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

to sell it for at least ten pounds, and whoever sells theirs first wins. We’re going to play every week until the end of the school year, and then whoever has won overall buys the other Sprinkles.

This means: More fun for us, more money for the shop, and ice cream at the end.

Also: Alex is not allowed to take sides, but must promote both entries equally. He obviously has a lot to say about that, but we told him he can come to Sprinkles, so he’s less frowny already.

My first candidate is a pair of bowling shoes I found on the bottom of the hideous-shoes-that-are-never-going-to-sell pile.

They are bright red, totally worn, and have zero grip.

I cleaned them until they looked super shiny, labeled them VINTAGE, and put them in the window for fifteen pounds.

Emma found a framed picture of pressed flowers that she put in the display cabinet with a sign saying A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS. I reckon it’s worth nothing, but we’ll see.

The shoes are a definite winner.

PS: I’m a free agent now. No more exams. But now starts the horrible wait for results. Seriously, school is basically an endless string of unavoidable events that make you feel literally sick.

Friday, June 22 #WhatHaveIAgreedTo

Today Polly was like: “Have you ever been to Tooting Lido?”

Me: Never. I don’t believe in outdoor swimming. Where is it?

Polly: Tooting.

Me: You’re funny.

Polly: I know. That’s why I’m your favorite.

Me (thinking: She’s right, she is still my favorite.): Why?

Polly: Because Tristan and I want to go on Sunday.

Me: Have fun.

Polly: And we were wondering if you wanted to come.

Me: And watch you guys make out in a swimming pool? Let me think … eeeeehm, no!

Polly: It won’t be like that.

Me: You say that now, but then you see him in his swimming trunks with his skinny little legs poking out, and you’ll be like: OMG, I must lick all that immediately.

Polly:…

Me: What?

Polly: That’s what you think of me, isn’t it? That I’m a sex-crazed maniac.

Me:…

Polly: I actually love spending time with Tristan, and I love spending time with you, so why is it so difficult for your smart brain to process that maybe I just want to have my two favorite people in the same place every once in a while?

Me:…

Polly: So are you coming or not?

Me: I’m coming.

Polly: Good. Geeez! It’s like drawing blood from a stone with you.

PS: I’ve just messaged Emma to ask if she wants to go to the lido, and she was like:

Yes, I love swimming.

Oh my God, I hate swimming.

Kill me.

Saturday, June 23 #Aftermath

Saturdays at the thrift shop are so weird without Bill and Melanie.

Pat was in today, and it was the first time I’d seen her since the funeral.

Kate: Pat, why don’t you go home and get some rest?

Pat: Thanks, Kate, but I prefer to stay busy.

Kate: All right, but don’t forget to look after yourself. It’s all well and good you looking after Bill, but you’re no good to anyone if you end up having a nervous breakdown.

And then Emma was like: “Do you think I should ask if Bill wants to come to my meetings? I know Melanie didn’t die of cancer, but a loss is a loss.”

Kate (biting her lip, looking into the middle distance): To be honest, pet, I don’t think Bill is ready for anything like that.

Emma: Maybe.

Me (finally): What meetings are they?

Emma: I go to meetings with people who’ve lost people to cancer.

Me: Okay.

Emma: I like going.

Me: Okay.

Emma: I think it keeps me sane.

Then Kate wrapped an arm around Emma and pulled her into a sideways hug and kissed the top of her head, going: “I’m so happy at least one of us is sane.”

8:05 P.M.

I want to know what happened after Romeo and Juliet died. I want to know what happened to the Nurse, and to the parents, and to all the shit-stirrers who caused Romeo and Juliet to go crazy.

But nobody ever talks about the time after the great tragedy.

9:10 P.M.

I wish I’d just asked Emma about the meetings earlier. I literally thought it was this huge, secret thing, when it’s just her going to talk to people who’ve been through the same trauma.

Sunday, June 24 #Lido

This morning we took the bus to Tooting. Polly and Tristan were already on it, I got on at Wimbledon, and Emma got on at South Wimbledon.

I had to buy a swimsuit at Primark beforehand, because the only one I own is from Year Five and has Minnie Mouse on it.

Note to self: Always own a decent swimsuit, and definitely don’t start buying one two minutes before you have to get on the bus.

I ended up with this vile, ill-fitting, bright blue thing.

Why am I incapable?

More reasons a mission to Mars would be brilliant:

space suit and

NASA-regulation underwear.

Emma looked fantastic in her bright red halter neck bikini, but to be fair, she looks fantastic in anything.

Emma and Tristan got on like a house on fire, of course.

What is it that makes him so irresistible?

Is it his helplessness?

The fact that he looks twelve?

Honestly, not ten minutes into the bus journey, and Emma and him were laughing and joking like they’d known each other all their lives. And later they went to get us water, then ice cream, and once they even went for a wee together.

Polly was like: “This is nice. Like a double date.” And as soon as she’d said it, she looked like she was kind of listening back to it in her head, and then she regarded me through half-closed eyes, and she went: “Phoebe?” But I was just like: “Fuck off.”

We went swimming a few times, but I didn’t really like it, partly because the water in that lido is absolutely freezing, but mainly because I’m not a very good swimmer. Everyone was doing proper lengths whilst I was struggling to stay afloat.

But because it was hot, and we had a nice time, we stayed until we all were 100 percent late getting home.

Emma was