Ciara likes Lily but she doesn’t really know her — they only saw her once every couple of weeks before she moved in — and it is weird, having a new member of the family living in the house. Lily doesn’t really boss her around or anything, but she likes to watch TV in the family room and that means Ciara can’t watch what she likes.
Ciara doesn’t really read much, not unless she really likes the book she’s reading, but she does like television. She thinks that book about the sexy knights would make a good film. I don’t know if it would, because there was just so much to it, all battles and poultices and kidnappings and girls dressing up as boys to learn sword-fighting and then knights thinking that they are attracted to a young boy when in reality it is just a girl with short hair and whatever the medieval version of a minimiser bra was.
POULTICE: A kind of dressing featuring herbs and spices and ingredients. Ladies that Vikings end up marrying use it to dress their Viking wounds. The application of a soothing poultice to a wound is often used as an excuse for some serious chest-ogling and -stroking in the romance novels about fighting men from the past.
Anyway, Ciara can’t go on saying the rosary every night. She just can’t. It is making her tired and grumpy and also weirdly anachronistic. She says old lady things now, like Jesus, Mary and Joseph’ and ‘Lord bless us and save us and protect us from all harm’ and ‘Look at the cut of you.’Joel and I find this amusing and endearing but we are worried that we will start doing it too. Which wouldn’t be very nice at all. Although I wouldn’t mind saying the rosary once or twice, just so I know how it goes. I might need it to get into heaven.
Oh, God, what if that actually ends up being true? If it is, Mum is definitely not in heaven. But she wouldn’t be in hell either because she was lovely. Lovely people don’t go to hell.
Although, different people have different perceptions of what is and isn’t lovely. Karen probably thinks that she is lovely. Except she couldn’t possibly think that if she has even a modicum of selfawareness, seeing as how she revels in being evil incarnate. She told me my shoes were fugly today. My shoes are not fugly. Not that they are super-pretty, mind. They are inoffensive black ballet flats that never did a thing to harm anyone. I bought them because I read in a magazine about this thing called a capsule wardrobe, where you have only about seven different pieces of clothing (not including tights and underwear) but together they make about seven thousand different outfits, like those Japanese robots that slot into each other to become one much bigger, super effective robot.
ANACHRONISTIC: Oldtimey, but in the modern world. Something that doesn’t belong to the time in which it is found. Like a Viking who finds himself transported to modern-day Manhattan by a magical love-mist, only to unexpectedly encounter a hotshot female reporter who will teach him to love something other than longboats and elaborate helmets. The anachronism there would be the Viking.
Marcus, Joel’s little brother, thinks that robots are magnificent. I concur, but I do not insist that every item of clothing I own has some sort of robot on it. Joel had to order some robot patches online and sew them to Marcus’s jeans and T-shirts so that they would become acceptable apparel for his little brother. I kind of admire Marcus’s attitude. I hope he never changes and that he becomes rich and famous enough that his quirk is found enchanting and original, as opposed to extremely unsettling.
I am staying over at Joel’s on Friday night. We are babysitting Marcus while Anne and Liam go for a romantic meal. Love is in the air for people who are too old to deserve it any more, apparently, because Hedda and Dad are going out too, I think.
Hedda hasn’t been around in a while. I hope she doesn’t dump Dad for wanting to marry her but being confused about how her ‘moving in together’ idea would work. I think she is cooking for him in her house. I have never been to Hedda’s house. Dad says it is very nice but quite small. I don’t think there would be space for all our stuff there. So a-babysitting I will go.
I like babysitting because small children are silly and fun, but it can be a lot of work as well. So much can go wrong. Like when they start to cry instead of going to bed and you can’t peacefully enjoy late-night television but instead have to cheer them up by reading, like, ten bedtime stories and doing all the voices until your throat is sore from growling like a Gruffalo and squeaking like a mouse. Marcus isn’t really like that, though, because Joel can give out to him and stuff.
