more uncool; I’ve never had a boy in my bedroom before. A proper boy, I mean, not one of my cousins or Dave or my dad. But I know if we stay downstairs we’ll end up looking after Alex again.
Seth walks into my bedroom and looks around, taking in my Andy Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe,
Shot Blue Marilyn
,
1964
. Dad got it for me in the Guggenheim Museum of Art in New York. He went with Shelly. The whole trip was wasted on her of course, all she wanted to do was shop. He says he’ll take me there some day, but I’m not holding my breath.
“Hey,” Seth says. “The walls aren’t pink.”
“What were you expecting? Barbie’s Magical Kingdom?”
He smiles and then stares at my Georgia O’Keeffe print of a bright red poppy. “But that is a bit girlie. Polly would like it.”
“Hey, just because I don’t have Munch’s
The Scream
on my walls.” I run my finger over the poppy’s lush black centre. “Actually, I used to but it gave me nightmares.”
He laughs. “I know what you mean.” He puts his hands on either side of his head, makes his mouth into a long
O
and twists his body, giving a very good impression of the painting. “Turn off that Britney Spears music or my head’s going to fall off,” he says in this mad, ghoulish voice.
I start laughing and within seconds I can’t stop. I get these terrible giggling fits sometimes, often when I’m nervous. Tears are streaming down my face and I’m finding it hard to breathe properly. It’s so embarrassing. I’m laughing so much my stomach muscles are starting to cramp.
“It wasn’t that funny,” Seth says. “Wait till you see me do Picasso’s
Guernica
.”
I sit down on the bed, gulping for air like a guppy fish and holding my aching stomach.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Try thinking of something sad.”
I take another raggedy breath and Shelly’s face floats in front of my eyes. I had a laughing fit the first time I met her. It was awful. We were in an Italian restaurant in Dalkey, the kind with checked tablecloths and real Italian waiters in very tight black trousers. Shelly kept giggling and flirting with one of them, a curly haired man in his twenties with a gold St Christopher medallion nestling in his black chest hairs.
I remember thinking it was a bit off, wasn’t she supposed to be in
luurve
with my dad? She’d split Mum and Dad up, so it had better have been for a good reason. I looked at Shelly, really looked at her. I suppose I could see the attraction if you liked that kind of thing – obvious – all blonde flicky hair, skinny white jeans and dazzling teeth the size of piano keys. She was also a lot younger than Mum and a lot more glam.
I was really nervous and then Dad made this lame waiter joke.
“A guy goes into a restaurant, looks at the menu and asks the waiter, ‘How do you prepare your chickens?’ And the waiter says, ‘We just tell them straight out that they’re going to die.’”
See, told you it was lame. It was so lame I started laughing and I just couldn’t stop. Shelly pushed my glass of Coke towards me and said, “Try taking a sip.” So I did but the bubbles went the wrong way and I ended up snorting it all over the tablecloth and all over Shelly. I was mortified. Shelly had to excuse herself to wipe snorted Coke off her bare arm.
Dad gave me a quick smile and said, “Don’t worry, it could happen to anyone,” but from the way he was dabbing at the table with paper napkins, sighing and making a funny clicking noise with his tongue, like a tap dripping, I could tell he was annoyed with me. When Shelly came back, Dad told me they were moving in together. Mum and Dad had only been separated for two months. Two months! Officially that is. I’d heard Mum talking to a friend on the phone and saying she reckoned they’d been at it for a lot longer. Something to do with Dad joining the gym and buying new boxer shorts and aftershave.
I just stared at Dad. Luckily my pizza arrived, so I didn’t have
Seth walks into my bedroom and looks around, taking in my Andy Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe,
Shot Blue Marilyn
,
1964
. Dad got it for me in the Guggenheim Museum of Art in New York. He went with Shelly. The whole trip was wasted on her of course, all she wanted to do was shop. He says he’ll take me there some day, but I’m not holding my breath.
“Hey,” Seth says. “The walls aren’t pink.”
“What were you expecting? Barbie’s Magical Kingdom?”
He smiles and then stares at my Georgia O’Keeffe print of a bright red poppy. “But that is a bit girlie. Polly would like it.”
“Hey, just because I don’t have Munch’s
The Scream
on my walls.” I run my finger over the poppy’s lush black centre. “Actually, I used to but it gave me nightmares.”
He laughs. “I know what you mean.” He puts his hands on either side of his head, makes his mouth into a long
O
and twists his body, giving a very good impression of the painting. “Turn off that Britney Spears music or my head’s going to fall off,” he says in this mad, ghoulish voice.
I start laughing and within seconds I can’t stop. I get these terrible giggling fits sometimes, often when I’m nervous. Tears are streaming down my face and I’m finding it hard to breathe properly. It’s so embarrassing. I’m laughing so much my stomach muscles are starting to cramp.
“It wasn’t that funny,” Seth says. “Wait till you see me do Picasso’s
Guernica
.”
I sit down on the bed, gulping for air like a guppy fish and holding my aching stomach.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Try thinking of something sad.”
I take another raggedy breath and Shelly’s face floats in front of my eyes. I had a laughing fit the first time I met her. It was awful. We were in an Italian restaurant in Dalkey, the kind with checked tablecloths and real Italian waiters in very tight black trousers. Shelly kept giggling and flirting with one of them, a curly haired man in his twenties with a gold St Christopher medallion nestling in his black chest hairs.
I remember thinking it was a bit off, wasn’t she supposed to be in
luurve
with my dad? She’d split Mum and Dad up, so it had better have been for a good reason. I looked at Shelly, really looked at her. I suppose I could see the attraction if you liked that kind of thing – obvious – all blonde flicky hair, skinny white jeans and dazzling teeth the size of piano keys. She was also a lot younger than Mum and a lot more glam.
I was really nervous and then Dad made this lame waiter joke.
“A guy goes into a restaurant, looks at the menu and asks the waiter, ‘How do you prepare your chickens?’ And the waiter says, ‘We just tell them straight out that they’re going to die.’”
See, told you it was lame. It was so lame I started laughing and I just couldn’t stop. Shelly pushed my glass of Coke towards me and said, “Try taking a sip.” So I did but the bubbles went the wrong way and I ended up snorting it all over the tablecloth and all over Shelly. I was mortified. Shelly had to excuse herself to wipe snorted Coke off her bare arm.
Dad gave me a quick smile and said, “Don’t worry, it could happen to anyone,” but from the way he was dabbing at the table with paper napkins, sighing and making a funny clicking noise with his tongue, like a tap dripping, I could tell he was annoyed with me. When Shelly came back, Dad told me they were moving in together. Mum and Dad had only been separated for two months. Two months! Officially that is. I’d heard Mum talking to a friend on the phone and saying she reckoned they’d been at it for a lot longer. Something to do with Dad joining the gym and buying new boxer shorts and aftershave.
I just stared at Dad. Luckily my pizza arrived, so I didn’t have
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