Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 (4 page)

Inspector Bonkers of the Yard winked, sucked
on her pipe and went, “Ay ay.”

Ellen went even redder and more dithery.

“No, I mean, it was his Swiss Army knife.”

Inspector Bonkers got out a pretend notebook.

“Alright. So you looked at his knife and then did you snog?”

Ellen said, “Well, when we were, like, leaving to go back to camp—he gave me a number three and then—”

“Then quickly went on to number four.”

“Well, no, he…”

“He missed out number four and went straight for the nungas?”

“No, well, he—he, like, he said, he said, ‘See you later.'”

Oh dear God, we were once more in the land of s'later. Will we never be free?

one minute later

But at least it stopped anyone going on about the Dave the Laugh fiasco.

one minute later

Jas turned up. She looked quite nice, actually, if you like that mad fringey look. She said, “I was just
talking to Tom on the phone, he's playing footie this arvie with the lads. He's got some new boots.”

I said, “No!! Honestly!”

And she gave me a huffty look. I don't want to have more rambling lectures from her, so I went and gave her a hug and a piece of chuddie.

Anyway, we had just settled down and I got out my postcard from Masimo to show the gang when Jools said, “Oh God, Blunderboys alert!”

They were shuffling about by the bushes at the far end of the swing park. Mark Big Gob was absent, probably carrying his tiny girlfriend around somewhere. Junior Blunderboy was with them, though. I noticed he had a belt round his elephant jeans. So now he didn't look like a twit anymore. He looked like a twit with a belt on.

Mabs said, “Don't look at them and they'll get bored.”

I said, “Can we get back to the matter I hold in my hand?”

Rosie went, “Oo-er.”

I gave her my worst look.

I went on, “What do you think ‘I am playing fun' means?”

Ellen said, “Well, erm, I don't know but you
know, well—well, you know when a boy says ‘See you later,' well, like when Declan said ‘See you later' and that was, like, three days ago now. So, er, this is, like, later, isn't it? Or something. And he hasn't, like, seen me.”

Even though we were actually officially having the official ace gang meeting officially for me (as I had officially called it), I did feel quite sorry for Ellen. And also it has to be said it would be a bloody relief if she did get off with Declan.

Then she would leave Dave the Laugh alone.

Not that it was any of my business whether she left Dave the Laugh alone or not.

I mean, he had a girlfriend, anyway.

Probably.

Unless he had told her about the accidental snogging and she was even now taking kickboxing lessons for when she next saw me.

Anyway, shut up, brain. He has got a girlfriend, which is good because so have I.

Well, not a girlfriend exactly, but an Italian person.

Who incidentally does not have a handbag.

Or a sports bra.

Whatever Dave the so-called Laugh might say.
Why is Dave the Laugh sneaking about in my brain???

Jools said to Ellen, “Maybe he's a bit shy.”

Ellen said, “Yes, but he, I mean, he showed me his Swiss Army knife.”

I looked at her. What is the right response to that?

I said, “Well, maybe he is a bit backward, then?”

Ellen looked like she was going to cry. Oh Blimey O'Reilly's y-fronts, if she starts blubbing, I'll never get round to talking about the Italian Stallion.

I said quickly, “I know…Jas can ask Tom to get Declan and the lads to come along to Sven's gig, and hopefully that will be a good excuse for him to get his knife out again (oo-er) and everything will be tickety boo and so on.”

Ellen looked a bit cheered up.

I said, “Now shall we get back to the official meeting. What do you think that ‘I am playing fun' means?”

And that is when an elastic band hit me on the cheek.

“Owww, bloody owww!!!”

Amazingly, not content with being complete
losers, tossers and spoons, the Blunderboys were flicking rubber bands at us from behind our tree. And then hiding behind it as if we wouldn't know where they were. Like the Invisible Twits. Not.

I got up and went behind the tree where they were all larding about, puffing smoke from fags and hitching their trousers up. Dear God. I said to one of the speccy genks, “What is it you want?”

