Girls in Tears (2 page)

when their pets die

Magda never cries. I cry—heaps! Not just when I’m sad. I often cry watching videos. I can even be reduced to tears by cartoons. I just have to think of Mrs. Jumbo and little Dumbo desperately twining trunks and my eyes prick.

I cry when I’m frightened, too. If a teacher shouted at me in primary school I’d start blubbing. I try not to be so pathetic now but I still hate it when people yell at me.

I cry at sentimental stuff too—little kittens and babies and choirboys singing solos. Nadine sniffs at my stupidity. She hates anything little and fluffy and cute. Still, she can do her fair share of wailing and weeping when she wants. When she finally broke up with Liam she howled for hours and hours. She’d play all these sad songs about breaking up, lying in her black bedroom weeping waterfalls.

But Magda’s always so bouncy and bubbly. She’s just not the mournful sort. Anyway, she wouldn’t want to smudge her mascara. Magda wears makeup every day, even at school (though we’re not allowed to). Magda’s the sort of girl who’d stop to do her makeup and style her hair even if there were fire alarms blaring like crazy and flames licking at her door.

She’s not wearing any makeup today. It doesn’t even look like she’s brushed her crimson curls.

I forget Russell and his ring.

Nadine forgets her new Mr. Wonderful.

We rush to Magda. I put my arm round her waist. Nadine pats her gently on the back.

“What
is
it, Magda?”

“Come on, Mags, tell us.”

“I’ve killed her!” Magda wails. She puts her tousled head on my shoulder and sobs.

Nadine and I look at each other, mouths open.

“
Who
have you killed, Mags?” Nadine asks.

Nadine herself is always threatening to kill people. She mainly keeps her death threats in the family. Her little sister, Natasha, is her victim of choice, but when she’s in serial killer mode she mutters darkly about her mother, her father, her nan, even her aunts. But Magda’s never seemed remotely homicidal.

“My darling little Fudge,” Magda howls.

Fudge? For one mad moment I imagine Magda attacking a box of fudge with a hammer . . . and then I get it. Fudge is her hamster. OK.
Was
her hamster. Magda went out with this boy Greg at the beginning of Year Nine. He was seriously into breeding hamsters—well, all rodents: mice, white rats, gerbils, anything small and twitchy with whiskers. Magda said his bedroom was like Hamelin before the Pied Piper. When Greg’s favorite hamster, Honey, had babies he offered one to Magda. This was Fudge. For a few days Magda obsessed about her new little furry friend. She told Nadine and me all about Fudge’s feeding and toileting and sleeping arrangements.

Fudge did a
lot
of sleeping. Magda hadn’t understood that hamsters are basically nocturnal. She expected Fudge to sit up, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (well, that’s always been beyond her, obviously), ready to learn tricks. Magda hoped Fudge would learn how to beg, to wave a paw, to clean her whiskers on command. But Fudge wouldn’t pay attention when Magda tried to train her. She hurtled into the depths of her loo-roll play tunnel and lurked there, refusing to cooperate.

Magda got fed up pretty quickly. She gave up hoping that Fudge had star quality as a performing hamster. She stopped talking about her. I’d completely forgotten she even
had
a hamster.

“Anyway, I sat next to old Greg on the bus and he started chatting me up again. I
wondered
about getting back with him. I know he’s not very special—”

“You can say that again,” says Nadine, rolling her kohl-rimmed eyes (she ignores the no makeup at school rule too).

“Yes, but I’m not exactly overwhelmed with boyfriend opportunities at the moment,’ says Magda, sniffling.

“
I
am!” says Nadine. “Listen, Mags, I was just telling Ellie, I’ve met this amazing guy. Well, not exactly
met
him but—”

But Magda is sobbing so loudly she drowns out Nadine.

“Greg asked me how Fudge was getting on. I said she didn’t really do anything. Greg was shocked. He made me feel so mean because I’ve misunderstood poor little Fudge so dreadfully. I’ve kept her all loveless and lonely in that cage. It’s not even a very special cage. You can get ones several stories high with slides and tunnels and God knows what, your actual Alton Towers for hamsters, but Fudge’s cage is the bog standard basic model, and there she’s been, all on her own for months and months. Imagine how we’d feel! So Greg suggested she ought to have a bit of a social life. He brought along this very gentle timid little boy hamster. He didn’t want anyone too macho to alarm Fudge as she’s still a virgin. He said if they got on they could shack up together and Fudge could have babies. But it all went horribly
wrong
.

