Pride and Premiership Read Online Free Page B

too, then apologized for using his GHDs without asking, and we gave each other a big hug.
    Apart from that, life is major suckeroo in Sucksville.
6.30 p.m.
    Malibu’s home. She’s just shown me a ton of soppy texts from Goldenballs, which I personally think is an invasion of his privacy. She’s all Gary this, Gary that, Gary three bags bloody full.
7 p.m.
    I’ve started writing a poem:
    Loser, wait till you check what you’ve lost.
You’re gonna cry me a river. Yeah – why don’t ya just.

   (Borrowed a little for that line.)
And when I have the number-one beauty shop,
You’ll be gutted about what you almost got.
    Needs a bit of work but I’m sure Miss Stevens, my old English teacher, would write “Shows great potential.”
    Yeah! Girl Power, baby!!
7.05 p.m.
    Why, oh why, oh why hasn’t Robbie texted me? Is he one of those hot and cold blokes that Katy Perry sings about? Or is he just a cruel person who gets thrills out of making people feel like crap? Because I hate him if he does. And I don’t want to see him again. Ever. I mean it this time. I hate being on this roller coaster. And I— Eek! Phone’s ringing.
7.20 p.m.
    OMG. It was Robbie!! And there’s been a HUGE misunderstanding. He said that when he checked out of Le Grove this morning he accidentally left his mobile in the room, and that he has an old one but my number isn’t in it, so he went back to collect it as soon as he could.
    And just when I was about to say, “Yeah, right,” he told me he used his old mobile to call Gary and told him to tell Malibu to tell me.
    Grr… Malibu does my head in sometimes.
    Anyway, he apologized a gazillion times. And said that he was dying to see me again. “Will you be around tomorrow evening?” he asked.
    I wanted to say, “You bet your ass I will!” But instead I said I just had to check my diary. Then I waited a few seconds before announcing, “Actually I am.”
    He’s going to call tomorrow morning to confirm things.
    Oh well, back on the roller coaster of
lurve
.
7.45 p.m.
    Malibu just burst through my door and went, “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you Robbie—”
    “Left his phone at the hotel,” I finished for her.
    “Oh, you know – cool,” she said.
    I’d wring her neck if I wasn’t so happy.
8.30 p.m.
    Uh-oh. I think Dad is in deep trouble. The house phone rang, Mum picked it up in the hallway and then started to hiss. All I could hear was, “And what time do you call this?” Then “Something, something, RIDICULOUS. Something, something, TAKE IT BACK.”
    I knew straight away that it was Dad she was hissing at. I was sitting in the kitchen snacking on Doritos, and the fact that she stomped back in when the call ended and scraped his dinner into the bin confirmed it.
    He tries to finish work at six so he can be home for dinner at six-thirty, like Mum wants him to. But he says that when you have your own business, like he does with Uncle Pete – boringly called “P (for Pete) & R (for Reg) Bennet” – you can’t afford to lose customers. So if he’s running late because he’s having a major problem fixing a washing machine or a tumble dryer, he just phones to let Mum know. Then she stores his dinner in the oven with the temperature on low.
    “What d’you do that for?” I complained as Mum slammed the lid back down on the bin.
    Instead of answering, Mum threw me the evil eye and stomped into the living room.
10.05 p.m.
    Dad came home about fifteen minutes after Mum had chucked his dinner and headed straight for the kitchen. I was in the living room with Mum and we were watching
London Airport
.
    “Remy?” Dad called.
    “Yes, Dad?”
    “Can you ask your mum where my dinner is, please?”
    This time I threw HER the evil eye.
See, you only had to wait fifteen minutes!
    “Tell your dad that if he thinks I’m such a liar, he can find some other skivvy,” Mum said, loud enough for him to hear.
A liar?
I thought, but I didn’t see the point in repeating it. Didn’t want to