And he said, “Show us your nungas.”

They all started snorting and saying, “Yeah, get them out for the lads.”

Rosie came up behind me. And loomed over them. She is not small. She said, “OK, that's a good plan. We'll show you our nungas, but first of all we need to see your trouser snakes, to check that all is in order.”

Ellen and Jools and Mabs and even woodland Jas came and ganged up in front of them.

I said, “Come on, lads, drop the old trouser snake holders.”

They started backing off, holding on to their trousers.

Jools said, “Are you a bit shy? Shall we help you?”

They started walking really quickly backward
as we kept walking. Then they just took off and got over the fence at the back of the park.

twelve minutes later

The ace gang wisdomosity is that “I am playing fun” “and are you playing fun” roughly translated into Billy Shakespeare language is “I am having a nice time but am missing you, are you having a nice time but missing me?”

Which is nice.

So all should be smoothy friendly friendly except that there is always a Jas in the manger. After about two hours of talking about it, we were all going home and I just innocently said, “So what do you think I should wear when he phones up?”

And Jas immediately climbed into the huffmobile for no apparent reason. She was all red and flicking her fringe around like it was a fringometer.

“Why is it always like this with you, Georgia, why don't you just say and do normal stuff? For instance if Tom wanted me to go to the wild park with him he would say, ‘Jas, do you want to go to the wild park with me? There is a conservation day on and we could clear some of the canalside of weeds.'

“And I would say, ‘Yes, that would be fab.'
Simple pimple, not stupidity and guessing what ‘playing fun' means and what to wear on the phone.”

What is she rambling on about now?

I said, “Jas, are the painters in, because I think you are being just a tad more mentally unstable than normal.”

She really had lost her cheese now, because she shouted at me, “Look, I haven't got any sun protector on and I am almost bound to get peely peely now thanks to you going on. And the short and short of it is that HE IS CALLING YOU TOMORROW AND YOU CAN ASK HIM WHAT HE MEANS!!!”

And she stormed off. Blimey. We all looked at one another.

I said, “I think it's owl trouble.”

in bed

What am I going to wear for the phone call, though? I wish I wasn't so pale; I think people can tell if you are a bit tanned. Even down the phone. I bet I can tell immediately if he has a nice tan.

two minutes later

Actually if he is tanned I think I might faint, I can't stand him being much more gorgey than he already is.

five minutes later

Should I prepare a speech? Or at least a normal conversation. With some handy topics in case I mislay my brain or it decides to go on an expedition to Outer Loonolia.

one minute later

So let's see, what have I done lately?

Loads of stuff.

five minutes later

I don't think I will mention Miss Wilson exposing herself to Herr Kamyer.

two minutes later

Or breaking my bum-oley in the river.

four minutes later

In fact, perhaps it's better to leave the whole camping fiasco to one side. I will only have Dave
the Laugh popping into my brain.

I will stick to lighthearted banter.

Should I tell him about the tarts for the deaf episode?

three minutes later

Or Junior Blunderboy's Thomas the Tank Engine undercrackers?

two minutes later

None of it sounds that normal, to be frank.

I will stick to world affairs and art.

two minutes later

I could ask him what he thinks about the foreign exchange rate. Well, I could if I knew what it meant.

one minute later

Where is Rome, anyway? Is it in the boot bit of Italy? Or is Spain the booty bit?

I'm really worried about tomorrow now, I will never sleep and then I will have big dark rings under my eyes and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

tuesday august 2nd

9:30 a.m.

I was just having a dream about being in Rome with the Luuurve God. I had a cloak on and Masimo said, “So,
caro,
what have you come to the fancy dress party as?” and I dropped the cloak and said, “A fried egg.”

Phone rang and I practically broke my neck tripping over Angus and Gordy, who just emerged from the shadows.

I couldn't say anything because I was so nervous.

