Love Is for Losers Read online

  Arsenal salt and pepper shakers. Just crap.

  Thimble with IBIZA written on it. What?

  Christmas soap collection from Boots circa 1971. Rancid.

  And last but definitely not least, my personal favorite and a genuine bargain at only three pounds:

  A dried-up yet fully inflated puffer fish with plastic googly eyes stuck on. Why?

  When I walked in, I was like: “Yes!” because it wasn’t Pat behind the till, but a guy with Down syndrome who was a bit older than me.

  He didn’t say hello, and so I didn’t say anything either, which I thought was fine, because it’s a thrift shop and not Lush, where the salespeople are all like: “Hiya,” and in your face for half an hour.

  I could hear Kate through the open door to the stockroom, and I thought I’d walk straight in. When I passed the till, the guy took a deep breath in, then shouted: “Kate! Customer!”

  I literally had a heart attack and swung around to look at him and say something, anything, and our eyes locked.

  Him (so loud): Kate! Customer!

  Me:…

  Him (even louder): Kate! Customer! Kate! Customer!

  Me: Shut up!

  Him:…

  Then a girl in a school uniform with the bluest icy-blue eyes I’ve ever seen in all my life appeared from the back room, and she looked at me like: Did you just tell a person with Down syndrome to shut up? And I looked at her like: Well, yes, because why would I discriminate just because he has a learning disability? Then she went: “You okay, Alex?” to him, and to me: “Can I help you with anything today?” and I told her I was there to see Kate, and suddenly she looked at me like she totally had me figured out, and she was like: “Are you Phoebe? I’m Emma. Kate’s in the back, do you want to go through?”

  I nodded, and the second I moved, Alex shouted: “Kate! Customer!” again so loudly I swear it made all the shitty bric-a-brac rattle.

  I flinched, which I know Emma thought was hilarious because I saw her biting her lip like she was afraid to laugh in my face.

  Me (to Alex): Do you have to be so shouty?

  Alex: I’m Alex.

  Me: I know.

  Alex: Hello. Nice to meet you.

  Me:…

  Alex: Those who aren’t seen must be heard.

  Emma (nodding):…

  Me:…

  Turned out I didn’t escape running into Pat after all, because she was in the back with Kate. Apparently she doesn’t really do the till anymore now, because she has taken on a more “administrative role” (pricing bric-a-brac).

  She looked me up and down as usual, and it was so obvious that she had a million things to say about:

  my hair

  my face

  my school uniform

  my mere existence

  I was just like: “Pat,” and she was just like: “Phoebe.”

  Kate tried to talk me into staying and helping out, but I was like: “No thanks, I’m busy.” (lie)

  She told me that Emma and Alex are really nice, and wouldn’t it be great to make new friends, but I was like: “Thanks, but I don’t need friends, because, you know, lesson learned.” Besides: Pat.

  PS: On my way out of the shop, Emma was all friendly like: “Nice to meet you, Phoebe,” which confused me, because looking back now, maybe the way I spoke to Alex wasn’t ideal.

  I ended up not saying anything to either of them when I left.

  PPS: I think I’m socially awkward.

  Friday, January 12 #DoubleStandards

  It appears that now we no longer have to hunt for food, some people have become too stupid to even purchase food, and in my opinion this should affect evolution.

  I watched a woman throw a massive tantrum at the shops today when she was asked to use a self-service checkout machine.

  She was like: “I simply refuse to use these!”

  I bet she wouldn’t “simply refuse” state-of-the-art keyhole surgery, though.

  I wanted to message Polly about it, but I didn’t.

  PS: Mum sent a WhatsApp this afternoon, but I haven’t looked at it.

  Saturday, January 13 #DesignerCatHell

  Since I’ve been seen taking the bus to and from school for a week, Polly has cleverly deduced that I’m at Kate’s, and so today she was like: “Is your mum away for long?”

  Me: She’s gone to Syria, so who knows when she’ll get back. If she gets back.

  Polly: Phoebe, don’t say that. You can’t say that.

