Pride and Premiership (11 page)

Dad’s here – yippee!

Don’t think I’ve slept a wink. Been lying in bed, waiting to hear his key in the door. (Which is why I heard Malibu waltz in at about one.) Anyway, he’s set up camp in the front room – and I can tell he’s drunk because his footsteps sounded like this: one and … two, two. One, two… Two … two. How does he think he’s going to help the situation with Mum by turning up plastered? I’m so–oo angry with him for being so dumb, but mostly I’m just happy that he came home – I was really beginning to think he wouldn’t.

Which reminds me – must check whether Godfather Alan has got back to me with some “mediator” advice.

No, nothing from Alan.

Grr. Alarm just went off, but it’s college today – forgot to reset it for my extra hour. Fixed it: now back to bed. Yay!

Grr. I’m losing it. Did my last college session last week. That means I have a day off! Can do whatever I want at last. Right, back to bed again.

Changed my Facebook status to:
Remy Bennet is chillaxing.

Been lounging in my PJs all morning. Feels good but it also means I’ve had a lot of time to think and fret about: (a) Robbie still being in Ayia Napa, (b) Mum and Dad possibly breaking up, and (c) Spencer. What sucks the most about the Spencer situation is that not only have I dumped my back-up plan, but it looks like I’m going to lose his friendship as well.

Just hope you’re worth it, Robbie Wilkins.

Kellie just called. I decided to tell her about Spencer straight away but I don’t think she heard a word I said. I realized her mind was on something else as soon as I got no reply to “I know you probably think I’m stupid for not taking your advice…”

Most people (with a heart) would have tried to make me feel better by replying along the lines of: “No, of course you’re not stupid.”

I just got silence.

“D’you know what I mean? Kel?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about all that. I’ve got the answer to all your problems,” she finally answered.

ALL my problems?
I thought.
What, is she going to make Spencer not hate me, get Mum and Dad back on track, plus make sure Robbie doesn’t meet a girl in Ayia Napa? Perfecto!

“I’m all ears,” I told her.

“One word,” she replied. “The gym.”

I tutted. “First of all, that’s TWO words, Kel. Second of all, have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

“Of course I have,” she said. “But I must admit, I’ve been more focused on the big picture. Which is: you hate your bum, I hate my thighs, now what are we gonna do about it?”

“Where’re you going with this randomness?”

“I tell you where I’m going – no, where WE are going. We’re going for a free personal training session at Canon’s tomorrow morning.” She announced it as if I’d won the bloody lottery.

I’d usually thank someone for doing something so considerate, but I know Kellie too well.

“Who is he, Kel?”

“What’s wrong with you? Why’ve you got to be so cynical?”

“I’m not going unless you tell me who he is,” I insisted.

She gave a big sigh. “Ugh, all right then. I spotted the buffest boy on the planet yesterday, straight after I left you at Nando’s. I’m talking muscles on muscles. So I speeched him – of course.”

“Of course.”

“And it turns out he’s a fitness trainer. So guess what I said?”

“What?”

“ ‘I’d love to have a session with you.’ Get it? SESSION!”

“Duh. You don’t need to explain,” I replied.

“But I wasn’t selfish, Rem. When he agreed, I told him that I wanted to bring a friend.”

“And I suppose he’s bringing a friend for me, is he?” I asked sarcastically.

“NO. I swear. It’s just going to be us two,” she said. “And him.”

I groaned.

“Come on,” she urged. “He says they’ve got machines that can tone us up in twenty minutes. TWENTY MINUTES! Even if you don’t like it, at least you’ll be looking tight for when Robbie gets back.”

Kellie knows how to play me so–oo well. “Oh, all right then. I’m in,” I told her.

Posed in the mirror to see what I’ll look like after my gym session. I turned to the side and clenched my bum in tight. Then even tighter. Fantastico! (Even if I say so myself.)

Watched a
Jeremy Kyle
repeat on ITV2 called “Fifth show, fourth girl … second DNA test!” Really cheered me up. I don’t have problems. THOSE people have problems.

I was in my room and Malibu was in hers (gassing on the house phone) when Mum called us for dinner at six-thirty on the dot. She said we have to eat together as a family, but Dad wasn’t even home yet. So I did something sly. I told her that Dad couldn’t get through to the house phone so he sent me a text to say he was running late.

“He asked us to wait for him,” I added.

“Really?” she replied, surprised.

