Angus, thongs and full-frontal snogging

Strikes me that Hawkeye has very little sense of humour. She is also about a hundred and a Miss – which speaks volumes in my book. Mind you, as ratwoman I’ll probably end up as a teacher of biology in some poxy girls’ school. Like her. Having cats and warm milk. Wearing huge knickers. Listening to the radio. Being interested in things.

I may as well kill myself. I would if I could be bothered but I’m too depressed.

Saturday August 29th

10:00 a.m.

M and D went out to town to buy stuff. Mum said did I want her to buy some school shoes for me? I glanced meaningfully at her shoes. It’s sad that someone of her mature years tries to keep up with us young ones. You’d think she’d be ashamed to be mutton dressed as lamb, but no. I could see her knickers when she sat down the other day (and I wasn’t the only one).

11:00 a.m.

Phone rang. Ellen and Julia and Jas are coming round after they’ve been to town. Apparently Jas has seen someone in a shop that she really likes. I suppose this is what life will be like for me – never having a boyfriend, always just living through others.

Noon

I was glancing through Just 17 and it listed kissing techniques. What I don’t understand is how do you know when to do it, and how do you know which side to go to? You don’t want to be bobbing around like pigeons for hours but I couldn’t tell much from the photos. I wish I had never read it, it has made me more nervous and confused than I was before. Still, why should I care? I am going to be staying in for the rest of my life. Unless some gorgeous boy loses his way and wanders into my street and then finds his way up the stairs into my bedroom with a blindfold on I am stuck between these four walls for ever.

12:15 p.m.

Perhaps as I can’t go out I can use my time wisely. I may tidy my room and put all my dresses in one part of my wardrobe, and so on.

12:17 p.m.

I hate housework.

12:18 p.m.

If I marry or, as is more likely, become a high-flying executive lesbian, I am never going to do housework. I will have to have an assistant. I have no talent for tidying. Mum thinks that I deliberately ignore the obvious things but the truth is I can’t tell the difference between tidy and not tidy. When Mum says, “Will you just tidy up the kitchen?” I look around and I think, Well, there’s a few pans on the side, and so on, but I think it looks OK. And then the row begins.

2:00 p.m.

Putting the coffee on for the girls. It’s instant but if you mix the coffee with sugar in the cup for ages it goes into a sort of paste, then you add water and it’s like espresso. It makes your arms ache like billy-o, though.

7:00 p.m.

Brilliant afternoon! We tried all different make-ups. I’ve been Sellotaping my fringe to make it longer and straighter and to cover up the space where my eyebrows were. Jas said, “It makes you look like you’ve escaped from the funny lads’ home.” Ellen says if I emphasise my mouth and eyes then attention will be drawn away from my nose. So it’s heavy lippy for me from now on.

We were all lolling about on my bed, listening to the Top Forty and Jas told us about the gorgeous boy in the shop. She knows he is called Tom because someone called him Tom in the shop he works in. Supersleuth! We all pledged that we would wait until I can go out again and then we will go and look at him.

Talk then turned to kissing. Ellen said, “I went to a Christmas party at my cousin’s last year and this boy from Liverpool was there. I think he was a sailor. Anyway, he was nineteen or something, and he brought some mistletoe over and he kissed me.”

We were full-on, attention-wise. I said, “What was it like?”

Ellen said, “A bit on the wet side, like a sort of warm jelly feeling.”

Jas said, “Did he have his lips closed or open?”

Ellen thought. “A bit open.”

I asked, “Did his tongue pop out?”

Ellen said, “No, just his lips.”

I wanted to know what she did with her tongue.

“Well, I just left it where it normally is.”

I persisted, “What about your teeth?”

Ellen was a bit exasperated. “Oh, yeah, I took those out.”

I looked a bit hurt. You know, like, I was only asking...

She said, “I can’t really remember. It was a bit tickly and it didn’t last long, but I liked it, I think. He was quite nice but he had a girlfriend and I suppose he thought I was just a little thirteen-year-old who hadn’t been around much.”

I said, “He was right.”

10:00 p.m.

My sister Libby kisses me on the mouth quite a lot, but I don’t think sisters count. Unless I am a lesbian, in which case it’s all good practice probably.

11:00 p.m.

Through my curtains I can see a big yellow moon. I’m thinking of all the people in the world who will be looking at that same moon.

