Hunky Dory (9 page)

The Herb was quite disappointed. She said, “A hand grenade would at least have been exciting. We haven't discovered
anything
exciting! Not even a trib'lite.”

I said, “Trilobite.”

“Whatever! You still haven't got one. All you've got is a mouldy old soap dish!”

It's true, I would have liked to find a trilobite; I suppose I have been secretly hoping. I've even wondered if Dad might be persuaded to let me get rid of the compost heap and dig under that. But just at this moment I'm not really too concerned; I have other things on my mind. Worrying things. When I flung myself at the Herb, to protect her from the hand grenade, I had this weird urge to kiss her.
Kiss the Herb.
I am going red just thinking about it. I don't know what's happening to me! What is going on here?

I used to be so happy, just digging my hole and thinking about dinosaurs. Now I'm all hot and bothered and embarrassed.

The Herb won't be able to come over tomorrow as she has to stay home and help Auntie Jess prepare for Gran and Granddad. She is
not best pleased
, as Gran would say.

“Every time they visit it's like we're expecting the Queen, or something.” She said bitterly that it was all right for me. “You've got a secret weapon.”

She meant the Russells. I said, “Maybe you should get some.”

“I suggested that,” said the Herb. “Mum says we can't, cos of her being out at work all day.”

“There's cats,” I said; but cats aren't as intrusive as dogs. They don't bounce, and they don't bark. Big Nan could probably cope with cats. “At least,” I said, “the party should be fun.”

“
Huh!
” said the Herb.

I feel for her, I really do; I know what it's like, having Big Nan to stay. But I am kind of relieved that we won't be down in the hole again. Not if I'm going to have these wild urges.

It's very unsettling.

Today was Gran and Granddad's golden wedding celebration. Mum got us all up really early—and we then arrived
late.
This was thanks to the Microdot having a crisis with clothes. She came trailing downstairs in her dressing gown, clutching some kind of pink garment and going, “Mum, it's got a mark!” A great big splodge, all down the front. I suggested she should wear it the other way round, so the mark was at the back, but she turned on me and screamed that I was an idiot.

“People would think I'd sat in dog poo!”

I said, “So wear something else,” but according to her she hasn't got anything.

“Everything else is rubbish!”

“Ever thought about a bin bag?” I said.

“Dory, stop it,” said Mum. “Anna, let me have a look.”

Mum and Dad are such a soft touch where the Microdot is concerned. I don't know whether it's because she's small, or whether it's because she's the youngest, or whether it's simply because she's a girl, but they let her get away with stuff that me and Will would never be allowed to get away with. Like I can just imagine, if I started wailing that I had to go and do some last-minute digging in the hole, the reaction would be totally
negative
. It'd be, “Dory, don't you dare, “Dory, get a move on,” “Dory, we're going.” But was it “Anna, stop being so vain” or “Anna, we haven't got time”? No. It wasn't. It was, “Oh, darling, what a horrible mark! Wherever did that come from? Let's quickly pop it in the machine.”

So we all sat around and waited for half an hour, and even then they wouldn't let me go and dig. Will, for some reason, seemed to think it was funny. He said, “She's got more clothes than the rest of us put together!”

“I know,” said Mum. “But it's a big day, and she's set her heart on wearing this dress.”

I could have said that I'd set my heart on doing some last-minute digging, but I didn't bother. They've never taken my digging seriously; to them it's just always been a joke.

“We are
going
to be
late
,” I said.

“Not by much,” said Dad. “Be patient! It's important for little girls to look their best.”

Well! If that isn't a sexist remark, I'd like to know what is. The Microdot, who prides herself on being some kind of hot shot feminist, just sat there, smirking. I felt so glad that the Herb isn't like that, making a fuss about clothes, and hair, and all the little bits and pieces the Microdot likes to have stuck on her, or hanging off her, or just generally attached to her. I thought the Herb would probably turn up wearing a T-shirt and jeans, same as usual. Or even her boiler suit. Good old Herb!

“There,” said Dad, when at last the Microdot was all kitted out and ready to go. “I'd say that was worth the wait!”

“Still look better in a bin bag,” I said.

“Yes, and you'd look better locked in the cellar with the lights out!” shrieked the Microdot. “And
for
your information,” she added, “I'm working on your profile
and it's coming out
seriously weird
. Cos that's what you are!”

“Oh, people, please,” said Mum. “Not today! Let's just try to have a good time, shall we?”