Also there is generally delicious food in the cupboards because Anne is still baking away like some sort of TV chef. Liam goes on work trips a lot so Joel and Marcus and I generally get to eat the lion’s share of this baking, and that’s a good thing. My favourite so far were her raspberry and white chocolate muffins. I could eat those muffins for breakfast, dinner and tea. Actually, I’ll go further than that. It would be my honour to eat as many of those muffins as she can possibly bake. They are that good.
I went to swimming after school today, which means I have to do all my homework now. I felt like it was such a bother when I was getting my stuff together and changing and whatever, but once I was in the water it was like I could put everything out of my mind, all the clamouring, and just go back and forth, thrashing and gasping, kicking and breathing and holding my breath and going for it and not stopping until the teacher blew her whistle and told us what to do next.
Butterfly is the best for angry water-displacement, all that flapping, but my favourite is the breast-stroke, not because of its sexy connotations but because to my childlike mind it is the way that mermaids swim, hair floating out like seaweed behind them. It can be slow or fast, but it is neat and drifty and something about it makes my body feel almost graceful. I rarely feel graceful because I am always dropping things and having mishaps. Like that thing with the peeler yesterday. My thumb is still stinging. The bandage came off in the water, floating grossly to the bottom to infect the pool until it has been cleaned. I was too busy swimming to dive down and get it. I didn’t want to interrupt the class. Dolphin Laura could probably bob up and down in seconds if it was her bandage. I cannot, though.
Laura’s mum was picking her up today. Mac couldn’t do it because he had to go somewhere with his dad.
It just came out: ‘I thought his dad was dead.’
She said she didn’t know why I would think that. I didn’t know myself, just something in her voice when she mentioned him before: a change in tone. A pausing or uncertainty. There was a little wobble in her voice when she said, ‘No, he’s back with them and everything is fine now.’
I said, ‘I didn’t mean to be nosy.’
‘You weren’t. It’s just a weird situation.’
‘None of my business.’
‘Not that — well, kind of that, but not in a mean way. It’s just … it’s his stuff, not mine to tell. I wouldn’t feel comfortable.’
‘I get it.’
We were brushing our hair in the mirror and after I said that I left. She stayed to blow-dry her hair. I like to do mine at home because the hairdryers at the pool are always either too hot or too cold and there is the tiny but unmistakable risk of death by electrocution. I saw that safety DVD about hairdryers and bathtubs when we were in primary school and it seems like it could easily be applied to swimming pools as well. You can’t be too careful.
Poor Mac. His sexily troubled hotness is more than just a façade. I wonder what the story is with his dad. Perhaps I could console him through whatever it is in a friend-with-benefits type way. A friend-with-benefits is a friend who you get to do it with but you’re not going out with them or anything. It is one of those relationship deals that would be amazing for one member of the relationship (the member that liked doing it with their friend but also with other people) but not so good for the other member (the one that secretly fancies their friend and hopes that the benefits accrued will one day include marriage). This is what I have learned from things I saw on telly.
I would like to be Mac’s friend-with-benefits. He would be completely smitten with me
but I would be holding out for Felix and therefore irresistible. Dolphin Laura would soon be forgotten when he saw how unavailable I was. I would only text him when I wanted to hook up, and our chemistry would build and build until we fell in love in spite of ourselves. And also in spite of Dolphin Laura. In my fantasy, she and Mac aren’t going out, though. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Except for possibly my own.
BUBOES
Joel and I had a lot of fun minding Marcus. We made him a robot costume out of cardboard boxes and tin foil. He was well pleased.
Ciara was going to call over for a bit but then Syzmon wanted to go to the cinema or something, so she did that instead. I was kind of relieved, actually. I love Ciara to bits but she is always around and since Joel is in our school now I feel like I get to spend less time with him by himself than before.
