Girls Out Late (11 page)

“Well, my dad’s got this meeting and needs the car so Anna can’t drive us. She’s stuck with Eggs and she’s knitting nine hundred and ninety-nine stupid sweaters every evening anyway,” I say.

We ponder.

“Tell you what,” says Magda. “We’ll take ourselves. Train and then tube. Couldn’t be simpler.”

“Couldn’t be
harder,
” says Nadine. “My mum won’t let me.”

“I don’t think Anna will either,” I say. “Well, getting there’s OK. It’s coming back late at night. Won’t your mum mind, Mags?”

“Sure. But she won’t know. She thinks your dad’s taking us, Ellie. Your folks think Ellie’s dad’s taking us too, Nadine. And Ellie, you can say
my
dad’s taking us. Then they don’t have to worry and we can push off and have fun.”

“Great,” says Nadine, though she looks worried.

“Perfect,” I say, though I’m fussed about having to tell a whole load of lies all over again.

“So it’s all settled,” says Magda. “We’ll meet up at six, right? At the railway station. Don’t worry about cash, Ellie, you can borrow off me. It’ll be fantastic. A
real
girls’ night out.”

So that’s exactly what we do. Nadine’s at the station first, looking great in black, with new black shoes with huge heels so that she’s taller than ever.

“I’m going to have to carry a little collapsing ladder and clamber up it every time I need to talk to you,” I complain. “You make me feel littler and dumpier than ever.”

“Don’t be daft, Ellie. You look great,” says Nadine.

I’ve certainly done my best, trying on half my clothes before plumping (horribly ominous word) for my black trousers and silver-gray top. I suppose I
do
look plump. If
only
I was lithe and long and lean like Nadine. But at least Russell doesn’t seem to mind. He phoned me when I was getting dressed.

“I’m just phoning to wish you a good time at the concert,” he said.

“If I ever get there. I can’t decide what to wear. I’m half in and half out of my trousers at the moment.”

“Oh help. You’d better not tell me any more, you’re dangerously inflaming me.”

“Calm down, Russell, it’s not a pretty sight.”

“You’re a
very
pretty sight. I think you look wonderful in your trousers—and even more gorgeous
half
in them.
Which
half?”

“Oh shut up. Though you’re very sweet. I’m wearing your hairslides. They’re really great. You’re really great, Russell.”

There was a sudden totally disgusting mock-vomiting sound. Eggs had crept up behind me and was groaning and gagging.

“Ellie? Are you OK?” Russell sounded alarmed.

“I am fine. However, my little brother, Eggs, is going to be minus his head in a millisecond,” I said. “Anyway, enjoy the dance, Russell. I’m really really sorry I’m not going with you.”

“I know exactly where you’re going to go with me to make it up to me,” he said, chuckling mysteriously.

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Russell,” I said— provoking Eggs into such an orgy of mock-vomiting he nearly made himself really sick.

I didn’t tear his head off his shoulders. I felt so great I just laughed at him.

I feel great now. I don’t care if I
look
great (as in enormous).

“I’m so h-a-p-p-y,” I sing again, and Nadine harmonizes with me. We’re not feeling quite so harmonious after another ten minutes have gone by. Magda still hasn’t turned up—and she’s got the tickets for the Claudie concert.

“Why is she
always
late?” I say.

“Maybe she’s got distracted chatting up some boy,” says Nadine. “You know what she’s like.”

“How about you, Nadine?” I ask gently. “Are you over Liam once and for all now, ready to do some chatting up yourself?”

“Sure,” says Nadine firmly—but when a boy with dark hair and wicked eyes comes sauntering out of the station, his arm round some girl, Nadine’s head jerks and she turns white.

I look at the boy too.

“It’s not Liam,” I say.

“I know. I just thought it might be,” says Nadine.

“Oh, Naddie. You know exactly what he’s like now. You’ve got to forget about him. You’ll meet someone else soon.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone like Liam,” says Nadine. “Not that I’d want to, of course.”

I hope Nadine means it. She looks a bit down, so I change the subject.

“Where
is
Magda?” I say. “Why does she always do this to us?”

“Hi, you two!”

It’s Magda, running wiggle-waggle up to us in her high heels, coyly waving to two grinning boys who are eyeing her up and down.