I wonder how many of them haven’t got any eyebrows?

Sunday August 30th

11:00 a.m.

Thank God they’re all actually going out. At last. What is all this happy family nonsense? All this “we should do things as a family”?

As I pointed out to Dad, “We are four people who, through great misfortune, happen to be stuck in the same house. Why make it worse by hanging around in garden centres or going for a walk together?”

Anyway, ratwoman does not go out. She just hangs around in her bedroom for the next forty years to avoid being laughed at by strangers.

I will never ever have a boyfriend. It’s not fair, there are some really stupid people and they get boyfriends. Zoe Ball gets really nice boyfriends and she has got sticky-out ears.

1:00 p.m.

I still haven’t tackled Dad about his apron.

1:15 p.m.

God I’m bored. I can see Mr and Mrs Next Door in their greenhouse. What do people do in them? If I end up with someone like Mr Next Door I will definitely kill myself. He has the largest bottom I have ever seen. It amazes me he can get in the greenhouse. One day his bottom will be so large he will have to live in the greenhouse and have bits of chop passed to him, and so on. O quel dommage! Sacré bleu!! Le gros monsieur dans la maison de glass!!!

1:20 p.m.

I may start a neighbourhood newspaper.

1:22 p.m.

Oh dear. I have just seen Angus hunkering down in the long grass. He’s stalking their poodle. I’ll have to intervene to avert a massacre. Oh, it’s OK, Mrs Next Door has thrown a brick at him.

11:00 p.m.

What a long, boring day. I hate Sundays, they are deliberately invented by people who have no life and no friends. On the plus side, I’ve got six o’clock shadow on the eyebrow front.

Operation sausage

Tuesday September 1st

10:00 a.m.

Six days to school and counting. I wish my mum could be emancipated, a feminist, a working mother etc. And manage to do my ironing.

I thought I’d wear my pencil line skirt the first day back, with hold-up stockings and my ankle boots. I’m still not really resolved in the make-up department because if I do run into Hawkeye she’ll make me take it off if she spots it. Then I’ll get that shiny red face look which is so popular with PE teachers. On the other hand, I cannot possibly risk walking to school without make-up on. No matter how much I stick to sidestreets, sooner or later I will be bound to bump into the Foxwood lads. The biggest worry of all is the bloody beret. I must consult with the gang to see what our plan is.

5:00 p.m..

We’re having an emergency Beret and Other Forms of Torture meeting tomorrow, at my place again. I have got eyebrows now but still look a bit on the startled earwig side.

7:00 p.m.

After tea, when Dad was doing the washing-up, I said casually, “Why don’t you wear your special apron, Dad?”

He went ballistic and said I shouldn’t be prying through his drawers. I said, “I think I’ve got a right to know if my dad is a transvestite.”

Mum laughed, which made him even madder. “You encourage her, Connie. You show no respect, so how can she?”

Mum said, “Calm down, Bob, of course I respect you, it’s just that it is quite funny to think of you as a transvestite.” Then she started laughing again. Dad went off to the pub, thank goodness.

Mum said, “It’s his Masonic apron. You know, that huddly duddly, pulling up one sock, I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine sort of thing.”

I smiled and nodded but I haven’t the remotest idea what she is talking about.

11:30 p.m.

Why couldn’t I be adopted? I wonder if it’s too late. Am I too old to ring Esther Rantzen’s helpline? I might get Esther. Good grief.

Wednesday September 2nd

Five days to purgatory

10:00 a.m.

Oh. No, it’s here already. As a special “treat” my cousin James is coming to stay with us overnight.

I mean, I used to like him and we were quite close as kids and everything, but he’s so goofy now. His voice is all peculiar and he’s got a funny smell. Not hamsterish like Libby but sort of doggy-cheesy. I don’t think all boys smell like that, perhaps it’s because he’s my cousin.

2:00 p.m.

James is actually not such bad fun; he seems much younger than me and still wants to do mad dancing to old records like we used to. We worked out some dance routines to old soul records of Mum’s. “Reach out I’ll be There” by the Four Tops was quite dramatic. It was two pointy points, one hand on heart, one hand on head, a shimmy and a full turn around. Sadly there’s not much room in my bedroom and James trod on Angus who, as usual, went berserk.

