Girls in Tears Read online

  Magda looks at me.

  'Of course,' I say. 'We're all best friends, for ever and ever and ever.'

  Chapter Seventeen

  Girls cry when

  everything

  ends happily

  ever after

  Seventeen

  Girls cry when

  everything ends happily

  ever after

  I keep thinking about the old bearded guy. He keeps morphing into someone else. Someone horribly familiar. He's got Dad's beard – and Dad's hair, Dad's eyes, Dad's face. It's like it's my dad leering at Nadine.

  'You're ever so quiet, Ellie,' says Magda on the train. 'We are friends again, aren't we?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you'll make it up with Russell too?' says Nadine.

  'I'm not sure,' I say. 'It's not just because of the party. It's a whole load of other stuff. I'm totally off men at the moment.'

  'Me too,' says Nadine, shuddering.

  'Count me out of this one!' says Magda. 'Look, it's still ever so early. Why don't you two come back to my place and we'll watch a video. I think I've even got the Xanadu pilot, Nads! We'll snaffle one of my mum's cheesecakes and have a little feast. Then my dad can really run you both home after. Yeah?'

  'Great,' says Nadine.

  They look at me.

  'Well, I'd love to, but—'

  'Oh, Ellie, you are still all huffy, I knew it!' Magda wails.

  'No, I'm not, silly,' I say, giving her a little dig with my elbow. 'It's just – well, there's something else I have to do before I go home.'

  'What's more important than having a laugh with your girlfriends?' says Magda. Then Nadine sighs and gives her a nudge. She mouths one word. Magda goes, 'Ooooh!' They both smile at me.

  'Right!' says Magda. 'Of course, Ellie. Come round tomorrow instead or the next night or whenever.'

  They think I'm going round to Russell's house to make it up with him.

  I really don't know if I want to or not. But that's not where I'm going tonight.

  I'm going to the Art College.

  I'm sick of Dad. I'm going to have it out with him. He keeps coming up with this stupid excuse that he's working late at the college. Of course he's not doing anything of the sort. He's out somewhere with one of his students, I'm sure of it. Someone half his age. He'll be leering at her, looking like that horrible Ellis – and she won't look that much older than Nadine.

  I'm going to go to his room myself, prove there's no one there, then confront Dad when he comes home.

  So I say goodbye to Magda and Nadine when we get back to our station and hurry off towards the college. It's a bit weird walking along the streets by myself. I keep seeing men lurking in the shadows. I glare at them all, my fists clenched, ready to smack them straight in the face if they try anything on with me. I know I've gone a bit mad and that they're just perfectly ordinary harmless men coming home from work or the pub or simply out for a stroll – but I've started to suspect all men, especially my dad.

  I march quickly to the college and stare up at the big dark building. I know which is Dad's room, right up at the top. The light isn't on. There! Working late indeed! The whole college is in darkness apart from a light on the first floor, where the studios are. I peer up – and then catch my breath. Dad is there! I can just make out his profile as he stands near the window. His head bobs backwards and forwards. It's as if he's looking at someone. Oh God.

  He's there in the studio with some girl student. How can he? There's poor Anna worrying herself sick at home.

  I run through the gates and up to the college entrance. The main doors are locked but there's a side door round the corner for staff and it's still open. I walk in and start trekking along the long corridor. My boots echo eerily in the silent building. I try to tiptoe, as cautious as a burglar. I creep up the first flight of stairs. My heart's pounding. I wonder what on earth I'm playing at. I'm so scared of what I'm going to see. Maybe I should keep out of things after all. No, I'm going to go through with it. I'm going to confront Dad. I don't care how embarrassing and appalling it is. I've got to know. If my dad's little better than some leering old pervert then I've got to face up to it – and make him face up to it too.

  I throw open the studio door. Dad gasps. He's on his own! He's standing in front of a canvas, painting. There's a mirror propped up in front of him. He's working on a self-portrait. I've made him jump so much that he's daubed grizzled beard-colour right across his nose.

  'Good God, Ellie! Now look what you made me do! You terrified the life out of me. What on earth are you doing here?'

  I stare at him, speechless.

  'Are you checking up on me?' Dad asks.

  'No! Well. . .'

  'Ellie, I've told you and told you, I'm not having some secret affair. Chance would be a fine thing at my age, anyway! All my students treat me like some sad old git way past his sell-by date. Which I suppose I am.'

  'No you're not, Dad,' I say uncomfortably. 'I'm sorry I made you jump like that. You can scrape off the smudgy bit, can't you?'

  'I don't know. Maybe it's an improvement. Me and my new furry nose.'

  I go and stand beside Dad and look properly at the portrait. It's good, of course. Dad's always been great at painting, though he hasn't worked properly on anything for ages. He's painted himself with almost painful precision, putting in every line and grey hair. He's emphasized his sagging tummy, his hunched stance, his worn old shoes.

  In the portrait he's standing at his easel, painting. He's gazing intently at the picture on the easel. This is a portrait of a very different Dad. He looks much younger, with a trimmed beard and trendy haircut, a flat stomach and stylish black clothes. He seems to be at some art exhibition. Maybe it's his own private view. He's surrounded by admirers. There's Anna, there's me and Eggs, there's a whole flock of pretty leggy girls raising their glasses of champagne to him, there are older men in suits writing in their cheque books, paying a fortune for each painting.

  'Oh, Dad,' I say softly.

  'Yeah. Sad, isn't it?' says Dad.

  'It's – it's a brilliant painting.' But it is sad. Dad's obviously all too aware that he hasn't achieved all the things he once longed for.

  'It isn't brilliant, Ellie, but it's the best I can do. I've been working on it evening after evening, trying so hard. But it's all a bit pointless. I want to be him –' Dad points to the portrait within the portrait – 'but I'm stuck being him. A jealous old idiot.'

  'Oh, Dad, I shouldn't ever have said that. I'm so sorry. I didn't really mean it. And I like the real you much much better.'

  'Well, I'm glad about that, Ellie, even if you're just being kind to your old dad.'

  'Anna likes the real you best too.'

  'I'm not so sure about that. She's starting to move in a different world now. I think she's getting pretty fed up with me. Maybe she'll meet some trendy successful designer—'

  'Maybe she will. But she won't want him, Dad. She just wants you. I know. She's been going crazy worrying about you. Why didn't you tell us you were just working on a painting?'

  'I wanted to see if I could do something really worthwhile. I didn't want to tell anyone in case it didn't come off. I needed to keep it to myself

  'And maybe you kind of wanted to make Anna worry?' I suggest.

  'She's so busy she doesn't notice if I'm there or not,' says Dad.

  'Oh, Dad! You know that's not true. Anna needs you so much. She loves you.'

  'Well – I love her,' Dad says gruffly.

  'Then why don't you just come home and tell her?'

  'OK. Home it is. Ellie, do you really think the painting's OK?'

  'I told you, Dad. It's wonderful.'

  'Well – I suppose it isn't too bad. It still needs quite a bit of work on it.'

  'Like the hairy nose?'

  'I'll sort that in a tick.' Dad dips his brush in pinky beige paint and starts splodging over the brown.

  'Hey, Dad, try painting out your beard too. See what y