by Anna Carey
‘I hope that wasn’t a drunken laugh,’ I said, and left her to her lonely alcoholic revels. I met Dad on my way out of the kitchen. He was brandishing a wine glass of his own. Drinking on a Thursday night! At their age! Sometimes I think I’m the only sensible person in this house.
FRIDAY
Brilliant day! First of all, school was okay – Mrs Harrington only mentioned my ‘mammy’ once, and only briefly. We were hanging around with Ellie and Emma at lunch and Ellie was saying how much she hated Mrs Harrington, and it wasn’t just because she’d found Ellie and Emma having a nice quiet game of Hangman when they were meant to be listening to the worst teacher ever waffle on about Wordsworth and his crazed daffodil obsession. It was also because Mrs Harrington was making my life a misery with her constant ‘mammy’-ing. So I suppose Ellie isn’t my enemy after all.
Then after school Alice and Cass came over to eat Chinese food from the De-Luxe takeaway and then stay the night. Mum and Dad left the house really early because they were going out for dinner somewhere in Meath, so we had the house to ourselves. Well, except for Rachel, who was there until seven and was then going out with Tom, the boyfriend she nearly went to Glastonbury with until my parents put their foot down and said she was far too young to go off to a festival in another country with just her eighteen-year-old boyfriend for company. For someone who nearly did all that, Rachel is very straightlaced when it comes to my welfare. She gave us this big lecture on ‘not taking advantage of the free gaff’ and how we weren’t ‘to throw a big party and drain Mum and Dad’s drinks’ cabinet’.
I said, ‘Come on, Rachel, they’re coming back at midnight, we’re hardly going to have a big party.’
‘Then why are you all dressed up, then?’ said Rachel. She’s so suspicious. She’s worse than our parents, and she’s only sixteen.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I suppose we should wear our school uniforms even when we’re not in school, should we? Or sacks?’
Rachel sighed, in an annoying way. ‘Don’t break anything,’ she said, and then she went off to meet Tom.
She’s such a cow. We weren’t dressed up at all. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and my favourite pink Converse, which is hardly fancy. Although I had put on some mascara and nicked some of Rachel’s nice new lipgloss before she put her make-up bag in her handbag. . And it’s not as if we could have had a proper party anyway, we don’t know any boys and I can’t imagine any of our school friends would be able to just come round to my house at the last minute. Anyway, we ordered a lovely feast from the takeaway and when the doorbell rang about twenty minutes later we were sure it was the food so I ran out to get it.
And standing on our doorstep was the best-looking boy I HAVE EVER SEEN IN REAL LIFE. I was so astounded I couldn’t even speak. I just stared at him for what seemed like about ten years. The poor boy seemed slightly unsettled by this and we kind of stared at each other for a bit longer, until he said, ‘Um, I’m from Smyth’s the newsagent – I’m here to collect the paper money …’
He was the new paperboy! We get the papers delivered at the weekends and the paperboy always comes around on Friday evenings to collect the money for them. But the paperboy didn’t usually look like this. The usual paperboy is all squat and blotchy and wears a tracksuit. Paperboy II is tall and skinny with short, sort of curly dark brown hair and green eyes. Instead of a tracksuit, he was wearing really cool battered jeans and a nice band t-shirt. A gorgeous boy! On my doorstep!