“We decided to introduce them in neutral territory, so we got Fudge out of her cage and I knelt down with her on my bedroom floor while Greg got the little boy hamster out of his pocket and . . . and . . .”

“And he hated Fudge on sight and attacked her savagely?” Nadine prompts, a little impatiently.

“No, no, they liked each other. Their little noses went twitch twitch twitch. You could almost see a little cupid hamster flying up above, shooting them in their furry chests with dinky little love arrows. It was so
sweet
. Greg and I knelt together watching them, feeling like proud parents. It was like the romance in the air was catching. Well, I must admit I took hold of Greg’s hand, but it was just in a matey kind of way. Then he kissed me. Well, he’s learnt much
more
about kissing. He’s more subtle. He used to attach himself to my lips like a vacuum cleaner and positively
hoover
—”

We burst out giggling—even Madga herself, though her eyes are still brimming with tears.

“And?” says Nadine. “You got so carried away that you lay down and squashed little Fudge and her furry friend into pancakes?”

“Do you always have to be so ghoulish, Nadine?” says Magda. “No! But it was almost as bad. Like I said, we got really carried away, Greg and me—”

“You didn’t
do
it?” I say.

Nadine stops fidgeting and stares at Magda. “
Did
you, Mags?”

“Of course not, you idiots! What do you think I am, mad? Greg’s still a grubby little schoolboy, even if he
is
a good kisser. I want my first time to be really really special, with someone who’ll make it romantic and beautiful, someone who loves me. . . .”

I think about this very carefully.

“Someone grown-up and responsible,” says Magda.

I nod, sighing.

We have all been sidetracked. We return to thinking of the romance between two young and very irresponsible rodents—a very short-lived romance, obviously.

“When I eventually pushed Greg away I looked round to see how little Fudge was getting on, but she wasn’t
there
. Greg’s little boy hamster was there, looking a bit shifty, like he’d got his paw over and was now wanting to go and join his mates and boast. Fudge had vanished altogether.

“Greg and I crawled round on our hands and knees calling for her. Greg even wriggled right under the bed and came back clutching this pair of pink knickers I’d lost ages ago.
I
didn’t half go pink then. But there was no sign of Fudge. I saw that my bedroom door was just a teeny bit open—and my heart sank.

“Greg put his hamster in his pocket and we went looking for Fudge, right along the landing, in Mum and Dad’s bedrooms, in all my brothers’ bedrooms.
Not
a joyful experience—they’re all knee-deep in junk and dead smelly. God knows what we’d find under
their
beds. Then we got to the top of the stairs and I looked down and—”

“Oh no,” I say.

“Yes,” sobs Magda. “There was this sad little furry huddle right at the bottom.”

“Maybe Fudge thought she was a lemming. They hurl themselves off cliffs, don’t they?” says Nadine.

“Shut up, Nadine,” I say, rocking Magda.

“I don’t think she
meant
to do it. She just didn’t look. One minute she was scampering along the landing, probably in a bit of a daze, having just had her first relationship, wondering if he’d ever call her again or if she was just a one-night stand. Then suddenly she ran out of carpet under her paws, and she started hurtling down and down and down. I hoped against hope she’d still somehow be alive but when I picked her up her poor little head was all floppy and it was obvious she’d broken her neck.”

“Well, at least it was a quick way to go,” I say.

“So, what have you done with her body?” asks Nadine with interest.

“Nadine!”
I say. I know she’s a goth but sometimes she’s way too ghoulish.

“I’ve put her in my best Pied à Terre shoe box,” Magda says solemnly. “I thought I’d bury her in the garden today.”

“Great! Then we can have a funeral after school, right?” says Nadine. “We’ll all wear black and I’ll compose a sad hamster requiem and you can read a poem in Fudge’s memory and we’ll paint the shoe box into a coffin. Ellie, you can design a little portrait to put under plastic and stick onto Fudge’s gravestone.”

Magda is keen on the idea.

“We can have funeral baked meats, whatever they are. They don’t have to be real meat, do they? Let’s have black food! We could have very rich dark chocolate cake, which looks almost black, and black-cherry cheesecake too. And we could raise a champagne flute of Coke in fond memory of poor little Fudge,” I suggest.

