The Rise and Rise of Tabitha Baird, Page 3

  Sometimes you’d think Gran hadn’t had a daughter of her own. Every teenage girl I’ve ever met wishes she could lock her bedroom door! I begged Mum and Dad for a lock on my door at Ivy House and they always refused. ‘What if there’s a fire?’ was the best reason they could come up with. Obviously if there’d been a fire I’d have unlocked the door to escape. Duh. I don’t think getting a lock on your bedroom door suddenly means you turn into Joan of Arc and so you decide to stay locked in there when your house is burning down.

  This is so brilliant – I can have mates round (please, please, let A’isha, Emz and me be best mates, pleeeeease) and we can lock ourselves in.

  Being able to lock my own bedroom door is so cool. Double cool, in fact, because, I’ve just checked, Luke’s bedroom doesn’t have one, and neither does Mum’s or Gran’s. Actually, the ‘special’ grown-ups-only loo that only Mum and Gran are supposed to use doesn’t even have a lock! Maybe that’s why only they are meant to use it, so that we don’t walk in on them. Yuck – what a totally mankenstein idea!

  It’d be a bit embarrassing having Emz and A’isha round, though. I don’t really want them to know that we live with Gran.

  BRAINWAVE: what if I pretend Gran is our servant? Or housekeeper? I’d have to ask Gran to go along with it. Would she mind, I wonder?

  It’s a bit cheeky, but it’s not like she’d have to actually be a servant, or do anything servanty. She’d just have to pretend to work for us. Though actually she’s taken us in because my dad literally spent our house on booze.

  Hmm, if people were going to believe she was our servant then she’d have to do something like bring me and my mates tea (if I make any mates) or say something like, ‘Shall I run your bath, now?’ like servants do on telly. That is so weird – a grown-up running another grown-up’s bath.

  I suppose you get servants when you’re really rich so you don’t have to do anything at all, ever. I heard Gran say once that the royal family get their servants to brush their teeth for them! Amazeballs! That is so extra. As well as super weird and total vom-making-city. Mankenstein.

  When she said this, she wasn’t talking to me – she was talking to Basil, her dog, while she was brushing his teeth. I think she was trying to make him feel better about not being able to brush his own teeth. That’s fair enough, cos it’s not like any dog can brush its own teeth, but the royal family have hands, which dogs don’t. Not even super-spesh Basil, who is, according to Gran, the finest-bred Westie. (And she’d know because she grew him, or whatever doggie-people say, from her last dog who was Basil’s mum.) Gran probs wouldn’t let him brush his own teeth if he did have hands because she SO loves doing everything for him, just like Mum and Luke. But, pathetic though he is, Luke does at least brush his own teeth.

  I know, I know, what is Gran is doing talking to her dog like he’s a person, like he’s her son? That’s because to her he is her child!

  Gran really does talk to Basil like he’s an actual person, you know, with, like, human hearing and who can talk. She jokes that he’s only not saying anything back because he’s choosing not to talk. I don’t think she’s joking. I don’t really mind – I think it’s funny – but it drives Mum mad, which is even funnier. Because, obvs, Basil can’t actually talk, Gran does this voice for him. So when she thinks he’s got something to say she says it. It is really bonkers and funny, I have to admit. And that drives Mum mad too!

  Mum’s always going on to Gran that she loves Basil more than her. Gran probably doesn’t really but I wouldn’t blame her if she did – Mum’s much more annoying than Basil, and that includes him not being able to brush his own teeth and barking at the back door when there’s no one there.

  At least Basil doesn’t write a blog. It would be funny if he did – he could call it Dog Blog! What would he write about – walks, barks, chasing squirrels, having his teeth brushed by Gran? Hmm, that already sounds more interesting than Mum’s boring blog.

  By the way, Mum DOES NOT KNOW that I’ve read her blog. Amazingly it has not occurred to her that of course I would read it! Hellooo? How else am I going to find out what she’s saying about me?! Duh. But it’s a secret that no one in the whole entire world knows about except me … and Muzzy, obviously.

