Next to me, sitting down, was an old gentleman. When I caught his eye, he looked pointedly down at his feet, where there was a carrier bag. I looked down at the carrier bag and saw that in it there was a broom, which he’d obviously bought at the shops. The broom had a long handle. It was then that the horrible truth became clear. Instead of holding on to the rail, I was actually holding on to the broom handle.
I leaped backwards, letting go of it as if it was on fire, which is when the bus erupted in laughter. All the polite people who’d been smiling or quietly sniggering were now laughing out loud. I’d made their day.
“Didn’t you wonder why it was swaying?” said Loops, when we got off the bus, my face still burning with shame, “And didn’t you notice it was bright red?”
“Well, I can see it was an easy mistake to make,” said Jonathan, which I thought was quite kind of him. Maybe he’s not such a nerdy know-it-all.
“Don’t worry, Katie,” said Neil with a huge grin, “we know you can handle it!”
Now I’m hiding in my bedroom and may quite possibly never leave it again. Unless, of course, I take the next plane to the Himalayas. My donkey’s waiting.
Saturday, October 3: 6:00 p.m.
I managed an hour in my bedroom reliving the nightmare of the bus incident; then I got bored and came downstairs. Auntie Julie’s been on the phone. She had a date lined up for tonight, but she’s canceled it after he sent her an email asking about the color of her underwear or something. Poor old Auntie Julie, another major pervert. As Mum’s in Sociable Mode and going out on the town in Oxford with Stuart yet again, Auntie Julie wants to come and see us.
“Let’s make it just the three of us girls … and Jack and Rascal,” she said. “We’ll have a pajama party!”
How sad is that? Wanting to have a pajama party at her advanced age. And calling herself a girl! Me and Hannah and Loops have pajama parties, and so does Mandy with Lucy Parrish and the Clones, but to have one with Auntie Julie just seems like a weird and wrong idea.
Still, she’s very excited, so Mandy’s canceled going to Lucy Parrish’s and has gone down to the minimart to get pizza. I think Mandy sees this as a chance to ask Auntie Julie to help us get rid of Stuart. I’m not so sure. I mean, if Auntie Julie was such an expert on things to do with men, she wouldn’t be sitting in a living room full of empty takeout containers, on her own, drinking red wine and singing along to Take That, would she?
9:22 p.m.
It’s official. Auntie Julie is both Fiendish and Cunning! We didn’t even have to ask her help about Mum and Stuart—she brought up the subject. And she feels exactly the same way as us about the whole situation!
FIENDISHLY CUNNING MODE
It has to be admitted, Grown-Ups can at times surprise you by being Fiendishly Cunning. This means that they “get one over on you.”
For example, they might say to you that they don’t think you’re old enough to understand how the washing machine works. So you insist you can work it, and before you know where you are, you’re responsible for doing your own laundry! This is Fiendishly Cunning Mode at work.
Auntie Julie arrived at our house not long after she’d rung … in her pajamas and robe. This is an example of the typically deranged behavior we expect from Auntie Julie. What if her car had broken down on the way?
I know it’s only a few streets away, but still.… Stuart’s obviously having an influence on me; I was thinking how environmentally irresponsible it was of her to drive less than a mile to our house.
Her pajamas were bright pink cotton with little pigs all over them, which would look cute on an eight-year-old, but didn’t look quite so cute on Auntie Julie. They made her bum look even more epic than usual.
“Isn’t this fun?” she said as we all sat in our pj’s munching pepperoni pizza. Jack’s pajamas had aliens on them, which did look cute.
It was fun, actually. We watched a movie that was suitable for Jack, then packed him off to bed—not without him protesting loudly, of course. After he brushed his teeth, I went into his room to tuck him in.
“Do you think Stuart will ever take us to Disney?” he asked.
“It’s not looking likely,” I said.
“Then maybe we should get Mum to marry a millionaire instead,” he said, “and we could all live in a solid-gold house.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said, imagining us all watching Mum snogging some random millionaire on a solid-gold sofa.
