Take My Word for It (7 page)

Lynette came over about seven o'clock. Dad was down the street getting a video, so suddenly there I was alone with Lynette. And suddenly I was being a complete bitch. I don't even know why. I was sort of hating myself for doing it at the same time that I was doing it. I think it was because Lynette was trying too hard, if that makes any sense. She was trying to get me to talk about school and rowing, and in the middle of it I just turned on the TV and sat there watching it, giving little grunts and yes and no answers. I was so rude I embarrassed myself, but I didn't let her see that, and of course she was getting embarrassed and trying not to show it. Then I heard Dad's car in the drive and I jumped up and raced out there, pretending I was really keen to see which videos he'd brought.

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8

Ran early this morning, and made Dad come too. He's getting a bit pudgy. We just jogged round Lipman Park a few times. Then I went into work with him, like I used to when I was little. Mainly I went because I can't stand being on my own in the flat, but I had quite a good day in there. It's changed a lot. Dad's in a new office—a much better one, the one Mr Dunlop had before he retired. It's got a view over the Botanical Gardens—so beautiful. He's got computer screens in there now too, because the Exchange has gone computerised. There's a lot of new staff—Miss McDonald left and he's got a new secretary, who looks like Lynette actually. Trust Dad. I asked if she was Lynette's sister and he got quite annoyed. I also saw Oliver Boyd, who used to go with Chloe, and now he's working for Dad.

I just did odd jobs for Dad and for Mr Susanto. I filed a lot of stuff, mainly annual reports. And I went through all the job applications they'd had in the last few months, making sure there were no references or certificates that needed to be returned before the failed applications got shredded. Then I got lunches for a lot of people (I changed Dad's order from a pie to a salad roll, and he ate it). In the afternoon I helped with the photocopying and shredding, then went out and did some shopping. We got back here about 6.30.

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9

I'm so angry! Dad gave me a big talk about being nice to Lynette—I'm sure she dobbed on me. What does he want me to do, pretend I like her when I don't? I hate the way she practises her public relations on me. She came over last night again and asked me if I wanted to go to the beach today. I made a pathetic excuse about meeting Kizzy but it must have been obvious I was lying, 'cos I didn't try very hard to hide it. I had somewhere else to go, anyway.

Dad talks to Lynette like she's about ten years old.

I can't wait to go to Mum's.

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11

I got to Mt Sandon yesterday. It's been OK. Aunt Sophie's here, and Edward and Will, but not Nick—he's at a tennis camp somewhere.

We played tennis today. American doubles, and I got thrashed. The boys have improved so much.

Chloe's coming to tea tonight.

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14

Oh what a weekend. Mum had a dinner party last night that went till three in the morning. The Vincents stayed the night; they've just gone. Mum's energy never falters though. She was up at six and went for a run along the beach. There was a doctor at the dinner party, Dr Weatherly, and I think Mum's got her eye on him.

If you want to know the truth I hate the way they're linking up with all these new people—Mum and Dad I mean. We were all together once, weren't we? Now they're forming new groups, even new families maybe. I don't want that. I want to be back at ‘Connewarre' with the friends we used to have. Is that so much to ask? Why are they doing all this?

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15

I don't know what's wrong with me lately. There are some entries in this Journal that I can't bring myself to read back over, they're so stupid. Yesterday's, for one.

Today wasn't bad. Went down the beach with Edward and Will. They're so funny—they tell all these radical stories about school. Makes Warrington sound a bit square. But I'm sure it's easier to get away with stuff at their school. We're watched twenty-four hours a day.

Mum and Aunt Sophie came down later. Aunt Sophie was paying Mum out about this Dr Weatherly guy. I didn't think it was that funny, but you never know how serious adults are.

Peter's coming over Wednesday. At least that'll help make up for my missing the party. I can't wait to see him.

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16

Had a good fight with Mum today, over nothing much. She wanted me to go shopping with them, I didn't want to go. She said if I stayed home I had to do the ironing, I said OK, but somehow didn't get around to it . . . could have been because I was on the phone to Peter half the afternoon. Mum got home, went sick, and I said some fairly off things, I must admit. But I was still going to do the ironing—I wasn't trying to get out of it. Better go and apologise—something I am not experienced at, am not good at, and definitely do not like doing.

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17

Peter, Pierre, Petras, Pedro . . . no, not Pedro. There's so many ways of writing it. I looked up a dictionary of names at the newsagent tonight when I was getting the paper. They said Peter was out of fashion for a while but made a comeback when ‘Peter Pan' was published. Somehow I don't think my Peter would have much in common with Peter Pan. Wasn't Peter Pan the boy who never grew up? Peter Fallon-White's grown up, that's one thing I can vouch for.

We had a breezy time. He came to lunch and did a good suction job on Mum, then we walked down to the beach and sat there and talked—and a few other things. Then we went to the shops, then he had to go. I miss him. I missed him from the moment he got on the bus. I've rung him tonight already—can't wait till tomorrow when we can talk again—he's ringing me.

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20

It's nearly the end of the holidays and my secret mission has failed so far. I wasn't going to write about it in here but I've changed my mind. I want this to be a true record of the year, so when I'm an old grandmother (Mrs Fallon-White?) I can read it and see what I was really like, what I was thinking about and feeling.

Four times these holidays (today was the fourth) I've taken a no. 8 bus (no. 18 from Dad's flat) to Mercer, and sat in the milk bar diagonally opposite 61 Dobson Road, and taken as long as mortally possible to eat a sandwich and drink a coffee, while I watched, hoping to see them. I saw Mrs Aston once, going in, but no sign of Miranda. I'd recognise her if I saw her.