Actually, it would be more unusual to say “Angus went calm”. Anyway, he ran up the curtains and finally got on top of the door and crouched there, hissing (Angus, that is, not James). We tried to get him down and also we tried to get to the bathroom but he wouldn’t let us. If we tried to get through the door he’d strike out with his huge paw. I think he is part cat, part cobra. In the end Mum got him down with some sardines.

7:00 p.m.

After “tea” James and I were listening to records and talking about what we were going to do after we ditch The Olds (as we call our parents). I’m going to be a comedy actress or someone like those “it” girls who don’t actually do anything except be “it”. The newspapers follow them all day and the headlines say, Oh, look, there is Tara Pompeii Too-Booby going out to buy some biscuits!! Or Tamsin Snaggle-Tooth Polyplops goes skiing in fur bikini. And they just make money from that. That is me, that is.

James wants to do something electronic (whatever that means; I didn’t encourage him to explain because I felt a coma coming on). He wants to travel first, though. I said, “Oh, do you, where?” Thinking... Himalayas, yak butter, opium dens, and he said, “Well, the Scilly Isles in particular.”

11:00 p.m.

Something a bit weird happened. We went to bed – James slept in a sleeping bag on some cushions on the floor, and we were chatting about Pulp, and so on, and then I felt this pressure on my leg. He had reached out and held my leg. I didn’t know what to do so I kept really still, so that he might think he’d just got hold of a piece of the bed or something. I stayed still for ages but then I think I must have dropped off.

Thursday September 3rd

9:00 a.m.

At last the eyebrows are starting to look normal.

2:00 p.m.

James went home. The “leg” incident was not mentioned. Boys are truly weird.

5:00 p.m.

Libby has the flu. She was all pale and miserable. I let her sleep in my bed and she was snuffling, poor thing. Poor little thing, I really love my little sister.

8:30 p.m.

Took Libbs some hot milk and thought she might like me to read The Magic Faraway Tree. She said, “Yes, now, more please,” and sat herself up in my bed. Then, as I opened the book, she took my duvet cover and blew her nose on it. It’s absolutely covered in green snot. Who would have thought such a tiny girl could produce a bucket of snot?

10:00 p.m.

I had to sleep in the sleeping bag. What a life.

Friday September 4th

11:00 a.m.

Emergency Beret and Other Forms of Torture meeting to be held this afternoon. I’ve decided that my eyebrows have recovered enough to venture out (obviously not on their own). I feel like one of those blokes who have been held in solitary in a cellar and come out into the daylight blinking.

We go to Costa Ricos for cappuccino. I hate cappuccino but everyone drinks it so you can’t say no. I haven’t been out for weeks – well, five days. Town looks great. Like New York... but without the skyscrapers and Americans. We decide we’ll have the meeting and then go and sneak a look at the boy that Jas likes, Tom. He works in Jennings. I said, “What, the grocer’s?”

Jas said, “It’s a greengrocer-cum-delicatessen,” and I said, “Yes, well it sells houmus.” And she said, “And yoghurt,” and I said, “Quel dommage. I forgot the yoghurt. Yes, it’s like going to Paris going into that shop, apart from the turnips.”

Jas sort of went red, so I thought I would shut up. Jas doesn’t get angry very often but she has a hefty kick.

Jools said, “Shall we talk beret plan?” At our stupid school you have to wear a beret with your outdoor uniform. It’s a real pain because, as we know, everyone – and especially the French who invented it – looks like a stupid prat in a beret. And they flatten your hair. Last term we perfected a way of wearing it like a pancake. You flatten it out and then pin it with hair grips right at the back of your head. Still a pain, but you can’t see it from the front. Ellen said she had made up a different method, called “the sausage”. She showed us how to do it. She rolled her beret up really tight like a little sausage and then pinned it with hair grips right at the back in the centre of her head. You could hardly see it at all. It was brilliant. We decided to instigate Operation Sausage at the beginning of the term.

It has been a constant battle about these berets. The so-called grown-ups will not negotiate with us. We sent a deputation to the headmistress Slim (so-called because she weighs twenty-five stone... at least. Her feet cascade out of her shoes). At the deputation we asked why we had to wear berets. She said it was to keep standards up, and to enhance the image of the school in the community. I said, “But the boys from Foxwood call out, ‘Have you got any onions?’ I don’t think they do respect us, I think they make a mock and a sham of us.”

Slim shook herself. It was a sort of habit that she had when she was irritated with us (i.e. all the time). It made her look like a jelly with shoes on.

