Girls Out Late (13 page)

“Quick!”

“Can’t go any quicker!” Nadine gasps.

“I’ll never go to another step class again,” Magda moans.

Down and down and down and down—and then suddenly we round the last corner and we’re there, out into the courtyard, on ground level at last.

“This way!” says Magda, forging forward.

“No, wait. Keep to the edges so that if they look down they won’t see us,” I say.

We skirt round the sides of the tower block, legs still wobbling after all those hundreds of stairs.

“Which is the way we came in?”

“Can’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get
out.
”

We scuttle on, ducking through an archway, round a corner—and then suddenly stumble upon the lager lads.

“Hey, look! It’s them stupid stuck-up birds.”

“There’s the one that gave me the finger. I’ll have her.”

“I’ll have the one with the big whatsits,” says another, making a grab at me.

My hand flies out, hitting his face. He screams and staggers, clutching his head. His mates stare at him in astonishment.

“Quick,” I say, and we start running again. We run right round the estate before we spot an exit, and then we’re right out in the road at long last.

“Where now?” I gasp.

“We’ll make for the nearest tube,” says Magda.

“You certainly gave that guy a brilliant punch in the face, Ellie!” says Nadine.

“It wasn’t a punch, it was a jab,” I say, showing them my hairslide.

“You should have jabbed the guys in the flat, too!” says Magda.

“No, they could have got really really nasty,” says Nadine.

“Hey, none of this seems real, does it?” I say. “I mean, we should all be watching the Claudie concert, not wandering unknown streets with mad drunk druggies in hot pursuit.”

“Don’t!” says Nadine, looking nervously over her shoulder. “I can’t believe I could have been so stupid. Thanks so much for sticking with me, you two.”

“That’s what girlfriends are for,” says Magda. “Hey, where on earth
are
we?”

“Maybe we’re not
on
earth. Maybe we stepped into alternative time just before the Claudie concert. I mean, does it seem real that Claudie would give up her whole singing career for some inadequate boyfriend? No, in real time she’s singing away and we’re all singing along with her in the concert hall, right? But now we’re stuck in
this
spooky time on a dead-end planet and we’re going to be lost forever, meeting up with all these threatening creepy guys—”

As I’m saying these very words a couple of drunk men come lurching out a pub door and bump right into us. We all shriek.

“Hey, sorry, girls!”

“Didn’t hurt you, did we?”

“Had one too many.”

“A few too many.”

“Where are you off to, eh?”

“Shouldn’t be out late by yourselves, nice little girls like you.”

We don’t need to be told this. They seem relatively harmless but we don’t want to take any risks. We run for it.

“I feel like I’ve been in a twenty-four-hour marathon aerobics class,” I puff when we’re right down the street and round the corner.

“Mrs. Henderson would be proud of us,” Nadine gasps.

“Mrs. Henderson would be deeply
ashamed
of us because we seem to have been behaving like ninnies all night,” I say, slowing down. “Look, it’s daft just wandering. Let’s ask someone where the tube is.”

There’s a late-night video shop on the corner so we dodge in and ask. The man behind the counter shakes his head.

“Sorry, girls. There’s no tubes round this area. You could get a bus into Central London, but I’m not quite sure of the times. And there’s been a lot of rowdy behavior on the buses when the pubs come out. I wouldn’t like a daughter of mine to be on one.”

“Oh help, what shall we do now?” says Magda.

“Maybe we’re going to have to phone our dads,” I say.

“My dad will kill me,” says Nadine.

“And mine,” says Magda.

“Mine too,” I say. “But we can’t wander the streets all night long, can we?”

“What about getting a taxi?” says Nadine. “Only I haven’t got any spare cash.”

“Neither have I,” I say.

We both look hopefully at Magda.

“I haven’t got enough for a taxi right across London and all the way home,” she says. “But maybe we could get a taxi back into town to the nearest tube—and we’ve got our train tickets.”

“What time does the last train go?” I ask anxiously.

“I don’t know. But it must be quite late,” says Magda.

“
We’re
quite late already,” says Nadine.

“We’re
always
late in this alternative reality,” I say.

“Shut up, Ellie! It’s spooky enough without you making stuff up,” says Magda.

“At least we’ve got each other,” says Nadine, linking arms with both of us.