I went downstairs, where Auntie Julie had opened a bottle of wine—she let Mandy and me each have a sip.
“Children drink wine practically when they’re babies in France,” she said.
After she’d had a couple of glasses, she remarked—out of the blue, “Of course, they’re all wrong for each other.”
Mandy almost leaped off the sofa with excitement.
“You’re SO RIGHT!” she said. “She’s not in love with him. She’s only with him because she’s lonely and he turned up on her doorstep and isn’t completely hideous-looking or a mass murderer, so she’s grabbed him.”
Auntie Julie nodded. “She’s been too desperate,” she agreed. “She could do much better.…”
“You’re right!” I exclaimed, just as excited as Mandy to find that Auntie Julie agreed with us. “If she does want to go out with someone, maybe in about five or ten years, she should go out with someone who’s a top professional, like a doctor, or someone rich, like a famous soccer player, or a millionaire businessman—not some boring PE teacher whose head swells up whenever he goes near grass clippings.”
Auntie Julie glugged back some more wine, then sighed again.
“Yes, she’s wasted on him,” she said. “But then again, perhaps they’re happy together?”
“He’s five years younger than her,” Mandy shouted, “and he’s obsessed with recycling and he’s got a giant nose. How can she be happy with someone like that?”
Auntie Julie looked thoughtful.
Then I told her about Stuart never going to see his poor old parents and how he must be hideously selfish.
“That’s terrible,” Auntie Julie said. “It must break their hearts!”
We all agreed then that Mum could do a hundred million times better than Stuart. We convinced ourselves that it was our duty, as the people who loved her, to make sure Mum didn’t throw herself away on someone not worthy of her. And then we remembered about the fact that he has some sort of dodgy secret from his past and thought of new terrible things it could be.
I told Auntie Julie, slightly tearfully, that I missed having Mum around.
“I miss her too!” she said. “We never see each other anymore! She’s always with him!”
Then she seemed to go into a trance, she was so deep in thought. Or perhaps it was the effects of the wine.
“Okay,” said Auntie Julie finally, through a mouthful of cold pizza, “if we’re going to get rid of him, how are we going to do it? What have you thought of so far?”
“Not recycling,” said Mandy, “and we wore T-shirts with logos on them … and we had a big fight in front of him … and Katie mowed the lawn to give him hay fever—”
“Not recycling? Wearing T-shirts with logos? Do you really think that’s enough to persuade Stuart to give up your mum? That’s pathetic! If her cooking hasn’t put him off, then it’s going to take a lot more than not recycling and a couple of logos to send him packing.”
“I know, we’re rubbish,” I admitted. “That’s why we need your help. You know how men’s minds work, you’ve been out with lots through those dating websites.”
Auntie Julie looked flattered, in a “woman of the world” sort of way.
“Well,” she said, “in a case like this, you have to be extremely cunning. You have to think about how Stuart ticks: What does he find unattractive? Would he mind if he found out that your mum was married to the love of her life and that he’s just a substitute? That sort of thing.”
“He once said he thought punk rockers look hide
ous,” I remembered.
“Exactly!” said Auntie Julie. “That’s exactly the kind of thing we can use.”
Auntie Julie is a genius! All along, I’ve been trying to use my expertise to put Mum off Stuart, when really I should have focused on making her less attractive to him! It is so obvious!
Over the rest of the evening we came up with a Fiendish and Cunning Plan, a plan so fiendish and cunning that it is guaranteed to work. A plan that will send Stuart running for the hills as fast as his trainers, which were not made in a sweatshop, can carry him. Ha ha! No more PE teachers on our sofa!
“You’re amazing, Auntie Julie,” I said as we headed upstairs to bed.
“I know,” she said, “but you’re the ones who have to make it work. And nobody must know about this. Not even Hannah, Katie. My life won’t be worth living if this gets out.”
Saturday, October 17: 9:00 p.m.