  Me: I just did.

  I honestly expected more from Polly. What’s everyone’s problem with the truth?

  Mum’s job is dangerous; we all know that. But instead of admitting it, everyone’s always like: She’ll be fine.

  According to the internet, over four hundred thousand people have died so far in Syria. That’s almost the population of Manchester. And I’m sure all their friends and family were like: Oh, they’ll be fine.

  It’s always other people until it isn’t.

  Like, I hate it, but at least I don’t bury my head in the sand about that, so if anything happens to Mum, I’ll be emotionally prepared.

  In other news, the designer cats broke into my room and went to sleep on my school uniform.

  And how is it possible that Kate doesn’t own lint roller?

  It took a whole roll of Scotch tape to get those beige designer cat hairs off.

  I should lock my door, but then Kate will think I’m antisocial (which is probably actually true, and maybe the real reason I secretly love the idea of sologamy and self-service checkout machines).

  Sunday, January 14 #HelloFromTheOtherSide

  Mum called.

  She’s still in Ankara, and apparently it’s freezing and she’s not having a nice time.

  Good.

  PS: Polly hasn’t messaged me all weekend.

  Instead, she’s posted a new Instagram story of her and Tristan feeding each other pizza.

  Everyone’s like: “Aww! You’re such a cute couple.”

  Lies.

  Tristan’s vile.

  Also, what’s wrong with you? Just eat your pizza like a normal person.

  Monday, January 15 #Hysteria

  Today we were in the toilets, and Polly was being all dramatic, like, staring at herself in the mirror, and then she was like: “I love Tristan. Do you think it’s too early to tell him?”

  I was like: “It’s literally been two weeks, so yes, it’s way too early,” and then Polly got proper angry, like: “Why would you say that, Phoebe? You’re my best friend.”

  WTF is wrong with everyone?

  I Googled “true friendship” and came across this definition: “True friendship is when someone takes a position in your best interests in a crisis.”

  Polly was having a crisis, and I was taking a position in her best interest.

  Seriously, everyone needs to calm down.

  And I refuse to lie to people about insignificant crap like that.

  Tuesday, January 16 #DesignerCatDisaster

  The cat got out. No!

  Which means I destroyed Kate’s dream of an early retirement, because the cat’s most likely being shagged by a feral nondesigner cat as I write this.

  I only left the door ajar for a millisecond because I had to put the bin out, and next thing I knew, it bolted out of the house like Wolverine on speed. I tried to catch it, but try catching a horny cat.

  All I could do was stand by and watch its beige designer cat ass disappear over the fence.

  Noooooooo.

  I tried calling it for ages, I even walked up and down the street looking for it for, like, an hour, but nothing.

  So, when Kate got home I was like: “I’m totally sorry, but the cat got out, and I can’t find it anywhere, and I promise I tried.”

  Kate: Oh no. Which one?

  Me:…

  Kate (shaking her head, tutting, because she knows I don’t know which is which):…

  Me: I’m so sorry.

  Kate: I’m su
re it was an accident.

  Me: I actually think the cat planned it.

  Kate:…

  Me: Not funny, I know. I’m really so, so sorry, Kate. It just got out.

  Kate (taking a deep breath): Well, it can’t be helped now.

  You know when people say: I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.

  That.

  Kate says the cat will only come home once it’s been shagged. Natural instinct, apparently. So now only one cat will have designer kittens, and all the others will be cheap knockoffs.

  Instead of Chanel, they’ll have to be called Shanel.

  PS: I realize it’s actually not funny.

  Wednesday, January 17 #OnwardsAndUpwards

  I feel so bad about the designer cat debacle that I’ve decided I need to get a job ASAP and pay Kate back the money she lost.

  In an ideal world, the designer cat could have had four designer kittens, and according to the internet, your average, squishy-faced Persian designer kitten costs £500, which means I owe Kate £2,000. Though it’s probably going to be more, because Kate’s probably not going to be able to sell the knockoff kittens. And then she’s going to have to feed them, too, because I’ve concluded that if she can’t find owners for them, she would never:

  a) give them away to Battersea or

  b) drown them.