Then I remember. “Oh bum! I can’t. I’m seeing Russell.”

“We can have the funeral straight after school,” says Nadine.

“No, he’s coming to meet me
from
school. I’m going back to his place.”

“You can do that any old day, Ellie. But we’ll have to have Fudge’s funeral now or she’ll start to decompose,” says Nadine.

Magda gives a little whimper.

“Yeah, look, you’re upsetting Mags. Don’t friends come before boys? That’s what you’re always drumming into us,” says Nadine.

“It’s different with Russell. He’s not any old boy. It’s getting serious,” I say, going pink. I look down at my ring.

Magda notices at last. She gasps. “Russell’s given you a
ring,
Ellie?” she says.

“Yeah, off a kids’ comic,” says Nadine nastily.

“I don’t care where he got it from. It’s the sentiment that counts,” I say loftily. “I like my ring better than the biggest diamond.”

I twist it proudly round and round my finger, trying not to let the ugly green mark show.

I can’t help thinking Nadine is stained metaphorically green with jealousy. It’s probably because her relationship with Liam didn’t last. Russell and I are in love. We are going to go out forever and ever.

when they hate the way they look

Russell is waiting for me outside our school. I spot him the minute Magda, Nadine and I set foot in the playground. Russell waves and I wave back self-consciously. Lots of girls are staring. I feel silly with everyone looking, but proud, too. I’m thrilled that I’ve actually got a real boyfriend meeting me. He looks great, too, even in his school uniform.

I feel especially ultra-hideous in mine. Despite all my efforts to look cool I’ve got paint all down my sweater and my skirt’s all crumpled and my shoes are muddy from taking a shortcut across the playing field to the arts huts. And I couldn’t find any tights without runs in them this morning so I’m wearing childish socks that ruck around my ankles.

Loads of Year Nine girls are peering at Russell, eyeing him up and down, seemingly impressed. Magda and Nadine do
not
look impressed.

“Why don’t you get him to have a haircut, Ellie? That flopping-in-the-eyes style is
so
last year,” Magda says snippily.

“Are you sure he’s really Year Eleven? He looks much younger,” says Nadine. “I’d never feel kind of
right,
going out with a schoolboy.”

I know they’re both just winding me up. They’re not really serious. But it gets to me all the same. “I think Russell’s hair is fantastic. I’d hate it if he cut it,” I say. “And I think he looks at least sixteen. How old is this wonderful new guy of yours, Nadine?”

“
What
new guy?” says Magda.

Nadine looks mysterious. She taps her nose. “Ah! So you suddenly both want to know. Well . . . he’s nineteen!”

“Oh, Nadine! Look, didn’t you learn your lesson with Liam?” I groan.

“Ellis isn’t a silly loser like Liam,” Nadine says.

“
Ellis?
”

“Yeah, Ellis Travers. Cool name, or what?”

“So why is this ultra-cool nineteen-year-old Ellis wanting to go out with a schoolgirl in Year Nine?” I say. “As if I couldn’t guess!”

“Guess all you like, Ellie, I don’t care.”

I
care, though. Russell is frowning at me, exaggerating his waves. He’s obviously wondering why I’m not rushing over to him straightaway. But I feel I’ve got to find out about this new guy of Nadine’s. She’s so infuriating. Why does she
do
this to me?

“Is he really nineteen, Nad?” Magda asks.

I can tell she’s irritated too. She’s the prettiest. She’s the one who should have heaps of boys desperate to go out with her. But all she’s got is an on-off relationship with Greg, while I’ve got a proper boyfriend and now Nadine has got a guy of nineteen—

“He’s only five years older than me. It’s no big deal,” says Nadine airily.

I hate it that Nadine and Magda are fourteen now. I’m still stuck at thirteen, which seems sooo much younger. And in my school uniform I know I don’t look a day over
twelve
.

“Ellie!”

Russell is yelling at me now. I’ll have to go. But Nadine is going round to Magda’s for Fudge’s funeral service. She’ll tell Magda all about this Ellis. I can’t stand it if Nadine and Magda tell each other secrets and I’m left out.

I stand there, dithering. Russell gives me one last angry look. He jumps down from the school wall, about to stride off. I have to rush after him. I give Magda a quick kiss to apologize for my non-attendance at the funeral. I give Nadine a kiss too to remind her we’ve been soul sisters since we were in nursery school and smeared pretend red M&M blood over our wrists and that
I
need to be in on things when she tells all about this Ellis.

