by Jean Ure
Over tea this evening the Microdot said, “Did you ask him?”
I said, “Who?”
“Aaron!”
“Did I ask him what?”
“If he’s going out with Sophy Timms!”
“Oh, that! Yeah. I asked him,” I said.
“So is he?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“You mean, he’s got a girlfriend!”
“Well, no, not really,” I said. “She’s not really a girlfriend. What it is, he’s training to become a giggle-o.”
I thought that would impress her! She didn’t know what it meant. Dad obviously did, cos he choked into his tea and said, “Training to become a what?”
“Giggle-o,” I said. And for the benefit of the Microdot I added, “It’s someone that gets looked after by an older woman.”
The Microdot shrieked, “Sophy Timms isn’t an older woman!”
“I told you,” I said, “he’s training. Gotta start somewhere.”
It was at this point I became aware that the rest of the table—Mum, Dad, Will, Wee Scots—were all convulsed and spluttering.
“What’s funny?” I said.
Will gasped. “It’s not giggle-o, it’s jiggle-o! G-i-g-o-l-o. Jiggle-o!”
At which they all fell about, including the Microdot.
“Jiggle-o, jiggle-o!”
It was extremely humiliating; I should have known better than to quote Aaron. He was the one that confused pederast with Prendergast. He was also the one that thought medieval was spelled middle evil. Now he has gone and made me look stupid in front of the Microdot. I am quite angry; I intend to speak to him about it. He is definitely not to be relied upon.
The Microdot has just pounded on my bedroom door and yelled at me to let her in.
I said, “What d’you want? I’m busy.”
She said, “I’ve worked out what your doodle means. Let me in and I’ll tell you!”
I said, “I’m not sure I wanna to be told…not if all you’re going to do is say I’m a weirdo.”
“I’m not, I’m not!” She shoved herself past me and bounced down on to my beanbag, scattering three of the Russells who had been lying there quite peacefully, for once.
I said, “Go on, then! Tell me—and don’t take all day about it. I’ve got things to do.”
“Right! Well. OK. What it means…it means you’d really like to go out with Linzi, but you’re too scared to ask her!”
I said, “What a load of total rubbish!”
Earnestly she assured me that it was not rubbish. “You can tell a lot about someone from the way they doodle. See, look, this line here, sort of leaping forward…that’s you, right? And this bit here, this is Linzi—see? Where you’ve drawn plaits? That’s Linzi.”
I said, “What d’you mean, plaits? It’s not plaits, it’s just lines!”
“That’s how it seems to you,” said the Microdot. “But deep down in your sub-conscious, it’s plaits. You didn’t know you were drawing plaits—”
“Yeah, cos I wasn’t.”
“You were! You just didn’t know it. That’s why it’s called your sub-conscious. Cos you’re not conscious. OK?”
I shook my head. There is absolutely no point in arguing with her.
I said, “Yeah, clear as mud.”
She looked at me, reproachfully. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
Why? What’s to be pleased about?
“Even when I try to be nice to you, you’re rude and ungrateful!”
I said, “How was I rude?”
“Saying it was crap!”
“Pardon me,” I said, “but that was you. I just said it was rubbish.”
“It’s still rude and ungrateful! I don’t know why I bother.”
“Feel free not to,” I said, as she flounced out the door.
“I’ve got to. I can’t stop now. I’m doing your profile!”
“Did I ask you to?”
She turned, and smiled, very sweetly. “No, but if you don’t co-operate I’ll know you’ve got something to hide!”
It’s frightening. If she’s like this when she’s ten, what’s she going to be like when she’s my age?
Six
Sunday
Another of her stupid tests.
“Draw faces!” she said.
So I drew faces. Six of ‘em, cos that’s what she told me to do. I made them all happy and smiling. I knew if I made them miserable, she’d have a go at me; I thought I’d get good marks for drawing smileys. Instead, she took one look and said, “Why are they all happy?” She said nobody draws six faces all happy. “It’s not normal!”
“‘Tis for me,” I said.
“Then you’re not normal! Just shows you’ve got something to hide. You thought if you drew six happy faces you could trick me, but you can’t, you see, cos it’s too obvious. Normal people draw a mixture. cos nobody’s happy all the time.”
“This is such a load of crap,” I said.
“You keep saying that!” She crowed, triumphantly. “It just proves that I’m right…when someone doesn’t like what they discover about themselves they say it’s crap, and if you use that word again I shall tell Mum!”
“Know what?” I said. “You’re a real creep!”
“Yes, and you’re a total plonk!”
Whatever that means. I don’t know why I let her get to me like this, I really don’t. She’s gone off now, all self-important, to work on my profile; I’ve come upstairs to brood. I do brood. I get very anxious and depressed and wonder what is wrong with me and why I can’t be the same as other people. Most of the time I’m quite happy just being me, but then the Microdot starts on and I lose all my confidence. She is always so sure of herself! Why can’t I be sure of myself?
I am feeling quite low. I shall have to make a list.