Joel is really easy-going and sociable, unlike grumpy, snarky me, which is part of why we get on so well. But he is happy out in big groups, whereas I feel like I do myself more justice when it’s just me and one other person, like I can be nicer and friendlier and funnier when I can give them my undivided attention and not worry about leaving anyone out or having anyone think I’m an idiot or something. Not that Ciara has ever called me an idiot, but there is some stuff that Joel and I like that she doesn’t really get.
Like putting false moustaches on babies. She told me she never really ‘got’ that. (How?) Of course, she waited till we kind of stopped doing it very often at all to say anything. Ciara likes to blend in — like if Joel and I started smoking, she totally would too, even though she is really precious about her nails and hair. Not that smoking does anything to your hair apart from make it smell of smoke.
It’s not a bad thing, being the way Ciara is. It means she can get on with almost anyone, but sometimes I wonder how well I really know her, how much of her is being what she thinks I would like her to be, like laughing at my jokes even when she doesn’t really get them, or helping us put mutton chops and a full, bristly Victorian-style ’tache on Marcus even when she doesn’t ‘get’ it. I think that was why she hung around with Karen and them for so long, even when they were being really mean to her. She just wanted to be liked.
Her mum puts her under a lot of pressure. One time when I was over at her house, she was finishing her homework and I was reading a magazine because I can learn things off a lot faster than she can, and her mum came in and gave out to her for slacking off, because if she had been working hard she would have finished at the same time as me, which isn’t even logical. Our brains are different. She is better at doing neat handwriting and making things look lovely, and I am better at racing through dates and facts and vomiting them back out again in tests. Her mum always asks her who did better than her in tests, even when she gets an A.
Another reason I was glad Ciara wasn’t around was that it soon became clear that Joel had something to tell me. He was all cagey, but in a noticeable way, like he wanted me to grill him about whatever he was hiding, because he was dying to tell someone. So I did what he wanted and asked him what was up. And after a cursory amount of pussyfooting around the place and grinning, he told me what was up.
And what it was was kind of huge. He told me he was pretty sure he was gay. Which I totally knew already, but just to hear him say it was enormous and I gave him a hug and said that I kind of guessed that already, but I was so proud of him for being strong enough to say it out loud. And then he dropped the bombshell. The reason he has become so sure of his sexual identity is because he has a big old crush on someone. Which is a good thing, because it made him more confident about himself, but also a bad thing, because how do you know if someone else is gay or not? It is not like they come with some sort of special mark or tattoo.
Joel is pretty sure that Kevin — that is the guy’s name — is not gay, though. But they get on really well and have the same sense of humour and they both like martial arts. That is where they met: at Mixed Martial Arts.
So, Kevin is a little taller than Joel, with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. He’s got quite a stocky frame and he dresses well, but not crazy well. Usually nice jeans and T-shirts. He wore a surfer-style necklace one week, but he hasn’t worn it since, so Joel thinks maybe that Kevin thought that he couldn’t pull it off even though he could, because he has a very nice neck. Kevin likes very loud rock music and has a Jack Russell named Wayne Rooney. He didn’t name it, though; his little sister did. Wayne Rooney goes missing a lot and various members of their family have to walk around calling his name loudly. Wayne Rooney will not answer to Wayne, or Rooney, or Dog, or Boy. He will only respond to his full name and this irritates Kevin, who is convinced that the dog is trying to humiliate him on some deep level.
Also, Joel and he are going for coffee after Mixed Martial Arts tomorrow, but it isn’t like a date or anything, because Kevin isn’t gay, but wouldn’t it be great if he were?
I will be so jealous if Joel gets a boyfriend before me. I know that he deserves to find love as much as the next person, but if a gay fifteen-year-old who has no intention of telling anyone but me that he is gay can get a boyfriend and I, a heterosexual girl of average attractiveness except for my hair, which is shinily wondrous, am left all on my own, I will feel so left out. I know I will. Even as I was conspiring with Joel about how to woo the dashing Kevin in a purely-platonic-but-whatever-happens-happens way, I was worrying about being the only one in the group apart from Ella with nobody to hold hands with.
