Hunky Dory

by Jean Ure

  “No, I didn’t,” she said. “I made that one up specially, and if you don’t answer it I’ll know you’ve got something to hide!”

  To humour her—as it’s the last time—I wrote, Go out with Linzi. I thought she’d be pleased. I reckoned it deserved at least a gold star.

  “So is that the right answer?” I said.

  Gloatingly, she said that it was, but that it was “too late”.

  “What d’you mean, ‘too late’?”

  “She doesn’t want to go out with you any more. She wouldn’t go out with you if you fell on your bended knees and begged her! She’s gone off of you. She’s got a crush on someone else.”

  “That’s a relief,” I said.

  “Don’t you want to know who it is?”

  “Don’t care, so long as it’s not me.”

  “It’s your friend Joey.”

  I said, “Joe Icard?”

  “He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

  Yes, he is, and he’s never mentioned anything to me about some silly little Year 6 having a crush on him.

  “I’m not making it up,” said the Microdot. “She thinks he’s really cute. She used to think you were, but she’s decided there’s more to people than just the way they look.”

  “Does he know about it?” I said.

  “Course he knows about it!” scoffed the Microdot. “He’s not blind—not like some people. He smiles at her. He doesn’t walk past and ignore her. He likes girls. You’re only interested in your nerdy dinosaurs. What’s this about girls stopping giggling?”

  I said, “That’s my wish for humanity.”

  “You mean, you just want everyone to be miserable?”

  “I wouldn’t be miserable,” I said.

  “Everyone else would! That is such a sick answer.”

  “So what did you put? What’s your great wish for humanity?”

  She drew herself up to her full height (about ten centimetres). “World peace,” she said.

  Oh, spare me!

  “I’m going to go away, now, and do your profile. I can tell you already,” she said, “it’s not looking good!”

  I dunno why she’s got it in for me. I once heard Mum explaining to Wee Scots that we were too close in age and it made us competitive. But I’m not competitive! It’s the Microdot that always has to be one up. I just want to be left alone to get on with my life. What’s so wrong with that?

  I know she’s going to tell me I’m weird and geeky, all because I’d rather dig for dinosaur remains than go out with girls. It’s not that I have anything against girls! I know that they are necessary, and I even quite like some of them. Lottie, for instance. We got on OK! And, of course, the Herb. We’ve always got on.

  Come to think of it, the Herb’s a bit of a giggler; she giggles quite a lot. I wouldn’t want her to stop doing it! But the Herb’s different. She’s not like other girls, she’s—well! She’s the Herb.

  Dad reminded me this evening that this weekend is my last weekend for the hole. “Come Monday, it all gets filled in!”

  “And don’t forget,” said Mum, “next Saturday and Sunday are out. OK?”

  I said, “Yes. OK,” trying not to heave a sigh.

  Saturday is Gran and Granddad’s golden wedding anniversary. They will have been married for fifty years! There is going to be a big party, with lots of people coming from all over. I am quite looking forward to it, though I can’t help thinking of all the digging I could get done if I didn’t have to go. Unfortunately Mum insists.

  “Of course you have to go! Miss your gran and granddad’s golden wedding? No way!”

  I suppose I wouldn’t want to, really; it will probably be quite fun. It is being held in a hall which Dad and Uncle Clive have hired. It is going to go on practically all day. It seems strange to have a party in the daytime, but Gran and Granddad are too old, I guess, to stay awake in the evening.

  They are spending the night with Uncle Clive and Auntie Jess, where there are no Jack Russells to upset them, then on Sunday we are all going out for a family lunch, before driving Gran and Granddad back to Eastbourne. By the time we get home it will be too late to do any digging. I am really going to miss my hole!

  Monday

  This morning, at school, I had a long talk with Joe on the subject of girls. I started off by asking him about Linzi. I said, “Did you know my sister’s friend has a crush on you?”

  He denied all knowledge! He said, “Who is she? Who told you?”

  Bitterly, I said, “My sister.” I should have known better than to pay any attention to the Microdot. “Just forget about it,” I said. “She’s nuts!”

