by Liz Rettig
At long last he left. As he said goodbye, I had the oddest thought. Yeah, it was true. Wished Angela was still with Graham.
SATURDAY 25TH SEPTEMBER
Liz has dumped her boyfriend. ‘He was so boring, Kelly Ann. I mean, no major traumas in childhood, no phobias, not even the slightest sign of obsessive compulsive behaviour. Nothing. Totally well balanced and adjusted.’
SUNDAY 26TH SEPTEMBER
Stephanie has dumped her Zombie. Apparently he gave her flowers pretending he’d bought them but had actually stolen them from the cemetery. She found a card still attached which said, For our beloved gran. We miss you. RIP.
MONDAY 27TH SEPTEMBER
I know I should probably feel sorry that my friends have split up with their boyfriends but it’s not as though they’re really cut up about it exactly. And I can’t help being pleased that at last I would no longer be spending every Saturday night on my own. I was already planning what we’d all do next weekend but Stephanie appeared to have other ideas.
She showed Liz and me a picture of a boy called Harry. ‘What do you think?’
We peered at him. Tall and slim with brown hair and a nice smile. He looked OK but not exactly Stephanie’s type.
Liz said, ‘What does he do? Not another gravedigger, is he?’
‘No, he’s still at school. Anyway, he’s not for me. I’m thinking he might make a nice boyfriend for Kelly Ann.’ Stephanie looked at me. ‘Do you like him?’
‘A boyfriend for me?’
‘Yeah, why not? You can’t stay a VL for ever. I told you I was going to set you up.’
‘You did not!’
Stephanie shrugged. ‘Must have forgotten. Anyway’ – she pointed to the picture again – ‘what do you think?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never met him. You can’t just get me a boyfriend like you’re ordering stuff from a catalogue.’
‘A boyfriend catalogue. What a great idea.’ Stephanie laughed. ‘Especially if you can send them back if you’re not satisfied. Hmm, yeah, there’d probably be an awful lot of returns.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘Harry isn’t from a catalogue. He’s the son of one of Mum’s friends. So, do you like him?’
I stared at the photo. Yeah, he wasn’t too bad looking. Quite hot in fact. But what was he really like? And would he fancy someone like me? I’d need to find out more before I made an idiot of myself like I did with William.
‘I don’t know anything about him,’ I said.
Stephanie sighed. ‘He’s just a boy. They’re all much the same, aren’t they? What do you want to know?’
‘Well, erm, what school does he go to for a start?’
‘It’s a private school but he’s not a snob.’
‘Private school? The same one as Leo?’
‘Who’s Leo?’ Stephanie said.
Liz groaned. ‘Don’t ask.’
TUESDAY 28TH SEPTEMBER
It’s been decided that Stephanie will try to get Harry and me together. Decided by Liz and Stephanie, that is. I wasn’t keen at first. Well, more scared really. The annoying thing is, now that I really want a boyfriend, the very thought of even talking to a boy I fancy makes me nervous, never mind actually going out with one.
But Stephanie has said she’s going to prepare me before I meet Harry so I’ll look absolutely fabulous and be super confident. First I’m to be given a total makeover. Then I’ll have to be taught how to talk to boys. Liz had told her about the William disaster.
Am quite excited about it now. Wouldn’t it be weird if, for once, I was the one with the boyfriend? Weird and, yeah, definitely exciting.
SATURDAY OCTOBER 2ND
Our school was playing St Ann’s in the semi-final of the Glasgow schools competition. Liz didn’t want to go but Stephanie decided to check out the talent on the Catholic team. Don’t think she meant their football skills. For the second half we were standing beside the Catholic team coach, who wasn’t a PE teacher but a priest who spoke with an Irish accent. Near the end of the game, since his team were winning one–nil, he took off a striker and sent on a reserve defender. Before going on, the boy crossed himself like Catholics do sometimes, and started muttering a prayer. I assumed the priest would be pleased by this, but no. He hissed at his player, ‘Cut the crap and get on the pitch, you eejit. Do you want us playing a man down?’
Charming.
