A Tiny Bit Marvellous

by Dawn French

  X-MAN: No prob. Don’t want u to think I’m a perv.

  ME: Ha. Ha. Def don’t think that. Think I am!

  X-MAN: Have deleted pic immediately, so you know.

  ME: Thanks.

  X-MAN: U shld b more careful. Weirdos everywhere.

  ME: R u my mum?! Sound just like her!

  X-MAN: Def not.

  ME: U OK?

  X-MAN: Yeh. Bit stressed re exams.

  ME: Me too. Mine finished now.

  X-MAN: 2 more 2 go. AAAARGH! Then freedom.

  ME: YAY! Which 2?

  X-MAN: Both music. Fav subject.

  ME: Me 2!! You play instrument?

  X-MAN: Yeh. Piano and guitar. U?

  ME: I tried. Pants.

  X-MAN: Don’t believe u.

  ME: I can sing a bit.

  X-MAN: Really?

  ME: Yeh. A bit. Tiny bit.

  X-MAN: Wot type music u like?

  ME: Loads of diff. stuff. Love pop, dance, musicals. Loads. Bring it on, baby! Wooo! Party!

  X-MAN: U crazy chick.

  ME: U ain’t seen nuffink yet. Might sing at my 18th Birthday Party …

  X-MAN: Wow. Sounds great.

  ME: U wanna come?

  X-MAN: UMMM … if sure?

  ME: Be great if you came. Will forward details and time.

  X-MAN: Great. I’ll be there.

  ME: YAY! Hey … wanna know a secret?…

  X-MAN: Go on then.

  ME: Won’t tell?

  X-MAN: Promise. On dog’s life (important).

  ME: Yeh, I love my dog too. Havin’ puppies any minute.

  X-MAN: Aw. Wot name?

  ME: Poo.

  X-MAN: LOL.

  ME: I know. Shut up. No. Tell u secret coz trust u.

  X-MAN: U can. Always.

  ME: Yeh. Guess what? – I am going for X-Factor audition in 2 wks.

  X-MAN: Cool! Wot singin’?

  ME: Beautiful. C. Aguilera.

  X-MAN: Good choice. U singing that at party too?

  ME: Yeh.

  X-MAN: Cool. Had a thought.

  ME: Yeh?

  X-MAN: Part of my music A level is singing training. U want help?

  ME: OMG so can’t believe.

  X-MAN: Tis true dat.

  ME: Booyakasha!

  X-MAN: Bet u is skill wiv de singin’, yeh?

  ME: U get me?

  X-MAN: Seriously, could help you. Get nervous?

  ME: So badly.

  X-MAN: Poor ol’ Dora. Chill, coz I’m gonna help from now on. Will be the shizzle. Promise.

  ME: Thanks. Glad we met. Not that we have. Yet.

  X-MAN: Yeh. Talking of which. Want to? Meet up? Go out? Or tell me to piss off if I’m creepin’ you out.

  ME: Def not. Will make date at party. Will send details.

  X-MAN: Ta, Dora. U is top human bean.

  ME: No, u.

  X-MAN: No, u.

  ME: No, u.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Mo

  I’m never going to get this bloody book written. Committing what I think to the page is somehow the death of it. And what am I writing that hasn’t been written before or isn’t perfectly obvious common sense? Whilst I am personally unravelling, maybe it’s impossible to write something which aims to fix.

  I think I was hoping the writing would prove easy but, of course, nothing that really counts is easy. I had hoped that I might impart something of use, that parents might find a few helpful nuggets in Teenagers: The Manual to assist them through the passion and the intensity of their children’s adolescence. That they might come to understand the teenage mandate which compels the adolescent to shun their childhood, and which of course involves turning away from their parents. That parents are expected to let go at the precise time when the stakes are at their highest, and when mistakes could lead to harmful consequences. To point up how hard it is to stand by and let them make those mistakes, to not constantly rescue them.

  Most of all, I wanted to point out that it’s important for us as parents to recognize that our children often provide the reason, the central meaning, to our lives, so it can be very hard to shift to a new gear and let them proceed on without us … so … perhaps it’s at a vulnerable point like this, when the attachment to the key meanings in one’s life is under scrutiny, that one might find oneself feeling lost?

