‘No I wouldn’t.’ (Maybe on my ribcage?)
‘Yes, you would — but it is easier to talk about normal things, like boys, than it is to talk about things that make you different, like tragedy and sexuality and so on.’
‘You are right.’
‘I am always right.’
‘No, you aren’t. Remember when you wanted to grow a moustache so you could be cool, like my dad?’
‘I was only six or something.’
‘You were eleven, Joel.’
‘I still do want to grow a moustache some day. Just to prove that I can.’
‘Me too.’
‘No you don’t’
‘You’re probably right’
Joel is very wise sometimes. I did have a bit of a cry, in bed by myself, quietly, so as not to wake Marcus, who I have to share with. He heard me, though, and got up and rubbed his hand all over my face and said, ‘No crying for robots. Beep-beep.’
And I said, ‘Beep-beep, Marcus. Robot Prim feels better now.’
‘Beep-beep, Prim.’
‘Beep-beep, Marcus.’ ‘Beep-beep. I. Am. A. Robot.’
‘Beep-beep. I. know.’
‘Beep-beep. I. Love. You. Goodnight kisses.’
And he slobbered all over my face and snuggled in beside me. He smelled of Plasticine and that children’s toothpaste that tastes of strawberry Mr Freezes and not mint. Anne found us like that in the morning and was all Aw’. Which is kind of a double standard because she always gives out when Joel and I end up in bed together.
I like Robot Marcus a lot. Maybe he could be my new counsellor. We could just go for cuddle-naps once a week and have long, beepy talks together about a variety of issues. At least that way Dad’s money would be well-spent on robot paraphernalia and sweets that look like robot food.
I kind of love Joel’s family. Even Liam, who thinks I am dafter than a brush made of March hares, mainly because I turned his son into a robot by sticking false moustaches on him and showing him the film Wall-E. I wonder if he’ll think I turned Joel gay by sticking false moustaches on him and being his best friend? Eep.
BOYS AND BIRDS (5)
Dad picked me up on Saturday morning and we went for a walk on the pier and by the harbour. There were gulls and things, swooping and pecking. Seagulls look really evil — they have a cruel, sneery aspect to their beaks which makes me think of a flock of arrogant Karens. Shudder.
Dad was in bad form because Hedda and he are trying to iron out the details of moving in together, and the logistics are kind of baffling. She is reluctant to give up her house, and it wouldn’t be feasible for us to move in with her. They considered getting a new house, a neutral space for the three of us, but then decided that it seemed like an awful lot of effort. So Hedda is going to try living with us for two weeks starting next weekend, and we’ll see how that goes. Poor Dad. Nothing is ever simple.
She’s going to stay in his room, obviously enough, so we had to clear out one of his wardrobes. It was full of clothes he doesn’t wear and stuff he doesn’t use — exercise equipment, old band T-shirts and a portable record player and some vinyl records from back in the day.
It wasn’t too difficult to sort out the wardrobe because everything was boxed and labelled and stacked already. Dad is nothing if not scarily organised and incredibly lazy about household tasks. The stuff had been boxed since we moved in the summer before last. I asked if I could take the record player up to my room until he finds the best place for it and he said yes.
Silly Fintan. He will never find the best place for it because he forgets about stuff he cannot see unless it has to do with work. It is mine now until I want to get rid of it. He showed me how to work it and move from track to track. It is more fiddly than a CD player, which is itself more fiddly than just playing tracks on iTunes, but I kind of like putting a bit more effort in. Plus, you can see it going around and around and around and around.
I had a sudden urge to put Roderick on top of one to see what would happen but Fintan said that would be a bad idea, as his little claws would scratch the records and they are precious relics from his youth that need to be handled with the utmost care. So we took the record off and put Roderick on the turntable. He only went around and around once before he jumped off in disgust. Fintan wanted to put him back on and get the camera but I refused to allow it. My rat has his dignity, dammit.
LOGISTICS: The co-ordinatiOn or organisation of something. How you get stuff done.
FEASIBLE: Do-able but not in the way that Mac is do-able. I think about Mac too much. It really is a problem. Pretend I said realistic instead.
