PS: I’ve just messaged Emma to ask if she wants to go to the lido, and she was like:
Yes, I love swimming.
Oh my God, I hate swimming.
Kill me.
Saturday, June 23 #Aftermath
Saturdays at the thrift shop are so weird without Bill and Melanie.
Pat was in today, and it was the first time I’d seen her since the funeral.
Kate: Pat, why don’t you go home and get some rest?
Pat: Thanks, Kate, but I prefer to stay busy.
Kate: All right, but don’t forget to look after yourself. It’s all well and good you looking after Bill, but you’re no good to anyone if you end up having a nervous breakdown.
And then Emma was like: “Do you think I should ask if Bill wants to come to my meetings? I know Melanie didn’t die of cancer, but a loss is a loss.”
Kate (biting her lip, looking into the middle distance): To be honest, pet, I don’t think Bill is ready for anything like that.
Emma: Maybe.
Me (finally): What meetings are they?
Emma: I go to meetings with people who’ve lost people to cancer.
Me: Okay.
Emma: I like going.
Me: Okay.
Emma: I think it keeps me sane.
Then Kate wrapped an arm around Emma and pulled her into a sideways hug and kissed the top of her head, going: “I’m so happy at least one of us is sane.”
8:05 P.M.
I want to know what happened after Romeo and Juliet died. I want to know what happened to the Nurse, and to the parents, and to all the shit-stirrers who caused Romeo and Juliet to go crazy.
But nobody ever talks about the time after the great tragedy.
9:10 P.M.
I wish I’d just asked Emma about the meetings earlier. I literally thought it was this huge, secret thing, when it’s just her going to talk to people who’ve been through the same trauma.
Sunday, June 24 #Lido
This morning we took the bus to Tooting. Polly and Tristan were already on it, I got on at Wimbledon, and Emma got on at South Wimbledon.
I had to buy a swimsuit at Primark beforehand, because the only one I own is from Year Five and has Minnie Mouse on it.
Note to self: Always own a decent swimsuit, and definitely don’t start buying one two minutes before you have to get on the bus.
I ended up with this vile, ill-fitting, bright blue thing.
Why am I incapable?
More reasons a mission to Mars would be brilliant:
space suit and
NASA-regulation underwear.
Emma looked fantastic in her bright red halter neck bikini, but to be fair, she looks fantastic in anything.
Emma and Tristan got on like a house on fire, of course.
What is it that makes him so irresistible?
Is it his helplessness?
The fact that he looks twelve?
Honestly, not ten minutes into the bus journey, and Emma and him were laughing and joking like they’d known each other all their lives. And later they went to get us water, then ice cream, and once they even went for a wee together.
Polly was like: “This is nice. Like a double date.” And as soon as she’d said it, she looked like she was kind of listening back to it in her head, and then she regarded me through half-closed eyes, and she went: “Phoebe?” But I was just like: “Fuck off.”
We went swimming a few times, but I didn’t really like it, partly because the water in that lido is absolutely freezing, but mainly because I’m not a very good swimmer. Everyone was doing proper lengths whilst I was struggling to stay afloat.
But because it was hot, and we had a nice time, we stayed until we all were 100 percent late getting home.
Emma was the first one off the bus, and she kept skipping and waving at us even though she was no longer looking, and Polly thought it was so funny she literally cried.
I got off next, and when I got home, Kate was like: “Any news?” and I was like: “Like what news?” and Kate was like: “I don’t know. News news. You know.”
Me: What are you talking about?
Kate: News.
Me: Can you stop saying news?
Kate: News.
Me: I think you may have actually lost the plot.
I’m not saying Kate was ever not crazy, but I swear ever since she’s fallen in love, we’re talking a whole new level.
9:04 P.M.
I had the best day, and for some bizarre reason (possibly sunstroke), I even found Tristan mildly tolerable.
And maybe I can be okay with just being Emma’s friend.
And maybe that would be better anyway.
Because friendships last.
I think Polly and I are finally okay again.
Monday, June 25 #ForeverHome
This morning I was like: What is life?
I hate that, you know, I’m so tired in the mornings, and then in the evenings I’m awake for ages because I’m finally no longer tired.
Tomorrow night people are coming over to look at the kittens.
Kate was like: “It’s time they go on to their forever homes.”
I’m obviously not their biggest fan, but it’ll be weird without them, because even though they’ve been a pain in the arse, they’ve been fun to have around.
Mum sent me a long email, because she didn’t get to speak to me yesterday because I’ve been “having way too much fun with your friends to think of your old mother.”
Why does everything have to be about her?
And I’m sorry, but yes, I honestly haven’t been thinking about her very much, because basically I haven’t seen her in five months, and I’ve been busy with GCSEs, the truth about my father, and people dying.
Emma keeps saying: “Oh, I want to be like your mum when I grow up.”
No, you actually really don’t.
Tuesday, June 26 #LiesAgain
I lied about the availability of the designer kittens (mainly Richard).