  Could this be seen as an all too obvious time to be seeking other options to attach oneself to? Other, more dangerous options that throw one’s whole frame of reference off balance, perhaps? As a psychologist I can see how that might easily happen. As a woman, I don’t know what I could possibly be referring to. Surely I am not replacing my ever-diminishing relationship with my own adolescents with an equally challenging injection of youth in the form of a young lover? The two can’t possibly be related. Can they?

  This morning, Lisa was in full camouflage gear on the front desk, flak jacket included. It’s normal now, none of us question it. Not even the clients. She is our appointed leader. She’s certainly our appointment leader, that’s clear. She reminds me of the character Klinger in MASH, who wore increasing quantities of women’s clothing in his overt attempt to be discharged from his army duties. Perhaps conversely, Lisa is wearing increasing quantities of army gear in an attempt to remain in pole position at the front desk? She is not, like us, a trained practitioner, but I have come to realize she is every bit as important to the running of this practice. She understands that the people who validate us best are ones who see us as equals, and maybe she wasn’t seen as equal in this job initially. Certainly not by me. She is now. And she is certainly ‘seen’, in every sense of the word. I just hope she doesn’t incorporate a machine gun into the ensemble.

  As I walked in, Lisa said, ‘You look lovely today, Mo.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  I think I do look … not exactly ‘lovely’ but certainly better than a few months ago, when I was dead. It’s surprising how seeing yourself reflected so positively in someone else’s eyes can lift your spirits so radically. Mum is right really. In Noel’s eyes, I am of consequence. I’m more than that even. I’m desirable and kissable.

  Am I just being greedy? After all, Husband still finds me desirable, and he is always kissing me. Too much, if anything. He thinks it’s hilarious to kiss me at the most compromising moments. He’s done it while I’m talking to teachers at Parents’ Evening, he did it during a mortgage meeting at the bank, he does it at the checkout till in supermarkets. He has always found it hilarious to embarrass me, and, actually, it is quite funny.

  It’s not that I don’t fancy him any more, it’s just all … a bit … ossified. We’ve stopped growing somehow. We’re a bit set. It’s not unusual, I know that. It’s not a crime but it is a killer. Familiarity and Security, two facets that parade as desirable, but, in truth, they are terrorists. Stealth bombers who creep in under cover of time to implode you. Add to that Need and Opportunity, the two greatest requirements for any betrayal, and the scene is set for a disaster.

  I know it would be so wrong, so hurtful. I know it, but I am steadily swimming towards that chaos. I want it so badly, I choose not to control my desire. I choose to let it lead me anywhere, however unsafe. That’s why I am going to lie so that I can be with Noel. I haven’t done that yet, but I am about to, I can feel the tightening.

  I am after all wearing a matching plum underwear set.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Dora

  Dora Battle is eighteen! So can’t believe I’ve actually got to this day. Mum made a chocolate cake, not as good as Nana Pamela’s but still good, with sparklers, and they all piled on to my bed to eat it with champagne. All except Mum who was dressed up dead posh for work so she didn’t want to get messy.

  I got the money from Dad that we’re not using on the hire of the room for the party. That’s going in the bank. But, I might get it out again on Saturday coz I’ve seen some rad shoes in Top Shop that need to be mine. Mum says I should spend the money on something that
really lasts. Duh. Yeah. What d’ya think shoes are, you wonk?! It was weird really coz Mum had to be nice coz it’s my birthday but we both know we’re not getting on very well at the moment, so it feels fake.

  Still, not going to let her ruin my day. I’ve lived for this day. That’s right. I actually have LIVED for this day. I’ve been on the planet for eighteen whole years. Dad got all teary and told me all about the day I was born and how he had to seem all butch but how scared he was. He’d never seen Mum like that before, apparently she made lots of loud animal noises and stuff, and he had brought along one of those cold boxes you get on picnics, but like for keeping ice packs cold to cool Mum down if she got too hot. But like, he had hidden a secret can of Guinness in there to drink for when I was actually born, so when Mum was shouting and swearing at him to ‘give me something cold to put on my cocking boiling bloody head you twat, this is all your bloody fault!’ he reached into the box and quick as a flash he put the can on her head by mistake. And then they laughed so much that she couldn’t do her breathing and pushing and the nurse kept saying, ‘I can see the head! No, it’s gone back in. I can see the head again! Nope, it’s gone.’