  But he didn’t seem to want to forget about it. He said, “So who is she, then?” I told him she was in Year 6 and that according to the Microdot—not that she can be trusted—he had actually smiled at her.

  “Oh! Yeah. I remember. She’s the one with the plaits.”

  “She has got plaits,” I said. “Yes.”

  “Hangs around in a bunch by the gate.”

  “Yes.”

  A big grin suddenly split his face. “I did sort of smile at her. Cos she smiled at me, you know? Wouldn’t have been polite not to smile back. Anyone would’ve. Even you would’ve.”

  I couldn’t think what to say to this. What did he mean, even I would have?

  “It’s only natural. It’s only normal.” He looked at me, earnestly. “You can’t just ignore them.”

  “What,” I said, “girls?”

  “That’s right! You gotta get along.”

  I said, “I do get along.”

  “Yeah, but more than just like…getting along. You gotta—”

  “What?”

  “Well! Like—mingle, an’—an’ talk an’—show ’em you care. That kind of stuff.”

  I’d never have thought of Joe as being someone that would want to mingle and talk. He’s always been what Mum calls “a bit of a lad”. The grin broke out again, right across his face.

  “You’re saying she’s got this crush on me?”

  I told him that that was what the Microdot was saying. “Only I dunno how reliable she is. Sometimes she makes things up.”

  “No, I reckon she’s gotta be right. Way she looked at me…what d’you say her name was? Lindy?”

  “Linzi.”

  “Linzi…” He rolled it lovingly off his tongue. “Linzi what?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Ask your sister. Ask her what her name is and where she lives.”

  “Why? What d’you want to know for?”

  “If someone’s got a crush on me,” said Joe, “I need to know about ’em, don’t I?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t make any sense of this conversation.

  “You’d just better watch it,” I said. “You give her any encouragement, she’ll start making a right nuisance of herself.”

  He waved a hand. “I can cope.”

  “But she giggles,” I said.

  “I like ’em when they giggle! Think she’d go out with me?”

  “She’s Year 6,” I said.

  “Year 6 is good. You might think Year 8, but forget about it. They’re rubbish! Reckon they know everything. Even Year 7 can get a bit above themselves. Cal went out with Janine Edwards last week. Know what she said to him? Said he was too young for her. Didn’t have enough experience. She’s got some nerve!”

  I said, “Janine Edwards?” She was the great lumping girl that fell on me in the PE cupboard.

  Joe said, “You’d better believe it! Take it from me, Year 6 are the ones to go for. They are the best!”

  I found the whole discussion somewhat alarming. Not only Joe, taking an interest in the Microdot’s little giggly friend, but Calum, going out with Janine Edwards and nobody telling me. When I asked Joe why nobody had told me, he said, “Didn’t think you’d want to know. Anyway, he’s not going with her again. Says he doesn’t want to be insulted. Maybe your sister would like to go out with him? She’s not bad looking.”


  I said, “No, but she’s very bad-tempered.”

  I don’t want the Microdot going out with one of my mates. No way! And why would they want to go out with her? All of a sudden, life is very confusing. Once upon a time it used to seem so simple. There was me and Aaron, and Joe and Calum, and, of course, the Herb. Now there’s only me and the Herb, and even she has started acting strange just lately, not letting Lottie come and dig, telling me I was a boy. What did she mean by that? Why did she say it? I can’t understand! I can’t understand anything any more. I am beginning to feel quite depressed.

  Thursday

  Did a bit of digging after school today. Just me and the Herb. It is probably the last real digging we shall be able to do. The Herb said, “It’s a pity Aaron isn’t here.”

  I said, “Pity Lottie isn’t here.”

  I said it without thinking. The Herb instantly banged down her trowel and gave me this long, hard look. “Do you want her to be here?”

  I said, “No!” I could almost hear the terror in my voice. The Herb can be quite scary.

  “So why did you say it was a pity?”

  “I just meant…you know! We’d get a big more digging done. That’s all.”

