Diary of a Parent Trainer

by Jennifer Smith

  “You’ve got to come. I’ve been spying on Mum and Stuart—they’re in the backyard—and they’re talking about some sort of a secret Stuart has!”

  We followed the very excited Jack to his bedroom, where he had the window open so you could hear what was going on down below. Mum and Stuart were having this urgent, hushed sort of a conversation.

  “… didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  It was Stuart talking. Then there was a silence and then Mum spoke.

  “Not a big deal? It’s a huge deal. I can’t believe you didn’t think you could tell me. I was starting to wonder why you—”

  “It’s just that I’ve wanted to make a new start. I don’t want people to know that about me straightaway; when they do, they don’t see past it. I want people to get to know me for who I am, not what I was before. People put you in a box. It’s been happening to me all my life.”

  “But we’ll have to tell people sooner or later. You can’t lie to my family about your past.”

  “Not yet, I’m not ready. I will tell them, but give me some time.”

  There was the sound of them kissing. We all made disgusted faces at each other. I hate that he could switch Mum out of Disappointed Mode so easily and then get her to kiss him. What’s he got that we haven’t?

  “Let’s go in,” said Stuart.

  When we heard the back door close, Mandy immediately hissed, “He’s got a secret past!”

  “What do you think it is?” I asked.

  “He’s been in prison; that must be it.”

  “But Gran Sutton got Uncle Pete’s friend who’s a policeman to check, remember? He’s got no criminal record.”

  “What could it be, then?”

  “He’s an assassin?” suggested Jack hopefully.

  “Maybe he used to be a woman or he wears women’s clothes,” said Mandy.

  “That would be a good one,” I said, “but his eyebrows are too bushy. Men who dress up as women usually have very neat eyebrows.”

  “Oh my God!” Mandy cried. “He could have a disease. Something horrible.”

  “Like the plague?” Jack chipped in. “Or scurvy?”

  “He could have some embarrassing illness,” I wondered aloud, “or maybe he used to be something, something that he’s not anymore. Something terrible. Maybe he was a traffic cop!”

  “I think it’s something shameful for sure.” Mandy looked excited. “This is brilliant! This could be the ammunition we need! We must find out what it is.”

  I don’t think I’ll get one wink of sleep tonight. Stuart doesn’t want to be put in a box. But what box is it? We’ve got to find out.

  It must be something pretty major, to distract Mum out of Disappointed Mode so easily.

  Sunday, September 6

  ENERGY SAVING

  Energy is probably a big issue with your Grown-Up. If your Grown-Up spends too much energy on things that are not directly for your benefit or happiness, you are obviously being hideously and massively deprived. For optimum performance, ensure that your Grown-Up’s energy is used to your best advantage.

  For example, if you take your Grown-Up shopping and they show signs of fatigue, make sure you stop immediately and refuel them with caffeine and sugar-based treats. This should restore their energy levels. However, if your Grown-Up runs out of energy at home, in the evening, on the sofa—do not attempt to recharge them. Let them fall asleep. That way you can get the remote control.

  It was odd, Stuart being around at breakfast today, sitting at our kitchen table in his bathrobe, looking far too much at home. I wonder if he’s actually stayed on the sofa bed all night. Actually, I don’t want to think about the alternative—it’s too horrific.

  Today is the last day of the school holidays, so Mum left the Boy Toy relaxing with the Sunday papers and took us to this giant outlet mall with a massive supermarket in it so we could stock up on school uniforms, pencil cases and all that stuff.

  I’m always careful to monitor Mum’s energy levels when we’re shopping—today she was showing signs of extreme tiredness, so we took her for a coffee and a muffin to make sure she was “fueled up” enough to complete the trip.

  The reason she was tired was because she had stayed up so late with Stuart last night, talking about his Big Secret. This was not a good use of her energy.

  When we got back, Mum sent me down to the minimart, because despite being in the biggest giant monster supermarket I’ve ever seen in my life, she somehow managed to forget to buy bread. If she hadn’t wasted all her energy, she would have been more alert and on-the-ball today. It’s lucky we’re old enough to know which uniforms we need; there was no way Mum was going to remember.

