by Grace Dent
Anyway Carrie sees him and she says, “All right Cotch!”
And Cotch sees Carrie and he looked well happy and he’s like, “All right darling, how’s it going?”
And Carrie goes, “Aw not bad, Cotch, just shopping!” Then she puts her head to the side and made her voice all softer and said, “’Ere Cotch, how’s your mum doing?”
So Cotch starts telling Carrie all about his mum who’s had some kind of blood cancer thingy and Carrie’s saying all the right things back like, “Well, Cotch, it sounds like the doctors know what they’re doing,” and “’Ere, well tell her that me and my mum and dad are all thinking of her.”
After about five minutes, Cotch walked off saying he was dead happy to have bumped into Carrie and he’ll IM her or comment on her MySpace pics. Then Carrie put her arm through mine and dragged me to H&M to look at the earrings, and as we walked to H&M I was thinking to myself, why can’t I do that with boys? Why can I never think of the right thing to say?
SUNDAY 13TH JANUARY
Nan came over for Sunday dinner today. We had chicken and roast potatoes and carrots and Brussels sprouts and peas and gravy, which was nice ’cos Nan cooked most of it. When I woke up at 10 AM I could smell the chicken cooking and hear my mum giving my dad earache to take the trash bag out and Cava-Sue singing in the shower and Murphy throwing squeezie Bart Simpson down the hallway for Penny and I don’t know why that made me feel happy but it did.
When no one was listening, I told Nan that I was writing in the diary but it was A SECRET.
Nan says that my secret is safe with her and that she is glad as I was always good at writing when I was little and had a good imagination too. Nan said she always remembers how once when I was little I locked Murphy in the under-the-stairs cupboard and told everyone he had run away with some pikeys in long capes and long flappy shoes in a big yellow car with a loud horn.
Nan says everyone laughed their bleeding heads off ’cos they could totally hear Murphy crying and when they opened the cupboard and all looked inside he screamed the house down even more. Nan says that I told everyone that the pikeys must have changed their minds and put Murphy in the cupboard instead. Nan says I’ve always been “sharp as a tack.” I’m not sure how this story proves that ’cos I’ve heard it like a hundred times now and I still think it makes me sound like someone who ends up in special ed.
Me and Cava-Sue washed up then and listened to Dave Pearce dance anthems in our room like we always do on Sunday. It’s not as much fun now ’cos Cava-Sue reckons she doesn’t know any of the songs anymore as they’re all “commercial” and that. Cava-Sue doesn’t want to sing along with me anymore and she definitely doesn’t want do any “hands in the air” bits.
Cava-Sue said she’d rather listen to bands that no one has heard of ’cos it makes it more special. It’s dead weird ’cos the more clever stuff Cava-Sue learns at college, the more thick things she says. Who wants to listen to a band that no one has heard of?
MONDAY 14TH JANUARY
BIG GOSSIP TODAY. Latoya Bell says that Kezia Marshall thinks she’s PREGNANT! Latoya says Kezia was crying in the nurse’s office this afternoon when Latoya went in to get an Advil for period pain. Latoya, who is a right gobby cow, says she saw Kezia in the nurse’s “advice” armchair and the nurse with the calendar out, counting days. I don’t know how this proves Kezia is having a baby but it seems to be enough for Latoya, who is telling everyone in Mayflower and saying Kezia is a slut. Latoya Bell said to me in the lunch line that at Uma’s New Year party she saw Luther going into the laundry room with Kezia then shutting the door and coming out laughing.
Latoya thinks I am her friend but I’m not. I just pretend to be ’cos I saw what she did to Chenai Green when Chenai and Latoya stopped being friends. All that stuff with the fake MySpace and the text messages. That was nasty. It’s easier to just be a faker. But I ain’t going to crawl up her arse or nothing. I ain’t no beg friend.
Luther said it was all crap when Carrie told him the rumor at lunch. But then he gave me his cheese and chips ’cos he couldn’t eat them and didn’t say much else today at all. I hope it isn’t true. He wouldn’t be a very good baby-daddy. He can’t even remember to bring a pen most days, let alone buy nappies and stuff.
WEDNESDAY 16TH JANUARY
Jar Jar Binks has gone! This other woman turned up instead, who was tall and not fat but quite big. She was dressed in a black jacket and black skirt with high heels, and she had black glossy skin, lipgloss on her lips and a stern voice. She kicked open the door to the English room, then walked in carrying a box of books.
