by Jean Ure
And anyway, I’ve got more than Skinny has!
Friday
There is a girl at school called Avril Roper whose dog has just had puppies. She said if anyone wants one they can have one free because the puppies were a mistake and her mum is only interested in them going to people who will love them, not in making money. I tore home like the wind and burst into the kitchen and yelled, “Mum, Mum, can we have a puppy? They’re going free! And they’re small ones, Mum!” I said this because last time I found some puppies, which was before she married Slimey, they were in a pet shop and cost £50 each and were some sort of mixture that was going to grow as tall as the kitchen table and eat us out of house and home. So naturally I thought as these were free, and were tiny, she’d say yes right away, no problem.
Instead she just laughed, sort of nervously, and said, “Puppies are always small, to my knowledge.”
I said, “Yes, but these are going to stay small. Their mum is a Jack Russell and their dad was a Yorkshire terrier.”
You can’t get much smaller than a Yorkshire terrier. And anyway, she promised. As good as. After Dad left and Mum and me were on our own she said, “We’ll get a dog to keep us company.” But she never did. Now here was I offering her one free, so why didn’t she jump at it?
Because of Slimey Roland, that’s why. I said, “You promised!” and this shifty look came into her eyes and she didn’t want to meet my gaze, which is a sure sign of guilt. She said, “I don’t think I actually promised.” I said, “You did! You promised!” Mum said, “I may have mentioned it as a possibility. That’s all.” I said, “Well, now it is a possibility! They’re going for free!”
And then Mum sighed and said, “Cherry, I’d love a dog as much as you would, but how can we? You know Roly’s allergic.” I said, “Allergic to dogs?” How can anyone be allergic to dogs? I said, “I know he has hay fever.” But hay fever is pollen. Mum said, “I’m afraid it’s not just hay fever. The poor man’s allergic to all kinds of things – dust, pollution, house mites …”
And dogs. He just would be, wouldn’t he? He’s that sort of person. All wimpy and sniffly and red-eyed. So Mum has to break her promise just because of him!
Saturday
That creep shoved another note under my door. Something about a tortoise. I don’t want a rotten tortoise! I want a dog. Mum promised me.
This morning we went into the shops and I got a couple of bras, one white and one pink. I suppose they’re all right, but it’s all gone a bit sour now that I know she and Slime have been sniggering about it. I keep picturing them lying in bed together having this good laugh.
I chucked his note into the waste-paper basket along with all the others. If he doesn’t stop doing it, it’ll soon be full to overflowing. Mum said today that we are going to have a new regime. She said, “I looked into your bedroom yesterday and it’s like a pigsty,” to which I instantly retorted that as a matter of fact pigs left to themselves are extremely clean and intelligent animals. It’s only horrible farmers that make them dirty by not allowing them to lead natural lives. To which Mum said, thinking herself very clever, “Well in future I am going to leave you to yourself and we shall see how clean and intelligent you are. From here on in -” (that is a phrase she has picked up from Carol my godmother, who has picked it up in Austin, Texas) “- from here on in I wash my hands of your bedroom. You can take sole responsibility for it. Right?”
I just humped a shoulder, feeling generally disgruntled on account of Mum breaking her promise about the dog. Mum said again, “Right?” and I muttered “Right,” and Slimey Roland did his best to catch my eye across the table and wink, but I refused to take any notice.
Later on, Avril Roper rang to find out if we were going to have one of the puppies. I didn’t want to say no, so I said we hadn’t yet decided, and she said me and Skinny could go round and see them sometime if I liked. She said, “They’re so sweet. You won’t be able to resist them. You can hold them in the palm of your hand!”
So then I rushed back to Mum and said, “Mum, they’re so tiny you can hold them in the palm of your hand! Oh, Mum, can’t we have one? Please?” thinking that if I really begged hard enough she wouldn’t be able to say no, but she was obviously feeling in a mean mood because all she did was snap at me. She said, “I already told you, the answer is no! Roly’s health happens to be of more importance to me than a dog. I’m sorry, but there it is.”
