Girls in Tears Read online

  'Why don't you pop round to Nadine's too, dear?'

  Why don't I? Because they haven't invited me. Why didn't they tell me they were seeing each other on Saturday morning? We always meet up together. But now together seems to mean twogether. Magda and Nadine have formed a special exclusive twosome behind my back.

  I could just slope round to Nadine's . . . But what if they look at each other and whisper together and act like I'm a gross intruder?

  I can't stand it. It's all happening so quickly. They don't seem to count me in any more.

  Well, to hell with them. I know who really cares about me. The one who loves me more than anyone else.

  I finger my ring and phone Russell.

  Chapter Twelve

  Girls cry when

  their boyfriends

  betray them

  Twelve

  Girls cry when

  their boyfriends betray them

  This party is a big mistake. I can't stick Big Mac for a start. He is big, a large foul-mouthed strutting lout. He's big-headed too, bragging all over the place. I suppose in material terms he's got a lot to brag about. His house is huge, a four-storeyed Georgian house that's more like a mini-mansion. It's incredibly furnished too. I feel like I've stepped into Interiors magazine.

  Big Mac's mum and dad disappear pretty early on in the evening. I just hope no one stubs out their roll-up on the Chinese porcelain or pukes on the Turkish carpet. There seems every chance as there's unlimited drink. I thought there might be a weak fruit punch and a few cans of lager, but there are bottles of vodka all over the place and the guys are already knocking the clear liquid back as if it was Perrier water. They mostly are guys too. There are a couple of little girls plastered in makeup, teetering on high heels. If you scrubbed their faces you'd see that they're probably still at primary school. They're obviously little sisters, desperate not to miss out on a party. The few girls my age divide sharply into two categories – scary girls with tiny tops showing off their navel rings, knocking back the vodka with more aplomb than the boys, and sad girls straight out of the 1950s wearing ladylike party frocks.

  I think Magda and Nadine are going to be mad at me for suggesting they come. Still, I'm mad at them for meeting up without me.

  I'm mad at Russell too. I'm crammed into an armchair with him, his arm round me, like he's showing me off to all his mates. The Girlfriend. Not that he's acting proud of me. I tried so hard getting ready for the party. I selected and tried on and then rejected three quarters of the clothes in my wardrobe. I even ransacked Anna's wardrobe and tried on this loose crimson velvet dress. Well, it's loose on Anna, and horribly tight on me. And maybe a bit too dressy.

  I decided it wasn't cool to look as if I'd tried too hard, so I eventually chose this big soft sweater. It's not one of Anna's designs, it's plain black with a deep v-neck that shows a little cleavage. A little too much cleavage, actually, so I'm wearing a little black vest thingy underneath. I'm squeezed into my black jeans. They're getting tighter every time I put them on but they do still do up, just. I've got my black pointy boots too, which are already pinching quite a bit, but I daren't kick them off in case my feet smell sweaty.

  I don't think I look too bad, especially considering I've still got this filthy cold – but Russell didn't look enthusiastic when he saw me.

  'Hi, Ellie. Aren't you changed yet?'

  'Yes, I am changed,' I said a little sharply.

  'Right. OK. Let's go then.' He fidgeted with his shirt collar.

  'Is that a new shirt, Russell? It looks great.' It was OKish – a silky navy affair, just a tad too slick and sleazy for my taste, but I was trying to be generous.

  'Cynthia gave it to me,' Russell murmured, wriggling inside it. 'I think it's a bit naff.'

  'No, it's lovely,' I said.

  I waited.

  'Do you think I look OK?'

  'What? Yeah. Fine.' He clearly wasn't impressed.

  'You don't think I'm a bit ... understated?' I asked. I wanted reassurance. I didn't get it.

  'Well, it is a party. Maybe you could change into something a bit more . . . sparkly?'

  I felt like kicking him. 'I don't do sparkly, Russell,' I said. 'What do you suggest? A tinsel bikini and a tiara?'

  'OK, no need to get shirty. I just thought . . . maybe a skirt? And high heels, you know, to show your legs off a bit? Oh forget it. Come on, let's go.'

  I still waited.

  'What?'

  'Don't you want to see my letter from Nicola Sharp?'

  'Well, you read it out to me on the phone. Congratulations.' He kissed me very briefly on my cheek, the way you peck an old auntie.

  I can't believe this. I expected Russell to be really thrilled for me. He hardly said anything when I told him about it on the phone. He didn't even do a Dad and point out that Myrtle isn't all mine and can't really count as my original creation. When I eventually ran out of steam he just said, 'That's great, Ellie,' very off-hand, like it was the least great thing in the world. But if he'd had a personal letter of praise and encouragement from Nicola Sharp he'd be thrilled.

  I'd be thrilled for him. And it isn't as if I've won the competition. Russell could still win it himself.

  'You wait, Russell, I bet you do win the competition,' I whisper, snuggling up to him, trying to act sweet to him in front of his friends.

  'Do you have to be so patronizing, Ellie?' Russell hisses. 'Just shut up about it, eh?'

  He bends forward and kisses me roughly, his tongue right down my throat. There are raucous cheers and jeers in the background. I struggle free, outraged.

  'Don't pull away from me, Ellie,' Russell whispers.

  'You do that again and I'll bite your tongue off. Don't think you can insult me one second and slurp all over me the next just to impress your stupid friends.' I'm whispering so they can't hear – but my body language speaks for me.

  'Uh-oh! Looks like the little lovebirds are having a tiff!' Big Mac yells. He makes silly noises and suggestions.

  'Oh grow up, can't you?' I say.

  I wriggle out of the armchair and go and get myself a drink. A vodka. It's the first time I've ever had vodka actually. I approach it very gingerly. It doesn't taste too bad at all, especially with tonic. It doesn't really seem to have a taste. I drink it down quickly and try another.

  I know this isn't wise but I don't care. I'm not going to sit back down with Russell, not till he shows he's sorry. This doesn't seem likely. He's pointedly ignoring me, swapping stupid dirty jokes with Big Mac and his mates. They all crack up laughing. They are so childish. Maybe Nadine is right about going out with schoolboys.

  It doesn't look as if Nadine and Magda are coming. I can't say that I blame them. No, wait! I can hear their voices in the hall and Nadine's silver bangles jangling. They walk into the living room – and there's a chorus of wolf whistles. They both go pink, though they struggle madly to act cool. They both look fabulous. Nadine's in a tight black lace top and a weird asymmetric skirt and very high buckled boots with witchy toes. Magda's in a red off-the-shoulder sweater and a very short shiny black skirt, black fishnet tights and black stilettos.

  'They're Ellie's friends?' says Big Mac, sounding incredulous. 'You pulled the wrong girl out of that little gang, Russell!'

  I feel myself going fiery red and pour another drink to help me calm down. Russell doesn't say a word in my defence. He's probably thinking the same as Big Mac.

  Well, to hell with him. Maybe I picked the wrong boy. All these boys are awful. I'll simply join up with Nadine and Magda and we'll have a great girly time together.

  Only it doesn't work out like that. Magda and Nadine are surrounded by boys, Big Mac way to the fore. I'm kind of on the edge, trying to jump up and talk over people's shoulders. They don't even hear me at first, so I speak up a bit. The CD that's playing suddenly stops and I find I'm bellowing in a hushed room. Everyone stares at me like I'm a loony.

  'Are you all right, Ellie?' Magda whispers, shoving her way through t