The Secret Life of Sally Tomato Read online

  “And for buying Cokes,” said Sharleen. And then they giggled. Again.

  Girls are seriously weird. When me and Bones go to the shopping centre we like to visit Model World, or if we have any money we go to the video games arcade. If we don’t have any money we ask people if we can take their shopping trolleys back for them and keep the pound coins. Other times we just hang around in the car park on our roller blades and set car alarms off. We play this game.

  “The red Merc … I dare you!”

  “Jag in the corner … I dare you!”

  Lucy and Sharleen didn’t want to do any of these things. All they wanted to do was just trail round the shops looking at clothes and make-up and stuff. When we’d finished doing that they said I could buy them a Coke, and when they’d drunk their Cokes Lucy said, “Well, I reckon that’s it, then,” and they both got up and walked off.

  I ran after them and said, “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” said Sharleen. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

  She’s very aggressive. Bones would say it’s because she fancies me.

  I said, “Shall I come to the bus stop with you?”

  Lucy said, “Can if you like.”

  When we got to the bus stop, I said, “Shall I walk you home?”

  “Up to you,” said Lucy.

  “What’s he want to walk us home for?” said Sharleen.

  Lucy said, “Stop us being abducted.”

  “This is it,” I said. “You can’t be too careful.”

  Specially Lucy. I don’t know as anyone’d want to abduct Sharleen.

  Lucy got off the bus first. I got off with her. Sharleen stuck her head out of the window and shrieked, “I s’pose you don’t care about me being abducted!”

  “Well?” said Lucy. “Do you?”

  I assured her that I did. I mean, Sharleen being her friend and all.

  Lucy said, “Do you care about her being abducted as much as you care about me being abducted?”

  I said, “No! Didn’t you read my poem that I wrote for you?”

  Lucy said, “Yeah!” and giggled.

  “It wasn’t meant to be funny,” I said. “I really meant it.”

  “It’s love poetry,” said Lucy. “Soppy love poetry! The sort of stuff them old guys did.”

  I said, “What old guys?”

  “Them old guys … Shakespeare, and that.”

  We did a Shakespeare sonnet in English a few weeks ago. Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day? (To which Kelvin Clegg yelled “Back end of a cow, more like!” and got sent out.) I didn’t know that Lucy had even been listening. I’d thought she was asleep.

  It’s quite flattering, being compared with Shakespeare.

  “Would you like me to write another one?” I said. “I’ll write you another one!”

  “Can’t wait,” said Lucy.

  Hooray! Lucy likes my poetry! It’s Valentine’s Day next week. I shall compose a Valentine for her.

  I have been pumping iron like crazy. I think I might have a muscle coming.

  J is for Jimmy

  Whose surname is Riddle.

  To go for a Jimmy

  Means go for a piddle.

  I told this to Bones, who thought it was extremely amusing. I wouldn’t dare tell it to Lucy! I don’t think girls would find it funny.

  I asked Bones if he ever had impure thoughts. He said, “What kind of impure thoughts?” I said, “About girls.” He thought about it and said, “What would count as impure?” I said, “Boobs?” Bones admitted that he thought quite a lot of thoughts about boobs.

  “Do you reckon girls think about us the way we think about them?” I said.

  Bones said he didn’t know. I don’t, either. I wish that I did!

  I have written my Valentine for Lucy.

  Valentine for Lucy

  Love is blind

  You must be, too,

  If you don’t know

  How I feel about you.

  So please will you be

  My Valentine?

  I’ll be yours

  If you’ll be mine!

  I have put my phone number, very small, at the bottom. She won’t know who it’s from, but she might ring up to find out! I’m going to send it first class, so that she will get it on The Day.

  I have written URGENT!!! PLEASE DELIVER WITHOUT DELAY!!! This is to make sure the postman doesn’t think, Oh, this is not very important, I will put it back in the box.

