Don't Even Think About It Page 4

  He needs friends, right? Just like me and Bumble.

  I don’t know what I’d do without Bumble. He’s my rock.

  I wonder if Mam would ever go to the cinema with another man. She must be meeting lots of new people over there in the States. I don’t think I want to think about that right now.

  Hope the film is a bummer, even if they are only friends.

  Seven o’clock, Tuesday, beginning of June.

  Well, summer’s here, kind of. Bumble had a pair of shorts on him at school today. Pity his legs are so white and skinny. The rest of him is pretty good – nice light brown hair, green eyes, lovely chuckly laugh that just makes you want to join in. No freckles, not even one. He says I have enough for the two of us, and he’s right.

  Catherine Eggleston and Terry McNamara are officially going out, which shows what kind of taste he has. Although I must admit she’s only been about half as bitchy as usual, since I didn’t tell on her about the note she wrote that time.

  I haven’t been sent to Smelly Nelly’s for over two weeks, which has to be some kind of record. Not that I care, with less than a month of school to go. Chloe Nelligan is still keeping the vampires away – and the rest of us too – with the dreaded garlic breath.

  The only other bit of news is not so good, which is why I’ve saved it till last.

  Tonight Dad and Marjorie Maloney are going out again, to the launch of some dorky book written by someone Marjorie knows. Dad’s in the shower now, getting ready.

  But they’re not dating – Dad’s just keeping her company, because she’s got nobody else and he feels sorry for her. That’s the only possible reason he’s doing this. No way is he interested in Marjorie Maloney – how could he be, after Mam, who’s miles prettier and slimmer?

  He did look a bit guilty earlier when he told me he was meeting Marjorie. He tried to make it sound like no big deal: ‘By the way, myself and Marjorie are heading out to a book launch tonight, just for a bit.’ His back was to me as he spoke, stirring a saucepan, but then he looked around to see how I was taking it. I just nodded, as if I couldn’t care less.

  Of course Marjorie is acting like my best friend these days, waving at me from across the road any time she sees me. I just ignore her, which makes two people on the road I have to ignore now.

  Compared to Marjorie Maloney, Ruth Wallace is a saint. At least she’s not trying to get her claws into my dad, just run me over with her wheelchair, or insult me to death.

  Bumble’s coming over in a while, and we’re ordering in a pizza and he’s helping me to set up an e-mail account, and I am not telling Dad about it. Why should I, when he can just turn around and abandon me any time he feels like it? Bumble says it’s dead easy to set up – all we need is a disk that he’s bringing over. I just hope the computer is modern enough.

  Dad just called in that he’s leaving. I called back ‘Fine.’ I am not going to look out the window this time. I hope the book launch is even more boring than the cinema. I didn’t ask him about the film they went to, and he didn’t mention it either.

  Bumble’d better hurry up, or I’ll order the pizza without him. My stomach is beginning to complain of emptiness. We usually get a giant pizza with half of it topped with pepperoni and pineapple for me, and half with ham and mushrooms, for both of us. Well, I’d share my half if he wanted, but pepperoni gives Bumble a rash.

  He’s getting ten more minutes.

  Five to six, Saturday, middle of June.

  A funny thing happened today in Boots. I was trying on a lipstick when I saw the girl beside me putting something into her coat pocket. I couldn’t see what it was, just that it was small, and then she saw me looking, and she turned and walked away really quickly.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen anyone shoplifting.

  I didn’t know whether I should tell someone, but then I figured by the time I did she’d be long gone. And it looked so small, whatever she’d taken. It must have been a lipstick or something. Probably cost less than five euros.

  She was just about my age too, or maybe a bit older. One of her eyebrows was pierced, which I think looks so cool.

  It looked dead easy, what she did. Nobody saw a thing except me, and she was gone in a second. One free lipstick in her pocket.

  Not that I’d ever do it – I’d be terrified of being caught. And just imagine what Mr Grouchy would say then. I’d probably be sent to my room for ten years.

