Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

a sociology GCSE example sheet. Get this:

“Describe what sociologists mean by a same-sex family.”

Sweet Lord Jesus.

What could anyone possibly mean by a same-sex family?

Same.

Sex.

Family.

Why is the government wasting my time with this?

It’s Sunday, and Mum hasn’t called. She must have more important things to do. I honestly don’t care if she never calls again.

Monday, April 23 #DontTellMe

Kate got a “courtesy call” from Médecins Internationale today informing her that “Dr. Davis and her team haven’t been in contact for thirty-two hours” but that there was “no immediate reason for concern.”

This has never happened.

Kate says it’s protocol to contact next of kin.

I wish they wouldn’t, because what’s the point? It:

a)  doesn’t locate the missing and

b)  worries people who can’t do anything about it.

Once, when Mum and I were on our way to visit Nan and Granddad in Hong Kong, due to a “technical fault with the aircraft,” the flight was delayed by two hours, and the whole time I was thinking: Why would you tell us the plane we’re about to get on is currently broken? Say anything, make something up, but don’t say that.

I think a good lie is hugely underrated.

I was like: “Mum’s okay, isn’t she?” and Kate was like: “Of course she’s okay,” but later I caught her stroking two cats simultaneously, and that’s not a good sign at all.

I wish I could call Polly, but there’s no way I’m going to beg for her time or friendship.

PS: I just searched online for people like Mum going missing (war doctors, journalists, aid workers, nurses, etc.), and the fact is that most of them are never found. And if they are found, they’re usually dead.

I’m so angry with Mum I can’t even.

Tuesday, April 24 #48Hours

Dear Miss Anderson,

This is a courtesy communication to inform you that despite our best efforts, we have not been able to make contact with Dr. Amelia Davis and her team in forty-eight hours.

Please rest assured that we are using all available resources to establish contact.

I would like to stress to you that we have no reason to believe Dr. Davis and her team have come to harm, or are in any immediate danger.

As per our procedures, we are going to keep circulating a courtesy email every twenty-four hours.

In the meantime, should there be any developments, we will contact you immediately via telephone on the emergency number you have provided. Please make sure to update your contact details should these have changed.

Sincerely, Anneke Stromberg, MÉDECINS INTERNATIONALE London

When Kate read me the email, she didn’t sound Scottish at all, which is, like, the worst sign ever.

I’ve tried WhatsApping Mum a million times, but I can’t get through. She’s going to have a heart attack when she sees the number of missed calls.

I once read that spy satellites are so brilliant they can find a match lying on the ground anywhere on planet Earth and tell if it’s been lit or not.

a)  How amazing is that?

b)  Don’t tell me you can’t zoom in on a field hospital in Syria that’s run by an international aid agency.

8:30 P.M.

I could fly out of Gatwick tomorrow at 12:20 with Ukraine International Airways (via Kiev) for, like, £329.61. That would get me to Ankara at 10:10 P.M.

Kate caught me looking at flights, and she was just like: “You listen to me now, Phoebe. Your mother is okay.”

But the truth is, Kate doesn’t know that. Nobody knows that.

I don’t even know why I care, because it’s not that Mum didn’t have it coming. And because Mum had it coming, I had it coming. We all had it coming.

9:05 P.M.

I just know she’s dead.

9:20 P.M.

I wonder what kind of a funeral Mum would want.

We never talked about that, which seems really odd to me right now, considering I always knew deep down it would come to this.

Maybe Kate knows, but I don’t want to ask her about it yet. She’s still all like: “We must stay positive.”

But must we? How could our attitude possibly have any influence on Mum’s situation?

I don’t think Mum’s religious, so I don’t think we’d go to a church or anything. I reckon she’d want to be cremated. That way we could scatter her ashes all across the globe; take a spoonful to each of the places she loved.

Actually, knowing Mum, she’d probably want to use her remains to feed the hungry. I know that sounds disgusting, but she totally thinks she’s all that.

I don’t want to be shipped off to Hong Kong to live with Nan and Granddad. Mum better not be dead.

10:00 P.M.

I wonder what Dad’s funeral was like.

I wonder if Mum has been to Israel.

I wonder if she still misses him.

I wonder if there’s an afterlife, and if so, what would Dad say to her if she showed up now?

Can you still be in love when you’re both dead?

Wednesday, April 25 #Plans

We got yet another courtesy email this morning, and I literally felt so sick that I couldn’t go to school.

I searched the internet for the most popular funeral poems.

The first one Google found is called “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep.”

How stupid is that? People aren’t exactly going to be like: YAY!!

The whole poem is like: Don’t cry at my funeral, because I’m not even there, but I am the sunshine, and the wind, and this and that, and something else as well, blah blah blah, so really, I’m with you all the time.

That’s the kind of made-up shit people tell other people when they want them to feel better. In fact, Mum’s been saying this to me for years. She’s always like: “Whenever you think of me, I’m already thinking of you.”

That stupid poem actually made me proper upset for a minute. Not because it’s supposedly deep and meaningful, but because I realized that if Mum were dead, our relationship would be exactly as it is right now, except without the WhatsApping.

I don’t understand why she decided to have me.

Polly texted me at lunchtime to ask if I was okay, but