  They do this sometimes. Well, according to Dad they do. Mum says Dad is paranoid. This means thinking that people are out to get you. I feel like this with Harmony Hynde when she stalks me.

  It is now half term. The week stretches before me, Lucyless and empty. I can’t even pump iron. Yesterday evening, in the middle of pumping, a disaster occurred. One of the bags of bricks flew off the end of the broom handle and crashed into the wall, knocking a great chunk out of it.

  Mum immediately came flying upstairs going, “What was that? What’s happened? What have you done?” Then my sister appeared and gave this futile screech of laughter.

  “Hey! Wow! Get a load of that! Mr Universe in person!”

  I don’t think it’s right she should come bursting in when I am clad only in my pants. It is not decent.

  Mum said, “Why are you throwing bags of bricks around your bedroom?”

  I said, “I’m practising.”

  “For what?” said Mum.

  I said, “For Sports Day … for the brick-throwing contest.”

  “Do you also have a broom handle contest?” said Mum.

  “Oh! That,” I said. And I gave this little laugh. “We put bricks on the end and we hurl them.”

  “Well, we do not hurl them in our bedroom,” said Mum. “Your father is going to be very displeased with you.”

  So now I don’t have my weights any more. And I was definitely getting a muscle! Two muscles. One in each of my arms.

  I have made a resolution. I am going to devote the whole of half term to building myself up. Just because I can no longer pump iron doesn’t mean I should be idle. I intend to do twenty press-ups a day and swim twenty lengths of the pool.

  I am also going to write some more of I Am A Cockroach. I feel strangely sympathetic towards cockroaches. They are harmless, even pleasant creatures when you get to know them, yet people treat them with the deepest loathing and contempt. It is the way my sister treats me. She goes on about how I am a pervert, then comes bursting into my bedroom when I am wearing nothing but my pants. It is not right. It should not be allowed. She is the pervert, if anyone is.

  I have thought of another saying: he’s got eyes in the back of his head.

  I must tell this to Harmony when I see her. She can look it up in her Brewer’s book.

  K is for knockers and Knickers

  and Kiss.

  The first two are rude, but the

  third one is bliss!

  Today I did twenty press-ups and swam twenty lengths of the pool. Bones couldn’t come as he has gone to visit his gran, but Stuart Sprague was there and we went upstairs to have a Coke. I told Stoo my poem about knockers and knickers, and he said, “Kissing can be bliss. But you’ve got to get the right lips.”

  He is an expert on lips! He told me how there are many different kinds. Thin ones, thick ones, big ones, small ones, soft ones, hard ones, mean, tight prune-like ones, lips that wriggle like worms, lips that turn in on themselves, lips that are smooth, lips that are scaley, lips that are warm and velvety, lips that are luscious.

  “You get all types,” said Stuart.

  I thought of Lucy’s lips. Will I ever get to kiss them???

  “That was a good poem, that was,” said Stuart. “I’ll remember that one better ’n all that stuff we do at school.”

  “I’ve got another one you might like,” I said. “I’m writing one for every letter of the alphabet.”

  I told him about F is for flob. He liked that one. I found this very encouraging and was just a
bout to tell him J is for Jimmy when Harmony Hynde loomed on the horizon. She made a beeline for us.

  “Hi, guys! Can I sit with you?” she said.

  Stuart said, “Yeah! Sal was just telling me this poem he’s written.”

  I frowned at him, warningly, but old Stoo isn’t the brightest.

  “Go on!” he said. “J is for Jimmy – “

  “This sounds good!” said Harmony.

  “It’s just a bit of nonsense,” I muttered.

  She said, “I like bits of nonsense!”

  “He told us a really good one just now,” said Stuart. “Tell her the one you told us just now!”

  “Please,” begged Harmony.

  I said, “I can’t. It was rude.”

  Harmony did this great cackling laugh that she does. “I love things that are rude!”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but it was very rude.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Stuart. “Farting ain’t all that rude.”

  “Farting!” cried Harmony, delighted. “Oh, please! I want to hear it!”