Nothing exciting has happened at school the last couple of weeks. I think I must be fed up or something, because I’ve not even had the heart to write this guide. Miss Hooper is entering Ben Clayden’s sculpture in some art competition, as she thinks he’s a genius. Which he is, of course. And Miss Mohair Tights’s leg hair is getting seriously out of control—I swear it’s over a centimeter long. Maybe she doesn’t have central heating and uses it as some sort of leg insulation.
Hannah and Loops giggle away with Neil and Thomas on the playground, while Jonathan follows me around telling me that an ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain, or that porcupines float in water. It’s actually been quite useful having Jonathan shadowing me—it means I’m not a total loser. But now and again, for example when he’s telling me that a snail can sleep for three years, I’d almost prefer to be alone.
It’s definitely getting colder, so Mum’s making me wear my horrible shiny black coat that looks like a giant sleeping bag. I don’t mind too much because Loops and Hannah both have identical horrible coats.
Last night at our sleepover, Hannah managed ten minutes and thirty-eight seconds without talking about Neil Parkhouse. I timed her. Not that I’m getting bitter or anything. Anyway, she talked me into going out with her, Loops, Neil, Thomas and Jonathan by bribing me with chocolate.
So this afternoon we all went—just for a change—to the park. Neil, Thomas and Jonathan kicked a soccer ball around while Hannah and Loops flicked their hair. Well, Hannah flicked her hair and Loops sort of twirled hers.
Then Hannah and Loops giggled a lot and flicked and twirled their hair some more while talking to Neil and Thomas, while I was left with Jonathan … again.
“Did you know that every time you lick a stamp, you consume a tenth of a calorie?” he said.
“Really?” I made a mental note not to help Mum with the Christmas cards this year, as I watched Loops look up at Thomas through her dyed eyelashes. I’ve seen her practice that look in the mirror.
I got this little ache of regret in my stomach, seeing them together. I’ve got to get over this.
“Guess how long a giraffe’s tongue is,” said Jonathan.
“I dunno,” I said.
“Fifty-three centimeters! They can clean their ears out with them.”
I wondered if Jonathan could clean his ears with his tongue, him being such an expert at using it. I nearly laughed out loud.
At that exact moment, he lunged! I think he was going to try to kiss me, but he didn’t get that far. As soon as I saw his face loom up, I dodged him. I was still thinking of him as having a fifty-three-centimeter tongue.
“I’ve got to go,” I squeaked, then I ran most of the way home. While I was running I was thinking what guts Jonathan has to try something again after letting me know that he prefers Loops and Hannah to me. Does he think I have no pride?
I felt like the biggest and stupidest reject third wheel in the history of reject third wheels.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I got home Mum and Stuart were, of course, snuggled up on the sofa.
“Are you all right?” said Mum, looking hideously happy.
“Fine,” I lied, and came up here to write this.
If Mum wasn’t with Stuart, I could have told her what happened. She’d have made me a cup of tea and gone into Been There, Done That Mode and we’d have had a laugh about it.
Aren’t Grown-Ups supposed to put you first and notice when you’re not happy? Isn’t that what they’re meant to do? Mum used to notice, till Stuart came along. Her Intuitive Function has obviously shut down due to the fact that she no longer cares.
INTUITIVE FUNCTION
Intuitive Function can be a good thing in a Grown-Up, because it means that they are sensitive to when there is something wrong and care enough to notice. However, the downside is that if your Grown-Up has good Intuitive Functions, they can often switch to Suspicious Mode—especially when you are up to something. This can be most infuriating. The only way to stop it is to distract them at the exact moment that their Intuitive Functions might start to kick in by saying something like “What’s that noise?” or “Can you smell grapefruit?” This is called the Distraction Technique.
So now I’m sitting here in my bottom bunk in the dark, using my stupid headlamp from stupid Stuart so I can write this. Rascal has just come to find me. He always knows when I’m fed up. He’s licking my face right now, so I can’t write any more.
