Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 (3 page)

How amazing.

I shouted down, “Mum, is Dad on some kind of medication? Or have his trousers cut off the circulation to his head?”

That did it.

Vati hit No. 7 on the losing it scale (that's complete ditherspaz). He yelled up, “Georgia…this isn't anything to do with you!”

I said, “Oh that's nice, I thought we were supposed to be a lovely family and do stuff together.”

He just said, “Anyway, where is your sister? Is she up there with you?”

Why am I Libby's so-called nanny? Haven't I got enough trouble with my own life? I am not my sister's keeper, as Baby Jesus said. Or was it Robin Hood? I don't know, some bloke in a skirt, anyway.

I said, “No. Have you tried the airing cupboard or the cat basket?”

five minutes later

Things have got worserer. Whilst Mum went hunting for Bibbsy, Dad unfortunately decided to check the phone messages.

He heard Mum's mate's message. I could hear him tutting. And then it was Josh's mum's message.

He had the nervy spaz of all nervy spazzes. Shouting and carrying on.

“What is it with this family??? Why did Libby have a bread knife in her bedroom? Probably because you are too busy with your so-called mates throwing balls around to bother looking after your children!”

That did it for Mum. She shouted back, “How dare you! They're MY children, are they? If you took some notice of them, that would be a miracle. You care more about that ridiculous bloody three-wheeled clown car.”

Mum had called his car a clown car. Tee-hee.

Dad really lost it.

“That car is an antique.”

I shouted, “It's not the only one.”

Mum laughed, but Dad said, “Right, that's it, I'm off. Don't wait up.”

Mum shouted, “Don't worry, I won't.”

The door slammed and there was silence.

Then there was the sound of the clown car being driven off at high speed (two miles an hour) down the driveway.

And silence again as it whirred away into the distance.

Then a little voice said, “Mummy, my bottom is stuck in the bucket.”

9:30 p.m.

Dear God, what a nightmare. This has taken my mind off the oven of luuurve situation. Libby had wedged herself into the outdoor metal bucket. We pulled her and wiggled her about but we could not get it off.

Mum said, “Go get me some butter from the fridge, we can smear it on her and sort of slide her out.”

Of course we didn't have any butter. We had about a teaspoon of cottage cheese but Mum said it wasn't the same.

twenty-five minutes later

In the end Mum made me go across the road and ask Mr. Across the Road if we could borrow some butter. She said I could lie better.

Mr. Across the Road was wearing a short nightshirt and I kept not looking anywhere below his chin. He was all nosy about the late-night butter scenario, though.

“Doing a bit of baking, are you?”

I said, “Er…yes.”

“It's a bit late to start, isn't it?”

I said, “Er, well, it's emergency baking, it has to be done by tomorrow.”

He said, “Oh, what are you making?”

How the hell did I know? I was lying. And also the only kind of confectionary I knew were all the cakes I had got from the bakery of love. The Robbie éclair, the Masimo cream horn and then I remembered the Dave the tart scenario and quickly said, “Erm, we're making tarts. For the deaf. It's for charity.”

He said, “Tarts for the deaf? That's a new one on me. I'll have to go down to the storeroom for some packets.”

And he ambled off.

And that is when Junior Blunderboy and full
time twit came in. Oscar.

He looked at me and said, “Yo, wa'appen', bitch?”

What was he talking about and also what was he wearing? He had massive jeans on about fifty sizes too big for him. He had to sort of waddle about like a useless duck to keep them from falling down. And pull them up every five seconds. How spectacularly naff and sad he was. I just looked at him as he waddled over to the kitchen counter. He reached up to get a can of Coca-Cola from a shelf and momentarily forgot about his elephant jeans and they just fell to his ankles. Leaving him standing there in his Thomas the Tank Engine undercrackers.

I said to him, “Oscar, you are wearing Thomas the Tank Engine undercrackers. I know this because, believe it or not, your trousers have fallen off.”

He said, “Yes, man, me mean to do that. Be cool, it is righteous.”

And he shuffled off still with the trousers round his ankles.

I will never ever tire of the sheer bonkerosity of boydom.

back in bed

It took us nearly half an hour to get Mr. Bucket off Libby. We greased as much of Libby's bottom as we could reach like a little suckling pig. Eventually we cut through the top of her panties and managed to make a bit of leeway and free the bum-oley.

