The Parent Problem Read Free

will tell Mum I was writing in the bathroom and then she will find out about this journal and might even read it. NO!
    The door crashes open just as I shove my journal under a pile of towels.
    ‘Hey, watch it!’ I cry, as my little brother barges past me to the loo. He starts using it with no consideration of the fact that I am still in the room. ‘What are you
doing
?’
    Harris looks at me. ‘Having a wee,’ he says.
    ‘Well next time, don’t do it in front of me!’ I shout. At least he hasn’t asked me what I am doing in here.
    Harris pulls a face. Then he says, ‘Guess what? I have been spying on the neighbours. There is a dad and a boy!’
    ‘I know that,’ I say.
    ‘Oh.’ He looks disappointed.
    I watch him go to the sink to wash his hands and the expression on his face makes me feel a tiny bit sorry that I have stolen his thunder. ‘So. What exactly have you discovered, Midget Spy 003½ ?’ I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
    Harris looks up and giggles as he dries his hands. ‘One of them plays the drums,’ he says. ‘I heard them talking about which room they should put them in.’
    ‘And this is good news
how
, exactly?’ I ask, as I follow him out of the bathroom and down the stairs.
    ‘It’s COOL!’ he says, pounding the air with pretend drumsticks.
    ‘What’s all the noise?’ says Mum, coming out of the kitchen.
    ‘Harris is excited cos next door have
drums
,’ I say. ‘As if that is something to celebrate.’
    ‘Oh, lovely,’ Mum coos. ‘Someone with a bit of creativity – that will liven up the street.’
    ‘You won’t be saying that when you can’t sleep because they’re playing the drums all night,’ I say.
    ‘Well, I think it’s fab,’ says Mum.
    I cringe. Why does she have to use words like that?
    ‘Yeah!’ says Harris, punching the air. ‘Maybe they are rock stars.’ He starts jumping up and down, holding his arms as though he’s got a guitar and begins violently strumming the air.
    Mum grabs a hairbrush from the shelf by the stairs. ‘
Cos we all just wanna be big rock stars!
’ she bellows.
    ‘Give me strength,’ I say.
    ‘Well, you had better get used to me dressing up in sequins and sashaying along to groovy tunes,’ Mum says. She puts the hairbrush back and gives a twirl in the jumble-sale (sorry,
vintage
) satin skirt she showed me the other day.
    I stare at her. ‘
What?
’
    Mum beams. ‘While you have been spying on the neighbours, I have been Surfing The Net,’ she says.
    Uh-oh. I scrutinize Mum’s face for hints of what to expect next. She is grinning and looking pleased with herself. This does not bode well.
    ‘Have you been shopping online?’ Harris asks. ‘Oh yay! Have you bought us a new TV?’
    Mum ruffles his hair. ‘Sorry, little bean,’ she says. ‘I still haven’t won the lottery, so the answer to that will have to be a big fat no.’ She makes the kind of noise they play on quiz shows to indicate that a contestant has lost: ‘Eeeh-uuuhhh!’
    Harris whines. ‘Aaaawwwwooo.’
    ‘What then?’ I ask. ‘Mu-um! Please don’t tell me you’ve been “liking” Aubrey’s posts again?’
    Mum shakes her head and says, ‘No, come into the kitchen and I’ll show you . . .’
    ‘Oh my
goodness
!’ I cry. ‘You haven’t gone and posted
another
embarrassing photo of me as a baby so that all my friends can see? Why do you keep
doing
these things?’ I drop my head into my hands.
    It should be illegal for parents to follow their kids online. Mum is
always
stalking me and posting stupid comments like, ‘What are you doing on here? Thought you were doing your homework?’ When is she going to learn that she is too old for this kind of thing? I can’t stand it when she uses ‘winky face’. ‘
Wrinkly
face’ would be more appropriate.
    ‘You are ruining my life,’ I groan.
    ‘I hate to break it to you, Skye,’ says Mum. ‘I haven’t done any of those things, because – it’s a funny thing, I know – but
my
life doesn’t