  Nan was outside smoking again. She was wearing her pastel blue raincoat with the hood up.

  “It’s a hard life, being a smoker,” she complained. “We’re a dying breed.”

  Her cigarette packet said something along the lines of SMOKING KILLS. YOU WILL DIE A HORRIBLE, SLOW, PAINFUL AND UNDIGNIFIED DEATH, YOU TOTAL LOSER.

  “How’s things?” I asked her.

  “Oh, can’t complain,” she said. “ ‘Hope for the best, expect the worst,’ as they say. So, you’re back to school tomorrow, then?”

  “Afraid so,” I said. “Back to loads of homework.”

  “Well, school’s not the be-all and end-all.” Nan stubbed out her cigarette against the wall. “I never paid a blind bit of attention myself.

  “Better get back in. By the way, you can tell your mum this: the whole of Brindleton knows about her new man staying over.”

  I went in and got the bread. I was hanging about looking at the magazines, trying to read a couple of articles for free, when I heard Loops’s unmistakable flirty laugh. It is an annoying, tinkling laugh that she reserves for boys she fancies.

  I walked in the direction of the laugh, peeked round the corner and saw her in the Medicines and Diapers aisle. With Thomas Finch! They didn’t notice me. They were too deep in conversation. Yes, Thomas Finch CAN ACTUALLY TALK, when he can be bothered. He just can’t be bothered to talk to me.

  Loops gave another of her tinkling laughs. Ugh. I felt incredibly annoyed. Then I felt annoyed at myself for being annoyed. Then I decided that I was really annoyed about the fact that it was raining. As I left the shop I said aloud, “Stupid rain!”

  “It’s probably not rain.” Jonathan Elliott was lurking outside the minimart. I suppressed the urge to slap him very hard. (Now I wish I had.) He started walking along beside me. I quickened my pace. He quickened his.

  “I would say that it’s technically drizzle,” he continued pompously. “That is when the drops have a diameter of less than half a millimeter.”

  “How fascinating,” I lied. I was now speed walking at my top pace. Unfortunately, Jonathan Elliott’s legs could more than keep up.

  “I’m glad I bumped into you,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with me … sort of go out?”

  I slowed down.

  “You’re asking me out?” I said in surprise.

  “I s’pose so,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  Now, at this point I should have just said, “No, Jonathan, I don’t fancy you and I think you are a big know-it-all.” I wish I had.

  But—stupidly—I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I said, “Sorry. I don’t want to go out with anyone at the moment. I’m going to concentrate on my studies. It’s not you, it’s me!”

  “That’s cool,” said Jonathan, nowhere near as devastated as I thought he’d be. “I prefer Loops. And, to be completely honest, Hannah would be my second choice. I only asked you because it looks like they’re going to be going out with Thomas and Neil … so you’re the only one who’s free right now.”

  “I’m so flattered,” I said sarcastically. “I am lost for words.”

  “By the way,” Jonathan said, “what happened to your face?”

  He was staring at the marks from where Mandy scratched me. I stomped off without even re
plying. I mean, really!

  On the way home, I brooded about being Jonathan’s third choice and decided that he was probably right, as there’s nothing great or special or wonderful about me. Oh my God! I’ve got absolutely nothing going for me whatsoever!

  Hannah is really good at acting; she gets big parts in all the school productions. Partly it’s due to her being so pretty, but it’s also because she doesn’t just say the lines, she actually makes it seem real.

  Loops is, of course, excellent at gymnastics. She can do a somersault in the air from standing, and you should see her on the beam. We went to see her in a competition and we were amazed at how fantastic she is.

  And Mandy’s been having piano lessons since she was nine, ever since a teacher told Mum she had real musical talent. She practices every morning for half an hour before breakfast on the keyboard with her headphones on. I don’t know how good she is since I can’t hear her because of the headphones, and she refuses to perform at school, but she must be at least half decent after all these lessons.