For some toddlers, being greased up and pulled by brute force out of a metal bucket might have been a traumatic experience. But then not all toddlers are insane. Libby laughed and sang through the whole episode, amusing herself by gobbling stray bits of butter and smearing other bits on my head. Oh, how I joined in the merry times. Not.

In addition Gordy and Angus lolloped in to lick at the leftover butter on her botty. Soooo disgusting. Libby was shouting, “They is ticklin' me!!! Heggy heggy ho!!!”

It is like the botty casualty department. My bottom, which I have no time to attend to, is being supported by Libby's swimming ring and I have a buttered-up child rammed in next to me.

Also, have I got a boyfriend or not?

1:00 a.m.

And I am still thinking about the Dave the Laugh accidental snogging in the forest incident.

1:10 a.m.

Perhaps this is God's little way of saying, “She who lives by the red bottom, gets to lie in a rubber ring.”

monday august 1st

8:00 a.m.

Oww oww and double owww!! I think my botty has taken a turn for the worse. I wonder if it is swollen up?

looking in the mirror

It does look a bit on the swollen side. Oh marvelous, I will have to ask Jas if I can borrow some of her enormous winter pants. She will have got them out of her winter store by now. She starts ironing her school pants about a month before we are forced back to Stalag 14. Which reminds me, we only have about a month of holiday left.
Sacré bleu
and
merde
.

Libby had already scarpered off to get ready for the nursery, so I thought I would just have a little dolly daydream about snogging the Luuurve God. If I made a mental picture of us snogging I might attract him to me through the psychic ethery stuff.

ten minutes later

Then I heard the postman coming up the drive. Ah, the postie. It's a lovely job being a postie, you see it in all ye olde films that ye olde parents watch. Mr Postie coming up the drive with a cheery whistle and a handful of exciting letters for the family. A “good morning, ma'am” to the mistress of the house and then—

“I've got a bloody stick, you furry freak, and I'm not afraid to use it!!!”

Charming. Utterly utterly charming.

I looked out of the window. Angus was sitting on the dustbin showing off to Naomi, his mad Burmese girlfriend and slag, by taunting the postie. Hissing and doing pretend biffing. Sticking his claws in and out. The postie had to get by the dustbin to get to the door and he was waving the stick about in Angus's direction. Angus loves a stick. The larger the better. He lay down and started purring so loudly, I could hear it. I don't know why he loves sticks so much, but he does. Almost as much as he loves cars.

He thinks cars are like giant stupid mice on wheels. That he can chase after.

He brought a stick home the other day that was
so big, it took him half an hour to figure out how to get it through the gate. He did it, though, because he is top cat.

two minutes later

It was the same with a ginormous dead pigeon. He backed his way through the cat flap dragging the feet first, and then Gordy heave-ho'd the head bit through.

It was an amazing double act. They were very impressed with themselves. Although slightly covered in feathers. They even arranged the bird so that it was sort of looking toward the door and propped up so that Mum could get the full benefit when she came in.

She did get the full benefit and went ballistic jumping on a chair and screaming, etc. Angus and Gordy and the dead pigeon all looked at her.

“Bloody murdering furry thugs!!!” she yelled.

I said, “Look, you are really hurting their feelings.”

And then she threw the washing up bowl at me.

That is the kind of mothering I have to put up with.

one minute later

The postie has bravely got past Angus and disappeared from view as he posted our letters through the letter box. Angus had disappeared as well. Oh, I know what he is doing!

He is doing his vair vair amusing trick of lurking in the top of the hedge to leap down on the postie's head as he passes by. Tee-hee. Happy days. I wish I was a cat.

At least I would get fed now and again.

I wouldn't be quite so keen on all the bum-oley licking. Although as mine is so swollen now, it would be probably easier to reach.

Mum yelled up, “Gee, come down and have brekkie and say good-bye to your family.”

I said, “Have I still got one? I thought that Father had left us and would never be back. That is what he promised.”

Dad yelled up, “You think you are so bloody funny, but you won't when I don't give you your tenquid pocket money. Nothing to spend on your eyeliner or nit cream or whatever else it is that you plaster yourself with.”

Nit cream?