Anyway, once he said who he was, I regained the power of speech and said, ‘Oh, right, um, the money’s round here somewhere ….’ And while I was trying to think of something snappy and witty to follow that profound statement Cass and Alice came out to the door, all ‘where’s our food?!’ and ‘come on, Bex, hand it over!’ And then they too saw Paperboy and, like me, were STRUCK DUMB by his radiant beauty. I wonder does this happen to Paperboy all the time? It must make life rather awkward, if so. Anyway, luckily I noticed a fiver on the hall table next to a note from Mumwhich said ‘MONEY FOR PAPERS’ in large letters. So I gave the fiver to Paperboy and the three of us stared at him like love-struck loons as he counted out the change and gave it to me. I said, ‘Thanks!’ and he said, ‘See you next week’ (!!!!!) and I smiled and closed the door and then we ran into the sitting room and went ‘squeeeeeeee!’ And Alice said, in a very grand voice, ‘I am in love.’ Which was quite unexpected, because Alice is supposedly already in love with this bloke from St Anthony’s Boys’ School who goes past us on a bike every morning on Calderwood Road. She has fancied him for a year now, which is a long time to love someone you’ve never spoken to. But just one glimpse of the handsome paperboy was enough to make her forget the boy she has yearned for all year! Such is his power.
Anyway, I think Alice will have many rivals for Paperboy’s affections. Me and Cass, for example. And we have a big advantage, because we live around here, and Alice lives off near Kinsealy, far from Paperboy’s paper round. In fact, Alice basically lives in the countryside. She used to live down the road from me on Glandore Road, but her family moved out to the wilds a few years ago. Her mum drops her near the top of my road on her way to work every morning and she walks to school with me and Cass, when we reach her road. So she will never see Paperboy unless she’s in my house on a Friday evening. But neither Cass nor I pointed this out to her, because it might look like gloating.
Then the doorbell rang and for a split second I thought Paperboy might have come back because he was so smitten by our (or preferably just my) charms, but it was the Chinese food. Which was no substitute for Paperboy, but still, not bad. So we had a feast and we all kind of ate too much and felt a bit sick. But we recovered in time to watch our favourite old film, Ten Things I Hate About You, on DVD, which was brilliant even though none of the boys in it are vaguely as cute as Paperboy, our new love. Then we put on Beyoncé and danced on the couch, which was fun until Cass fell off. Her glasses fell off in a different direction from the rest of her, and we couldn’t find them for ages.
Now it’s about one o’clock and the others have fallen asleep. Usually when we stay over in someone’s house we stay up all night, but we’re all exhausted tonight. I suppose it is the stress and strain of being back in school. And talking about Paperboy.
I wonder what his name is?
SUNDAY
Went out to Alice’s house. I wouldn’t like to live so far away from town, but it’s really gorgeous out there. We went for a walk (a proper country walk) and saw a fox and some rabbits, which was cool. The fox just ran out of a clump of bushes, stared at us, and ran back in again.
It was a lovely sunny day – no rain, hurrah – and it almost made me wish that I lived out among the wonders of nature instead of among three- and four-bedroom semi-detatcheds. We walked through this little bit of wood and it was all very pretty and peaceful. Alice isn’t very observant, though. I kept seeing rabbits and squirrels and things, but every time Alice turned to look at them they had disappeared. Eventually she got cross (for Alice) and told me that she’d seen plenty of rabbits before and I didn’t have to shriek like a banshee every time I saw one. I think she’s just jealous because she lives out there right among the rural wildlife and keeps missing them when they emerge from their burrows, whereas I, the city slicker, could see them straight away. Maybe I will be a famous zoologist instead of a famous artist. I can present programmes on TV like David Attenborough, except younger. And a girl.
LATER
It just dawned on me now (because my mind is addled with love) that Paperboy must have actually delivered the papers to my house yesterday and this morning! How could we have been so stupid as to forget that important part of his job?! The very essence of his job, really. I can’t believe he was actually on my doorstep again and I didn’t … well, actually, I suppose I couldn’t have done anything. It would have been a bit weird if I’d, like, suddenly opened the door as he was putting the papers in the letter box. Or even looked out at him through the letter
box. Also, the papers are usually delivered before I wake up. But still. I could have looked out of Rachel’s bedroom window.