  Of course, apart from moaning about me and her changed life Mum also writes about breaking up with Dad because he’s an alcoholic. S’pose she’s got a right to do that, but I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t know, it sort of makes her look a bit losery, too, I think … It’s not her fault, but choosing him way back makes her a bit to blame, too.

  I hate Dad sometimes. He is such a selfish pig. (Oh god, now I sound like Mum!) I wonder how many bottles of wine you get for, say, the price of a school skirt? I might ask him one of these days, super-sarkily, though, obviously …

  Actually, no point probably, cos, in the end, he won’t get what I mean – he never does. Or he’ll say something super annoying like ‘Darling, how on earth would I know what a school skirt cost?’ or ‘Are you thinking of trading in your skirt for alcopops, Tabitha? How naughty!’ and then smirk, like he’s said something really clever and funny. Why can’t he be like other people’s dads – just normal and not drunk all the time? I overheard Mum say to Gran the other day, ‘If he could hear what anyone was saying to him we wouldn’t be here.’

  I don’t know if she meant ‘here’, like at Gran’s house, in her kitchen (which is where they were) or ‘here’ in her blog-way, meaning ‘in this emotional state’.

  Yuk, I hate the way she uses ordinary words that mean something really obvious like ‘here’ to mean something really not obvious like ‘here’ as in how she’s feeling. She’s always talking about the ‘bad place’ she’s in when she’s in a really nice room. I just wish she wouldn’t say ‘bad place’ when she means ‘unhappy’ or ‘sad’ or something – I wish she’d just use the right words.

  At lunch today (it’s been Emz, A’isha and me every day since I met them) A’isha asked if my dad really was a plumber. So I told them about my parents splitting up and my dad staying in the countryside where we used to live. I said my mum and brother and me had moved to London, but I didn’t tell them we’d moved in with Gran.

  I wasn’t exactly lying. I did say Gran lived with us. I just felt funny telling them that we had lived in our own house and now had to live with my mum’s mum.

  A’isha said her gran lived with them too, so that made me feel a lot better.

  I didn’t tell them about Greyfriars either. I was worried they’d think I was super posh, which I’m not really, but it’s true that schools like that are mainly filled with posh girls. And I didn’t tell them about Dad being an alcoholic. I’m not sure I ever will, even if we stay being best friends, which I so hope we will. How do you tell anyone a thing like that? I don’t want people to think there’s something weird about me, having a dad who’s an addict. Most kids’ parents are grown-ups with jobs and their own places to live, even if they’ve split up. I don’t even understand why Dad is like he is, so I can’t really explain it to others, can I?

  Emz lives in that road at the top of the hill, not far from Gran’s but way nicer, full of detached houses that stand back from the road, and most of them even have gravel driveways! She is really pretty. Not like super make-you-hate-her pretty, just, like, normal she-could-be-my-friend pretty. She’s got long brown hair and green eyes and she’s quite tall. Well, taller than A’isha and me.

  A’isha has huge dark eyes and really long eyelashes, and she always wears mascara so they’re, like, super noticeable. I think you notice her eyes more because of her scarf … hijab. I must remember to call it that and not scarf. I don’t think A’isha would exactly have a major hissy fit if I called it a scarf but I don’t want to annoy her. I don’t know her well enough yet to risk it. She can call it what she likes but I don’t think I can or even should. It’s always a bit funny, isn’t it, when someone is rude about something that is theirs and then somebody else joins in? You think, ‘Hey, I can be a
s rude as I like about it because it’s mine – you can’t!’ Like, I think – in fact I know – that Luke is a total loser, super-nerd and general waste of oxygen, but even though it’s totes what I think about him and is actually factually correct I wouldn’t want anyone else saying that about him, obvs.

  A’isha is a bit plump, like me. Well, actually, she’s a bit thinner than me, but she’s not skinny like Emz. I never thought I could like a skinny girl, but Emz isn’t skinny in that look-at-me-ooh-I’m-so-thin-I-never-eat-biscuits-or-chocolate way, like practically every single girl at Greyfriars was. Honestly, you’d have thought sweet things were made of rat poison the way they all shrieked if I even picked up something fattening.

