This is weird. It’s been four days since I attacked Ruth Wallace, and absolutely nothing has happened. What is going on? Why has nobody come around to demand an explanation?
And why haven’t I seen any sign of Ruth in the last four days? Where is she?
I can only think of two possible explanations. One is that she’s dead, or at least so badly injured that she can’t tell anyone who did it. I try not to think about that one.
The other is that she’s OK, and she just didn’t tell anyone what I did – but that doesn’t make sense. Surely Ruth Wallace would be delighted to have an excuse to get me into trouble – and surely I gave her the perfect excuse, didn’t I? I assaulted her. I attacked a helpless invalid with a full litre of milk.
Like I said, it’s weird.
Maybe she’s doing this on purpose – staying out of the way just to scare me. Well if she is, her plan is working brilliantly. I can’t sleep at night, thinking about what might be happening next door.
And I can hardly eat – well, just bits of things. Yesterday I had half a Weetabix, two mandarin oranges, three fish fingers, a few spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry’s and a bowl of popcorn. (Well, I was starving by bedtime, so I had to come up with something quick, and it was the popcorn you do in the microwave.)
Dad keeps asking me if I’m OK. Imagine what he’d say if I told him what I’d done.
Mam spent Christmas with Enda and George in a log cabin that George’s family owns in some mountains. She says it was raining most of the time, but they went walking a lot. She’s back at work now. So is Dad, so I have the house to myself every day until next Monday, when I go back to school.
Chloe is in Kerry till the weekend.
I haven’t seen Bumble since the lunch in Nosh. I wonder how his big romance is getting on. I wish we were still best friends, and I could tell him about Ruth. He’s probably the only person in the world who wouldn’t be shocked and horrified.
So what else is new? I’ve been sending a few texts, trying to get used to it, but I’m still really slow. I think you’re supposed to leave out most of the vowels, so I sent this one to Dad a few days ago:
Jst prctsng
And he texted me back with this:
Next time try English.
Yesterday I sent Mam this one:
Hpy Nw Yr frm Lz.
I suppose it did look a bit like Chinese, but Mam understood it. This was her answer:
Same 2 u xxx
It’s no use – I can’t think about anything else except Ruth Wallace. Hang on – Dad just called upstairs that I’m wanted on the phone. It can’t be Mam – it’s too early for her.
You won’t believe who it was – Chris Thompson.
He wants to meet me. I’m in shock. He got my number from Bumble. Did you get that? He asked Bumble for my number.
My hands are shaking. I can hardly write. My heart is hammering. I hope my voice didn’t wobble when I was talking to him. I can hardly remember what we talked about.
We’re going to the cinema, on Friday night – God, that’s only three days away. He told me what’s on, but I can’t remember. I won’t be able to concentrate on a minute of it anyway, with him sitting beside me.
Oh my God – what if he puts his arm around me? What if anyone sees us? Am I supposed to slap his face if he tries anything, or what?
OK Liz, get a grip. It’s only a date.
Oh my God – a DATE. My first ever date – and with a really cute guy too. Did I mention his gorgeous dimple? And how amazing he was in Grease?
I feel faint. Maybe I’d better eat something.
I couldn’t eat more than two bites of Dad’s macaroni cheese. He felt my forehead and asked me if I was OK. I told him it was my time of month, which shut him right up.
Between Ruth Wallace and Chris Thompson, I’m probably going to fade away from starvation, or collapse from lack of sleep.
God, I’ve just thought of something else. Do I pay for myself at the cinema, or does he? Or do I sort of pretend to want to pay, and is he supposed to jump in and insist on doing it? How does anyone know what to do in these situations? Who makes up the rules, and where can I read them?
I want Mam. She phoned while Dad and I were washing up, but I couldn’t tell her – I just couldn’t say it on the phone. I wanted to sit beside her and look at her face, and ask her a million questions. And of course I couldn’t tell her about attacking Ruth Wallace either – another thing I had to keep from her.
And I can’t call Chloe to ask about Chris, because I don’t know the number in Kerry, and Chloe is the only other person in Ireland without a mobile phone. Bugger. Not that Chloe would be any help really though – she’s never had a date either – but at least I could talk to her about it.
Catherine Eggleston would be able to give me loads of tips, but I’d rather eat maggots on toast than ask her.
And oh God, what do I do if Chris tries to kiss me? I have no idea how to kiss anyone, apart from my parents and Granny Daly, and something tells me this is going to be very different. Now I really feel sick. Maybe I’ll ring him and tell him I have an infectious disease and I’ve been forbidden to go outside for at least three years.
But then I’d just have to go through all this again the next time somebody asked me out – that’s if anyone else ever does – so maybe I should just get it over with now.
I haven’t told Dad yet. Obviously he knows about Chris calling, because he answered the phone. Although he didn’t ask me who it was afterwards, which I thought was very nice of him – he was probably dying to know. Or maybe he just assumed it was Bumble.
I’ll tell him I’m meeting a school friend at the cinema, which is true, sort of. He might be going out himself on Friday night with Marjorie – oh God, what if they go to the cinema too? Imagine if we all met up in the foyer. I think I’d die.
It’s past midnight. I’d better go to bed, although I know I won’t sleep. My head is bursting with worry and excitement.
Can you believe I actually forgot about Ruth Wallace for a while there? I’ve just remembered her again now.
I don’t know what’s more terrifying, being arrested for murdering your neighbour or going on your first date.