“Like what?” I ask him curiously.
“Toothpaste,” supplies Ryan, and I chuckle.
“Toothpaste is an essential, Ryan. We’re not cutting back on essentials to make room for luxuries,” snaps my dad. “End of discussion.”
“Nice try though,” I tell Ryan.
“Plus all your teeth would fall out of your head and then you wouldn’t be able to eat Kit Kats anyway,” says my mum.
The doorbell rings. My parents look at each other in confusion. “Who could that be at this hour?” asks my dad.
“Jessica is here. Tammy has a key,” says my mum. “Unless, could she have lost it?”
My dad goes to the front door, and we all follow him suspiciously down the corridor, trying to peer over his shoulder. It occurs to me that this is one time we might wish we had Ryan’s rounders bat to hand.
My dad opens the door and we hear an excitable shriek. “Surprise!” It’s Auntie Joan!
Auntie Joan is awesome. She isn’t afraid of anyone. I think she might have started more fights with strangers than my mum and Tammy put together. But somehow she manages to combine it with still being super fun and entertaining. She’s the only person I’ve ever seen make my mum really laugh.
“Joan! Come in, what on earth––” begins my mum.
“I thought I’d surprise you!” My aunt bustles past my dad into our hallway and hugs my mum, then me, then Ryan.
My dad closes the front door. “Great to see you, Joan!” he says, trying to sound more enthused than he looks. Then, perhaps trying to make up for last time and distance himself from his faux pas, he suddenly adds, “You look really thin!”
Joan breaks off her hug with Ryan to glare at my dad. “Thin, Bert?” she responds. “Are you saying I look ill?”
“No, no, of course not,” stammers my dad, looking flummoxed. Poor dad. He can’t win, really.
My mum shoots my dad an apologetic look, but still says, “Really, Bert.”
“I’ll put the kettle on!” My dad takes himself out of the firing line and into the kitchen.
My mum once told me that when Joan and my dad first met they didn’t really like each other, but that they get on fine now. I think my mum might need to look up “fine” in the dictionary.
The best things about my aunt’s visits are that she loves spending time with Ryan and me, and taking us to fun places. The downside is that sometimes some of the places are “educational”. And sometimes if she thinks we’re watching too much television, she goes on about it turning us into “damn idiots”. But, you know, you can’t have everything.
My aunt works in the music industry. Which I thought was really cool when I first heard about it – I thought maybe she could introduce me to popstars and I could make everyone at school jealous – but it turns out she works with orchestras and stuff. The reason she’s in town is because she’s “on tour” with one of them.
And no one’s impressed by orchestras. Well, actually Cherry is. She’s got Grade Three on the clarinet, though, so that doesn’t make it something I could really boast about in general.
My Auntie Joan is filling us in on how great her hotel is when my dad comes back in with a tray of tea and some Super Saver Value digestive biscuits.
“Don’t push the boat out on my account,” says Joan, eyeing the biscuits with disdain as if Dad has deliberately insulted her again.
“It’s all we have in,” explains my mum.
“We’re on an economy drive,” I elaborate.
“No, we are tightening our belts,” says my dad obstinately.
“Potato potarto,” I quip, and my aunt chuckles.
“Do you have any Kit Kats on you?” Ryan asks Joan.
“No, little monkey, but I tell you what I do have.” Joan leans towards Ryan. “I’ve got your nose!” She takes a pretend swipe at his nose and puts her thumb between her fingers.
Ryan giggles as she tickles him but then sighs patiently. “I know you haven’t,” he says firmly, as if fending off a conman.
Joan takes a teacup from my dad, places it on her lap and then wipes the spoon on her T-shirt, as if she didn’t think my dad would have given her a clean enough spoon. Then she stirs her tea. My parents exchange a look but don’t say anything.
“Well, maybe I can take the kids out and pick up a few things? Kit Kats, and whatnot?” says Auntie Joan.
“Yeeeeaaaaahhhh!” Ryan sinks on to the floor and hugs Joan’s knees. She pats his head affectionately.