So, it was a lovely, lazy Saturday. I even let the old fella pick the film we watched in the evening as we chowed down on deli-bought roast chicken, various salads and fresh bread with melty, melty butter.
I spent a good part of the day wondering how Joel’s not-date with Kevin went. It turns out that it did not go at all: Kevin cancelled on him. I texted Joel to suggest that Kevin was treating him mean to keep him keen, but all I got in reply was a very ambiguous smiley face — the one with sunglasses and a neutral expression. What did it mean? I could not work it out, nor could I get through to him on his mobile or landline. Perhaps, instead of drinking coffee, they have run away together like the Famous Five. Or like Romeo and Juliet tried to do. I hope not. I would miss the hell out of Joel were he gone.
I did my homework while listening to one of Dad’s old jazz records. It had a man smoking on the cover in black and white, so I knew it was going to be cool as all get out. Too cool for school-work. The kind of cool that makes Dad squint his eyes and tap his feet and click his fingers and be of the opinion that he is some sort of awesome lounge lizard, when in reality he is just a sad old number-cruncher whose girlfriend won’t marry him. That was mean. But parents can’t be cool. When will they learn that? I’d send out a massive group email to all the parents I know, only Fintan and his moustache would get all bristlily irate with me and probably not let me do things that I like doing. He’s not a bad father, though, just kind of an embarrassing one every now and then.
At ten o’clock, when I was lying in bed thinking and waiting to fall asleep, I realised it had almost been a day and a half since I’d thought about you-know-who.
Which is kind of amazing, but also it made me wonder if I was being unfair to Mum.
GULLS
Today was kind of a mess. Joel avoided me most of the day so we wouldn’t have to talk about the text he sent me last night that told me to forget what he had said, that it didn’t mean anything, he had changed his mind. I rang him after that but he didn’t answer his phone.
Dad and I visited Mum’s grave yesterday. We do that once a week because it is important to me.
I don’t know what I need to do to change the way I am. I’m full of worries. The scabs on my legs from where I cut myself while shaving glue my tights to my skin. I have to tear myself to peel them off. I feel itchy and dirty and wrong. Something is happening to me. And I don’t know how to make it stop. My head is moving so quickly even when my body is still.
I forgot my locker key today. I was so close to punching the door, which I know would do no good but might at least ease a bit of my frustration, when Caleb came up behind me with a pair of bolt cutters. He keeps them on hand, apparently; wouldn’t say why. We snapped the lock off and he lent me his one for the day, because no one would go near his locker anyway due to his well-earned reputation as the kind of boy who spits on his enemies. It was weirdly nice of him. Maybe he is coming down with a touch of humanity?
I bought a new lock at lunchtime. I walked to the little shop fifteen minutes away that sells everything. It might be where Caleb got his bolt cutters, come to think of it. When I came back, Ciara and Ella were huffy with me for not telling them where I had been. They were sitting with Lauren and them and didn’t even say hello. Joel did say hello, but it was a ‘Shut your face if you know what’s good for you’ sort of hello. The kind of hello I can do witho
ut.
Caleb’s hands were covered in tiny little scars, the size of grains of rice, some red, some white, some purple. I wonder what is wrong with him — on many levels, but the hand thing kind of sparked my interest. I didn’t ask, though, for fear he would break into my locker and fill it with an assortment of nightmares.
My hands are small and kind of pinkly wrinkled on the palms. My nails are a little bit longer than they were. Scratching itches has become more satisfying now.
Mum’s grave didn’t feel like a visit to a real person. It felt like an admonishment. Like it should matter more, should be this big symbolic thing. But she is gone, and graves are made of earth and plants and stones. Sometimes my brain lets me make her grave into something more than that, but yesterday it didn’t and I felt like screaming because I really needed comfort. I really needed Mum to be there for me and she wasn’t.
Because she’s dead. You can’t be mad at somebody for dying. I mean, you can’t. It isn’t fair on them. But still … that’s how I felt. Or something.
