I just looked at her and nodded and tried to look supportive but I felt, well, really, disappointed.
“That’s the thing with boys, isn’t it, Shiraz? You end up in so deep with them you start following their dream instead of
your own. You’ll get like that with your Wesley. It’s your destiny,” said Cava-Sue.
And then I knew. I knew I was going to London.
And before I could say anything else, my mother then ran into the ladies’ loo looking like she’d just won the National Lottery
shouting, “Oh my god! Have I just heard what I think I’ve heard, Cava-Sue?! My first grandchild! MY FIRST GRANDCHILD! THIS
IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY WHOLE LIFE.”
By the time Mum and Cava-Sue had figured out how they’d fit Cava-Sue, Lewis, and a Moses basket into her old room, well, I’d
already told Carrie that me and her would be needing to find a two-bedroom apartment far, far away from them all.
All told, Nan and Clement’s wedding was lovely. Proper lovely.
If I ever get married, which won’t be for a real long time, then I want it to be just like that. Obviously, not at Romford
Registry Office and marrying an old geezer, no, but I want the room to feel like that when I walk up the aisle. Like everyone
is totally happy for me and everyone can feel how much we’re in love. Nan looked proper amazing in her cream suit from Marks
and Spencer and her big cream hat. And Clement looked like a right old handsome bloke in his navy blue suit and dark gray
fedora. And Murphy never lost the ring. And Mum never scared off Rema by asking when her and Murphy were getting hitched.
And Dad only got a little bit drunk at the party and did his “Elvis on the toilet” impression once.
And Clement’s toast was just perfect ’cos he said he wanted to be with Nan forever and he felt like his life began again when
he saw her come into bingo at Chadwell Heath and he loved her with all his heart and soul. We were all nearly crying when
he said that. And then everyone had a laugh and a drink and a dance and even more of a dance and eventually my feet began
to hurt in my new shoes and Wesley saw I was knackered and he told Mum he’d take me home.
Wesley Barrington Bains II gave me a piggyback ride down the road from the social club in the moonlight. We both never said
much all the way along the road, ’cos we both knew something was wrong between us and neither of us wanted to spoil the day.
And eventually Wesley said, “So do you reckon that’ll ever be me and you one day, innit?”
And I felt awful in my heart when he said that so I took a deep breath and said, “Well, if you want me to be proper honest,
Wesley, no.”
And then I told him about me and Carrie going to London. It felt like it would be properly tight if I never said anything
right then. I explained it all in lots and lots of words about leaving Goodmayes and experiencing life and I tried my best
to make him see.
And when I stopped talking he had tears in his eyes. And his bottom lip looked like he was having to try proper hard to stop
it wobbling, ’cos he was trying to be tough like boys do and not let me see I’d broken his heart.
He wandered off into the moonlight down Thundersley Road and I watched his baggy silhouette until he turned the corner, then
I went upstairs and got into bed and curled into a ball and cried.
Well, what a weird day today has turned out to be.
Nothing like I’d figured it out.
I went round to Uma’s and told her what I was up to and I’d expected her to be all “Whatever” but she wasn’t, she was proper
upset.
“Bloody hell, mate,” Uma said, “Me and Zeus will miss you rotten, won’t we, Zeus? What we going to do without Shiraz Bailey
Wood? You’re the only person in Essex that don’t think I’m a one-woman crime wave!”
“No I’m not, Uma,” I said. “Not anymore.”
Uma says she’ll come and visit me and Carrie in London. She says she’s looking into training to be a dealer in a casino. Y’know
something? I think she’ll do OK.
The person I was really dreading telling was Ms. Bracket. I was proper bricking it as I knocked on her office door. Then she
opened it with a big smile on her face and said, “So you’ve heard!” and I said, “Heard what?!” And she said, “You’re talking
to the new Mayflower Academy headmistress! Mr. Bamblebury has announced his retirement!” and I said, “Oh my God!!”
Of course, what I was going to tell her then seemed really bad. But she was sort of OK really. She listened proper carefully
to what I said about my dreams, then she said, “Do you know, Shiraz, if you’re so determined to see the world outside Goodmayes,
I can’t really stand in your way. But you know you can come back here and carry on with A2-Levels if it doesn’t work out,
don’t you?”
“Can I?” I said.
