The Tutti-frutti Collection

Saturday

Ha! So much for Mum not letting me go to Gemma’s sleep-over in case she corrupted me. I went to have tea with the Sereena person this afternoon. The sweet little thing who doesn’t swear or watch horror movies. I can see why Mum thought she was a sweet little thing. It is because she has a sweet little face. (Yuck!) She also has long blonde hair and rose-pink cheeks and eyes the size of satellite dishes and blue as whatever’s blue. The sky. Forget-me-nots. Saffires. Rather revolting, really. At least, I think so. But it’s what grown-ups like.

So anyway, we had tea and her mum was there and she’s sort of … frothy. All fizzing and bubbling like Andrew’s Fruit Salts that Dad used to take for his acid indigestion. She kept giggling and saying things like, “Oh, Reena.” (That’s what she calls her. Double yuck.) “Oh, Reena, isn’t this fun! You’ve found a friend already!” But I don’t know whether I want to be her friend. I like to choose my own friends, and besides, I’ve got Skinny.

Afterwards we went up to her room and she said, “What do you want to do?” And I said, “Whatever you want to do.” And she said, “Would you like to see some pictures of people having babies?”

I said, “I’ve seen pictures of people having babies. We did all that in Juniors.”

“All right,” she says. “What about pictures of people completely starkers?” I said, “Where would you get pictures of people starkers?” and she said her best friend Sharon where she used to live had torn them out of a magazine and photocopied them for her. She said some of them were really gross. Do you want to have a look?”

I was tempted to say yes as I thought it would pay Mum out for not letting me go to Gemma’s sleep-over, and also it would be a new experience and I do believe in having new experiences, but really to be honest I didn’t fancy it, I mean that sort of thing could put you off for life and I would like to grow up to be reasonably normal.

Sereena said, “Oh, well, if you don’t think you can take it, I’ll tell you some jokes instead, shall I?” And before I can stop her she’s telling me all these jokes that her friend Sharon had told her and which I shall not repeat in here as this is a diary and not a reseptikle for filth.

Pause while I look in the dictionary. That word is spelt receptacle. And saffire is spelt sapphire. I am very good at spelling, on the whole. Mrs James said to me the other day (before we had our little talk), “Your spelling and punctuation are excellent, Cherry.” On the other hand I cannot understand figures, which is what Mr Fisher, who takes us for maths, calls “a decided drawback”. Mum can’t understand figures either, and nor can Slimey Roland, but it doesn’t matter to them as they do the sort of jobs where figures are not important. Mr Fisher says that anyone who is not numerate, meaning anyone that can’t add up or subtract, will have a hard time of it in the 21st century. He says we must come to terms with technology or perish.

Computers are technology and I’m not very good with computers, either. I don’t know what I will end up doing. Sweeping the streets, I expect. I don’t think I will be able to work with books like Mum, as I don’t think there will be any books left, just CD Roms, or whatever they are. And I don’t think there will be people drawing pictures of elves, either. It will all be done by computer and people such as myself will be left behind like old empty bottles on the beach.

I tried talking about this with Sereena, thinking I would find out what kind of things she is good at other than telling rude jokes, but you cannot have a proper conversation with her as you can with the Melon. All she can do is bat her satellite dishes and giggle. Of course the Melon is a bit of an intellectual, I mean, she has a real brain. Sereena’s brain if she has one, is about the size of a pea.

When I got home Mum said, “There! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I told her it was “enlightening” and she said, “Why? What did you do?” I said, “Read porno mags and told dirty jokes.” Mum laughed. She thought it really funny. “No, seriously,” she said.

I said that seriously we had discussed what we thought would happen in the 21st century and I had come to the melancholy conclusion that far from being a pop star or a judge I would most likely end up living in a cardboard box as I was not numerate and couldn’t make friends with computers the way some people could. Skinny, for example, and Sereena. Mum told me not to be so pessimistic. She said, “You’re like me, you’re into words.” I said yes, but there won’t be any words. Just computerspeak. Mum said, “Oh, what a bleak picture!” I said, “Yes, it is, but I think one has to face facts.”

Mum doesn’t want to face them. She says that if it’s going to be a world without books and pictures then she’d sooner not be here. Slimey didn’t play any part in this conversation as he was upstairs finishing some more elves to meet what is called “a deadline”, meaning (I think) that his publishers will sue him for vast sums of money if he hasn’t drawn the right number by a certain date.

It was nice being on my own with Mum, even if our conversation was rather doom-laden. At least she didn’t mention the baby, which is now sticking out in front of her like a huge horrible sack of potatoes.

She asked me the other day if I’d like to feel it but I said no, thank you very much. Catch me!

Tomorrow I am going to stay with Dad. Hooray hooray hooray! Three whole days without Slimey Roland! No more stupid jokes, no more stupid cards! I can go to bed at night and know that nobody is going to come creeping along the passage and shoving stuff under my door while I’m asleep, which is something I really hate.

