by Anna Carey
We can’t let those bears and bees die
So you’ve got to listen to our cry
Reduce, reuse, recycle
And ride an old bicycle
That’s what you’ve got to do
Stop wasting everything
And living like a king
And the world just might pull through
CHORUS
Polar bears and giant waves
We’ve got a big old world to save
Polar bears and giant waves
If we can’t save the world, we’ll have to live in caves
Note that there is a middle eight (the bit about ‘We’ve got to take it seriously’). Our songwriting is definitely evolving. And I am quite proud of the honey-bee bit. It was inspired by a thing I read in my parents’ paper at the weekend about how bees are dying because of some mysterious bee plague, and while this might not seem like a huge environmental disaster (although of course it is very sad for the poor bees), it actually is terrible for all of us because bees pollinate loads of flowers and plants and so basically we are dependent on them for everything from apples to, of course, honey. Anyway, I am glad that I’ve been able to highlight their tragic plight in song. I will try it out on the others tomorrow.
Brilliant day. First of all, we got loads of work done in the practice space today. The others like my song lyrics. In fact, Alice said she thought Miss Kelly would be proud of my green message, and I think she is right. Maybe if we play it to her when we go back to school in September, it would prove that our creative projects aren’t a total waste of time?
And second of all, we had our second Crack Parrots-free day in a row, because we were all in our own studios in the morning and in the afternoon they were in another workshop (for once). So we were able to enjoy our sound-engineering workshop with Dave Crewe without Charlie and his gang making not-so-smart remarks all the time. It was great.
Also, a bunch of us went into town after the camp today, which was really good fun – us Hey Dollfacers and the Wicked Ways and Jane and her drama friend Gemma, and Ellie and Sam and Lucy. We ended up taking over half a coffee shop, and we stayed until it closed and they kicked us out. The staff looked pleased to get rid of us. I think it was because we’d been there for, like, two hours and only ordered one drink each. But it’s not our fault they charge so much for a boring beverage. Anyway, we all had a very good chat about our creative ambitions. Jane and Gemma have decided to write a play together.
‘I always thought I wanted to be on stage,’ said Jane. ‘But actually I think I might want to work behind the scenes.’
‘I can make your sets,’ said Cass. ‘When I’m not being a famous rock star, of course.’
‘Or a sweet-maker,’ I said, and we told the others about our fudge-making plans. They were very impressed and asked if we’d bring in samples, but we said they’d have to wait until the giveaway at our gig next week. We need to build up the hype. About both the band and the sweets.
Oh, and I had a really good chat with Sam about books and comics. I gave him back Good Omens (which I loved, it was so funny and exciting and scary), and he lent me one of the Sandman graphic novels (which is basically a comic). I’ve finished it already, because you can read a graphic really quickly what with most of it being pictures. I have been reading it since I got home and it is very good but a bit freaky. I hope it doesn’t give me weird dreams. Especially as I have to get up early tomorrow because I am going into town with Cass and Liz. I haven’t seen Liz since she and Cass started going out, so I hope it won’t be awkward and I won’t be some weird gooseberry. I can’t imagine it will be, but you never know.
Today’s outing with Cass and Liz wasn’t awkward at all. In fact, it was really good fun. At first, getting used to the idea that Liz is Cass’s girlfriend, not just her friend, felt a bit odd − not really because she’s a girl, though actually seeing Cass with a girlfriend was a bit strange at first. But it was mostly because I’m not used to Cass going out with anyone, male or female, so seeing her holding hands with someone is a bit surprising. And even though I’ve known about her being with someone for the past few weeks, it’s just been in theory, not in practice. If you know what I mean.
But the feeling of oddness didn’t last very long. We met outside the gates of Trinity, and when Liz arrived she grinned at me and said, ‘Hey Bex! So Cass told you all about our forbidden love.’
And I laughed and said she had, and I joked about how shocked I was. And then everything was normal. I have found that once you find yourself laughing together at something it sort of stops things being awkward. We all went for hot chocolate, and Liz told me about the Gaeltacht. She said she’d been a bit worried about going away with Katie because Katie was so weird when she first came out.
