Girls Out Late (7 page)

She rants on in similar vein for ages. I hold the receiver away from my ear, sighing. Eventually there seems to be a little pause.

“I’m really sorry, but anyway, I just wanted to ask—”

“No, you can’t talk to Nadine just now, she’s having her supper. You girls! You’re on the phone every two minutes and yet you see each other every day. What? No, Nadine—go back to the table! What’s that, Natasha, pet?”

“Have you and Natasha just got back from the photo shoot?” I gabble quickly.

“No! No, we’ve been back since five o’clock. It was a reasonably quick shoot—
no
thanks to your little brother, who ran wild and wouldn’t behave sensibly at all. So much so, they didn’t even
use
him in the end.”

“So where are Eggs and Anna now?” I ask.

“
I
don’t know.”

“But didn’t they come back with you?”

“No. I offered them a lift in my car but Anna had got talking to some strange man and they went off with him.”

“Anna went off with a strange
man
?” I say.

Dad comes rushing to the phone. He grabs it from me and starts asking Nadine’s mum all sorts of questions.

“I keep telling you, Mr. Allard, I don’t know who this man is, or anything about him. I was busy looking after my Natasha. I don’t know if he was another parent—although he didn’t seem to have a child with him. He wasn’t on the main photographic team because I’ve got to know everyone involved. I suppose he could have been representing the washing powder company—but he didn’t look the type. He was wearing a black leather jacket. He seemed a bit rough, like a biker. I was a little surprised to see your wife going off with him.”

“So why didn’t you try to stop her?” Dad shouts.

“Well, really!
I’m
not responsible for your wife’s behavior. Nor your daughter’s behavior either. I’d be grateful if you’d stop phoning me up and acting as if it’s my fault if one or the other goes missing.”

She puts the phone down on us. Dad and I stare at each other.

“Don’t look so worried, Dad. Don’t take any notice of her, you know what she’s like.”

“But she’s not a liar. She said she saw Anna go off with this strange man. Eggs, too. Dear God, Ellie, what’s happened to them?”

“Maybe Nadine’s mum made a mistake,” I say, though Nadine’s mum is like one of those meerkats, all beady eyes and extended neck, seeing absolutely everything. She isn’t the sort of woman who ever makes mistakes. But then Anna isn’t the sort of woman to disappear with a strange biker, either.

“Anna wouldn’t ever go off with a weirdo stranger—especially not with Eggs,” I say.

“I know,” Dad says wretchedly. “That’s what makes it worse. Oh, Ellie, maybe she knows this man.”

“What?”

“Maybe—maybe he’s a friend of hers. More than a friend.”

“Oh,
Dad.
”

“Well, I suppose I’m not the easiest man in the world to live with. And—and sometimes I enjoy a little harmless flirt with some of the students. It’s nothing serious, I swear, but perhaps it preys on Anna’s mind. Then on Thursday night you turned on me and practically accused me of having a girlfriend on the side.”

“Dad, I was just trying to
get
to you.”

“I know, and it worked, too. And I
haven’t
got a girlfriend. I maybe mightn’t have always been squeaky clean in the past but I hope I’ve grown up a bit now. I know I’ve got a really wonderful wife—”

“You’ve had two,” I say, suddenly fierce.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Ellie. No one can ever replace your mum. We know that. It’s been hard for Anna. I don’t really treasure her enough. I forget how young she is. She used to be so different when I first met her—”

“Dad, don’t.”

“You don’t think this guy in the leathers is some boyfriend of hers? Someone she met at her Italian class, maybe?”

“Of course not,” I say firmly, but Dad’s in such a state he’s almost got me wondering. There’s a part of me that knows perfectly well that this is totally crazy and my kind, sensible stepmother isn’t going to hit the road on a Harley with a secret lover—certainly not with Eggs along too—but then it seems so unlike Anna to be so late and not even phone.

Maybe this strange man was just giving her a lift—but then they had an accident. A crash.

