Happy Birthday to me.
Hurrah that it’s a Saturday, so there’s no school. There’s also no sign of a kitten – I’ve just been downstairs to check – so Dad must be planning to take me to the Cats’ Home later to let me choose one for myself, which I was secretly hoping he’d do. He’s still in bed, which isn’t surprising, considering it’s only half past six in the morning.
So while I’m waiting for him to get up, I may as well tell you about meeting Bumble on Thursday.
You know what? It was as if we’d never been apart.
Of course he was late, like he always was, and I tried to look cross when he walked in, like I always used to do, and he managed to smile and look guilty at the same time, and I hadn’t the heart to give out to him.
Just like it always was.
I don’t know who talked more, him or me. I know we ordered two lots of Coke, and then we got chips, because suddenly it was lunchtime. He told me I looked more grown-up, which is a good thing to hear when you’re almost fourteen, and I told him he needed a haircut, which he did.
And somewhere in between the first and second Coke, Bumble started talking about Catherine Eggleston.
He told me that going out with her had been a big mistake – that he’d never been interested in her, not really. He said he just laughed when Trudy Higgins told him that Catherine fancied him. He really didn’t believe her, until Catherine herself asked him out, less than a week after she finished with Terry McNamara. She asked him out – imagine.
And because she was beautiful, and because it was nice to think that someone like her was interested in him, Bumble said yes. I suppose most boys would say yes to Catherine Eggleston.
And for a while he enjoyed being with her. He liked seeing other boys looking at her when they were out together, and she could even be quite good fun sometimes. But in the end, it wasn’t enough – he just wasn’t interested, so he finished with her.
And then I told him about Chris, and how awful it had been finishing with him, and we agreed that breaking up really sucked.
It was just lovely to be with Bumble again. I told him all about Ruth, and about Mam turning up out of the blue after Christmas. He and Mam always got on – I think Mam secretly thought of Bumble as my future husband. You know what mams are like.
Anyway, just before we said goodbye he gave me a little padded envelope and told me not to open it until my birthday, and it’s here in front of me now, and I think it’s about time I found out what’s in it.
It’s a bottle of White Musk, with a card that says, ‘Just make sure you don’t wear it when you’re meeting me.’ He’s so romantic.
Right, I can’t bear the kitten suspense any longer. Time to go downstairs and make lots of noise in the kitchen.
OK, I’ve had three sausages and two rashers, and there’s still no sign of Dad. Is he ever getting up?
Hang on, someone’s at the front door.
Molly is the cutest kitten you ever saw.
She’s like a ball of fur, white with orange paws and ears, and she’s got the tiniest little mew, and her tongue feels like the dark grey end of a rubber, the end that rubs out ink, and her tail is short and fat and fluffy, and the little pink pads under her paws are just adorable.
She’s already eaten half a tin of sardines and two saucers of kitten milk, and she’s got a milk moustache. She sneezed a minute ago, and she nearly fell over.
I want to eat her up, she’s so gorgeous.
You know where I found her? Sitting on the doormat in a Tayto box with a red ribbon around it and holes punched in the sides. Dad sneaked downstairs with her when I was having breakfast and put her on the mat and rang the bell and hid around the corner until I came out and found her.
He kept her in his room last night.
Did you get that? My Dad, who really doesn’t like cats, spent the whole night with a mewing little kitten in his room, just so she’d be a surprise for me on my birthday. Is he the best dad in the world or what?
Hang on, the post has just come, and there’s an envelope from Mam. Hopefully containing a few dollars.
You won’t believe it. It’s a return ticket to San Francisco. I’m flying out on the tenth of July and coming back on the sixth of August.
Almost a whole month with her. I’m so happy I could cry.
Ruth loves Molly. She didn’t say one insulting thing about her, not that I’d care. Not after she gave me a year’s subscription to Mizz, which she said I was getting on condition that I passed them all on to her. I told her I’d think about it.
Chloe loves Molly too. She gave me The Monster Cookie Book for my birthday. It’s the size of an encyclopaedia, and it must have about two hundred cookie recipes in it.
She and Ruth almost fought over who’d hold Molly and naturally Ruth won. They’re both gone home now, and I’m just about to start getting ready to go out to dinner with Dad. I decided that’s what I wanted to do most of all this evening.
Hang on – the doorbell’s just rung, and Dad’s in the shower, so I’d better answer it.
Dad has just knocked on my door and said if we don’t get moving, they’ll give our table away. I told him I’d be out in a sec.
You’ll never guess who was at the front door.
He was holding out a little bag, and he looked a bit shy. He said, ‘I just wanted to wish you happy birthday.’
I took the bag and opened it, and inside was a little sparkly red collar that looked as if it would fit perfectly around Molly’s neck. And when I looked back up at him, something happened.
My stomach flipped, in a really nice kind of way.
And suddenly I felt shy myself, and all I could do was smile and say, ‘Thank you, it’s lovely.’
And then he said, ‘Maybe we could go out some time.’
And I said, ‘I’d like that.’ And I watched him turn around and walk back next door.
I wonder what it’ll be like, kissing Damien Wallace.
As Granny Daly would say, YOU JUST NEVER KNOW
WHAT’S WAITING AROUND THE CORNER.