“Year Ten, Stream Two?” she said.
“Yeah,” we all said.
“’Ere, are you the new substitute?” I shouted.
The woman ignored me. She had those black-rimmed trendy glasses on that pretentious people from the middle of London wear.
“Sit down, all of you right now and turn off your cell phones,” she said, standing behind the desk.
We all just ignored her. Teachers always say this but they can’t take our property, ’cos that’s like theft, we know our rights. The woman leaned forward and stuck both hands down on her desk and stared at us all.
“Get out your cell phones right now,” she said sort of calmly but dead loudly. “Put them where I can see them, then turn them all off NOW.”
There was something about the way she said “NOW” that made me think it would be less earache to just do it. So I did. Chantalle did it too. Then Luther. Then everyone else.
“Are you the substitute?” I shouted again. She just ignored me again.
“My name is Ms. Bracket,” she said, then she grabbed the chalk and wrote it in capital letters on the board, B.R.A.C.K.E.T.
Bracket!? Like something that keeps shelves up! What does Bracket rhyme with? Spracket? Hacket? Cack hat? Not funny. I tried to think of a really rude nickname for her but I couldn’t.
“I shall be your English teacher from now until the GCSE exams,” the woman said.
No one said anything, not even Chantalle.
“Fabulous shoes,” whispered Sean Burton.
Ms. Bracket looked at Sean, then she nodded and said, “Thank you.”
“Right — get out your Jane Eyres,” said Ms. Bracket, “I want to see Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë on the desk opened at page fifty. If you haven’t got your Jane Eyre, I’ve got thirty copies here to borrow for the lesson. Take one, write your name there, and do it quickly.”
We all took a copy. But it was only ’cos it was her first day and we felt sorry for her. And Kezia has been quiet ever since she heard what Latoya has been saying anyhow. And Luther was off today. And Uma was in Dominican. And Carrie likes Jane Eyre anyhow as she says it’s dead romantic. So that’s why we read a bit and didn’t make Ms. Bracket cry by throwing stuff at her. She won’t last long though ’cos teachers never do.
FRIDAY 18TH JANUARY
9 PM — Carrie has just rung me in a right state. She has just bumped into The Most Gorgeous Boy In The World Ever. Like ACTUALLY bumped into him. She rang me from the toilets in the The Spirit of Siam Chinese restaurant making a weird squealing sound, like Penny our dog does when we lock her in the living room and try and eat chips in the kitchen without her.
Carrie and her dad Barney were in the Chinese restaurant having some food (which is what her and her dad always do on Fridays, her mum Maria goes to spinning class and Barney and Carrie go and eat something somewhere). So Carrie was getting up to go to the loo, the door opens, and it was HIM! Gorgeous bloke. Coming in with his mate to pick up some takeaway. Carrie says he had black Adidas trackie bottoms on and a black jacket and a yellow baseball cap. Carrie says he is lovely and tall and quite thin with a bit of a big nose and he SMILED AT HER as he was walking out. Oh and he is called BEZZIE. His mate was with him and he shouted “Come on, Bezzie” when their sweet and sour chicken half rice half chips was ready. Carrie said he looked totally lush.
10 PM — BEZZIE??! God, I hope
that’s not his real name. That’s worse than mine.
10:30 PM — Carrie just rang back and said now she thinks he maybe wasn’t smiling, he maybe just had a bit of fortune cookie stuck in his teeth and happened to be looking her way.
TUESDAY 29TH JANUARY
School was crap today. I hate it. HATE IT!!! I am sick of people telling me what to do all the time. That Mrs. Radowitz can spin on one, going on and on in RE about the GCSE exams. They’re not until next year!!!! Who cares? I can’t wait until next year when I can leave and get a job at JD Sports or somewhere and earn some proper money and NO ONE can tell me what to do EVER AGAIN.
The only interesting bit in the whole day was in English. That Bracket woman is still here doing everyone’s heads in making us read Jane Eyre, which is sort of funny really as she is proper serious and gets really mad if we even try to talk to each other. So we’re all sitting reading this bit about a storm which is meant to be “symbolic” when suddenly Latoya Bell walks past the English room window and she puts her face up against the glass and she shouts “Hoooooochie slut” and points right at Kezia Marshall.