“No,” says my dad a bit too quickly, sitting down once the tea and biscuits are distributed. “We think it’s good that the children learn a bit about fiscal responsibility, and that they can’t always have what they want.”
“Oh,” says Joan, unimpressed. “Well, that’s no fun.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“Well, I’m taking you all out for dinner some time,” proclaims Joan. “You let me know when suits. I’m down for a bit.”
“Thank you,” says my mum, glancing at my dad. “That would be lovely, Joan.”
“I don’t get anything I want,” Ryan mumbles.
“Oh, I see,” says Joan teasingly. “And you think Jessica does, do you?”
Ryan starts giggling. “Yes!”
“Want all the latest fashions, do you?” She addresses me.
“If by fashions you mean felt tips, then yes,” I reply.
“Well, just you remember,” says Joan, “the prettiest thing you can wear is a smile.”
“What if you have no teeth?” asks Ryan.
(This is one of the things I love about having a six-year-old around. They ask the questions no one else will.)
Joan pauses, unsure what to say, then goes for, “Even then.”
She continues sympathetically. “It can be tough when money’s tight. Janet, do you remember when we were teenagers and I used to go busking for extra cash? Gawd, those were the days!”
“What did you play?” I ask.
“Violin or guitar mostly,” says my aunt. Hmmm, I think, so there’s actually a practical application to learning an instrument?
“Did it work?” asks Ryan.
“Oh yeah!” enthuses my aunt. “In the summer I could rake it in.”
“But times are very different now,” says my dad quickly. “It would be far too dangerous to try something like that these days.” He raises his eyebrows at Auntie Joan.
“What? Oh, yes. Sure. Dangerous,” says Auntie Joan.
Then Joan tells us about some of the crazy things that happened on her journey here. Which mainly seem to involve her shouting at a man on the train who dropped a crisp packet on the floor, possibly accidentally – we don’t know. But then Auntie Joan said to him, “I didn’t realise your mum worked here.”
He looked at her, slightly confused, and said, “Sorry?” so Joan had repeated her sentence.
Then, when the man confirmed his mum didn’t work on the train, Joan went in for the kill and said, “Oh well then, I guess you’d better pick up your litter YOURSELF!” Pow, just like that.
As much as I’m glad I wasn’t there with her (that would have been really embarrassing) it does sound quite funny. Though I feel a bit sorry for the man, who obviously didn’t know what to do with my aunt. She can be very cutting and sarcastic to people she doesn’t like. Although clearly that man deserved it, because as my aunt said, he brought it on himself by being a “damn idiot”.
“You see, kids? It’s important to stand up to bullies.” Joan is addressing Ryan and me. (Bully? Really? A man dropping a crisp packet?) “If you believe in something, you have to fight for it. All that it takes for evil to prevail is for good men – or women – to do nothing. It’s a famous quote. I forget who said it.”
“Edmund Burke,” supplies my dad, and everyone looks at him, impressed – even Joan. “He was a politician in the 1700s.” Sure, we sometimes mock my dad for enjoying bird programmes and reading history books for fun, but every now and then he proves it all has a point.
“Well, there we go,” concludes my aunt.
“Hi, babes! Come in!” Amelia opens her front door and ushers Nat and me inside. “Scarlett’s not here yet.”
It’s Saturday night and something suddenly dawns on me about Amelia’s sleepover as I step into her house. I’m about to spend upwards of sixteen hours with the squealy, snooty CAC girls who essentially bullied me last term.
Hmmm. I might not have thought this through. On the plus side, there will be fizzy wands. Natalie and Amelia’s organisational skills have made sure of that.
“Oh my God, so it’s just my cousin Scarlett to arrive now,” says Amelia excitedly, as we all sit cross-legged in a circle in her living room, surrounded by sleeping bags and sweets. “She’s just amazing! I can’t wait for you all to meet her. We’re like sisters!”
“Oh God, you mean there’s two of you?” I blurt out. Everyone sort of stops smiling and looks at me. “Joking, joking,” I quickly add, waving my hand for Amelia to continue talking.
