I wonder if he has left a message on the phone for me?
Five minutes later
I really wish I hadnât listened to the messages â it is a terrifying insight into the âlifeâ I lead.
First it was some giggling pal of Mumâs saying that she had met a bloke at a speed-dating night and had got to number six with him. How does she know about the snogging scale? My mum is obviously part crap mother and part seeing-ear dog.
The next message was from Joshâs mum, saying, âAfter Josh came home with a Mohican haircut I donât think it is a good idea that he comes round to play with Libby again. I am frankly puzzled as to why she had bread knives and scissors in her bedroom. Also I cannot get the blue make-up off his eyes. I suspect it is indelible ink, which means the word BUM on his forehead will take many hours to get off.â
There was a bit more rambling and moaning, but the gist is that Josh is banned from playing with my little sister Libby.
Dear Gott in Himmel.
And that was it. No message from the Luuurve God. Itâs been a week now. I wonder why he hasnât called? Has he gone off me?
Maybe I did something wrong when we last saw each other.
One minute later
But it was so vair vair gorgey porgey.
One minute later
He said, âWe like each other. It will be good, Miss Georgia.â
One minute later
What he didnât say was, âI will call you as soon as I get there.â
One minute later
Or âI will pay your airfare to Rome, you entrancing Sex Kitty.â
Ten minutes later
God, I am so bored. And my bottom still hurts from my falling-in-the-river fiasco. So I canât even sit down properly.
One minute later
I wonder if Dave the Laugh will tell Emma about our accidental number four episode. Probably not. After all, it didnât mean anything and, as he said, we are mates in a matey way. And what goes on in the woods stays in the woods.
Thirty seconds later
Hmmm. He also said in the woods that he has always really liked me. Maybe he meant that in a matey-type mate way.
One minute later
Will I tell Masimo?
One minute later
If he doesnât ring me, I wonât have to make the decision. Anyway, it was only an accidental number four, verging on the number five. It could happen to anyone.
One minute later
It could happen to Masimo and his ex-girlfriend. What was her name? Gina. Yes, it might happen if, for instance, she happened to be in Rome.
One minute later
Even if she is not there, I bet he and his mates will be roaring round Rome on their scooters smiling at all the girls in their red bikinis or whatever it is they wear there.
Probably nothing. They probably go to work in the nuddy-pants because they are wild and free Pizza-a-gogo types. They donât have inhibitions like us, they just thrust their nungas forward proudly and untamed. Probably.
In my bedroom looking in the mirror
The only thing that is really thrusting itself forward proudly is my nose. Even Dave mentioned it.
One minute later
Perhaps it has grown bigger and bigger in Masimoâs imagination in the week he has been away. He hasnât even got a photo of me to remind him that I am more than just a nose on legs.
Five minutes later
Perhaps because he is foreign he is a bit psychic. Perhaps he has a touch of the Mystic Meg about him and he knows about the Dave the Laugh incident.
One minute later
Jas has probably sent a message via an owl to let him know. Just because she has got the hump with me. AGAIN. About the stupid tent business.
Lying on my bed of pain
8:00 p.m.
And I mean that quite literally because my cat Angus (also known as a killing machine) is pretending my foot is a rabbit. In a sock. If I even move it slightly, he leaps on it and starts biting it.
Also, ouch and double ouch. I canât get into a comfy position to take the pressure off my bum-oley. I think I may have actually broken something in my bottom. I donât know what there is to break, but I may have broken it. I wonder if it is swollen up?
Then I heard the phut phut of the mighty throbbing engine that is my vatiâs crap car. Carefully easing my broken bottom off the bed and slapping at Angus, I went downstairs. Angus was still clinging to my sock-rabbit-foot even though his head was bonking against the stairs.
As I got to the hall I heard the front door being kicked. Oh good, it was my delightful little sister.
âGingey, Gingey, let me in!!! Let me in, poo sister.â
Then there was squealing, like a pig was being pushed through the letter box.
Thirty seconds later
It wasnât a pig being pushed through the letter box, it was Gordy, cross-eyed son of Angus. I could see his ginger ears poking through.
Oh, bloody hell.
I said, âLibby, donât put Gordy though the letter box. Iâm opening the door.â
She yelled, âHe laaikes it.â
When I got the door open, it was to find Libby in Wellington boots and a bikini. Gordy was struggling and yowling in her little fat arms and finally squirmed free and leaped off into the garden sneezing and shaking.
Libby was laughing. âFunny pussy. Hnk hnk.â Then she came up to me and started hugging my knees and kissing them. In between snogging, Libby was murmuring, âI lobe my Gingey.â
Mutti came up the steps in a really short dress, very tight round the nungas. So very sad. She gave me a hug, which can be quite frightening seeing her enormous basoomas looming towards your head. She said, âHello, Gee, did you have a larf camping?â
I said, âOh yes, it was brillopads. We made instruments out of dried beans and Herr Kamyer did impressions of crap stuff with his hands that no one could get except Jas. And, as a pièce de résistance, I fell in a pond and was attacked by great toasted newts.â
She wasnât even listening as usual, off in her own Muttiland.
âWe went to see Uncle Eddieâs gig at The Ambassador last night. It was like an orgy; one of the women got so carried away she