  So this is what I’m thinking:

  Minimum wage for people under eighteen is £4.20 per hour (rip-off alert).

  2,000 ÷ 4.20 = 476.19

  So I’m going to have to work 476 hours to make up that money.

  If I get a weekend job, let’s say for twelve hours, that would mean earning £50.40 per week.

  2,000 ÷ 50.4 = 39.68

  Conclusion: It’s going to take me just under forty weeks to pay back the money I owe Kate.

  That’s almost a whole year. How depressing.

  Thursday, January 18 #CurriculumVitae

  I’ve done my CV, and it’s proper shit:

  Phoebe Alexandra Davis

  3 Rochdale Close, Wimbledon, London SW19 1AL

  Phone: 0796 550 0713, Email: [email protected]

  I am fifteen years old and am currently looking for part-time employment on evenings and/or weekends.

  Curriculum Vitae

  Education

  Currently attending Kingston Sixth Form. Straight A student (apart from English Lit, Art, and History).

  Other

  I was awarded my cycling proficiency diploma in Year Five.

  In my free time I enjoy going to the cinema. References are available on request.

  I wouldn’t even give myself a job, but what can I possibly put on it that makes me sound interesting? I’ve done nothing in my life.

  Friday, January 19 #ReturnOfTheDesignerCat

  The runaway designer cat’s back.

  Apparently it took no more than seventy-two hours for it to get shagged.

  Today Polly said that she feels like she hasn’t really seen me for ages.

  I can’t think why she would feel that way …

  Anyway, I figured I’d give her a break because of her hormonal imbalance, and I agreed to go to the cinema with her and Training Wheels tomorrow.

  Only now I feel like I’m the one with the hormonal imbalance, because why would I agree to that?

  Saturday, January 20 #CinemaDateHell

  I got to Kingston ridiculously early because I forgot that on a Sunday the bus only takes fifteen minutes versus an hour during school traffic. I went into the Bentall Centre to kill time, and guess who was there, right outside Starbucks, pretending to talk on her phone?

  Miriam Patel.

  And she was wearing the teeniest, tiniest belly top and no coat, even though it was, like, minus three outside.

  Me (thinking whyyyyy are you everywhere?):…

  Miriam Patel (ending her pretend conversation): Oh, hi, Phoebe, are you on your own? I’m meeting the girls at Starbucks, feel free to join us.

  Me: Oh, hi, Miriam. No, thanks, I’m going to the cinema with Polly and Tristan. (Why oh why did I even have to mention him?)

  Miriam Patel (scrunching up her face like she’s sucked on a lemon): Really? Because you know what they say—three’s a crowd.

  I know that she only says these things because she’s trying to get a reaction, and I really wish she didn’t annoy me so much, but she does; she makes me bilious. I hope beyond hope that she froze to death in her teeny tiny top.

  Unsurprisingly (because deep down I knew) things got worse. From the moment we said hello, it was awkward central with Polly and Training Wheels.

  How is it possible that two people who used to talk all day every day since the beginning of time suddenly have nothing to say to each other?

  Polly was trying so desperately to start a conversation between the three of us, but all I could see in her huge, dark eyeballs was her silent apology for no longer loving me the most.

  And that’s fine.

  I get it.

  Things change.

  But what happened next wasn’t fine at all.

  Turned out Polly and Tristan didn’t really want to watch the film, but spend one hundred and twenty minutes snogging instead.

  All I could hear in my left ear were wet, juicy, tongue-y kissing noises, and at one point, I swear she actually put her hand on his crotch, which, like, no!

  I’m never going to forgive Polly for this.

  Before Tristan she never would have been that person. She never would have invited someone only to then exclude them. She was the best person I knew. And now she’s just like everyone else: self-absorbed and wanting to have sex, sex, sex.

  When I got home, I went straight to my room and shut the door. Kate knocked a bit later to ask if I was okay or if I needed to stroke a cat. I told her I was fine, but I think she knows I’m not.