I know it was wrong, but someone has to do something to salvage their marriage. Anyway, I’ve got a plan but first I’m just going to check if Godfather Alan has got back to me. (He might have a better idea.)

No. Still no email from Alan. I’ll have to solve this parental marriage crisis on my own.

Here’s the plan: the dinner Mum’s just made is destined for the fridge because I’m going to blow a massive chunk of my wages and get my mum and dad’s favourite food from Wong Man Chu delivered to our house. (They always go there for their anniversaries, and this will remind them of the love they can’t afford to lose.) Perfecto!

But first I have to get Dad home.

I called Dad and told him to hurry home because I needed to speak to him. Now, as lies go, technically that wasn’t one, because I needed to get him to pretend HE ordered the Chinese takeaway to win Mum back.

He was umming and ahhhing about when he’d get here, so I got emotional and made out it had something to do with Tara (spit, spit) Reid. Technically, as lies go, that was a humongous fat one. But sometimes you have to do what it takes.

I’m about to place the order with Wong Man Chu and get them to deliver the food at eight. Yay!

I’ve had a proper heart-to-heart with Dad.

“Dad,” I said, “you and Mum have got complacent. And THAT is the beginning of the end of a relationship.”

He nodded like he was majorly disappointed with himself and then said, “So I take it Tara Reid isn’t about to kill you?”

“Erm … no,” I admitted. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to—”

But before I could tell him about my plan he said, “Remy, you know I love you, don’t you.”

The “L” word AGAIN. What’s got into my parents?

“Dad, are you sick or something?” I asked him.

“No, don’t be daft!” he said.

“OK. Is Mum?”

“We’re as fit as two fiddles,” he assured me.

“Oh. Well then… In that case… Yeah, I er … love you, too.”

After that he looked even more embarrassed than me. He dropped his head, shuffled his feet about and then eventually said, “Look, I know how special your half-birthdays are. So … I’m sorry for throwing away your card from Alan, OK?”

“YOU?” So clean-up-mad Mum was telling the truth! Her nagging must have turned the man she says is allergic to the Hoover into clean-up-mad Dad!

“Yes. I was having a little…” He stopped.

“Personality transplant?” I nearly said.

“Anyway, I’m sorry,” he told me, then turned on his heels and scarpered.

My (well, Malibu’s) little complacency speech must have worked a treat, it sounds as though Mum and Dad have made up – I can hear them kissing in the hallway. Eugh! There should be a law against hearing your parents snog!

The front door’s opening. Yes–ss! This must be the Chinese takeaway arriving, to make their night even better.

I can’t resist having a look.

It wasn’t the Wong Man Chu delivery man at the front door. My loved-up parents had opened it for themselves and were about to step out.

“Where’re you going?” I asked.

“I’m taking your mum out for dinner,” Dad said. “She deserves it.”

“Oh, Reg.” Mum sighed.

Just then, the delivery man did arrive. He got off his moped and walked up the path with four white plastic bags in his hand. “Delivery for—”

“Me!” I screeched quickly.

“Bloody hell, Remy. You feeding the bloody five thousand?” said Dad.

“Er … something like that.”

Then Mum took Dad’s arm and they went off like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

That’s most of my wages down the drain. But solving parental marriage crisis does make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Aa–aaargh, my stomach! It feels like I’ve swallowed a boulder. A boulder that was airlifted from the bottom of Lake Grease. OMG. Why couldn’t I resist that Chinese? It was a three-course meal for two that was meant for my blooming parents and I still managed to stuff most of it!

Oh well, I’m minutes away from the personal training session that Kellie sorted out. I’m sure I’ll run it off.

Tracksuit? Check! iPod shuffle? Check! Work clothes? Check!

Right, ready to – ugh! My stomach again. Need the loo!

OMG. I look paler than a goth. I’ll have to sack the training.

Eek! Just remembered Kellie said I’d have a toned bum in twenty minutes.

Robbie’s back tomorrow – I want his eyes to pop out of his head when he sees me. Definitely have to go. How bad can it be?

Disaster! No, an absolute shameful catastrophe. It was so bad that Kevin, our trainer (who was just as fit as Kellie said), has sent me home to “recuperate”.

“Don’t worry, it happens sometimes,” he told me.

How could he be so nice to someone who had just covered him in projectile sweet-and-sour prawns?

Oh no. I’m cringing just thinking about it.