And she looks at me and says, “Well, I suppose I can have a word with my boss… no, hang on… I am the boss! Yes! Of course
I’ll have you back. You’re the legendary Shiraz Bailey Wood.”
So I left Mayflower Academy and I went and met Carrie in Mr. Yolk. I walked through the door and Mario goes, “Hello, Shirelle!
Your little friend with all the surprise eyes and mouth like a bee stung her face is here! She’s in the corner!”
And there was Carrie, sitting with the newspaper, opened at the “Apartments for Rent” section going, “’Ere Shiz, do you fancy
Camden or Knightsbridge? North, south or central?” I grinned and sat down. Then my phone bleeped in my pocket.
It was a text message from Wesley Barrington Bains II. It said:
IF U NEED A LIFT WITH UR STUFF OR ANYTHING AT ALL—GIVE ME A SHOUT. I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE. W-B-B II XXX
I looked at it and my eyes began to sting a bit, but I pulled myself together quickly.
“Oh, look at you two!” Mario was laughing, bringing us both a coffee. “Look at you, Shirelle! With all your gold on! Your
hoops and your bracelets and your hoodie! You make me smile! You and your little friend! Always look like you’re up to something!
What you up to today then? Up to no bloody good!”
“You’re not wrong, Mario,” I said and took a swig of my coffee, got out a pen, and began circling ads for apartments.
I am the master of my own destiny, after all.
Hello Shirazheads in the United States of America!
’Ere, the lovely people at the publishing house have said I better explain some of the words I use in my diaries! They reckon
I speak English, but just not English like anyone else they know does. Flaming cheek, eh?! Ha ha ha! So anyway, here’s a few
words to help you out. I hope this allows you to enjoy my books more ’cos to be totally honest I spent a whole night doing
it when I could have been round Carrie’s house eating noodles, getting my nails painted, and prank calling London Zoo, which
we all know would have been way more fun. Keep it real blud!
Lots of love—Shizzlebizzlewoodxxxx
A-Level:
(n.) Advanced level exams. Teenagers take these at 18 to qualify to go on to university. You can either leave school at 16
and work somewhere rubbish like a pot pie factory or make a choice to carry on in education and do your A-levels. But A-levels
are really tough so only the nerds and swots end up doing them.
Agony Aunt:
(n.) An Agony Aunt works on a magazine and you write to her with your “problems.” She’s meant to help you out, but in reality
I reckon the work experience intern opens them and then everyone in the office has a laugh about your bum spots or the fact
that your feet look a bit webbed. I would be an amazing Agony Aunt ’cos I always keep it real and people like to hear the
truth, don’t they?
’Arris:
(n.) Bum, rear. See also:
jacksie
.
ASBO:
(n.) Anti-social behavior order. The police give ASBOs to people to stop them causing trouble in a certain place. So if you
always cause trouble in the park, your ASBO might forbid you visiting the park for 6 months. The Bruton-Fletchers have a LOT
of ASBOs.
Baps:
(n.) Boobs. Also boobies, breasts, blouse potatoes.
Bashment:
(n.) A party.
Bint:
(n.) An annoying woman.
“’Ere I was standing in the line at KFC, right, and this BINT pushes in before me and orders a Bargain Bucket!”
Boffin:
(n.) Boffins are the people at school who always get straight A’s and remember to bring their books and pens and know which
class to be at on the right day and time. Their homework never gets “stolen by a big dog” en route to school. When you ask
a boffin what they want to do in the future they say, “I want to be a research scientist for NASA.” They don’t say, “’Ere,
come round my gaff at about seven, I’m prank calling the zoo pretending to be an escaped lion.” Me and Carrie are not boffins.
Brassic:
(adj.) Skint, penniless, broke, etc.
“’Ere Shizzle, you coming to the mall on Saturday?” “Yeah, but mate I am totally brassic so I’ll just be window shopping.
I can’t even afford any McNuggets.”
Bricking it:
(vb.) Scared, nervous, so terrified you feel like you might have an accident in your thong.
“So, did you call dat hot boy on Saturday then?” “No, bruv, I was proper bricking it!”
Buff:
(adj.) Buff means a nice fit body. A hottie.
“Is he working out a lot? He is looking well buff.”
Butterz:
(adj.) Ugly, minging, not attractive. Sort of “butt ugly” taken to the extreme.