I let myself think just for a second what it would be like if Anna never ever came back. And it’s so weird. For years I didn’t like her. I felt she
was
taking my mum’s place and I just wanted her to get out so it could be Dad and me, even though we were half a family without Mum. But now—Anna’s part of this new family. She can be an old ratbag sometimes when she has a nag about homework or the state of my bedroom, but most of the time she’s like a special big sister to me.

And what about my real little brother. Heavens, would I actually miss
Eggs
???

“Oh, Dad, they’ve got to be all right,” I say, and he puts his arms round me and holds me tight.

“Of course they are, take no notice of that stupid stuff I said. I’m just ranting rubbish. Of course they’re all right. There’s obviously some perfectly ordinary explanation. They’ll be here any minute now, you wait and see.”

And then suddenly there’s a key in the door and Eggs calling and they
are
here and the waiting is over.

“Hi! Did you wonder what had happened to us?” Anna says cheerily, while Dad swoops Eggs up in his arms and gives him a huge bear hug.

I feel so relieved that they’re safe, so ridiculous for getting worried, so angry that Anna’s got me all churned up like this.

“Where have you been? You could have
phoned
!” I say furiously.

Anna stares—then she bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I growl.

“Talk about role reversal! You sound just like a mum,” Anna laughs. She looks at Dad, expecting him to join in the laughter.

“We were really worried, Anna,” says Dad, releasing Eggs and putting him down on the carpet. “Why didn’t you phone? What were you playing at?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be so worried,” says Anna, going into the kitchen. “Have you two had your tea? Oh dear, who burnt the frying pan? Hey ho. Eggs, what would you like? Boiled eggs or scrambled?”

“Scrambled me, please,” says Eggs, shrieking with laughter, as if this is the most original joke in the entire world, though he’s told it every time he’s eaten an egg for the past couple of years.

He seems even more full of himself than usual, puffing out his chest and beating it like a little gorilla.

“I’m going to be famous, Ellie,” he says.

“I thought you were pretty useless at the photo shoot, not doing what you were told and being silly to Natasha. They didn’t even use you,” I snub him.

“How did you know?” says Anna, startled.

“Because I phoned Nadine’s mum,” I explain.

“Oh dear! Yes, she wasn’t best pleased with us. She felt we were mucking up Natasha’s big moment. I must admit, though, when I saw that child prancing and pouting in front of the cameras I was awfully glad I had an ordinary mischievous little kid like Eggs,” says Anna, whisking eggs. “Anyone else want any eggs? Apart from Humpty Dumpty here.”

“Do an eggy Humpty jumper, Mum!” says Eggs.

“Hey, yes, that would look
great.
Maybe Humpty could be sitting on the wall on the front and falling off and in pieces on the back,” Anna says, giving Eggs a kiss on the nose.

“And it’s my woolly jumper, isn’t it, Mum? They’re all my jumpers and Ellie can’t ever ever borrow them, can she?”

“As if I’d want to!” I say witheringly.

“Well, I know you’ve always thought my funny jumpers are awful, Ellie—but they might just prove popular,” says Anna, stirring eggs. She catches sight of Dad, who is still staring at her. “What?”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘What?’” Dad explodes. “I just can’t believe this. You disappear with our son for almost the whole day. You’re hours and hours late home, you were seen by that dreadful woman going off with this weirdo biker—”

“Biker?” says Anna, looking mystified.

“A man in a black leather biker jacket.”

“Oh!”
says Anna, giggling.

“It’s not funny!” Dad thunders. “For God’s sake tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“OK, OK. But a
biker
!” Anna splutters again. “That was George, and the biker jacket is actually an Armani masterpiece that’s only seen the inside of his new silver Audi.”

“So who the hell is George?” says Dad—and now he sounds
really
worried.

“George is the editor of a new family magazine. Not the tea-cozy and telly type, this is ultra-hip and designer-orientated, right?”

Anna sounds like she’s talking a new language. She almost looks like a new person. Her face is glowing, her eyes are big, her hair is a little ruffled in a chic sort of way, her whole stance is different, chin up, chest out, confident. It’s as if this George is a fairy godfather and changed her into Cinderella at the ball.

Then she remembers the eggs, rescues them and serves Eggs his tea.