The Catholic team won. Having said that, Osman, who is our best midfielder, was off with a sprained ankle and his replacement, the new guy that Gary didn’t like, was useless. Although I suppose he might have been having an off day.
Mr Ferguson took the defeat pretty well. He came over to the priest, shook his hand and said, ‘God seemed to be on your side this afternoon, Father.’
The priest smiled back but said, ‘You could say that, Hugh. Or then again you could say that we were the better team; more talented, better organized and with a first-class coach.’
Mr Ferguson laughed. ‘Fair enough, Father. Are you up for a pint?’
‘Is the Pope a Catholic? And you’ll be paying, I take it, to acknowledge your well-deserved defeat against an overwhelmingly superior opposition.’
‘Aye, that will be right.’
After the match Chris decided to walk home with us rather than go on the minibus with Mr Ferguson and the rest of the team. We talked about the game for a while even though Stephanie was sighing with exaggerated boredom.
Chris conceded that the other team were ‘better on the day’ and so deserved their victory. I knew he was right but his reasonable attitude kind of annoyed me.
We left him to get changed at his house and Stephanie came back with me.
As soon as he’d gone in she said, ‘He’s keen.’
‘Yeah. Chris loves football. He’s pretty good too.’
‘No, I meant on you. Keen on you.’
‘What? Don’t be stupid. He’s my friend – I’ve known him for ages. He’s, well, more like a brother really.’
Stephanie raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘You think?’
‘Definitely.’ God, maybe she doesn’t know as much about boys as I’d thought. How could she possibly imagine Chris fancied me?
She shrugged. ‘OK, so you’re still up for meeting Harry then? We’ll start tomorrow.’
‘I’m going to meet him tomorrow!’ I said, suddenly panicked. Oh God, this was too soon. What if he didn’t fancy me? Or worse, what if he pretended he fancied me for a laugh then told all his friends about it. I’d be so humiliated. This was a stupid idea.
‘I’m not ready,’ I said. ‘It’s too soon.’
‘You can say that again. No way are you ready.’
‘But why—?’
‘Tomorrow you’re coming over to my house for a complete makeover. Hair, face, body – the lot.’ She paused to examine me and frowned. ‘And clothes. What are you wearing? Didn’t our shopping trip teach you anything?’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Brown combats with a khaki T-shirt. This isn’t the army. You’re trying to get noticed, not camouflaged. God, we’ve got such a lot of work to do.’
Stephanie had given me another bigger photograph of Harry to keep, so when I got home I took it out and studied his face again. Yeah, he was really OK looking – or ‘not too shabby’, as Stephanie put it. I wondered what it would be like to snog him. Or any boy really.
Tried kissing the photo but it felt stupid and left a wet bit in the middle, so I put it on a radiator to dry then went downstairs and switched on the TV.
Flicked through the channels and found a programme with Indie music, then danced about for a while until Smashed came on. They were playing a ballad and the camera was focusing on a close-up of the lead singer, Jason. God, he was gorgeous. Much, much better than Harry. I went right up to the screen so I was nearly touching it. Nearly touching Jason, his lips just a centimetre from mine. Well, why not?
I tilted my head to the side, closed my eyes, and screamed. Sodding static.
SUNDAY OCTOBER 3RD
Decided to Google Jason this morning. Not that I was being stupid and obsessive like Debbie was with the guitarist, Matt. Actually I should say ‘used to be’ as she’s now totally gone off him and is ‘in love’ with some actor in Doctor Who. No, I just wanted to find out stuff like what Jason’s musical influences were, if he’d plans for a new album and whether he’d a girlfriend or not. Because, of course, a girlfriend can be an influence musically.
Jason doesn’t have a girlfriend.
Went over to Stephanie’s for the makeover and brought my heels with me like she’d asked. Was nearly late as I’d spent ages finding out about Jason. It’s amazing how much information there was on him. Almost feel like I know him now.
Liz was already there. She’d come to ‘supervise and advise’. And to eat the smoked salmon sandwiches followed by chocolate profiteroles, which Stephanie’s mum had laid on for our lunch.