Actually, I wonder if Ella will ever be able to have a relationship? I think she totally will, but it would have to be with someone patient and understanding and with a deep love of anecdotes about her cat. I’ve never talked to her about boys, really. I mean, she’s been around me and Ciara while we talked about Syzmon or whoever, and I assume she knows about my shameful crush on her brother by the way I turn into a stammering tomato-face whenever he enters a room, but she’s never really volunteered her own ideas about this whole love business.
It must make things difficult for her, the Asperger’s. I mean, I find it hard to relate to people and get on with them a lot of the time and I’m supposedly normal. Joel is five thousand times more normal and likeable than me and yet I’m sworn to secrecy about a significant chunk of who he really is. He thinks his parents would freak out if they knew. I’d say they have to have some idea, but then again adults are pretty dense, so it is hard to say what they do or do not guess.
I told Joel we needed to celebrate his coming out in a symbolic manner, so we went down to the kitchen. There was red wine in the fridge, which is gross, but I filled two glasses a quarter full of it and we toasted being ourselves and being happy that way. Then I furtively washed the glasses out, feeling slightly guilty about the whole thing. Liam, Anne and Fintan are so lucky. I mean, we are ridiculously sensible as fourteen-year-olds go: no smoking, no drinking (or almost none), no drugs or sex or anything else you hear about on those radio shows where people ring in to complain about what kids these days get up to.
Also, we put on some old Hallowe’en masks and snuck into the closet in Marcus’s room. We leapt out at him with fabulous growls of doom and terror. He was very unimpressed. He has become inured to our torments, having had to deal with being treated as a sort of living dress-up doll by us from such a young age. He went back to sleep almost right away. I sometimes wonder at how delighted I still am by childish things like dressing up and being stupidly funny. I don’t know if I’ll ever grow out of it, but I probably will. Or at least become a little bit more reserved.
Anne and Liam did not return home until half past three in the morning. Joel and I were still up chatting but once we saw the lights of the taxi we scuttled off to bed. I couldn’t fall asleep for ages and ages, though. I really, really hope everything turns out OK for Joel. I want him to be happy, even if that means that he gets a boyfriend before me, starts spending all his time with him and semi-abandons me except when they’re rowing. That is how much I value his friendship.
&nbs
p; I wish I had a picture of Mac to show him, but I can’t find him on any of the social networking sites. Possibly because I have yet to find out his full name. Which could one day be my name too, if he breaks up with Dolphin Laura and realises that what he needed was here, right here all along. Well, not exactly here, as in close to him, but here as in somewhere in the general vicinity of him for about three minutes once a week or so.
I also told Joel about Brian McAllister and he got all mad at me for not saying anything earlier, but not really mad, just kind of pretend mad — like, frustrated.
‘You never tell me anything’ was one of the things he said. And I told him I didn’t want to talk about it at school because I knew I would probably start to cry and it would be like this whole big thing with Ciara flapping and people looking and Ella becoming irritated by my big red wobbly face and gasping noises.
‘That’s why phones were invented, Prim.’
‘I know. But I just don’t like talking about it.’
‘You should, though, because you’re not in therapy any more.’
‘Thank God.’
‘I know, but it means that you have to tell people about stuff, not bottle it all up to rant to Triona once a week.’
(Triona used to be my counsellor but I hated her and I am never going back to her.)
‘But talking about my stuff is boring. And it’s not like saying things out loud makes them disappear.’
‘I take back being gay, then.’
‘Don’t be stupid. That’s totally different.’
‘It’s still bottling, Prim, just in a different bottle.’
‘I told you about liking Mac, though.’
‘You tell everyone about liking Mac. You’d get a tattoo of his face on your face if you could.’
Improper Order Page 6
