Improper Order

by Sullivan, Deirdre; Slattery, Fidelma;

  Anyway, Hedda was completely pole-axed by the proposal and the ring and whatnot, and she was very nice about it, saying that it was a huge decision and one that shouldn’t be rushed into and maybe if they lived together for a while first to see how they suited?

  She LOVED the ring, though. She told him it was perfect for her and made her want to say yes just so she could keep it. Poor Dad followed this with an extremely pathetic and hopeful, ‘Why don’t you, then?’ This is the thing he regrets most about the whole debacle. Why did he say that? he wonders, as he analyses it over and over like some sort of slow-motion action replay of things that make him feel like a loser.

  POLE - AXED: Stunned. A pole-axe is actually a type of weapon that basically looks just like an axe on top of a pole. If you got one to the gut, imagine how stunned you would feel!

  No woman has ever made him feel as needy as Hedda does. It is discomfiting.

  I can’t believe she said no. This does not play into the story of Dad’s life at all. He has always done really well at almost everything he wanted to do well at. Except for soccer, which he loves but can only play adequately. Also, women were always trying to get him to marry them up till now. Even Mum had a bash at it when she first found out she was with child. Mainly so her parents would throw less of a hissy fit, but still.

  Dad is used to being the rejecter, not the rejected. He did offer to marry Mum, but then they both thought better of it and decided to row almost constantly instead. Until I was born, anyway.

  It will be weird, having my dad’s girlfriend live here. I assume she will live here, because it is bigger, and her house would not have room for me and my rat as well as my dad.

  I wonder if I am part of the reason she turned him down? I mean, being a stepmother is a big ask. She’d have to ‘parent’ me and stuff. Go to parent-teacher meetings. Pick me up from school. Make me dinners and wash my dirty socks. Not, like, all the time. But if she was going to marry Dad, she would kind of be marrying me as well, at least until I go to college and move out. So, three to four years and then holidays — wow, that’s actually soon. I am growing up fast. I can’t wait to be in college. It looks like so much fun — you get to pick what you study and you have free time and there’s always stuff going on.

  DISCOMFITING: Uncomfortable-making, unsettling. The time I accidentally walked in on Fintan trying on my eyeliner was extremely discomfiting and I told him so in no uncertain terms.

  Dad hasn’t even noticed my new hair.

  It is lovely, by the way. I went into the salon with the nicest sign (that’s how I pick them) and booked an appointment with a man called Steve. Steve was six-foot-something tall and had one of those gauged ear piercings. I wanted to ask if he would let me put my finger through it, but that would have been weird. Like, unacceptably weird. Our conversation went like this.

  So, cut and colour — what do you have in mind?

  I want to get rid of the split ends, but keep most of the length if possible.

  OK.

  And I want the colour to be a really dark black with green and purply bits in, like the wing of a jackdaw in the sunlight that filters through the trees.

  I know exactly what you mean.

  Then I put on a cape and went to the neck-hole sink, and an hour and a half later I looked the exact way I had imagined looking in my head when the jackdaw idea came to mind. Only a little shorter. Perhaps I should get some high-heeled boots?

  A DESTRUCTIVE MEAL (9)

  At breakfast today, Fintan gazed at me in a bleary-eyed manner and asked me, ‘What have you done to your hair?’

  ‘Cut and colour, Fintan.’

  ‘Call me Dad. It looks amazing.’

  ‘I know, like a jackdaw on my head only sleek.’

  Then he made me give him the name of the salon so he could go there. I hope he does not get the same hairstyle as me. Hedda would never marry him then.

  BREAKFAST

  School is a place that is full of rules. Stupid silly ones about what hair you can and cannot have. Joel and Ciara love my hair and admit that they were wrong. Ciara still thinks I look like a punk rocker, but she said it in a different tone of voice, like it was now a good thing to be.