So we all look at Latoya and then we all look at Kezia and Kezia’s white freckly face goes totally red, which matches her hair, and she stands up and she runs right out of the classroom and next thing we know she is outside the class window in the yard right up in Latoya’s face shouting well loud. And Latoya tries to say something back, then Kezia PUSHES LATOYA PROPER HARD WITH BOTH HANDS!!! And Latoya falls over and Kezia grabs her by the hair and starts dragging her backward through the yard and Latoya’s skirt comes up past her thighs and I don’t know if she was wearing a thong.
Then next thing I saw was Ms. Bracket in the yard with them and Mr. Stroud too and Ms. Bracket is getting in the middle of them both grabbing Kezia and pulling her way backward and Mr. Stroud is shouting “No contact, Ms. Bracket! The procedure is no contact!” and Ms. Bracket told him to damn well help her or go and call the police. Latoya looked well relieved as Ms. Bracket dragged Kezia away.
Kezia has been suspended until next Monday. This is quite bad as Kezia was suspended once already in Year Ten. It’s not her fault. She’s nice really, you just don’t want to get all up in her face ’cos she’s a bit mental. Oh and Kezia is not pregnant, by the way. That was just Latoya Bell dissing Kezia ’cos Latoya Bell wants to get with Luther Dinsdale and Luther told Latoya no way at the New Year party ’cos he thinks she’s a backstabber and a fake, which she totally is but, as I say, I’m not getting involved.
Ms. Bracket came back into the room after the fight and she looked really angry ’cos in the fight Kezia had stretched the collar on Ms. Bracket’s black wool sweater, which looked proper expensive. For the rest of the lesson Ms. Bracket just stared out of the window and let us all talk and laugh.
This is what always happens with teachers.
It’s the fighting that makes them go.
FEBRUARY
FRIDAY 1ST FEBRUARY
School is so crap. I can’t wait to leave. I spent loads of this afternoon sitting outside Mr. Bamblebury’s office with Uma Brunton-Fletcher, waiting for him to get back from his meeting to moan at us about skiving off during the GCSE Geography traffic survey.
I said to myself when I took geography and ended up seated with Uma that I’d try to stay out of trouble. Uma is a proper bad influence on me. I wanted to take food and nutrition with Carrie ’cos you get to make cake and marzipan into Gumby characters but Mrs. Brindle can’t stand me ever since I blew up her microwave with a can of spaghetti back in Year Eight. That was totally an accident too.
So Mr. Gilligan, our geography teacher, left me, Uma, and the rest of our set on the corner of Scalegate Drive at 10:30 AM and told us to see him back in Room 43 by 12 PM with a flow chart of the mid-morning traffic. I thought everyone was going to just skive off, but it turned out everyone else in the group just followed the instructions except for me and Uma, who were rounded up outside Woolworths at 2 PM in Ilford Mall by those truancy control weirdos from the town council.
God — they are SO crafty. They change the people who work there all the time so you never get to know their faces.
Saying that, we’d probably have missed them if Uma hadn’t gone right up — like a proper fool — and hassled the truancy bloke to go in Thresher’s and buy her ten Marlboro Lights. The bloke just laughed in her face then flashed his badge and said, “Bad luck, you’re going back to school NOW.” Then another woman who looked like an owl appeared and ordered us to get in the back of her Volvo, which smelled of egg sandwiches, and they drove us back to Mayflower Academy, playing some music on the CD player by a band called The Proclaimers which sounded like two Scottish men straining on the toilet. BRILLIANT.
Mr. Bamblebury turned up at 2:30 PM. Me and Uma both trudged into his office. He said, “Nice holiday in the Dominican, Uma?” and Uma just grunted and rolled her eyes at him. Then Mr. Bamblebury said, “So can either of you explain what you were doing wandering about Ilford Shopping Mall when you were supposed to be doing a traffic survey?” So I thought for a bit and this is what came out.
“Well, Mr. Bamblebury, what it was,” I said, “we were actually just on our way BACK through the mall to school when the truancy bods got us. ’Cos we’d been returning a lost cat to a woman.”
“A cat?” said Mr. Bamblebury.