MONDAY
I am worried about my mother. I really, really don’t think she’s followed Jocasta’s advice about starting a new book before the previous one is published. I mean, it’s been months and months since the last one came out and every time I ask her whether she’s started the new one she just gets a funny look on her face and says that ‘everything’s fine’. Which could mean anything! It could mean that she has writer’s block and will never write again, which would make my life easier but not hers, and really, although Mum being a famous writer has a detrimental effect on my life (Mrs Harrington was in fine form today, I must say. She was ‘mammy’-ing all over the place), she really does love writing and I don’t want her to stop doing it. I know it sounds like I’m making a big deal over nothing but normally she likes going on about whatever she’s writing at the moment. I’ve read that most writers hate this, but she doesn’t. She says talking about her stories helps her work out any problems she has with them. So for her to be so secretive is very strange. I asked Dad what he thought, but he just laughed and said, ‘Rebecca, your mum knows what she’s doing. Don’t worry.’ I’m not sure she does, though. I think I have to keep an eye on her.
She does have this book party thing coming up soon, though, and her editor Lucy is coming over from London for it, so maybe she’ll (Lucy, not Mum) be able to do something. This party is going to be very fancy. Mum’s publishers are throwing it for her, to celebrate twenty years since her first book came out (and possibly to persuade her to actually write another one – surely Lucy and co must have realised this whole not-starting-a-new-book thing is a bit weird). Rachel and I will of course have to go – we always have to go to these things. They sound much more exciting than they actually are. We’re usually the only people there under the age of thirty and if anyone bothers to talk to us at all they treat us as if we were about five. We end up hanging around the canapés (at the last book launch Rachel ate too many mini-burgers out of sheer boredom and Dad had to run to a chemist and get her some Gaviscon). So obviously I can’t wait for this party. On the plus side, I might be able to emotionally blackmail Mum into letting me get some new clothes for it. But I wouldn’t bet on it. She’ll probably make me wear one of Rachel’s old rags.
TUESDAY
Spent most of lunchtime with Cass and Alice, sitting in the corner of the junior cloakroom, talking about Paperboy. Well, actually, we mostly talked about whether we will ever get to take part in spontaneous synchronised dance routines. You know in films where one person starts doing a dance somewhere and then everyone joins in and before you know it there’s a whole room full of people all doing the same dance? Both Cass and I dream of this happening to us but Alice says it would never happen in Ireland because everyone here is far too repressed. She reminded us that the last time Mary’s (the school down the road with the ridiculous stripey blazers) had one of their boring under-sixteens’ discos back in May, it took about two hours before anyone plucked up the courage to move out onto the dance floor. You’d think we were all attached to the walls with magnets. By the time two brave Mary’s girls got out on the dance floor and got the whole thing going, there was less than an hour of disco to go. We barely got to dance at all, let alone take part in a spontaneous synchronised dance session. And the music wasn’t very good anyway. But Cass and I weren’t in the mood for this sort of argument.
‘Don’t rain on our parade, Alice,’ said Cass.
‘Don’t rain on our spontaneous dance routine, you mean,’ I said. And we did a bit of spontaneous sitting-down-dancing just to annoy her. Sitting-down dancing can be quite fun. You just move the top half of yourself. We have worked out a few quite complex routines (we have to be prepared in case we ever get to start a spontaneous dance session) and we used to do it quite a lot last year, to liven up boring geography classes when Kelly had her back to the class. I think it helped relieve the tension caused by her terrifying accounts of floods and ice ages and stuff.
Alice got all cross. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘suppose you did start a stupid dance. How would you feel if Paperboy came in and saw you doing it?’
‘Delighted,’ I said proudly. And I would. And surely so would he. Who wouldn’t be impressed by a big spontaneous dance routine? Well, apart from Alice the killjoy, of course. And how cool would it be if Paperboy joined in the dancing? That would be the greatest thing ever, as I pointed out. Alice reluctantly agreed that that would indeed be pretty cool. Then we talked about Paperboy a bit more seriously. We can’t figure a way of talking to him properly or even finding out his name without acting like pyschos. Why, why, why do we have to go to a poxy all-girls school? We wouldn’t be plotting ways to follow paperboys around if we actually got to talk to any boys about anything other than the price of the Irish Times.
