OK, first the good news. I got great reports from all the teachers at the parent-teacher meetings. Even Mr O’Connor who teaches history, and who keeps telling me that I’ll never make a historian, said I was a very likeable and outgoing girl, which I thought was really nice of him, since that was probably the only positive thing he could think of to say about me. I’m really going to try harder at history now.
The not-so-good news is that I don’t think Dad took much notice of Miss Purtill. He didn’t look as if he had anything to hide when he got home; he didn’t look particularly excited or anything. I asked him what he thought of all the teachers, and he just said they were OK, and I seemed to be doing fine, and then he gave me ten euros. He was probably relieved that I’m not getting hauled into the principal’s office any more.
And Miss Purtill didn’t treat me any differently the next day at school, didn’t mention Dad to me at all, even though I hung around after her class especially to give her a chance.
So I suppose that’s that – my big plan failed.
Marjorie Maloney’s hair is now light brown. It’s certainly an improvement on the black. Actually, I think it makes her look a lot younger. Not that I’d ever mention that to Dad, of course. They’re still going out every weekend, which makes it almost six months now. It looks like I’ll just have to live with it, as long as they don’t try to change anything.
I say ‘hello’ now if I meet her on the street, but that’s as far as it goes. No chatting, absolutely not. There is no need to give her any ideas about becoming friends with me, just because she helped me out once.
Chloe usually comes around to my house on the nights Dad goes out, not Bumble any more. They both came once, after I started hanging around with Chloe at school, and it was a disaster. Bumble said he nearly passed out, stuck on the couch between the garlic and the White Musk.
And Chloe went all quiet, like she used to when we were in primary school. Maybe she was remembering what it was like when no one really hung around with her. I wonder if she thought it was because she was the principal’s daughter. Maybe I should tell her it was just the garlic breath.
Although the funny thing is, I hardly notice it any more.
I haven’t seen too much of Bumble at all since the summer. It sure makes me feel sad. I thought we’d never stop being friends.
I’ll meet him next week though, when Chloe and I go to the show, and I’m looking forward to meeting up with some of our old classmates too, although I get the impression that Chloe isn’t that pushed really – I mean, she wants to see the show, but I don’t think there’s anyone from our old class that she’s dying to meet again.
Funny, how you can miss some things completely. There was me, feeling so lonely when Mam left, and there was Chloe, probably feeling lonely all the time. And remember it was Chloe who made an effort to cheer me up, when she offered me her Penguin bar at break – was that because she was the only one who understood how I felt?
Dad asked me what I want for Christmas, and I told him a mobile phone, and he said, ‘We’ll see,’ which probably means yes, so I left the brochure open on the kitchen table with a ring around the one I want. I’m sure I’m the only one in the class without one – apart from Chloe – which is truly embarrassing.
Still no sign from Mam that she’s coming home. I really think she will though – I’m trying not to think about it too much, but I have a feeling she will.
The gorgeous pizza delivery boy’s name is Henry, which I think is so cute. He told me we had the same taste in pizza, the last time he came round. I wonder if he noticed how fabulous I smelt. Probably not, with the pepperoni nearly knocking the two of us out.
Henry and Elizabeth – sounds like a royal couple. Wonder what his second name is. He never wears gloves, even when it’s really freezing. He has a thin silver ring on his first finger, a bit like the one that Mam used to wear. And there’s a tiny hole in the knee of his jeans that just makes me melt.
By the way, my nails are growing out nicely since I stopped biting them. It was pretty easy in the end. I got some pearly pink nail varnish like Miss Purtill, but I don’t think it’s me really. It’s not loud enough, if you know what I mean. (Not that I’m loud, of course – I’m a real lady, ha ha.)
Last Saturday Ruth Wallace told me she could smell my breath a mile away, and it was like mouldy cheese. I’m getting very tired of her stupid comments. One of these days, I might just have to think up some of my own, wheelchair or no wheelchair.