After lunch Stephanie told me to strip off and put on a white towelling dressing gown. I refused to take off my underwear, which annoyed her.
‘A beautician,’ she said, ‘is like a gynaecologist. Used to seeing and dealing with every part of a woman’s body.’
‘Not mine.’
She tied my hair back with a white band, then slapped thick, gungy green face pack over what seemed like most of my upper body. Next she looked at my legs and shook her head. ‘Ugh. That has to go.’
‘My legs? What’s wrong with them? I like them.’
‘No, you idiot. The total forest growing on them. Gross.’
This was unfair. I’ve never had hairy legs like some girls do, so I don’t need to shave them – or so I thought. But Stephanie insisted that legs had to be as bald as boiled eggs. And shaving was out of the question. I wasn’t a boy.
When Stephanie ripped the first wax strip off my leg I screamed in agony and leaped up. There was no way I was letting her do that again – even if, as she pointed out, it would look as though someone had started to mow my shin then got fed up. But Stephanie and Liz were determined, and in the end Liz held me down on the floor by sitting on my chest, and Stephanie continued waxing while I writhed and screamed.
My screams brought Stephanie’s mum into the room. Thank God. I was going to be rescued. But she just looked at the three of us on the floor and smiled.
‘You girls having fun?’ she said, and left.
Hope I never have to fight for my country, get captured and then tortured to reveal important secrets. I would tell everything if the pain was anything like having my legs waxed.
Absolutely refused to have the bikini wax and threatened to report them for indecent assault if they tried to make me. Anyway, as I said, ‘It’s October. Why would I wear a bikini on a date?’
The rest of the afternoon was much more fun. Stephanie let me try on loads of clothes from her huge walk-in wardrobe and insisted I keep a strappy red Ted Baker dress which she said I looked amazing in and was a bit tight for her.
Then she got out a make-up box the size of a suitcase and did my face lots of different ways, finally going for what she called a ‘sultry’ look, with slate-blue and purple eye shadow, red lips and just a touch of frosted blusher. It was amazing how old I looked after Stephanie had finished. Fantastic.
Stephanie was pleased with her work, saying she knew all along I had potential.
‘Only thing now, Kelly Ann, is your hair. It’s a disaster. Who’s your hairdresser? He should be arrested.’
Hmm. Didn’t like to say it was Aunt Kate, who wasn’t a real hairdresser but I thought did my hair OK. Better than Mum anyway, who once cut my fringe so short I looked like Frankenstein.
Stephanie gave me the contact details for Albert, the hairdresser she uses, saying he was the best and to mention her name.
I wore the red dress and heels to go home. Even though I was a bit cold, despite my warm black jacket, I just didn’t want to take the dress off just yet. It made me feel so good somehow. Feminine and, yeah, kind of sexy.
Couldn’t help noticing the way boys were looking at me. Even some older boys. One of them smiled at me. Not a sleazy smile, more a kind of ‘you look nice’ smile.
It was strange getting attention from people who didn’t even know me just because of how I looked. But nice strange. Exciting. Like suddenly discovering you’ve got some kind of magical power you never knew you possessed. Yeah, maybe being more grown up and girly wasn’t as boring as I used to think.
Not the waxing though. Too much pain.
WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 6TH
Have decided to try Tampax again as I think it’s more grown up and lets me wear what I want no matter what time of the month it is. Stephanie hasn’t used anything else for years and Liz has now moved on to them as well.
I confided to them that I couldn’t get the hang of it before. Stephanie told me to try Vaseline while Liz advised me to use a hand mirror for guidance. Have decided to do both.
Borrowed a Tampax from Angela’s underwear drawer. Noticed the condoms had gone. Instead, there was a prayer book and a leaflet on Christian relationships.
It’s weird really. Don’t like David much but have to admit he’s much better looking than Graham ever was. You’d think if Angela was going to do it with anyone, it would be David, but obviously not. Maybe it’s the religion thing. Most of her dates seem to consist of going to prayer meetings. OK, I know they play guitars there, but still, it can’t be much fun. Mind you, Angela isn’t exactly normal either. Maybe she’s right into stuff like that.