It's frustrating that I don't know the truth about Mrs Aston and Dad. I just want to know. I think I'd know if I saw Miranda.

Now I'll have to make sure I hide this Journal extra well for the rest of the holidays. Mum'd be so upset if she found I'd been there, looking for them.

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21

Went to Peter's tonight for dinner. His father drove me back here a few minutes ago. I had a great time! It's a funny old house but really sweet. And his parents were funny—they had about six arguments while I was there, but no-one seemed too worried.

Peter's father used to be in the Navy. He's older than the fathers of most kids my age but he's a cool guy. He calls everyone ‘darling'—his wife, Peter, me, the dog, the cat. He looks like a Norwegian sailing captain—fluffy white hair and red cheeks. He dresses like an out-of-work gardener—one of the arguments was about his not getting changed for dinner.

Mrs Fallon-White's tall, but with this great face, great bone structure as my mum would say. I'd love to photograph her, or paint her. She's very calm—Peter says she meditates and does Yoga and stuff. She's got a notice in the kitchen above the phone, that says, ‘The greatest risk is to take no risk.' I like that! That's my philosophy! I'll have to remember it next term when Mrs Graham stands there draped in jewellery, telling us we can't wear earrings, and a little voice inside me is saying, ‘Put your hand up and ask her why.'

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22

We all go back to school tomorrow but Edward and Will went home today to get their stuff. For some stupid reason we ended up playing Monopoly all morning before they left. It was so dumb, one of those games that go on forever. By the time we gave up Will had about twenty million dollars, and Edward was about twenty million in debt, and I was even. Will's so annoying when he's winning though—I nearly rammed his hotels, cards and money down his mouth a few times. But we had some laughs.

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25

I am so stressed out. This Basketball is the biggest mess I've ever seen. It's so different from rowing, where it was all super-organised. We're meant to have a team for Saturday; we've had two practices, one of which was a joke, and at the end of today's practice Dr Thorley told me to pick a team and put it on the board by 9 am tomorrow. I don't think she realises it's not quite that easy. Ann's not back from holidays, Kate reckons she's going on exeat, and Sarah says she's got Osgood-Schlatter's. I said, ‘Well you've got to have a note from Matron,' and Sarah went off at me, saying, ‘You're not a teacher.' OK, I know that, but if the teacher won't act like a teacher, what are you supposed to do?

We're going to get thrashed anyway, I know that, but it'd help if people made a bit of an effort.

There's so much happening already. We've got another debate in a couple of weeks, there's a huge History assignment on the Crusades that we're getting tomorrow, and there're auditions for the School Play soon, too—I wouldn't mind having a go at that.

Meanwhile Marina sits there like an island, while we storm around her. I wonder how much of all these details she takes in? She probably sees more than we think. She writes in her Journal quite a lot, probably about us. God knows what she thinks of us. It's a madhouse tonight.

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26

This Crusades assignment is enormous. I don't see how we're going to get it done. Title page, three maps, time line, half a dozen essays, three biographies, illustrations, bibliography, index. Mr Journal, I don't like your chances this term.

Went and had a good talk to Skye Wills tonight. We hardly ever seem to penetrate the holy land of the Year 11 cubicles, but sometimes I'd rather talk to them than the Year 9's. Skye especially. She said they went to Spectacle Beach for most of the holidays and half the school was there. That's what I hate about this place. Unless you dress a certain way and talk a certain way and go to certain places for the holidays you're out of it. Skye said she saw the Firsts on TV—they came third in the Nationals. I was annoyed with myself for forgetting to watch, but TV doesn't play much part in my life, so I never think to look at the programme guide.

Skye knows the Fallon-Whites so we had a good goss about them. She really likes them. I can relate to that. She said Mrs Fallon-White had cancer years ago, but she came through it, but that's why they didn't have any more children—she couldn't. I was shocked—Peter never told me that.

Nothing else is very interesting. Cathy's got a man, a guy called Guy. Marina's birthday is soon, according to Miss Curzon, so we're going to get presents for her and give her an extra good day. She seems OK after the holidays—I don't know where she went. I wonder how different this dorm would have been without her in it. Honestly, when she was coming here, I didn't know what we were getting. I remembered the court case from the papers—it wasn't that long ago—but you never think people will step out of the news into your own life. I thought she'd be, I don't know, more psycho, screaming and having nightmares and chucking fits. She's the opposite of that though. She goes on with her life in quite an organised way now—she gets herself ready in the mornings and is on time for everything. But she doesn't look at us—she looks at what she's doing, or into the distance, thinking her own thoughts. You try to say hello but she won't meet your eye. I'm beginning to think she's very strong actually, even if she is frustrating to deal with. She's stronger than me in some ways. I gave up, she hasn't.

Cathy reckons she's going to invite her home for mid-term. Good on her—I hope she does. Cathy's family's really nice—they took me out for lunch one day last year.

Well, there's not much to do. I can't start the Crusades assignment till I can get to the library for some books. I could do the Title Page I suppose. Mr Ross is on duty—I might ask him for some paper. Hope we get a good supper tonight—it's Matron's night off, and the Relieving Matron does great suppers. Better ones anyway. Everything's relative, as Mr Ross keeps saying. The game tomorrow (basketball) is at 9.30. We've got a massive squad of six, so too bad if someone's injured in the first two minutes, or gets fouled off.

I'm exhausted. It's tiring being back at school. Think I'll catch up on some Z's.

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28

Everyone's on leave except me, as usual. Even Marina's gone, to the Lindells again. You don't normally get so many people out on the first weekend. Issy's around somewhere but I haven't seen her.

I sat in my tree for hours this afternoon, reading a book.