‘But it was okay in the end,’ she said. ‘We were in the same house, and the other girls all knew each other so we had to stick together. She’s totally cool about everything now. We were dancing together hand in hand at all the ceilís by the end of it.’
It sounds like she had a really good time. It made me wish that the North Dublin Arts Camp wasn’t just a twenty-minute walk from my house. It’d be lots of fun if we could all go away and stay somewhere. Although Liz said that she had no internet access, and the food was pretty terrible, and she did get homesick every so often. So maybe it wasn’t all so great.
Anyway, it was a really fun afternoon. And I didn’t feel gooseberryish at all. We went to one of the music shops on Exchequer Street and tried loads of instruments. I had a lot of fun bashing away on a giant drum kit, and Cass tried some really cool keyboards that can make loads of brilliant sounds. Liz tried some gorgeous guitars. She is very good at playing the guitar, even better than Alice.
‘But I’ve been playing the electric guitar for years, because my big sister has one,’ she said. ‘So I’ve had lots of practice. Oh, look at this sparkly one! Why is it so expensive? Why? Cass, darling Cass, please let you and Bex and Alice make lots of money from your home-made sweet empire, and then you can lavish me with glittery guitars.’
‘If we make any money from our empire, I will lavish myself with keyboards first,’ said Cass. ‘Sorry!’
‘But we could give you one if we have any profits left over after lavishing ourselves,’ I said. ‘Oh, and Alice too, because if we have fancy new instruments she’ll need one as well.’
‘This is true,’ said Cass. ‘Otherwise the band will sound terrible.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Liz. ‘I’ll just have to think of a way of earning my own fortune.’
We talked about ways in which Liz could make money as Cass and I walked her to her bus stop on Nassau Street (in the end, she thought she could try knitting things and selling them because she made ‘quite a good scarf once’, although she was only ten at the time, so she might be a bit rusty). In the meantime, she is going to call over to my house during the week to help us make some fudge to give away at our final show on Friday. We had just reached the side entrance to Trinity when she saw a number 15 approaching.
‘Oops, that’s me, I’d better run,’ she said. ‘Bye Cass!’ she said. And she gave Cass a quick hug and kiss on the lips. Then she cried, ‘Bye, Bex!’ And with a cheery wave, she ran for the bus.
‘I’m glad she’s back,’ said Cass, happily.
‘So am I,’ I said. ‘Just because it’s stopped you moping. You’ve been moping all over the place recently.’
‘Oh shut up, moping expert,’ said Cass, but we knew she didn’t mean it. ‘Ugh, look who it is lurking across the road − over there, at the end of Dawson Street!’
It was evil Charlie. I think he saw us, but we pretended we didn’t see him and stayed on the other side of the road while he walked on in the other direction. He’s so obnoxious, and we have enough of him at the camp. I don’t want to have to put up with his ‘banter’ at the weekends too. But besides seeing Charlie, it was a really fun afternoon. I feel strangely relieved. I was a bit scared that Cass and Liz being together would mean I
’d never see Cass over the rest of the holidays, but I don’t think that now. Like, obviously they’ll want to do stuff on their own sometimes, but I know we’ll be able to hang out together too.
It did make me wish I had someone too, though. I mean, I’ve been at a camp full of boys for three weeks now, and I still don’t fancy any of them. I really am starting to worry that I’ll never meet anyone I like ever again. I mean, everyone seems to be all settled now. Look at Rachel and Saint Tom, the perfect boyfriend; they’ve been together for over a year, and I can’t imagine them ever splitting up. Maybe Paperboy and John Kowalski were my only shot at romance and now the rest of my life will be loveless. It is a depressing thought. I wish I could just fall in love with someone. Who liked me too, obviously.
On a happier note, my godmother Daisy is taking me out to lunch tomorrow as an advance birthday present (it’s not my birthday for almost a month, but she’s going on holiday soon so she won’t be around then). So that should be fun, even though that baby of hers will probably get sick on me, as it usually does whenever we meet. I thought it might improve with age but it certainly hasn’t so far.