  God, I’m so hungry. Dad’s cooking has not improved with practice. The only good thing is he’s given up making porridge for the summer, and now we have Weetabix for breakfast. But dinners are still pretty bad.

  Sausages are classic – they’re always burnt on one side and raw on the other. When he grills fish fingers, they’re as dry as a bone. And he can NOT heat up baked beans without letting half of them stick to the pot. Can you believe it? But we order in quite a lot too, like Chinese or pizza, which we never did when Mam was here, and which suits me fine.

  I’ve got a few new spots on my chin, that Bumble says is probably from all the takeaway food I’ve been eating, but I don’t listen – he has at least three more spots than me. He says that his ones are normal teenage spots, even though they look exactly the same as mine.

  Ruth Wallace told me I was getting fat the last time I saw her. She didn’t even notice the spots. She’s such an idiot.

  Mam and I are e-mailing now. I can’t believe how easy it is. My typing is a bit slow, but who cares? The great thing is, Mam is just getting into work when I get home from school, so she’s sitting right there at her computer when I send her a message, and she often e-mails me right back. It makes her feel closer somehow.

  And it’s not that I’m deceiving Dad – I’m just not telling him about it, which is a completely different thing. He’d only worry about me using the Internet, in case some weirdo tried to make contact with me, or something. So it’s best for everyone, if he doesn’t know.

  Remember I told you that Mam’s sharing a flat with a couple called George and Enda? Well it turns out that they’re two men – my mother is living with two gay men. Is that weird, or what? She says they’re great, very tidy and both excellent cooks. We could sure use one of them around here sometimes.

  I haven’t asked her yet about when she’s coming home to see me. I thought it would be easier on the computer, but it isn’t. What if she says it could be ages? At least if I don’t know, I can go on hoping she’ll come back really soon, maybe even for good. I wish she’d mention it herself though.

  The only bad thing is I can’t print out her e-mails, because we don’t have a printer, and I’m afraid to save them in case Dad finds them. I know Bumble says nobody can read my e-mails without knowing my password, but as Granny Daly would say, BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY.

  By the way, before you ask – yes, Marjorie Maloney is still Dad’s new best friend. They’ve been out four times now. See if I care. As long as he NEVER, EVER brings her home here afterwards.

  I haven’t mentioned Marjorie to Mam. Well, there’s no point, is there? Anyway, we’ve got more important things to talk about, like Enda and George, who both work in a gym, and who’ve got Mam cheap membership there. And about the haircut I got last week that Bumble says makes me look a lot older.

  It’s much sunnier in San Francisco than in Ireland, except around Christmas when it can get a bit chilly and wet, but it’s foggy there too, near the ocean – that’s the Pacific Ocean, on the other side of America. Mam says the area she lives in is called the sunny Mission, because it’s hardly ever foggy there.

  I’d love to go and visit her. Maybe I could save up my pocket money for a trip, ha ha. I’m not exactly the most well paid teenager in town. Dad says you don’t need a lot of money to enjoy yourself, which goes to show how out of touch he is. I bet everyone in my class gets more pocket money than me. I bet Catherine Eggleston gets loads.

  She and Trudy Higgins have fake tans, which Bumble and I think is very sad. Terry McNamara probably likes it –
he and Catherine are still MADLY IN LOVE. Someone get me a bucket, quick.

  Right, Dad just shouted up that dinner is ready. Tonight we’re having roast chicken, so if you don’t hear from me again it’s probably because I died of salmonella poisoning.

  Ten past five, Tuesday, still middle of June.

  OK, Dad’s mad at me again, and it’s my own fault.

  You know how I’ve been e-mailing Mam without him knowing? Well, yesterday I was just signing off when the doorbell rang, and it was a woman with a clipboard, asking if I wanted to do a survey about eating habits, which, of course, I couldn’t resist.