Then I heard Grandad say, “Hello, hello, speak up.”

I said, “Grandad, I haven't said anything yet.”

He was in full-Grandad mode.

“You'll like this, what do pigs use if they hurt themselves? Ay ay??? Oinkment. Do you get it, do you see??? Oinkment!!! Oh, I make myself laugh. Are you courting yet? You should be—there's nothing like a bit of snogging to perk you up.”

Oh dear God, my grandvati was talking about snogging.

Now I have finally experienced every kind of porn. This is moldyporn.

two minutes later

I managed to get him off the phone by saying good morning to Libby (she purred back), and promising to visit and have a game of hide-and-seek with him and the other residents. I don't mind that so much, as when it is my turn to hide I just go to the shops and then come back half an hour later and get in a cupboard. It keeps them happy for hours.

I do love my grandad, though. He is one of the most cheerful people I know and now he is going to have Maisie as his new knitted wife. Aaaahhh.

Mum was wandering around in the kitchen like Madame Zozo of, erm, Zozoland. In a semi-see-through nightie. It's her day off and she looked like she might settle in for hours. I must get rid of her.

I said in an interested and lighthearted fashion, “What time are you going out? In a minute or two? To make the best of the day?”

She sat down, actually resting her basoomas on the tabletop, presumably because she was already tired of lugging them about. Please save me from the enormous jug gene.

She said, “I thought you and I could go out and do something groovy together.”

Groovy?

I said, “Mum, are you mad because I tell you this for free: a) I am not going out with you and b) the same with knobs on.”

Mum said, “Hahaha, that worried you. Are you having a bit of a nervy spazmarama attack about Masimo ringing you?”

I was truly shocked.

“Mum, it is not a nervy spazmarama attack, it is a spazattack, which is number six on the dither scale—hang on a minute. How do you know about a nervy spaz, anyway? Have you been snooping through my private drawers?”

She didn't bother to reply because she was too busy eating jam with a spoon out of the jar. She will get so fat that she will get trapped in Dad's clown car and have to drive endlessly up and down our driveway begging for snacks from passersby. Good. When she stopped chomping, she said, “Me and my mates have loads of sayings and stuff. We have a real laugh. It's not just you and your mates, you know. I have a life.”

I tried not to laugh.

“In aquarobics the other day Fiona laughed so much at the instructor's choice of music that she weed herself in the pool. When she told me I nearly
drowned. We had to all leave the class and I don't think we can go back.”

She was hiccuping and giggling like a twerp. Is it any wonder that I find myself in trouble with boys when I have this sort of thing as my example?

I left the kitchen with a dignitosity at all times sort of walk. I have a call from the cakeshop of luuurve to think about.

back in my bedroom
ten minutes later

What shall I wear, what shall I wear? I tell you this, I'm not going to wear anything yellow after the fried egg dream.

I could wear my bikini. My red one with the dots on it. They tend to wear red bikinis all the time, the Italian girls, probably even if they work in banks and cafes and so on. Maybe not for nursing, though, it might not be hygienic. My mum said that when she had an Italian boyfriend she was on the beach and this bloke rode up on a motorbike and this girl who just had on the bottom of a bikini and some really high heels came jogging up the beach. She got on the back of the bike, lit a fag and they roared off with her nunga nungas flying.

back in the kitchen
9:45 a.m.

Why won't Mum go out? I have my bikini on underneath my ordinary clothes ready to rip off when the phone rings.

five minutes later

She is just rambling on and on about herself. I already know more than I want to know about her.

9:55 a.m.

Oh nooooooo. Now she is talking about “feelings” and “relationships” and what is worse is, it's not even my feelings or relationships, it's hers!!! How horrific.

She says she feels that she doesn't share many interests with Dad.

I said, “Well, who does?”

She didn't even hear me, she just went on and on. “I think when I met him I was a different person and now I've changed.”

10:10 a.m.

The Luuurve God is going to phone any minute and she will still be here.