Pride and Premiership (14 page)

Unlike Malibu Amanda Bennet, who seems to have the world at her feet! She came in at six o’clock in the morning AGAIN. And unless she’s broken her own rules and spent the night with Goldenballs (which I doubt very much), it means that she decided to spend a second night on the trot with Boring Roger. WTF?!

Maybe she’s fallen for him.

Robbie has sent a blaze of texts saying that I’m gorgeous, sexy and hot. OK, they might not have been deep and meaningful, but they made me feel GOOD. And that’s all that matters.

Someone’s at the door. Maybe Mum’s forgotten her keys. She went to get some white paint to restore the skirting boards to their original colour (after having a right go at us for not telling her that the black gloss looked ridiculous – duh!).

Please someone go and get it. I’m watching
Friends
.

Dad’s calling me. I’d better go and see what he wants.

OMG. I went downstairs and standing there in our hallway was Tara (spit, spit) Reid, flanked by her big fat mum! Mrs Reid must be about twenty stone. And her face was sunburnt and sweaty.

I had no idea what they were doing there. I looked at Dad, then I looked at Tara’s mum, then I looked at the floor. (I couldn’t look at Tara – she psyches me out too much.)

“I think my Tara ‘as sometin’ to tell ya,” Tara’s mum said in an Irish accent. “Dontcha, Tara?” she growled, glaring at her daughter.

Tara looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

“Dontcha, Tara!” her mum repeated.

And that’s when Tara (spit, spit) Reid, meek as a mouse, looked me in the eye and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“Louder!” boomed her mum.

“I’M SORRY.”

Just then, Malibu came out of her room and asked, “What’s going on?”

Dad put a finger to his lips.

“Now,” Tara’s mum said to me, “I’ve made sure ya da knows how to get hold o’ me on my mobile and email.” She pointed at Tara. “So if SHE so much as texts ya sometin’ untoward, you forward it to me. If you don’t like the way she feckin’ looks at ya, let me know and I’ll give her what for.”

I know she was being nice, but Tara’s mum was even scarier than Tara!

“OK. Thanks, Mrs Reid,” I said.

“A quiet word, please,” Tara’s mum said to Dad, and they went into the kitchen. I could hear her apologizing and saying that Tara had been having a hard time about something, but I couldn’t take it all in because I was too chuffed – Tara Reid apologizing to ME. And all because of Super Dad (tee-hee)!

I watched Tara standing, shoulders slumped, humiliated, in our hallway, and I didn’t even feel a little bit sorry for her.

Just before Dad and Mrs Reid came back out of the kitchen, Malibu stepped up to Tara and hissed something in her ear. And funnily enough I heard that loud and clear: “You mess with my sister again and I’ll knock your head off.”

I really love Malibu sometimes.

Malibu asked me to twirl her hair with the straighteners (I do it better than she does) because she was going out. I was dying to find out who with this time, but I felt funny about asking because she’s been snapping my head off every time I do. I hoped she’d slip up, or tell me, but she kept the conversation strictly on Tara Reid (Tara’s face when her mum shouted at her, Tara’s face when she had to say sorry to me, Tara’s face when Malibu threatened her…). We had a right laugh about it.

When I finished her hair, she posed – “Ta-dah!” Her make-up was flawless and her mascaraed lashes were so long, they could have been spider legs framing her blue eyes. But most of all she looked happy and relaxed, so I thought what the hell and asked if she was going out with Goldenballs tonight.

“What makes you think that?” she said with a smirk on her face.

“Because you’ve made a proper effort.”

“Oi, I always do, you cheeky thing!”

Something about the way she said that made me think I was wrong. “Roger then?” I asked, and she went dead quiet.

BUSTED!
I thought, because tonight would make it three nights in a row and prove that she was falling in love with him. “He’s obviously not so boring after all, by the looks of things,” I said.

And OK, I might not have worded it perfectly but I certainly didn’t deserve her reply: “Mind your own bloody business!”

Grr.

Here comes Malibu sneaking in again. It’s like Groundhog flaming Day!

Bet Malibu’s still asleep. Actually, now’s the perfect time to wake her – get her to admit that she’s fallen for Boring Roger and put a stop to this bull. (Much easier to get the truth out of a dozy head.) Still won’t come straight out and ask her, though. I’m going to play the fool. Reel her in. Ask silly, random questions until she feels so in control, she accidentally slips up.

