Primperfect (Primrose Leary Series #3)

by Deirdre Sullivan

Overview

Desperately funny, and desperately touching—the third and final installment in the diaries of Primrose Leary

In the event of my untimely death, please burn this unread.

No, don’t DO it! Prim’s alive (though the dashing Roderick is, alas, no more). She’s 16. She’s trying to make sense of her mother’s diaries. She is trying desperately to make Joel be friends with her again, but he’s all friends with Karen (aka the devil) now, and Prim’s found a boy called Robb-with-two-bees, and then there’s Steve the Goblin, and her dad’s getting together with you’ll-never-guess-who, and as for what’s going on with Ciara and Syzmon? Everything’s a little imperfect.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781908195906
Publisher:	Little Island Books
Publication date:	08/01/2015
Series:	Primrose Leary Series , #3
Pages:	280
Product dimensions:	5.10(w) x 7.70(h) x 0.90(d)
Age Range:	13 - 17 Years

About the Author

Deirdre Sullivan is a grade school teacher and the author of the Nightmare Club series, under the name Annie Graves.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

I wish I felt that I was more worth loving.'

Quote from Prim's mum's diary

Breaking into a cemetery at midnight is not the finest way to turn sixteen. But midnight was when the night-watchman's shift changed and it was really important to get it done tonight. Roderick couldn't lie in state in his part-time tomb much longer. Dad needed the third drawer of the freezer for other, less ratty things. Like steak.

Roderick was dead, you see. He'd died the week before and because he was such a fine and swishy gentleman, I had decided that the only place for him was my mother's grave. Mum loved Roderick too. We got him the year before she died, when he was young and full of ratty promise.

Roderick had lived up to all his ratty promise. He had been my small best friend for many years and I don't think I would have coped half as well with life and love and loss and loneliness if I hadn't had my rat-man by my side. I had been keeping him in the freezer, wrapped in a piece of purple satin, since the night he passed away. He got rat-cancer. We took him to the vet and Dad said he would pay whatever it took to cure him. But by the time rats show you that there's something wrong, it's usually too late. He'd been tired recently, but I'd thought it was old age finally catching up with his elegant self.

Every night that week, I let him sleep in the bed with me, cosy and huddled, even though it meant I had to change the sheets every evening because, although he was still the most dapper of rats, he was no longer the most continent. Not that it mattered. Continence is over-rated, in my opinion. In the end, I woke up one morning and his body was still there, but he was gone. All stiff and pointy, his mouth agape, curled open in a way it rarely did in life.

We discussed putting him in a little grave in the garden, Dad and me, but in the end there's really only one place he belonged. Dad normally doesn't know about my schemes, but he knows about this one. Enough to turn a blind eye to it at least.

'I am turning a blind eye to this, Primrose,' he said, with the air of a martyr who has been up all week comforting a daughter made of sobs and no longer cares how she gets closure.

'Appreciate it, Dad.'

'No.'

'What?'

'You're supposed to say, "Turning a blind eye to what?"'

'Oh. All right, Dad. Turning a blind eye to what?'

'To nothing, I hope.'

He nodded in that way he thinks is wise. Then we exchanged significant looks, before he dropped myself, Ciara, Ella and Kevin off at the cemetery with a bag full of shovels. Syzmon and Caleb were meeting us there, with the bolt-cutters. We weren't planning on breaking in properly, you understand. But Caleb thought we might bring the bolt-cutters anyway 'just in case'. Caleb loves his bolt- cutters. He had volunteered to come along, even though he doesn't hang out with us half as much any more now that Ella has broken up with him. He is trying to win her back, I think. Also, he is pretty good at this sort of thing, because he has a brother, Seth, who used to do a bit of burglary back in the day. It was pretty easy to break into the cemetery.

Ciara had sewn a little smoking jacket for Roderick, so we put that on him and lit some candles all around Mum's grave. Then we dug a deep little hole (though not too deep in case we hit her coffin) and I placed him gently in. I was bawling at this stage. The others were pretty worried someone was going to come and arrest us for noise pollution, putting pets in people's graves and also trespassing. The big three, like.

I wished Joel were there with me, but we still aren't speaking. I asked Ciara if he knew that Roderick was dead and she said he did, she'd told him all about it. I can't believe he didn't contact me when he heard that. I know he's still mad at me but he was close to Roderick. He should have come to pay his respects even though he's shunning me like I have a highly infectious strain of BO.

I miss Joel. And Roderick. And Mum. Especially Mum, but I've kind of got used to missing her. Missing Roderick is new. And the small rat-shaped hole in my life will not be easy to fill. Once we were finished, we all held hands around the grave and shared our favourite memories of Roderick.

'I liked dressing you up in ridiculous outfits as though you were a doll and not a rat.'

'I liked the way you were always stealing things and hiding in other things.'

'Even when you weed on me, I didn't really mind.'

'I never met you, but I really liked hearing stories about you. Like how you gate-crashed Prim's dad's dinner party that time and made everyone think his home was infested with rats.'

'That was awesome.'

'It really was.'

'I used to think rats were disgusting until I met you. Now I think rats are lovely. Rest in peace, small Roderick.'