“So what about this George?” I say. “Oh, Anna, has he offered you a job on his magazine?”

“Yes! Well, on a freelance basis, so there’s no problem about being here for Eggs,” says Anna, dipping toast into Eggs’s eggs and nibbling.

“But you don’t know the first thing about journalism,” says Dad.

“I know. He’s offered me a job as a designer,” says Anna. She looks at me triumphantly. “It’s my jumpers, Ellie! He saw Eggs and asked me where I’d bought his sweater. I said I made it myself so he asked about a pattern and I explained that I sketch the picture out in crosses first and then I knit it up hoping for the best and he was really interested. Then after the shoot (and dear God it was Eggs who needed shooting, he was
so
naughty), George asked if we could go to the magazine offices to talk things over.”

“And you did? On a Saturday? Surely it would be all locked up?”

“Darling, George is the
editor.
He can go into his own office whenever he chooses,” Anna says.

“You were still a bit reckless agreeing so easily. He could have been spinning you a line,” says Dad.

Anna shakes her head at him. “It’s not like he invited me back to his
house.
It was a beautiful state-of-the-art office in Bloomsbury.”

“You went all the way to London with him?”

“Yes, I rode in his car and he had his own PlayStation and he let me play with it and I got to the third level,” says Eggs, his mouth all yellow froth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Eggs. Do you want some yogurt now?
Anyway,
George and I talked things through at length—”

“While
we
were sitting here at home wondering what the hell had happened to you. Why didn’t you phone?” Dad demands.

“Because I didn’t think it would look particularly professional if I said ‘Excuse me, I have to phone my husband to stop him worrying about me,’” says Anna. She folds her arms and faces Dad. “I’m sorry you and Ellie got worried but I feel I behaved perfectly responsibly. I don’t see why you have to give me the third degree now. I thought you’d be thrilled for me. It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for. I was so envious when Sara started designing her clothes. I felt I’d wasted all my art school training. You’ve no idea what it’s been like never having a job.”

“I thought you were happy looking after me and Ellie and Eggs,” says Dad.

“I
am
happy—but I don’t see why I can’t have a career as well, especially now Eggs has begun school.”

“And now George really wants Anna-jumpers?” I say.

“He got me to sketch some of the ones I’ve made already. Of course some of the characters have their own trademark so we can’t use them— but I roughed out some new animal ones for him, pigs and piglets in little stripy shirts, a funny cow milkman driving an orange milk cart, a granny sheep knitting a jumper, a chicken painting a Fabergé-type egg. He wants all those designs properly drawn out with the knitting instructions and the jumpers knitted up, of course. He says I can use a professional knitter or two if I don’t have time myself, as it’s obviously the designs that are important. Then we talked about sweaters in football colors and a set of weather jumpers, a light silky cotton jersey with a sun, a thick double-knit sweater with a snowman, a rainbow-striped sweater with the sun on one side and raindrops on the other. It was weird, once I got started I couldn’t stop, all these ideas came tumbling out— and you’ll never guess, he’s paying me five hundred pounds per design, can you imagine, and that’s just for starters, there might be all sorts of spin-offs—”

Anna seems spinning herself, circling way above our heads. Dad is staring at her as if any minute now she’ll whiz out of the window and up into the wild blue yonder.

good times

I can’t concentrate at school. I’ve got one word whirling round every little squiggle and twist of my brain. R-U-S-S-E-L-L. I wonder if he’s thinking about me???

I think about him particularly hard in the last double lesson, art. We’ve got this new young ultra-hip art teacher, Mr. Windsor. I like him a lot and I love all the stuff he tells us about the history of art and women painters and the changing ways women have been portrayed. I normally hang on to his every word and try to impress him, but his voice today is like background buzz on a radio. I can’t even get interested when he shows us some Blake watercolors and Picasso paintings of mythical creatures. Magda and Nadine like the Blake triple Hecate of three young women huddled together. Mr. Windsor says she’s a goddess of the Underworld, and then he flashes lots more Greek gods at us and amuses us with Muses.

