Don't Even Think About It

by Roisin Meaney

  Twenty-five past seven, Thursday, 17th March.

  We had our life-saving exhibition last night. Dad came, of course, and Chloe and her parents. Everyone else had a few people there too, so the place was quite crowded, and I was kind of nervous before my turn, but it went fine, thank goodness.

  (Of course I wished Mam was there, but I’m getting used to her missing stuff. Still no mention of my going to San Francisco. She’s probably planning to surprise me with the plane ticket, so I won’t say anything.)

  Afterwards, Sandra gave a little speech, and then we were each presented with certificates and selection boxes, and while we got changed everyone had sandwiches and drinks in the lobby. I had to practically drag Dad away, which wasn’t a bit like him – usually he can’t wait to get away from groups of people like that. But I suppose he doesn’t get out much, except with Marjorie.

  Although, now that I come to think of it, he hasn’t met Marjorie for a while. I wonder if they’ve had a row.

  By the way, I met Damien Wallace, Ruth’s brother, just a while ago. I called over with a pack of Maltesers that I didn’t want from the selection box. Maltesers annoy me, the way they stick in your teeth and then melt away into nothing. But I remembered there was a box of them on Ruth’s locker in the hospital, so I thought she may as well have them.

  Damien answered the door and told me that Ruth was gone shopping with their mother. I gave him the Maltesers and he promised to give them to her, and then he said, ‘I like your top – the colour suits you.’

  It was so unexpected that I could think of nothing to say, so I just smiled and turned away.

  It’s just an old green top, that I put on just for the laugh since it’s St Patrick’s Day. But it was nice of him to say that. Maybe I should wear green more often.

  Funny, I never noticed before, but Damien Wallace has got the longest eyelashes.

  Oh by the way, Chris and I have made up. He phoned me in the end, and I told him I didn’t mean to make him cross when I joked about Henry. It wasn’t exactly an apology, more a kind of meeting in the middle. I suppose that’s how it goes with boyfriends. Chris is pretty busy these days, rehearsing for the Camelot show, but we’re going out for a pizza tomorrow night with Terry McNamara (remember Catherine Eggleston’s ex?) and his new girlfriend. Must remember to make sure Chris doesn’t order onions.

  Half past eight, Tuesday, 29th March.

  I’m in mourning. I want to cry.

  Today I saw Henry, the pizza guy, in town with his arm around a girl. She was at least seventeen, maybe older, and she looked like a model. Her legs were about a mile long, and she had really shiny, jet-black hair, and her make-up was perfect.

  She had her hand in the back pocket of Henry’s jeans, which I think looks dead cheap, but Henry didn’t seem to mind. He smiled when he saw me and said, ‘Hey, doll,’ and the girl gave me a filthy look, and I felt like a kid in my old jeans and my vomit-coloured jacket. And wouldn’t you know, I hadn’t even bothered to put lipstick on.

  Well, I was only meeting Chloe.

  So Henry’s got a girlfriend. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It would be more surprising if he didn’t – he’s so good-looking and friendly. And imagine I thought he liked me, just because he chatted a bit when he brought our pizzas, and winked at me when he was leaving.

  And remember I thought the Valentine card I got might be from him? Boy, I must have a really good imagination. I just hope he didn’t guess how I felt about him.

  Oh well, at least I still have Chris.

  Ruth came over here yesterday after dinner and we played Monopoly with Dad. She’s a really sneaky player, like I knew she would be. She cheated all the time, snuck out of jail and robbed money from the bank and changed the dice when she thought we weren’t looking.

  Dad said it was a good job she was in a wheelchair, or he’d have asked her to step outside, and she told him she’d report him to Childline, if he laid a finger on her. They got on really well.

  I was glad to see Dad enjoying himself. I think I was right about him and Marjorie having a row – they haven’t gone out for ages. And I haven’t seen any sign of her around the neighbourhood, although her car’s still there. Maybe she’s avoiding us. Hopefully they’ll make up soon. Dad needs someone to go out with now and again.