“Only there are replicants in this alternative world. Maybe one of
us
is a replacement!” I say. “Maybe it’s you, Nadine, and you were deliberately plotting our downfall with those creeps. Or maybe it’s you, Magda, and you’re going to jump in a taxi by yourself and abandon Nadine and me. Or maybe it’s
me
?”

“You’re a one-off, Ellie. They could never program a replicant as weird and wacky as you,” says Magda, and then she suddenly starts jumping up and down and waving her arms in the air.

“I’m wacky?” I say.

“It’s a taxi!” Magda shrieks.

We all jump up and down and wave our arms in the air and it stops and we jump in.

“I’m terribly afraid we haven’t got much cash on us,” Magda starts.

“Well,
I’m
terribly afraid you’ll have to pile straight out my cab again,” says the taxi driver, but his eyes are twinkling. “You crazy girls. Right, how
much
cash—and how far do you need to go?”

Magda waves a five-pound note and Nadine and I come up with a few coins.

“That’s a fair kitty,” says the taxi driver, but he whistles in alarm when Magda tells him where we live. “No way, girls. I wouldn’t take you that far even if you
had
the cash.”

“Just to the nearest tube station?” Magda asks.

“Now you’re talking. And then will you get the train from Waterloo?”

“That’s what we’re hoping. Do you know what time the last train goes?”

“I’m not too sure. I’d better step on it, eh, girls? You’ve got train tickets already, have you?”

“Oh yes,” I say, and then panic when I can’t find mine in my pocket.

“Help, where is it?” I say, rummaging around.

“You seem like the forgetful type,” says the taxi driver. “I couldn’t help noticing you’ve forgotten one of your shoes!”

I wiggle my poor cold foot in its tattered tight.

“Well, I didn’t exactly
forget
it,” I say.

“It was all my fault,” Nadine sighs.

“You girls haven’t been in any real trouble, have you?” the taxi driver asks.

“Well,
nearly,
” I say. “But we escaped in the nick of time.”

“I don’t know. You girls nowadays! How old are you? Fifteen?”

We preen and don’t put him right.

“You’re all allowed out so late now. And I know you think you know it all, but you act so nutty sometimes. Look at you, Miss Curly! What are you going to do? No train ticket and no cash.”

“Aha!” I say, finding my ticket scrunched up at the very bottom of my purse. “Found it!”

“You’re a very lucky girl,” says the taxi driver, laughing.

We’re all three very lucky girls because the taxi driver insists on taking us all the way to Waterloo. He stops his meter when it gets to five pounds and won’t even take our spare change.

“You keep it to telephone your dads when you get off the train,” he says. “I hate the thought of nice girls like you wandering the streets in the middle of the night.”

We don’t have to telephone our dads. You will never guess who we meet up with on the last train home! Mr. Windsor—and his girlfriend, sitting snuggled up together.

“Good Lord! Ellie. Nadine. And Magda,” says Mr. Windsor.

He looks wonderful in a V-neck long-sleeved T-shirt, black jacket and black trousers—ultra-cool.

“This is Miranda,” he says.

Miranda looks just as wonderful—long black hair, fantastically plaited, big brown eyes, slinky figure in tiny stripy top and black jeans.

“Hi! Are you Guy’s students?” she says, giggling.

Guy!!!

We giggle too, though Magda’s giggle is a little shrill.

“What are you three doing out so late?” says Mr. Windsor.

“It’s a long story,” I say. “We set out to go to a Claudie Coleman concert. She’s this really great singer—”

“We know,” says Miranda. “I’m her number one fan. Guy and I were going to the concert too. But when she canceled we trekked round half London to see if there were any other likely gigs—and ended up at this amazing
country
do, with some sad blonde doing a Tammy Wynette impersonation —“Stand by Your Man.” I ask you! And they even started doing
line dancing
.”

Nadine winces.

“So what did you girls do as a Claudie alternative?”

We hesitate. We shrug. Nadine looks embarrassed. Magda
already
looks embarrassed. It’s down to me.

“We had a girls’ night out,” I say, and then I rapidly change the subject and start talking about Claudie and her songs. I can usually talk about Claudie all night long but it’s pretty heavy keeping the conversation going for the entire journey, especially as Magda and Nadine remain monosyllabic.

