My Dating Disasters Diary (5 page)

Can't get what Liz said about my parents out of my mind.
Unfortunately. I was watching and listening to them
arguing at dinner time tonight.

DAD
: Pass the salt, love.

MUM
(
bad temperedly
): It's right at your flaming elbow.

DAD
: OK, keep your hair on, I didn't see it.

MUM
(
annoyed
): Maybe if you took your eyes off the
sports page of the paper and looked, it would help.

DAD
(
pissed off
): There's no need to jump down my
throat.

MUM
(
totally annoyed now
): Sorry, you're
right. Look, you go on reading your paper and I'll cut up your dinner and
feed it to you so you don't have to make any bloody effort at all. It's the
least I can do after cooking it for you. Then you just lie down and I'll fan
you while I hook you up to an intravenous drip so you won't have to bother
drinking your cup of tea afterwards.

Dad sprinkled the salt on his dinner and then calmly
went on reading his paper, ignoring her.

No, I just can't believe they've ever done what Liz
says. It doesn't seem possible, even a long time ago.

Maybe I'm adopted.

Actually, the more I think about it, the more it makes
sense. Fact is, for quite a while now I've felt that I can't
possibly really belong to this family. I mean, I have
absolutely nothing in common with any of them.
Specially not Angela. But my parents haven't even hinted
never mind told me that I'm adopted, so I suppose it's
unlikely. Though it seems more believable than them
doing what they would have to do to have me naturally.

Hmm . . . but then maybe they didn't want to tell me
I'm adopted in case I got upset. Yeah, that could be it.
Although I'm not their real daughter they probably still
love me and want to spare me any pain or psychological
damage.

I'd have been totally cool about it. They really should
have told me.

If I am adopted I wonder who my real parents are. Maybe
like Romeo and Juliet they were totally in love with one
another but their families disapproved, so they made my
mum put me up for adoption then she probably killed
herself because of a broken heart.

Or maybe my real mum is a foreign princess who fell
in love with a commoner. They wouldn't let her marry
my dad because though he was . . . erm, yeah, a famous
footballer, he was still a commoner, so they made her give
me up so she could marry a royal. Since that day she's
thought of nothing else but me and lives for the time I'll
come looking for her.

OK, I suppose the foreign princess bit isn't very likely
– don't think there are that many of them around now –
but my dad might have been a footballer. After all, I'm
pretty good, even if our sexist PE teacher won't let me
join the school team.

Have been thinking about this all week and I've become more and more convinced
that it's at least possible I might be adopted. It could explain so much.
I have nothing in common with the family I'm living with. And anyway, Mum
and Dad hardly look at each other, never mind anything else. I've never seen
them so much as snog (thank God!) and can't imagine they ever did. As for
doing it with each other? No, it's totally impossible. I must be adopted.

Decided to tell my adoptive mum that I'm old enough to
know the truth now.

I waited until she was in a good mood – that is, after
watching
EastEnders
and drinking a mug of tea while
puffing on her fourth fag in an hour. I decided to come
straight to the point.

'Mum, am I adopted?'

She was obviously shocked as she choked on her tea
and dropped her fag on her lap but quickly found it again
before it got a chance to burn her. Poor Mum.

'Don't be upset, Mum,' I said kindly. 'You see, I've
suspected the truth for quite a while now and I'm old
enough to cope with it. And while of course I want to find
my birth mum, I won't stop loving you, and I'll always be
grateful to you for looking after me as I grew up. I'll never
forget my humble beginnings.'

All this time my adoptive mother had been staring at
me literally open-mouthed, but now she seemed to have
recovered enough to speak and I waited bravely to hear
the truth about my real background at last. But I was
wrong. She didn't say anything. Just screeched with
laughter. At first I thought she might be hysterical at the
suddenness of my confrontation but I was wrong again
because when she did manage to speak, it wasn't what I
expected to hear.