'You were my small, greedy, ingenious best friend and I will miss everything about you. Especially your clever little face. Mind him well, Mum, he's great company.'

And I was off again. Ciara held my hand. She's great at comforting people.

Ciara is probably the closest friend I have, now that Joel has turned against me. She has been going out with Syzmon since she was in first year, and they had their third anniversary earlier this year. She is sixteen as well, but a little bit older than me, even though I'm taller. We share a therapist, Caroline, who is better than the one I used to go to after Mum just died, Triona, but not as good as not having to go to a therapist at all.

Caleb had brought a few cans of cider but didn't feel right about drinking them in a cemetery (he's quite respectful like that) so we climbed back over the low bit of the wall and piled onto a bench. Caleb opened the cans and passed one each to Ciara, Syzmon and Kevin. Ella and I don't drink. Well, I do sometimes, but not on important days. Or anywhere near a car.

Ella doesn't drink because she is on medication that reacts badly with it. Ella has autism and can sometimes get really anxious and weird. In primary school she used to repeat things and get up and turn in circles and sometimes yell at people. Or throw things across the room. She does that still sometimes, at home. So do I, because sometimes your emotions need dramatic emphasis or to pop out more or something.

Ella was pretty angry with me for not putting Roderick down once he got very sick, but my heart was breaking and I couldn't bear for the end of such a lovely ratty life to be my decision and not up to the fates. I was kind of hoping that the fates would intervene. Life isn't like that, though. The fates, or gods, or whatever things there are, are not benevolent. It isn't that they're malevolent or anything, it's just they don't really care about petty little nonsense like our happiness and lives. They've bigger fish.

I put my head on Ella's shoulder and smelled the soft leather of her brother Felix's jacket, which she has taken to borrowing against his will. It looks cute on her, kind of too-big in a way that makes her look really feminine and alt- cool.

'Stop smelling me. I am not Felix.'

'Stop being such a grumpus, Ella. I know perfectly well who you are.'

Ella is extremely perceptive and does not mince her words. She also knows that I fancy her brother. Have done for ages. He's kind of the love of my life so far. Ours is a very one-sided love, though, and he rarely acknowledges I exist, except for sometimes when he wants a cup of tea or has things to say and doesn't care to whom and I'm around. I love sometimes. I wish it could be sometimes most of the time. Instead, it hardly ever is at all.

Ciara snuggled down on Ella's other side. Any talk of fancying and she is immediately there. She loves boys and boy-related adventures. This is even though she has only ever had one boyfriend – Syzmon. The two of them will probably get married and Ella and I will be her bridesmaids. I quite like the idea of being Ciara's bridesmaid. She is, as well as being a monogamous gossip- monger, a capable seamstress and milliner. I didn't properly know her when we were in primary school because of how we had different groups of friends and how she used to eat her own hair and be very, very quiet most of the time. We were in the same class. I used to eat my own lunch and be very, very loud most of the time. Mostly with Joel. I miss Joel so much.

'So. You want to smell Felix, eh?' Ciara waggled her eyebrows in an unladylike manner.

I nodded sadly. 'I do. I do indeed.'

Snifffff

There was no point in trying to hide it. Ella was there and she does not see the point in lies and almost always refuses to keep secrets. She knows I want to smell her brother's jacket, because it has been going on for almost four years now and my nostrils remain aquiver.

'What aftershave does he use?' Ciara is very interested in what brand of smell people have. She can identify specific ones by sniff. It is an almost- superpower.

'I don't know. It smells of – boy?'

Ciara, who had been hoping for something more specific, looked a bit put out. 'Syzmon smells of Hugo Boss. I got it for him last Christmas.'

Then she made the two of us smell Syzmon. And then the other two boys for comparison. Ciara is tiny, so I think the cider might have taken effect at this stage. Although maybe not. She has done stuff like this while sober. Kevin smelled the nicest, Ella and I agreed. Then I was all worried that I should have lied about it because:

A

Ciara got a little bit offended that we weren't sniff-perving all over her boyfriend.

B

I have a long and messy history of kissing and not-kissing Kevin. We are in one of our not-kissing periods. I do not want to be kissing him again. Even though he smells the best out of him, Syzmon and Caleb, I do not want him to think that there is going to be any kissing happening between him and me. We are just friends now. And friends are honest with each other about stuff like how they smell.

CHAPTER 2

I am going to stay away from Fintan from now on. He isn't good for me.

Quote from Prim's mum's diary

Dad gave me Mum's diaries last night. He's been holding them since she died when I was twelve. They are full of interesting information. For example, did you know that an LP is an album and a smather is a smack? Three and a bit years I've waited for those diaries and now they're here and I don't know what to do with them. Because if I read them all in one big greedy glut, like I do with books normally, her story will be over and I'll have no more of her. I want to be the kind of girl who doles them out sparingly, like a page a day until I'm twenty- one. Not that there's that many. Twelve fat notebooks: three black, two brown, one blue, one red, one pink, one gold, one chequered and two that have fancy marbled covers. I've looked through them and put them in order. Red is first: she was still in school when the books she used were red. I wonder if I should read them in order or skip right to the Mommy – Daddy drama of my birth? A bit of me says that Mum wouldn't like me reading private things. Another bit is too nosy to care.