  I can’t believe I just wrote that – remember how mad I was when Dad told me he was going out with Marjorie the first time? Funny how things change, isn’t it?

  Or maybe I’m just getting more sensible in my old age, ha ha.

  Ruth is coming with Chloe and me to the Camelot show at the Comp on Saturday night. Wonder what she’ll think of Chris.

  Wonder if Bumble and Catherine are still going out. I could ask Chris but I’d better not, in case he gets the wrong idea. Remember how touchy he was about Henry? And he knows how friendly I used to be with Bumble.

  Henry with a girlfriend, Bumble deserting me, Chris sulking about nothing. Really, I’m beginning to wonder if boys are worth all the trouble they cause.

  A quarter past seven, Friday, 1st April.

  OK, this is weird.

  Dad has just gone out to meet Sandra. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s my swimming coach.

  Remember the life-saving exhibition, a couple of weeks ago? Remember I had to nearly drag Dad home that night? I should have suspected something then – I mean, Dad would usually be the first to leave something like that. He’s never been what you might call a good mixer – Mam was much better at that kind of stuff.

  I remember Dad moaning whenever he and Mam would go out to meet other couples. He’d warn Mam not to leave him on his own, he’d keep saying that he was no good at ‘making small talk’, which I think means discussing boring stuff like the weather and the government, and things like that.

  I’m trying to remember if he talked much to Sandra on the night of the exhibition, but I just didn’t notice. I suppose he must have spent some time with her though – enough to get her phone number anyway, or ask her if she had a boyfriend, or something.

  Anyway, I’d completely forgotten about that night. So when Dad told me earlier that he and Sandra were going to a play, it was a real surprise.

  Does this mean that it’s all finished with Marjorie then? I wonder if I’ll ever find out what happened there. I thought they were fine in Scotland, but as far as I can tell they haven’t met since.

  And now something just feels weird. I mean, I’m the teenager in this house. I’m the one supposed to be going out on dates and stuff, right? Dad is supposed to be the one sitting at home waiting for me to come back, watching the clock to make sure I’m on time. But I’m staying in tonight – Chris went to Dublin for the weekend – and Dad is out on the town.

  It just seems a bit the wrong way around, that’s all.

  Sandra is nice. She’s quite pretty and fairly slim, and a great swimmer – not that that matters, of course, unless you’re drowning and she’s nearby. She’s about Dad’s age, I’d say, or maybe a bit younger. And I suppose she’s single, and there’s nothing wrong with the idea of her going out with a soon-to-be-divorced man.

  But I’m kind of sorry about Marjorie, just when I was getting to like her too. It’s all a bit confusing, and I’m not sure how I feel about it really.

  I think I’ll go next door and see what Ruth thinks. Not that she’d have much of a clue, with her parents still together and probably madly in love and everything, but it would be good just to talk to someone, and Ruth usually has something interesting to say.

  Insulting, but interesting.

  Later

  You know what Ruth thinks? That Dad and Marjorie have had a row, and that he’s trying to make her jealous now with Sandra. And you know, she could be right. Aren’t grown-ups funny, the games they play?

  Ruth’s brother Damien was there when I went over, watching TV in the living room. He came into the kitchen to make popcorn while Ruth and I were talking, and he put some in a bowl for us, which was nice of him.
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br />   When he’d gone back to the sitting room, I asked Ruth if he had a girlfriend, just out of curiosity, and she gave me kind of a funny look and said no. Maybe he’s gay, which would be a shame.

  For other girls, I mean. Not for me, because I’ve got Chris.

  And anyway, Damien Wallace isn’t interested in me in the slightest. I’m probably just a kid to him.

  Ginger the cat followed me home, and while I was feeding him some cheese that had gone a bit mouldy, I got a brilliant idea. I’ll ask Dad if I can get a kitten for my birthday, which is just a couple of weeks away. There’s a Cats’ Home about half an hour’s drive from here, and they’re bound to have loads.

  I’d like a white one with orange markings. I’ll probably call her Molly (of course she’ll be a girl) and she’ll sleep at the bottom of my bed, and play with Ginger by day when I’m at school.

