up dirt with her trainers. Her bright blue spandex clad legs lock at the knees, rigidly. “Did you hear that?”
Straining my ears I grind to a stop myself and listen. All I hear are birds chirping, until…
Crackle, crash.
Noises of breaking twigs near.
“What’s that?” Brenda points and I look left, following her gaze.
Through the shrubs are falling leaves. Whole spaces of bush bend and squash down into the ground.
“Something’s coming,” I say, stating the obvious. “It had better not be a—”
A robot rolls into view.
“—a fucking robot.”
Brenda frowns at me, but I’m not bothered if she’s arsed about my language. What I am worried about is the fact that a massive steam roller like robot is crashing its way through the undergrowth towards us.
Ppshhhhh!
The contraption grinds to a halt, hissing and spitting steam from its many orifices.
Clank!
There’s a banging sound from atop the two metre high bot. I know this thing before us has got to be one of Oliver’s inventions. What else could it be?
“Hello down there!” Brenda and I ease our way to the side at the sound of a shouting voice. “Would you mind moving aside? I’ve got gully clearing to do!”
“Thomas? Is that you?”
Thomas. “Stalker boy?” I say, grinding my teeth in anger. Honestly! This kid is suddenly everywhere I am!
“What was that, dear?”
“Never mind.” Brushing Brenda’s question away, I call out. “Where are you, kid?”
“I’m not a kid! I’m a man aged eighteen and I’m up here!”
Brenda and I crane our necks to find that Thomas is indeed up somewhere. He’s actually sitting inside the giant robot. “Is this one of Oliver’s bots?” I ask loudly.
“Course it is!” Thomas yells down at me. The clanging noise must have been him opening the hatch that’s now leaning to the side. “He let me do the gully cleaning today when I said I was going up the hi…”
Stalker Boy doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Why on earth have you come up here today when I told you I’d be meeting Emily for a walk, son?” Brenda looks very put out, but not nearly as annoyed as I’m feeling right now.
“You told Creepy Kid that you were coming to see me on the hills today?” I ask Brenda before scraping a hand down my face in frustration.
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she continues to shout at Stalker Boy. “Thomas, you’ll have to do this gully cleaning elsewhere. Emily and I are using this path!”
He doesn’t answer either of us. He just clangs the lid of the bot shut after ducking back down inside.
“How rude.” Brenda huffs.
I can’t help thinking that Thomas’s manners far extend that of mere rudeness. As of now this boy has fully creeped me out. I dread to think of the effort he must have gone through to enable himself to be up here on the hillside in such a contraption. I also dread to think his reasons for doing so were because he knew I’d be up here.
Chapter 12
On this new morning that is free of stalkers I awake to full on cramps. Not stomach cramps due to diarrheal problems. Proper cramps due to the fucking period. Or as I like to call it: THE MONTHLY CURSE.
I hate the period. I especially hate seeing tampon and sanitary pads adverts on the telly when it’s my time of the month. Once, when I was changing my pad last year, as I sat there upon the toilet peeling of the paper bits, there was a surprise to be had that was written upon the sticky surface. ‘Have a happy period,’ it said, mocking me.
Have a happy period? A happy period?
At the time of reading I was incensed with rage. Luckily I hadn’t taken my phone with me into the bathroom —as I am often want to do for pee-tweeting purposes— if I’d had my phone with me at the time of sitting there on the pot, I would have called up the stupid and idiotic feminine products company immediately. I also would have promptly embarrassed myself with an irate phone call asking why. Just why would you think it sensible to tell women to have a happy period?
I’ve never for the life of me been able to figure out who could have possibly created the world’s worst ever sanitary pad ad. There is no such thing as a happy period. In my opinion, there isn’t even a period that’s mediocre, in terms of emotional levels during this abysmal time of the month. As far as I’m concerned, the day