(A/N: Well, it's not the best in the west, but I'm in the east.  We call it New York.  Anyway, it's the diligent reviewing squad I've got that made me spit this out.  Thanks.  It's usually a shocker to see people know this fic exists because I don't usually update.  I don't have much time, so c'est la vie.  Regarde the long awaited happy place.)  

"I don't know why it bothers you so much."  Rosie rubbed her temples while Georgia kept watch over Jas's house.  "I mean, it's probably some stupid secret that doesn't even matter!"

"That's why it bugs me!  I know every, stupid, meaningless secret!" 

"Tell you what, let's call Dave."  Rosie offered.  "He's always a laugh…."

"But you see, laughing with Dave makes me feel guilty because he makes me want to snog him snog-less and if I were to snog him, even without the snogging snog-less part I would be cheating on Robbie and that reminds me that he's off in Kiwi-a-go-go land and… oh wonderful, that just reminded me of Elvis because he asked if we knew anyone from there."  Georgia jolted.

"Robbie!"  She and Rosie chimed.

"Of course!  I'll bet Robbie is cheating on you!"  Rosie slapped her forehead.  "That's what's worse than a gyrating Elvis."

"That's not worse, that's just tear-making.  And why would he cheat on me anyway?"

"He's miles away and he's a sex-god."  Rosie said sagely.  "That's why Tom knows!  He's probably writing to Tom about some babe in New Zealand."

"No!"  Georgia sobbed falsely into her hands.  "I guess I'll have to resort to loving solely Dave… sad that I had to lose such a sex-god…."

"You're taking this very well."  Rosie glared suspiciously at Georgia.

"Come off it!  You don't honestly believe that anyone in Kiwi-a-go-go is more attractive and sexilicious than the fabulous moi?"

"No!  Of course not!"

"Liar."

"My point is simply that men have male snake addendums and they do get… excited from time to time…."

"I'll humor you and come to another point.  Elvis.  Why would he know Robbie was cheating on me?"

"Dunno.  Shall we ask then?"

"Are you mad?  Talk to Elvis?  Like another human?"  Georgia's eyes bulged out of her skull.  "When I do this, does it make my nose look smaller?"  She continued to widen her eyes.

"Georgia, your nose isn't big.  It's just a funny shape."

"Oh thanks."

"It's called Roman."

"We're not in Rome and that makes it FUNNY?"

"We're off the point."

"Elvis is disturbing.  Damn the bleeding Americans for allowing him to escape…."

To Georgia's horror, Rosie dragged her off to speak with Mr. Attwood.  His hut was spouting smoke from the chimney as though the weather were less than warm.  Gray clouds began to roll in from all directions, promising rain. 

"That," Rosie started, pointing upward, "is a bad omen."  She observed Georgia through her glasses.  Georgia suddenly had the urge to rip them off and stomp on them. 

"Don't be a prat, Rosie.  Elvis will just tell us he was drunk again."

That didn't stop Rosie from knocking.  Three times.

"Enough already!"  Came a bark from inside.  "Hold on to your knickers."

"Rosie…."

The door opened.  Mr. Attwood was squinting at them, smelling strongly of some alcoholic beverage or another.  In his left hand was a magazine and in his right, the door handle. 

"What do you two want?"  He slurred.

"Ugh."  Georgia covered her nose.  Inwardly she thought And that's no small feat.

"Why did you want to know about our chum in New Zealand?"  Rosie asserted.

Mr. Attwood thought for a moment and then burst into tears, falling to the floor.

Georgia and Rosie looked at one another with horror but simultaneously dragged the wailing caretaker to his feet and pulled him into a chair.  His dingy hut was overrun by empty mugs and bottles.  His unmade bed could be seen through the open door of his bedroom. 

"Um… Mr. Attwood?"  Georgia startled herself by saying that much.  She had never referred to him by his proper name.  "Are… you okay?"

"No I'm bloody not!"  He wiped his runny nose on his arm. 

Rosie and Georgia grimaced.  "What's wrong?"  They asked.

"My wife… she's… with that bloody bloke of yours… Robbie."

"What?"  Georgia asked stupidly.  "You've gotta be wrong.  You're bloody smashed; you don't know what you're…."  Mr. Attwood shoved a letter into Rosie's hand.

"'Dear Frank… I'm leaving you.  Robbie is everything you're not.  I no longer find you the wonderful young man you once were.  And the girls at that school…'"  Rosie trailed off.

 "What?"  Georgia snapped.  "Oh Goddy-god-god!  We're in a pedophile's house!?"

"No."  Rosie shook her head.  "Apparently we remind her of what she once was and she couldn't stand us.  Robbie understands her."

"Agh!  That is TWENTY times worse than a gyrating Elvis!" 

They left Mr. Attwood getting pissed in his house while they dragged their feet all the way to Jas's.

"I can't believe it.  I bloody can't believe it.  Why?  How?"  Rosie stuttered.

"I thought wet Lindsay was bad…."  Georgia frowned.  "I knew there was something weird about our relationship.  Is there a name for a lad who fancies old ladies?"

"Dunno."  Rosie stared at the ground.

"I think I'm going to shoot myself."

"Don't."  Rosie said automatically.  "Well, actually, if I were you I might just consider."

"Thanks."

They heard a slamming door and slapping footsteps.

"You've just heard, haven't you?"  Jas was out-of-breath.