Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 Read online

  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.

  Mum said, “I don’t blame him, but people do change and want different things.”

  I said quickly, “Yeah, yeah, you’re so right. I think you need a change—a change of, er, scenery. You need to go out into the sunshine and meet your mates and ask them what they feel. Maybe go for a slap-up meal, you’ve only had a pound or two of jam today, you’ll be peckish. Go for a pizza and maybe have some vino tinto because you know what they say about vino in Latin. In vino hairy arse. Just give yourself space.”

  “Do you think so? Just enjoy myself and don’t feel guilty?”

  I nodded like billio.

  fifteen minutes later

  Thank the Lord, Baby Jesus and all his cohorts. She’s gone. All tarted up. It is so typically selfish of her to have a midlife crisis when I am expecting a phone call.

  half an hour later

  Oh, I am so full of tensionosity. I haven’t been able to eat anything apart from oven chips. With mayo and tommy sauce. And a choc ice.

  Perhaps some popcorn would be good for me. It’s practically health food, really. In fact, don’t hamsters eat it and they are as healthy as all get out. Running round and round in those little wheels for no reason, dashing up and down ladders. Ringing bells, etc.

  Shut up, brain, I am giving you a final warning.

  twenty minutes later

  I tell you this, never cook popcorn. I don’t know what happened, but I did what it said on the packet, chucked it into some hot oil in a pan and it just sort of exploded everywhere. How do you get popcorn out of light fittings?

  And your hair?

  And nose?

  And bikini bottoms?

  Angus has just done that cat thing. You know the high-speed slink across the room with the belly nearly touching the ground. Why do they do that? Why?

  two minutes later

  Now he is doing fridge staring.

  Ring ring.

  Ohmygiddygod. The phone. I bet all my lip gloss has disappeared. But if I go and reapply he might ring off. Oh good, I was at No. 9 on the ditherspaz scale already. I smiled as I said in my deepest voice, “Hello?”

  “Georgia, have you come over all transsexual? Has he phoned yet?”

  “No, he hasn’t, Jas, not that you really care.”

  “Yes I do, otherwise why would I phone up to ask you whether he’d phoned you yet?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, there you are, then.”

  “You might have called just to be glad he hadn’t called, knowing you.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  “Oh, OK, thanks. Good-bye now.”

  “Don’t you want to talk to me?”

  “Er, well, not just now, Jas.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m putting the phone down now.”

  There was a sort of a sobbing noise. Then a trembly little voice said, “Tom and I had our first row last night.”

  Oh for heaven’s bloody sake.

  I said, “What happened, did he dis one of your owls?”

  She was gulping and her voice was all trembly.

  “No, but he said, he said, what did I think about him going to uni in Hamburger-a-gogo land. And I said I didn’t really want to go to Hamburger-a-gogo land, I would rather go to York. And he said that might be a good idea.”

  What is this, EastEnders?

  thirty minutes later

  Good Lord. I think I know everything that is in Jas’s head now and I tell you this for free, I wish I didn’t.

  Tom thinks they should go to separate unis or something so that they can be sure that they are made for each other. I did say to Jas, “Well, you can safely let him go, what other fool is he going to find to go vole hunting with him?”

  But it didn’t seem to cheer her up as such.

  In the end I’ve said I’ll go round to hers later after the Luuurve God has called.

  God help us one and all.

  one hour later

  I am now officially going mad.

  phone rang

  I said, “Yes! What is it?”

  And then I heard his voice.

  “Ciao, er, is please Georgia there?”

  It was him!!! Praise God and his enormous beard.

  I took a big breath and said, “Hello, yes, Georgia Nicolson speaking.”

  Blimey, why am I suddenly speaking like the queen?

  Masimo laughed.

  “Ciao ciao, Georgia!! Bellissima!!! It is you! Un momento, per favore.”

  Then I heard him speaking off the telephone and laughing and there were other voices and then loud smacking noises like kissing.

 
Maybe it was kissing.

  Was he actually snogging someone else whilst he was talking to me?

  That seemed very lax, even for the Pizza-a-gogo types.

  Then suddenly he was back talking to me again.

  “Oh, cara, scusa, my brothers, my family, they are all going to the beach—later, when it is night we are having, how you say in English—a bum-fire?”

  A bum-fire? That seemed a bit mean. Setting people’s bums on fire. But perhaps that is the old Roman ways emerging again.

  Then he was laughing. “You are not saying anything. I have this wrong, no?”

  I said, “Sì.”

  And we both laughed.

  It was marvy speaking in different languages.

  He said, “Have you missed me?”

  And I said, “Oh muchos and a half.”

  He laughed again. We were laughing and laughing.

  “Me too. How was your camping?”

  Uh-oh. The forbidden topic. I must remember my rule about not saying anything and get things back to world politics and so on as soon as possible. I said, “Oh, it was pretty crappio.”

  He said, “Tell me something from it.”

  “Well, you know not much happened. Erm, Nauseating P. Green fell into the so-called toilets and it fell down and Miss Wilson was in the nuddy-pants having a shower with her soap on a rope. And then later Herr Kamyer sat on her knee and that was all that happened.”

  He said, “I have, how you would say, the mad girlfriend.”

  Oooooh, he had called me his mad girlfriend. How cool was that?

  We talked for ages. Well, I said stuff and he asked me what it meant mostly. I wish I could speak more Pizza-a-gogo. It’s more difficult speaking to someone on the phone, anyway, because you can’t see their face. And then he asked me when I am coming over to see him.

  Good point, well made.

  I haven’t even asked my parents about the 500 squids I will need. If they would stop banging on about themselves I might get a chance to ask. I didn’t like to say that I didn’t have any money, so I just said, “I think, probably in two, due weeks.”

  He said, “Ah, that is long, I wish you were here and then we could again, what do you say—snog. And I could touch you and feel your mouth on mine. And look into your lovely face. I was thinking about your beautiful eyes and I think they are so lovely, it makes my heart melt.”

  Crikey, he had turned into Billy Shakespeare. Or Billyo Shakespeario who wrote the famous Italian plays Macuselessio and King Leario.