“Actually,” says Amelia, returning warmly to her subject, “like, we totally used to be the same at everything. We were born a month apart––”
“Wow!” interrupts Cassy.
“I know,” agrees Amelia. “And our mums used to say we were like sisters and stuff. But now we’re older we’re, like, cool in different ways. Like, I’m really cool and into high fashion and stuff, and Scarlett is, like, really alternative.”
“Like how?” asks someone called Naomi.
“Loads of ways, like, oh my God, she dyed her hair bright red when she was, like, ten!”
“She dyed her hair?” gasps Cassy.
“Yes. Her mum was going to kill her, but, like, she’d totally already done it, so there was nothing she could do.”
“That’s so cool. She sounds amazing,” says Naomi.
The doorbell rings. Amelia squeals and jumps up, returning shortly with Scarlett.
Scarlett has a cool red bobbed haircut, cropped leather jacket, henna tattoos on her hands and is wearing a lot of bracelets.
“Oh. Em. Gee. It’s so good to see you, Ames,” Scarlett says to Amelia, as Amelia introduces her to everyone.
Wait. Did Scarlett just say oh em gee instead of oh my God? Is she trying to save time, like in a text? But they both have the same number of syllables. I smirk at Natalie but she doesn’t notice.
There’s a moment’s silence before Cassy breaks the ice by saying, “Cool bag,” to Scarlett.
“Thanks! I got it from Camden Market. It’s, like, totally from the seventies or something.”
Everyone agrees that’s really cool. I start to wonder if I’m the only person who doesn’t have an in-built cool-o-meter.
Scarlett happily answers more questions about her clothes.
“And this belt is actually Prada.” (There’s an audible gasp from Amelia.) “It belonged to my mum, so it’s like totally vintage.”
“Wow, vintage,” murmurs Naomi. And before I know it, everyone starts describing their outfit selections to Scarlett and Amelia. Scarlett generously praises everyone’s choices. She calls their clothes “pieces”.
I have to try not to laugh. I just can’t take all this talk of fashion statements seriously. Everyone’s acting as if we’re at the Oscars or something.
Then I figure, if you can’t beat them, join them. So I say to Natalie, “Darling! You look fabulous! And who are you wearing?” in my comedy-posh voice.
Natalie giggles and jokily poses, pretending to be a model. “My T-shirt was made by the Hello Kitty people for me, especially for tonight.”
“I, myself, am sporting the latest range from Tesco, and I think it really is this season’s must-have outfit,” I reply. Nat and I laugh.
Scarlett breaks off from showing the others all her bracelets to glare at me. “Actually,” she says icily, “if there’s one outfit in this room that I don’t like, it’s probably Jessica’s. It’s just not cool and it doesn’t suit you at all,” she adds loftily.
Wow, burn. I have been attacked by the fashion police. I don’t care though, because I am a cartoonist, and I am above such trivial matters.
“Hey, sorry,” I say. “I was just joking, I didn’t mean to offend you.” I take the high road.
“Well, I did mean to offend you,” replies Scarlett.
Yikes, strike two! This girl really doesn’t like me! I start to feel a bit hot. I don’t care what Scarlett thinks, but I don’t want to start getting bullied again or end up in a verbal fight at a sleepover.
“Yeah, we were just joking,” Natalie adds, trying to smooth things over. “We thought you’d laugh.”
“Oh, that’s OK,” says Scarlett sweetly to Nat. “I really like your outfit. The T-shirt is a nice piece. It’s just Jessica who looks terrible.”
“Anyway,” interrupts Amelia, quickly changing the subject to save her party. “Let’s choose what pizzas to order!”
“Oh, babes, before I forget, I’m totally vegetarian now,” says Scarlett. “So I can’t have any meat pizzas.”
“Wow, vegetarian,” murmurs Cassy.
“No problem,” says Amelia. “We’ll order loads, so you can have the veggie ones.”
Things do calm down then, which is a relief. I whisper to Nat that Scarlett seems a bit mean, but Nat seems to still think she’s OK, just a bit sensitive.