Dad was kind of loath to give them to me. All talk about the past being in the past and so on. I have the distinct feeling he will not come off too well in these diaries.

Ciara asked me about them last night as we were walking to the bus.

'I don't know if I'd want to read my mother's diaries,' she said, looking worried. (She's right to be. Ciara's mum is kind of a wagon who tried to con her out of her inheritance from Grandma Lily. It was this whole big dramatic thing that happened early last year.) 'I don't know if I'd like what I'd read there.'

'I'm sure it'd be grand. You know she loves you. Deep down anyway.'

I linked her arm with mine because it is nigh impossible to hug while speed- walking.

Ciara sighed. 'Very deep down. She keeps bringing up how ungrateful I am. Even when I'm doing something like emptying the dishwasher or putting out a wash, she still calls me ungrateful because I amn't doing it quick enough for her liking.'

'It will be worth it, though. And when you're a famous milliner like Phillip Treacy she will eat her horrid words.'

'I hope so, Prim. I really, really hope so.'

Ciara's granny left her &8364;20,000 of savings, with the express proviso that she use it to put herself through 'hat-making college'. Ciara's parents want her to be a primary-school teacher who pays off their mortgage so they can spend their money on cruises and possibly retire early. Ciara is not complying with their wishes because she feels that Grandma Lily's instructions should be honoured and because her life's ambition is to be a milliner of some description with her own little hat-elier (see what I did there?) and everything. She is really talented and I wish I had more call to wear hats because the ones she makes are nothing short of lovely.

'Three more years,' she said grimly.

I nodded.

'Three more years' is kind of our motto at the moment. We share it. Ciara uses it whenever her mum is being all snippy. (Her dad can also be pretty snippy, but he feels more conflicted about completely ignoring Grandma Lily's wishes, seeing as how she gave birth to him back before epidurals were readily available and so on.) I use 'three more years' whenever Fintan is being impossible. Ciara is using it more than me these days, but that might just change now that I am in possession of Mum's diaries.

'Don't judge me based on what you read in there, Prim,' Dad said as he handed the diaries to me. 'What happened between your mother and me was regrettable and I should have acted differently.'

'Like not gotten her pregnant, maybe?'

'Yes. Wait, that's a trick question, isn't it? No. No. NO!'

And then he got stuttery about how he should have done certain things differently but he didn't regret having me and so on until I put him out of his misery by admitting that I was trying to him.

I love that word, 'flummox'. Ella's mum uses it all the time. This will be my first year of not being taken care of by Mary after school. Instead I will be going to two hours of after-school study. Because it is my post-Junior Cert year and I am now mature enough to spend an extra two hours in the marvellous establishment which I frequent so delightedly every single day of my adolescent life. Except for weekends. And holidays. But that is still a hell of a lot of days. I hope Joel isn't going. Or Karen. They're total besties now, all laughing at each other's stupid jokes and being gay together.

Karen is a lesbian or bisexual or something – I can't really keep track. The above statement comes across a bit bigoty. Unless you know how evil Karen is. Which is kind of why Joel and I are fighting. I did something very wrong and it wasn't nice of me. But I think it is more OK to do something wrong to Karen than it is to do something wrong to other people. Because She really is and now she and Joel act like I am the devil and I amn't, I really truly amn't. I'm just a girl trying to survive in this crazy mixed-up world.

I miss Joel so much, but he won't be my friend any more, until I apologise to Karen again and I already had to apologise to her once and I will not apologise to her any more times until she apologises to me for being a horror. In exactly those words: 'I am sorry I am such a horror, Prim. It was hurtful and wrong of me. I will try not to be in the future.' And then she has to follow it up with being nice to everyone for six months and maybe then we can talk about me maybe drafting something in the line of an apology.

Last year I went through a big phase of wanting to be a cruciverbalist (the people who draft and assemble the crosswords that go in the papers). It still sounds cool, but I'm so sick of hinting what I want and analysing other people's hints at what they want. It is exhausting. I just want to know what Joel wants me to do so this will all be fixed and we will be best friends since Montessori again.

It started because he fancied Kevin, I think. The rift. He really fancied Kevin and I wanted a boyfriend and Kevin seemed like he wanted to be my boyfriend and I fancied him even though he was a LARPer and so forth. Looking back, I can see that I totally backed the wrong horse. Kevin turned out to be a bad idea – not that he was cruel to me or anything, just really, really indecisive about what he wanted from a relationship and bad at texting back. And not kissing other girls. But we never really defined exactly what we were, so I suppose it doesn't really count as cheating. It felt like cheating, though. I was quite hurt. Anyway, even though Kevin isn't gay I totally hi-jacked Joel's crush and made it into my own on-again/off-again dramatic thing that I (admittedly) talked about a lot. Because I was thinking about it a lot. And Ciara kind of encourages that sort of boy-obsession. The analysis of texts and looks and tones of voice.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "pr Imperfect"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Deirdre Sullivan.
Excerpted by permission of Little Island.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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