“Now, I want you all to draw yourselves as a mythical creature. Be as inventive as possible,” says Mr. Windsor, handing out paper. “You can use black ink and watercolor, like little Blakelets, or paint like Picasso.”

Magda and Nadine want to Sellotape our papers together and do a joint Hecate.

“We can all draw her together,” says Magda.

“Ellie can do the bodies as she’s the best at drawing and then we’ll each do our own heads,” says Nadine. “You sit in the middle, Ellie, right?”

I hesitate. I don’t really want to join up with Magda and Nadine and do the Hecate. I rather fancy the Muse theme.

“Ellie?” Magda’s staring at me.

“Ellie?” Nadine’s staring at me too.

They’re both looking bewildered.

I feel mean. I don’t want to hurt their feelings.

“Right, right, who’s got some Sellotape then?” I say quickly.

Luckily Mr. Windsor isn’t keen on mutual-effort art either.

“No, you three. I know you’re inseparable, but I’d sooner you each made a solo attempt,” he says.

I pretend to be disappointed like Nadine and Magda, and settle down to my Muse. I get so caught up in it that I don’t chatter to the others. I don’t even look to see what they are doing. Mr. Windsor comes and has a wander round just before the bell goes to see how our paintings are progressing.

“I like it, Nadine,” he says, laughing.

I stop and peer at Nadine’s painting. She’s drawn herself as a mermaid, her long black hair discreetly veiling her bare top, her jade-green tail wittily tattooed with little navy sailors and anchors and ships.

“What do you think of mine, Mr. Windsor?” Magda asks eagerly, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes. She flirts with any guy, great or small, old or young, gross or gorgeous, but she’s always thought Mr. Windsor
seriously
special.

He looks at her painting—and then looks at her like she’s seriously special too. I crane my neck to see it properly. I know Nadine is nearly as good at art as me but Magda’s only fair-to-middling. Her drawing isn’t that good, I suppose—it’s just the idea. She’s drawn herself as a phoenix, with a fluffy head of feathers just like her own flame-red curls, and she’s flying right out of a fire.

“What a great idea, Magda,” says Mr. Windsor. “I’m truly impressed. You two didn’t just copy an idea like most of the others. You invented your own. We’ll have both of these up on the wall. Now, Ellie, let’s see what you’ve been up to.”

He stands behind me and is quiet for rather longer than usual.

“How strange,” he says at last.

“Strange?” says Magda, coming over to have a look. “Oh, Ellie, it’s ever so good. I wish I could draw like that.”

“You look just like you—and the artist looks just like a certain boy we all know,” says Nadine, giving me a nudge.

“Don’t you like Ellie’s painting, Mr. Windsor?” says Magda. “I
wish
I could draw like her.”

“It’s . . . interesting,” says Mr. Windsor.

He looks closely at my picture of me posing self-consciously while Russell sketches me. It’s very similar to the Picasso he showed us but his model was naked and I’m obviously not going to portray myself without a stitch on. Come to think of it, the artist was naked too, but I’m certainly not drawing Russell starkers. I suddenly wonder what he looks like bare and start blushing.

“Why did you draw yourself as a Muse, Ellie?” Mr. Windsor asks.

I wonder what he’s getting at. Does he think I’m pathetic for imagining I could ever be a Muse figure? Perhaps he thinks it deeply sad that a plump plain girl like me could ever inspire anyone to create worthwhile art?

“I know Muses are meant to be kind of beautiful,” I mumble. “It was just a bit of . . . artistic license.”

“Muses can look any way you want them—but
you’re
the artist. You should be the one clutching the paintbrush, not the model staring into space empty-handed.”

I think he’s paying me a compliment. I suddenly slot back into my senses. I turn my paper over and for the ten minutes left of the lesson I do a quick sketch of Magda and Nadine and me as Hecate—me wearing my glasses and looking earnest, Magda with her head on one side in a flirty fashion and Nadine gazing dreamily into the distance. Magda and Nadine have a happy giggle and Mr. Windsor grins.

“We’ll put that one on the wall, OK?” he says as the bell goes. “Home time! Off you go, girls.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I can’t WAIT to see Russell. Nadine’s eager to be off too but Magda’s hanging about, watching as Mr. Windsor gathers up his stuff and fumbles for his car keys.