“Sorry! Am I a bit late?” Magda asks infuriatingly. “It was just Warren came round to borrow a tie from one of my brothers and you know I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him—he used to be at school with my brother, right?—hey, you should see his hair, he’s got this totally cool new haircut so he looks a total dish, and this evening when he saw me all dressed up to go out to the concert it was like he’d suddenly seen me for the first time. I wasn’t just this silly little schoolgirl. And you’ll never guess where he’s going tonight! Would you believe he’s got this scholarship to Halmer High sixth form and he’s going to the dance. And guess what again—he broke up with his girlfriend a couple of months ago and so he was all set to go by himself but when we got talking, Warren and me, he asked if
I’d
like to go to the dance by any chance! Get that! I was ever so tempted actually.”

“What?” I say.

Magda grins. “But then I thought to myself, it wouldn’t be sisterly. I explained I couldn’t possibly let my girlfriends down. He was ever so disappointed but said he understood. And guess what yet again—he’s asked me out tomorrow night. A real date, a special meal out, at the Terrazza, you know, that Italian place. It’s ever so posh. Bit of a change from a burger in McDonald’s, eh?”

“Lucky old you,” I say a little sourly.

“Yes, you don’t have to go
on
about it,” says Nadine. “Have you remembered the Claudie tickets?”

“Of course I have. Cheer up, you two! It’s our girls’ night out, right?”

We do cheer up on the train, messing around and singing Claudie songs. We get on the wrong tube at Waterloo and have to catch another tube back to where we started, and then we bump into some silly middle-aged business blokes and get a fit of the giggles, and then we’re not quite sure where to go when we get out of the tube station and we wander round for a while until Magda chats up a policeman and he escorts us all the way up the road.

Time is getting on and we’re all starting to worry we might miss the beginning of the concert. I want Magda and Nadine to run but it’s like they’re both on stilts with their high heels so we don’t make much progress. We turn into the main street and see lots of people wearing Claudie T-shirts, which is reassuring—until we realize they all seem to be walking
away
from the concert hall.

“What’s up? Where are you going? Isn’t the Claudie concert this way?” Magda asks a group of girls.

“She’s canceled it,” says one girl miserably.

“What? Why? Is she sick?”

“Sick in the head, more like,” says another girl, looking angry.

“What are you on about?” says Nadine.

“What’s the matter with Claudie?” I ask.

“She’s got this boyfriend, right? It was all over the papers last month. Some yobby football player not good enough to kiss her fingertips,” says a third girl, pulling at her Claudie T-shirt in distress so that Claudie’s image lengthens into a comical grimace.

“So? It’s not a crime to have a boyfriend. It’s Frankie Dobson, isn’t it? I think he’s pretty tasty myself,” says Magda.

“Oh right, so I suppose
you
think he’s just being all masterful now he’s told Claudie she has to quit singing,” says the T-shirt girl.

“She has to
quit
?”

“Because
he
says so?”

“But
why
?”

“He went to her concert in Manchester last night and it was a big success. One of my friends was there and she phoned me up and told me all about it. The hall was packed out with fans, and Claudie sang all her most popular numbers, the really stirring stuff. Everyone cheered their heads off. This stupid Frankie couldn’t take it. He thought all the songs were an insult to him because lots of them are about independence and women not needing men, so he gave Claudie an ultimatum. If she didn’t pull out of her concert tour and stop singing all her very best songs he’d leave her.”

“So why didn’t she tell him where to get off?” says Magda.

“Exactly! But astonishingly she said he meant so much to her that her career wasn’t anything without him.”

“Claudie wouldn’t say that!” I protest. “She’s a total feminist icon. It would go against absolutely everything she’s ever sung about.”

“That’s what
I
thought—even though it was front-page news in the tabloids this morning. So we came along to the concert hoping it was all some stupid rumor, even a publicity stunt. But it’s true. The concert’s off. She’s pulled out the whole tour, just like he said.”

I still can’t believe it. We go to the concert hall to see for ourselves. There’s just little stickers on every Claudie poster saying “Canceled due to illness.”

“Perhaps she really
is
ill,” I say, because Claudie is my heroine and I’m word perfect in every song and I’ve taken on board everything she’s ever said and I feel as if she’s deliberately let me down.