Has he finally snapped?

Mum said, “Stop it, you two. Oooh look, here is a foreign postcard addressed to Georgia—I wonder who it's from?”

Oh my giddy gods pajamas, I leapt downstairs, putting the pain of my bottom behind me. Tee-hee. Oh brilliant, my brain has gone into hysterical clown mode.

thirty seconds later

Dad had the postcard in his hand and was reading it!!! Noooooo!

He was saying in a really crap Pizza-a-gogo accent, “
Ciao
, Georgia, it is smee.”

I tried to get the postcard from him. “Dad, that is private property addressed to me. If it doesn't say ‘to some mad fat bloke,' it isn't yours.”

Dad just went on reading it. “I am, how you say, hair in Roma wive my fimaly.”

Finally I ripped it out of his hand and took it upstairs.

Mum said, “You are mean, Bob, you know what she is like.”

Dad said, “Yes, I do, she's insane like all the other bloody women in this family. Hang on a minute…what the hell happened to my car-
washing bucket?”

Mum said, “We had to hit it with a hammer in the end. Libby got her bottom stuck in it.”

Dad said, “I rest my case.”

in my room

Oh God, I am sooooo excited, my eyes have gone cross-eyed. What does it say?

twenty seconds later

an hour later

After about three thousand years and a half the Swiss Family Mad all crashed off to ruin other people's lives and I could get on the old blower.

I nearly dialed Wise Woman of the Forest before I remembered that she had practically called me the Whore of Babylon. She is so full of suspicionos
ity. And annoyingnosity. How dare she suggest in front of everyone that I had been up to hanky-panky and rudey-dudeys with Dave the Laugh? She knows very well that I am going out with a Luuurve God. Who is a) hot and b) playing fun.

What in the name of arse does “playing fun” mean?

I must consult with my gang.

But not her.

I am
ignorez-vous
ing her with a firm hand and it serves her right. I hope she realizes that I am
ignorez-vous
ing her, otherwise it's all a bit pointless.

two minutes later

I may have to call her and let her know I am
ignorez-vous
ing her, as she can be a bit on the dense side.

Phoned Jas.

Her mum answered.

“Hello Georgia, gosh you had a fabulous time camping, didn't you? Jas said you sang and played games till all hours.”

I said, “Er, yes—”

“You had a great time, I bet.”

“Er, yes, it was very, erm, campy.”

“Good, I'll just call Jas, dear. I think she's in her bedroom dusting and rearranging her owls and so on.”

You couldn't really write it, could you? If I wrote a book and I said, “I've got a mate who dusts her owls and follows greater toasted newts about,” people would say, “I'm not reading that sort of stupid exaggeration. Next thing you know, someone will say they went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive. Or accidentally snogged three boyfriends at once.” Hang on a minute, everything has gone a bit
déjà vu
-ish. Jas came on the phone.

“Yes.”

“Jas, it is me, the Whore of Babylon, but I am preparing myself to forgive you.”

“What are you forgiving me for?”

“Because you are a naughty pally saying things about me being selfish and lax and having a million boyfriends.”

Jas said, “It's up to you how many boyfriends you have, I am not my brother's keeper.”

“Jas, I know you aren't. You haven't got a brother.”

“I mean you.”

“I haven't got a brother, either, thank the Lord.
I do, however, have an insane sister, who by the way is now probably going to be done for TBH.”

“You mean GBH—grievous bodily harm.”

“No, I mean TBH. Toddler bodily harm. Josh's mum has complained about her and she is suspended from nursery school. She is staying with Grandfarty and he is looking after her. She is the first person in our family to get a restraining order besides Grandad.”

Jas was not what you would call full of sympatheticnosity.

“I don't think she will be the last person in your family to get a restraining order, Georgia, I am a bit busy, actually.”

“Jas, please don't have Mrs. Hump with me, I need you, my dearest little pally wally. Pleasey please, be frendy wendys. Double please with knobs. And a tiny little knoblet. And—”

“Alright, alright, stop going on.”

She deffo had the minor hump, but it was only No. 4 on the having the hump scale (cold shoulderosity work).

“Jas, come on, remember the laugh we had when we all snuck off to the boys' tent? And I came and told you that Tom was there, didn't I?
Even though you were singing ‘Ging gang gooly.'”

