Pride and Premiership (13 page)

OMG, they’re not golden after all – they’re paper. Tee-hee.

OK, I shouldn’t be so happy about it. But I’m only human and I can’t help it after everyone has been so horrible about Robbie.

She’s stopped now.

I’ll give it five, then go and investigate.

Went into Malibu’s room, looking concerned.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Is it Gary?”

She shook her head.

“Who then?”

She didn’t reply.

“Roger?”

She gave a long sigh. “Yeah, Remy … it was Roger.” Then she grabbed her (fake) Ugg boots from on the floor beside her bed and began to put them on frantically.

“Where you going?”

“To bloody sort things out,” she said, then she was off out of the door.

I’m all alone.

I wonder what Robbie’s up to? I bet he’s in a club somewhere.

Bet he’s in a club with his mates having a few drinks.

Bet he’s in a club with his mates having a few drinks and some girls are trying to flirt with him.

Bet one of those bloody girls has waited for him to get drunk and has thrown herself at him and is about to kiss him RIGHT NOW.

Grr. I’m going to call him to interrupt her evil plan!

He answered! Couldn’t hear him very well (music was too loud). He said, “Remy, listen to this,” and must have held his phone towards the speakers because all I heard next was Tinchy Stryder telling me I was Number One.

The call ended and a few seconds later a text came up saying:
C u tomorrow princess x

I love him so–oo much. Can’t wait to see him tomorrow!

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Up double early today. Must be excitement, because as soon as I opened my eyes I got butterflies about seeing Robbie. Can’t wait! Wish I could fast-forward to tonight.

OMG. Malibu’s just creeping in after “sorting things out” with Boring Roger. He obviously isn’t as boring as I thought.

Robbie just called!

“Princess,” he said, “just landed. Fancy the cinema tonight and then a bite to eat?”

Yes–ss times two thousand!!
I thought. “Sure, why not?” I replied.

This time I’m meeting him there. (Don’t want him to come to the salon and feel the girls’ negativity.)

The first thing I noticed when I got home is that the skirting boards in our hallway had been painted in black gloss (they used to be a matt white). It looks terrible and I know Mum’s the culprit but I’m saying nothing. She can bite someone else’s head off for a change.

Besides, I happen to be in a v. good mood. The Feminazi made a sarky comment about my “miraculous recovery” when I got into work today, so I decided to get my head down and work double hard. I smiled in a “Have a nice day” way when clients came through the door, answered the phone in my sweetest poshest voice, ran every coffee shop errand as if my life depended on it and still managed to reshape Malibu’s eyebrows in our lunch break. Basically, if I was running a salon,
I
would have employed me.

I even managed to revamp the booking system. The appointment times and names of the beauticians are always written in black biro and it can take a while to see who’s free at a certain time, especially when a customer requests a particular beautician. It’s been bugging me for ages. So I decided to make things clearer by giving every beautician a colour code. I even ran to the shops and bought one of those pens that has four different colours in it.

Malibu’s name and appointments will always be written in blue, Blow-dry Sarah’s in black, Natasha’s in red and Kara’s (who occasionally still does treatments when we’re uberbusy) in green. Now, if someone phones and asks when Natasha’s free, I can just follow the red ink and see in no time. It’s genius and I’m hoping it will make the Feminazi give me extra marks for my NVQ.

Dad’s just come through the front door and gasped, “Bloody hell!”

Methinks he doesn’t like the black-gloss skirting boards.

“What do you reckon?” Mum asked. “I got the idea from
Jazz Up Your Home
. It’s a new programme on Living.”

“Er… Yeah. It looks great.”

Poor Dad. I’d lie too if I knew that telling the truth would have me sleeping on the sofa.

I’ve changed date outfits about four times!

Now going to rock the casual sexy look – black jeans with my Primarni mules and my tight “I Dig Dead Guys” T-shirt (sneaked some chicken fillets in my bra to make boobage look good too).

I’m so–oo excited I could barely do up the buttons of my jeans (jangling hands) but apart from that I’ll survive. Aa–aaaaaaaaaaaargh!

“Does my bum look massive?” I asked Malibu. (Couldn’t leave the house without checking what she thought.)

“You’re not starting that anorexic stuff again, are you?”

“Come on, stop having a laugh. What do you think?”

“I think you look great,” she told me, and sounded like she meant it too. She actually looked quite happy for a change. And she was done up like the vamp Sandy in
Grease
(black shiny leggings, high heels and the red Kate Moss top that she wears without a bra, even though she knows it drops down all the time to reveal mega cleavage – what a minx).

I guessed that whoever she was going out with tonight must have been the one she liked the best.

“So, who is it tonight then?” I asked. “Roger or Gary?”

“What are you, the CID?” she snapped.

That girl’s got major issues.

Anyway, who cares? Robbie, here I come!!

Ama–aaaaazing night! We went to see
Action Movie Part II
. Didn’t see much of the film, though – too busy having a tongue-fest (tee-hee.) Then we went to a Lebanese restaurant called Maroush, on the Edgware Road. They do the best chicken kebab I’ve ever tasted in my whole life!

Robbie looks even better with a tan. And whenever his big manly hands touched me, I melted. That’s why it was so hard to keep strong when he dropped me home and asked if I was sure I didn’t want to go back to his place.

Believe me – I really, really wanted to. But I stuck to the WAG Charter because it’s worked perfectly so far.

“Um… Maybe next time,” I told him.

I was lying in bed, thinking about Robbie, but before I knew it Spencer flashed into my head. Feel a bit guilty, I suppose. I did sort of use him. I admit that I don’t deserve it, but why can’t he just call and say we can be friends? I love Spencer’s friendship. He makes me laugh and we like the same films and everything. In fact, in an ideal world, I’d probably take Spencer’s personality and inject it into Robbie’s HOT body.

OMG, Robbie looked amazing last night. His hair was perfectly gelled, his white trainers were practically gleaming and his shirt and jeans didn’t have one crease. He’s physical perfection. He also happens to be passionate (especially when he was talking about wanting to earn as much as John Terry). He’s what I want, I know he is. And if Spencer isn’t willing to be just friends, I’ll be gutted but I’ll have to accept it. As Dad says, I can’t have everything.