But when Magda goes to the ticket office to try to claim a refund the guy behind the desk confirms everything those other girls said.

“You’ll have to write in for your refund. Claudie’s left us in the lurch and we haven’t got enough cash to give out to everyone. The girl’s crazy, wrecking her career for that Frankie. He can’t leave the girls alone. He’ll be off with some new trophy blonde before Claudie has time to turn round and then where will she be?”

“How can she do this to herself?” I say, practically in tears.

“Cheer up, Ellie. We’ll find you someone else to go crazy about,” says Magda.

“What are we going to do now?” says Nadine. “I want to listen to some music. There must be something else on somewhere.”

“How about coming to listen to us?”

We all spin round. There’s a group of boys looking at us, reasonably hip guys, though one’s very Gothic, with long black hair and chunky silver jewelry. Nadine stares at him, dazzled.

“So, like . . . you’re a band?” Nadine says.

“Sure.”

I’m
not
so sure.

“Come on, Nadine,” I say—but it’s a waste of breath. Magda’s smiling too, her head on one side.

“A band, eh?” she says. “What are you called?”

“Well, we’ve gone through a lot of changes. We’re just this little indie band at the moment. We’ve toyed with the name Indie, because I’m Dave and he’s Ian and he’s Ewan so we’re almost there with our initials. I’m lead guitar, he’s bass, and Ewan’s the drummer. We just need to find some guy called Neville or Neil or something to be the lead singer.” He looks at Nadine. “Or a girl, of course. Called Nadine.”

Yuck! I can’t
believe
his corny old chat-up line—but Nadine seems to be falling for it. She’s tossing her hair and looking up at him through her long eyelashes.

“Are you really looking for a singer?” she says.

“Sure! So why don’t you come back to my place and have a little jam session with the band?”

“I can’t sing!” says Nadine.

Too right she can’t. I stand next to her in singing lessons so I should know.

“I can sing OK,” says Magda.

“So you come too, Scarlet,” says the fair guy, Ewan the drummer.

“What’s your singing like, then, babe?” says Ian, the bass guitarist, looking at me.

I can’t stand guys who call you
babe,
like you’re the pig in that sweet little kids’ film. Ian looks a bit like a pig himself, with a snub snouty nose and a bit of a belly.

“We’ve got to get home,” I say firmly. “Come on, Magda. Come on, Nadine.”

Magda shrugs and waves at the guys—but Nadine is still staring awestruck at Gothic Dave.

“I like your rings,” she says, nodding at the big silver skulls.

“Do you want to try one on?” he says, offering it to her.

“Wow! It’s wonderful. I’d give anything for this sort of jewelry,” says Nadine.

“I’ve got all sorts back home, crosses and stuff. Come and see. And we could try out your voice. You certainly
look
the part, doesn’t she, you guys?”

Nadine looks pleadingly at me. “Shall we, Ellie? Just for a little while?”

I shake my head at her, astonished.

“Go on. Our van’s just round the corner.”

“My van,” says Ewan, as if he thinks we’ll be impressed. He looks hopefully at Magda. “Dave’s gaff is only ten minutes away. You’ll come, won’t you?”

Magda’s starting to see sense now. “Maybe not, fellows,” she says. She links into my arm and jerks her head at Nadine. “Come on, Nad.”

Nadine looks at us. She looks at Dave. She nibbles her lip, hesitating. She looks down, her long hair falling over her face.

“Nadine!” I say.

“You do what your mates tell you, do you, Nadine?” says Dave, and he gently pushes her hair back so that he can see her face.

“Not always,” says Nadine, going pink. “I’ll come to your place then, Dave.” She stares defiantly at Magda and me. “How about if I meet you back at the station at eleven, OK?”

We stare at her as if she’s gone completely crazy. Is she really serious? She’s willing to go off with these three complete strangers in a van???

“Nadine, please,” I hiss—but I know just how stubborn she can be. And she’s always been so mad about weird indie bands. I suppose this is like her dream come true. Only she can’t see that it could easily turn into a nightmare.

“We can’t let her go off in this van on her own,” Magda whispers to me. “She’s totally nuts. We’ll have to go with her to make sure she’s all right.”

“Oh, Mags, this is crazy.”