by Liz Rettig
I did what I normally do when Mrs Conner is off on one of her mad ravings and thought about other things, like what to watch on MTV tonight. Mr Ferguson wasn’t so lucky though, as she was staring at him the whole time, scanning his face with narrowed eyes, alert for the slightest sign he wasn’t giving her his total, undivided attention.
Even though Mr Ferguson isn’t exactly my favourite teacher, I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him: he stared back at her like a trapped frog eyeing a python. He wasn’t sure when she’d strike but he knew he was doomed. Totally.
It wasn’t long before she moved in for the kill. ‘So, Mr Ferguson, obviously these discussions will take some time. Oh yes,’ she added menacingly, ‘I think definitely some considerable time. Perhaps we should block out some periods in our schedule now. Let’s just take a look at our respective diaries, shall we?’
Ferguson caved in. ‘Erm, maybe it would be best if we just gave Kelly Ann a shot with the boys’ team.’
Mrs Conner beamed at him. ‘What a splendid idea, Mr Ferguson. Absolutely splendid.’
Yeah, go, Mrs Conner! Finally, yes, I’m in the school football team – which is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it?
When I came out I looked for Chris to tell him the fantastic news but couldn’t find him. Instead I met Liz and Stephanie, who didn’t seem impressed at all.
Liz said, ‘But you’ll have to buy a whole new football kit. The boots alone will cost forty pounds. How are you going to save up for clothes, make-up and a mobile then?’
Stephanie was blunter. ‘Ugh. Football boots and thick socks that fall down. You cannot be serious. And the strip is totally the wrong shade of orange for you. There’s no way you’ll ever find a lipstick or nail varnish that will go, you know.’
‘Seriously,’ Liz said. ‘Not many guys are going to fancy you if they see you like that. Are you sure you really still want to be in the team now?’
Thought about it. Did I? Actually, I concluded, not really any more. The thing is, I like football but maybe not enough to spend all that time and effort on it. I wanted to spend time doing other things now. Like maybe dating boys instead of just playing football and PlayStation with them. Will have to tell Ferguson I’ve changed my mind. Suppose he’ll be pleased. Don’t think Conner will be though.
SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 11TH
Stephanie says we can meet her boyfriend if we want and let her know what we think. They’re going for a burger at McDonald’s today, then off to see a movie. Liz and I could join them for the burger bit.
At first we said no, as we didn’t wanted to gatecrash her date, but Stephanie said it was cool. ‘We’ve been going out for two weeks. We don’t need to be massaging each other’s tonsils every two seconds any more.’
I was still doubtful but Liz was too nosy to turn down the invite so we’re going. Must say, I’m a bit curious myself. Wonder what a boyfriend of Stephanie’s will be like. Probably really rich and posh, with two second names like Legge-Burke or Fotherington-Smythe.
His proper name was Kenny but he told us we could call him Zombie if we liked. Everyone else did apparently. He wasn’t tall but very thick. By thick, I mean his body was wide and solid, and his arms were so muscular they couldn’t sit alongside his torso but had to be held out a bit, while his head seemed to merge into his shoulders without an obvious neck. He was also pretty thick in other ways too – he seemed incapable of stringing two coherent sentences together, grunting one-word replies to any polite questions we asked.
Most of the time he just sat silently shovelling large quantities of food into his mouth and demolishing them efficiently while ignoring the conversation around him. However, he did become very excited and enthusiastic when he talked about his job, which seemed to be his only real interest.
Turns out he is a trainee gravedigger – or cemetery operator, as he called it – and was keen to tell us all about it. Unfortunately.
Through Zombie we learned that graves were not ‘six feet under’ but usually more like eighteen, especially for a multiple family plot. Digging that far down had its problems: in his first few weeks on the job, for a laugh his older workmates took his ladder and left him in the grave overnight, unable to climb out.
What were they like, his mates?
One time he’d fallen asleep in the grave and they’d tried to lower a coffin on top of him in the morning. He’d had to shout, ‘Hawd on a minute there. I’m no’ deid!’ Which shocked the mourners of course. That was the great thing about working in the cemetery business. You didn’t half get a laugh sometimes.