  Everybody seems to have some talent for something, except me. I’m average at school, except at English, and even there I’m not exactly winning prizes—possibly because I’m a bit on the lazy side, to be honest.

  I kidded myself that I was a world expert on the behavior of Grown-Ups, but the more I write this guide, the more I realize how much I don’t know. Just look at how out-of-control Mum is! I’m only carrying on with it because Dad always told us that if you start something you should try to see it through till the end. “Nobody likes a quitter,” he said, which is presumably why Nan Williams won’t quit smoking.

  I’m not even pretty, with my too-black hair and my flat chest and my legs that are knobbly-kneed and skinny. Hannah and Loops are getting curvy, but I still look like a boy. Or a witch. Actually, more accurately, I’d call myself a flat-chested, pointy-chinned, knobbly-kneed witch-boy! Now that I think about it, I’m surprised Jonathan asked me out at all, even as a third choice.

  So this was what I was thinking as I stomped home, making myself more and more annoyed at how much it stinks to be Katie Sutton.

  Then I thought, At least I can talk to Mum about this. After all, she must have had things like this happen to her when she was young. She’ll understand.

  I hurried into the house and rushed through to the kitchen, ready to spill it all out. I really needed to talk to Mum. But of course, I’d forgotten that Stuart was still there and would probably be hanging around all day.

  “So you’re still here,” I couldn’t help blurting out.

  “Katie, don’t be so rude,” said Mum. “Stuart likes to spend time with us. I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “That’s exactly the problem!” I shouted, and stomped up to my room.

  No wonder Mum’s so exhausted and absentminded. She’s only got energy for Stuart these days.

  Sunday, September 13

  REMOTE CONTROL OPTIONS

  You will be pleased to know that you can continue to operate your Grown-Up even when they are not in your immediate vicinity. Mobile phone, email and texting are excellent ways of remotely controlling your Grown-Up.

  However, having a Grown-Up who is totally up-to-date can be a problem. For example, if your Grown-Up knows anything about computers, you can guarantee they will snoop on what you are up to online.

  Worse than that, some of them might get their own social networking page—which has an Embarrassment Factor that’s practically off the charts. Your Grown-Up advertising how desperate their pathetic life is, for the whole world to see … Horrifically tragic.

  I’ve just had to text my own mother to find out where she is. This is the third time this week I’ve had to check on her whereabouts. So what’s wrong with this picture??

  When she first got a mobile, it took Mum ages to come to grips with it, but once she did she was always texting to see what I was up to. Most of her texts said, “Where r u? When u home?” Still, it was good to know she cared. She’s definitely texting less recently because she’s so busy being in Smitten Mode with the Boy Toy.

  And it was the first week back at school! I can’t help feeling a bit hurt she hasn’t been around much and hasn’t asked how things went. Especially as I’ve not exactly had a great week.…

  The school bus, which takes us to our school in the town nearby, collects us at the edge of the village Park. So we all troop along at some stupidly early hour of the morning and stand there, even if it’s pouring rain, waiting for the bus to pull up.

  The older ones sit at the back. This is Ben Clayden, Harry and Jake and Joshua Weston. Also at the back are Shannon Gregg (boo) and her horrible friends, and Jenny Caulfield and her friend Sarah Jennings. Now that Jenny Caulfield and Joshua Weston are going out, Jenny still sits with Sarah, but Joshua hangs over the back of his seat to talk to her.

  Mandy sits in the middle of the bus, doing everything she can to not look at Joshua and Jenny. She sits with her best friend, Lucy Parrish, and the rest of the Clones. Leanne Gregg is also in the middle of the bus with some of her thug-like mates—we call them the Mutants. The Clones and the Mutants tolerate each other but don’t mix.

  This leaves Hannah, Loops and me sitting at the front of the bus with Neil Parkhouse and Thomas Finch and Jonathan Elliott and a few other year sevens, eights and nines from our and other villages. I don’t mind, though. I like being at the front because then you get to get off first.

  Looking good didn’t used to matter so much when we were in elementary school, but suddenly there’s this huge pressure to look brilliant every single day. I mean, we can’t have Ben Clayden seeing us not at our absolute best. That’s one excellent thing about being back at school—getting to see Ben Clayden every day.