  Anyway, apparently my new hair colour is ‘not natural’, according to the powers that be. It is a damn sight more natural than the hair of Ms McBride, who has hair as bleached as butter and eyebrows as dark as if they were drawn on with sticks of charcoal. Not natural. I mean, really. What could be more natural then the fabulously dusky plumage of one of our native birds? Nothing. That’s what. Stupid henna-purple Karen laughed at me when I got removed from class. How come she can have whatever hair she wants? People are always running after me with bushels, trying to put my light out. I am worried that Dad is going to kill me — he does not like having to leave work in the middle of the day at the best of times.

  s McBride did not get over herself, even when instructed to do so by my beloved father in his deepest and most stroppy of tones.

  did not dye my hair back to its natural colour. Because that would be quitting. And quitting is something that a Hamilton never does, according to my father, who took up the zither after a holiday in Croatia three years ago.

  did not ask Fintan where his zither is, if he is such a not-quitter. Because he was on my side and I intended to keep it that way.

  refrained from pointing out that my surname is actually Leary, like Mum, as opposed to Hamilton, like Dad, while we were in the principal’s office with Ms McBride, who is also deputy head and did most of, if not all, the talking. I did point it out after we left, though. Because if I hadn’t I would have felt like I’d been dissing my dead mother. And rule number one of being someone’s child is that you don’t diss them after they have passed away. Unless it is really, really funny.

  did not get suspended, although threats were made.

  did not point out how ridiculous it was that this is the thing that gets me into trouble. I mean, this. Last year, I punched another human being in the face and did not even get suspended or anything. Granted, it was Karen, so I was not entirely wrong, but how in the name of all that is holy is what I have done now worse than what I did then? OK, what I did then was in defence of Ella, whereas this is kind of just a celebration of my own vanity. So there’s that. But my hair isn’t hurting anyone, unless it is in the sense that it sometimes hurts the eye to look on things of terrible beauty, like the craggily wondrous Connemara mountains or the face of a benevolent god.

  did not have to listen to my dad whining on and on about being rejected. I did have to listen to him deciding to join the parents’ committee, because changes need to be made. Stuff needs to be sown and then reaped. Stuff like tolerance of all creeds and religions, piercings and hairstyles. Only not the piercings, because facial ones creep Dad out to an appalling degree. He cannot look at them without imagining little pieces of food seeping out through them or clogging up the holes.

  did not get to go to Ella’s and see my beloved Felix. But he did text me to say:

  Ella tells me you’ve been accused of having rebellious hair. Fight the Power, Leary. Fight the Power.

  Isn’t that sweet? He totally wants to have my babies. If only he knew I was mind-cheating on my secret crush on him with my secret crush on Mac. He would be SO nonplussed if he knew. Or maybe he would be scared and appalled.

  edda did not call Dad. Because she is having space. Dad wanted me to text her to let her know about my hair thing, and also I was to put a question in so she would have to reply to it and we could analyse her reply and its impact on the future of FinHed. Nobody calls them FinHed, but I might start to because it is hilarious. I refused to send her the text because she wants space to think about moving in, and we mustn’t remind her of the madcap schemes and political struggles that living with a scamp like me will involve. I did text Sorrel, though. She was very proud of me.

  y geography homework did not get done, because I am not pleased with the way that I have been treated b
y the system. Until the system changes, no geography homework will be done.

  ZITHER: An instrument that people in Croatia play, I assume. It has strings and frets, like a guitar, but does not have a neck. It is kind of straight on one side and curved on the other side. It is not easy to play, because it has about forty strings and stuff, but apparently it makes a lovely sound if you know how to play it. Fintan does not know how to play his zither. He prefers to play his guitar, because he is actually pretty OK at that. It is a nice-looking thing, though, and it is a pity that he hardly ever uses it because I bet it cost a pretty penny.

  BENEVOLENT: A kind of twinkly and enormous kindness, like new-testament God or childhood Santa. Benevolent people often give stuff away to the poor and needy.