We all get out at the same station. Mr. Windsor hesitates.

“How are you girls getting home? Is anyone meeting you?”

“We’re fine,” I say.

Mr. Windsor nods, but Miranda narrows her eyes.

“Does that mean you’re being met or not?”

“Not,” I admit.

“OK. So maybe we’d better do a little taxi service,” says Mr. Windsor, sighing.

“We’re not little kids,” says Magda.

“Of course not,” Miranda says soothingly. “But it can get a bit dodgy round the station late at night. I know I always wimp out if I’ve been up in town with
my
girlfriends and get Guy to pick me up from the station. So come on—
please
let us give you a lift. Especially as you’ve only got five shoes between the three of you.”

Magda has to give in graciously. I really feel for her. It’s bad enough Mr. Windsor having a girlfriend, but it’s extra painful that Miranda is (a) extremely pretty and (b) extremely nice. I look her over several times to try to find
something
to be catty about tomorrow with Magda but draw a total blank. I stare at Mr. Windsor instead, hoping to see sudden signs of senility so I can convince Magda she’s better off without him, but his hair looks as dark and lustrous as always and his shoulders stay square, not stooped.

He asks us all our addresses and drops us off in turn. Logically Magda should be last but he does a little detour so that she is taken home first. Maybe he’s not quite as cool about everything as he makes out. He doesn’t seem to have mentioned Magda’s surprise visit to Miranda.

“What a sweet girl. I love her hair! But she seems ever so shy,” says Miranda as Magda ducks out of the car and dives for her front door.

Nadine and I nudge each other in the dark. That’s the first time Magda’s ever been labeled
shy
!

“Does she say much in class, Guy?” Miranda persists.

“Oh, Magda has her moments,” he says. “Right, Nadine, you’re next.”

Nadine gets delivered. She gives my hand one last squeeze to say sorry.

I’m left in the car with Mr. Windsor and Miranda.

“So, how do you enjoy Guy’s art classes?” Miranda asks me chattily.

“Miranda!” says Mr. Windsor.

“They’re great,” I say truthfully.

“Really?” says Miranda. “He was
so
nervous that first week of term. What year are you, Ellie?”

“Year Nine.”

“Aha! He was
particularly
scared of Year Nine. He thought you’d give him a really hard time.”

“Shut up, Miranda,” says Mr. Windsor.

“Oh, darling, no need to be bashful! Anyway, he came rushing home full of the joys of spring saying it had all gone splendidly after all. In fact he still raves about you Year Nine girls. You’re a very talented bunch by all accounts.”

“Miranda, I’m pressing my ejector seat button right this minute,” says Mr. Windsor, but he’s laughing.

“There’s one really talented girl—she specializes in all these crazy cartoons but she’s great at serious portraits too. Now, I wonder what her name is?” says Miranda.

“Who?”

They both laugh. At me.

“You must realize you’re Guy’s star pupil, Ellie. He’s always going on about you.”

“Oh wow! I mean—cool,” I say, totally flustered but thrilled to bits. Star pupil! I’m twinkling all over the backseat. It’s surprising the entire car isn’t illuminated by my stardust.

I’m still sparkling when I let myself in at home. In spite of all the adventures of the evening I am actually back a minute before midnight, my Cinderella curfew.

I kick off my remaining shoe in the hall and try to compose myself before going into the living room. Dad’s sleepily watching television and Anna is still twitching over a complicated teddy jumper with a little knitted teddy attached on a woolly string.

“Did you have a good time at your Claudie concert, Ellie?” she asks, experimenting with the dangling teddy.

I hesitate. It’s simpler just to say yes. So I do.

“And Magda’s dad picked you up OK after the concert?” says my dad.

“Sure,” I say. “Anna, that teddy looks as if he’s hung himself. He’s too droopy.”

“I know, I know, but I can’t work out how else I can attach it. If I try to put in a pocket it’ll throw the whole design out of sync and I’ve got to get it finished by tomorrow.”

“It’s mad you taking on all this work,” says Dad, yawning. “Well, I’m off to bed. Come on, Anna, sort it out tomorrow, you’re exhausted.”

“No, I’ve got to fix it. Somehow,” says Anna.