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 neighbors? 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 phoned. 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 master-stroke (or actually, as it was my idea, the mistress-stroke)—I say, “School in two days. Back to Stalag 14. Which center 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!
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 an hilarious (not) display of surprise that I was up so early. “What’s 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.)
Mum said, “Well, I’m off. Libby, give your big sister a kiss before we go.” Libby gave me a big smacking kiss which was nice but a bit on the porridgey side. Still, I must get on.
10:00 a.m.
I have completed the Cosmo yoga plan for inner peace and confidence. I vow to get up an hour before school and go through the twelve positions of “Sun worship.” I feel great and two or three feet taller. The Sex God will not be able to resist the new, confident, radiant, womanly me.
2:00 p.m.
Face mask done and milk bath taken. I must try and get the milk stains off the bath towel somehow—it already smells a bit sour.
Jas rang. She thinks we should track Tom tomorrow after school. Tom—what is he to me?
4:00 p.m.
Just discovered that Libby has used the last of my sanitary towels to make hammocks for her dolls.
4:30 p.m.
She has also used all of my Starkers foundation cream on her panda; its head is entirely beige now.
5:00 p.m.
I have no other foundation or money. I may have to kill her.
5:15 p.m.
No. Peace. Ohm. Inner peace.
8:00 p.m.
Aahhhh. Early to bed, early to rise.
9:30 p.m.
Woke with a start. Thought it might be time to get up.
midnight
Should I wear my pencil skirt or not tomorrow?
monday september 7th
8:30 a.m.
Overslept and had to race to get a lift to Jas’s with my dad. No time for yoga or makeup. Oh well, I’ll start tomorrow. God alone knows how the Dalai Lama copes on a daily basis. He must get up at dawn. Actually, I read somewhere that he does get up at dawn.
8:45 a.m.
Jas and I running like loonies up the hill to the school gate. I thought my head was going to explode I was so red, and also I just remembered I hadn’t got my beret on. I could see Hawkeye at the school gate, so no time for the sausage method. I just rammed it on my head. Bugger bugger, pant pant. As we ran up to the gate I catapulted into . . . the Sex God. He looked DIVINE in his uniform. He was with his mates, having a laugh and just strolling coolly along. He looked at me and said, “You’re keen.” I could have died.
9:00 a.m.
My only hope is that a) he didn’t recognize me and b) if he did recognize me he likes the “flushed, stupid idiot” look in a girl.
9:35 a.m.
After assembly I popped into the loo and looked in the mirror. Worst fears confirmed—I am Mrs. Ugly. Small, swollen eyes, hair plastered to my skull, HUGE red nose. I look like a tomato in a school uniform. Well, that is that then.