WEDNESDAY
Mrs Harrington was awful at school today. We have to do an essay for our English homework, and after she wrote the choice of titles on the blackboard she looked at me in a mad way and said, ‘Now Miss Rafferty, I can’t wait to see what you come up with! Something from you is the next best thing to a new Rosie Carberry book!’ Maybe she thinks I am, like, the second coming of my mother? That is a terrifying thought on many different levels. And obviously my school essay will not be anything like my mother’s awful books.
At home, I asked my mum again if she’d started her new book yet. She just laughed and went off to hide in her study. I am worried. I think she could be losing her mind. She’s usually so hard-working. I asked Rachel if she thought Mum was going mad and she laughed for about twenty-five minutes. When she was able to speak, she said, ‘No, Bex, I don’t think she’s going mad. Just because she didn’t tell you exactly what she’s writing doesn’t mean she’s insane. Actually, I’m pretty sure she has started something new, she just doesn’t want to tell us about it.’
I didn’t know what to think of that, so I went in to surprise Mum in her study, to see if I could catch her writing. But, to my amazement, she was just sitting back in her chair reading Kiss and Sugar!!! She never reads my magazines. In fact, every time she sees them she goes on about how they’re a waste of money and end up in the recycling the day I get them (just like her newspapers and grown-up magazines, as I have pointed out a million times, though of course she never seems to see any similarities). I asked her what she was doing and she jumped about ten feet in the air and told me not to sneak in like that. And she wouldn’t answer my question about why she was reading the magazines. She just told me to go and do my homework and stop annoying her.
What can this mean?!?
LATER
I just realised that Mum was reading the new issues of those magazines. I’d seen them in the shops but I hadn’t even bought either of them yet. Which means SHE BOUGHT THEM HERSELF! What is going on?!
TUESDAY
Told Cass and Alice about Mum’s strange behaviour. They were very sympathetic, but I don’t feel very comforted. Alice said it sounded like Mum was going through some sort of mid-life crisis and was trying to recapture her lost youth. I don’t like the sound of that. Maybe she’s going to start wearing ‘cool’ clothes and going out to clubs till the small hours of the morning. She might bring Dad along with her! Oh, God, I really, really hope she isn’t having a crisis. I don’t think I could bear the shame. She went over to her friend Gemma’s house tonight but she was dressed pretty normally (for a forty-five-year-old) so I don’t think she was going out grooving. Although it’s eleven o’clock and she’s not back yet. So you never know. Maybe she’s dancing on a table as I write.
LATER
Also, you’d think that if she wanted to recapture her lost youth she wouldn’t want to recapture being fourteen. We can’t even get into clubs. She should be trying to be about twenty and start reading, like, Cosmo and stuff.
SUNDAY
Saw Paperboy again last night! And he spoke to me about somet
hing other than papers! I am very happy, even though Rachel is being really, really annoying. She kept asking me why I’d changed out of my school uniform so quickly and why I was wearing the pink bead necklace Alice got me in Berlin for my birthday. I wasn’t dressed up or anything, I was just wearing my little Sleater-Kinney t-shirt with a cat on it and my nice dark jeans, so I don’t know why she had to make such a big deal out of it. Anyway, we had just finished dinner when the doorbell rang and I practically knocked my chair over getting out to the hall first. And then I opened the door and there he was! Paperboy! And he was just as gorgeous as ever! I smiled at him and said, ‘Hi,’ and he smiled back and said, ‘Hi, I’m here for the paper money.’ He’s got a lovely voice; it’s all sort of scratchy. I wonder how old he is? He doesn’t look much older than me. Anyway, I said I’d get the money and went in to the kitchen to get it off Mum, and Rachel was standing there with this horrible grin on her face. She kept smirking at me while Mum got the money out of her wallet, until finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and shouted, ‘What?!’ and she was all, ‘Nothing, nothing.’ I hate her.
