Don't Even Think About It (7 page)

OK, first the good news. I got great reports from all the teachers at the parent-teacher meetings. Even Mr O’Connor who teaches history, and who keeps telling me that I’ll never make a historian, said I was a very likeable and outgoing girl, which I thought was really nice of him, since that was probably the only positive thing he could think of to say about me. I’m really going to try harder at history now.

The not-so-good news is that I don’t think Dad took much notice of Miss Purtill. He didn’t look as if he had anything to hide when he got home; he didn’t look particularly excited or anything. I asked him what he thought of all the teachers, and he just said they were OK, and I seemed to be doing fine, and then he gave me ten euros. He was probably relieved that I’m not getting hauled into the principal’s office any more.

And Miss Purtill didn’t treat me any differently the
next day at school, didn’t mention Dad to me at all, even though I hung around after her class especially to give her a chance.

So I suppose that’s that – my big plan failed.

Marjorie Maloney’s hair is now light brown. It’s certainly an improvement on the black. Actually, I think it makes her look a lot younger. Not that I’d ever mention that to Dad, of course. They’re still going out every weekend, which makes it almost six months now. It looks like I’ll just have to live with it, as long as they don’t try to change anything.

I say ‘hello’ now if I meet her on the street, but that’s as far as it goes. No chatting, absolutely not. There is no need to give her any ideas about becoming friends with me, just because she helped me out once.

Chloe usually comes around to my house on the nights Dad goes out, not Bumble any more. They both came once, after I started hanging around with Chloe at school, and it was a disaster. Bumble said he nearly passed out, stuck on the couch between the garlic and the White Musk.

And Chloe went all quiet, like she used to when we were in primary school. Maybe she was remembering what it was like when no one really hung around with her. I wonder if she thought it was because she was the principal’s daughter. Maybe I should tell her it was just the garlic breath.

Although the funny thing is, I hardly notice it any more.

I haven’t seen too much of Bumble at all since the summer. It sure makes me feel sad. I thought we’d never stop being friends.

I’ll meet him next week though, when Chloe and I go to the show, and I’m looking forward to meeting up with some of our old classmates too, although I get the impression that Chloe isn’t that pushed really – I mean, she wants to see the show, but I don’t think there’s anyone from our old class that she’s dying to meet again.

Funny, how you can miss some things completely. There was me, feeling so lonely when Mam left, and there was Chloe, probably feeling lonely all the time. And remember it was Chloe who made an effort to cheer me up, when she offered me her Penguin bar at break – was that because she was the only one who understood how I felt?

Dad asked me what I want for Christmas, and I told him a mobile phone, and he said, ‘We’ll see,’ which probably means yes, so I left the brochure open on the kitchen table with a ring around the one I want. I’m sure I’m the only one in the class without one – apart from Chloe – which is truly embarrassing.

Still no sign from Mam that she’s coming home. I really think she will though – I’m trying not to think about it too much, but I have a feeling she will.

The gorgeous pizza delivery boy’s name is Henry, which I think is so cute. He told me we had the same taste in pizza, the last time he came round. I wonder if he noticed how fabulous I smelt. Probably not, with the pepperoni nearly knocking the two of us out.

Henry and Elizabeth – sounds like a royal couple. Wonder what his second name is. He never wears gloves, even when it’s really freezing. He has a thin
silver ring on his first finger, a bit like the one that Mam used to wear. And there’s a tiny hole in the knee of his jeans that just makes me melt.

By the way, my nails are growing out nicely since I stopped biting them. It was pretty easy in the end. I got some pearly pink nail varnish like Miss Purtill, but I don’t think it’s me really. It’s not loud enough, if you know what I mean. (Not that I’m loud, of course – I’m a real lady, ha ha.)

Last Saturday Ruth Wallace told me she could smell my breath a mile away, and it was like mouldy cheese. I’m getting very tired of her stupid comments. One of these days, I might just have to think up some of my own, wheelchair or no wheelchair.

The show at the Comp was on last night, and it was brilliant. Chloe and I had to sit about halfway down the hall, but there was nobody tall sitting in front of us, so we could see the stage quite well.

I spent a lot of the first half looking for Bumble. He was quite hard to find, since he was just one of the gang, but I finally spotted him. He was wearing a bomber jacket and drainpipe jeans, and his hair was greased back. He looked older – and quite sexy, actually.

Wonder if anyone fancies him.

Catherine Eggleston wasn’t bad as Sandy, but her singing was nothing special, except that it sure was LOUD – boy, could she belt out those songs. And she didn’t forget any of her lines, which was probably a good thing.

Chris Thompson was excellent as Danny. He totally
got the American accent, and he was brilliant at singing and dancing, much better probably than poor Bumble would have been, I have to say. Oh, and Chris’s voice has well and truly broken – he sounds great now.

