The Complete Fab Confessions of Georgia Nicolson: Books 1-10. Louise Rennison
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wasn’t listening. She called from indoors, “Hurry up, love, just get me it.”
I yelled, “I can’t walk, Mum! That is why the doctor is coming to see me. That’s why I came home in a wheelbarrow.”
“You don’t have to walk, just hop out of the barrow and up the stairs and get the mascara.”
Hop hop, agony agony, hop hop.
Why was I hopping around getting things for my mother who only wanted them so that she could make a fool of my father? (The answer to that question is I didn’t want her poking around in my room. She might come across a few things that weren’t strictly mine, things that in a word were– er– hers.)
I hopped into her bedroom and said, “It is pathetic and sad. You are trying to get off with a young doctor and my poor vati is coming home to a– a– facsimile of a sham!”
She just tutted and went on primping. She said, “The trouble with you is that trivial things are really serious to you, and stuff you should care about that is serious, you don’t.”
I said, hobbling off, “Oh very wise. Is that why you are stuffing yourself into things that are quite clearly made for people a) smaller than you and b) several centuries younger than you?”
She threw the hairbrush at me. That’s nice behaviour, isn’t it? Attacking a cripple.
7:00 p.m.
Doctor Home-wrecker arrived. He strapped up my ankle again and gave me painkillers. I said, “I suppose that is my hockey career over. Do you think that perhaps I have weak ankles because of my diet?”
He laughed. He had a good laugh, actually.
Mum said, “Can I get you a coffee, John?”
John? John? Where did that come from?
Mum went off into the kitchen and I heard her say, “Take Angus out of the fridge, Libbs.”
“He likes it.”
“He’s eaten all the butter.”
“Teeh hheeeeeheeee.”
7:15 p.m.
I hobbled off to my room and played moody music really loudly as a hint. It was ages before the door slammed. I looked out of my bedroom window. I could see John going off in his quite cool car.
7:45 p.m.
Lying on my bed of pain. Well, it would be if I could feel my ankle.
Mum popped her head round the door. She was all flushed. “How is the ankle?”
I said, “Fine if you like red-hot pokers being stabbed in you.”
“That’s my little soldier.” She was humming.
Brilliant, a week before my dad gets back my mum starts a torrid affair with a doctor.
8:00 p.m.
Mind you, I would get tiptop medical priority.
8:30 p.m.
He might be able to get me a good deal on my nose job.
9:00 p.m.
I must get revenge on Wet Lindsay.
10:00 p.m.
I wonder how the Bummers will kill me?
10:10 p.m.
Why is the Herring so nice to me? What is wrong with him?
Wednesday October 13th
School
8:30 a.m.
Mum made me hobble to school. Unbelievable. She said a bad ankle didn’t stop me learning things. I tried to explain to Mum that it would be just a question of hobbling in to be killed by the Bummer Twins, but she wasn’t interested.
I made Jas wheel the wheelbarrow as I hopped along with a crutch. The Foxwood lads had a field day with us, shouting, “Where’s your parrot?” and so on.
Jas had perked up enough to say, “I wonder how the Bummers will kill you?”
She sounded quite interested. She’s only cheered up because Tom is coming home.
I managed to keep out of the Bummers’ way for the morning but eventually at lunchtime the fatal moment came. The Bummers cornered me in the loos. I tried to hobble off but they blocked the doorway. Here we go. Well at least death would solve the Dave the Laugh situation. Jackie just looked at me. She said, “Fancy a fag?”
What were they going to do, ritually set fire to me?
Jackie put a fag in my mouth and Alison lit it Jackie said, “Cool,” and Alison said, “Good call.” And then they just went out.
What in the name of pantyhose did that mean? Why hadn’t they duffed me up?
I hobbled over to the mirror to see what I looked like smoking. Quite cool, actually. I sucked my nose in. I definitely looked a bit Italian.
Out of the corner of my mouth I said, “Ciao, bella.”
But sadly smoke went up my nose and I had a coughing extravaganza.
I can’t believe life. As I was having my coughing fit Lindsay walked in and booked me for smoking in the loos. I saw the Bummer Twins sniggering in the corridor.
Great. Stacking gym mats for the rest of the term. Elvis passed by and saw me hobbling and heaving mats around. He laughed.
4:00 p.m.
Left school limping along next to Jas. I think it’s quite attractive if you like Long John Silver. I said to Jas, “You know, I think I am going to give up on boys altogether– tell Dave the Laugh it’s over, forget the Sex God and just concentrate on lessons and so on. I might ask Herr Kamyer to give me extra tuition.”
“He’d have a spasm to end all spasms if you did.”
I said, “I think I might be over the Sex God anyway. When I saw him pick up Owlie in his car, that did it for me. Anyone who can go out with Wet Lindsay, with her stupid no forehead and sticky insect legs, and…er…”
“Goggly eyes?”
“Yeah, goggly eyes. Anyone who can do that has got something very wrong with them. You know, if he asked me out now I would say n-ung.”
I meant to say “no” but that was when I saw him leaning against his car. The Sex God. Oh don’t tell me he was waiting for gorgeous (not) Wet Lindsay. Pathetic. Très pathetic and très très sad.
I hobbled past him. He wasn’t so very gorgey. Well actually, yes, he was. He was a Sex God. Really. He looked me straight in the eyes and I went completely jelloid. In fact, my other leg nearly gave way. He half-smiled and I remembered what it was like to be attached to his mouth. Somehow I kept hobbling. We’d got past him and I was feeling all shaky when he called after us, “Georgia, can I talk to you for a minute?”
OhmyGodohmyGod. Was this an elastic band moment? Jas was just goosegogging at my side. I said, “You walk on, Jas, I’ll catch you up.”
She said, “Oh it’s OK, I’m not in any hurry. Anyway, you might fall over and lie for ages with no one to help you. Like a tortoise on its back or—”
I opened my eyes really wide at Jas and raised my eyebrows. After about forty years she got it and walked on.