“Yeah, a cat,” I said. “We knew it was lost when we saw it sniffing some trash bins on Scalegate Drive so we checked its collar and it lived in one of those streets behind the mall. Didn’t it, Uma?”
“Yeah, a cat,” said Uma, doing that scary stare at Mr. B that she does when she’s in trouble, like she doesn’t care.
“An orange one with white paws and a silver collar,” I said. “And a bell.”
“A bell,” said Mr. Bamblebury.
“Yeah, a bell,” I said, wishing I could shut up. “And a little barrel on the collar with a rolled-up message inside from the owner which said: Hello, this cat belongs to a little old lady in a house behind Ilford Shopping Mall and this cat is my only friend in the world now that my husband Arthur has passed on and my eyesight is not what it ought to be. So if you find this cat please bring him home to me and I will make you a cup of tea and give you a bit of my homemade shortbread . . . Then under that she’d written her address.”
“Really? All that on one little scrap of paper?” said Mr. Bamblebury. “She must have had very small handwriting for an old lady with poor eyesight.”
“I thought that myself, Mr. Bamblebury,” I said. “Didn’t I say that, Uma?”
“Yeah, she said that,” said Uma.
There was a long silence.
“Good shortbread, was it?” said Mr. Bamblebury.
“It was a bit soggy,” I said.
Mr. Bamblebury looked at us both, then he drummed his fingers on his notepad for a bit. For a second I thought he believed me about the cat, even though Uma was totally smirking now so it obviously wasn’t true.
Then Mr. Bamblebury said, “Are you two girls ABSOLUTELY DETERMINED to leave this school without a single GCSE between you?”
Uma just sighed. I shook my head.
“Because unless you buck your ideas up you most certainly will. Then you’ll be hanging around that mall all day long FOREVER.”
After he said “forever” he left a really long pause.
He made “forever” sound well scary, like it was a prison sentence. Uma just shrugged, then I did too, ’cos I didn’t want Uma to think I was scared of him even though inside I felt a bit sick. He didn’t really moan much though after that. It felt a bit like he’d given up with us.
I wish there had been a cat ’cos I really liked the idea of helping some little old lady who didn’t know me, instead of them being scared of my hoodie and crossing the road.
Mr. Bamblebury is sending a letter home to my mother. By my reckoning, if he writes it on Monday and Dora his secretary posts it on Tuesday, then I’ll need to remember to get up at 6:45 on Wedne
sday the sixth and put it in the trash.
WEDNESDAY 6TH FEBRUARY
Letter trashed — thank god. Mum was too busy arguing with Cava-Sue this morning to notice. Cava-Sue and Mum used to be dead good friends but they have loads of little arguments these days over what Cava-Sue wears and where she’s going. It all started again tonight over a pizza. Cava-Sue didn’t want any of her Uncle Franco’s Meat Feast frozen pizza or any oven chips either. Cava-Sue said that there are tons of additives in frozen pizza which make her all jittery, so no wonder she can’t concentrate at college.
Mum looked quite hurt for about one second, but then she got the hump and shouted at Cava-Sue that it surely didn’t take THAT MUCH BLOODY CONCENTRATION TO LEAP AROUND A GYM ALL DAY DRESSED IN LEG WARMERS PRETENDING TO BE A SODDING TREE!! Then Cava-Sue looked dead hurt too. Then Mum snapped that she ate Uncle Franco’s frozen pizza and she managed to concentrate bloody fine all day when she was at work arguing about racing odds with every wino in William Hill in Goodmayes from dawn to dusk THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!
Then Cava-Sue shoved her plate away and huffed, “Well I’m not eating this processed stuff. I’m gonna cook somefin’ different, I want somefin’ fresh!”
So my mum shouted, “Help ’yer bleeding self, Bobby Flay! There’s fresh vegetables in the freezer!”
Then Cava-Sue laughed and said that Netto Potato UFOs didn’t count and no wonder she was getting fat ’cos she never had any complex carbohydrates. Everyone went dead quiet when Cava-Sue said “complex carbohydrates.” Then Mum picked up her plate and went into the living room and ate her pizza on her knee watching an episode of Jerry Springer what she’d taped from that morning about a man who got three women on his street up the duff at the same time.
Murphy ate Cava-Sue’s pizza before I could get it. Murphy is not bothered about complex carbohydrates. “You snooze you lose” — that’s his motto at dinner.
