Girls in Tears (7 page)

I can dimly make out a couple kissing passionately on the stairs. They’re lying sideways so I’m going to have to climb right over them.

“Excuse me!” I say, clambering past. My boot accidentally steps on a hand and there’s a groan.

“Oh, sorry—” I start. And then I stop.

I know that voice. I know that hand.

It’s Russell.

My boyfriend Russell is lying down with a girl and kissing her.

I feel as if the cold water tap is still running over my head. I stand still. He stays still too, frozen.

The girl doesn’t realize I’m here. She nestles closer to him. Then she gives him a little shake. “Hey, you! Russell! Have you gone to sleep?”

Oh God.

I can’t believe it.

It’s Magda.

when their hearts are breaking breaking breaking

I stumble over them and push my way down the stairs. Russell calls after me. I hear Magda say, “Oh God oh God oh God.”

I elbow my way through the crowd of drunken idiots to the front door. I’m a drunken idiot too. The fresh air outside makes me reel, I can barely stand, but I have to run. I’m terrified they’ll come after me and if I have to see them, talk to them, I shall die.

I’m dying now.

Oh, Magda.

You’re my
friend
.

How could you? How could you kiss him like that? How could you lie with my boyfriend when you’ve heard me going on about Russell and how much I love him for weeks and weeks and weeks?

Oh, Russell.

You’re my
boyfriend
.

How could you kiss Magda after all our times together, all the things you’ve whispered and promised, all the things we’ve done? And to choose Magda of all people, my best friend.

Nadine knew. That’s why she went. She wouldn’t be part of it. Russell and Magda. After all those things he’s said about her. He’s gone on about her showiness, practically calling her tarty. Maybe he’s fancied her all along.

Oh God, it was all his idea to invite her to the party. Maybe this was exactly what he was hoping for. And I played into his hands by getting drunk. I’m still drunk now, stumbling along in the dark. I have no clear idea where I’m going. I have no ideas at all. I’m just shrieking inside with the shock of it. I can’t keep it all inside. I’m making little moaning noises. A woman walking her dog looks at me strangely under the lamplight and asks if I’m all right. I say yes, even though the tears are pouring down my face and it’s obvious my heart is breaking.

I thought Russell truly loved me. I thought he wanted me, not Magda. He gave me the ring. The stupid childish freebie ring. I feel for it and yank it off, clumsily, hurting my finger. I throw it with all my strength so that it flies right across the road and disappears into the darkness.

I wish I could disappear too. I can’t bear being me. I can’t stand it that nothing’s worked out for me. Everything’s gone wrong. I haven’t got anything to cling onto anymore. Even Dad doesn’t care about me now. He seems all set to walk out on Anna and Eggs and me. I can’t feel good about my art anymore because I’m not original. I haven’t got Russell anymore. He can’t ever have loved me properly or he wouldn’t have betrayed me. And worse worse worst of all, I haven’t got my girlfriends anymore. Nadine’s gone off me anyway and Magda . . . Oh, Magda Magda Magda, how could you?

I’m sobbing so much I can’t see. I’m in the middle of town now and I keep barging into people and they say stuff but I take no notice. I bolt away from all of them, out into the road. A car brakes and someone screams, “What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

I cry harder and someone else says, “Stupid kid.”

“You think you’ve got troubles, darling—well, you don’t know you’re born.” This sad smelly vagrant lurches against me, his dog nipping at my ankles.

I cry harder still, trying to push the dog’s head away. Then suddenly someone has me firmly by the arm and is telling the vagrant to push off and take his flea-bitten dog with him.

I know this voice. I open my eyes. There’s my Mr. Wonderful Dream Man, his arm round me, looking concerned.

“It’s my little schoolgirl!” he says, astonished.

“
Your
schoolgirl?” one of his pals says, laughing.

“The silly little kid’s drunk,” another friend says. “Leave her alone, Kev, she’s trouble.”

I can’t believe someone as wonderful can possibly be called
Kevin
. But he is, and he
is
wonderful too. He leaves all his friends to go off clubbing without him and finds a taxi and insists on taking me all the way home. I cry that I don’t think I’ve got enough money on me. He insists he’s got loads. So then I cry because he’s being so kind. He says it’s fun acting like Prince Charming, helping damsels in distress. I cry because he’s been my Mr. Wonderful Prince Charming ever since I started in Year Nine. He gently tells me that he’s very flattered, but actually he’s gay. I cry because I know that, and up until today I didn’t mind too much because I had my own boyfriend, but now I’ve found him at this party kissing my best friend.

He puts his arms right round me and strokes my still damp hair and tells me that there’s no cure for this one. It’s going to hurt like hell for a long time but if it’s any consolation nearly everyone has to go through this when they’re fourteen or fifteen. I’m just a tiny bit thrilled because I’m still only thirteen and he must think I look a little older and, gay or straight, it’s fantastic to have a really handsome guy with his arms round me, stroking my hair. But then I think about Magda and Russell and I start sobbing again and I sob and sob until we get home.

He tells the taxi to wait and then he helps me up the drive and knocks on the door. Dad comes out in his bathrobe and stares at me in alarm. I think he’s going to start blaming my Mr. Dream Man for my condition so I start burbling about his coming to my rescue. Mercifully Dad cottons on and thanks him and then Mr. Dream Man (I
can’t
call him Kev) kisses me on the forehead and says he’ll look out for me and that he hopes I’ll feel better soon.

It’s so sweet of him—though I’ll never ever feel better. Nothing in this whole world can ever make me feel happy again.