  The only pet I ever had was a goldfish, when I was about six. I called him Flipper, and Bumble and I used to bring his bowl out the back so he could watch us playing. I remember once we forgot to bring him back in, and Dad was reading me a story in bed when I remembered. Poor Flipper died about a week later. Dad said it had nothing to do with leaving him outside, but I still felt guilty for ages.

  Maybe I could get two kittens, Molly and Polly.

  The Camelot show is on tomorrow night at the Comp. Ruth is coming. Her Dad is going to drive us there, and we’ll meet Chloe in the lobby. I’m dying to see what Ruth thinks of Chris – I’ve told her about him, but she hasn’t met him yet.

  Oh by the way, she loved the furry pink hat Mam sent me, and it actually looks quite good on her. So as Granny Daly would say, FOR EVERY OLD FOOT THERE’S AN OLD BOOT.

  Very late, Saturday, 2nd April.

  I’ve just got home from the show. Are you ready for the big news?

  Bumble and Catherine have broken up.

  And he broke up with her, not the other way around.

  And guess what else? He told Liam O’Callaghan that it’s because he fancies another girl.

  Can you believe it?

  Trudy Higgins told us, at the interval. She said Catherine was really upset. She said Catherine fancied Bumble for ages in primary school – which would explain why she was always so unfriendly to me. Trudy said the only reason Catherine went out with Terry McNamara was to make Bumble jealous.

  I repeat, can you believe it?

  I could hardly concentrate on the second half of the show, my head was spinning so much. I was so sure that Bumble would be the one who ended up broken-hearted.

  I tried to feel sorry for Catherine, really I did. But somehow I kept remembering the bitchy comments she’d make about me at school, and how she’d only been using poor Terry all the time to try and make Bumble jealous, and it was very hard to have sympathy for her.

  She was in the show too, but she only had a small part this time – one of Queen Guinevere’s ladies-in-waiting – and she and Bumble were never onstage together, which was probably just as well. Chris was a pretty good Sir Lancelot, and a girl I didn’t know was brilliant as Guinevere.

  Dad was coming to drive Chloe, Ruth and me home after the show, but I told him I’d ring him when we were ready, because I wanted Ruth to meet Chris. So we were hanging around near the dressing rooms afterwards when who should come out but Bumble.

  I hadn’t spoken to him since the night of my first date with Chris – just a few months ago, but it seemed longer. He said hello to Chloe and me, and I introduced him to Ruth, and he tried not to look surprised that we were together (remember he was the only one who knew about how nasty Ruth had been to me?).

  We chatted for a bit, and then Bumble said he and I must meet up for a Coke some time to catch up, and I said that’d be nice, and then Chris came out, and while I was introducing him to Ruth, Bumble did a disappearing act.

  I don’t think we’ll be meeting up. It’s just something people say, isn’t it?

  On the way home, Ruth said she thought Chris was nice. She must have been too tired to think up something rude.

  I haven’t mentioned that Chris is my boyfriend to Dad yet. There’s no rush.

  Ten to six, Friday 15th April – Easter holidays.

  Hurrah – two weeks of freedom from school. And my birthday is next week – the day before Easter Sunday, actually. Can’t believe I’m going to be fourteen. I haven’t decided what I want to do for it yet. Dad will probably suggest going out to dinner, because we did that last year, but maybe I’ll do something with Chris instead.

  Or maybe with Chloe and Ruth.

  The thing is, I’m not all that sure how I feel about Chris right now.

  I mean, I hardly ever think about him when we’re apart, and I don’t really get excited at the thought of seeing him. We’re going out tonight, and I couldn’t care less. And I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t break my heart if we were finished. I tried imagining not going out with him any more, and it didn’t make me sad at all.

  And I have to say the whole kissing thing hasn’t got any better, even though we practise all the time. It’s just – well, sort of boring really.

  Maybe I’ll ask Ruth what she thinks. I know she hasn’t had any experience with boys, but she’s pretty clever. She might have some advice about what I should do.