When we got to the hall, the car park was crammed with cars; I couldn't believe how many. And then we went inside and could hardly move for bodies. Uncle Clive said later that over fifty people had come! Some of them were old friends of Gran and Granddad—
really
old, in some cases. Practically ancient—and some were family, like great-grandnieces and third cousins twice removed, come all the way over from Canada and Australia. We had to go round being introduced, with the Microdot acting all girly in her pink dress, and Dad saying things like, “Good grief! Last time we met you were still at the crawling stage.” Just once or twice, people even said it to Dad.

I kept searching for the Herb, but couldn't see her anywhere. And then we bumped into Auntie Jess (looking stressed) and I said, “Where's the Herb?” and she pointed and said, “Over there…sulking.” I still couldn't see her. There was a girl in some sort of blue get-up, munching on a sausage roll, but no Herb. And then it struck me…that
was
the Herb. The girl in the blue get-up. That was the Herb!

I immediately pushed my way over there. I said, “Hi!”

The Herb mumbled back “Hi” through a mouthful of sausage roll.

“I've been looking all over for you!”

“Can't have looked very hard.”

“It's just…I didn't recognise you,” I said. “Dressed like that.”

The Herb scowled. She said, “You don't have to
stare.
It's really rude to stare.”

I said, “I'm not staring.”

“Excuse me, your eyes are practically on stalks.”

I felt my cheeks go flaming into the red zone. I don't very often blush, but the Herb in a dress was making me feel kind of bashful. I'm not sure quite why. Maybe because I'm not used to seeing her all done up like that. Even her hair looked different, like it had been styled, or something. She didn't look like the Herb. She looked really pretty!

“You took your time getting here,” she said.

I said, “Yeah, it was that Microdot…she found a mark on her dress and had to have it washed. Said it was the only thing she could possibly wear. Personally I reckon she'd do better in a bin bag.”

The Herb looked across to where the Microdot was peacocking around, doing little twirls and showing off.

“It's
pink
,” she said. I said, “Tell me about it!”

“At least mine's not
pink.
”

“No, yours is OK,” I said. “Yours is blue.” And then, absolutely without meaning to, I added, “Matches your eyes.” And then I blushed, furiously, and so did the Herb.

“It was my mum,” she said. “She made me wear it. Stupid thing!”

I said, “What, your mum?”

“No! The stupid dress.”

“It's nice,” I said. And then, of course, I blushed even more, cos I've never in my life said anything soppy like that to the Herb.

She snarled, “It's not nice, it's
stupid.
I hate wearing dresses!”

That was when Mum came over. “Hallo, Rosie!” she said. “You're looking very attractive!”

Mum shouldn't have said that. Poor old Herb! She scowled so hard her face went all scrunched and puckered like one of next door's garden gnomes. Even then, Mum didn't know when to stop.

“Lovely to see you in a dress, for a change! You should do it more often,” she said.

Mum can be
really
tactless at times.

The party went on all day. The best bit was the food. Long tables all covered in it, down one whole side of the hall. You could just stand and eat non-stop, if you had the room. Me and the Herb kept meeting up by the sausage rolls and the little bits of things on sticks. Normally we'd have stuck together, cos me and the Herb, we're never short of stuff to talk about. Not normally, we're not. Today, I dunno why, we both got tongue-tied. It was the dress that did it: the Herb didn't seem like the Herb any more. She seemed more like—well. Like a
girl.
And I don't know how to talk to girls!

It made me think glumly that maybe the Microdot was right: maybe I am seriously weird. Nobody else seems to have these problems. Not even Aaron. Not even Joe and Calum. Not even Will, in spite of his spots. Ever since we arrived he'd been busy chatting up this girl that was the granddaughter of a great, great
something or other. Aunt, uncle, cousin; whatever. She and Will were really hitting it off. She kept beaming at him, and making her eyes go all big. I felt pleased for Will, cos I knew how anxious he'd been, but I couldn't help wondering what he was saying to her. What did he find to talk about? I wouldn't know where to begin!

I grabbed a handful of sausage rolls and stood eating them behind a nearby pillar, trying to listen in—not to eavesdrop, just to
learn—
but Will caught sight of me and got a bit vicious. He told me to “Go and stuff yourself somewhere else, can't you? Spitting crumbs all over the place!” So I went back to the other side of the room where I found the Herb mooching about by herself, still scowling. I said, “Look at Will and that girl. What d'you think they're talking about?”

“No idea,” said the Herb.

She definitely wasn't in a communicative mood.