  And that’s how I arrived apparently, changing my mind, in the middle of laughter and screaming. Mum says that’s how it’s been ever since. Dad went on about how the world was when I was born. Something about Yugoslavia, and the Olympics and a fire in Windsor Castle where he said the queen went on telly and said she had a horrible anus or something? Then he and Mum were talking about the prime minister who looked like a milk bottle and ate peas all the time.

  I had to interrupt them with, ‘Excuse me, all focus on the Princess please. It is my birthday!’

  Then Peter gave me a charm bracelet with, like the letter ‘D’ on it, and he said that it would ‘charm the life of a charming young woman’. Sweet. Then Mum and Dad gave me my main present. Oh. My. Actual. God. I am now the proud owner of my very own iPhone. I so can’t believe it because I so wanted one for so long. Plus they gave me fifty pounds credit. I spent all morning putting all my numbers on there. Def not putting Lottie and Sam on. Although it feels so weird not to have her number on there. It usually comes up top of the list of ‘friends’. She’s the top of my list. Yeah. Usually.

  The middle part of the day was a bit normal really. Watched telly, opened cards ’n’ stuff. Nana Pamela came round at five with a proper cake thank God. The whole bunny outfit thing had been ditched, so I didn’t really even have to dress up much but I did my hair and put my new top on to feel a bit special. After all, I was going to meet X-Man for the first time tonight. Didn’t tell Dad I only know him from Facebook, he would go mad and like not let him in, and anyway I thought when he got here Dad’ll just think he’s a friend’s brother or something.

  Mum called to say she had an emergency case and wouldn’t be home ’til much later. Typical. Actually, it’s better without her. Less stress. So me, Dad and Peter got the house ready with Nana Pamela ordering us about getting slowly sloshed on her own home-made sloe gin, ’til she was asleep by eight o’clock, in Dad’s chair.

  We set out all the cider and like, all the stuff for the soft drink cocktail, which is called a Shirley Temple, which I so love more than cider actually. It’s lemonade and this red grenadine stuff. Mum used to make them for our parties when we were little, with umbrellas and cherries and stuff, and we really like thought we were dead grown up drinking such a posh thing in a tall glass.

  We blew up balloons with ‘Dora is 18’ on and we had the badges with the same on, all ready. Dad set up the karaoke machine and we put my iPod into the big speakers and dimmed all the lights down. Just in time I remembered that I hadn’t put any glitter bronzer on so I rushed upstairs and did that right when the doorbell went. I thought it might be X-Man but it was Luke Wilson being dropped off by his mother, who came in and had a cup of tea and chatted to Dad.

  Glad Peter invited him, that kept him occupied so he wasn’t bothering my friends. In the end, four of the Emos turned up plus one of them brought her pen pal from Croatia who was nice but ate like all of the popcorn immediately, plus Peter and Luke, and Dad and Nana Pamela (unconscious).

  I kept listening out for the door in case it was X-Man. I was like, so excited to see what he looked like but he was like dead late so we started the food (KFC buckets – yay!) and some dancing. It was mainly me and Peter dancing. Emos don’t dance much to our music. They actually hate Snow Patrol and Girls Aloud. How could anyone hate them? I haven’t got any punk or metal stuff they would like but actually, when they’d had some cider they were dancing along happily to ‘Mamma Mia’ with us, no probs. Even though they’re Emos, they’re still like human.

  I went outside to check if X-Man was too shy to come in or something, but no sign. That was about ten o’clock. We started the karaoke. I loved it when two of the Emos did ‘I’m a Barbie Girl’ and ‘Reach For the Stars’ and then like begged us not to tell anyone! Then Peter went all gay and sang that ‘Mad About the Boy’ song pretty much all to Luke, which was proper embarrassing.