  Gran had sneaked a few chocolate fingers into my lunchbox when Mum wasn’t looking this morning. Mum would go mad if she knew. The other day she’d said I should go on a diet. Gran was brilliant. ‘Leave her alone, she’s a growing girl,’ she said. I didn’t know the chocolate fingers were in there until we were in the canteen. Emz and A’isha both spotted them first and grabbed one each. Gran had put in three, so there was one for each of us. It was really nice sharing with them.

  I walked nearly all the way home with Emz and told her about my super-annoying little brother and how much of a know-it-all he is and how Mum just thinks he’s brilliant and everything he does is so much better than anything I do. And then Emz said, ‘I’d love a little brother or sister – you are lucky’.

  I was like, ‘Are you serious? Luke’s the most annoying thing in the whole wide world,’ but Emz said that it was weird being the only child in a house.

  I didn’t want to go on and on but she hasn’t got a clue how much better life would be without a little gnat always buzzing around me, copying me and touching my things.

  When I got back home, Gran was sitting in the kitchen with Basil on her lap, talking to him. ‘Well, I never, you do look smart in that hat, Basil, yes you do, very smart indeed. You’ll get all the girls wearing that.’

  Seriously. My gran was talking to her dog about the thing she had knitted and then put on his head. It was a sort of floppy beret. A mini one, obviously, because a proper-sized one wouldn’t fit on a dog’s head. It’d be more like a blanket and then the dog wouldn’t be able to see. Unless it was an absolutely huge dog, maybe.

  ‘Oh, Tab, darling, did you have a good day? Look, isn’t it adorable? I’ve just finished knitting it.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Obvs I wanted to ask why Basil – or any dog actually – needed a hat, but I didn’t want to be mean so I just sort of shrugged my shoulders and said, ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And, best of all, Basil absolutely loves it, don’t you, you clever thing?’ Then Gran replied (helloooo?!!!) using her Basil voice, the voice she’s decided he talks with (erm, again, helloooo?!!!): ‘Yes, Mum, I really like it. It keeps my head warm and cosy and it looks pretty jaunty, too. Thank you for making it for me.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, Basil – what lovely manners you have,’ Gran replied, in her own voice

  I don’t know what to do when Gran and Basil have these, erm, conversations. Can you call it a conversation when you’re doing both the voices?

  When I talk to Muzzy at least I don’t reply for her. Because I do know she’s a toy cat. I actually know she doesn’t have thoughts or an actual voice. I just like having someone, okay sorry, some kitten, to talk to. And not that much, anyway, now that I’m a teenager. In fact, I’m practically an adult – I can get married in three years’ time, after all. Not that I want to, yuck, but, you know, it is a fact and it means I’m three years away from being a grown-up.

  I make my gran sound like she is completely round the bend, but she’s really not, unless you count talking to a dog, doing a squeaky voice for it and dressing it in clothes she’s specially made for it as round the bend.

  Actually, I’ve always thought the voice Gran does for Basil is more appropriate for a mouse than a dog. All that barking would mean Basil always had a sore throat and sore throats make your voice sound gruff, don’t they, not squeaky? I prob won’t mention that to Gran, though. It’s not like it’s that important.

  Gran asked me to take Basil for a walk. As usual she made me take a poo bag with me – like I’m ever going to use it! (BTW obvs the poo bag is for Basil’s poo, not mine, okay?) As soon as I got out of the front door I pulled his beret off and stuffed it into my coat pocket. There was no way I was walking around with a dog wearing a hat, any hat, but especially not a floppy beret. I never wear hats – they make me feel like I’m shouting, ‘Hey, everybody look at me, I’ve got a hat on!’

  I decided to walk Basil up towards Emz’s road. I don’t know the number of her house and obviously I wasn’t going to drop in. What a loser that would make me look! I hope she’ll invite me round to hers one day but I was definitely not going to just ring on her doorbell totally randomly, and extra especially not when I’ve got Basil with me.

  But I really wanted to see what the houses up there are like up close. I’ve only ever seen them from the car – and that was ages ago, before we lived here, when we had a car.