I gave her this really venomous look as I slunk out of the room.
Sunday
It is after breakfast and I am writing this sitting on my bed. If Mum doesn’t do my bedroom soon the waste-paper basket will be overflowing with notes from Slimey Roland. I am on strike. Mum always used to do my bedroom.
I used to help Dad clean the car but Slimey hasn’t got one because he can’t drive. And Mum can’t have one because Slimey won’t let her. He says they pollute the environment and we all have to walk or use bicycles. I am not going to help him clean his bicycle!!! He looks like a total idiot riding about with his helmet on and his soppy little cycling shorts. Like a stick insect with his head stuck in a goldfish bowl.
Anyway, I help with laying the table and putting things away and doing the wiping up. She won’t let me do the washing up any more because she says I use too much washing-up liquid (Greencare, natch. Slimey won’t have ordinary Fairy liquid in the house, you bet he won’t. He’s a complete nutter. He goes round reading all the labels and checking the lists of ingredients and spying on me and Mum to make sure we don’t buy anything that might punch holes in the ozone layer).
Another reason Mum won’t let me do the washing up is that she says I cause too many breakages. So now Slimey gets to do it and he does it ever so s-l-o-w-l-y and c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y and nearly drives me mad.
Dad never used to help in the kitchen, it was one of the things that he and Mum had rows about. But Dad used to go out to work all day. Slimey works at home (if it can be called work, just drawing pictures of elves). It’s only fair that he should help.
It wouldn’t have been fair if Dad had had to. I don’t think it would. When I was little and Dad was in an office we were really really happy. He and Mum hardly ever had rows or shouted at each other. It was only when Dad got made redundant and couldn’t find another job and had to go and do the mini-cabbing that it all became horrible. That was when the rows started, because of Dad having to go out and do something he didn’t like while Mum just went on sitting at home and reading her books. Of course she was being paid money to do it but it wasn’t the same as having to go mini-cabbing. That was what Dad said.
One thing about Slimey, he is interested in Mum’s work. Sometimes he reads the books and they discuss them together. Also, he and Mum don’t have rows. Yet. But they sit and hold hands and do a lot of kissing and I can’t stand it! I hate to think of them holding hands and kissing all day while I’m at school. It makes me feel sick. Kissing with a beard. I hate beards.
It’s eleven o’clock now and I’m going to go down the road and fetch their Sunday papers for them, which is another of the jobs I have to do that Mum doesn’t take into consideration when she goes on about my bedroom. When I come back I might ring Skinny Melon and see if she’s going to take Lulu up the park. Or I might ring Avril and find out how the puppies are. Imagine having a dog all of your own! I could have, if it weren’t for Slimey. He’s in the back bedroom at the moment, drawing elves, and Mum is downstairs on the word processor, writing to her friend, Carol in Austin, Texas. They write to each other every single week! It’s almost unbelievable. What on earth do they find to say???
141 Arethusa Road
London W5
Sunday 27 September
My dear Carol,
Lovely to have all your news and so glad things are working out for you. Just forget all about Martin. He was a jerk and you are well rid of him. Some people are better apart. Take Gregg and me, for instance. We made each other utterly wretched, yet I couldn’t be happier with Roly! I’m sure
you’ll soon meet someone else, though I confess I live in dread that it will turn out to be some big handsome Texan and that you’ll settle down for good and all in the States! It’s a long way to come and visit …
You ask how Cherry is getting on at her new school. Quite well, as far as I can make out, though she doesn’t say very much. The thing she is most vociferous about is the food! She is becoming terribly faddy, but I suppose it’s her age. I seem to recall when I was eleven going through a phase when I wanted to eat nothing but Mars Bars. Ah, those were the days! One Mars Bar, one KitKat, one Penguin biscuit, all gobbled up before the morning break and not a spare inch of flesh to be seen! Of course I wouldn’t let Cherry eat stuff like that. Roly, fortunately, is educating me in the way to healthy living. No more junk food! No more snacks! In fact I think we shall all end up as veggies.