  “If you want her here,” said the Herb, “I’ll ring her. You only have to say. If you really can’t live without having her—if you’re likely to go into some kind of decline—”

  “I’m not!”

  “Just tell me. All right? Cos I don’t want to be responsible for you having this massive mental breakdown all because Lottie isn’t here. I can get her here! No problem. You want me to get her here?”

  “No!”

  “Then why keep on about her?”

  I protested that I wasn’t. I wasn’t keeping on! “It’s just…you said about Aaron, so I said about Lottie.” She obviously doesn’t want her coming; I don’t know why. Maybe they have stopped being friends. Girls do seem to quarrel a lot more than boys, at least if the Microdot is anything to go by. Except that the Microdot is a very quarrelsome sort of person, which I didn’t think the Herb was. It is very confusing.

  “Let’s just dig,” said the Herb. “And stop keeping on!”

  We dug for just over an hour. The Herb worked really well, she is definitely better without Aaron. For the first time in ages, we uncovered an artefact. It is an old soap dish, made of some kind of metal. It has a top half and a bottom half and is greyish in colour. At first glance, it looks a bit like a hand grenade. The Herb actually thought it was a hand grenade. She shouted, “Take cover!” and hurled herself to the ground with her hands over her head, so that all the Russells got madly excited and started barking, and jumping up and down.

  I am glad to say that I did not panic. I picked up the soap dish and hurled it as hard as I could out of the cage and into the bushes before flinging myself down, on top of the Herb, and waiting for the bang. I am

  quite pleased with the way I behaved as I have often wondered what I would do in an emergency.

  It could have been a hand grenade; it’s the sort of thing you read about. LOCAL MAN FINDS UNEXPLODED BOMB IN BACK GARDEN.

  The Herb was quite disappointed. She said, “A hand grenade would at least have been exciting. We haven’t discovered anything exciting! Not even a trib’lite.”

  I said, “Trilobite.”

  “Whatever! You still haven’t got one. All you’ve got is a mouldy old soap dish!”

  It’s true, I would have liked to find a trilobite; I suppose I have been secretly hoping. I’ve even wondered if Dad might be persuaded to let me get rid of the compost heap and dig under that. But just at this moment I’m not really too concerned; I have other things on my mind. Worrying things. When I flung myself at the Herb, to protect her from the hand grenade, I had this weird urge to kiss her. Kiss the Herb. I am going red just thinking about it. I don’t know what’s happening to me! What is going on here?

  I used to be so happy, just digging my hole and thinking about dinosaurs. Now I’m all hot and bothered and embarrassed.

  The Herb won’t be able to come over tomorrow as she has to stay home and help Auntie Jess prepare for Gran and Granddad. She is not best pleased, as Gran would say.

  “Every time they visit it’s like we’re expecting the Queen, or something.” She said bitterly that it was all right for me. “You’ve got a secret weapon.”

  She meant the Russells. I said, “Maybe you should get some.”

  “I suggested that,” said the Herb. “Mum says we can’t, cos of her being out at work all day.”

  “There’s cats,” I said; but cats aren’t as intrusive as dogs. They don’t bounce, and they don’t bark. Big Nan could probably cope with cats. “At least,” I said, “the party should be fun.”

  “Huh!” said the Herb.

  I feel for her, I really do; I know what it’s like, having Big Nan to stay. But I am kind of relieved that we won’t be down in the hole again. Not if I’m going to have these wild urges.

  It’s very unsettling.

  Nine

  Saturday

  Today was Gran and Granddad’s golden wedding celebration. Mum got us all up really early—and we then arrived late. This was thanks to the Microdot having a crisis with clothes. She came trailing downstairs in her dressing gown, clutching some kind of pink garment and going, “Mum, it’s got a mark!” A great big splodge, all down the front. I suggested she should wear it the other way round, so the mark was at the back, but she turned on me and screamed that I was an idiot.

  “People would think I’d sat in dog poo!”

  I said, “So wear something else,” but according to her she hasn’t got anything.