'You, adopted? You must be bloody joking. I suppose
you think your sister's adopted as well. My arse. Like I'd
actually go
choose
the pair of you.' Here she broke off to
laugh again. 'Aye, that
will
be right. I'll just have these
two, thanks. Yeah, that's right, the boring one who
couldn't crack a joke if her life depended on it, and, yeah,
the wee skinny one who's always moaning about something
or other. Aye, that's the one.'

'So,' I said, 'I'm, erm, not adopted then?'

'Duh. No, you eejit. You're not adopted and I've got
the droopy boobs, blancmange abs and stitches in places
you don't want to see to prove it. The pair of you ruined
my body and put me through bloody hours of agony, and
what thanks do I get for it? Now go and bring your birth
mother another cup of tea from your humble beginnings
kitchen. Adopted. That's a laugh.'

Feeling a bit stupid now, I did as she asked. When I got
back she was still on about it. 'Wait till I tell your dad
about this one. And yes, before you ask, he's your real
dad as well.' She laughed. 'Or that's my story and I'm
sticking to it.'

Just two days until Valentine's, and of course every shop
is full of hearts and flowers to remind anyone who might
possibly have forgotten that if you don't have a boyfriend
then you are a sad, unloved loser.

I've never had a Valentine card unless you count the
one from my Aunt Kate last year (I recognized her very
badly disguised handwriting) or the one the year before
from my mum (I found it in a kitchen drawer the week
before Valentine's) – which I don't of course. I suppose it
was nice of them to bother so I pretended to be surprised
and excited but really it just made me feel pathetic.

I suppose as I've never actually wanted a boyfriend
before, I shouldn't complain, but it's always nice to
know I could get one if I did, and a Valentine card
is definite proof of that. And it just seems so unfair
that some people always get loads of Valentines
when other people never get any. Like me for instance.

At school people seemed to talk of nothing else, which
was depressing. Shelly was behind me in the lunch
queue, showing off two early Valentines to anyone who'd
listen to her. She even tried me.

'Want to see my Valentines?'

'No thanks.'

'Too jealous? Oh, never mind, Kelly Ann,' she said, in
an annoyingly pitying tone. 'Maybe you'll get one
tomorrow. There's still time.' She laughed. 'And maybe
my granny will take up break dancing and run off
with a rapper. Or perhaps my pet goldfish will win the
hundred metres hurdles at sports day. About as
likely.'

I flushed. 'So? I hope I don't get any Valentines. The
whole thing is just commercialized rubbish.'

Shelly sneered. 'Funny, that's what people who
haven't a hope of getting one always say.'

I stomped off with my lunch tray and looked round for
Liz, who'd been kept behind by Miss McElwee for eating
in class, but she still wasn't there so I sat at an empty table
and waited for her.

Was scanning the dinner hall again for Liz or one of
my other friends when I spotted Michael looking for a
table. As usual, he was being stalked by a group of goodlooking
fourth-year girls and even a couple of fifth years.
Michael has jet-black hair, green eyes and (God knows
how in Glasgow) an all-year tan. He's so good looking, he
seems almost fake and is definitely seen by everyone as
the hottest boy in the fourth year. Maybe even the whole
school.

Noticed that his admirers were all smiling at him with
their heads tilted to one side and bobbing about like a
Barbie doll whose neck had been broken. The thought
made me grin but he must have thought I was smiling at
him as he waved, smiled back and made his way over to
our table, followed by his hopeful harem.

'Hi, Kelly Ann. These seats free?'

I nodded. He sat down and after a while we started to
chat about Rangers' chances against AC Milan next
month and also whether they might win next week's
play-off with Celtic (not great and no) – to the annoyance
of his groupies as he wasn't paying any attention to them.

'So,' one of the most determined fourth years
interrupted, 'do you two know each other?'

'Yeah,' Michael said. 'We were in
Jack and the Beanstalk
together.'

'Oh, you were fabulous as Jack,' she gushed. 'Didn't
notice
her
in it though.'

Michael smiled. 'Kelly Ann was playing a supporting
role.'