I wish I could say that Cherry’s attitude towards Roland had changed for the better, but she is still very cold. It’s so unfair, because he tries so hard. He keeps sending her these really charming little cards with coded messages in the form of pictures. Any other child would be delighted. But I see Cherry simply throws them in her waste-paper basket. It’s so ungracious. As a result I am refusing to clean up her bedroom for her. She can jolly well do it herself!
She is a bit peeved at the moment because a girl at school has offered her a puppy and she has taken it into her head that I actually promised her she could have one. I’m sure I only said that I would think about it. Anyway, as it happens it’s just not possible as poor Roly is seriously allergic. He’s going to start digging a pond in the back garden so that we can have some fish. I think she’ll like that.
Oh, I must tell you! It was so funny the other day. Cherry, as you may remember, has this friend called Melanie who is like a beanpole, and Melanie, my dear, was going out to buy a bra! So naturally Cherry decided that she wanted one, too, and we had to trundle out yesterday morning to get her a couple. But the joke is, she has nothing there! As flat as the proverbial pancake! Well, it probably makes her feel sophisticated and Roly says we mustn’t laugh as one is very sensitive to these things when one is young.
Roly really is a most extraordinarily understanding sort of person. And sympathetic! Far more than I am when she starts playing up. She has really been trying my patience just recently. But Roly never loses his temper. He never allows himself to be goaded. That is why it makes me so angry, the way Cherry treats him. He could be such a wonderful dad to her! If only she would let him. I am hoping that the goldfish will do the trick …
Write soon! All love,
Chapter 2
Monday
Dad rang last night. He said his new job is keeping him really busy. He is having to work at weekends and that is why he can’t come up to London to see me. But maybe I can go and stay with him at half-term. He is going to speak to Mum. She’d better say yes! It’s the least she can do, now she’s gone and broken her promise about letting me have a dog.
Old Slimey is digging up the back garden. He’s trying to get me interested in goldfish and suchlike junk. Huh! He needn’t think that will make up for not having one of Avril’s puppies. How can you communicate with a fish?
Tuesday
Slime stew for dinner today. It had a cardboard lid which I thought they had forgotten to remove before heating but John Lloyd said it was pastry. All I can say is it didn’t taste like it.
I told Skin about Slimey and his stupid goldfish and she said that as a matter of fact you can communicate with goldfish “in a sort of way”. She said that they get used to you and will come to the surface for food. I said, “Oh, brilliant! Do they speak to you? Do they play games? Can you take them for walks?” Skinny told me not to be stupid. She said, “A fish is not a dog.” I said, “I know that, thank you very much.” She then informed me that I was just being horrible “because the fish were Roly’s idea and nothing that he thinks of is ever right for you.”
Cheek! What does she know about it?
On the way home from school we had a bit of an argument. Well, a bit of a quarrel really, I suppose. The Skinbag revealed to me that she thinks wearing a bra makes it look as if she has a real bust. Ho ho! What a laugh! I told her she was kidding herself and she got quite snappish and said, “Well, you needn’t imagine you’d win any prizes! Two goose pimples is all you’ve got.”
I thought that was uncalled for. I mean, that was a very personal sort of remark to make. You don’t expect it from someone calling herself your best friend. We grouched at each other all the way home. Skinny said I was a midget, which isn’t true because there are at least two people in our class that are shorter than me, and I said she didn’t have any waist, which is true, and she can’t deny it. She hasn’t any shape at all. Then she said I had a nose like a squashed tomato, and I said she had a face like a Frankfurter, and by the time we got to her road we weren’t talking any more, just stomping along in a simmering silence.
