by Jean Ure
When we got back from Portsmouth, Dad said I could go to the video shop and make my choice, as he had promised me. I was tempted to choose a horror film, just to show Rosemary that if I wanted to watch it I could, but then I thought maybe if I chose that Dad would be like Mum and break his promise and so I chose instead a film called Strictly Ballroom which is all about ballroom dancing which to be honest I am not really into but Skinny Melon had told me it had this really gorgeous-looking boy in it, and she was right, it did! He’s heaven. I am now seriously thinking of asking Mum if I can learn ballroom dancing. Imagine meeting a boy like that! (Some hopes!)
Dad and Rosemary, unfortunately, got bored. Rosemary went and sat over the other side of the room and switched on a light and did her sewing, and Dad went off to have a bath, so that I was left on my own. I didn’t really mind, I suppose, though it is nicer when other people enjoy what you enjoy. I think Mum would enjoy it. It is her sort of thing. Next time we get a video I shall tell her to get that one.
Tomorrow I am going home. I am trying to remember the things that I have seen and done so that I can tell Mum. I have been to the New Forest. I have been to the sea. I have been in the museum. I have seen the Victory. I have seen Strictly Ballroom. I have eaten: one Italian meal, one Indian meal, one Chinese meal, one French meal, and one American meal (hamburgers, only I had a vegeburger thinking of Slimey and dead things in the fridge). I suppose that is quite a lot of things to have seen and done in five days.
Later
Dad and Rosemary have just had a bit of an argument about which of them is going to drive me back tomorrow. I heard them when I went to the bathroom. (I have noticed, in a flat, you can quite often hear people talking. It is not as private as in a house.) I heard Rosemary say, “She’s your daughter!” and then Dad said something that I couldn’t catch but I think it was something about needing to go into the office again, and Rosemary said, “I am not driving her all the way to London and that is that!”
I’m glad she isn’t driving me. I don’t think I could bear it, and I don’t expect she could, either.
Friday
Now I am back home. I had to come by train because of Rosemary refusing to drive me and Dad having to go into the office. It is a bit of a drawback in some ways having a father who is so important. I mean, I am glad of course that he is important, but I would have liked it better if he had been there more of the time as it was not so much fun when he wasn’t. I don’t feel very comfortable with Rosemary. I think she would rather I hadn’t come.
I rang Mum before we left, to tell her what time my train was getting in. She was furious, I could tell. She said, “Train? All by yourself?” And I said yes, because Dad had to work. “Oh, does he?” she said. “Where is he? Let me speak to him!” I didn’t want her to but she started to shout. She shouted, “You put him on the telephone!” It was so loud that Dad heard it and came and took the receiver off me. He said, “Hallo? Pat?” quite pleasantly, I thought, but it soon developed into one of their rows.
I think Mum must have asked him why I couldn’t stay till Saturday and come back by car because Dad sort of twisted his lips in a way which said, “I am being very patient but do not try me too far,” and informed her that, “Rosemary and I happen to have a very important dinner party that we have to go to this evening. It is not something we can get out of, nor would we wish to. All right?”
I don’t know what Mum said after that because I couldn’t bear to listen any more. Why does everything always get so horrible when Mum and Dad talk to each other? I wish they hadn’t! It ruined the end of my holiday.
Dad and Rosemary both came to the station with me. I would rather it had just been Dad, but at least Rosemary stayed in the car which meant I was able to say goodbye to Dad on my own. He said, “We’ve had fun this week, haven’t we? We must do it again – and not leave it so long next time.” I said that maybe I could come at Christmas but Dad said unfortunately that wouldn’t be possible as he and Rosemary had already arranged to go with some friends to Austria and do some skiing. I didn’t like to suggest that maybe I could go with them as I don’t think Rosemary would be happy. I don’t think she likes me very much. So then I had a bright idea and said, “Parents’ Evening! You could come to Parents’ Evening!” Dad said he thought that was an excellent suggestion and if I let him know when it was, he would definitely be there. He said, “That’s a promise!”