  So in the end I told it to her. I told her F is for flob and J is for Jimmy, and she shrieked.

  “He’s got loads more,” said Stuart. “He’s got one for every letter of the alphabet.”

  “I will have,” I said, “when I’ve finished.”

  “Brilliant!” breathed Harmony. “Disgusting Ditties!”

  I think perhaps I may have gone a bit red. I do have this annoying tendency to blush.

  “It’s all right,” she assured me, “it’s quite respectable … if Roald Dahl could have Revolting Rhymes, I don’t see why you can’t have Disgusting Ditties. You might even be able to get them published!”

  I never thought of that. I have considered getting I Am A Cockroach published as this is literature and quite classy. But the alphabet – well! As I said modestly to Harmony, the alphabet is just a way of passing an idle moment.

  “Better’n that stuff we do at school,” said Stuart. He wanted to hear some more so I told them G is for grolly and C is for chuck, and he and Harmony immediately started pretending to chuck up and pull grollies out of their noses.

  “Look at this one!” yelled Stuart, stretching an imaginary grolly down to the ground.

  “Watch out, I’m going to throw up!” cried Harmony. “Blurgh!”

  I am surprised at a girl like Harmony behaving in such a childish fashion. She is supposed to have a brain. She always comes top of everything. I’m sure Lucy wouldn’t have laughed. I’m not sure that a girl should.

  Tuesday

  I have decided I am going to write this every day while we are on half term. It will be good practice.

  This morning I did my press ups and went to the pool. Harmony was there. Again! She is definitely stalking me. I suppose I shall just have to accept it.

  We went upstairs for a Coke – I mean, I didn’t specially want to, but I didn’t have anything else to do and you can’t just ignore people. I told her about eyes in the back of your head, and she said she would see if it was in Brewer’s. Then she told me that she had written a Disgusting Ditty for my collection. She gave me a copy of it. It is quite good.

  S is for scab

  which perhaps you might get

  If you slip when it’s wet

  And graze a knee

  Or slide on a pea

  Or even, maybe,

  Jab very hard at yourself with a pen

  And make a big hole which bleeds and then

  If left alone,

  Not gnawed like a bone,

  Will form a most delightful crust,

  The colour of dried blood, or rust,

  Which you can pick and even eat.

  Scabby sarny! What a treat!

  She said, “You can use it, if you want.”

  She seemed really keen so I said that I would think about it – though as a matter of fact I already have one for S. One that I cannot possibly tell Harmony Hynde about!!! Or anyone else, for that matter. It is too personal.

  “It’s fun, isn’t it?” said Harmony, beaming. “Maybe I’ll do an alphabet, too, and we could get them published in a collection … Disgusting Ditties, by Salvatore d’Amato and Harmony Hynde.”

  I must admit, it is quite tempting. I should like to see my name in print.

  Harmony asked me if I was going to be at the pool again tomorrow and if I was would I teach her to dive. I said that I would probably be there but couldn’t make any promises. It is important not to commit oneself.

  Wednesday

  Decided I might just as well go swimming. Tried to teach Harmony to dive but she is not very good at it. She is far better at writing poetry. She gave me a copy of another ditty for our book.

  A is for ants

  That get in your pants.

  They get round your middle

  And cause you to wriggle.

  They get up your nose

  And make you snoze.

  But the worst thing to fear

  Is ants in your ear.

  If they get to your brain

  You can’t stand the strain.

  You DIE, demented!

  By ants, tormented.

  She apologised for the fact that a) it was rather morbid and b) not very rude. She promised to do a really disgusting one for tomorrow.

  She also said that she had looked for eyes in the back of your head in her Brewer’s Dictionary, but it wasn’t there.

  “But do you know what sheep’s eyes means? It means to look sheepishly at a person to whom you feel lovingly inclined.”

  I said, “How would you look sheepishly?”

  “Dunno,” said Harmony. “Like this?”