Hmm.
Other facts I didn’t want to know included: how difficult it was to dig clay soil and prevent waterlogging; how even expensive oak coffins with tassels got invaded by various grubs over time, especially if people skimped on the lining; how the latest trend was for eco-burials in recyclable wicker coffins interred near surface soil so that the bodies decomposed faster.
Thanks.
When Zombie got up to go to the toilet Stephanie said, ‘So what do you think? He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? Mmmm, those biceps. They’re thicker than my waist, you know.’
I said politely, ‘Yeah, um, very nice.’
Liz said carefully, ‘He’s sort of interesting, I suppose, but not exactly what I expected.’
‘Why not? What did you expect?’
‘Don’t know. Just thought, well, someone a bit smarter maybe.’
Stephanie laughed. ‘Yeah, he’s not too bright but I kind of like that in a guy. I mean, his bicep measurements are probably bigger than his IQ but I’m not going to snog his IQ, am I?’
Suppose not.
Have told my parents that I want to be cremated, but as usual Mum treated my wishes, even on such a serious issue, with a total lack of respect.
She said, ‘Right now – or can we finish our tea first?’
Very funny.
My dad said, ‘Don’t be stupid, Moira. She means after she’s dead of course.’
I nodded my thanks to Dad, but he continued, ‘Mind you, once we’ve cremated her, she will be, won’t she?’
Ha ha.
MONDAY SEPTEMBER 13TH
Told Ferguson about not wanting to be on the team.
‘Bottling out?’ he sneered.
I flushed. ‘Just changed my mind.’
‘Ah, a girl’s prerogative,’ he said, all condescending. ‘I’ll just inform Mrs Conner, shall I?’ Then he walked off.
Almost ran after him to say I’d changed my mind again but thought that might look even more pathetic. It hadn’t gone too well. But, oh God, what will happen when Conner finds out? She’ll be furious.
She didn’t say anything to me in English this afternoon so I supposed he hadn’t told her yet. However, when I went to the newsagent’s to get some chocolate after school, I noticed Mrs Conner looking at magazines in the corner. Was quite surprised as I didn’t think she’d read anything that had pictures and wasn’t at least five centimetres thick. Then I noticed some of the article headings: ‘Expose Your Love Rat Ex’; ‘Cheating Husband? Fifty Ways to Make Him Pay’.
She spotted me and said, ‘Hello, Kelly Ann. This is fortunate. I was meaning to speak to you earlier. Mr Ferguson told me about your decision not to join the football team.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Conner. I mean, I was really grateful and everything but—’
‘And I quite understand,’ she interrupted.
‘You do?’
‘Of course. You merely wanted to establish that you had the inalienable right to join the boys’ football team. And I think we made that point clearly. Whether you chose to avail yourself of this opportunity was a matter of personal choice. Wasn’t that your point all along?’
‘Um, yes, miss.’
‘Splendid.’
She returned to browsing the mags. ‘Crimes of Passion – Women Who Got Away with It’.
Felt I’d just been let off too.
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 14TH
Bought a cheap mobile in town from
pocket money I’d saved up. It didn’t have a lot of features on it but it looked OK and had five pounds worth of free calls and texts.
I suppose I can afford it if I use my lunch money for top-ups and just live on scraps.
WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 15TH
Oh my God, it’s fantastic having a mobile at last so I am no longer a sad technological social outcast. Spent the whole day calling and texting everyone I knew. Even people I didn’t know but whom people I know knew. And received loads and loads of messages back. Finally I am a member of the teenage community.
Got into trouble tonight for calling and texting during dinner so was told to switch my mobile off. Put it on silent, finished dinner quickly – or, as Mum said, hoovered the food off my plate – and put it on again.
Was looking forward to a whole evening of texting and calling friends but by seven o’clock I’d used up all my credit. Was surprised when Dad came up to me while Mum was in the kitchen and handed me a tenner. ‘Here, love, this is for your phone. You’ll need to buy the next lot from your pocket money, mind. And, erm, don’t tell your mother I gave you anything. She’ll just get on at me for spoiling you. You know what she’s like.’
I said, ‘Thanks, Dad.’