Couldn’t find any Vaseline in Angela’s make-up bag but there was some lip salve that I thought would do just as well. The small compact mirror didn’t look nearly big enough though, so borrowed Dad’s shaving mirror, which he keeps in his bedside drawer so it doesn’t get misted up in the bathroom.
Right. All done.
After nearly twenty minutes I gave up. Don’t ask, but all I’ll say is this: when you can’t do something with two hands it’s even harder with one slippery one.
Returned lip salve and mirror but unfortunately was spotted by Angela and Dad in the process.
Angela said, ‘What were you doing with my lip salve?’
Dad said, ‘What were you doing with my shaving mirror?’
I said, ‘Trust me, you so don’t want to know.’
Decided to give up on tampons. Like waxing, they’re a part of growing up that will have to wait.
FRIDAY OCTOBER 8TH
In-service day today, so I didn’t have to go to school, and as Mum and Dad were at work I’d been looking forward to a lazy, peaceful day at home. However, forgot that Friday is also Angela’s day off college. Unfortunately.
And she was in a foul mood all morning. First she barged into my room brandishing a tube of toothpaste that looked as though it had been strangled.
‘Look at this!’ she screamed. ‘You’ve been squeezing the tube in the middle again and leaving the top off.’
I shrugged. ‘I always squeeze the tube in the middle and leave the top off. But not that one. That’s yours. The super whitening one you bought specially when you started going out with David. Remember?’
‘Oh. Right. Well, um, don’t do it again.’
Then she left, banging the door behind her.
Bloody hell. I’m used to the stupid bad moods, but Angela mangling her toothpaste tube? There must be something up with her.
I tried to avoid her as much as possible but she stomped around after me complaining about everything I did, from using the last tea bag to leaving toast crumbs in the toaster tray.
At least she was going out with David this afternoon so I’d get rid of her eventually. I went off to the living room and switched on the TV to drown out her moans but she came marching in after me grumbling about the teaspoon I’d left on the kitchen counter. I ignored her and tried to concentrate on the programme, but when the couple on TV started snogging Angela screamed, ‘Turn that off! It’s stupid and … and … disgusting!’ Then she grabbed the control and switched it off.
‘Bloody hell, they’re not shagging. Just snogging. And they’re not even using their tongues. What’s up with you? You gone mental or something?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know!’ she said. Then she started sobbing.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Fine.’
But then of course she did. Every single detail.
‘It’s David. He won’t do anything with me. Not even snog properly, never mind anything else. Says he’s keeping himself for marriage. And he won’t get married for anther five years at least, until he’s finished university and got a proper job.’
‘God, that’s weird.’
‘It was so different with Graham. He was always so passionate. Couldn’t keep his hands off me.’
Ugh. Too much information. I changed the subject quickly.
‘Why don’t you just dump him?’
‘I did. Sort of. Said maybe we weren’t, you know, quite right for each other, but he wouldn’t listen. Just said we were perfect together and we should pray to God for guidance to strengthen our relationship. That’s what we’re doing today. Going to a prayer meeting.’
‘To pray about your relationship?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What a weirdo.’
‘I can’t face it, Kelly Ann,’ Angela said desperately.
‘So don’t go. Tell him he’s dumped.’
‘I can’t. He’s such a good person. Generous, kind, and he, you know, respects me – maybe a bit too much. I’d feel really mean.’ She paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued, ‘He’s coming round for me at four. You couldn’t just tell him I’m ill or something? Or, erm, had to go out because of some emergency?’
‘I’d better not tell him you’re ill. He’d only bring the prayer group round your bed to pray for your recovery.’ I switched the TV back on. ‘I’ll tell him you’re out but I really think you should dump him.’
‘Thanks, Kelly Ann.’
He arrived nearly a half-hour early. Angela had been sitting gazing moodily out the window when she saw his car pull in. She ducked down, hissing, ‘He’s here!’ Then she raced upstairs.