Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 09 (5 page)

Mum said, “I don't blame him, but people do change and want different things.”

I said quickly, “Yeah, yeah, you're so right. I think you need a change—a change of, er, scenery. You need to go out into the sunshine and meet your mates and ask them what they feel. Maybe go for a slap-up meal, you've only had a pound or two of jam today, you'll be peckish. Go for a pizza and maybe have some vino tinto because you know what they say about vino in Latin. In vino hairy arse. Just give yourself space.”

“Do you think so? Just enjoy myself and don't feel guilty?”

I nodded like billio.

fifteen minutes later

Thank the Lord, Baby Jesus and all his cohorts. She's gone. All tarted up. It is so typically selfish of her to have a midlife crisis when I am expecting a phone call.

half an hour later

Oh, I am so full of tensionosity. I haven't been able to eat anything apart from oven chips. With mayo and tommy sauce. And a choc ice.

Perhaps some popcorn would be good for me.
It's practically health food, really. In fact, don't hamsters eat it and they are as healthy as all get out. Running round and round in those little wheels for no reason, dashing up and down ladders. Ringing bells, etc.

Shut up, brain, I am giving you a final warning.

twenty minutes later

I tell you this, never cook popcorn. I don't know what happened, but I did what it said on the packet, chucked it into some hot oil in a pan and it just sort of exploded everywhere. How do you get popcorn out of light fittings?

And your hair?

And nose?

And bikini bottoms?

Angus has just done that cat thing. You know the high-speed slink across the room with the belly nearly touching the ground. Why do they do that? Why?

two minutes later

Now he is doing fridge staring.

Ring ring.

Ohmygiddygod. The phone. I bet all my lip gloss has disappeared. But if I go and reapply he
might ring off. Oh good, I was at No. 9 on the ditherspaz scale already. I smiled as I said in my deepest voice, “Hello?”

“Georgia, have you come over all transsexual? Has he phoned yet?”

“No, he hasn't, Jas, not that you really care.”

“Yes I do, otherwise why would I phone up to ask you whether he'd phoned you yet?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, there you are, then.”

“You might have called just to be glad he hadn't called, knowing you.”

“Well, I didn't.”

“Oh, OK, thanks. Good-bye now.”

“Don't you want to talk to me?”

“Er, well, not just now, Jas.”

“Oh.”

“I'm putting the phone down now.”

There was a sort of a sobbing noise. Then a trembly little voice said, “Tom and I had our first row last night.”

Oh for heaven's bloody sake.

I said, “What happened, did he dis one of your owls?”

She was gulping and her voice was all trembly.

“No, but he said, he said, what did I think about him going to uni in Hamburger-a-gogo land. And I said I didn't really want to go to Hamburger-a-gogo land, I would rather go to York. And he said that might be a good idea.”

What is this,
EastEnders
?

thirty minutes later

Good Lord. I think I know everything that is in Jas's head now and I tell you this for free, I wish I didn't.

Tom thinks they should go to separate unis or something so that they can be sure that they are made for each other. I did say to Jas, “Well, you can safely let him go, what other fool is he going to find to go vole hunting with him?”

But it didn't seem to cheer her up as such.

In the end I've said I'll go round to hers later after the Luuurve God has called.

God help us one and all.

one hour later

I am now officially going mad.

phone rang

I said, “Yes! What is it?”

And then I heard his voice.

“
Ciao
, er, is please Georgia there?”

It was him!!! Praise God and his enormous beard.

I took a big breath and said, “Hello, yes, Georgia Nicolson speaking.”

Blimey, why am I suddenly speaking like the queen?

Masimo laughed.

“
Ciao ciao
, Georgia!!
Bellissima!!!
It is you!
Un momento, per favore
.”

Then I heard him speaking off the telephone and laughing and there were other voices and then loud smacking noises like kissing.

Maybe it was kissing.

Was he actually snogging someone else whilst he was talking to me?

That seemed very lax, even for the Pizza-a-gogo types.

Then suddenly he was back talking to me again.

“Oh,
cara
,
scusa
, my brothers, my family, they are all going to the beach—later, when it is night
we are having, how you say in English—a bum-fire?”

A bum-fire? That seemed a bit mean. Setting people's bums on fire. But perhaps that is the old Roman ways emerging again.

Then he was laughing. “You are not saying anything. I have this wrong, no?”

I said, “
Sì.
”

And we both laughed.

It was marvy speaking in different languages.

He said, “Have you missed me?”

And I said, “Oh
muchos
and a half.”

He laughed again. We were laughing and laughing.

“Me too. How was your camping?”

Uh-oh. The forbidden topic. I must remember my rule about not saying anything and get things back to world politics and so on as soon as possible. I said, “Oh, it was pretty crappio.”

He said, “Tell me something from it.”

“Well, you know not much happened. Erm, Nauseating P. Green fell into the so-called toilets and it fell down and Miss Wilson was in the nuddy-pants having a shower with her soap on a rope. And then later Herr Kamyer sat on her knee
and that was all that happened.”

He said, “I have, how you would say, the mad girlfriend.”

Oooooh, he had called me his mad girlfriend. How cool was that?

We talked for ages. Well, I said stuff and he asked me what it meant mostly. I wish I could speak more Pizza-a-gogo. It's more difficult speaking to someone on the phone, anyway, because you can't see their face. And then he asked me when I am coming over to see him.

Good point, well made.

I haven't even asked my parents about the 500 squids I will need. If they would stop banging on about themselves I might get a chance to ask. I didn't like to say that I didn't have any money, so I just said, “I think, probably in two,
due
weeks.”

He said, “Ah, that is long, I wish you were here and then we could again, what do you say—snog. And I could touch you and feel your mouth on mine. And look into your lovely face. I was thinking about your beautiful eyes and I think they are so lovely, it makes my heart melt.”