  NONPLUSSED: Surprised and confused but in a way that means you do nothing and are just all, ‘Meh, I don’t care’. Felix would be surprised to know I like him, but I do not think it would make a big difference to him one way or another. It is my thing and it doesn’t really impact on him at all, no matter how much I would like it to, or imagine it does in silly little daydreams where I play the zither for the Deep Tinkers and earn his love and respect by my wondrous mastery at manipulating its thirty-eight strings to make a melodious and resonant sound. He would not fall in love with me, though. Even if I could play the zither and had a nicer forehead.

  A BIT OF A MASTER (11)

  I told Fintan about my not doing my geography homework protest idea and he made me do my geography homework. My hand is tired from drawing diagrams of physical features.

  Also, Joel rang. He walked in on his mum and dad kissing and murmuring sweet nothings in the kitchen.

  ‘It was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen, Primrose. He completely finds her attractive and stuff. I almost got sick.’

  ‘I am sorry you had to see that, Joel. But Anne is a sexy lady and your dad has totally done it with her at least twice.’

  ‘STOP! She’s my mum.’

  ‘What? I’m totally right.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, and I can’t say I blame him. If I were a man, I’d totally want to –’

  ‘PRIMROSE!’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Too far. I don’t want them to split up or anything but there’s nothing wrong with a chaste, pure sort of love that involves sharing chocolate with each other on a park bench when they are both old and grey.’

  ‘Like in the ad.’

  ‘Like in the ad. I love that ad.’

  ‘I know. So cute.’

  Anyway, this has to stop. I will not put up with parents who kiss each other on the neck in kitchens.’

  ‘On the NECK? That is dreadful. Social services might take Marcus off them.’

  ‘I know. Being exposed to that sort of carry-on can’t be good for him.’

  ‘If only he had an Internet romance to take his mind off the whole sorry thing.’

  ‘No. That was a bad idea.’

  ‘It was funny, though, Joel.’

  ‘That it was. Will you help me mow the lawn later?’

  ‘Hmmm …’

  ‘Come on, Prim. You have LOADS of time on your hands now that you’re being expelled.’

  ‘I am so not being expelled — it’s only hair, for crying out loud.’

  ‘Karen says you’re being expelled.’

  ‘Ugh. I hate Karen. Why did you even listen to her?’

  ‘Sinéad told Ciara and Ciara told me. I didn’t really believe it, but Primrose?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you ever get expelled, promise that you’ll text me about it.’

  ‘I am not going to get expelled, Joel. But I will help you mow the lawn.’

  And so I did. It wasn’t too hard anyway. They have one of those little tractor-shaped mowers that you drive around the garden on. It is red and cute and has a little beepy horn you toot for people to get out of your way. The only annoying bit is emptying the grass baskets when you finish. It makes your hands all dirty and green.

  But I did end up promising that I will not be grossed out by Anne and Liam showing each other affection. I suppose all the years of Mum’s boyfriends and Dad’s girlfriends made me invulnerable to disgust of that nature.

  Besides, Anne is only lovely and deserves to be treated like a queen. She has been so kind to me since I was small. Liam too. Joel has been spoilt by their happy normality and only appreciates them sometimes, like when they get him a present or something.

  I can’t believe Karen told everyone I was expelled. I hate that girl so much that steam comes out my ears whenever I think about her, as though I were a particularly angry cartoon rabbit.

  INVULNERABLE: Un-wound-able. Not easily hurt. Wolverine is nigh invulnerable and I think Superman is as well. The difference is that Wolverine isn’t smug about it and that is why I prefer him. I am invulnerable to some things, but other times I feel like I am the opposite of invulnerable, like I’m made of fontanelles or something.

  FONTANELLE: The little hollow that newborn babies have on the tops of their heads where the skulls haven’t fully grown over the brain yet. They feel like the softest velvet in the world and smell of newborn baby. Rubbing them almost makes me cry because of how fragile and vulnerable they feel and how scary and big and full of dangerous things the world is.