“Georgia, you have had my last word on this, berets are to be worn to and from school. Why not think about something a bit more important, like perhaps getting less than twenty-one poor conduct marks next term?”

Oh, go on, play the old record again. Just because I am lively.

We did have another campaign last year, which was If You Want Us to Wear Our Berets, let’s Really Wear Our Berets.

This involved the whole of our year pulling their berets right down over their heads with just their ears showing. It was very stunning, seeing one hundred girls at the bus stop with just their ears showing. We stopped eventually (even though it really infuriated Slim and Hawkeye) because it was terribly hot and you couldn’t see where you were going and it played havoc with your hair.

Meeting over and time for boy-stalking. Jas was a bit nervous about us all going into the shop. She’s not actually spoken to Tom – well, apart from saying “Two pounds of greens”.

We decided that we’d lurk casually outside and then, when she went in to be served, we’d sort of accidentally spot her and pop into the shop and say “Hi”. This would be casual and give us the chance to give him the once-over and also give the (wrong) impression that Jas is a very popular person.

Jas popped to the loos to make herself look natural with panstick etc. Then she went into Jennings. I gave it five minutes and then I was the first one to walk by the shop doorway. Jas was talking to a tall, dark-haired boy in black jeans. He was smiling as he handed over some onions. Jas was a bit flushed and was twiddling with her fringe. It was a very irritating habit she had. Anyway, I stopped in my tracks and said in a tone of delight and surprise (which convinced even me), “Jas... hi! What are you doing here?” And I gave her a really warm hug (managing to say in her ear, “Leave your bloody fringe alone!”).

When I stopped hugging her she said, “Hi, Georgie, I was just buying some onions,” and I laughed and said, “Well, you know your onions, don’t you, Jas?”

Then Ellen and Jools came in with arms outstretched and shrieking with excitement, “Jas! Jas! How lovely! Gosh, we haven’t seen you for ages. How are you?”

Meanwhile, the boy Tom stood there. Jas said to him, “Oh. I’m really sorry to keep you waiting,” and he just went, “It’s cool,” and Jas asked him how much she owed him and then she said, “Bye then, thanks,” and he said, “See you later.” And we were outside. When we got a few metres away we didn’t say anything but sort of spontaneously all started running as fast as we could and laughing.

7:00 p.m.

Just spoken to Jas on the phone. She thinks Tom is even more gorgeous but she doesn’t know whether he likes her, so we have to go through the whole thing.

I could hear Jas’s dad in the background, saying, “If you are seeing each other tomorrow can’t you wait and not add to my phone bill?”

Parents are all the same – all skinflints. Anyway, Jas said, “He said, ‘See you later.’”

I agreed but added thoughtfully, “But he might say that to everyone, like a sort of ‘See you later’ sort of thing.”

That upset her. “You mean you don’t think he likes me?” I said, “I didn’t say that. He might never say ‘See you later’ unless he means, ‘See you later’.”

That cheered her up. “So you think he might mean ‘See you later’, then?”

I said, “Yes.”

She was quiet for a bit; I could hear her chewing her chewing gum. Then she started again, “When is ‘later’, though?”

Honestly, we could be here all night. I said, “Jas, I DON’T KNOW. Why don’t you decide when ‘later’ is?”

She stopped chewing then. “You mean I should ask him out?”

I could see my book sort of beckoning to me, saying, “Come and read me, come and read me, you know you want to.” So I was firm but fair. “It’s up to you, Jas, but I know what Sharon Stone would do. Goodnight.”

Saturday September 5th

10:00 a.m.

Same bat time. Same bat place.

10:15 a.m.

Jas called. She wants to launch Operation Get Tom. We’re going to go to Costas for more detailed planning.

10:30 a.m.

Lalalalala. Life is so fab. Lalala. I even managed to put mascara on without sticking the brush in my eye. Also I tried out my new lipliner and I think the effect definitely makes my nose look smaller. In a rare moment I shared my nose anxiety with Mum. She said, “We used to use ‘shaders’. You know, light highlights and darker bits to create shadow – you could put a light line of foundation down the middle and then darker bits at the sides to sort of narrow it down.” Wrong answer, Mum, the correct answer is, “You are gorgeous, Georgia, and there is nothing wrong with your nose.”