I grinned back at him. Although he'd been playing the
lead and I was just the back end of his cow, he'd been
really nice to me and sometimes talked to me during
breaks. When I moaned about being cast as a cow's arse,
he told me acting was a team effort and that every part
was important to the success of a play. This was decent of
him, even if it was hard to believe, but it got us chatting
anyway and we've been quite friendly ever since. You'd
think someone as popular as him would be really bigheaded
but actually he's not up himself at all. And he still
stops to chat to me sometimes when we happen to bump
into each other. Much to the surprise and annoyance of
his fan club.

'So, Michael,' the determined fourth year said, trying
to get his attention again, 'what are you doing on
Valentine's Day? I just love Valentine's, don't you? So
romantic.'

'Actually, I think it's mostly commercialized rubbish,'
Michael said. 'A cynical ploy by big business to con idiots
out of money.'

Next thing, all the Barbie dolls' heads were bobbing in
agreement.

Hmm, obviously it's only people like Michael who can
get away with saying stuff like that without being
sneered at.

Got a Valentine. Yeah, right. It was from Mum or Aunt
Kate of course, although they must have got someone else
to do the usual cheesy
Guess Who?
inside as I didn't
recognize the handwriting. Well, at least they made a bit
more of an effort at disguise this year, but, c'mon, just
how stupid do they think I am?

At least it's not a school day so I don't have to listen to
people like Shelly boasting about how many Valentine
cards they got. Hopefully by tomorrow it will have died
down a bit – everyone will have phoned, emailed, texted
and talked about what cards they did or didn't get by
then.

Chris came over today. For a laugh he brought me a
rose 'because it was Valentine's'. He handed it to me with
an exaggerated flourish, saying, 'For my Valentine.'

I took the rose from him, saying, 'Why, thank you, My
One True Love. I shall treasure this floral tribute for ever.'
We laughed, then went into the house, where I got us
both an Irn Bru before popping the rose in a pint glass as
I couldn't find a vase, where it lolled drunkenly.

As we sipped our drinks Chris asked, 'So did you get
a card yesterday?'

I said, 'Nah. Just the usual from Mum. I mean, who
would send me a card? Not that I'm bothered. You get
one?'

'Don't know about that. Why wouldn't someone give
you a card?'

'Suppose,' I said, pleased.

'After all, you're not
that
ugly.'

He ducked to avoid the swipe aimed at his head. I
grinned and took another slurp of Irn Bru. 'Anyway, you
didn't answer my question. Did you get a Valentine?'

Chris reddened a bit. 'Yeah, I did in fact. Two. But I
don't know who they're from.'

'God, two! You're popular all of sudden. Not that
you're interested in girls anyway.'

'What do you mean, not interested? I'm not gay, Kelly
Ann. Of course I'm interested.'

'Course you're not gay,' I soothed. 'And I suppose you
will start thinking about girls sometime. But not now. I
mean, you're too busy with schoolwork and football to be
bothered with all that dating stuff right now.'

'Well, no, not really. I'd make time. For the right girl,
anyway.'

Chris seemed really sincere and the thought depressed
me. I'd heard there were quite a few girls in our year who
fancied him – like Linda, for instance, who's not bad looking
and quite nice. This probably meant I was going to
lose another really close friend because they had started
dating and weren't interested in my company any more.

Chris said, 'You look upset, Kelly Ann. Don't tell me
you're jealous?'

'Of course not. It's just that if you start dating, well,
you'll still have time for me, won't you? We'll still meet
up and do stuff? Still be best friends?'

'I suppose so. I mean, I'm like a brother to you, right?'

'Yeah.'

'Then we'll always be friends.'

God, I hoped so. Apart from Liz, Chris was the best
and closest friend I'd ever had.

Liz had got a Valentine from Peter Campbell, a boy who
left our school at Christmas when he turned sixteen and
now has a job in a supermarket. He didn't bother to
disguise who it was from and even put his mobile
number on the card. She called him and they're going to
meet up this weekend.