Dad is picking me up in the car. He is driving all the way from Southampton and is arriving at about 9 o’clock, so I must be sure and be up early. I am going to set my alarm. Fortunately I have already packed my case, I did it this morning with Mum’s help. She kept saying things like, “Well, you won’t need all that much, now it’s only for a few days.” She just refuses to accept that Dad is an important person and cannot simply please himself. This is because he is in an office. All Mum and Slimey ever do is sit at home reading books and drawing elves. But with Dad, there is a great deal depending on him and he has to be prepared to work long hours. It is not his fault. I do wish Mum could see this.

I am going to take my diary with me just in case, but I expect I shall be too busy to write anything in it. The next three days are going to be ACTION PACKED!!!

141 Arethusa Road

London W5

25 October

Dearest Carol,

I cannot believe it! A Texan called Dwayn? Is this a real name??? He sure does sound hunky, hon!

No, no, no, I’m only joking! In all seriousness, I’m really glad you’ve found someone to have fun with. You deserve it. Enjoy! But full reports, please. I am consumed with vulgar curiosity.

Cherry has suggested that if the baby is a girl we should call her Bredan… get it? Oh, ho ho! She is picking up this sort of humour from Roly. But I was so pleased that she feels able to make jokes about it. It shows she’s been thinking.

Yesterday she went over the road to have tea with a new little girl who has just moved into our neighbourhood. I call her a little girl because although she is the same age as Cherry she is most delightfully quaint and old-fashioned! She actually wears a big red bow in her hair and shiny shoes with ankle straps. It takes me right back! Cherry by contrast is into all this heavy grunge gear and walks around looking like something that’s crawled out of a garbage heap. I feel it would do her good to make friends with someone like little Sereena.

At the moment she is not here as she has gone off to spend a few days with Gregg. There are times when I could cheerfully strangle that man! He had arranged to pick her up at about nine o’clock and she was all ready and waiting, down in the hall with her suitcase, wearing her best clothes (ie, the grungiest ones she could find) and by 10.30 when he still hadn’t arrived I rang Southampton and got this bimbo he’s shacked up with and she says, “Oh, yah, he’s just left about ten minutes ago.” Of course by then the roads were busy which meant he didn’t get here until lunch-time.

It really is too bad. Poor little Cherry sitting there waiting like some faithful hound, and this selfish irresponsible oaf not even bothering to call and let us know! Cherry was almost in tears. When he finally turned up she went catapulting into his arms and it was all kissy kissy huggy huggy. I expect I ought to have found it touching but the truth is I was too cross. Also, I suppose, if I am to be honest, I was a bit hurt at her being so obviously eager to get away from us. Roly says, “Come on, it’s her dad! She hasn’t seen him for six months,” and I know that I mustn’t be jealous but it seems so unfair! He comes breezing in, three hours late, and she’s all over him with never so much as a backward glance for me and Roly. I offered the fool a cup of coffee (I wasn’t going to offer him lunch!) but I could tell that Cherry just wanted to be off.

Oh, aren’t I sour and crabby! But I do dread her returning home full of discontent, telling me how wonderful it is at her dad’s and how horrible it is here. They’re bound to spoil her rotten, it’s only to be expected. And it will never occur to her that they’ve only had her for three days while we have her all the rest of the year! She’s a bright child, but not always the easiest, which I know is partly my fault. My fault and Gregg’s. Our getting divorced has been difficult for her. I keep telling myself that I must make allowances.

Oh, but she can be so ungracious! Roly felt that he would like to give her something as a going-away present. A little something to take with her. He said would she like a book and I said yes, I thought a book would be an excellent idea, because one thing she does do is read, even if it is mostly schlock horror just at present. He went to such pains to find one that she would like! She is writing this diary at the moment (it is supposed to be a secret, but she lets slip these little remarks from time to time) and we suddenly remembered that wonderful book which you and I read when we were Cherry’s age. I Capture the Castle. Do you remember it? Cassandra Morton sitting on the draining board writing her journal with her feet in the sink? How we wallowed in it! So Roly combed through half the secondhand bookshops in London until he found an actual original copy and he slipped it into her bedroom while she was asleep, with one of his lovely funny little notes all done in pictures, telling her to take it with her to read while she was away, and what do you think? I’ve just been in there (it looks like a bomb site but I am not going to clear it) and she has just left the book lying on the floor! I haven’t dared to tell Roly, he would be so hurt.

I really do begin to despair. It sometimes seems to me that the harder Roly tries the worse she treats him. And I have this horrible feeling that she is going to be even more impossible when she comes back from Gregg’s.

Children! Think twice before embarking, no matter how handsome your Texan may be!

Eagerly await news of developments from your end. Will report back from mine.

