that I’m only believing to get things.
Tuesday July 20th
10:00 a.m.
My room…soon to be a shrine to Buddha. Unless God gets his act together. Birds tweeting like birds at a bird party. Lovely sunny day. For some. I can see the sunshine glancing off Mr Next Door’s bald head. He’s playing with his stupid yappy little squirt dogs. Just a minute, I’ve spotted Angus hanging about in the potting shed area. Uh-oh, he looks a bit on the peckish side, like he fancies a poodle sandwich. I’d better go waggle a sausage at him and thereby avert a police incident.
How in the name of Mr Next Door’s gigantic shorts am I supposed to be a Buddhist with these constant interruptions? I bet the Dalai Lama hasn’t got a cat. Or a dad in New Zealand. (I wonder if the Dalai Lama’s father is called the Daddy Lama?…I amaze myself sometimes because even though my life is a facsimile of a sham I can still laugh and joke!!)
10:36 a.m.
What is the point? Mum just laughed when I told her about looking after the house and told me to go and pack.
Midday
Even though it is quite obvious I am really depressed and in bed Mum comes poking around being all efficient and acting as if life is not a tragedy of a sham (which it is). She made me get up and show her what I had packed for Whangamata. She went ballisticisimus. “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, eyelash curlers, two bikinis and a cardigan?!”
“Well I won’t be going out anywhere as I don’t like sheep and my heart is broken.”
“But you might wear your bikini?”
“I’ve only packed that for health reasons.”
“What health reasons?”
“Well, if I can’t eat anything because of my heartache, the sun’s rays may keep me from getting rickets. We did it in biology.”
“It’s winter over there.”
“Typical.”
“You are being ridiculous.”
That’s when all the pain came raging out of me. “I’m being ridiculous!!??? I’m being ridiculous??? I’m not the one who is dragging someone off to the other side of the world for NO good reason!!”
She went all red. “No good reason?! It’s to see your dad!”
“I rest my case.”
“Georgia, you are being horrible!” And she stormed off.
I feel a bit like crying. It’s not my fault if I am horrible. I am under pressure. Why can’t Dad be here? Then I could be horrible to him without feeling so horrible. (And without having to go to the other side of the planet. Most teenagers only have to go into the sitting room to be horrible to their dads.)
It’s not easy having an absent dad, that’s what people don’t realise. I am effectively (apart from my mum and grandparents and my crap cousin James, etc.) an orphan.
1:00 p.m.
Libby crept into my room carrying a saucer of milk really carefully. She was on her tippy toes and purring. I said, “You are nice, Libbs. Just put it down; Angus is out hunting.”
She very slowly and on tippy toes brought the saucer over to me and put it on my desk. She put her little hands on my head and started stroking my hair. My eyes filled up with tears. I said, “If I can’t be happy in my life I can try and see that you have a nice life, Libbs. I will give up all thoughts of happiness myself and be like your Buddhist nurse. For your sake I will wear flat shoes and those really horrible orange robes and…”
Then Libby started pushing my head quite roughly down towards the saucer of milk. “C’mon, Ginger, come on. Milky pops.”
She’ll make me sleep in a cat basket soon. Honestly, I think it’s about time she started kindergarten and mixed with normal children.
It takes twenty-four hours to fly to New Zealand.
6:00 p.m.
Uncle Eddie roared up on his pre-war motorbike. He’s come round to collect Angus. How can I live without the huge furry fool? How can he live without me? No one else knows his special little ways. Who else will know that he likes you to trail his sausages around on a string so that he can pounce on them from behind the curtains? Who else will know about mouse racing? Not Uncle Eddie, that’s for sure. He truly does come from Planet Bonkers. He came in wearing his motorbike leathers, took off his helmet and said, “How’re you diddling?”
What is the matter with him? Why Mum thinks anyone as bald and barmy as him could look after an animal I don’t know. Anyway, it’s irrelevant what anyone thinks as he will never in a zillion years catch Angus and get him in a basket.
6:30 p.m.
I don’t think I could be more sad. We are going to be away for months. I will miss all my friends; I’ll lose the SG. My hockey career will be in ruins. Everyone knows the Maoris don’t play hockey. They play…er…anyway, we haven’t done New Zealand in geoggers yet, so I don’t know what they do. Who cares?
6:35 p.m.
Time ticking away. It’s like waiting to be buried, I should think. Or being in RE.
Phoned Jas. I wanted to know if Tom had heard anything from his gorgeous older brother, the Sex God, but I didn’t want to let Jas know that I wasn’t interested in her life. So I asked her a few questions about her “boyfriend” first.
“Hi, Jas, how are you and Tom getting along?”
She went all girlish and giggly. “Well, do you know, we were just laughing so much because Tom said that he was in the shop the other day and—”
“Jas, did he mention anything, you know, interesting?”
“Oh yeah, loads.”
There was a pause– she drives me INSANE!
I said, “Like what?”
“Well, he was thinking of suggesting that they start selling more dairy products in their shop, because—”
“No, no, Jas I said interesting– not really, really boring. Has he, for instance, mentioned his gorgey older brother?”
Jas was a bit huffy but she said, “Hang on a minute.” Then I heard her shouting, “Tom! Have you spoken to Robbie?”
In the distance I heard Tom shouting, “No, he’s gone away on a footie trip.”
I said to Jas, “I know that.”
Jas shouted
