Aisling's Diary

Chapter 16

10:00p.m.

I know Murphy isn’t home yet. Maybe he is a degenerate. What on earth can he be doing until this time of night? 

11:00p.m.

Murphy home – I can turn off my shuffle and go to sleep. This is what it must be like to be the parent of a degenerate teenager. 

11:05p.m.

Quite hard to sleep knowing Murphy is a mere five meters away from me. Perhaps I can borrow Dad’s drill from the shed and drill a hole through the wall. I bet I could getaway with it. No one ever expects that sort of behaviour from sixteen-year-old girls. If I was a forty-year-old bloke I’d have to go to prison but I could probably just grin at the police and say I was just worried about my neighbour getting home because he rides a motorbike so I drilled a hole in the wall so I could check. I’d probably get a medal or something for being so caring. Ha ha. ARGGHH. Just thought, that would mean that he could see me with my mouth open, dribbling while asleep. Yeuch. OMG if I drilled through I’d have to wear mascara all the time even in bed, like my Aunty Jo ‘in case there’s a fire’. No no no no no. No drill. Forget it.

Why do I even care, it’s not like we’re even going out.We’re just mates. Are we mates? You can’t really go outwith someone if they’re not going out with you, can you?Unless you’re Eavanne, that is. Freak alert.

I’m going to go to sleep thinking about Phil Donnelly, maybe I can re-like him instead. Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t re-like Phil O Donnelly. What’s to ‘re-like’? That’s not even a thing. The truth is ... well, the truth is I like Murphy – and probably more than just as a friend. And in fact now I actually write it down, I realize I want to really get to know him. Oh no. This is going to be complicated. I don’t know what he thinks about me. That, my‘friends’, is the ten million dollar question.

11.10p.m.

OK, it’s late, but let’s look at the evidence. Lists always make things better.

1. He gives me rides on his bike.

2. He apologized for his friends (welcome friend Dec, and one knucklehead JP).

3. He’s definitely not going out with Eavanne (although she says they are).

Evidence against:

 1. He hasn’t asked me out or kissed me.

2. He’s never spent any time with me that wasn’t about the dancing.

3. He still hangs round with Evil Eavanne.

In conclusion I have to conclude that I have absolutely NO IDEA what he thinks of me. That was one of the most pointless lists I have ever written.

Friday 18 November

There has been no further evidence either way in the great Does He or Doesn’t He Want to Go Out with Mescientific experiment. I have no further evidence to present, m’lud. I did however walk into a big ‘discussion’ between the parents tonight. It was obvious they were talking about Uncle Conor, because they always are these days and anyway then they stopped as soon as I came in. Mum said, oh we were just talking about… and I said, what a big ass Uncle Conor is? And they both really laughed. Mom told me off for swearing but, as I told her, I could have said a lot worse. I could have said what a ‘bum-headed, fat-faced twerpington Stanley gittings the third’ he is, which wouldn’t actually be swearing but would be a lot worse. However, as usual I didn’t remember that particular insult that Amelia and I developed for exactly this kind of situation over the summer holidays. I should perhaps have that tattooed up my arm like Angelina Jolie to remind myself. Although by the time I’d had it tattooed I’d probably remember it, like that quote from Romeo and Juliet I wrote on my arm for the English test. Totally pointless. However, good idea for revising: write everything you need to know all over your body in eyeliner pencil and then you remember it. Hmm – already thinking this is a terrible idea. BYE.

Saturday 19 November

Guess what? The ninth birthday party to end all birthday parties that my cousin Shane was having has been postponed. Guess what number two? Party Kins (our main rival) has double booked. Aunty Stell threatened them with all sorts but because the other booking is for one of U2’s little darlings’ parties they won’t budge. They say Aunty Stella never sent an email to confirm. I wonder if she’ll think the obvious: Parties-to-Go!

11:08a.m.

How obtuse is Aunty Stell? She called Mum in a right state saying, ‘Shane’s birthday is ruined’ and ‘she’ll never be able to find anyone as good at such short notice’. I’m sorry, Aunty Stell, I love you and all but ... DUH.

When Mum put the phone down, I said maybe they could use Parties-to-Go. But then I felt a bit uncomfortable, like working for the other side. Dad, however, thought it would be great, I think he’s really proud of me.

Anyway so Mum said she would call Aunty Stella to see if she wants a bit of the Parties-to-Go Magic. Ha. I made a joke without even realizing it.

9:00p.m.

Dad’s record collection turned up today. Would it be really mean of me to think that I wish that it hadn’t? 

11:00p.m.

All right. Enough already. It really is the dirgiest music in the world. Would it kill him to play a little bit of Girls Aloud now and then?

Sunday 20 November 

I didn’t see or hear M all day today. Murphy, where are you? Are you thinking of me?

Hours spent on the internet looking at Murphy dancing: four.

I think that shows brilliant self-control. 

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