List of Dinosaur Objects in my Bedroom
Two pterodactyls flying up the wall
A model of a stegosaurus A triceratops poster
A triceratops poster
An inflatable tyrannosaurus (95 cm. tall)
A basket full of dinosaur eggs (not real ones, but they look real)
A giant pteranodon suspended from the ceiling
12 mini dinosaurs on a shelf above my bed
A small woolly mammoth (which of course is not an actual dinosaur, merely a prehistoric mammal, but Wee Scots gave it to me for my fifth birthday and it kind of fits in with the general theme)
I also have:
All my dinosaur books (listed previously)
2 dinosaur DVDs
+ a DVD of Jurassic Park.
Oh, and also my collection of trilobites which Dad bought for me off e-bay. One of the best presents I have ever had!
Mum says that entering my room is like going into a cave in the Jurassic period. She says Jurassic as that is the only one she has heard of. Actually it is a mixture of Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous, but I doubt if Mum would pay much attention if I tried telling her this. Even the Herb goes a bit glazed when I start talking about
things that took place millions of years ago. I suppose it is more than your average person can cope with.
I am feeling a bit better, now. More in control. Making lists restores order to my life. I cannot live haphazardly, like the Microdot! She simply has no sense of direction. Neither has Mum. It is always me that does the map reading in the car, even if Will is there. He
is good, but I am even better. I am the champion!
Tomorrow I intend to have a stern word with Aaron on the subject of giggle-o-s.
Monday
Had a long talk with Aaron. Told him how he’d made me look like an idiot in front of my whole family.
“The word happens to be jiggle-o,” I said. “Not giggle-o.”
He argued, same as he always does. You can’t tell Aaron anything, he always knows best. Thinks he knows best.
“Who says it’s jiggle-o?”
“My brother.”
“Not that stupid Microdot? C
os if it’s her, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“It wasn’t her! I just said, it was Will.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve seen the word, I know how it’s spelt. It’s spelt giggle-o.”
I said, “It may be spelt giggle-o, but that’s not the way it’s said.”
Even then he had to challenge me. “How do you know? You’d never even heard it before you got it off me!”
I said, “I know cos I’m capable of learning. I listen when people tell me things. I don’t just go arguing on!”
I might as well have saved my breath, all the notice he took.
“G-I-G! Like what people do in clubs…they do gigs. Yeah? Gigs. Not jigs. You ever heard of anyone going to a jig? Course you haven’t, cos they don’t! They go to gigs. G-I-G…gig.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. In the end I told him to just shut up and accept that he was wrong.
“Same like you always are. Like you were with Prendergast. You’re just not reliable,” I said. “Like oh, yes, I’ll be round to help you dig, no problem! I’ll be there. And then you go off helping someone walk their dog and don’t even bother telling me.”
“I did tell you!”
“Afterwards. Not much point telling someone afterwards.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be helping her again this evening,” said Aaran. “And I’m telling you now, so’s you’ll know.”
I said, “Must get a lot of exercise, that dog.”
“Needs it,” said Aaron. “It’s a big dog. Cross between a wolfhound and a Great Dane.”
So far it’s been a cross between about six different breeds. German Shepherd, Pyrenean mountain dog, bulldog, St Bernard…it’s probably a Yorkshire terrier.
“Guess I’d better tell the Herb you’re not coming,” I said.
Aaron said, “Yeah, an’ while you’re about it you can tell her I don’t want her bashing me no more!”
I couldn’t remember that she ever had bashed him, but he reminded me that last time he had come to help dig she had hit him on the head with her trowel.
“And she swore. It’s not right, girls swearing. She’s not very fem’nine,” said Aaron. “I wouldn’t go and help her with her dog!”
“She wouldn’t need you to,” I said. “She could manage by herself.”
“Yeah, being all butch and belligerent,” said Aaron.
I wasn’t sure that I liked him calling the Herb butch and belligerent. I mean, she is—but so what?
“Sophy’s more like a reg’lar girl.”
“Like a Barbie doll,” I said.
It was at that point the bell rang and we had to go into class, which was probably just as well. I’d hate to quarrel with my best mate over anything as silly as a girl.
I just read through what I wrote. I didn’t actually mean that girls are silly, just that it would be silly to quarrel over them. That’s all.
The Herb came round after tea wearing her boiler suit, all ready to dig. I told her that Aaron wouldn’t be coming. She said, “I s’ppose he’s helping the tiny little helpless dwarf thing walk her massive great dog that she can’t manage on account of being so flimsy.”
I said, “Yeah. I dunno what he sees in her. He’s gone all macho and protective.”
“Pathetic!”
“It is,” I said. “It is pathetic.”
“Hope you don’t ever get like that.”
I said, “Me? No way!”
“You’d better not,” said the Herb.
“I won’t!”
There was a bit of a silence then she said, “So we gonna dig, or what?”
“Maybe we ought to go up the park,” I said. “Take Polly and Jack.”
“But what about the hole?”
I told her that one night off wouldn’t hurt. She seemed surprised. I was a bit surprised, myself. Why would I want to go up the park when there was serious digging to be done? I mumbled that Mum hadn’t been able to give the dogs a good walk this morning, which was absolutely not true, as Mum always gives the dogs a good walk, but I had to have some excuse. You can’t just go up the park for no reason.