  “Everything else is rubbish!”

  “Ever thought about a bin bag?” I said.

  “Dory, stop it,” said Mum. “Anna, let me have a look.”

  Mum and Dad are such a soft touch where the Microdot is concerned. I don’t know whether it’s because she’s small, or whether it’s because she’s the youngest, or whether it’s simply because she’s a girl, but they let her get away with stuff that me and Will would never be allowed to get away with. Like I can just imagine, if I started wailing that I had to go and do some last-minute digging in the hole, the reaction would be totally negative. It’d be, “Dory, don’t you dare, “Dory, get a move on,” “Dory, we’re going.” But was it “Anna, stop being so vain” or “Anna, we haven’t got time”? No. It wasn’t. It was, “Oh, darling, what a horrible mark! Wherever did that come from? Let’s quickly pop it in the machine.”

  So we all sat around and waited for half an hour, and even then they wouldn’t let me go and dig. Will, for some reason, seemed to think it was funny. He said, “She’s got more clothes than the rest of us put together!”

  “I know,” said Mum. “But it’s a big day, and she’s set her heart on wearing this dress.”

  I could have said that I’d set my heart on doing some last-minute digging, but I didn’t bother. They’ve never taken my digging seriously; to them it’s just always been a joke.

  “We are going to be late,” I said.

  “Not by much,” said Dad. “Be patient! It’s important for little girls to look their best.”

  Well! If that isn’t a sexist remark, I’d like to know what is. The Microdot, who prides herself on being some kind of hot shot feminist, just sat there, smirking. I felt so glad that the Herb isn’t like that, making a fuss about clothes, and hair, and all the little bits and pieces the Microdot likes to have stuck on her, or hanging off her, or just generally attached to her. I thought the Herb would probably turn up wearing a T-shirt and jeans, same as usual. Or even her boiler suit. Good old Herb!

  “There,” said Dad, when at last the Microdot was all kitted out and ready to go. “I’d say that was worth the wait!”

  “Still look better in a bin bag,” I said.

  “Yes, and you’d look better locked in the cellar with the lights out!” shrieked the Microdot. “And for your information,” she added, “I’m worki
ng on your profile and it’s coming out seriously weird. Cos that’s what you are!”

  “Oh, people, please,” said Mum. “Not today! Let’s just try to have a good time, shall we?”

  When we got to the hall, the car park was crammed with cars; I couldn’t believe how many. And then we went inside and could hardly move for bodies. Uncle Clive said later that over fifty people had come! Some of them were old friends of Gran and Granddad—really old, in some cases. Practically ancient—and some were family, like great-grandnieces and third cousins twice removed, come all the way over from Canada and Australia. We had to go round being introduced, with the Microdot acting all girly in her pink dress, and Dad saying things like, “Good grief! Last time we met you were still at the crawling stage.” Just once or twice, people even said it to Dad.

  I kept searching for the Herb, but couldn’t see her anywhere. And then we bumped into Auntie Jess (looking stressed) and I said, “Where’s the Herb?” and she pointed and said, “Over there…sulking.” I still couldn’t see her. There was a girl in some sort of blue get-up, munching on a sausage roll, but no Herb. And then it struck me…that was the Herb. The girl in the blue get-up. That was the Herb!

  I immediately pushed my way over there. I said, “Hi!”

  The Herb mumbled back “Hi” through a mouthful of sausage roll.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  “Can’t have looked very hard.”

  “It’s just…I didn’t recognise you,” I said. “Dressed like that.”

  The Herb scowled. She said, “You don’t have to stare. It’s really rude to stare.”

  I said, “I’m not staring.”

  “Excuse me, your eyes are practically on stalks.”

  I felt my cheeks go flaming into the red zone. I don’t very often blush, but the Herb in a dress was making me feel kind of bashful. I’m not sure quite why. Maybe because I’m not used to seeing her all done up like that. Even her hair looked different, like it had been styled, or something. She didn’t look like the Herb. She looked really pretty!

  “You took your time getting here,” she said.