I went on simmering all through tea, because I think it’s good to let people stew in their own juice for a bit otherwise they think you’re crawling. I mean, I didn’t see why I should be the one to ring when she was just as much to blame as I was. In fact she was the one who started it, going on about the goldfish. If she hadn’t gone on about goldfish, I wouldn’t have said that about her kidding herself over her bust. I know the goldfish were earlier, but it really maddened me her saying what she said. That is, about me being horrible to Slime. She ought to try living with him.
For instance, all the time I’m simmering he’s sitting there at the table cracking his fingers, which is this thing that he does. Crack, crack, crack, going off like pistol shots. And then he starts making more of his stupid jokes like, “What do you get if you cross a witch with an ice cube? A cold spell,” until I couldn’t stand it any more so I went and tried ringing the Skinbag, only her number was engaged, but then seconds later she rang me and said she’d tried to get me before but my number was engaged, and I said, “That was me trying to get you,” and she said, “Oh, right,” and there was this awkward pause, and then we both spoke together in a rush.
I said, “I’m really sorry I said that about your face looking like a Frankfurter,” and Skinny said, “I apologise for saying you were a midget.” And so then we were friends again and started talking about our maths homework.
Why couldn’t Mum and Dad be like that?
Wednesday
Scum and matter pie, and a dollop of cold sick. Well, that’s what it looked like. Skinny and me have this theory about school dinners. We reckon they take all the stuff that’s scraped off the plates and recycle it. Then they dish it back up as slime or slush or squidgy messes and give it fancy names such as Cheese and Onion Tart or Lentil Bake. No wonder the staff don’t eat with us. Mrs James says it’s to avoid the rabble (meaning us). She says, “We like a bit of peace and quiet.”
I bet! They like a bit of proper food and not regurgitated yuck.
Thursday
Rat hot-pot. Slimey Roland wouldn’t have touched it! He’s a cranky vegetarian. He said to me yesterday, “You wouldn’t eat a puppy, would you? So why eat a lamb?” He has a nerve, talking about puppies. If it weren’t for him I could have one. I’m going to see them tomorrow.
Friday
I saw them. They are gorgeous! They look like little balls of fluff.
But all of them have been spoken for except one. I came rushing home to tell Mum and she said, “Oh, Cherry, don’t start that again!” in a pleading sort of voice, which shows she’s got a guilty conscience. I said, “But Mum, they’re so gorgeous!” and at that point Slimey Roland came barging into the conversation. He said, “Oh, Cherry Pie, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. Don’t go on at your mum!”
I hope he isn’t going to make a habit of calling me Cherry Pie. It makes me want to throw up.
Saturday
Slime said to me at breakfast this morning, “By the way, little lambs are rather gorgeous, too.”
What’s that to do w
ith anything? I’m not asking for a lamb!
141 Arethusa Road
London W5
Sunday 2 October
Dearest Carol,
Just a quickie as I have to go and help Roly with the pond. It’s coming along apace! Cherry still refuses to have anything to do with it but she’ll come round. When we actually get the fish she won’t be able to resist it. She’s still resentful of the fact that she can’t have a dog, and I must say that I would rather like one myself, and so would Roly. He is not opposed to dogs, in fact he loves them, as he loves all small creatures (including cross-grained eleven year olds!) but we simply can’t run the risk of setting off his allergy. I think left to himself he might weaken, but I’m not having him ruin his health just to keep Cherry happy. I know it was upsetting for her when Gregg and I separated; on the other hand she is extremely lucky to have a step-dad as warm and funny and caring as Roly.
He’ll win her over in the end. I know he will!
Lots of love,
PS I’m ashamed to say that I still haven’t got around to telling Cherry about you-know-what. I’m terrified of breaking it to her in case she reacts badly. So far I’ve managed to keep it hidden by wearing baggy T-shirts but it’s reached the point where not even the baggiest of T-shirts will hide the bulge! Fortunately, at the moment, she is so wrapped up in her own affairs that she probably wouldn’t notice anyway. But I can’t afford to leave it very much longer. As Roly says, it’s not fair on her.
