way that boys who are crap do. Taking really deep drags and then nearly choking to death. But still talking whilst they are choking. And talking such rubbish. Out of the clouds of smoke and over the sound of the coughing I heard Mark Big Gob say, “Yeah, Charlotte with the big knockers was touching her hair well regularly, so I reckon I’m in.”

  One of the other super studs said in between coughing and scratching his acne, “I reckon we could have a foursome with her mate with the spaggy eye.”

  Are they mad?

  Then Junior Mad came along. Oscar. Fabulous news for his parents that he is tagging along with the chavvest blokes in town.

  Mark Big Gob said to him, “Want a fag, mate?”

  Oh, this should be good. I’d like to see Oscar choking to death. But he said, “Na fanks, mate, just put one out.”

  Yeah, in your dreams, Junior Blunderboy and twit.

  five minutes later
r />   God, I thought listening to Jas rambling on was boring, but she was like Ms. Sparkling Personality in Pants compared to this lot. I will never criticize her for talking about voles again.

  The lads stopped flicking ash over our garden wall long enough to start talking about a “ruck” they were planning.

  Nothing like a spot of recreational violence to impress the ladeez.

  Then they all did that hitting-hands thing. Why do they do that? Eventually they larded off and I could get down from the tree. If this is really what boys are like, then maybe spinsterhood is not such a bad thing.

  9:30 p.m.

  When I went back into the house, it was strangely quiet. I opened the living room door and saw a horrible horrible sight. You know when you read about people walking into their homes and there is a cat smeared all over the walls and a bloke with an ax humming to himself in his undercrackers?

  Well, it was worse than that.

  Mutti and Vati were holding hands on the sofa.

  sunday june 26th

  I left a note for Mum:

  Dear Mum,

  Gone to church. I am very upset still and do not want to talk to anyone about it.

  Would you answer any calls for me and tell them I am out at Grandad’s? I will be back for lunch but I can’t eat anything. Love, Georgia

  P.S. Don’t tell Dad anything.

  P.P.S. If you got that cannelloni stuff from Waitrose that I like I might be able to manage that because it is not very chewy.

  walking to church

  9:45 a.m.

  Well, God cannot say that I do not try.

  I have fished his only begotten son Baby Jesus out of Libby’s toy box and removed the Barbie frock. I couldn’t get all of his rouge off, but I have made a replacement foot out of Blu-tac. He is on top of my dressing table and even Libby couldn’t get up there. And the kittykats would have to erect scaffolding and a pulley to get him down. Mind you, I wouldn’t put that past them. Sometimes when they are behind the sofa supposedly purring, I think they are drilling.

  The last time I went to God’s house, Call-Me-Arnold lost his rag with me. Which is a bit un-Christian. After all, there was no real damage done vis-à-vis the elderly pensioner’s scarf inferno incident. And it was her fault. And she hurt my shoulder with her handbag and I didn’t mention that.