  I’m not even sure what upset me most, Polly reaching for Tristan’s crotch or Miriam Patel being right about three being a crowd.

  Sunday, January 21 #MedecinsInternationale

  Mum WhatsApped from Ankara.

  She looked like shit already, and they’re not even in Syria yet, but they’re going tomorrow.

  She said she didn’t know when she’d be able to WhatsApp next. Same old, same old, blah blah blah, yawn.

  Monday, January 22 #IHateEveryone

  I’m not going to watch the news anymore.

  I mean, diseases spreading is one thing, same with earthquakes, hurricanes, typhoons, erupting volcanoes, etc. But wars?

  They flew drones around Aleppo, or maybe I should say around where Aleppo used to be when it was still an actual place with houses and shops and schools, because now it’s just a pile of rubble. The place has literally been bombed to shit.

  They showed a legless woman being wheeled down what once upon a time could have been a road, in a shitty, broken wheelchair to a makeshift hospital that was basically just a room where people were lying on wooden planks.

  Why are we doing this to each other?

  And then it’s on telly and we casually watch it over dinner.

  PS: I think Polly knows Saturday didn’t go well, because this morning she was like: “Do you want to have lunch together?” But I was like: “Sorry, can’t. I have to go to the library.”

  I don’t even know why I made that up, and I contemplated changing my mind for a moment, but then I saw her feeding Tristan carrot sticks, and I congratulated myself on my life choices.

  Tuesday, January 23 #Rude

  I bought individual plastic folders for my CVs.

  Kate was like: “A lot has to be said for presentation, Phoebe, well done. Maybe also smile when you talk to people.”

  OMG.

  Wednesday, January 24 #JobSearchTake1

  January must be the worst month of the year to go job hunting.

  No one is looking for staff. I went round the entire Bentall Centre after school, and in every single shop they were like: “Sorry, we just had to let all our Christmas temps go, so
we’re not recruiting right now.”

  Whyyyyy?

  Thursday, January 25 #JobSearchTake2

  I did the whole CV thing again in Wimbledon today.

  At this rate I’m going to need someone to drop dead the moment I’m sliding my CV across the counter.

  Another complication is that a lot of people don’t hire anyone under sixteen, which is really unfair, because I’m in the same year at school as all these people who are already allowed to work but don’t want/need to.

  On the way home, I walked past the thrift shop, and I looked in the window to see if Kate was there, but she must have been in the back.

  Alex was behind the till again, and he was chatting to Emma, who was holding an armful of blouses on hangers.

  They caught me peeking in like a crazy stalker person, and Alex waved at me. I waved back, and then Emma gestured for me to come in, but I was like: “Sorry, I have to go.”

  Maybe I should have said hello.

  Mum messaged saying it’s taking them forever to travel through Turkey. Apparently the weather is really bad and their cars and vans keep getting stuck.

  I told her I was looking for a job because the stupid cat got out.

  Friday, January 26 #BoxesTicked

  I gave my CV to Kate to have a look at, and she was just like: “Yes but no.” Then she sat down with her laptop and told me not to talk to her.

  Half an hour later, she emailed me this:

  Phoebe Alexandra Davis

  3 Rochdale Close, Wimbledon, London SW19 1AL

  Phone: 0796 550 0713, Email: [email protected]

  Enthusiastic and experienced customer service professional who enjoys being part of a team. Strong work ethic, ambitious, goal oriented, and quick to grasp new concepts and ideas. Able to work well on own initiative and can demonstrate high levels of motivation. Even under significant pressure, possesses ability to perform effectively. Reliable, punctual, exceptional organizational and customer service skills.

  Currently looking for part-time employment on weekends.

  Curriculum Vitae

  Education

  Kingston Sixth Form

  I am in Year 11 and will sit my GCSEs in June. Next year I am looking to go to Sixth Form and start preparing for my A-level exams in mathematics, biology, physics, English literature and language, as well as history and sociology.