Basically, methinks I’m going to get Columbo on Malibu’s ass.

OMG. That girl is so–ooo bloody rude!

If she doesn’t want to share a tiny bit of info with her own sister, she can rot in bed for all I care.

Malibu’s running late (surprise, surprise) so I’m leaving for work without her. She doesn’t deserve me to wait for her anyway, after the names she just called me.

Oh well, the day can only get better from here. Actually expecting to have a good one because I’m sure the Feminazi is going to big me up for the new colour-coded booking system.

That’s IT. Don’t think I can stand another second in the same room as the Feminazi!

Today she lectured me about changing the booking system without checking with her first. So I defended myself by saying I just wanted to improve it. Then she pointed outside and said, “Tell me what the sign says on that door.”

“Kara’s,” I muttered.

“That’s right – Kara’s, not REMY’s,” she replied. What a cow!

I’ve had enough. I’m going to search online for a new job.

Oops! Job-hunting didn’t quite happen. Robbie phoned and we had luv chatter for over an hour. Well, I say luv chatter but a lot of our conversation was about football (which I know absolutely nothing about). His training went well – he’s set himself a target of scoring twenty goals this season (he’s a striker).

“Oh, like Frank Lampard,” I said, totally winging it.

“No, not really,” he answered. “Frank Lampard plays central midfield.”

“Doh! Yeah, of course he does.”
WTF is central midfield?

I told him I’d had a crap day at work. And when I repeated what Kara had said, he came out with, “Don’t worry about it – it’s typical girls’ stuff, innit. You’ll all be best friends by tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” I sighed, not convinced.

“Anyway, whatcha doing Thursday?” he asked, and he turned my day around by inviting me out on a double date with his best friend on the team! His name’s Terry Dawson and his girlfriend is called Paris.

James phoned straight after, and when I told him about the double date he confirmed what I was thinking: “That’s definitely a girlfriend-boyfriend thing to do. He must be taking you seriously.” Yippee!

Then he announced that he’d passed his hairdressing NVQ!

After I congratulated him, we had a right bitch about the Feminazi. And I decided that as I’d probably find out about my NVQ tomorrow, it’d be best to look for a new job then.

So it’s all good.

I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m worried about Malibu. She’s just been arguing with someone on the phone. Shouting. Name-calling. Swearing. The whole lot. So I went into her room when she’d hung up and asked if she was all right.

“What the hell do you think?” she screamed at me.

“Ugh! What’s wrong with you? You’re like a bloody schizo at the minute!”

“Have you finished?”

“No I bloody well haven’t,” I replied. “I want my sister back. On a full-time basis. Not every now and then, like it’s been lately!”

I waited for her to shout something back at me, but her face crumpled and then she started to cry. I rushed over to hug her but her whole body tensed up and she shrieked, “Don’t touch me! Just go!”

So I did.

I don’t know what’s happened, but I reckon Boring Roger has got something to do with it.

Malibu’s been crying all night. She wouldn’t talk to Mum, Dad or even me about it. She said she just wanted to be left alone. How can Boring Roger go from being her fail-safe to reducing her to this?

Anyway, I have to tell the Feminazi she’s not coming to work today.

I’ve come home for lunch because I wanted to check up on Malibu. Not that she’s saying much. She won’t eat a thing, either, and her eyes are red-raw. I told her, “Forget him, Malibu, he isn’t even on your level. He’s nothing compared with Lance.” But that just made her cry again.

It’s made me realize that things aren’t that bad for me at the moment – Robbie’s been great. My only problem is work. I’m definitely going to jack in Kara’s as soon as I get my NVQ.

I rushed into work today expecting my NVQ to be handed over, but I got nada. So I had to bite my tongue every time the Feminazi ordered me to do something. The only thing that kept me going was imagining where I’d stick that NVQ as soon as I got it.

James just called and asked me to join him for an NVQ celebration drink at the pub. I told him that I’d like to come (even though I haven’t got mine yet) but I wasn’t sure about leaving Malibu.

“She can come too, if she likes,” he said.

“OK, I’ll invite her – but don’t hold your breath.”

If Malibu would prefer me to stay in with her, I’ll do that instead – after all, she stayed in and watched
Titanic
with me when I was going mental about Robbie. It’s the least I can do.

Malibu didn’t want to come, but she told me to go without her. I feel a bit bad because she looked miserable.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” I asked.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she replied. “It’s over.”