At the interval, Chloe and I got warmish bottles of orange and chatted to a few of our old classmates who were in the audience, or helping out around the place.

And guess what – Trudy Higgins, Catherine Eggleston’s best friend (the one who got the dead beetle in her lunchbox, remember?) told us that Terry McNamara, who played Kenickie, was heartbroken when Catherine Eggleston finished with him, and that it was really awkward while they were rehearsing.

Funny, I assumed it was Terry who had broken up with Catherine, not the other way around. But I suppose it makes sense really – Catherine Eggleston is just the type who’d break people’s hearts.

After the show, Chloe and I were hanging around the door waiting for my dad to pick us up, and I was keeping an eye out for Bumble, when who should come over to us but Chris. He said ‘hi’ and the three of us chatted for a while.

He asked us how we liked our school, and he seemed really interested, you know? Not just as if he was being polite. I’d never really had a proper conversation with him before.

And wouldn’t you know it, just then Dad drove up and we had to say goodbye. But as we were walking towards the car, Chris called after us to say that a gang of them were going to Nosh on the first day of the Christmas holidays for lunch, if we wanted to meet up.
Nosh is a really cool burger bar with loads of cartoon characters painted on the walls, and paper tablecloths that you’re allowed to draw on with crayons.

I think we’ll go. Chloe says she doesn’t know if she will, but she always says that, and I always manage to persuade her.

I’d kind of like to see Chris again. And Bumble, of course – he’ll probably be at Nosh too. I’m sorry I missed him after the show. Must phone him later to tell him how great it was.

Today is not turning out too well.

At breakfast this morning Dad asked me how I’d feel about going to Marjorie Maloney’s house for Christmas dinner. I suppose I should have seen that coming really, but I didn’t. It had never once occurred to me that of all the people we could spend Christmas Day with, we might end up with her.

I felt like telling him I’d rather drink sour milk out of a mucky boot, but … well, it’s kind of hard to explain, but the way he asked me, as if he really cared about what I wanted, as if he’d understand if I said I didn’t fancy it … I mean, he could have just told me we were going, couldn’t he? What could I have done? Stayed at home by myself and had beans on toast?

So anyway, it felt like he was treating me like a
grown-up
, which made me feel that I should act like a
grown-up
, so I couldn’t stamp my foot and throw something. I
was tempted to do that a bit – and there was a jug of milk on the table that would have been perfect – but instead I managed to say, ‘I suppose it’s OK, if that’s what you want.’

It’s Christmas for him too – I had to remember that. And Marjorie is his friend, after all. I mean, it would be almost like me asking him if Chloe could come around here and have dinner with us. Almost, but not quite.

Anyway, I have to say it felt good when he smiled and said, ‘Thanks Liz.’

And it’s better that we’re going over to her house, instead of the other way around, so it won’t feel like she’s taking Mam’s place at all. And there are going to be other people there too: Marjorie’s brother and his wife and their two kids, who all live in Cork, and Marjorie’s father who lives with them. So there’ll be quite a crowd, which actually might be a lot better than just Dad and me here, all by ourselves.

For one thing, we won’t really be able to think about Mam too much, with all the other people around. And for another, you can be sure Marjorie’s turkey will be a lot better than anything that Dad and I could manage.

Bet it won’t be half as nice as Mam’s though.

Right, I’m off now to revise for our Christmas tests. History and maths tomorrow, and I’m afraid I haven’t improved much in history since the parent-teacher meeting. Today Mr O’Connor said he hoped I wasn’t considering a career in anything that involved history. I promised him that it had never occurred to me.

Holidays in three more days, hurrah – and I’ve managed to persuade Chloe to come to Nosh. Wonder if Chris will sit beside me.

She’s not coming home.

A parcel arrived from San Francisco today. Dad happened to be in the house, waiting for a chimney sweep, so he took in the parcel and left it in my room.

Here’s what was inside:

1. A red sweatshirt with a cat on the front of it
   
2. A Hershey’s selection box
   
3. A silver bangle
   
4. A Wallace & Gromit watch
   
5. A letter wishing me a very Happy Christmas and saying that she was so sorry that we wouldn’t be together, but that she hoped that Dad and I would have a great time, and she’d be thinking of me.
   

As soon as I had taken everything out of the box, I went downstairs and told Dad that I didn’t want to talk to Mam when she rang.

He didn’t ask me why, just nodded and said we’d take
the phone off the hook after dinner. He’s great sometimes.

I’ll talk to her tomorrow, but I can’t today. I can’t go on the phone and say thanks for the presents, when what I really want to say is how could you do this to your only child, and don’t you care about me any more? And I miss you so much and I feel so sad and I haven’t seen you in a whole year and you’re not even coming home for Christmas. And you’re a rotten mother.

