Read a bit
An excerpt from CUT OFF
Read Vix's first journal entry and find out about Ava's first day back at school.
(Return to main synopsis of the book)
Vix
Scented gel
Rollerball
The guilt-making charity freebie pen
That screams for help down its side
Or the gushing fountain
Cheeky powder-puff-pink-fluffy-topped one
I have to choose the right weapon
To write my life
Turn it into
The lyrics for a song
That will never be downloaded
Produced or promoted
It's just for me
And as this creation will never be seen
I reserve the right to be as naff and/or mean
As I really am
To speak the words that are closest to my soul
To speak in metaphor and sometimes to rhyme
Because poetry
Doesn't speak in sentences
And as life sometimes imitates art
(that's what makes it a success)
I can talk about myself in this form
In tantalising lines
Cos it's the only way to tell you
My thoughts
And not out loud
Never out loud
I'm a deep thinker
Swallowing ideas and opinions
Like a binge drinker
And because I can dress to impress
Have a card that says American Express
Come from a good family
To look at me you would
Never suspect
That somewhere deep in me is
This need
To confess
Because my life is such
A mixed-up
Crazy mess
Ava
It was the second week of term and I was happily being carried along by the lava flow of girls making their way down the school corridor when Mrs Berry popped out of her office, tapped me on the shoulder and demanded, 'What are you, Ava?'
I twitched and blinked whilst Mrs Berry glanced impatietly at her clipboard. The question sounded odd, like something out of a Shakespeare play. Had I heard it right? She knew perfectly well who I was, but what I was? That was truly a bizarre question. Mrs Berry was always emphasising what she called 'appropriateness in partnership with academic achievement.' I chewed the inside of my cheek and debated whether to put on a mockney accent and say something sassy like, 'a lot prettier and richer than you darlin'. She ran the philosophy club so perhaps my answer should've been something along the lines of, 'What I am, Mrs Berry, is a product of my own upbringing. Nothing more, nothing less.'
I come from an interesting family background. My dad comes from a long line of Welsh/Italian ice cream makers. Grandpa Conti created the award-winning 'Welsh Rarebit' flavour. Dad's tastes were even wierder - he left the world of ice-cream for the tang of politics.
My mother Elspeth Broadhurst-Conti is a barrister who spends her days arguing for people's rights and her evenings pointing out all my wrongs. We didn't know much about her father, apart from the fact that he came from Africa and met Nan whilst he was studying law in Manchester and went back unexpectedly, leaving her expecting! Mum refuses to talk about him but is determined to become a high court judge. How twisted is that!
Mrs Berry cleared her throat and tapped her pen impatiently. I am down on some sort of list as having non-specific learning difficulties (no one can actually specify what they are!) so she was obviously giving me more time. Nan had argued with mum about it, saying in her Manchester accent, 'She only seems slow in your household because the rest of you are always dashing about like headless chickens.'
What was I? The answer to this question would have to be, 'A great disappointment to my family.' It was my big sister, Victoria, who had been visited in her cot by the fairy godmother and granted the classic girlie-girl wishes of being the Pretty One and the Clever One.
I had the same features as my sister - long dark wavy hair, brown eyes, but whereas peopel talked about her 'Julia Roberts smile'. I felt like a wide-mouthed-frog. People said she was curvy and had an hourglass figure; I resembled a barometer - thin neck and big bottom.
Mrs Berry broke the silence. 'Now shall I put you down as Other? I usually do put you and Victoria down as that but I thought I'd better check. This ethnic monitoring form has to be sent off today. Is that fine? She smiled weakly at me.
I twitched the corners of my mouth back at her.
Mrs Berry quickly ticked a box and scanned the corridor for the next person on her list.
I rejoined the lava flow and made my way to morning assembly where I tried to forget about how weird that conversation had made me feel.
How 'Other'.
(Return to main synopsis of the book)
© Lynda Waterhouse
