Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 (2 page)

Ellen said, “Well, I know but, well, I mean, she's only got Masimo, and that is like…well…”

Mabs said, “Yeah, Masimo…and the rest.”

I said to Mabs, “Who rattled your cage?”

And Mabs said, “I'm just remarking on the Dave the Laugh factor.”

Ellen sat up then. “What Dave the Laugh factor?”

Oh Blimey O'Reilly's nose massager! Here we go again, once more into the bakery of love. I am going to have to nip this Dave the Laugh thing in the bud.

I said, “Ellen, did you snog Declan and, if so, what number did you get up to?”

Ellen looked like she had swallowed a sock full of vole poo, which is not a good look. “Well, I…well, you know, I, well, do you think I did or something?”

I said, “A yes or no anytime this side of the grave would be fab, Ellen.”

Ellen said she had to get her cardi from Jas's rucky and tottered off to sit next to her.
Hahahahaha. I am without doubtosity top girlie at red herringnosity.

4:00 p.m.

Dropped off at the bottom of my road. By some miracle we have arrived home not maimed and crippled by our coach “driver” and school caretaker Elvis Attwood. He hates girls.

I don't think he has a driver's license. When I politely asked to see it after a near-death experience at a roundabout he suggested I remove myself before his hand made contact with my arse. Which is unnecessary talk in a man who fought for his country in the Viking invasions. I said that to him, I said, “You are only letting yourself down by that kind of talk, Mr. Attwood.”

two minutes later

Walked up the drive to Chez Bonkers.

Opened the door and yelled, “Hello, everyone, you can get out the fatted hamster, I am home!!!”

two minutes later

No one in.

Typico.

I don't know why they ramble on so much about where I'm going and what time I will be in, when they so clearly don't give two short flying mopeds.

kitchen

I'm starving.

Nothing in the fridge, of course.

Unless you like out-of-date bean sprouts.

four minutes later

Slightly moldy toast, mmmmm. I think I am getting scurvy from lack of vitamin C, my hair feels tired. Perhaps Italian Luuurve Gods like the patchy-hair look in a girlfriend. I wonder if he has left a message on the phone for me?

five minutes later

I really wish I hadn't listened to the messages—it is a terrifying insight into the “life” I lead.

Then it was some giggling pal of Mum's saying that she had met a bloke at a speed-dating night and had got to No. 6 with him. How does she know about the snogging scale? My mum is obviously part crap mother and part seeing-ear dog.

The next message was from Josh's mum,
saying, “After Josh came home with a Mohican haircut I don't think it is a good idea that he comes round to play with Libby again. I am frankly puzzled as to why she had bread knives and scissors in her bedroom. Also I cannot get the blue makeup off his eyes. I suspect it is indelible ink, which means the word ‘bum' on his forehead will take many hours to get off.”

There was a bit more rambling and moaning, but the gist is that Josh is banned from playing with Libby.

Dear
Gott in Himmel
.

And that was it. No message from the Luuurve God. It's been a week now. I wonder why he hasn't called?

Has he gone off me?

Maybe I did something wrong when we last saw each other.

one minute later

But it was so vair vair gorgey porgey.

one minute later

He said, “We like each other. It will be good, Miss Georgia.”

one minute later

What he didn't say was “I will call you as soon as I get there.”

one minute later

Or “I will pay your airfare to Rome, you entrancing Sex Kitty.”

ten minutes later

God, I am so bored. And my bottom still hurts from my falling in the river fiasco. So I can't even sit down properly.

one minute later

I wonder if Dave the Laugh will tell Emma about our accidental No. 4 episode. Probably not. After all, it didn't mean anything and as he said, we are mates in a matey way. And what goes on in the woods stays in the woods.

thirty seconds later

Hmmm. He also said in the woods that he'd really liked me. Maybe he means that in a matey type mate way.

one minute later

Will I tell Masimo?

one minute later

If he doesn't ring me, I won't have to make the decision. Anyway, it was an accidental No. 4. It could happen to anyone.