Ellis!
I thought
Russell
was posh enough. I am a bit fussed about meeting his dad. They live on the other side of town. The posh side. Those houses cost a fortune. OK, Russell and his dad and Cynthia, his dad’s girlfriend, just live in the garden flat but it’s still pretty fantastic.

Russell doesn’t even look round when I call after him. I have to run like crazy in my clumpy school shoes to catch him up.

“Hey, Russell,
wait
! What’s up?” I have to hang on to his arm before he’ll stop.

“Oh,
Ellie
! Goodness! I’m visible now, am I?” he says, dead sarcastic.

“What are you on about? Why did you rush off without me? We’re going to your place, aren’t we?”

“Well,
I
thought so—but you seemed more interested in hanging about with your friends, having a lengthy natter for half an hour.”

“Half an hour! Don’t be daft. Half a minute, more like!”

“But you can gab away to them all day long at school.”

“We don’t
gab
. Look, Russell, they’re my
friends
.”

“I don’t know what you see in them. That Nadine looks like she hangs upside down in a bat cave—and as for
Magda
!”

“What about Magda?” I say sharply.

“Well, she looks so
obvious
—all that makeup and stuff, and her . . .” Russell gestures at his chest with a roundabout motion.

“She isn’t wearing any makeup today and she can’t help her figure, you nut. I wish I looked like Magda.”

“I’m glad you don’t. I like you just the way you are, Ellie,” says Russell, looking at me properly at last. He glances down at my left hand. “Still wearing my ring?” he asks softly.

“Of course I am. I’m never going to take it off,” I say.

I
can’t
confront him about the kids’ comic. It doesn’t matter anyway. I wouldn’t care if it was made out of silver paper. I love it because I love Russell. It’s such a relief he’s not cross anymore. He puts his arm round my shoulders, giving my cheek a quick kiss. Some idiotic Year Seven girls run past giggling and wolf-whistling but I try to ignore them, though I know I’m blushing!

“You’ve got lovely skin,” says Russell. “I love your rosy cheeks.”

The whole world turns pink. Russell doesn’t mind that I blush like a fool. He
likes
it. I
haven’t
got lovely skin. Nasty little spots erupt all over the place, and my nose is so naturally shiny you could use it as a mirror, though I’ve powdered it quickly in the cloakroom (plus dabbed on more deodorant, tugged a brush through my hair and cleaned my teeth).

We walk along companionably, Russell keeping his arm round my shoulders. I fit snugly under his armpit.

“You’re so little, Ellie,” he says, giving me a squeeze.

I love being called little too. It makes me feel all weeny and cute and elfin instead of a dumpy rolypoly dwarf. I love love love having Russell for a boyfriend. We’ve been going out together for weeks and weeks and yet I can still barely believe my luck. I finger my ring. Maybe we’ll stay going out together for months and months, then years and years, and one day change the ring for a real one.

I’ve never felt like this before, never never never. Russell isn’t exactly my
first
boyfriend, but daft dopey old Dan doesn’t really count. We were never much more than mates. We did kiss a bit, but nothing more. I suppose we had a few laughs together, but I never felt this swooping dizzy happiness. My lips can’t stop stretching into a smile and I sing Russell’s name inside my head at every step.

He’s my soul mate, my other half. I hadn’t realized up till now how
lonely
I’ve been. Ever since my mum died I’ve felt this emptiness inside. I’ve got Dad, of course, and I love him. I love Anna now. I
even
love Eggs. But it’s not the same. I’ve got Nadine and Magda, and they’ll always always always be my very best friends—but they’re not the same as a
boy
friend. We can have a great girly time together, but my heart doesn’t pound if Nadine puts her arm round me, my pulse doesn’t throb at the sound of Magda’s voice. I love them both, but I’m not
in
love with them.

I can understand Russell getting fed up because I spend so much time with them. But he’s only got to look at me to see he comes first. First and last and all the stages in between.

I snuggle closer still and he kisses the top of my head.

“Sorry I was all huffy with you, Ellie,” he whispers.

“Sorry I kept you hanging about,” I say.

“Come on, let’s get over to my place,” says Russell. He gives me a little hug. “Dad and Cyn will be at work, so we’ll have it all to ourselves for a good hour or so.”

My heart beats faster and faster and faster. . . .