Over the Moon by Jean Ure Read Free Book Online Page B

everything was, like, GO.
    And then disaster hit the world. This is what I wrote in my diary:
    The most terrible thing. A huge tidal wave called a tsunami has killed thousands of people in Thailand. It was on the television, we were all so shocked. Mum and me were in tears, thinking of all the children that had lost their parents, and the parents who could do nothing while their children were washed away from them. Mum said, “That would be my worst nightmare,” and Dad agreed with her. How can God let such things happen???
    This was a question I put to Hattie, hoping she would have something comforting to say, or maybe even some kind of explanation, but Hattie just grimly stated that “There isn’t any God”. She said, “You know I don’t believe in all that sort of thing  … big daddy god father looking after us all. It’s just a fairy tale!”
    Not
very comforting; but I felt that she was probably right: there wasn’t anyone up there, caring for us. Or if there was, He wasn’t making a very good job of it. I don’t mean to sound blasphemous, but that is the way that I saw it. I think that I still do. It is one thing if human beings behave badly and do horrible things, because we have free will and it is up to us how we use it; but there is nothing we can do to stop earthquakes and volcanoes and such, and if God can stop them and doesn’t, then He is not very loving. And if He
can’t
stop them, then He is not as powerful as He is supposed to be. That is all I am saying.
    But there was something else which troubled me, apart from the question of God. When so many people were suffering, how could I still be excited at the thought of Matt coming to Dad’s get-together? How could I still be dithering about what to wear?
    I knew if I asked Dad he’d tell me not to bother my pretty little head, cos Dad really doesn’t like to think about bad things. Quite often, when the news is on, he’ll go and make a cup of tea or pick up a magazine. Mum says he’s a bit of an ostrich like that. On the other hand, if I were to ask Mum I’d be scared she might start … not lecturing me, exactly, but going on. That is what me and Dad used to call it when Mum got on her high horse:
going on.
In this case, going on about my obsession with clothes and the way I looked. I could do without that! So, as usual, I turned to Hattie. Hattie can always be relied upon to speak her mind, but she doesn’t lecture, and she doesn’t
go on.
I asked her if she thought that I was vain and shallow-minded, and Hattie gave one of her guffaws and said, “Of course you’re vain! You’re one of the vainest people I know.” She then added that she’d probably be vain herself if she looked like me. “It’s all part of the package.”
    Well! That solaced me
slightly.
“But what about shallow-minded?” I said.
    Hattie thought about it, then went, “Mm … I s’ppose you are a bit. But no more than most people.” She said that with so many truly ghastly things happening in the world, what with AIDS, and people starving, and wars and floods and hideous disasters, you couldn’t afford to let it take over your life or you would most likely end up going into a deep depression or even killing yourself.
    I was relieved when Hattie said this. I said, “So you reckon it’s OK for me to forget about the tsunami for just a few hours?”
    Hattie said, “Yes, absolutely! But I think probably we should think about it afterwards … I mean, like, maybe we should actually
do
something?”
    I agreed, eagerly. “Yes! Let’s do something. We could have a fundraiser!”
    I was just so grateful to have been given permission to be shallow and self-centred for just the one evening.
    Brilliant best party of all time. Simon and the Sun God came. The Sun God – Matt! – is even more gorgeous close-up than from a distance. Sun God is the right name for him! We sat by ourselves for a while and talked, and got on really well. So well, in fact, that I