I was so sure she was coming that I never sent her anything. I’ll have to find something tomorrow and post it, and it’ll be dead late.

And it serves her right.

We got holidays today. I wish I could feel happier about that, but I’m still mad about Mam not coming home. I’m trying to be sensible and grown up about it, telling myself that she has to be home soon, that she can’t stay away forever, but it’s not helping much.

Chloe was really nice about it. She said it must be awful for me, and she invited me around to her house the day after Christmas, when they always have curry. I told her I’d love to. I don’t think curries have too much garlic in them.

We went to meet the others for lunch at Nosh today, even though I didn’t really feel like it, because I thought it might cheer me up to meet Chris and Bumble. Little did I know.

Chloe and I were the first to arrive, so we sat at a table and I picked up a crayon and drew a picture of Bart Simpson that Chloe said was exactly like him. She tried
to draw Sylvester, the cat who chases Tweetie Bird, but I have to say it could have been any cat.

After about ten minutes the others started coming in, and soon there were nearly ten of us, including Terry McNamara, who didn’t look as if he was missing Catherine Eggleston at all. In fact, I think he’s already forgotten about her, because a few of the others were slagging him about some other girl, someone Chloe and I didn’t know, and he was blushing and pretending not to know what they were on about.

Some boys are so fickle.

I was beginning to wonder if Chris was ever going to show up, when in walked Bumble. And you’ll never in a million years guess who walked in with him.

Well, maybe you will. Maybe I’m the only one who didn’t see it coming. It was Catherine Eggleston, and they were holding hands. And Bumble was smiling as if he’d just won the lotto.

Well, I can tell you it nearly knocked my socks off when I saw them together. Bumble and I used to laugh about Catherine Eggleston all the time in primary school – how daft she was, with her fancy schoolbags and her silly giggles. How she always sucked up to Santa, answering questions in a little girl voice that made me want to throw something at her.

We used to wonder what Terry could possibly see in her.

And now here was Bumble, obviously going out with her, holding hands with her, sitting beside her and looking at her as if she was Cleopatra, and barely saying hello to his oldest friend. (That’s me, in case you’re wondering.)

I hardly noticed when Chris Thompson arrived and pulled a chair in between Chloe and me. I had to drag my eyes away from the other two when Chris started talking to me. And in case you’re thinking now that I was jealous of Catherine, let me tell you here and now that whatever else I felt, it
wasn’t
jealousy – no way.

I mean, going out with Bumble would be like going out with my brother.

I just couldn’t believe it, that was all. Bumble and Catherine Eggleston – it was the last thing I thought I’d ever see.

Poor Bumble couldn’t help it, of course – she’s obviously got some kind of power over boys. It’s probably connected to the blonde hair (although I can NOT understand what all the fuss is about there. I think red is a much more attractive and interesting hair colour), and I suppose the boobs must have something to do with it too (although I can’t understand what
that’s
all about either).

But anyone can see it’s only a matter of time before Bumble’s heart gets broken too, and I just can’t bear the thought of that. Hopefully he’ll recover as quickly as Terry did. Terry hardly looked at the two of them, and didn’t seem a bit bothered.

So anyway, there we all were:

Me trying not to stare at Bumble,

Chris trying to talk to me,

Bumble trying not to drool at Catherine,

Terry trying to pretend he wasn’t mad about someone else,

and Chloe trying to draw Road Runner.

It sure was a long lunch.

I wonder when they started going out, and how it happened. Had Bumble secretly fancied her for ages, even when he was still my best friend? I thought we told each other everything. I know I told
him
everything – except for the shoplifting.

I wonder what he got her for Christmas. He sent me a card with a reindeer on it. Just a card, no present. Last year we went shopping together before Christmas, and bought each other scarves. He got me a lovely lilac one – of course I picked it out – and I got him a blue and red check one that I chose too.

Luckily, I hadn’t posted the DVD I’d bought for him by the time his card arrived, so it’s still sitting on a chair in my room. Maybe I’ll watch it some time, although ninety minutes of ‘Chelsea’s Greatest Goals’ isn’t exactly my idea of excitement.

So when lunch finished after about a hundred years, we all went our separate ways.

I bought Mam a book of dessert recipes and posted it off in a padded envelope, along with the card I wrote last night, that just said ‘Happy Christmas from Liz’ on the inside.

I bought Dad a bottle of aftershave. Well, he’s almost out of it, and if I don’t buy it for him, he’ll buy it himself. He might as well smell nice for Marjorie on Christmas Day.

I’m beginning to think that Scrooge had the right idea about Christmas. I mean, what’s the big deal?