I had a very nice lunch with Daisy today, and it has made me feel a lot better about life in general. Who would have thought one lunch could do that? But it has. Even though the baby got sick on me yet again. Why does it keep doing this to me? What did I ever do to it? I suggested to Daisy that it might have some sort of terrible stomach bug, but she said it just throws up its milk every so often (mostly on me, apparently), and it should stop doing that soon because it’s going to start eating solid human food. I’ll believe that when I see it.
Anyway, I met Daisy (and the bad baby) in town, and she took me to a lovely restaurant. I hardly ever get to go out for proper food because my parents are such misers (or, as they put it, ‘we’re not made of money’) so just going to the restaurant on its own would have made me feel better. Especially as the baby slept most of the way through lunch.
Once we were seated at our table and had ordered our food, Daisy asked me about the summer camp, and I told her all about Kitty and all the bands and the drama and art people and how fun it was. Talking to Daisy is not like talking to Mum. Which is strange because she’s only a few years younger than her, ie very old.
‘So it sounds like you’re having an excellent summer,’ said Daisy. ‘You are, right?’
‘Well, yeah,’ I said. ‘But …’
And then somehow I found myself telling her all the stuff I’d been secretly thinking for weeks. About how the others were going out with people and how I didn’t fancy anyone and I was worried I’d never meet anyone I liked ever again. I realised I’d never actually talked about this to anyone, because the only people I could have been so sorry for myself in front of are Cass and Alice, and in this case I didn’t feel I could say anything to them because they might feel sorry for me and that was the worst thing I could imagine. But I didn’t really mind Daisy feeling sorry for me. It was such a relief to finally say all this to another person.
‘And really, there are no fanciable boys at all on the whole course,’ I finished sadly.
Daisy looked very concerned.
‘So are your friends making you feel left out?’ she said.
‘Well, no, not really,’ I said. ‘Actually not at all. I don’t feel bad when I’m with them. But when I go home, I sort of feel left out, like they’re a part of something and I’m not. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Sort of,’ said Daisy. ‘But everything’s fine when you’re all together, right? And you like their boyfriends − boyfriend and girlfriend, I mean?’
‘Well, yeah,’ I said. ‘I mean, they haven’t abandoned me or anything. They’d never do that. And I do really like Richard and Liz.’
‘So, let me get this straight,’ said Daisy. ‘Even though your best friends are going out with people, they’re not making you feel left out. You still see them all the time. And you like the people they’re going out with. You don’t feel weird hanging out with them. They don’t make you feel uncomfortable or awkward, or anything.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘Well, yeah.’
‘And, in general, you’re having lots of fun and you’re doing lots of cool and exciting things,’ said Daisy.
‘Um, yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose.’
‘So what’s the actual problem?’ said Daisy.
When she put it like that, I wasn’t actually sure.
‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘I think it’s just that sometimes I worry that I’ll never find love again. Like, Paperboy and John Kowalski were it and I’ll never go out with anyone else.’
And Daisy just burst out laughing, which I found quite annoying at the time, not least because it woke up the baby, and it started roaring (its favourite activity after getting sick on me). But what she said once the baby had been calmed down made me less annoyed.
‘Bex,’ she said. ‘You’re not even fifteen.’
‘I’m almost fifteen,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fifteen in a few weeks.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Daisy. ‘You’re very young. When I was your age I hadn’t gone out with anyone. In fact, I didn’t even kiss anyone until I was seventeen. And I ended up not going out with anyone until I was in college.’
‘But did that … did it bother you?’ I said.
‘Yes!’ said Daisy. ‘It did. I used to worry about it all the time. I was worried that I’d never meet anyone. I was worried there was something horribly wrong with me. But there wasn’t! Everything was fine in the end. I just wish I hadn’t wasted so much time worrying about it. There was no hurry.’
