Girls Under Pressure Read online

  “For God’s sake, Ellie, one little chockie isn’t going to make you fat,” says Magda.

  “I’m saving him for sentimental reasons, not because I’m trying to get slim.”

  “Don’t you overdo things, Ellie,” says Mrs. Henderson, overhearing as always. “Tuck into a few mince pies and the Christmas pudding and really let rip this holiday. You can always work it off in my aerobics class in January.”

  She’s being so nice I almost wish I’d got her a present.

  I have got a present for Mrs. Lilley. Well, for little baby Lilley. I find Mrs. Lilley in the art room at lunchtime and hand it over, feeling stupidly shy as I thrust the little red crepe parcel into her hand.

  “Can I peep at it now?” Mrs. Lilley asks.

  “OK. If you want,” I say awkwardly, wishing it was more special.

  I made it in a rush in a couple of hours last night. It’s a little yellow cloth teddy bear wearing a red jumper and purple trousers.

  “I had buttons for his eyes at first but then I thought the baby might choke, so I sewed eyes on instead. They look a bit crossed, actually.”

  “No, they don’t, he just looks a bit anxious. Oh, Ellie, he’s lovely.” Mrs. Lilley makes him pad about on his soft paws, acting like a little kid herself.

  I’m so pleased she likes the teddy and so sad that she’s going that I have to swallow hard and sniff.

  “It’s going to be horrible without you for art,” I mumble.

  “Ah! I think you might enjoy art even more,” she says. “I met your new art teacher the other day. I think you’re in for a surprise.”

  “Is she really nice, then? Is she young? What does she look like?”

  “I’m not going to say another word,” says Mrs. Lilley, laughing. “But I think your art lessons are going to be fun. You could do with a bit of fun, Ellie. You’ve seemed a bit down the last few weeks. There’s nothing really serious troubling you, is there?”

  “No. Not really. I just wish I could change myself sometimes,” I say.

  “In what way?”

  “Oh. You know,” I say, blushing. I wish I hadn’t started this now.

  I wish I could tell her how much I want to be thin. But what’s the point? She’ll just say something comforting about my looking fine the way I am. And I know it’s stupid to be so utterly self-obsessed. I know I should start caring about heaps of other things. I do care about the awfulness of war and starving babies and tortured animals and destroying the countryside. It’s just that if I’m totally one hundred and one percent honest I care about being fat just a weeny bit more.

  As the teddy seems such a success I decide to revert to my old homemade habits and make everyone an appropriate soft toy for Christmas. I quite enjoy the first few days we break up from school because I go shopping for material in the market and then cut and pin and stitch for hours on end.

  Eggs is a bit of a pest because he keeps wanting me to play with him, so I get him some cardboard from a cornflakes packet and show him how to do cross-stitch. He quite likes stabbing away at it, doing these great big wobbly crosses.

  I find it helps me stop wanting to nibble all the time as you can’t really eat and sew. It’s annoying that it’s such a sedentary occupation. I haven’t been swimming for a bit. I’m a bit scared Mick’s mates might drag me right under and drown me if I dared show up. I wonder if Zoë’s still going, or if she’s already been hauled off for her holiday abroad? I bet she’ll do aerobics up and down the aisle and refuse to eat so much as one free peanut on the plane. I don’t know Zoë well enough to make her a present but if I did, her soft toy would definitely be a stick insect.

  I make Magda a fluffy white cat with big blue eyes, very proud and purry-looking. I tie a red satin ribbon round its neck. I make Nadine a lemur with huge black-ringed eyes, black claws and a long stripy tail.

  We have a special Girls Day Out on the twenty-second so we can give each other our Christmas presents. Magda and Nadine want to meet at Pizza Hut. I argue. I don’t win. So I go through agonies before I order. I so badly want a pizza, a huge great deep-pan four-cheese pizza with garlic bread and a giant glass of Coke—and yet I add up the calories in my head and the numbers flash like pinball machines, 100, 200, 500, 1000—and so I dither desperately.

  Magda orders. Nadine orders.

  “Shall I come back in a few minutes?” says the waitress, raising her eyebrows.

  “No, she’ll have a pizza too, with all the trimmings you’ve got, pineapple, pepperoni, you name it,” says Magda.

  “No, I won’t!” I say.

  “Go on, have it on me. You’ve got to start eating properly sometime, Ellie, it’s getting to be such a pain.”

  “You’ve lost heaps of weight, look,” says Nadine, fiddling with my skirt waistband. “Positively fading away. Have the pizza special, eh?”

  “Get off, Nad. No. I’ll have a mozzarella and tomato salad and a mineral water,” I say, although the only time I ate mozzarella cheese it was like someone had filled my mouth with soap.

  I leave the cheese. I eat the tomato and the little leaves of basil and I drink my fizzy water and I’m so hungry watching Magda and Nadine I even fish out the lemon from my glass and chew up every little bit.

  “Yuck, don’t do that,” says Magda, stuffing her face with pizza.

  “Honestly, Ellie, you are a prize nutter,” says Nadine, biting on a huge piece of garlic bread.

  “Quit nagging me, both of you.”

  “But we’re worried about you.”

  “You’ve got obsessed with this stupid diet.”

  “Look, I’m fine. I’m just not very hungry, actually. Don’t keep getting at me, both of you.”

  I can’t help feeling hurt. I was so supportive to Nadine. I was so supportive to Magda. Why can’t they give me a bit of support for a change?

  I feel so upset my tummy ties itself into a knot and I truly do lose my appetite. I put down my knife and fork and wait for Magda and Nadine to finish. They take a long time. They talk with their mouths full, their lips greasy, cheeks distorted, throats convulsing as they swallow.

  “Ellie! Pack it in,” says Nadine.

  “What? I’m not doing anything.”

  “You’re staring at me like I’m a boa constrictor and I’m eating a little bunny alive.”

  “Well, come on. Let’s do the presents.”

  “When we’ve finished eating.”

  “You have, almost.”

  “Pudding!” says Magda. “I want an ice cream, don’t you, Nadine?”

  It is exquisite torture. I have always adored ice cream. Maybe they’re just doing this to be mean to me. The waitress brings three bowls of strawberry ice cream.

  “Not for me, thanks. It was only two,” I say quickly, not daring to breathe in the sweet strawberry smell.

  “I signaled to her to bring three. Eat it, Ellie. Don’t be such a spoilsport. You’re stopping us having fun, sitting there all po-faced and plaintive,” says Magda.

  “Well, if my presence bothers you that much then it’s easy, I’ll make myself scarce,” I say, getting up.

  “Sit down, Ellie-phant,” says Magda.

  “Don’t go all snotty on us, Ellie-Belly,” says Nadine.

  “No wonder I have a complex about my weight,” I say.

  But I sit down again—and I have just one lick of the strawberry ice cream.

  It’s as if a strawberry firework has exploded in my head. Another lick, another, another . . . and in less than a minute it’s gone. It’s so good. I can still taste it all over my tongue. But my heart is hammering. Four hundred calories? Five hundred? Plus the sauce and the whipped cream?

  “Relax!” says Magda. “Here, have your Christmas pressie. Open it now.”

  She gives me this pink parcel tied with purple ribbon. It’s soft and flat. I open it up—and it’s a T-shirt with a picture of the famous statue Venus de Milo gorging chocolates. She’s armless, so she’s being fed by little fat flying cherubs. She’s got a sp