The first people arrived before Kate was back from work, and so I let them in and showed them the kittens, and I was like: “Those three are certified pure breeds, but the ginger boy one has been sold.”
So when Kate came in, the man was like: “We’ll have one of the girls. We’d prefer the boy, but I understand he’s already been snapped up.”
Kate looked at me like: What?
Me: The all-over ginger ones are always most popular.
Man: They sure are.
Kate:?
I’m glad she wasn’t like: What are you talking about, of course you can have the bloody ginger one.
When the people had gone, Kate just looked at me, crossed her arms, and was like: “Explain.”
Me: Please don’t sell Richard.
Kate (deep sigh): Phoebe.
Me: Please, let Emma have him.
Kate: Have you even asked her if she wants the bloody kitten?
Me: No.
Kate: Well, you need to have that conversation, don’t you think? And maybe while you’re at it, have that other conversation, too.
I stormed out like a proper dick and went to my room.
What’s wrong with me?
I need to stop this madness.
8:43 P.M.
I Googled “how to fall out of love with someone.”
Disappointingly, the internet turned out to be no help at all, because apparently that question can only be asked when you actually are in a relationship with someone.
The suggestion is to “write a list of why things haven’t worked out.”
Well, things haven’t not worked out. Mainly because the person in question has never looked at me in that way/would never in a hundred years look at me that way.
I mean, it’s great that you can watch YouTube videos like “All you need to know about black holes in twenty-five seconds,” but what about the answers to questions that actually have an immediate impact on real life? Like: How do I fall out of love with someo
ne????
Surely there has got to be a way, and surely I can’t be the first bloody person to be asking this question.
PS: Emma and Polly and Tristan are following each other on Instagram now.
I feel my life unraveling.
Wednesday, June 27 #DesperateTimes
Today I thought about the phrase “falling in love” again, and I finally totally get it. You fall. You trip, and boom! It’s entirely unintentional, not like a parachute jump (which is called “jump,” not “fall,” for a reason).
Apparently it doesn’t matter how clever you are, and I’m very clever, but I’m also clumsy AF, and I think I fell in love with Emma the way I often fall when I trip over my own feet.
I reckon the thing to do is to do nothing and wait until I hit the ground. Then I can deal with the impact, brush myself off, and limp away with as much dignity as humanly possible.
Like that time I tackled the shoplifter.
Thursday, June 28 #WinningNotWinning
Here’s how you don’t do it:
Try touching them at every opportunity.
Try making them spend time with you.
Spend an hour deciding what to wear because their possible reaction to it is suddenly more important than you actually feeling comfortable.
Reread Romeo and Juliet.
Give in to mentionitis.
On a positive note, the zero-grip bowling shoes have sold, which means the score is 1–0 to me.
I was like: “Who on earth bought them?” and Kate said it was the old lady who always comes in wearing her sunglasses and immediately complains it’s too dark and that she can’t see anything.
Maybe she didn’t see they were bowling shoes.
I seriously hope she’s not going to fall over and break her ankle, because that would totally be my fault somehow.
I swear Kate watches me now when I’m with Emma.
Is there anything more embarrassing?
Emma and I moved on from the bowling shoes and the pressed flowers picture, and this week I’m going with a green, pink, and white tracksuit from the eighties, and Emma has put a moldy old Bible in the display case.
I already know it’s not a winner, because it’s not the season for Bibles.
The game is on again.
Friday, June 29 #BallsOrNoBalls
Tonight Kate was like: “Phoebe.”
Me: Yes.
Kate: I’m taking all the kittens to have their shots and stuff on Monday.
Me: And?
Kate: You need to tell me what you want with Richard.
Me: What do you mean what do I want with him?
Kate: He’s a pure-breed tomcat. He could make someone a lot of money.
Me: You still want to sell him.
Kate: Of course I do. But. I know what it’s like when you feel all mushy on the inside and you can’t imagine giving up something that sweet, especially when the person you loooooooove adores it so.
Me: Everything is fine with my insides. I just think Emma should have him.
Kate: I understand that, but have you had a chance to ask Emma?
Me: No.
Kate: Okay, so that’s your mission tomorrow, because I need to know if his future owner wants to use him. If not, I’ll have his tiny little balls chopped off on Monday.
Me: That’s horrible.
Kate: Actually it’s more like twisting them off.
Me: Stop.
Kate (shrugging):…
I texted Emma straightaway:
If you were Richard’s parent, would you want him to be in working order and make you lots of money, or would you want him to have his balls twisted off?
Emma texted back:
?
I was just like: “Never mind,” because, in all honesty, I can’t have a conversation with Emma about a cat’s testicles.
Saturday, June 30 #NoBalls
Kate says she’s going to have to look for more volunteers now that we’re one person down.
It’s like we’re in a war.
I suppose we are, in a way.
We need to work harder so we can make more money, so people can do more research and people don’t have to die from cancer anymore.
It’s the war against death, which in a way is stupid, because we all have to die.