one minute later

It could happen to Masimo and his ex-girlfriend, what was her name? Gina. Yes, it might happen if for instance she happened to be in Rome.

one minute later

Even if she is not there I bet he and his mates will be roaring around Rome on their scooters smiling at all the girls in their red bikinis or whatever it is they wear there. Probably nothing. They probably go to work in the nuddy-pants because they are wild and free Pizza-a-gogo types. They don't have inhibitions like us, they just thrust their nungas forward proudly and untamed. Probably.

in my bedroom looking in the mirror

The only thing that is really thrusting itself forward proudly is my nose. Even Dave mentioned it.

one minute later

Perhaps it has grown bigger and bigger in Masimo's imagination in the week he has been away. He hasn't even got a photo of me.

To remind him that I am more than just a nose on legs.

lying on my bed

Ouch and double ouch. I can't get into a comfy position to take the pressure off my bum-oley.

five minutes later

Perhaps because he is foreign he is a bit psychic. Perhaps he has a touch of the Mystic Meg about him and he knows about the Dave the Laugh incident.

one minute later

Jas has probably sent a message via an owl to let him know. Just because she has got the hump with me. AGAIN. About the stupid tent business.

8:00 p.m.

Lying on my bed of pain. And I mean that quite literally because Angus is pretending my foot is a rabbit. In a sock. If I even move it slightly he leaps on it and starts biting it. Also I think I may have
actually broken something in my bottom. I don't know what there is to break, but I may have broken it. I wonder if it is swollen up?

Then I heard the
phut phut
of the mighty throbbing engine that is my vati's crap car. Carefully easing my broken bottom off the bed and slapping at Angus, I went downstairs. Angus was still clinging to my sock rabbit foot even though his head was bonking against the stairs.

As I got to the hall I heard the front door being kicked. Oh good, it was my delightful little sister.

“Gingey, Gingey, let me in!!! Let me in, poo sister.”

Then there was squealing like a pig was being pushed through the letter box.

thirty seconds later

It wasn't a pig being pushed through the letter box, it was Gordy. I could see his ginga ears.

Oh bloody hell.

I said, “Libby, don't put Gordy though the letter box, I'm opening the door.”

She yelled, “He laaikes it.”

When I got the door open it was to find Libby in Wellington boots and a bikini. Gordy was strug
gling and yowling in her little fat arms and finally squirmed free and leapt off into the garden sneezing and shaking.

Libby was laughing. “Funny pussy. Hnk hnk.”

Then she came up to me and started hugging my knees and kissing them.

In between snogging, Libby was murmuring, “I lobe my Gingey.”

Mutti came up the steps in a really short dress, very tight round the nungas. So very sad. She gave me a hug, which can be quite frightening seeing her enormous basoomas looming toward your head. She said, “Hello, Gee, did you have a larf camping?”

I said, “Oh yes, it was brillopads, we made instruments out of dried beans and Herr Kamyer did impressions of crap stuff with his hands that no one could get except Jas. And as a
pièce de résistance
I fell in a pond and was attacked by great toasted newts.”

She wasn't even listening as usual, off in her own Muttiland.

“We went to see Uncle Eddie's gig at The Ambassador last night. It was like an orgy, one of the women got so carried away she stole his feather codpiece.”

Is that really the sort of thing a growing, sensitive girl should have to listen to? It was like ear-porn.

one minute later

I watched her bustling about making our delicious supper (i.e., opening a tin of tomato soup). She was so full of herself burbling on and on.

“Honestly you should have been there, it was a hoot.”

I said, “Oooooooh yeah, it would have been great to have been there. Really great.”

But she didn't get it.

Libby was still kissing my knees and giggling. She has forgotten that they are my knees; they are now just her new replacement friends for Josh. But then she must have had a lovers' tiff because she biffed me on the knee quite hard and went off into the garden, yelling for Gordy.