The Herb suggested we take all of them, but I drew the line at that. Five Jack Russells can drive a person mad. A normal person, that is. I said that we would just take Polly and Jack, as they are the youngest. So that is what we did.
The first thing we saw as we entered the park was Aaron and Sophy Timms, walking round the path on the far side. They were holding hands.
“Eurgh, yuck, look at that!” The Herb minced, doing
her Barbie doll thing. “Look what it’s wearing!”
I couldn’t really see, from that distance; not in any detail. It just looked like ordinary sort of stuff to me, the sort of stuff that most girls wear, but then I am not an expert in these matters. It is probably true to say that I know more about the mating habits of dinosaurs than about girls’ clothes.
“Pink,” said the Herb.
“Oh. Yeah! Right.” I nodded. Pink was puke; even I knew that.
“Looks like a bunch of candyfloss…catch me wearing pink! And where’s the great enormous dog?”
There wasn’t any dog. I mean, she’s probably got one, somewhere, but it certainly wasn’t there this evening. The dog was just a ploy, to get Aaron out of digging. He’d sooner come up the park and hold hands! What did he get out of it, just walking round the park?
“He’s gone totally soppy,” said the Herb. She minced again, flapping her arms and doing little twizzles. “Skippity hoppity! Look at me!”
He obviously got something out of it. I wondered what would happen if I held the Herb’s hand. I almost got brave and gave it a go, but before I could quite bring myself to do it she’d gone twirling off across the grass with Jack and Polly snapping at her heels. Probably just as well. I felt somewhat shaken and was glad we had brought the dogs with us as it gave me the opportunity to exercise a bit of authority.
“JACK! POLLY! COME BACK HERE!”
Not that they took any notice, but it was a manly sort of shout.
“I enjoyed that,” said the Herb, when we’d been right round the park and arrived back at the gates. Jack had found a punctured football and he and the Herb had played with it all across the grass. Polly had mainly just made a nuisance of herself, while I had walked sternly on along the path, brooding about Aaron and wondering what it all meant.
“I reckon you could have a team of Jack Russells,” panted the Herb, all happy and covered in mud. “Probably need something a bit bigger in goal…Old English Sheepdog, or something. Hey!” She nudged me. “You coming to see me play footie on Thursday?”
I said, “You bet!”
“It’s after school.”
“That’s OK.”
“It’ll mean you miss out on digging again.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“But you’ve only got another two weeks. Aaron ought to be helping! He’s your best mate.”
I said, “Yeah. Well—”
“I suppose he thinks she’s pretty?”
“What, the Barbie doll?” I looked at her in assembly the other day, and it seemed to me that she might be, but I’m not sure that I can trust my judgement; not when it comes to girls. I haven’t studied them like I’ve studied dinosaurs. “Do you think she’s pretty?”
“Me?” The Herb gave this short bark of laughter, like Huh! “I suppose some people might think she is…if that’s what they go for. All flimsy and feeble.”
I can see what she means; sort of. I can’t imagine Sophy Timms ever coming to help dig. She’d be too worried about getting her clothes messed up, or breaking her fingernails, or being rained on. If I ever have a girlfriend I wouldn’t want one that’s scared of a bit of mud.
Tuesday
Bumped into the Microdot, coming out of school. She was lurking, at the gates. Not on her own. In this loud, trumpeting voice she went, “YOU REMEMBER MY FRIEND LINZI, DON’T YOU?”
I said, “Oh. Yeah. Right! Hi,” and sh
ot down the road towards the bus stop, followed by the pair of them, both giggling. The Microdot later explained that “Linzi wasn’t giggling cos she thinks you’re funny, she was giggling cos that’s how it gets her, having this thing about you. She thinks you are just sooo Hunky Dory!” And, “Oh, look!” she squealed. “He’s gone all red! I’ve embarrassed him!”
I should think anyone would be embarrassed, being shrieked at by the Microdot in the middle of the street.
“Just button it,” I said.
She pouted. “You are so repressed, it’s just not true! There’s poor Linzi, pining away to practically nothing, and all you can say is button it. You’ll be sorry when she goes into a decline!”
I said, “She’ll get over it. She’s only ten.”
“That is the most insulting remark I ever heard!” shrieked the Microdot. “You’re not just a sexist pig, you pig, you’re an ageist one, as well!”
I deny that I am sexist. Or ageist. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that about being only ten, since being ten doesn’t mean you can’t have feelings. I remember being ten myself and being seriously wounded by the way my family persistently made fun of me and of my ambitions, like their “Dory and his dinosaurs” jokes. It was very hurtful. I certainly don’t want to hurt anyone, that is the last thing I want to do, but she just gets me so mad! The Microdot, that is. I don’t blame her friend. I daresay she can’t help it and anyway it’s my totally irritating sister that eggs her on. Left to herself she would probably be a perfectly harmless sort of person that wouldn’t dream of going round giggling at people and upsetting them.
Did some digging on my own. The Herb had football practice and Aaron was out hand-holding again. Didn’t uncover anything; couldn’t seem to get as enthusiastic as usual. Dunno why. Kept thinking about going up the park with the Herb. It is all very unsettling.
Wednesday