Girls in Tears Read online

  No, that's mean. As if it really matters anyway. All that matters is that I love Russell and he loves me. When Russell calls from the living room for the third time I get up to go to him, though I raise my eyebrows at Cynthia.

  'I'd better go and see what he's on about,' I say apologetically.

  'I know,' she says, smiling wryly. 'They snap their fingers and we're silly enough to jump.'

  Still, when Russell's dad gets home it's obvious who's in charge in their relationship. Cynthia's all sweet girly charm and acts like she'll do whatever he says, but somehow she gets her choice of wine, her favourite programme on the television, and he's the one who takes over the cooking of the meal.

  I'm fascinated. I wonder if Russell is going to end up like his dad. They certainly look like each other. Brian, Russell's dad, has got the same fair floppy hair, the same direct gaze, the same stance, the same walk – he's just a bit more lined and jowly and a stone or two heavier.

  Brian calls me into the kitchen, asking me all sorts of stuff, laughing and joking, almost flirting with me, which feels a bit weird. Russell isn't very happy about this either and comes out to get me. Brian takes his time with the meal, but it's marvellous when it's eventually served. We start with fresh figs and Parma ham, then there's a big pasta dish with all sorts of seafood, and then a proper crème brûlée pudding. My dad can cook but his speciality is your basic spag bol. He certainly doesn't do any fancy stuff.

  There is also wine, and I get a glass! OK, not a very big glass, but it's lovely to be given it all the same. It's such a grown-up meal. Our meals at home aren't a bit like this, mostly because Eggs is always yelling with his mouth full and slurping his orange juice and waving his knife and fork around and spilling stuff all over the place. We don't really talk properly at mealtimes, not to discuss stuff. Brian and Russell have this long involved conversation about politics, for God's sake. I get a bit anxious. I feel I should have my say too, but if I'm totally honest I have to admit I don't know a thing about politics. I mean, I'm into saving the environment and whales and whatever and obviously I want world peace and respect for everyone regardless of race, religion or sex, but I'm well aware that my political thoughts are as woolly as one of Anna's jumpers.

  Cynthia talks about equal rights for women and their changing role in the modern world. She asks me what I want to do when I leave school. I say I want to go to Art School just like Russell. I quickly see this is a big mistake. Brian goes on about this being a complete waste of time and why should anyone spend three or four years daubing paint about and what on earth did that qualify you to do? You'd just end up teaching Art yourself.

  'Ellie's dad teaches at the Art College,' Russell says sharply.

  Brian looks embarrassed. 'I'm sorry, Ellie. I wish I hadn't said all that now.'

  'It's OK. That's exactly what my dad says too,' I say.

  'What about your mum?'

  I swallow. 'Well, my real mum died ages ago. She actually met my dad at Art School. So did Anna. She's my stepmum. She isn't a teacher. She designs jumpers for children. She started off designing just for this magazine but she's diversifying now, doing all sorts of stuff for other people – woolly toys, adult knitwear, whatever.'

  'Where does she sell her knitting? Craft fairs?' Brian asked.

  'Oh no, she sells through shops. Special children's shops mostly. There was an article about her in last week's Guardian, and one of her jumpers was in a feature on children's fashion in Harper's,' I tell them, slightly resenting the craft fair remark.

  Cynthia gets very excited and runs and finds her last month's Harper's, flicking through until she discovers Anna's little deckchair jumper with all these baby bunnies sunbathing and eating carrots like ice-cream cones.

  'I love it! It's so cute! And she's now doing an adult range? I'd like one for me for holidays.'

  Even Brian seems impressed that Anna's designs are in the papers and glossy magazines. I suppose it is impressive. Anna's become successful so quickly. You'd think Dad would be more thrilled. I suppose it's a bit unsettling for him. He's always been the professional – he used to teach Anna, for goodness' sake. And yet he's stayed a teacher, whereas Anna is a real designer ... Is that why he's being so grumpy with her nowadays? Is Dad simply jealous?

  Chapter Six

  Girls cry when

  things go wrong

  at home

  Six

  Girls cry when

  things go wrong at home

  It's very late when Brian drives me back home. I'm a bit scared that Dad will be furious because it's a school night. I take a deep breath when I let myself in. I wait for Dad to come pounding out into the hall, shouting at me. Nothing happens. I find Anna sitting all by herself in the living room. She's not sketching or doing little cross-stitch calculations or knitting up samples. She's not reading or listening to music. The television isn't on. She's just sitting, staring into space.

  'Anna?'

  She blinks at me as if she can hardly see me. 'Hello, Ellie,' she says in a tiny voice.

  'Anna, what is it? What's wrong?'

  'Nothing. I'm fine. "Well, did you have a good time round at Russell's?'

  Normally I'd want to launch into a long girly discussion about Russell and his flat and Russell and his stepmother and Russell and his dad and Russell Russell Russell. If my mouth had a word-count then Russell would definitely come out tops. But for once I need to talk about someone else.

  'Never mind Russell,' I say firmly. 'What's up? Where's Dad?'

  'I don't know,' says Anna – and she suddenly bursts into tears.

  I sit down beside her and put my arms round her. Anna sobs desperately on my shoulder. She's usually such a controlled and coping person that it's scary seeing her let go like this. I'm trying to be calm and comforting to help her but my heart is thumping and all sorts of fears are flying around inside my head like little black bats.

  'He didn't come home from the college. I phoned his office but there's no one there. Then I phoned his mobile but it's switched off,' Anna weeps.

  'Do you think he's had an accident?' I whisper. In my head I see Dad lying in a coma on a hospital bed while doctors and nurses struggle to revive him.

  'I don't think so. He'd have his wallet and diary with him. Someone would have found my name and number and phoned me,' says Anna.

  'Then where is he?' Dad's sometimes late back home. He takes it into his head to go out for a drink or two with his students and sometimes they add up to three or four or more. But the pubs will be shut now. It's nearly half past eleven. What's he doing?

  I see another picture of Dad in my head. He's in bed again – but this time he's with a young pretty student. . .

  I shake my head to get rid of the image. Anna has her hand over her mouth, her eyes agonized. The same picture's in her head too.

  'Maybe there's some crisis with one of the students? Personal problems?' I suggest desperately.

  Oh yes, Dad's getting personal with one of the students all right. A tear rolls down Anna's cheek. I find a tissue and dab at her gently.

  'Don't, Anna, please. I can't bear it,' I whisper.

  'I can't bear it,' Anna says, wrapping her arms round herself, rocking as if she's in terrible pain. 'How can he do this to me, Ellie? He knows how much I love him, how much it hurts. Why does he want to hurt me?'

  'Oh come on, Anna.' I pluck the sleeve of the sweater she designed herself. She stares down at the black wool, fingering the fringing.

  'OK OK, I know I've been ratty lately. I know it annoys your dad when there suddenly isn't any bloody butter. It annoys me too! But surely that's no reason to stay out all night?'

  'It's not all night. He'll be back soon. And it's not because of the butter. Or you being ratty. It's your job. Don't you see, Anna? He can't stand it.'

  'But he was quite supportive at first. He knew I was so bored just staying at home, especially after Eggs started school. He encouraged me—'

  'Yeah, but that was when he t