Dad asked me to go and make him a cup of tea. Went into the kitchen, where Mum was sitting reading a magazine and smoking a cigarette. Seeing me put the kettle on, she asked for tea as well. She drinks nearly as many mugs of tea in a night as she smokes cigarettes but at least it was better than downing more Bacardi and Cokes, so I agreed – not that I had a choice.
While I was waiting for the kettle to boil she surprised me by handing me a tenner and saying, ‘Here, take this for your phone but don’t tell your father. He can be a grumpy old bugger sometimes. Tight as a duck’s bum. You know what he’s like.’
I said, ‘Thanks, Mum.’
Mum took her tea into the living room, switched on the TV, sat down and lit up another fag. Dad was reading the sports page of the newspaper, which is the only bit he bothers with. I looked at my parents affectionately. Yeah, they were maybe old-fashioned and knew nothing about the modern world, but they were decent, good-hearted people who loved me. It wasn’t their fault they weren’t too smart and were totally ignorant about fashion and modern technology. I shouldn’t get so annoyed with them. They were more to be pitied in a way. I guess it’s up to me to guide them through this new technological age.
Ah, another text. Didn’t recognize the number. Excitedly I pressed to read it: KA U R A STPD LES.
Hmm, I’m being bullied by text. I suppose there is a downside to technology.
SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 18TH
Texted Liz. She agreed to meet me in town for a wander round the shops. Had a good time but then disaster struck.
We were walking across the bridge over the Clyde when a group of neds in trackies and baseball caps asked us for the time. I was stupidly taking my mobile out of my pocket to check when one of them lunged at it. I held on fast and bit his hand. Meanwhile Liz started hitting him with her umbrella. The other neds just stood around laughing. ‘Haw, Billy, the lassies are gonnae gi’e ye a doin’, man, so they ur.’
The ned managed to push Liz away and quickly grabbed for the phone again. ‘Gonnae jist geez it. Ahm no gonnae go till Ah get it.’
That will be right. Liz came back to batter him some more – he didn’t budge at first and kept trying to yank the phone from me, but I hung onto it with both hands. Under a renewed fierce battering from Liz, which broke her brolly, he suddenly let go. The move was so sudden that my arm swung up and back, then – oh God, no – the phone slipped out of my hand, over the railings, and into the water below.
The ned ran off shouting, ‘Serves ye right – an yer mobile wiz crap anyhow, by the way.’
Tosser.
Am totally gutted as I’ve only had the phone for a day. Thought about diving into the water to get it but I’m not a very good diver, or swimmer, and anyway the phone probably wouldn’t work now.
Hmm … then again, maybe it would. Liz dropped hers in the bath last November and though it didn’t work at first, when it dried out it was fine. Well, not totally fine: her predictive text doesn’t work, the camera was ruined and she has to hold it upside down and shake it to speak, plus the only ring tone she can access is a naff Postman Pat theme tune, but still.
Was again considering diving in and Liz was trying to talk me out of it when luckily we spotted two policemen walking by. I ran over to them and quickly explained my problem. Decided not to mention my mugger as I wanted them to focus on getting my mobile back rather than tracking down the criminal, especially as it would just mean another asbo for him to boast about to his pals.
The policeman seemed puzzled by my complaint. ‘So, love, that’s a shame but we’re no’ sure what you want us to do about it.’
Honestly, wasn’t it totally obvious? What an idiot. But I just said politely, ‘Please, Officer, could you get it out of the river for me?’ The policemen looked startled so I quickly added, ‘Well, not you personally of course, but, erm, the river police division, or, you know, um, frogmen officers.’
‘Oh, aye, right. Frogmen, of course.’ He nodded to the other officer then spoke into his radio. ‘Sarge? Aye, there’s a young lady here that’s lost her mobile. Fell into the Clyde just a few minutes ago. We need a couple of frogmen right away.’ Here he looked over the bridge into the river. ‘Nah, cancel that. Maybe a dozen or so in case it’s been swept downstream. And send the rest of the lads out to secure the area … What’s that you said? We’re a bit short of officers just now because of the bank robbery in progress, the rooftop protest in Barlinnie, where they’re holding the prison governor and staff hostage, plus another major terrorist alert at Glasgow airport? … Look, forget all that, this takes top priority. I want every inch of the Clyde dragged to locate this lassie’s phone. She had nearly twenty quid’s worth of top-ups in it an’ all.’