I said, “Mum, you didn't take Libby with you to the baldy-o-gram fiasco, did you?”

“Don't be silly, Georgia, I'm not a complete fool.”

I said, “Well, actually you are, as it happens.”

She said, “Don't be so rude.”

I said, “Where's Dad? Have you managed to shake him off at last?”

And then Vati came in. In his leather trousers. Oh, I might be sick. Not content with the horrific-nosity of the trousers, he kissed me on my hair. Urgh, he has touched my hair. Now I will have to wash it.

He was grinning like a loon and taking his jacket off. “Hello, no camping injuries then? No vole bites, you didn't slip into a newt pond or anything?”

I looked at him suspiciously. I hoped he wasn't turning into Mystic Meg as well in his old age. I said, “Dad, are you wearing a woman's blouse?”

He went completely ballisticisimus.

“Don't be so bloody cheeky, this is an original sixties Mod shirt. I will probably wear it when I go clubbing. Any gigs coming up?”

Mum said, “Have you heard anything from the Italian Stallion?”

Dad had his head in the fridge and I could see his enormous leather-clad bum leering at me. I had an overwhelming urge to kick it, but I wasn't whelmed because I knew he would probably ban me from going out for life.

I gave her my worst look and nodded over at the fridge. I needn't have worried, though, because Dad had found a Popsicle in the freezer and was as thrilled as it is possible for a fat bloke in constraining leather trousers to be.

He went chomping off into the front room.

Mum was adjusting her over-the-shoulder boulder holder and looking at me.

I said, “What?”

And she said, “So…have you heard anything?”

I don't know why I tell her, but it just came tumbling out.

“Mum, why do boys do that ‘see you later' thing and then just not see you later? Even though you don't even know when later is.”

“He hasn't got in touch, then?”

“No.”

She sat down and looked thoughtful, which is a bit alarming. She said slowly, “Hmm—well, I think it's because—they're like sort of nervous gazelles in trousers, aren't they?”

I looked at her. “Mum, are you saying that Masimo is a leaping furry animal who also plays in a band, and rides a scooter? And snogs?”

She said, “He snogs, does he?”

Damn, drat, damnity dratty damn. And also
merde
. I had broken my rule about never speaking about snognosity questions with old mad people.

I said quickly, “Anyway, what do you mean about the gazelle business?”

“Well, I think that boys are more nervous than you think, he wants to make sure that you like him before he makes a big deal about it. How many days is it since he went?”

“I don't know. I haven't been counting the days, actually. I'm not that sad.”

She looked at me. “How many hours, then?”

“One hundred forty.”

We were interrupted by Gordy and Angus both trying to get through the cat flap at once.

Quickly followed by Libby.

in my bedroom
9:00 p.m.

I can hear Mum and Dad arguing downstairs because he hasn't taken the rubbish out. And never does.

On and on. I would never behave like this when
I was married. Mind you, I will not be marrying a loon in tight trousers who thinks Rolf Harris is a really good artist. Who will I be marrying at this rate? I haven't been out of my room for years and the phone hasn't rung since it was invented.

Why is no one phoning me? Not even the ace gang. I've been home for hours and hours—don't they care???

The trouble with today is that everyone is so obsessed with themselves, they just have no time for me.

five minutes later

At last a bit of peace to contemplate my broken bum. Oh no, here they go again. They are so childish. Mum shouted out, “Bob, you know that sort of wooden thing in the bedroom, in the corner? Well, it's called a set of drawers and some people, people who are grown up and no longer have their mummy wiping their botties, well those sort of people put their clothes in the drawers. So that other people don't have to spend their precious time falling over knickers and so on.”

Dad said, “Your voice is like a soft burbling stream, Connie, very very soothing and your
nungas are looking pretty damn attractive in their snug holder.”

Uh-oh. Fight, fight!!

Then I could hear him shambling into their bedroom and then singing, “One little sock in the drawer, two socks in the drawer and two pairs of attractive undercrackers on the head, then into the drawer, yesssss!!”