  MASTERPIECE

  I am not changing my hair. . Turns out Sieve-who-does-hair is Ms Cleary’s (first name Fatima, which always delights me, because it is so unexpected and kind of exotic) nephew. He rang the house yesterday because he wanted me to drop in a photo of my hair to put in his portfolio. I told him that my hair might be short-lived because of the powers that be at school. He made the connection and rang his auntie Fatima to tell her that there is no way that she can destroy his masterpiece. I am his masterpiece.

  I am going back to school tomorrow with a fine head of hair. Dad will not have to sue everyone like he threatened to do. Happy endings for all concerned.

  MASTERPIECE: The best thing you’ve ever done. In a job sense. Like, let’s say Leonardo da Vinci gave his life to save that of a child. Well, although that might be his most noble act, his masterpiece would still be the Mona Lisa. I prefer the one with the lady holding a ferret, though, because it reminds me of my small rat man and how happy he makes me.

  Dad was a little creeped-out that a grown man rang the house asking for a picture of his teenage daughter, but has cheered up considerably since and is watching the match and chuckling with triumph at having won his war with the school uniform policy. Even though he didn’t really. Steve did. But it still counts as a victory.

  I am so pleased with myself right now. I have let Roderick scuttle around my room while I do a dance of triumph to music that is turned up really loud. My dance of triumph is a lot like all my other dances, except that it involves a lot of air-punching. And leg-kicking. I think I may be terrifying poor Roderick. He is hiding behind my CD cases and only peering out sometimes.

  REASONS USED TO BE PLANS (12)

  There was a half-eaten bag of crisps behind my CD cases. Me and my rat are both triumphant now. Yes indeed.

  EXPLANATIONS

  I went into town with Joel and Ella. I texted Ciara but she didn’t want to come with us. She was going somewhere with her family or something. We went for tea and then to the pharmacist’s. Joel is thinking about dyeing his hair because he is a big copy-cat. He didn’t like any of the men’s hair colours and wouldn’t consider buying any of the ladies’ dyes, which is silly because it is just hair dye — I mean, it’s not like the chemical make-up of it is any different based on the gender of the grower of the hair. But whatever.

  We spent a lot of time in the big pet shop too. Ella wanted to get some stuff for Mr Cat and I needed to get Roderick some food and a new hammock because his old one is all nibbled and wobbly.

  While I was looking at the rats (there were some new baby ones, all curious and snuggly, so cute), Caleb came over and said, ‘Hi.’ He was looking at the rats as well. I
said, ‘Hi’ back, but I was trying to be non-committal. Joel and Ella were upstairs looking at the snakes but I wished that they would come down because I have not been very comfortable around Caleb since the time he spat on me after I hit Karen, back when they were going out.

  He said, ‘You have a pet rat, don’t you?’ And I said, ‘Yeah’ because I was holding a bag that said ‘rat food’ and any other answer would have seemed a bit insane, and went up to join the others, even though I don’t like looking at the snakes and lizards because some of them eat mice and rats and there is a sad-making doom-fridge up there, filled to the brim with furry little corpses, that disturbs me greatly.

  I do not think that Caleb should be allowed to get a rat, seeing as he is a bully. Also, he is mercurial. Because he and Karen used to be joined at the lip, but now they hardly even acknowledge each other at all. I assume this means that they have broken up. Which is good, because they are both the Devil and do not deserve to be in a happy boy–girl relationship when I (who am not the Devil) must content myself with impossible crushes and melancholy daydreams set to a power-pop soundtrack.

  Anyway, after we left the pet shop, we talked about how rotten Karen and, by extension, Caleb were, and how it was never OK to spit on someone. Ella kindly pointed out that it was also never OK to punch someone in the face, but that was different, because

  I was defending Ella’s good name,

  it wasn’t much of a punch and