  Actually, I kind of know what I should do myself, but I think I just want to hear someone else telling me.

  Dad said some boy rang for me yesterday when I was next door at Ruth’s. He says it sounded like Bumble, but I’m pretty sure it was Chris. I might ring him back later.

  It definitely looks like Dad and Marjorie are finished. I saw her a few days ago, working in her garden, and she waved across, but I didn’t think she looked as cheery as normal. I wonder if it’s awkward for her now, living right across the road from Dad. Poor Marjorie.

  I don’t know how Dad’s date with my swimming coach Sandra went last week, because I was in bed by the time he got home, and he didn’t mention it the next day. I don’t know about you, but I can NOT talk to my father about his dates – it just feels too weird. So I’ll have to wait and see what happens there.

  By the way, I asked Dad about getting a kitten for my birthday, and he said, ‘We’ll see.’ I don’t think he’s much of a cat lover really. He usually ignores Ginger if he sees him in our garden. I’ll just have to do a bit of nagging; I’m good at that. Dad says if nagging was an Olympic sport I’d win gold.

  I’ve told him the colour kitten I’d like, and I reminded him that the Cats’ Home is always looking for good owners, and he just grunted, but that could have been because his mouth was full of fish fingers at the time.

  I told Ruth I was hoping to get a kitten, and she said I was such a copycat, and I told her that I wasn’t, because a cute little kitten beats a mangy old cat any day. But I tickled Ginger under his chin while I was saying it, so he’d know I was only joking.

  Joel wrote again from France. Here’s a bit of his latest letter:

  ‘I and my papa go to skiing next week. I enjoy to ski very much, but the last times I had broke my ankle-bone, and she was very much painfull. Did you went to ski in Ireland?’

  Good God. I wonder if my French sounds as bad to him. Maybe Marjorie would help me out with my next letter. It might cheer her up a bit. I could call over tomorrow and ask her.

  Joel wants me to send a photo, so just for fun I’m going to cut Catherine Eggleston’s picture out of the yearbook we got at the end of sixth class, and send him that. Chloe doesn’t approve, but I don’t care. Joel will never know it’s not me, and he might as well think he has a beautiful penfriend.

  I don’t take in the pizzas from Henry any more. I let Dad answer the door now. I’m still mourning a bit, but I’m not that heartbroken really. I suppose it was just a crush, and not true love.

  Wonder how you know when it’s true love? Must ask Ruth.

  Mam still hasn’t mentioned anything about me going out to see her in the summer. I refuse to worry.

  Afternoon, Saturday,
16th April.

  Ruth Wallace is the most annoying person I ever lived next door to.

  Remember I said I was going to talk to her about Chris? Well, I did, and she said exactly what I thought she would – that clearly I wasn’t interested, and that I should finish with him. I had to agree, since I’d already figured that out for myself.

  Then we decided that I had to meet him face to face, that it wasn’t nice to do something like that over the phone. Ruth told me I had to say that it wasn’t him, it was me. She says that’s the kind way of breaking up with someone.

  I don’t know how Ruth knows stuff like that, but she does.

  Anyway, when we had all that sorted out, and I was getting up to go home, Ruth said, ‘I know something you don’t.’ And she had this really smug look on her face.

  So of course I said, ‘What are you talking about?’

  And she said, ‘I can’t say any more.’

  Is there anything more annoying than someone telling you they know something you don’t, and then not telling you what it is?

  Then I said I’d push her out of the wheelchair, if she didn’t tell me, which of course didn’t scare her a bit. But she did take pity on me, because she said, ‘Look, I really can’t tell you who it is – I’d be killed – but I know someone who fancies you.’

  And no matter how much I threatened her after that – I even went to her fridge and took out an almost-full litre of milk – she wouldn’t say another word.

  Of course she could be making it all up – but why? We’re friends now. She doesn’t try and wind me up any more. Well, she does – last week she asked me if I ever thought of getting my head shaved and wearing a wig – but it’s only a bit of fun now, and I just tell her to get stuffed.