Leona wasn’t wearing her geode earrings today but she did say that they’re going to this tacky teenage club event thing on Friday night. Ciara wants to go. She was on about it on the phone tonight. I might go, if Joel does too. And Ella. Although Ella mightn’t like it if it’s loud and full of people sweating and jostling.
What do people wear to these things? Would a band t-shirt, a floopy canary-coloured skirt and my slip on runners be OK? Or do I have to put something a good deal sluttier on? Like a sparkly hot-pant unitard and some sort of stiletto-type affair? I do not own a sparkly hot-pant unitard but if I end up wearing one I think I will want to wear fairy wings with it — my ones I wore last Hallowe’en to Syzmon’s party are still on top of the wardrobe. I made them out of gardening wire, gauze and tights, and had to take them off halfway through the night and leave them in the hall.
My legs feel all prickly again. They don’t look too bad, but when I run my hands down them they’re all spiky and gross. I don’t know if they’ll ever get smooth, no matter how often or how roughly I shave them or how zealously I apply fancy moisturisers that smell like things I haven’t ever eaten.
ADMONISHMENT: A gentle but unmistakable giving-outty-ness. Ciara is very good at admonishing me. ‘Those shoes?’ she says, tilting her head to one side in a manner that screams
She does not need to raise her voice or say anything more. I will take off my giraffe-print sequined wedges with the lime-green beading that I got for ten euro in a closing down sale. Someday I will find the perfect outfit for them. And then she will eat her admonishy words.
UNITARD: Like a leotard, but it goes right down to your knees or ankles or higher up than that in the tantalising case of the hot-pant unitard. Another word for it would be body-stocking. I like the word body-stocking, because it sounds kind of filthy. Especially if you say it in the voice of a British earl: ‘Oh, I say. I must commend you on your bodystocking. Good show.’ Earls like to say ‘good show’ when I am being them.
ZEALOUSLY: This does not mean ‘jealous with a z instead of j’. Do not be fooled! It means eagerly. As in, I zealously applied the tanning product to my legs, little knowing that my zeal would result in streaks of orange-tinted tragedy.
SUNDAY IN IRAN (6)
Joel was in better form today. I told him very seriously that we needed to talk.
‘No, Prim, we really, really don’t’
‘Yes we do, or I will smack your stupid face, Joely-Bowly.’
I gave Caleb his lock back and thanked him for his very helpful bolt-cutting. It is important to thank people for doing you favours, even if they have spat on you in the past. This will encourage the favour-doing and discourage any future spitting. He mumbled something along the lines of, ‘It’s OK,’ but as I turned to go, he called me back to ask me if I knew anything about ferrets.
‘Ferrets?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why would I know about ferrets?’
‘Well … you have a rat.’ At this point, he did a big long sigh that spoke of frustrations a-plenty. ‘See … my brother got this ferret and it kept biting him, so he was going to drown it and so I said I’d take it, but it keeps biting me all over my hands. Look.’
At this point he showed me all the scars I’d noticed on his hands.
‘They look sore. Um, rats and ferrets aren’t very similar, but I think I might know someone who used to have one. I’ll give him a call tonight and see.’
‘Your boyfriend?’
‘No! God, no. He’s Mum’s age.’
I am pleased that someone thinks I am capable of having a boyfriend. I may have misjudged Caleb — he seems to be a lot more helpful and not-spitty this calendar year.
The person I was thinking of ringing was Mum’s ex, Dave, who gave me Roderick. Since we met him, he has had a boa constrictor, a chameleon, two geckos, a Russian hamster named Boris and a degu. He is bound to have had a ferret at some stage or know something about them anyway.
But then I remembered about Ella and her encyclopaedic knowledge of all things veterinary. So I asked her what Caleb should do. She said that ferrets sleep fourteen to eighteen hours a day, so he should be safe for most of the time. It is important not to wake them up or surprise them while they are dozing. Also, if they hiss you should leave them alone. She was ready to say more but I thought it would be better to take her directly to Caleb.