We had a bit of time to wait so we went over to the bookstall and Dad bought me some magazines and another horror book. Unlike Mum and Slimey, he didn’t go “tut tut” about me reading horrors but said they looked jolly good and really exciting and ought to keep me on the edge of my seat all the way to London. As it happens I cannot read very well on trains as they jerk up and down and make my eyes go funny but I didn’t say so to Dad. Instead I said that I would find out the date of Parents’ Evening and let him know. He said, “Make sure you do!” and then it was time to say goodbye and for me to get on the train.
This was the first time that I have ever been on a long train journey by myself. I kept worrying how I would know when we reached London, which was stupid because London is where the train stops. It doesn’t go anywhere else. And then I worried about leaving my seat to go to the toilet in case I couldn’t find my way back or someone stole my things. And then when I absolutely had to go because otherwise I would have to burst it was one of those ones where you have to press buttons to get in and more buttons to close the door and I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to get out again, but of course I did. I expect if I got used to travelling on my own it would be all right.
Another thing I worried about was what I would do if I got to London and couldn’t see Mum or Slimey, but Slimey was there, waiting for me, looking all Slimey-ish in an anorak and joggers and tatty old trainers.
He gave me a big hug and a kiss and I let him, which normally I wouldn’t have done because normally it would revolt me, but I was just so relieved to see him. He said, “I’m sorry Butterpat couldn’t come, but she has an appointment at the clinic.” (Meaning the ante-natal clinic, where all the pregnant women go to make sure they are having proper babies and not babies that have things wrong with them.) He said he knew that he was second best but, “Hopefully better than nothing.”
I felt sort of sorry for him when he said this. I also felt a bit mean about leaving his book behind, especially as I was clutching my horror book. I explained that Dad had bought me the book and that I hadn’t left his one behind on purpose, I’d simply forgotten to pack it, like I’d also forgotten to pack my tooth brush (this was a fib but I said it to make him feel better). I said that I wished I had taken his book as I’d had to go out and buy myself some, and I promised that I would read his next. Slimey said, “I’m afraid you won’t find it very exciting after your diet of horror. I probably made a mistake in choosing it.” He sounded really sad, as if it mattered to him that I mightn’t find his book exciting. I said that I would definitely read it and let him know.
When we got home Mum was there. I’d forgotten how enormous she looks after Rosemary. She asked me if I’d had a good time and I said, “Brilliant,” because it would have been disloyal to Dad to have said anything else. Mum said, “Well, there’s nothing very brilliant on offer at this end, but we can go up to the video shop and get a video, if you like.” I said, “Can I choose?” and Mum said, “Yes, but you know the rules.” So I chose Strictly Ballroom and I was right, Mum loved it! So did Slime. Mum said it was a “good old-fashioned movie with no sex and no violence” and Slime surprised everyone – well, he surprised me, but I think Mum as well – by saying that he used to be a champion tango dancer, and to prove it he jumped up and pulled me into the middle of the room and taught me how to do it! He was really good. And so now I know how to tango!
Saturday
He’s still shoving cards under my door and I still don’t like it but I suppose he is only doing it to try and be friendly. It is rather pathetic, really. Imagine being so d
esperate to be liked!
After breakfast I rang the Melon and we arranged to meet at the top of my road and go round the shops together. She wanted to know what it was like at Dad’s so I said the same as I said to Mum, that it was brilliant. I told her all the things I’d done and then asked her what she’d done.
Skinny said she hadn’t done anything at all. She sounded a bit down in the dumps so I asked her what the matter was and at first she said nothing was the matter but then she said that her mum had met this man at the place where she works and he was called Melvyn and he was dire. I was going to say that he couldn’t possibly be any more dire than Slime but then for some reason I didn’t. I don’t know why. I said, “Maybe she just has bad taste in men but it doesn’t really matter so long as she’s not going to marry him.” Skinny said rather fiercely that of course she wasn’t going to marry him, he was just a boyfriend. I said, “So what’s the problem?” and she said there wasn’t one except that she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Then she cheered up and said she wanted to go and buy a new pair of leggings with some money that he’d given her. I said, “Dire Melvyn?” and she giggled and said, “He’s trying to worm his way into my good books!”