Crikey, he had turned into Billy Shakespeare. Or Billyo Shakespeario who wrote the famous
Italian plays
Macuselessio
and
King Leario
.

Shut up, brain. Now this minitio. Stoppio, nowio. It still wouldn't stop it (io). I was quite literally tripping around on a cloud of luuurve. Sadly the four pints of Coke I had to keep me going before he phoned now wanted to come out and join me. I tried pressing my bottom against the stool but sooner or later something was going to give. I needed to go to the tarts' wardrobe vair vair badly. But because my vati was too mean to get a modern phone that you could walk about with I was stuck. I didn't want to say, “Oh, 'scuse me, I have to go to the piddly diddly department” because that would start another one of those international incidents.

So I said, “Oh no, someone is at the door, can you just hang on for a mo?”

He said, “
Sì, cara,
I wait.”

And then weirdly the doorbell did ring. How freaky-deaky is that? I wonder who it was. Well, whoever it was, they weren't coming in. I nipped into the tarts' wardrobe. Then the shouting began.

“Georgia, come on, open the door, we know you are in there.”

It was Grandad. And he wasn't alone. I could hear Libby and Maisie. Dear God.

I can't keep them out for long because they'll probably start knitting a rope ladder and get through my bedroom window. Perhaps I could persuade them to go away. There was a bit of silence and then Grandad said, “We've got snacks,” and he posted a sandwich through the letter box. I think it was Spam.

I went back to the telephone.

“Masimo, I have to go now, my grandad is posting sandwiches through the letter box.”

He laughed. But he laughed alone.

Then he said, “Phone me when you can, the
telefono
is Roma 75556666121.”

He did kissing stuff down the phone and then he was gone.

I didn't even remember to say “when shall we speak again” or anything because I was so flustered by the elderly loons. And I wanted to write the number down before I forgot it.

five minutes later

People will not believe this, I know, but Maisie has knitted Libby a miniskirt and matching beret for her bridesmaid's outfit.

one hour later

They have gone, thank the Lord.

four minutes later

Hearing Masimo's voice has made everything simple for me
vis-à-vis
the general Horn, ad hoc red bottomosity, etc.

I am putting the accidental snogging scenario with Dave the Laugh into a snogging cupboard at the back of my brainbox. A snogging cupboard that I will never be going into again. I have locked the door and thrown away the key.

Well, I didn't throw it away, actually, but I have put it somewhere that I will never be able to find again.

one minute later

The snogging cupboard is in fact next to another cupboard that has got other discarded boy stuff in it. Like the Mark Big Gob stuff. The resting his hand on my nunga-nunga episode, for instance. Which I have also completely forgotten about and will never remember.

one minute later

That cupboard has also got the snogging whelk boy fiasco in it. Erlack a pongoes.

one minute later

And that cupboard is next to the set of drawers that has pictures of Robbie the original Sex God in it. Funny I haven't heard anything from him since I sort of dumped him. I hope he is not on the rack of love. Although that would be a first. Usually it is me that is on the rack of love.

thirty seconds later

I'll just close the drawer now.

ten seconds later

I wonder if he has got the mega hump with me? I daren't ask Tom. Especially as he might be Mr. Ex-Hunky.

one minute later

I hope Robbie is not too sad without me. I don't like making boys cry. Although to be frank I would rather they were crying than me.

Life can be cruel.

Especially if you are vair vair sensitive like I am.

two minutes later

I don't know what to do with myself now. I am full of excitementosity. And tensionosity. And just a hint of confusiosity.

one minute later

Maybe I should fill in time by learning some Pizza-a-gogo-ese. For when I go over. Being able to say only
cappuccino
is going to wear a bit thin after a few days.

Masimo said he was off to some party tonight in Rome.

five minutes later

Should he be out having fun whilst I am hanging about like a monk in a monkhouse?

That is the drawback to being the girlfriend of a rock legend, you have to hang around a lot.

I may be driven to going round to listen to Wild Woman of the Forest ramble on about Hunky.

on the way round

If I am nice to her, she may smash open her secret piggy bank and give me spondulies to go to my beloved.

Or else I could just steal the piggy.

round at Jas's

Both her little eyes are swollen up.

I put my arm around her and said, “Jas, I have found that when you are troubled, it is often better to think of others rather than yourself. I think you would feel much better if you got me some milky coffee and jammy dodgers and I told you all about me.”

I had only just started when we were interrupted by Jas's mum saying there was a phone call from Rosie for Jas and did she want to take it on her phone in the bedroom? Jas and I each listened on an extension. I was nestled up amongst the Owl folk and Jas was in her mum and dad's bedroom on the other extension.

Every time I ask for an extension and so on, Dad has a complete nervy spaz saying wubbish stuff like, “Why don't you just have a phone glued to your head?”

And so on.

I am not surprised that Mum says she doesn't share many interests with him. What I am surprised about is that she shares any.

Roro said, “
Bonjour
, groovers. I have had
la bonne
idea. Don't you think it would be groovy and a laugh for us to work out some backing dances for Sven's gig?”

I said, “
Mais oui
, that would be
beau regarde
and also
magnifique
and possibly groovy.”

Jas said, “Well, as long as they are not silly.”

Rosie and I laughed. Then I said, “We could have a Nordic theme. We have many Viking dances in our repertoire: the Viking disco inferno, the bison dance. We could make up another one.”

Rosie said, “Yeah, grooveyard, we could have furry miniskirts and muffs.”

home again
9:00 p.m.

I have cheered Jas up and told her we will think of a plan
vis-à-vis
Tom.

I didn't mention the piggy bank, but I think it is on the shelf near her bed. Behind her mollusk collection.