“Oh,
sweet
! I like your Teletubby key ring, Mr. Windsor!” she says. “Tinky Winky! Whoops, where’s your handbag?”

“You’re a cheeky girl, Magda. It’s a good job I’m such a laid-back, tolerant teacher,” says Mr. Windsor, trying to shoo her out of the classroom.

“You’re not like a
teacher
at all. Well, not like Mr. Prescott and Mr. Daleford and Mr. Pargiter. I can’t imagine them with Teletubby key rings.”

“It’s not exactly the coolest of icons,” says Mr. Windsor.

“Are they your favorite telly program then, Mr. Windsor? Do you watch it again and again?” Magda asks.

“I’m telling you again and again—it’s time to go home.”

“You’re quoting that little Andy Pandy now. My nan used to watch him,” says Magda. “And my mum loved the Clangers. Do you have little kids who like the Teletubbies then, Mr. Windsor?”

“Little kids! I’m not even married. Now, buzz off, the lot of you.”

Magda buzzes at last. She practically skips out of the art room and out into the playground.

“Did you hear that, you two! He’s not married!”

“Magda! Are you crazy?”

“Magda, you can’t go after
Mr. Windsor
!”

“Why not? How old do you think he is? Only twenty-something. That’s not really old, is it?”

“You
are
crazy!”

“Anyway, I’ve got to run,” I say quickly. “I’m seeing Russell at McDonald’s and I can’t bear to be late or he’ll think
I’ve
stood
him
up.”

“Oh dear, I’m starting to feel a bit left out here,” says Nadine. “First there’s you blowing hot and cold over this Russell, Ellie, and now Magda suddenly gone totally bananas over Mr. Windsor. I’m the only sane one left.”

“Cheek! Look at the way you were with Liam!” I say. Nadine flinches a little. I bite my lip, wishing I hadn’t said it.

“Sorry, Nadine,” I say guiltily, giving her hand a squeeze.

“That creep Liam is history,” says Magda firmly.

But there at the school gate is Liam himself.

He’s standing looking our way, ultra-cool in his black clothes, his hair flopping sexily forward, his dark eyes gleaming.

Nadine is always pale but now she goes so white I’m scared she’s going to faint. She takes one wobbly step, then I grab her by the elbow, Magda the other.

“There, Nadine. Don’t worry. We’ve got you,” I say.

“The cheek of that creep!” says Magda.

“What’s he doing here?” Nadine whispers.

“He shouldn’t be allowed to hang round our school,” I say indignantly. “We ought to tell Mrs. Henderson.”

“Yeah, you know what a fierce feminist she is. She’d take aim with her hockey stick and give him a swift crack right where it hurts,” says Magda, chuckling.

Nadine certainly isn’t laughing.

“Do you think he wants to talk to me?” she says.

“Well, you’re not talking to him!” says Magda. “Don’t worry, we’ll walk you straight past him.”

“Don’t even glance in his direction,” I say.

But Nadine can’t seem to take her eyes off him.

“You don’t
want
to see him, do you?” I say.

“Oh God, Nadine, think about the way he treated you. The way he treats all the girls he’s been out with,” says Magda.

“I know,” says Nadine. “OK. We’ll walk straight past. Quick!”

We start walking across the playground. Nearer and nearer. Liam is looking straight at us. His blue eyes are boring right into Nadine.

“Take no notice, no matter what he says,” Magda hisses.

“Remember Claudie? Don’t even think about him. He’s not worth it, worth it, worth it,” I sing softly.

Nadine takes a deep breath and walks on. She doesn’t make a sound but her lips are moving. I think she’s muttering Claudie’s song under her breath.

We draw close, swinging sideways out the gate, the three of us marching in unison, like we’re joined at the hips, a walking manifestation of Hecate.

“Hi, Nadine,” says Liam. He ignores Magda and me, like we’re Nadine’s walking sticks. We do our best to prop her up.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t even glance in his direction. We walk her past him and hurry her up the road.

