Girls in Tears Read online

'Well, I was actually worrying about Nadine because—'

  'Because you're obsessed with her and Magda – I know,' says Russell irritably. 'I don't know why you bother seeing me sometimes. You'd be far happier going round in your girly threesome all the time.'

  'We've had a row, if you must know,' I say. 'Listen, I'm very worried about Nadine, she's gone completely crazy and—'

  'She is crazy. Look, forget her, forget Magda. Come back to my place and we'll have a lovely time, just the two of us.'

  'I can't.'

  'Why not?'

  I can't tell him that I need to be in my own bathroom as soon as possible. I know you should be able to talk to your boyfriend about anything. We do talk about some stuff. But not that. I'd feel so embarrassed.

  'I – I don't feel very well,' I say, truthfully enough. 'I just want to go home and lie down.'

  'Come and lie down with me instead,' says Russell.

  'Oh sure,' I say.

  'I'll be sweet to you. I'll massage your forehead – and your shoulders – and anywhere else we can think of. . .'

  'Leave it out!' I wish he wouldn't be quite so insistent all the time. I love it that he cares about me and loves me, but just recently all he seems to want to do is see how far he can go with me. I love the things we do together but sometimes I wish he'd relate more to me as Ellie the person, not Ellie the body.

  My body is letting me down big time. My stomach squeezes. I feel an alarming dampness. 'I'm sorry, Russell, I really have to go home now,' I say, and I start running.

  I'm in a right state when I eventually make it home. Anna's left a note to say she's gone up to town to see the buyer of a big chain store who's interested in some special bargain children's knitwear, designed by Anna but produced on a massive scale.

  'It'll mean heaps more work if it comes off, so I'm not sure I'll say yes,' Anna's scribbled to me. 'You know what the Dad situation is like.'

  'Definitely say yes, Anna,' I mutter. 'Never you mind Dad.'

  I read on. Oh God. Eggs has gone to tea with Natasha, Nadine's little sister.

  'I hope to be back around sixish, but if I'm delayed can you be an angel and go and collect Eggs, Ellie?' Anna writes.

  Let's hope she's not delayed. I don't want to go anywhere near Nadine's, not now.

  It's lovely to have the house to myself just for once. I have a long hot bath, lying back under the bubbles and stroking my poor sore swollen tummy.

  FAT.

  No! I'm not going to think about Nadine. Or Magda. Or Dad. Or Anna and Eggs. Or even Russell. I'm going to think about me.

  I towel myself dry, put on my comfy old dungarees and a stripy sweatshirt and then sit cross-legged on my bed drawing Myrtle Mouse. She has any number of scary adventures. She even runs away to London and becomes an Underground mouse, lurking in tunnels and diving for cover every time the terrifying tube roars past. Her beautiful blue fur turns sooty black and she loses the tip of her tail when she only just manages to scamper clear of a maintenance man's big boot.

  I make sure she has a happy ending, though. A little girl bribes her up onto the platform with a cheese sandwich, wraps her grimy little body in a tissue and then pops her in her pocket. Myrtle is taken home and tenderly cleaned up and cared for and given a splendid new home. It's another doll's house, but this time it's her very own Myrtle Mansions, with colour-co-ordinated blue willow-pattern wallpaper in the kitchen and blue roses in the living room and midnight blue with tiny silver stars in the bedroom.

  When I finish I gently stroke little Myrtle's crayon head as she snuggles under her dark blue duvet in the very last picture. Then I find a big envelope and address it. I write a note explaining that I don't have a competition form and I know I'm a bit late entering anyway, but can they please have a look at the enclosed all the same.

  Anna isn't back by six. There's no sign of Dad either. So I have to be the responsible big sister.

  I post my Myrtle drawings on my way round to Nadine's. I feel stupidly nervous as I walk up the neat gravel path to her front door. My footsteps go crunch crunch crunch. My stomach goes clench clench clench.

  Nadine's mum answers the door, looking a little distracted. There are shrieks of laughter coming from the kitchen – very youthful high-pitched laughter.

  'Oh, it's you, Eleanor. Come in, dear. I was expecting your mother.'

  'Yes, sorry, she's tied up with some work thing.'

  'Well, I do hope you've come to collect your brother, dear. He's getting a little over-excited. Not really a good idea so near bedtime. He tipped his orange juice all down himself so I had to change his clothes. I was going to dress him in Natasha's jeans and a jersey but I'm afraid he had other ideas.'

  Right on cue Eggs dashes out of the kitchen, chased by Natasha. She is wearing her jeans, with her long hair crammed under a baseball cap. She's wearing Eggs' clompy boys' shoes. Oh God. Eggs is wearing Natasha's flounciest pink party frock. He's got various pink slides stuck in his short hair, bangles up and down his arms, and he's shuffling in high heels with diamante bows.

  'Hi, Ellie-Belly! I'm your sister Eggerina, and this is my boyfriend Nat,' Eggs squeaks in a silly falsetto voice.

  My brother, mini transvestite.

  'Get that dress off this minute, Eggs. You'll muck it up,' I say. 'Come on, we've got to go home.'

  Eggs takes no notice whatsoever. He barges past with a joyous whoop and starts doing a can-can, staggering in his high heels. Natasha shrieks with laughter as he shows all of us he's even appropriated her frilly knickers.

  'Leave him to me,' says Nadine's mother wearily. 'You go and talk to Nadine. She's in the study working on the computer. She's finding the Internet so useful for her homework nowadays.'

  I'll bet. I don't want to go and see her but neither do I want to let her mum know we're not speaking. I shuffle towards the study. Nadine is crouched in front of the computer screen, smirking at some e-mail message. She jumps in alarm when I come into the room, quickly closing down everything on the screen – and then she sees it's just me. We look at each other. We both go pink.

  'Ellie?'

  'Nadine?'

  There's a little pause. What's the matter with us? We're best friends, always have been, always will be.

  'It's your little fat friend,' I say shakily.

  'Oh El, I'm sorry.'

  'I'm sorry too,' I say.

  We both rush at each other and hug.

  'We are such nuts,' I say.

  'I know, I know. Ellie, I didn't mean it.'

  'And I didn't mean to come on all pious and po-faced about – you know . . .' I wave at the blank computer screen.

  'I know it's a bit risky. I know you do get some nuts on line. But Ellis is so different, Ellie. He's just . . . oh, like the guy of my dreams. He says such amazing things. And he wants to know all about me. He doesn't go on and on about himself the way Liam did. He doesn't try to kid me he's Mr Cool. He confides all sorts of stuff about himself, how he's shy and scared of all kinds of things. He says if we ever met he'd probably be struck dumb and unable to think of a thing to say.'

  'You're not going to meet him, are you?' I ask, alarm bells ringing.

  'No, no, of course not,' Nadine says quickly. 'Don't look so worried, Ellie, He's lovely, he really is. Look, I'll show you.'

  She switches her computer back on and finds me some of his early messages. And he does sound lovely. He chats for ages about Xanadu and what fantasy means to him and how he's read The Lord of the Rings five whole times but it's such a boy book, and how Xanadu is great because it's all about girls and he loves girls. He goes on about how he'd always had this dream girl in his head from when he was about twelve, a strange, shy gothic girl he could share everything with. He doesn't want to be forward or rush things but he feels Nadine is this girl, only better, because she's so beautiful, much prettier than the actress who plays Xanadu in the TV series . . .

  'Then he goes into some really personal stuff. I'm not showing you, Ellie. I haven't even shown M