Saturday, October 17: 10:30 p.m.
MEMORY CAPACITY IN YOUR GROWN-UP
Grown-Ups’ memory capacity usually reduces as they get older. For example, a middle-aged Grown-Up will forget things like where they put the car keys, what they’ve done with their mobile phone and the fact that they promised to pick you up from an after-school club.
However they will always remember how many days you’re grounded for and—when you’re out together in public and they’re stuck for conversation with strangers—every single, embarrassing detail of your potty training.
Much-older models of Grown-Ups will forget your name and will usually call you the name of every relative you have and the dog before they get to yours. They will also quite regularly put milk in the washing machine, the newspaper in the fridge and their dirty socks in the magazine rack.
I’d been in the Cupboard, cuddling Rascal and listening to music, when Mandy came in after having had a row with Lucy Parrish about something. We had a moan about how rubbish our friends are and how we can’t even watch TV in our own house without having to put up with Mum and Stuart canoodling on the sofa.
“I don’t know how they manage to kiss with his big nose getting in the way,” I said. “They must have to do some sort of sideways maneuver.”
“It’s an outrage,” said Mandy, picking purple nail polish off her toenails. “Mum’s so absentminded thanks to the Boy Toy. She’s forgotten to pay half the bills. We’ve had three red reminder letters. And you’ve got to admit, she’s not on top of basic stuff like money for school or even our pocket money. At least it’s only two weeks till the Cunning Plan.”
“They’ll probably have got married by then,” I said, “and she’ll be pregnant with triplets. They’ll probably move out of the house and forget to tell us where they’ve gone.”
Sunday, October 18: 3:27 p.m.
Mum has clearly not just forgotten to pay a few bills … her memory capacity has been so compromised by being in Smitten Mode that she’s forgotten we exist! She certainly isn’t taking our feelings into account anymore.
It is hideous to have to write this. It makes me feel so sick to my stomach. Okay, here it is.
Stuart isn’t on the sofa anymore. This morning I bumped into him coming out of Mum’s room wearing his boxer shorts—which I noticed had hearts all over them. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed! He just gave me a cheery smile!
I pretended to be cool about it, but I had to go and sit down on my bed because my heart was beating so fast. I couldn’t write about it till now … I was trying to pretend that it wasn’t true. But I’ve got to admit it, the horrific fact
is this: they are sharing a bed. The bed Mum used to sleep in with Dad. How could she? Has she forgotten all about Dad already?
At breakfast, they were discussing going on a mini-break again. It was hard to swallow my Wheaties while having to hear about the different cities they could go to for their weekend getaway.
“Prague is supposed to be stunning,” said Stuart, munching his toast and jam.
“Venice is romantic,” sighed Mum. You’d think she’d been there, the way she talks. I think she’s been to France on a school trip and that’s about it as far as foreign travel is concerned.
Stuart’s done interrailing round Europe and he’s been to India, which I have to admit is quite impressive. I suppose that’s the sort of thing you can do when you don’t have kids at too young an age like Mum and Dad did.
“What about Paris?” suggested Jack. “First we can see the Eiffel Tower, then we can go to Notre Dame and then we can go to Disneyland Paris—it’ll be so cool!”
You’ve got to admire his optimism. I don’t have the heart to tell him that people who’re going on a mini-break don’t want to be followed around by an eight-year-old boy. No matter how good he is at burping the theme tune to Star Wars.
I made a great show of not putting an empty cornflakes packet in the recycling. Then Mandy cleared her throat loudly and put tea bags in the normal trash bin instead of in the compost bucket. Mum and Stuart didn’t even notice; they were obviously in Delirious Mode thinking about croissants and complimentary bathrobes. We are Officially Invisible!
3:27 p.m.
Hannah and Loops just turned up, wondering why I ran off last night. I told them about Jonathan lunging at me. Hannah laughed hysterically, but I noticed Loops was quieter.
“Don’t you like him?” said Loops.
Diary of a Parent Trainer Page 14