‘It kind of feels like there is,’ I said. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Well, there isn’t,’ said Daisy. ‘Oh my God, Bex, you’re really lucky. You have really good friends, and you’ve got your band and your writing and lots of cool stuff that you’re interested in. It looks like your only problem is that you’re worrying about never going out with anyone ever again. And that isn’t going to happen.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘Though it’s not my only problem. I mean, my parents are pretty annoying. I know they’re your friends and everything, but they are.’
‘Believe me, Bex,’ said Daisy. ‘Your parents are okay. And even if they do annoy you, your life is fine.’
And as she said it, I believed her. Well, apart from the bit about my parents being okay. If my mum had been talking to me like this, I wouldn’t have taken her seriously, but somehow it’s different with Daisy. And she’s right, I suppose I am quite lucky. After all, my friends are going out with people I like who don’t make me feel like a total gooseberry when we’re all hanging out together. I have a horrible feeling that John Kowalski wasn’t like that at all. In fact, I remember the way he used to act when Cass walked down the road with us after school, and I know he wasn’t.
Anyway, we didn’t just talk about my romantic problems (or lack of them). We also talked about my parents. Daisy said she can’t wait to see the musical next week.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ she said. ‘I’m going to go on Sunday, the second night. I told you before, your mum was poetry in motion flying around that stage in the Pirates of Penzance. And so was your dad when he did his dance solo! He caused a sensation.’
I am sure he did, though I don’t think it was in a good way.
‘Are you sure?’ I said.
‘Of course I am,’ said Daisy. ‘He was brilliant. Like I said, poetry in motion. I just wish they both had bigger parts in this production of Oliver!. It’s a shame to waste all that talent at the chorus.’
I almost wish she hadn’t said this. After all, if she is so clearly mistaken about my parents’ theatrical abilities, can I really trust her romantic advice? But I think my parents might be her one weakness. I mean, she’s an actual theatre critic, and those newspapers wouldn’t keep employing her if she was always praising terrible things. She must just have a blind spot when it c
omes to my parents. They’ve all been great mates for a million years, after all. I mean, if Cass and Alice were in a musical being terrible I might be blinded by friendship too (although I am not being biased when I say they can both definitely dance better than my dad).
Anyway, I feel a lot better about, well, everything now. In fact, right now the only thing that’s bothering me is the thought of Mrs Harrington. There really is no way I can change Mum’s mind at this stage. I’m just going to have to pray Mrs Harrington suddenly decides she hates my mum’s books and never reads the new one. Although I don’t think this is very likely.
Guess who I met in the shops on my way home from summer camp today? Mrs Harrington! And I think everything might be okay now. I can’t believe she just appeared after I was thinking about her last night. It is like I have magical powers. Although if I did, then Paperboy would have come back from Canada a long time ago because I certainly thought more about him than I did about Mrs Harrington.
Anyway, it all happened like this. I was on my own because Alice had to get a lift early today and Cass was going into town to meet Liz, and I thought I’d pop into the Spar to get a Dairy Milk. And who should be coming out of the shop as I was going in but Mrs Harrington. She looked delighted to see me, but I’m pretty sure I did not look delighted to see her. Because I wasn’t.
‘Rebecca!’ she cried. She didn’t seem to feel at all embarrassed at meeting one of her pupils outside of school. ‘And how are you? Are you having a nice holiday?’
‘Um, I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I’m doing the summer arts camp down in the college.’
‘Good, good,’ she said. And then, before I could get away, she asked the one question I was hoping she wouldn’t ask.
‘And how’s your mammy’s book coming along?’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to read all about Patricia Alexandra! What sort of thing does she get up to?’
And I was going to pretend I didn’t know, but then … Well, maybe it was because of all the revelations of the last month, but I suddenly thought, ‘I have to tell the truth’. Admittedly, I first thought this months ago and really should have followed through on it back then, but, anyway, better late than never. If Cass could tell me she’s gay even when she was scared I’d never talk to her again, I could tell Mrs Harrington what the fictional Patricia Alexandra is like. Now I come to think of it, the real truth would be admitting that Mum never promised to put her in a book at all. But that would be going a bit too far. Surely this bit of truth was enough for now?