But I do think, since I’m not really good with people, and will therefore never be like Mum and Dad, that this is the only way I can help others, and maybe the world/the universe/karma will be pleased.
Lots of customers have been coming into the thrift shop going: “Oh, isn’t it terrible about Melanie? But she did have a good life.”
I reckon this is another thing we tell ourselves so we can feel better.
I asked Emma about Richard’s balls in person, which was strangely less awkward than in a text, and she was like: “I wouldn’t want him to have his balls twisted off, that’s cruel.”
Me: But here’s the other side of the argument. What if he goes around and shags all the cats in the neighborhood?
Emma: I suppose there’s enough unwanted kittens in the world.
Me: If he keeps his balls, it would literally be his job to shag other designer cats and make designer kittens.
Emma: My poor baby.
Me: He’d be like a stud horse.
Emma: Have you ever seen horses shagging? The size of a horse’s penis is something else.
Me:…
Emma: I mean, I didn’t watch it on purpose.
Me:…
Emma: I say he should have his balls twisted off, then. But why are you asking me about this anyway?
Me: No reason.
Oh my God.
All the other designer/half-designer kittens are girls. The nondesigner ones are going to have their tubes tied, and the designer ones are being left intact because the new owners want to use them for breeding.
I hate all that.
Why do we need designer ones anyway?
And even though, according to Kate, they are trying to prevent inbreeding, you just know that sooner or later, some cat is going to have kittens from its own father.
In the Bible this actually happened to humans when the daughters of Lot decided to have children with their father. I mean, it probably didn’t actually happen, but this could potentially explain why people today are so stupid.
Sunday, July 1 #Guestlist
How is it July already?
I spoke with Mum, and she was like: “Only two more weeks, baby, and then I’ll be home.”
This basically means that in two weeks:
a) I’m going to move back home.
b) Life as I’ve known it since January will be over.
c)I’ll be sixteen like everyone else.
I know I kind of agreed with Mum on having a party, but I don’t really want to have one now, because I’d have to speak to people all day, and I won’t be able to just leave when I’ve had enough, which is usually literally after five minutes.
I mean, obviously Mum would be there, which would mean she’d be the star of the show as usual, so maybe people wouldn’t even notice if I abandoned ship.
In fact that would be a bit LOL. Imagine it: Everyone’s leaving, and someone suddenly goes: “Where’s Phoebe? I haven’t seen her all day.”
Anyway, I told Mum I’d have a think about who I want to invite.
When Miriam Patel turned sixteen, she literally invited everyone because she didn’t want to “discriminate.”
She had an Oscars-themed party, and her parents rented out one of the pubs by the river. There were, like, three hundred people there, and I don’t think I spoke to her once all afternoon/evening.
Thing is, though, if I’m going to have a party, I’m going to have to invite her, because basically I went to hers.
If I invite Polly, I’m going to have to invite Tristan, especially now that we’re, like, BFFs after going to the lido together.
I’ll have to invite Kate, obviously, and maybe James.
And I wan
t to invite Alex.
And Emma.
PS: There are moments when I wish I’d never met her.
Monday, July 2 #PoorRichard
Because Kate had to take all the kittens to the vet this afternoon, Emma and I agreed to help Pat in the shop and lock up.
Going in an extra day means that I’m obviously still not sticking to my How-to-Fall-Out-of-Love-with-Emma list.
Also, we had a play fight today.
It only happened because Emma whipped me with a tea towel, and so I poked her in the side, and she literally lost her legs like one of those wooden animals you get where you have to press the button underneath and they collapse in a heap of limbs.
I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe, as was Emma, and then I pulled that disgusting donated quilt with the cigarette burns from the donations pile and threw it over Emma, and she squealed so loudly that Pat was just like: “What are you doing?”
At that point I was like: OMG, what am I doing?
I feel like my brain is melting.
PS: Richard had his balls twisted off today, and he seems depressed about it. What have I done?
Tuesday, July 3 #PATHETIC
I should write to NASA and ask to apply to the space program early.
Imagine it.
NASA: What makes you the ideal candidate for the manned mission to Mars?
Me: I’m basically in love, and I need to not be, so I have to leave Earth.
Wednesday, July 4 #JesusMaryAndJoseph
Apparently the Bible sold.
The score is now 1–1.
I was like: “Nooooooo, who buys a Bible in the middle of summer?” and Kate told me it was someone who is going to use it for their creative writing lessons by cutting it up into words and phrases to then make poetry.
Totally pretentious.
Also sacrilege.
Thursday, July 5 #TheGameIsOnAgain
Emma picked a cow onesie for grown-ups, featuring rubber udders, as her donation of the week, and I went for the two-thousand-piece Ed Sheeran jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t look anything like Ed Sheeran but more like Ron Weasley in double denim.
We fought for the best window display place for them, and Emma ended up falling backwards out of the window and into the shop, and on top of the mannequin she tried to put the stupid cow onesie on.
Love Is for Losers Page 21