isn’t very green of her. When I pointed this out she just made a face at me and said, “I’ll recycle it,
Amy
.” When she said “Amy” she stretched her mouth downwards and jutted out her chin. She looked just like a camel.
Me and Clover lick our ice creams and watch the penguins fire themselves into the water like bullets, glide smoothly along the bottom of the slightly murky pool and pop into the air again, like jack-in-the-boxes. It’s very soothing.
It’s funny how birds that swim so elegantly look so clumsy on land, waddling around like those plastic wind-up toys that move one foot in front of the other for a few seconds before falling down. Like Alex when he was just starting to walk.
“OK, Beanie?” Clover licks the stubby wooden Magnum stick and nips all the last shreds of chocolate off with her teeth. When it comes to ice cream and chocolate she’s always very thorough.
I nod.
“Let’s get to work.” She pulls out a green plastic document folder and shuffles through the A4 pages. She seems to be looking for something. She pulls out a sheet and stuffs it back in her bag.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She seems a little embarrassed.
“You’re hiding something from me.” I hold out my hand. “We’re supposed to be a team. Hand it over.”
She waits for a moment and then gives me a gentle smile. “You don’t need to read that one, trust me, Beanie. Please?”
“I want to read them all,” I say stubbornly.
She sighs, reaches back into her bag and passes me the crumpled sheet. “There are seventeen letters, Beanie. We don’t have to answer this one. There are plenty of other problems to deal with.”
I read the letter and then I flick through the other sixteen. Clover’s right, there are plenty of other problems, easy problems. How to tell your mum you need a bra; how to deal with spots on your chest and back; how to say no to a boy without losing him; how to deal with exam stress; but the one I want to answer is the first one. Because I know I can help.
To: [email protected]
Friday
Dear Clover,
My mum and dad separated eight months ago. I knew something was up – they were always arguing and shouting at each other, but I still can’t believe it. I keep going over and over everything. Did I do something wrong, did I cause them too much stress? Mum says I can be very moody sometimes.
The worst thing is, now me and Mum are moving in with her new boyfriend. He’s a butcher. His wife died a few years ago. He’s nice enough, but he has two sons who are older than me and it’s all so weird. What if they catch me in the shower or something?
I can’t tell my friends how I feel, their parents are all so normal. I’m afraid they’ll laugh at me. I feel like such a freak. And so alone. Can you help me?
Carrie, 12.
In the car on the way home I write my reply in Clover’s lined journalist’s notebook.
Dear Carrie,
I’m so sorry to hear about your situation. My own parents separated when I was nine and they’re divorced now. At the beginning it hurt like hell. Every morning I’d wake up and after a few seconds I’d remember and everything would seem sad and horrible. Mum spent a lot of the time crying. I used to catch her at it in the kitchen. She’d try to cover it up, saying she was cutting onions or there was a sad song on the radio. Dad moved into an apartment in the city centre. Like you, I kept wondering, was it something I’d done, was it my fault? But it really wasn’t, I see that now. They just couldn’t get on.
I’m telling you about my parents because you said you feel so alone. But I know for a fact that there are girls all over Ireland going through exactly the same thing. And it’s tough. But I have to tell you – it does get better. My mum and dad are both much happier now and they both have new partners.
I leave out the bit about the babies and the wedding. Oh, and Dave being a pain and Shelly being a nightmare – that’s too
Amy
.” When she said “Amy” she stretched her mouth downwards and jutted out her chin. She looked just like a camel.
Me and Clover lick our ice creams and watch the penguins fire themselves into the water like bullets, glide smoothly along the bottom of the slightly murky pool and pop into the air again, like jack-in-the-boxes. It’s very soothing.
It’s funny how birds that swim so elegantly look so clumsy on land, waddling around like those plastic wind-up toys that move one foot in front of the other for a few seconds before falling down. Like Alex when he was just starting to walk.
“OK, Beanie?” Clover licks the stubby wooden Magnum stick and nips all the last shreds of chocolate off with her teeth. When it comes to ice cream and chocolate she’s always very thorough.
I nod.
“Let’s get to work.” She pulls out a green plastic document folder and shuffles through the A4 pages. She seems to be looking for something. She pulls out a sheet and stuffs it back in her bag.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She seems a little embarrassed.
“You’re hiding something from me.” I hold out my hand. “We’re supposed to be a team. Hand it over.”
She waits for a moment and then gives me a gentle smile. “You don’t need to read that one, trust me, Beanie. Please?”
“I want to read them all,” I say stubbornly.
She sighs, reaches back into her bag and passes me the crumpled sheet. “There are seventeen letters, Beanie. We don’t have to answer this one. There are plenty of other problems to deal with.”
I read the letter and then I flick through the other sixteen. Clover’s right, there are plenty of other problems, easy problems. How to tell your mum you need a bra; how to deal with spots on your chest and back; how to say no to a boy without losing him; how to deal with exam stress; but the one I want to answer is the first one. Because I know I can help.
To: [email protected]
Friday
Dear Clover,
My mum and dad separated eight months ago. I knew something was up – they were always arguing and shouting at each other, but I still can’t believe it. I keep going over and over everything. Did I do something wrong, did I cause them too much stress? Mum says I can be very moody sometimes.
The worst thing is, now me and Mum are moving in with her new boyfriend. He’s a butcher. His wife died a few years ago. He’s nice enough, but he has two sons who are older than me and it’s all so weird. What if they catch me in the shower or something?
I can’t tell my friends how I feel, their parents are all so normal. I’m afraid they’ll laugh at me. I feel like such a freak. And so alone. Can you help me?
Carrie, 12.
In the car on the way home I write my reply in Clover’s lined journalist’s notebook.
Dear Carrie,
I’m so sorry to hear about your situation. My own parents separated when I was nine and they’re divorced now. At the beginning it hurt like hell. Every morning I’d wake up and after a few seconds I’d remember and everything would seem sad and horrible. Mum spent a lot of the time crying. I used to catch her at it in the kitchen. She’d try to cover it up, saying she was cutting onions or there was a sad song on the radio. Dad moved into an apartment in the city centre. Like you, I kept wondering, was it something I’d done, was it my fault? But it really wasn’t, I see that now. They just couldn’t get on.
I’m telling you about my parents because you said you feel so alone. But I know for a fact that there are girls all over Ireland going through exactly the same thing. And it’s tough. But I have to tell you – it does get better. My mum and dad are both much happier now and they both have new partners.
I leave out the bit about the babies and the wedding. Oh, and Dave being a pain and Shelly being a nightmare – that’s too
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