  “Or like this?” I said.

  We sat and made sheep’s eyes at each other until I got face ache. I cannot imagine making sheep’s eyes at Lucy even though I feel lovingly inclined. I wouldn’t want to frighten her.

  Today is Valentine’s Day and my sister had three Valentines. Who on earth would fancy my sister??? I think they were just joke ones, and she doesn’t realise.

  Lucy hasn’t rung me. Perhaps she’s too shy.

  Thursday

  Harmony is writing ditties like crazy! She’s now done ones for B, C and D. B is for bottom, D is for dirt. I won’t say what C is for. I think she ought to be ashamed of herself. She says that E is going to be only a little bit disgusting. Just as well! You can be prosecuted for this sort of thing.

  Lucy still hasn’t rung.

  Friday

  Still haven’t heard from Lucy.

  Went swimming again. Harmony can now do five lengths. She wants me to teach her backstroke.

  She’s written some more poems for our Book of Disgusting Ditties.

  She said, “Why don’t we do illustrations? Illustrations would go really well!” I said, “Can you draw?” She said, “No, but you can!”

  It is true, I am quite good at art. It is one of my best subjects. Art and English; those are what I’m best at. Harmony is also good at English, but with her it is English and Music. She said, “We are creative kind of people.”

  I never thought of it like that.

  She said, “It’s why we get on so well.”

  I never thought of that, either. What does she mean, get on so well??? I hope she is not hinting at anything. I haven’t written her a love poem! Or a Valentine.

  I wonder if Harmony got any Valentines? Perhaps I should have sent her one. Just as a friend. I wouldn’t have put my phone number on it, no way! I wouldn’t want her jumping to conclusions. But it would have been nice for her, as otherwise I don’t imagine, probably, that she would have got any.

  I think she is definitely an A. Or A double minus.

  I asked her today why she came swimming so often. I mean, I know the real reason. The real reason is because she’s stalking me. But I was interested to see what excuse she would come up with.

  She obviously has a very fertile imagination. She said it was because of this terrific fear of drowning that she h
as.

  “I thought I ought to learn how to swim.”

  I suppose it could be true. I mean, she might have this terrific fear of drowning and be stalking me, both at the same time.

  I told her my fear of getting a brain tumour.

  “Except there isn’t very much that I can do about that.”

  Harmony agreed that there wasn’t.

  I said, “I also have this fear of heights.”

  “Maybe you should climb some mountains,” said Harmony.

  I told her that I couldn’t; I’d be too scared. I don’t mind admitting this sort of thing to Harmony. I wouldn’t to Lucy, obviously. It would be very bad for my image.

  Harmony said, “I can understand a fear of heights. Some people come over all funny just standing on a chair. But why are you scared of getting a brain tumour?”

  I said, “It’s because I read this article once about someone that had one. Why are you scared of drowning?”

  Harmony said that she’d read a book about some people in a plane crash. Their plane had gone plummeting into the sea and they had all drowned except for just this one person that was an exceptionally strong swimmer.

  I said, “I read this book once about some people in a plane crash, only their plane came down in the Andes and the ones that survived ended up eating the ones that didn’t. That’s pretty gross,” I said, “isn’t it?”

  “Not if they were going to starve,” said Harmony.

  “What, eating people?” I said.

  “Why not?” said Harmony. “We eat animals. We kill animals. That’s gross,” she said, “if anything is.”

  “But imagine if it was your grandmother,” I said.

  “Why do people always say grandmother?” said Harmony.

  I said, “Do they?”

  She said, “Yes, always!”

  “Well, all right,” I said. “Imagine if it was your mum or dad.”

  She admitted that that would be different. “I expect you might prefer to starve rather than eat your mum and dad. But if you did eat them – well! I wouldn’t see anything wrong in it. I mean, not if they were dead. They’d probably want you to eat them, if it was the only thing that was going to keep you alive. I mean, it’s better than going out and killing something. That’s the most gross thing there is!”