  I told her that there were ten people living in the house, and that eight of us were allergic to vegetables. I told her that I had popcorn and yoghurt for breakfast, and that my favourite treat was pickled rhubarb, and that one of my brothers would only eat food that was yellow. It was lots of fun.

  I’m not sure how much she believed, but she wrote it all down, and thanked me very politely at the end. After she was gone, I went upstairs to do some painting, and totally forgot that the phone line was still plugged into the back of the computer. Bad mistake.

  Of course Dad went to make a phone call about ten minutes after he got home, and discovered my mistake. So then we had the Big Investigation, with him standing there like someone out of the Secret Service, and talking about going behind his back, and how could he trust me again, and stuff like that. And of course he went on about the dangers of the Internet, like I knew he would.

  And I’m sure I could still have got away with it if I’d played along, told him how sorry I was, and how I just wanted to keep in touch with Mam in as many ways as I could, and promised him that I wasn’t surfing the net looking for porn, and he probably would have huffed and puffed a bit, and then given in and agreed to let me keep emailing.

  But, of course, I didn’t do the sensible thing at all. I told him I had to go behind his back, because I knew he wouldn’t let me get an e-mail address, because he was such a meanie, and it was my right to use a computer if I wanted, especially if he was going to go off with the first woman who looked at him.

  And as soon as I said that last bit, I knew I’d gone too far. He pressed his lips together and walked over to the computer and plugged it out, and told me that he was bringing it back to work in the morning, since clearly I couldn’t be trusted with it.

  God, he is such a pain. Imagine I ever thought I’d miss him, if I’d gone off with Mam.

  But the joke’s on him, because there’s an Internet café in town that he probably doesn’t even know about, and I can call there on my way home from school, and keep on e-mailing Mam, and anyone else I want (although the only other person whose e-mail address I know is Bumble, and I don’t think I’d have much to say to him, seeing as how we’re together every day for about five hours.)

  And since Dad is now convinced that I can’t be trusted, I’ve nothing to lose if I feel like doing something really bad – which is kind of exciting.

  Let’s see what really bad thing I can think of.

  Twenty to seven, Monday, beginning of last week of June.

  I’ve really done it now – I’m in the biggest trouble of my life. And you know what the worst bit is? It wasn’t even fun.

  Here’s what happened. I was walking out of Boots this afternoon when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and this woman said, ‘I need you to come back inside with me now.’

  I looked at her with my most innocent face and asked her why, but she just took me by the elbow and sort of marched me back inside, and I thought it might be better not to make a fuss so I went with her, hoping she couldn’t hear my thumping heart.

  She wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a normal jumper and skirt, so if anyone saw us I could say afterwards that she was my aunt, or something. At least, that’s what I thought then. Anyway, she brought me into a small room and sat me down, and asked me to empty the pockets of my school blazer, which I did, since I hadn’t really any choice.

  I took out a comb and a lipstick and half a pack of wine gums and my wallet and a small bottle of shampoo, the travel size, and I put them all on the desk between us. She picked up the bottle of shampoo, which was the only thing that looked like it was new, and she asked me if I’d paid for it, which was a pretty dumb question, considering that she knew well that I hadn’t.

  So I just sat there and said nothing, and did my best to look bored, even though I was pretty scared. My first time shoplifting, and I had to be caught. I wondered what prison food tasted like.

  Yes, I stole the shampoo. I know I said I’d be too terrified, but I was so mad at Dad after the whole computer thing, I just decided that it might be a bit of a laugh if I could get away with it. I didn’t think too much about what might happen if I was caught.

  To make a long story short, Dad was called from work to come and get me, and I knew as soon as I saw his face that I was in big trouble. He spoke very politely to the woman and apologised for his terrible daughter (he didn’t actually say terrible, but I knew he was thinking it). The woman said they wouldn’t press charges, since this was my first offence, but that she would be contacting the school to let them know.

  Bugger, bugger, bugger.