Love from

PS We are going to take the opportunity to redecorate the spare bedroom ready for the baby while Cherry is away. We are also going to go and buy all the necessary paraphernalia – prams, potties, nappies! I thought I’d finished with all that. Roly is really excited. I only wish Cherry were, so that we could share it. I could really look forward to the event if I thought that she were happy.

Chapter 6 (#u9bfd9cb0-0f56-5bd1-83bf-75605afd6e61)

Monday

No time to write in here yesterday so I am doing it now while Rosemary has her bath and gets ready to go out. She takes a long time to get ready, at least she did yesterday when we went for a pizza. We are going to go out every single day that I am here! This is because Rosemary doesn’t like cooking, which is all right by me. I like to go out.

Tonight we are going for an Indian meal and tomorrow we are going for a Chinese one. To think that at home we only go out about once every six months! But Dad and Rosemary both do proper jobs and so I expect they earn a lot more money than Mum and Slimey, which is only right. Just sitting about reading books and drawing elves can’t be classed as proper jobs. I don’t think so.

I have only met Rosemary two times before so that I do not really know her very well. The times that I have met her are once before she got married to Dad (they did it in a love temple in the Seychelles. Incredibly r-r-r-romantic!) and once after, when they came back. That was almost a year ago. Since then I have only seen Dad in London except once when I came to Southampton just for the day and Rosemary was not there.

She is quite pretty and wears lots of make-up and really smart clothes. She is younger than Mum and of course much slimmer. Even if Mum weren’t having this baby she would still be much slimmer. She and Dad go jogging every morning and Rosemary also does aerobics. Dad has started to play squash and is not anywhere near as pudgy as when he was driving the cab.

It is I must say a great relief to be in a house – well, a flat actually – where everything isn’t being got ready for a baby. There are no signs of a baby in this place, thank goodness!

It was strange at first being in a flat after being used to a house but now I think that I prefer it. I think it would be sensible if everyone lived in flats because then there would be a lot more land where you could grow grass and trees. I think probably it is almost antisocial for people to live in houses. I am going to say this to Slimey next time he starts on about the environment and how we are ruining it. Dad and Rosemary aren’t taking up half the space that he and Mum take up! Also I enjoy everything being on one level so that you don’t have to keep rushing up and down the stairs all the time. Also there is a lift, in which you can meet people and talk. I shall live in a flat when I am grown-up – if I am not living in a cardboard box, that is.

I told Dad about the cardboard box and he said that he will buy me a personal computer for my Christmas present. He said, “I cannot have a daughter of mine being computer-illiterate, but of course your mother has always had a tendency to be a bit of a Luddite.” I said what was a Luddite and he said they were people who went round smashing machinery. I said that I didn’t think Mum smashed it on purpose, she just wasn’t very good with it, like for instance last week she broke the handle off the washing machine and put the vacuum bag in the wrong way so that all the dust came flying out into the house.

Dad said, “Typical! And I suppose he’s not much better?” I said, “Slimey? He’s even worse!” which isn’t strictly speaking true since it was Slimey who fixed the handle of the washing machine with superglue and changed the bag in the vacuum cleaner. But it’s true that neither of them knows the first thing about computers. Mum just uses her word processor like an ordinary typewriter, which was a thing that used to drive Dad mad when he was living with us. He was always trying to teach her different things that she could do with it and she wouldn’t listen. She used to say, “Oh, I can’t be bothered with all that!” Deliberate stupidity, Dad said it was.

The journey from London to Southampton in Dad’s car was brilliant except that half-way here I started to feel sick, which Dad said was probably because I’d got out of the habit of travelling by car. I said yes, Slimey always insisted on going everywhere by bus or bicycle and Dad said the man was an idiot. He said, “Like it or not, the car is here to stay,” and, “You can’t put the clock back.” Anyway, we had to stop a couple of times so that I could get some air and then I felt all right again. But I have never felt car sick before. It is all Slimey’s fault.

Today we went for a drive to the New Forest (I didn’t get sick this time) and had lunch in a pub, in the garden, and then drove to a place called Lymington, which is at the sea, but it was too cold to go swimming and so we just looked at it and came home again. Tomorrow Dad has to go into the office in the morning because there is a problem which only he can sort out, so Rosemary and I are going to meet him for lunch and then go round Southampton where there are some things to be seen, such as an old museum and an ancient wall. Also of course the docks. I am looking forward to it.

I rang Mum last night to tell her that we had arrived safely as she worries about accidents, and she said, “So how are you getting on? I suppose everything is lovely?” I said that it was and that so far I was really enjoying myself (though in fact we hadn’t done very much at that stage). I said, “Dad’s told me I can stay till Friday if I want.” He told me in the car. It was one of the first things he said. He said, “Rosemary’s managed to wangle an extra two days and I’ll take off what time I can.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” I said to Mum. I thought she would be pleased but she didn’t sound very pleased. She just grunted and said, “If that’s what you want.”