  One time last term, Hannah slept in and her hair was messy, so she looked awful. This boy in our year from another village who is called Matthew Hogg (you can guess his nickname) took a picture of her on his mobile and sent it to lots of other people. Hannah would now rather miss the bus than get on it with bed head, and so would I.

  So I’d forgotten all about the pressure of the school bus, and having to get my hair right by about six in the morning, and remembering my stuff, and trying to not look any of the Mutants in the eye. It was okay on the first day, but on Wednesday I couldn’t get it all together in time. Hannah had to go on without me, and I got to the bus stop just as the bus was pulling away. I could see Leanne laughing at me through the window. So I phoned home and asked Mum to drive me. She went into Irritated Mode because she had a class at nine and now she had to rush—but she still came and picked me up.

  “Don’t you dare make a habit of this,” Mum said, clunking our decrepit car through the gears, “or I’ll get Auntie Julie to take you next time.”

  She knows this is a good threat, as Auntie Julie is such a bad driver. Anyone who has to be her passenger gets out of the car at the end of the journey shaking uncontrollably.

  So that was miserable. The only good bit about missing the bus and getting Mum to run me was knowing that my powers of remote control still work in an emergency.

  Another low point was on Thursday morning when I had to present my summer project to the whole class. I was quite proud of it. I’d done it on Rascal and it consisted of a few pictures of Rascal together with some facts about him, like what dog food he likes and where his favorite walks are.

  I was very unfairly picked on about it by Miss Mohair Tights, who is actually called Miss Brown, but she gets the Mohair Tights name since she wears thick black tights and doesn’t shave her legs, so the hairs stick through attractively.

  “Really, Katie, this is the sort of presentation I would expect from a nine-year-old, not a thirteen-year-old. I’m extremely disappointed. I expected more from you.”

  The teacher’s pet, Sophie Judd, smiled smugly, having got an A+ for her yawn-inducing “Art in Sixteenth-Century Italy” presentation.

  At least lunch on Thursday was fun. Me and Hannah took our sandwic
hes up to the art department, which is always open, so we could spend the whole hour chatting and drawing while Ben Clayden worked on his latest art project—which is a weird sculpture made of bits of old wood. I don’t really understand it, which proves it must be a work of immense genius.

  Miss Hooper was tidying up the classroom and talking to Ben about what it’s like to go to art school, so of course we were listening in. Miss Hooper is a bit eccentric, but she’s all right and wants everybody to love art. She’s even had her paintings in exhibitions.

  “Sometimes we stayed in the studio all night, painting,” she was saying to Ben. “Then we’d go and have breakfast in this little café round the corner.”

  I imagined myself going to art school and painting all night, but then looked down at my drawing of a bowl of fruit, which didn’t look much like a bowl of fruit at all. Maybe not, I decided.

  After school, me, Hannah and Loops went back to Loops’s house and dyed our eyelashes with an eyelash dye kit. It didn’t make any difference to mine seeing as they are dark anyway, but it made Loops’s eyelashes look great. Because they’re ginger, hers are invisible unless she wears mascara, which can look clumpy. So this eyelash dye worked excellently for her and for Hannah.

  “We’re stunning!” said Hannah, dancing round Loops’s bedroom, massively batting her eyelashes.

  “And now we’ll look incredibly beautiful when we wake up! And when we’re swimming!” said Loops.

  “Well, I’m glad that your sad lives are now complete,” I said, and Hannah threw a pillow at me, which of course started a massive and enjoyable pillow fight.

  Friday was not so good. I wish I could use remote control options to summon a personal armed guard to defend me against evil Leanne.

  As soon as we got off the bus, she and her sister Shannon cornered me on the playground and gave me a hard time. They threw my lunch box over the wall, spat on my backpack (which was totally gross of them) and pushed and jostled me.

  This was revenge for the argument Mum had with Auntie Sarah in the supermarket. I’d been waiting for something to happen all week.