  I hadn’t told Bumble what I was planning – one of the few things I kept from him. I kind of knew this was one thing he wouldn’t go along with. But now Smelly Nelly is going to find out – and what if she says it to Chloe? I can just imagine the fun Catherine Eggleston and Trudy Higgins will have if they ever get to hear about this.

  To be fair to Dad, he did his best to persuade the woman not to inform the school. He said I was about to start secondary school, and it would be a blot on my character if they heard about this, and he was sure I’d learnt my lesson now, and other stuff like that. But the woman wouldn’t agree not to tell the school. She said they treated shoplifting as a very serious offence, and I had to be made an example of. In the end, Dad gave up.

  He didn’t open his mouth on the way home, and I thought it was probably a good idea to say nothing either, so it sure was a quiet journey. As soon as we got inside the house, though, he made up for it. He asked me if I was trying to end up in jail. He told me he was shocked and disappointed in me, said I only had to ask if I needed more pocket money.

  He went on like this for about ten minutes, and even though he didn’t get mad at me, like he’d done with the computer business, I knew he was really upset. His face was white and pinched looking, and his voice was tight, as if he was trying hard not to lose his temper. And somehow, it was much worse than if he’d shouted at me.

  Just as he was winding down, the phone rang, and he said, ‘You’d better answer it,’ and it was really hard to talk to Mam and not tell her what happened – which of course I couldn’t. Imagine what she’d say. Luckily she couldn’t stay long on the phone, because she was on her way to a meeting.

  After I hung up, Dad came out of the kitchen and sent me upstairs and said he’d bring up something to eat later. Something tells me it won’t be a pepperoni and pineapple pizza.

  And you know what? It wasn’t even the right kind of shampoo – it was one for greasy hair, which I don’t have. I only noticed that when it was sitting on the store detective’s desk. That’s kind of funny, when you think about it.

  Although I don’t really feel like laughing right now.

  Later

  You will not believe what just happened. There was a tap at the door and I ignored it, and then it opened and MARJORIE MALONEY walked in holding a plate. I just looked at her, totally gobsmacked. I think my mouth might have dropped open like some goofy fish, but I’m not sure.

  She stood inside the door with a goody-goody face on her, and said in a nun’s voice, ‘Liz, is it OK if we have a chat?’ Can you imagine? Me and Marjorie Maloney, bonding. AS IF.

  So of course I told her it was definitely NOT OK, and to kindly leave my room, which she didn’t do.

  She put the plate down on my dressing table –
not one of our plates – and she said, ‘Liz, I know how you feel …’ and I interrupted, because I couldn’t bear to listen to her, and I told her she didn’t know how I felt, she hadn’t a clue how I felt, and to LEAVE ME ALONE. And then I turned my back on her and listened to the door closing quietly when she went out.

  I can NOT believe that he got her to come up to my room. I can’t believe he did that. If he thinks I’m going to touch her crummy plate of food, he’s got another think coming.

  It sure smells good, though, and I’m starving. I’ve had nothing to eat since a Nutella sandwich at half twelve, and it’s well after seven now. But nothing in this world would make me touch Marjorie Maloney’s food.

  Anyway, I can’t see what it is, because there’s one of those silver lids on top that you get in hotels sometimes. Marjorie Maloney, trying to be posh. It’s pathetic.

  Ten to eight

  It was some kind of fish pie. I left it as long as I could, so it wasn’t that hot any more, but I was so hungry I didn’t care. But I’m still MAD at Dad for getting that woman involved in our private affairs.

  As if she was part of our family, which she never, NEVER will be.

  If I still had that fiver she gave me for my birthday, I’d throw it back at her and tell her what she could do with her crummy money.

  Hey, I’ve just thought of a new name for her: Marjorie Baloney.

  God, I HATE the thought of school in the morning. Maybe Smelly Nelly will announce at assembly that we have a thief in our midst, or something. What a dope I am sometimes.

  Bedtime, last day of primary school, ever.