So I did, and she held a small clinic, telling him that things like putting a horrible-tasting deterrent made of cider vinegar and lemon juice on his hands could work wonders, and encouraging him to ‘scruff and drag’ the ferret to assert his dominance and let the ferret know who is the boss. Caleb said his brother Stan used to flick the ferret’s nose whenever he was bold, which is apparently a combination of stupid, cruel and useless. Ella does not mince her words when it comes to pet-care.
DEGU: If a rat and a squirrel had a baby, it would look like a degu. They are from South America and are very cute indeed and good at jumping. I wonder how I could convince Roderick to get a squirrel pregnant. I am getting ahead of myself. First things first: I wonder where I could find a promiscuous and not too picky squirrel …
DETERRENT: Something that deters you from doing something. Like a slap or a small electric shock. Roderick is deterred from eating the skirting boards by being swiftly imprisoned in his cage as soon as he even looks sideways at one of the skirting boards. We do not want a repeat of what happened in my bedroom, where the skirting boards and chair legs are now nibbled to an alarming degree.
Caleb seemed to know what she was talking about, though, and he even took notes. Ella said that he could ask her more questions if the ferret, whose name is Doctor Herringbone Dread after some DJ that Caleb’s brother likes, is still giving trouble.
Caleb does not want to lose the Doctor, so he has been trying his best to toilet train him and make him a pet who does not bite everything. I hope he is successful. I know how much I love Roderick. I would hate to lose him for something that isn’t his fault at all.
Ella thinks that Stan was probably abusive to the Doctor, and Caleb said he totally was. He used to try to make Doctor Herringbone Dread drink beer, and lift him up and swing him by one ferrety paw just to see the expression on his little furry face. Ella and I hate Stan now, even though we have never met him.
Also, kind of warming to Caleb. People who are kind to animals are generally decent. Except for Hitler, who was really nice to dogs, according to a documentary Syzmon saw on the History Channel. Ciara, Syzmon and Joel were not very interested in Caleb’s ferret, because none of them have pets of their own. But it was nice to have a lunch break where Ella got to do most of the talking for once. I like when she comes into her own and shows people how cool and clever and great she can be. She is going to make a kick-ass vet some day.
ASSERTING DOMINANCE: Letting someone who is not the boss know who the boss is. Animals do this by growling and fighting. Humans do this by bossing people around and being allo
wed to get away with treating other humans like they do not matter.
I think I am going to go to this thing on Friday. Ciara says I can come over to get ready and then stay at hers that night if I want. Could be really fun, provided she doesn’t, like, try to put fake tan on me. I don’t think she will, although she did once try to pluck my eyebrows while I was asleep. Apparently they were uneven. She apologised for it, but being woken up that way is not something you forget. Anyway, my eyebrows are fine. They are totally even. They don’t exactly match my hair-colour, mind you, but it would be weird if they did. Imagine eyebrows with little bits of green and purple in them. That would be madness.
Also, Ciara has a surprise for me which she assured me was not an impromptu eyebrow-reshaping session. I like surprises, provided they are not unpleasant. I hope it is a cake of some description. Or the perfect pair of black floral lace-pattern tights. Long have I searched for the perfect pair of black floral lace-pattern tights, but to no avail. I have about eight pairs of reasonable black floral lace-pattern tights and I like them fine but something is missing. Something that turns cute into wonderful and ‘They’re nice’ into ‘I want to kill you so I can rip those tights off your dead body and have them for my own’. Someday I will own the black floral lace-pattern tights of my dreams. But until that day something will always be missing from my decidedly imperfect, pale, stubbly, leg-patterned legs. Sigh.
Anyway, I think I will wear my purple tutu and some sort of top to this thing on Friday. I have not worn my purple tutu yet because I vowed that the first time I wore it would involve dancing. Friday will involve dancing. Dancing and vow-fulfilment. Yay!!
FRIDAY
I could start ranting now but I think that if I tell it like story then it might put things into perspective, stop my over-emotional reaction and the waves of self-pity that led to snapping at Dad and Joel and Ciara and even poor smelly little Roderick who never did a thing to hurt anyone, unless they stood between him and a delicious treat of some description.
Improper Order Page 7
