My Family and Other Freaks by Carol Midgley Read Free Book Online

Amber
    She says, “One—an end to pollution. Two—world peace.” And then, clutching her hand to her boobs (what there is of them) melodramatically, “Three—true luuuurve.”
    I’m surprised at this third answer. I was beginning to think Amber might be, well, not a lesbian, but just Not Bothered. When we were ten we made a pact that we’d go to the same university and when we get married we’d live in the same street so that we could still see each other every day, but just lately I’ve been suspecting that Amber isn’t like normal girls. I try not to look surprised.
    â€œJust because I don’t fancy Damian doesn’t mean I don’t like boys,” she says huffily.
    â€œHow can you NOT fancy Damian?” I say. “It’s not humanly possible.”
    â€œHe’s vain,” she says. “I see him checking hisreflection in the windows all the time, flicking his hair back,” and she does this impression of someone in a shampoo advert.
    I don’t answer this because I too check my reflection in the windows all the time. Who doesn’t?
    Some of Rick’s long-haired friends have called for him. I can hear them downstairs calling each other “man” and “bro” again. My dad finds this hilarious. They’re trying to form a band with Rick on the drums. It’s called—wait for it—“Fast Track.” My dad almost died and went to heaven when they told him this. “Fast track to the unemployment line, more like,” he said, rolling around laughing in his chair.
    Phoebe comes in holding Mom’s makeup bag which she’s stolen from her bedroom. She wants to give Amber a makeover. I tell her Amber doesn’t wear makeup and to please go away.
    â€œBut why, Amber?” she asks. “You might be pretty if you did.”
    Phoebe’s bedtime, I think.
11 p.m.
    Mom and Dad are laughing in front of the TV. I’m in my room. Amber says The Change doesn’t make you feel bad every day and that her textbook says it can be a “new phase in life.” Will this new phase involve going to the supermarket more often? That’s what I want to know.
Saturday
10 a.m.
    Dad is driving us to the protest in our embarrassing two-tone car. “What’s this about again?” he says. “It’s to demonstrate our objection to the new bypass they’re planning, Mr. Dench,” says Amber.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with a bypass? Bypasses are good!” says my stupid father.
    â€œOh no, they attract more cars, which cause more pollution and they ruin the countryside, Mr. Dench,” says Amber patiently, as if addressing a person with learning difficulties.
    My dad points out—and he does have a tiddlywiddly point—that if we look around us carefully we might notice that we are actually traveling to this protest IN A CAR. “I don’t understand young people now,” he goes on. “Environmental protests! Kids your age should be doing something useful, like robbing gas meters.” He seems to think this is hilarious. Amber and I don’t respond.
    As I get out of the car I pause and say, “Dad? Is Mom going through The Change?”
    He stares at me for about five seconds. Then he throws back his head and explodes with laughter. “Oh, that’s priceless, that is,” he says. “That’s really made my day.” I seriously think my parents are losing it.
10:30 a.m.
    I’ve never seen so many unattractive people gathered in one place. Or face hair. And that’s just the women. Amber has this glowy look about her, like those Jehovah’s Witnesses who knock on your door and ask if you want to be saved. One boy with Harry Potter glasses has climbed a tree and unfurled a banner saying: “The Earth is Yours. Save It!” He is also wearing a dreadful T-shirt with “I’m a lean, mean recycling machine!” on the front. No,