I really don’t know what she’s got to complain about.
When I got home I found that Slime had finished the pond. I have to say that it is quite nice. It will be very pretty in summer, with water lilies and bullrushes. It is not quite ready for the fish but next week we are going to go and buy some. I am refusing to be too enthusiastic because if I am it will make Mum think I have forgiven her for breaking her promise about the dog, which I most certainly have not.
I would still like a dog more than anything else in the world. Far more than a personal computer, though naturally I wouldn’t say this to Dad. A computer will help me not to end up living in a cardboard box (maybe – maybe not) but a dog would bring immense cheer and comfort into my gloomy life. I could play with it and take it for walks and feed it and brush it and cuddle it and talk to it and it could even sleep in bed with me. Oh, why can’t I have one? Trust Slimey Roland to go and suffer from stupid allergies!
141 Arethusa Road
London W5
30 October
My dear Carol,
Your Texan sounds more divine every time you write! Photo, please. I picture him as being a sort of cross between Steve McQueen and the Incredible Hulk… my poor Roly cannot even begin to compete but I don’t care! I love him to death!
Well, Cherry has come back from Southampton and just as I feared, they have spoilt her rotten. She informs me that, “Dad took me out to dinner every single night.” Dad took her to have an Indian meal, Dad took her to have a Chinese meal, Dad took her to have a pizza, Dad took her to have oysters and champagne (so she says), Dad took her to see the Victory, Dad took her to the New Forest. I swear I shall scream if she tells me once more of the wonderful time she had with Dad!
Dad is a rat. He obviously had a guilty conscience because when she got there he informed her that she could stay on till Friday, but then I got a call early Friday morning saying that he was sending her home by train as he had to go into the office. When I asked why she couldn’t stay over until Saturday he had the nerve to tell me that he and this bimbo he’s married are going to a dinner party – a dinner party, my dear! – which they certainly didn’t intend to cancel just on Cherry’s behalf. So she ended up being bundled on to the train like an unwanted parcel and shunted back to us. Of course that isn’t the way she sees it. She just thinks that Gregg is enormously important and that the office can’t function without him. All he is is a computer programmer!
According to Cherry he has promised to buy her a personal computer for Christmas, but I shall believe that when I see it.
I suppose it’s being over-protective to worry about an eleven-year-old girl travelling on a train all by herself from Southampton to Waterloo, but I kept having these horrific visions of all the things that could possibly happen to her. A mother’s mind is like a museum of horrors … I had to send Roly off to meet her as I was due at the clinic. He tells me she was quite jaunty, in fact her normal ebullient self, so she obviously didn’t suffer. I was the one to do that!
I asked after the bimbo, hoping to hear how ugly/stupid/fat/useless/generally disagreeable she was but it appears that she’s thin as a rake, ravishingly beautiful, dresses like a fashion model, makes all her own clothes, and is a hard-headed career woman. This, at least, is what I gather. What Cherry actually said, in scathing tones, was, “She’s never likely to have a baby,” which is simply a not very subtle way of having a go at me. I suppose she blames the baby for me not going to meet her off the train. It wouldn’t occur to her to blame Gregg for putting her on the train in the first place!
Oh, what a moaning minnie I have become! I don’t mean to be but there’s only three months to go and she still shows no real signs of any softening in her attitude. I tried to show her what we’d done in the spare bedroom, but she made it very plain she didn’t want to know. She is so full of “Dad” and what it’s like at Dad’s place – she even had a go at Roly today for living in a house and not a flat! It seems it is now environmentally irresponsible to live in a house. Dad could live in one if he wanted, he is so rich and important he could live anywhere, but he chooses to live in a flat so as not to waste land.
If you believe that, you’ll believe anything! I don’t know how Roly puts up with her. He has the patience of a saint.
Lots of love from your harassed,
Chapter 7
Sunday
Mum showed me today what they’ve done to the spare bedroom while I’ve been away. I was quite surprised! The walls are dead white with little figures running all the way round and in the middle lots of teddy bears and beach balls and space rockets have been painted. Oh, and elves, of course! Elves all over the place.