  It was a bit further away than I’d thought and by the time we got there Basil was pulling on the leash to go back, lazy thing. He just sort of stopped when we got to the top of her road, like he knew he’d done his circuit and that was enough.

  We had a tug-of-war. Basil would not budge, no matter how hard I pulled his lead. He dug his claws into a bit of grass next to the pavement. I ended up dragging him along the grass like a sleigh and then finally he gave up and started walking. I don’t know what was wrong with him – maybe he was cross I’d taken his hat off.

  On the way back home, I spotted this really tall boy. He was walking a dog too, the same type of dog as Basil – a Westie. That’s what Gran’s told me I must tell people if they ask me what breed he is. Really, though, the only thing that people are going to ask about Basil, if they ask me anything at all, is not what type of dog he is but why is he wearing that silly hat?! Anyway, the boy’s dog was really cute and so was he. He was walking in the opposite direction to me, back towards Emz’s road. I’ll bet he lives there. Lucky him. As we passed each other, even though the pavement was quite wide, our dogs kind of leapt towards each other, both straining at their leads, trying to say ‘hello’ in that way dogs always do. They were doing it nicely, though, not barking and yapping.

  The boy and I both sort of stopped and tried to drag our dogs away, but without looking at each other, only at our dogs. Well, I was looking at him a bit, obvs, otherwise I wouldn’t have known he wasn’t looking at me.

  I think he’s a year or so older than me and has lovely, glossy dark brown hair, a bit long, just to his shoulders, and dark brown eyes, like swirls of melted chocolate. He was so gorgeous. I didn’t want to smile at him or say hello or do anything that would make me look silly or uncool. But just as we were about to turn away from each other he smiled at me, in a really friendly way, and looked at Basil and then his dog and said ‘Snap.’ Because we both had the same type of dog. How hilarious is that?

  Oh my god, just as that dishy boy was walking away, and I mean right at that absolute second, Basil decided to do a poo. I could have killed him. I was so nervous the boy was going to turn around and see my dog having a stinky poo on the pavement. It was almost as if Basil was pooing at him! I knew I had to pick it up. I really wanted to just leave it there, but I knew the boy might see if I left it so I couldn’t. It was so mankenstein – Basil’s poo was still warm, I could feel it through the plastic. Talk about vom-making-city. Mind you, I’ll bet that boy picks up his dog’s poo, so that makes it a bit better.

  I really hope I see him again. I’m going to offer to take Basil out every day. I must think of something funny to say next time I see him. Thank god I’d taken Basil’s hat off! He would’ve thought I was totally mad if he’d seen me walking a dog wearing that.

  Yuck, Luke is disgusting. Completely and totally repulsive, sick-making, vomit-inducing,
mank-of-mankenstein revolting. Even though I’ve told him a gazillion times he must never, ever use the loo in the bathroom and only use the one downstairs, he still uses the one in the bathroom!!! I could kill him.

  ‘It’s not your personal, private bathroom,’ he whined, ‘and anyway it’s two floors down to the other loo from my room and it’s dark and freezing there.’ Pathetic baby – it’s because he’s frightened of the dark.

  I know it’s not actually my bathroom (so wish it was) but he shouldn’t use it unless he’s going to treat it exactly the way I do. He always leaves the loo seat up and it’s soooo annoying. This morning it was up – he must have gone to the loo in the night – so I sat down without looking and sat straight on the china bit. Eeeurgh! It’s all Luke’s fault because he’s the only boy in the house and no one else puts the seat up, obviously. And Gran and Mum never use it because of having their own special no-lock-on-the-door bathroom.

  I had a brilliant idea. I got one of those Post-it notes Gran uses to leave instructions all around the house about how to open this or that door, or what day the bins go out, or what not to touch in the fridge. I got a really brightly coloured, huge one and wrote on it, in massive capital letters:

  PLEASE AIM YOUR URINE PRECISELY

  TO BE SURE IT DOES NOT GO ON THE

  SEAT AND ONLY INTO THE WATER

  INSIDE THE LOO.

  And then, just to be super sarcastic, underneath I put:

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR CO-OPERATION.