After we’ve eaten takeaway pizza (awesome) and played the memory game for sweets (I win some Percy Pigs – thank you, thank you very much), we get changed into our pyjamas to watch the first film.
I sometimes wish Nat could see things the way I do more. If someone had insulted her but been nice to me, I’m sure I’d still take Nat’s side. I mean, Tanya Harris did do that last term, and I defended Nat. Initially. Before Nat stopped speaking to me.
Oh well, I know I’m awesome, and that’s all that matters. I love how being good at cartoons protects me from how insecure I used to feel all the time. In your face, snooty overdressed lady, I think silently at Scarlett. I am a cartoonist. I operate outside your ideas of good and bad. I don’t need your approval. Ha.
“Hey, what’s that?” Cassy is looking at something on a pad by Scarlett’s bag. “It’s really good. Did you do that?”
“Oh, yeah,” replies Scarlett, casually picking up the pad. “I’m really good at cartoons. I’m going to be a cartoonist when I grow up.”
OK, um. What?
No, seriously. What the what?
“Wow, what else can you draw?” asks Naomi. Everyone starts crowding around Scarlett.
“Oh, loads of stuff. This is one of my originals,” she says, sketching something else out on the pad.
“Check this out, Natalie, it’s brilliant,” says Cassy. Nat and I troop over to see the pad. Scarlett is drawing a sort of gangster mouse-type thing. (It’s OK, I suppose.)
“That’s great,” says Nat.
“I told you Scarlett was amazing,” says Amelia proudly.
“I’ve never really liked cartoons before, but you make them seem so cool,” says Cassy.
Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected my Hellfern comic to have reached the snooty CAC half of GUF, but still. I feel surprisingly stung by Cassy’s pronouncement. My cartoons are cool, thank you very much. (Even if I, myself, am not.)
“Hey, Jess is really good at cartoons too,” says Nat then.
“Oh, really?” Scarlett looks up at me.
“Yes,” answers Nat. “She drew a brilliant dolphin on the front of my rough book for me, and her Mickey Mouse looks just like the real thing.”
“Oh, right,” says Scarlett. “Well, I try to make sure I draw my own original ones,” she adds dismissively. “Anyone can copy stuff.”
Wow. Well, firstly, not everyone can copy stuff to my level of accuracy. Otherwise it wouldn’t be impressive. And secondly, what’s her problem? Everyone loves her cartoons. I’m the one that should feel annoyed here. It’s bad enough she’s stolen the one thing I’m actually good at; she doesn’t have to act all huffy about it
.
“I do my own originals too,” I say flatly, starting to feel annoyed.
“Oh really, like what?” Scarlett addresses me again.
“Well, um, bees, sheep, all sorts,” I reply. Probably didn’t big that up enough.
“Right, yeah, doesn’t sound very good. And I have more than just two.”
“Well, it is very good, actually,” I hear myself say.
“And they’re in a comic that I co-invented.”
So ha! Take that! (I really shouldn’t be rising to this.)
“Oh right. You like comic books?” I have Scarlett’s full attention now. “And what comics do you like?” She looks at me quizzically.
Damn. I don’t actually know anything about proper comics. I just like cartoons. Scarlett is trying to pull rank on the cartoons front. And she’s going to win.
“Hang on,” pipes up a voice in my head. “Win what? What is this? Don’t let this turn into a competition,” the reasonable voice continues. “Just step away.”
But then I look at Scarlett, staring at me with a kind of scathing disdain, and this other voice goes, “Shut up, reason! We’re taking her down!”
But then the reasonable voice points out that I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. And I realise that’s true, so I just say, “Well, I don’t really like comic books as such. I just sort of like The Simpsons and Futurama. I’m a big fan of Gary Larson’s Far Side stuff. And I have Matt Groening’s Huge Book Of Hell.”
“Oh right. I thought you would be into comics. Oh well. I really like Spiderman.”
“Great,” I say, unsure what to do with this information. I don’t care, I don’t care. I’m still a great cartoonist. Hakuna Matata, I say to myself. “My friend Joshua likes Spiderman,” I add.
My Brilliant Life and Other Disasters Page 5