“Well yes, but—”

“I displayed magnanimosity, which isn't something everyone can say. But I did it because I luuurve you. A LOT.”

“OK, don't go on.”

“You are not ashamed of our luuurve, are you, Jas?”

“Look, shut up, people might hear.”

“What do you mean, the people who live in the telephone?”

“NO, I mean, anyway, what's happened?”

“I've got a postcard from Masimo and we have to call an extraordinary general meeting of the ace gang.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

in the park
2:00 p.m.

Naaaice and sunny. I wore my denim miniskirt and halter neck and some groovy sandals. I will have to do something with my legs, though, because they give me the droop, they are so pale. Rosie had some eye-catching shorts on. They had pictures of Viking
helmets all over them. She said, “Sven had them specially printed in my honor, groovy, aren't they?”

I said, “That is one word for them.”

Rosie said, “Sven has got his first djing job next weekend and I am going to be his groupie. You all have to come.”

ten minutes later

We settled down in the shade underneath the big chestnut tree by the swings. The bees were singing and the birds a-buzzing, dogs scampering around, people eating ice creams, toddlers sticking ice creams in their eyes by mistake, etc. A lovely lovely summer afternoon, ideal to sort out the game of luuurve.

We had just passed around the chuddie and decided for Ellen where she should sit after about eight minutes of: “Well, erm, I should sit in the shade, really, don't you think, because of the ultraviolet, but, erm, what about, erm, not like getting the sun and then like maybe not getting enough vitamin D because that would be, like, not great. Or something.”

Finally she sat with her top part in the shade and her legs sticking in the sun because we told
her no one had ever got cancer of the knees. Which might or might not be true, but sometimes (in fact, very often, in my experience) lying is the best policy. Especially if you can't be arsed talking about something boring anymore.

one minute later

I don't know why I bother lying because Ellen has gone off to the loos to run her wrists under cold water so she doesn't get sunstroke of the arms.

Jas still hasn't turned up. I wonder if she has progressed to No. 6 on the hump scale and is doing pretend deafnosity?

thirty seconds later

The ace gang started talking about the camping trip and sneaking out to see the lads at night.

Mabs said, “I had a go at snogging with Edward.”

Jools said, “What was it like?”

Mabs chewed and popped and said, “Quite groovy, we did four and then a spot of five.”

I said, “Oh, so you missed out four and a half as well. I said I thought it was a WUBBISH idea that Mrs. Newt Knickers came up with. Who apart
from her and Tom would do hand snogging?”

Mabs said, “What do you mean ‘as well'?”

I said, “What do you mean ‘What do you mean “as well”'?”

Mabs put her face really close to mine.

“Georgia, you said and forgive me if I'm right…‘oh, so you missed out four and a half as well.' Which means ‘Oh, so you missed out four and a half as well AS ME.' Meaning you must have missed out four and a half with someone. The only someone around was Dave the Laugh.”

Oh my red herringnosity skills were letting me down.

Mabs was going on and on like Jas's little helper.

“So what did you get up to with Dave the Laugh by the river?”

I said in a casualosity at all times sort of way, “Ah well, I'm glad you asked me that. Because suspicionosity is the enemy of friendshipnosity. The simple truth is that Dave and I were playing, erm, tig. Yes, and I accidentally fell in a stream and then I went back to my tent because I was, er, wet.”

Rosie said, “You and Dave were playing tig. I
see. One moment; I must give this some serious thought. Luckily I have my pipe.”

Oh no.

two minutes later

Good Lord, I am being interrogated by Inspector Bonkers of the Yard.

The inspector (i.e., Rosie with her pipe and beard on) continued, “You expect us to believe that you and Dave the Laugh gamboled around the woods playing a little game of tig?”

I said, “Yes.”

Rosie said, “You are, it has to be said, my little chumlet, even dimmer than you look.”

Ellen came back then, just in the knickers of time. I smiled at her and said in a lighthearted but menacing way, “You haven't told us about Declan. It is ace gang rules that we do sharesies about snogging.”

Rosie and Mabs raised their eyebrows at me, but I
ignorez-vous
ed them.

Ellen heaved herself into her Dithermobile and said, “Well, Declan showed, well, he showed me, something and—”