“Don’t let me snog Harry, even if I’m drunk right? He is well butterz!”
Buzzing:
(vb.) Feeling really excited.
Cark it:
(vb.) 1: To die.
“He’s off school. His gran carked it—he has to go to the funeral.”
2:
To stop working.
“OMG. We were halfway to Romford and Wesley’s car totally carked it.”
Chas ’n’ Dave:
(n.) Terrible old-fashioned British music duo. One plays piano, one plays guitar. They both have beards. The sort of CD your
mum and dad put on at New Year’s after a few glasses of booze and start dancing to and you get seriously worried that one
of them might slip and break a hip.
Chav:
(n.) Chav is a not very nice word people often call me and my friends ’cos we wear hoodies and gold hoops and listen to R+B
and own Staffordshire Bull Terriers and don’t live in posh houses. People say chavs cause a lot of trouble. I don’t think
I am a chav, and if I am it stands for “charming, hilarious, articulate, and vibrant.”
Choong:
(adj.) Sexy, handsome, hottie.
“Oh my days, who is that new boy in class? He is proper choong, man, I can’t stop staring!”
Chuffed:
(adj.) Happy, pleased.
“Awww, Wazzle is well chuffed, his ASBO doesn’t stretch as far as Wembley Stadium so we can get tickets for Beyoncé!”
or
“Man, check out my new gold scunchy! Only a quid in Claire’s Accessories. I am well chuffed!”
Dossing:
(vb.) To lie about doing nothing.
“I’ve been dossing about all day.”
Dubstep:
(n.) A type of very fast British dance music that has to be played loud. The total opposite of Chas ’n’ Dave. If you put
this on in the car you can be sure your mother will be in a really bad mood when you get where you’re going and will have
pointed out at least once that there is “no tune” and she is “getting one of her migraines.”
Earwigging:
(vb.) Listening to something you ain’t supposed to be. What mothers do when you’re on the phone. Or when a boy you fancy
walks past and you want to hear what he’s saying.
EastEnders:
(n.) A soap opera about London folk which plays three times a week on BBC1 in Britain. It is properly depressing but everyone
is addicted to it.
Elizabeth Duke:
(n.) Jewelry shop in Britain that posh people take the mickey out of ’cos it’s not exactly Tiffany.
“OMG I love that diamond-covered clown-shaped pendant! Where’d you get that?” “My Wes got me it from Elizabeth Duke for Christmas!”
Emmerdale:
(n.) British soap opera that is on TV five times a week. It’s set in a village in the countryside in Yorkshire, England.
Everyone in Emmerdale has snogged each other or got divorced at least once and they argue about pigs and corn all the time.
My mother likes
Emmerdale
a lot.
Faffing about:
(vb.) Spending a lot of time very busily not achieving anything.
“Why are you late?!” “Oh god, sorry, I got up at seven AM and I’ve been faffing about ever since. I sort of started straightening
my hair, then I started typing an e-mail, then I lost my keys and then I couldn’t find a skirt and then one thing led to another
and I decided to categorize my sock drawer into ‘daywear,’ ‘fancy,’ and ‘sports/casual.’”
Fancy:
(vb.) To have the hots for someone.
“I fancy him! I fancy him rotten!”
Fangita:
(n.) Lady-bits, front-bum, mimsy.
“I had to rearrange my thong, it was strangling my fangita!” or “We spent half an hour in biology looking at photos of fangitas.
It proper put me off lunch, I can tell you.”
Fizzing:
(adj.) Angry, irate.
Flog:
(vb.) To sell something.
“I’m going to flog my bike, I need some cash.”
GCSE:
(n.) The exam sixteen-year-olds take before they can choose to move on to A-Levels. Everyone who is sixteen in Britain takes
GCSE exams. Then it’s your choice whether you want to quit school FOREVER or study for some A-Levels, bearing in mind that
studying for A-Levels will involve carrying on at school and being moaned at by teachers for another two years.
Geezer:
(n.) A man, a bloke, a guy.
Git:
(n.) Annoying person.
“He’s such a total git sometimes! I said to him, ‘Bruv, who’s more buff, me or Beyoncé?’ And he said Beyoncé!”
or
“OMG, this old git was in front of me in the supermarket queue taking ten hours to buy a tin of peaches and some false teeth
glue.”
See also:
bint.