  Then it was my turn to sing my song. I was so sad that X-Man hadn’t turned up, coz I was going to sing this for him, I’d told him that. Dad saw I was feeling a bit wobbly and he cheered me on. ‘C’mon Dora. Gissa song!’ So, I sang my audition song and like it was so beautiful coz they all joined in and Dad was waving his lighter and everything. And it was like so completely bloody ironic because at the end, one of the Emos shouted out, ‘You should go on X-Factor, you’d bloody trounce them all you would!’ and I was like thinking yeah, if only you knew.

  And then it seemed even more ironic that my best best ever friend in the whole world wasn’t at my party. It wasn’t even ironic. It was just bloody sad. Then I couldn’t stop crying for ages. Then I started again because I had to admit that X-Man was def NOT coming and like, where’s my mum and everything? It was all too bloody horrific. ‘I don’t even want to be eighteen,’ I was crying into Dad’s shoulder.

  He was so great then coz he just went straight into the cupboard in the living room and got my fav DVDs out and we made a huge bed of sleeping bags on the floor, put the lights out and watched The Little Mermaid and Grease and we all sang along with like, every single song whilst Dad brought us cocoa and crisps. I even saw one of the Emos sucking her thumb!

  At about eleven-thirty, just when he was stranded at the drive-in, feelin’ a fool, I suddenly remembered something. So I quickly ran into the garage and brought in my box of indoor fireworks I went out to get today, because I can, because I’m eighteen. I lit them all in the kitchen, on a tray, like it said, then carried them through to the front room where everyone was. From that moment on, it all went a bit quick. The fireworks were a bit jumpy and some of them whizzed off the tray. The Emos started screaming. One of the rockets got lodged in the like sofa, and like caught fire. Dad got the extinguisher and put it out but there was a big hole. One of the whizzers went straight up so fast it stuck in the ceiling with all the sparks raining down on everyone. One of the sparks must have got in Nana Pamela’s hair and caught fire, coz she woke up and started jumping around shouting ‘Bollocks! Bollocks!’ and smacking her head.

  Peter was the one who heard it first. He had pushed Luke to the floor and was lying on top of him to protect him from the sparks when he loudly told us all to shush. He was right, there was a noise. It sounded like a child crying, but it wasn’t human. It was really like bloody creepy. ‘Poo!’ shouted Peter and he ran up the stairs. I’m sure the Emos thought he was having a sudden attack of explosive diarrhoea. We all followed into his bedroom and there she was, looking all shaky and shocked and happy to see us, lying right next to his sock drawer.

  Dad pushed through and went right up to her on all fours. ‘Hey, Poo, it’s all right sweetheart, come on, calm down. What have we got here?’ He put his hand into the sock drawer and pulled out a little brown furry thing all wet and weird with like mucus on it. ‘Aw, Poo, I’m so sorry. What a shame.’ Dad looked at us. �
�This little one hasn’t made it I’m afraid,’ and he gently laid the limp little body inside one of Peter’s socks. I could see its cute little face with a huge forehead and closed eyes. It looked more like a mole or something, not a puppy, it was so tiny. And so dead. ‘Happy Birthday Dora,’ I mumbled to myself. Then Dad said, ‘Hang on, who’s this?’ He had his hand right in the back of the drawer and we could hear some scratching. As he pulled his hand out we saw he was holding a tail. A black tail. Then some back legs and slowly, as he pulled, we could see more and more of the new puppy who was huge and black and … alive! Definitely alive. Unbelievably big. About half the size of Poo and four times the size of his dead brother. How did she push it out? No wonder she was yelping. Dad handed me the puppy and said, ‘Happy Birthday Dora!’ and it licked my face and sucked on my nose with its pinky new baby puppy gums. Yeah, HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Lovely.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Oscar

  O for a Turkish bath. My life would be immensely improved if only I lived near one. One doesn’t wish to cavil but, really, Pangbourne is nowhere. I might as well live on a lost kite, I am so disconnected. I would leave immediately if it weren’t for my unfinished education, a sneaking affection for my family and the promise of a new beau. It’s just that, damn it, I long for something suggestive and interesting, to wit, nothing Pangbourne will ever offer.