I didn’t say that, I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead I said, through some toast so I could deny it if I had to, “Mum, I don’t want to look like you and your friends did, I’ve seen the photos and no one wants to look like Abba any more.”

11:30 a.m.

Mrs Next Door complained about Angus again. He’s been frightening their poodle. She says Angus stalks it. I explained, “Well, he’s a Scottish wildcat, that’s what they do. They stalk their prey.”

She said, “I don’t really think it should be a household pet, in that case.”

I said, “He’s not a household pet, believe me. I have tried to train him but he ate his lead. There is only so much you can do with Angus.”

Honestly, is it really my job to deal with hysterical neighbours? Why doesn’t she get a bigger dog? The stupid yappy thing annoys Angus.

1:00 p.m.

I’d better be nice though, otherwise I’ll be accused of being a “moody teenager” and the next thing you know it will be tap tap tap on my door and Mum saying, “Is there anything you want to talk about?” Adults are so nosy.

1:30 p.m.

Went next door and asked Mrs Fussy Knickers if she wanted anything from the shops as I was going. She sort of hid behind the door. I must be nicer. I start out being nice and then it’s like someone else takes over. Am I schizophrenic as well as a lesbian?

2:00 p.m.

Jas phones. She wants me to help her with part two of her plan to get Tom. The plan is subtle. Jas and I will pass by Jennings, and as we pass the door I will pause and then say, “Oh, Jas, I just remembered I said I’d get some apples. Hang on a minute.” Then I go into the shop and buy the apples. Jas stands behind me looking attractively casual. I smile as Tom hands over the grannies (Granny Smiths) and then – and here is the masterstroke – I say, “School in two days. Back to Stalag 14. Which centre of boredom and torture do you go to?” (Meaning, which school do you go to, do you see?) Then he tells me and then we know how to accidentally bump into him.

4:00 p.m.

Well, we got to Jennings and Tom was in there – Jas went a bit swoony. He is nice-looking, I must say, with sort of crinkly hair and great shoulders. I said my “Hang on, Jas, I promised I’d get some apples,” and we went in, so she could lurk attractively behind me, as planned.

When he saw her Tom looked and smiled. I asked for my grannies and he said, “Sure. Are you looking forward to going back to school?”

(Hang on a minute, those were my lines. Still, I’ve done drama for four years so I improvised.) I rejoined, “Does the Pope hate Catholics?”

He smiled but I didn’t really mean to say anything about the Pope, it just popped out. Tom went on, “Which school do you two go to?” I was just about to tell him (even though in our plan it wasn’t really his turn)... when a Sex God came out of the back room.

I swear he was so gorgeous it made you blink and open your mouth like a goldfish. He was very tall and had long, black hair and really intense, dark-blue eyes and a big mouth and was dressed all in black. (And that’s all I remember, officer.) He came over to Tom and handed him a cup of tea. Tom said, “Thanks,” and the Sex God spoke. “Can’t let my little brother slave away, serving apples to good-looking girls without even a cup of tea.” Then he WINKED at Tom and SMILED at me, then he went out the back.

I just stood there, looking at the space where SG had been. Clutching my apples, Tom said, “That’s forty pence. Did you tell me what school you both go to?”

I came out of my trance and hoped I hadn’t been dribbling. “Er... I...” and I couldn’t remember.

Jas looked at me as if I had gone mad and said, “Oh, it’s only the one we’ve been at for four years, Latimer and Ridgley. Which one do you go to?”

7:00 p.m.

I am still in a state of shock. I have just met Mr Gorgeous. And he is Tom’s brother. And he is gorgeous. He saw me with my mouth open. But, fortunately, not without eyebrows. Oh God! Quick, nurse, the screens!!

7:05 p.m.

I tried opening my mouth in the mirror like I imagine it looked like in the shop. It doesn’t make me look very intelligent but it also doesn’t make my nose look any bigger, which is a plus (of sorts).

1:00 a.m.

I wonder how old he is? I must become more mature quickly. I’ll start tomorrow.

Sunday September 6th

8:00 a.m.

When I walked into the kitchen Dad dropped his cup in a hilarious (not) display of surprise that I was up so early. “What has happened, George, has your bed caught fire? Are you feverish? It’s not midday yet, why are you up?”

I said, “I came down for a cup of hot water, if that’s OK.” (Very cleansing for the system; I must avoid a spot attack at all costs.)