At six o'clock the party broke up. A few of us—Gran and Granddad, Uncle Clive and Auntie Jess, me and the Herb, Mum and Dad and the Microdot, plus a couple of
ancients—went back to the Herb's house.
Will did not come with us.

“Where's he gone?” I said.

“
He's
got a girlfriend,” said the Microdot. “Her name's Barney. She's really nice.”

I said, “But he only met her this morning!”

“So what?” said the Microdot.

I hadn't realised it could happen that quickly. Will must be a really fast worker!

“I did his profile last night,” said the Microdot. “He scores practically top marks for being sociable. I'm still working on yours.”

“I know,” I said. “You told me.”

“I'll probably finish it some time tomorrow. It doesn't look—
where are you going
?”

“Going to find the Herb,” I said.

“But I'm talking to you!”

“Too bad. Talk to me some other time.”

The Herb was in the kitchen with Auntie Jess. They had obviously been having some kind of a disagreement cos I heard Auntie Jess say, “…doesn't hurt you just for
once,
” in quite cross tones. And then I came in and she snatched up a tray full of plates and glasses and went swishing out into the hall.

The Herb was standing by the sink. Scowling.

“Something wrong?” I said.

“What is
wrong
,” said the Herb, “is that a person can't wear what a person wants to wear…it's like living in a
police
state! All I said was could I get out of this puke-making dress now, and she goes raving berserk.
I bought that dress specially, surely for once you could make me proud of you…
I've been stuck in the stupid thing all day! I'm
sick
of it.”

It didn't seem quite the moment for telling her it looked pretty. I had this feeling she wouldn't react too well. I didn't want to get whacked.

“Will's gone off with that girl,” I said. “Her name's Barney, she—”

“Let's you and me go off!” The Herb grabbed the back door handle and wrenched the door open. “Let's go round your place and dig!”

“What,” I said, “now?”

“Yes, now! You want to find a trib'lite, don't you? Well, come on, then!”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me after her, into the garden. We scooted round the side and out through the front gate, up the road and round the corner. We didn't stop till we reached Warrington Crescent. The back gate was locked, so we had to climb over.

“Just do it
quietly
,” I whispered, “or you'll get the
dogs barking.”

Giggling, the Herb hoisted herself up.I opened my mouth to say, “Watch your dress,” but I wasn't quite brave enough. I did feel a bit alarmed when she galloped ahead of me up the garden and jumped straight down into the hole, but then I jumped into the hole with her and we got digging, and I forgot she was all dressed up. She was just good old Herb, same as usual.

We dug and we dug, more than we've ever dug before. We uncovered a bit of old iron, and an interesting piece of flint, but nothing of real significance (as we professionals say).

“No trib'lites,” said the Herb.

“Doesn't matter,” I said. “It was still fun.”

We stood there, knee deep, in the hole.

“You thought it was fun,” I said, “didn't you?” I was suddenly anxious to know. I would have hated to think she had only been humouring me all this time. “What I mean is…do you really actually
enjoy
it?”

She said, “Course I do! Better 'n being stuck indoors, any rate.”

It made me happy when she said that. Eagerly I told her that I was going to ask Dad if I could get rid of the compost heap. “Then we can start another one!”

“Another compost heap?”

“Another hole.”

“Oh! Right.”

“If I do,” I said, “d'you want to come and dig it with me?”

“Yeah, I'll come and dig it with you,” said the Herb.

“I won't ask Lottie! Not if you'd rather I didn't. And maybe I won't bother asking Aaron, either. Maybe it'll just be our hole, that we dig together.”

The Herb said, “Our very own hole.”

“Yeah! What d'you reckon?”

“I reckon that would be really neat,” said the Herb. “A hole of our own.” And then, for absolutely no reason that I could see, she gave this great shriek of laughter.

I said, “What? What's funny?”

“You are!” said the Herb.

The Herb has always had this strange sense of humour. She laughs at the oddest things. Rather sternly I asked her if she knew that she had got mud all over her dress. “Great gobbets of it.”

“So what?” she said. “It's only a stupid dress.”

“But it's all over,” I said. “And I think you've gone and torn it, as well.”

“Torn it?” That got to her. “Where? Where?”

“At the back,” I said.

She spun round, trying to see it. “Omigod!” Her voice came out in a strangulated squawk. “Mum'll go ballistic!”

It's the first time I have ever,
ever
known the Herb come close to panic. She is just not a panicky sort of person. But I know what it's like when mums go ballistic. It's like, everyone scatter! Mum on the warpath!

“She'll kill me,” wailed the Herb. “She'll say I did it on purpose!”