Mum said, “What do you think?” and I said, “I don’t remember having this when I was a baby,” meaning it was really nice and the sort of thing that a baby would like, but Mum took it the wrong way and snapped, “That’s because you weren’t lucky enough to have Roly for a father!”
She is really touchy these days. I can’t seem to do anything right.
Monday
I said to Skinny Melon today that I didn’t think my system could stand much more poisoning from school dinners. She said she didn’t think hers could, either. She said she was absolutely positive that the other day she’d found a bit of worm on her plate. She’d shown it to Mrs James (this was the day I bunked off and came back to school by cab) and Mrs James had looked at it and told her not to be silly, it was “just a bit of grissle.” (Gristle?) But as Skinny said, even if you believe her – which she personally did not – you don’t pay out good dinner money just to be given bits of gristle. (I think this is the way it’s spelt.) And as I said, it’s not very nice to think you’re chewing on pieces of dead animal anyway, whether it’s pieces of worm or pieces of lamb.
Skinny didn’t seem quite so sure about this until I pointed out to her that she wouldn’t want to eat Lulu, would she, and she went a bit pale and said no of course she wouldn’t. Whereupon I said so where was the difference between eating Lulu and eating a lamb, and she said she thought there was one but she couldn’t think what it was.
We talked about it for a bit and in the end she agreed that if she saw a lamb in a field she wouldn’t want to go and kill it, and it was only the fact that it came ready wrapped and not looking like a lamb that made her able to eat it. I said, “I bet if someone gave you a whole raw lamb to cook you wouldn’t ever eat lamb again,” and she really didn’t have any arguments left.
So then I said that I was seriously thinking of becoming a vegetarian, and Skinny said that she was, too. I said, “When shall we do it?” and she thought about it a bit and said, “Next term?” I said, “Why next term and not this?” and she said because of Christmas. She said they always have roast turkey at Christmas and she didn’t think she could
live without roast turkey. Not this Christmas. Maybe next Christmas when her taste buds had changed. (It was me who told her her taste buds would change. I don’t know if it is true, but it’s what Slimey said to Mum so I hope it is.)
We have agreed, therefore, and made a solemn pact, that next term we shall become veggies. I of course could become one immediately, since we shan’t be having roast turkey on account of dead things in the fridge, but it seems better to keep the Skinbag company and start at the same time so that we can encourage each other when our spirits flag or our carnal appetites threaten to get the better of us. Also I don’t want Mum crowing. I will tell her the good news after Christmas and not before. This evening it is Hallowe’en and some kids are roaming the streets dressed up as ghouls and ghosts and skeletons. Slimey said, “Don’t you go and trick-or-treat?” But that is something I have never done. I don’t know why; I just haven’t. Skinny doesn’t either. Slimey said that next year we must make a Big Thing of it and have fun. He likes to make Big Things of things. On Saturday it is Guy Fawkes night and he is taking me and Mum and Skin to a firework display. I suppose I am quite looking forward to it, really.
Tuesday
I am reading Slimey’s book. It is called I Capture the Castle by a person with the very strange name of Dodie Smith. What kind of name is Dodie? A strange one! But the book is brilliant. Very funny and yet r-r-r-romantic!
It is all about a girl called Cassandra who wants to be a writer and is keeping a diary, just like me, except that she lives in an old ruined castle and her family don’t have very much money, in fact they don’t have any money at all on account of her father, who is also a writer, sitting up in the turret reading books all day and not doing any work. It is so cold that Cassandra has to sit on the draining board wrapped up in a blanket with her feet in the sink to write her diary. She has a beautiful older sister called Rose and a weird but equally beautiful stepmother called Topaz, who used to be an artist’s model. The romance comes in when two Americans, Neil and Simon, arrive on the scene. Simon is a bit old and has a beard but Neil is gorgeous. This is as far as I have got. I think that probably Rose will marry Simon and that Cassandra, maybe, will fall in love with Neil.