Girls in Love Read online

  ‘I don’t know,’ I mutter madly.

  ‘Hi, Ellie!’ Dan shouts above the disco music.

  ‘Well, he knows you!’ says Nadine.

  ‘Oh no,’ I say, and I turn, desperate, wondering if I can make a run for it.

  ‘Ellie? Hey, wait! It’s me, Dan!’

  ‘Dan?’ says Magda.

  ‘Dan?’ says Nadine. ‘How can it be Dan? You said you made him up.’

  ‘Well this guy looks all too real,’ says Magda, giggling. ‘He’s your boyfriend, Ellie?’

  ‘No!’ I insist, but he’s got to me now, trampling past everyone in his awful trainers, a silly grin still ear to ear.

  ‘Hi, Ellie. Surprise!’ he says, as he lunges forward.

  I’m so terrified he’s going to put his arms round me in front of everyone that I step back sharply and spear Stacy with one of my killer heels. She squeals.

  Dan’s arms are stretched out. They stay empty, clutching at air. The grin fades from his face. He swallows. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. And everyone’s still staring. He’s going red right to the tips of his ears. They stick out so with his new silly haircut. His glasses are starting to steam up. His eyes look agonized. Oh, poor Dan!

  ‘Hello,’ I say weakly. ‘Meet my best friends, Magda and Nadine.’

  They are still staring at him as if he’s just arrived from Planet Nightmare.

  ‘This is my friend Dan,’ I say.

  Magda and Nadine give him a little nod, both struck dumb.

  ‘So . . . what are you doing here?’ I say.

  ‘I wanted to surprise you. I’d set it all up for this weekend, and even when you said your stepmum wouldn’t stand for it I thought I could maybe just turn up and sort of sweet-talk her because I thought she was really nice on holiday and she is nice, she said she didn’t mind a bit if I stay the weekend, even though it’s going to be a bit of a squash with your friends staying too. And your dad gave me a lift here and so . . . here I am.’

  ‘Yes. Well. You’ve certainly surprised me,’ I say.

  ‘Shocked, more like,’ says Dan.

  ‘I hope you realize you’ve just about crippled me, Ellie,’ Stacy says, still rubbing her foot.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So. Is this your boyfriend?’ Stacy says, and her eyes are gleaming.

  ‘No!’ I say.

  ‘Yes!’ says Dan.

  Oh, God. Stacy isn’t half enjoying this. So is everyone else. No-one’s even dancing now. They’re stopped for the cabaret. The comic turn. Ellie and Dan.

  ‘Well, is he or isn’t he?’ Stacy persists.

  ‘Dan’s a boy. And Dan’s a friend. That’s it,’ I say. I look at Dan. ‘Come and get a drink, eh?’

  We walk over to the drinks table together. I go tock-tock-tock in my killer shoes. Dan goes squeak-squeak-squeak in his tatty trainers.

  ‘Everyone’s staring at us,’ Dan says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘This maybe wasn’t such a good idea,’ says Dan.

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘I bet you’re wishing I hadn’t come. I’m showing you up in front of all your cool mates,’ says Dan.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say – but I don’t sound very convincing.

  ‘You’d better kiss me quick,’ Dan says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Then I’ll unzip my frog-suit and step out this hip handsome prince,’ says Dan, running his fingers through the lethal stubble of his hair. He tugs at it ruefully. ‘The new hairstyle doesn’t help, does it?’

  ‘You said it,’ I say. ‘Well, what are you going to drink? There’s not much selection actually. Coke. Or red wine punch.’

  ‘My favourite tipple,’ says Dan. ‘I’ll grab some sandwiches too, I’m starving. We drove straight down south, no stopping at any motorway caff. I was just so desperate to see you.’

  ‘Oh, Dan.’

  ‘True. I might be the last boy on earth you want as a boyfriend but I’d give anything for you to be my girlfriend. You look fantastic, Ellie.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘Look, I’m doing my best to be dead romantic. Like Romeo and Juliet. Only if I came to serenade you at night you’d come out on your balcony and tip a bucket of water all over me, right?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m at a bit of a loss as to how to impress you. Travelling long-distance to see you is a no-no. Sweet-talk turns sour. There’s not much point trying to dazzle you with my brawny body.’ He flexes his puny arm so that his baggy sleeve flaps.

  ‘Did you say brawny – or scrawny?’ I say.

  ‘Cruel! OK OK, Arnie Schwarzenegger can relax for the moment. So – what about my ready wit?’

  ‘Er . . . wit or twit?’

  ‘Ouch. God, you’ve got a wicked tongue.’ He raises his glass and drinks to me. Then shudders. ‘What is this stuff? It tastes like undiluted Ribena.’

  ‘I think it’s the key ingredient.’

  ‘Oh well. I’ll have another slug or six to get up some Dutch courage before I dare ask you to dance.’

  ‘Maybe it might be better to put that request on hold,’ I say.

  I’m proved right. Someone starts playing the naughty version of that old Alice song and everyone starts dancing again.

  ‘Come on, let’s give it a go,’ says Dan.

  Major mistake!

  Dan has a whole new dance style all his own. Bouncy-bouncy in his squeaky-squeaky trainers. With head nodding, arms whirling. One arm catches someone on the shoulder, another on the chest.

  ‘Sorry, sorry!’ he shouts and moves away from them. Nearer me. He bounces again and lands straight on my killer shoes.

  ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, Ellie. Have I hurt you?’

  ‘It’s OK. I think I’m just crippled for life – but I’ll get used to it. So. Maybe we’d better sit this one out.’

  We sit at the side, sipping our drinks, watching the others. Magda and Nadine are dancing together. They glance in our direction rather a lot.

  ‘Your friends are very striking girls,’ says Dan.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Nowhere near as striking as you, though.’

  ‘Come off it!’

  ‘You’re supposed to simper sweetly when I pay you compliments.’

  ‘Simper – or whimper?’

  ‘Look, you’re the princess I released from the tower, right? You’re meant to be in my thrall.’

  ‘In your what?’

  ‘Perhaps I’d better perform some other princely feat. Kill a dragon or two. Rescue you from a fate worse than death.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s a clamouring horde queueing up to ravage me right now,’ I say.

  As I say it there’s a sudden shout, raised voices, stupid laughter, swearing. People stop dancing, turn and stare. There’s a whole crowd of guys over by the door. Strangers with real skinhead haircuts and real tattoos and real cans of Tennants in their hands.

  Stacy’s brother and her boyfriend and some of the other boys are arguing with them, trying to get them to go.

  ‘Nah, we’re staying, right? We’ve come to join the party, have a little drinkie, have a little dance,’ says the biggest boy, tipping his can. He looks round, staggering a little, obviously already out of his head. His mates follow him, egging him on.

  ‘So which bird shall I pick, eh? Where’s the bleeding birthday girl?’

  Stacy bobs behind her boyfriend, her face white.

  The skinhead doesn’t see her. There’s only one girl not up on the dance floor. It’s me.

  ‘Hey, what are you sitting down for, darling? Little bit of a wallflower, are you? Come and dance with me,’ he says.

  I freeze.

  ‘She’s with me,’ says Dan. His voice is as squeaky as his trainers.

  ‘You what?’ says the skinhead. ‘Who the hell are you, creep? Now, come on, darling, dancie-dancie. He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me up. ‘Woooaa! Up you get.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to dance with