Of course, he hadn’t even had his radio on properly. Hilarious. And the police wonder why they’re losing the teenage community’s respect.
SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 19TH
When Mum found out about my mobile, she went on and on at me for being an eejit who’d ‘lose your head if it wasn’t sodding well bolted on’. But luckily Aunt Kate and Greataunt Winnie came over in the afternoon so Mum was too busy talking to them to slag me off much any more.
They’d come over mainly to have a nosy at Angela’s new boyfriend, who she’s invited over for dinner at our house even though she’s only been going out with him two weeks. Apparently he’s already dead keen to meet our family so he must be a real nerd. The good news is that Mum has bought Marks and Spencer’s lasagnes, which are my favourite, so maybe that will make up for having to put up with another of the boring, stupid boyfriends my sister seems to attract.
Angela had begged Mum not to have loads of people over ‘spectating’, but Mum has said Aunt Kate and Greataunt Winnie can meet him because they’re family but they won’t stay for dinner. I was relieved about that. Didn’t want to share the lasagnes with too many people.
I was at my bedroom window keeping an eye out for someone who looked like he could be Angela’s boyfriend, and I’d spotted several nerdy-looking possibilities who all passed by, when this really tall, fit guy got out of an expensive sports car and moved purposefully towards our door, carrying a bunch of flowers and a huge box of chocolates.
Bloody hell. This looked interesting.
I rushed downstairs and opened the door. He seemed startled. Maybe I should have waited until he’d knocked. But he just said in a nice American accent, ‘Hi, you must be Kelly Ann. I’m David. Great to meet you.’
I took the chocolates from him, then ushered him into the living room.
Mum, Aunt Kate and even Greataunt Winnie were as gobsmacked as me when they saw him and just gawped. However, they quickly recovered and soon everyone was chatting away easily.
As well as being very good looking, he seemed really nice t
oo. He talked knowledgeably to Dad about sport, always respectfully deferring to Dad’s opinion. And he answered all Mum’s, Aunt Kate’s and Greataunt Winnie’s nosy questions with a smile, calling them ‘ma’am’ and saying how honoured he was to meet so many of Angela’s wonderful family. It was maybe a bit smarmy but they loved it. He even paid attention to me, asking me what music I liked and offering to teach me guitar as he’s been playing since he was a kid and is quite good.
How had Angela managed to get this one? He seemed perfect.
But then suddenly he turned to Dad and said, ‘Have you found Jesus yet, sir?’
Dad tried to laugh it off. ‘Didn’t even know he was missing, son.’
But David ignored the joke. ‘He is missing in the hearts of too many poor sinners who need saving.’
And then he droned on for ages about how he’d found Jesus two years ago and how it had totally transformed his life. Might have known it was too much to hope that my sister had at last found a boyfriend who wasn’t a total embarrassment.
Soon even Greataunt Winnie – who’s dead religious and goes to church every Sunday – was yawning like a hippo so she and Aunt Kate made some excuse and hurried out. But we would have to put up with him at least until after dinner.
I offered to help Mum in the kitchen just to get away. So did Dad, which is a first. The lasagne smelled delicious, and there was Häagen-Dazs chocolate ice cream for dessert, so maybe the evening wasn’t going to be a total disaster.
By the time we sat down to eat I was starving as it was at least an hour later than normal. Couldn’t wait to get started but then David said, ‘Shall I say grace?’
Next thing I knew he’d taken hold of both Angela’s hand and mine, bowed his head, and begun the longest prayer ever. He thanked God, not just for the food but absolutely everything: the table we ate it on, our family home to shelter us while we ate it, Mum and Dad’s jobs for providing the money for it and our healthy bodies that would eat and digest it. Wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d thanked God for the toilet we’d use afterwards but finally he stopped and I was allowed to eat my lasagne, which had gone cold. Mum’s hadn’t though – she’d finished hers while he was waffling on and was now smoking her after-dinner fag.