“He’s still staring after us,” says Magda.

“Let’s hurry!”

We practically sprint to the corner. Magda peers back breathlessly.

“It’s OK, he’s still standing outside school. The nerve! Mind you, I do get what you saw in him, Nadine. He’s gorgeous. Look at his bum in those jeans!”

“Magda, stop being ridiculous,” I snap.

Nadine still says nothing.

“Naddie? Are you all right?”

She gives a little nod.

“You don’t
still
have a thing about him, do you?”

“He’s history, like Claudie sings,” Nadine insists.

“Isn’t it good my dad got tickets?” says Magda, quickly steering the subject away from Liam. “They were very nearly sold out too. It’s on the twenty-ninth. That’s the Friday night. We’ll have a great girly night out.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fantastic. I can’t wait,” I say.

“Claudie wouldn’t waste her time on any guy who used her,” Nadine mutters.

“Too right she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t waste her time.” The word
time
makes me glance at my watch. “Oh help! I can’t be late. Look, I have to charge off to McDonald’s to see Russell. Is that OK?”

“Don’t worry, Ellie. I’ll go back to Nadine’s with her,” says Magda. “We can do our homework together, right, Naddie?”

“Oh no, it’s maths! Can I copy off you two tomorrow morning before school?” I beg.

“You could always ask Russell for help,” says Magda. “Seeing as he’s the seriously brainy type.”

I’m not so sure I appreciate this remark. I like it that Russell’s clever. It’s a huge bonus he’s so gifted at art, too. But I wish Magda thought he was gorgeous like Liam.

Do
I
think Russell is gorgeous? I try to conjure him up in my mind as I rush off toward the town center. It’s weird, I’ve thought about him constantly all day and yet now when I’m about to meet him I can’t really think what he looks like. I just keep seeing my own portrait of him instead.

Then I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window and I start to worry what
I
look like. If only I’d thought to bring some other clothes with me to school. I look so stupid in my horrible old school uniform. The skirt’s so short and my legs are so fat. My hair’s standing on end like I’m Shock-Headed Peter and I’ve got yogurt slurp all down my school sweater. I put down my schoolbag, struggle out of my blazer and start pulling my sweater over my head. There’s a chorus of piercing wolf whistles from a stupid little gang of Year Seven Allen’s boys.

I stand my ground and sigh disdainfully, even though I can feel myself going red.

“Hey, girlie, all your blouse is undone—you can see your whatsits!” one yells.

I struggle. I know it’s a joke. But I can’t be sure. What if . . .?

I look down. My blouse is buttoned. They all shriek with laughter. I say farewell to dignity, make a very rude gesture at them, grab my gear and hurry on. I’m not at all sure about wearing the blouse without the sweater. The buttons do come undone sometimes. It’s too tight so that it bunches across my chest. It doesn’t look remotely inviting, it just looks like I’ve got a couple of unwieldy bags of sugar stuffed down my shirt front. What if I’ve got all sweaty with the rush and the hassle with Allen’s idiots? If only I’d taken my deodorant to school. Oh God, if only I could rewind and start again—but I really need to fast-forward because the journey’s taking longer than I thought.

Maybe he’ll give up on me or think Dad never passed on the letter? Maybe I almost wish Dad
hadn’t
given me the letter. What’s the matter with me? I’ve been looking forward to seeing Russell all day but now I’m dreading it! My hands are clammy, my blouse is sticking to me, my tongue is tingling, my tummy’s clenched. I’m dying to go to the loo and my brain is going
bleep bleep bleep.
I can’t think. What shall I say when I see him?

Hello, Russell. Hi there. Fancy seeing you. Sorry I’m late. Remember me? Hallo hallo hallo. Knock knock, who’s there?

Oh God, I’m really going crazy. I’m going into the Flowerfields Shopping Centre, it’s just down the escalator and I’m outside McDonald’s and
bang
bang bang
my heart beats because I can see him there, peering all round, looking for someone, looking for me.

He sees me and starts waving—so eagerly he knocks his cup of coffee flying. I go up to him, grab a couple of paper napkins and get mopping.