When I’m indoors Dad begs me to tell him exactly what’s happened. I can’t bear to talk about it but Dad won’t quit asking me stuff. Anna comes downstairs and I just have to whisper three words—Russell and Magda. She puts her arms round me and rocks me as if I’m as young as Eggs.

“Poor little Ellie,” Dad says, patting my shoulders. “Still, Russell’s not the only boy in the world. I’ve actually always thought he’s a bit of a pompous git, but there you go—”

“Shut up,” says Anna fiercely. “It’s not just the Russell thing. It’s because it’s Russell and
Magda
.”

Russell and Magda, Russell and Magda, Russell and Magda. Will he start going out with Magda now? Will he meet her after school? Will he take her on our special walks and do all our special things? Will he give Magda a ring too?

I go over it endlessly after Anna puts me to bed. I’m back at the party, stumbling toward the stairs, and then I see them together, Russell and Magda, rewinding throughout the night. . . .

The phone rings and I sit up in bed, my heart thumping. I hear Dad’s voice sleepily answering. Then he sounds angry. “Yes, she has got home safely, no thanks to you. No, you can’t talk to her. It’s the middle of the night. She’s fast asleep and I’m certainly not disturbing her. Goodnight.”

I start crying again, my hands over my mouth and nose to muffle it. I hope Dad thinks I’m really asleep, but a minute later I hear footsteps.

There’s a whisper outside my door. “Ellie? Ellie, are you still awake? Can I come in?”

I don’t answer but Dad comes in anyway. I’m crying too much to protest.

“Oh, darling.” Dad sits on the end of my bed and scoops me up in a big bear hug. Even though he’s been so mean recently I can’t help hugging him back.

“Oh, Dad, I’m so unhappy,” I sob.

“I know, Ellie, I know.” Dad holds me tight.

“You
don’t
know, Dad. It hurts so.”

“I do know. I hurt too,” says Dad.

It’s as if we’re back in the past and Mum’s just died and all we can do is cling together for comfort.

“Was that Russell on the phone?”

“Yes. Anna says I should have asked you if you wanted to speak to him.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“That’s what I thought. But maybe I should have asked. I don’t seem to know how to get on with you nowadays, Ellie.”

“Or with Anna.”

Dad stiffens, but I feel him nod, his beard brushing against my forehead. “Or Anna,” he repeats.

“Dad, you and Anna—you’re not breaking up, are you?” I whisper against his chest.

“No! No, of course not. Why, Anna hasn’t said we are, has she?”

“No, but you both get at each other all the time and you keep staying out late.”

“Yes, well, Anna and I will sort things out, don’t worry,” Dad says gruffly.

“Dad, when you stay out late—?”

“Look, Ellie, never you mind about me. Let’s think about you. I feel very very sorry for you, but I’m cross too, because you’ve obviously been drinking quite a lot. I don’t really mind if you try half a lager or a few sips of wine, but surely you must realize it’s crazy to start on spirits. You could make yourself really ill, even end up in hospital. . . .”

Dad drones on and on while I sob weakly. What do I care about drink? I’m never going to a party ever again. I’m not going to go anywhere. Oh God, what am I going to do about school? How can I ever bear to see Magda again?

She phones the next morning. Dad answers and says I’m still asleep. Magda phones again after lunch. Anna answers this time and eventually says, “Ellie doesn’t
want
to talk to you just now, Magda.”

Magda doesn’t seem to get the message. There’s a knock on the front door just as we’re sitting down to tea. It’s Magda’s special knock, three long raps and then two quick ones, like a little fanfare announcing her arrival.

I groan and get up. “Anna, it’s Magda. Please, tell her to go
away
.”

“Don’t you think it might be a good idea to talk things through with her?” Dad suggests. “Maybe you ought to hear her side of things, Ellie. You don’t want to break friends altogether over this, do you?”

“Oh, Dad, I can’t
ever
be friends with Magda now,” I say, and I rush upstairs to my room.

I lean against the door and put loud music on to drown out the sound of Magda downstairs. I wait and wait and wait. And then eventually Anna comes and knocks on the door.

“It’s me, Ellie. It’s OK, Magda’s gone. She’s so upset. She’s desperate to try to explain. She kept on to me about her hamster.”

“
What?
Oh, for goodness’ sake!” A wave of fury dries my tears. “Does Magda think that just because her stupid hamster died that’s a perfectly adequate excuse to snog my boyfriend?”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that word, Ellie,” Anna says gently. “It sounds so ugly.”

“It
is
ugly. This whole Magda and Russell situation is ugly ugly ugly. I’m never going to speak to either of them ever again.”

I don’t want to speak to anyone, not even Anna. I won’t come down for my tea. I stay up in my room. I lie on my bed. I sit up and punch my pillow again and again and again. I cry. I sleep. When I wake up I forget just for a second and start thinking happy thoughts about Russell, reaching for my ring—but my finger is bare and I remember that it’s all over.

I can’t stay hiding in my room forever.

It’s Monday. I have to go to school, even though I’ve still got my lousy cold.

I take such a long time getting ready that I’m very late. I miss the bus. I don’t care. I dawdle, not wanting to bump into Kev again because I’ll feel so embarrassed. He was so wonderfully sweet to me but he must think me such an idiot.

I plod very very slowly. I’m so late getting to school that the prefect with the late book has gone off to her own lessons so I miss out on a detention. I couldn’t care less one way or the other. School seems so amazingly stupid and petty that I can’t be bothered with it. I’ve half a mind to slope straight out again—but Mrs. Henderson comes jogging along the corridor, wielding a big bag of new netballs. She stops short.

“Eleanor Allard! You weren’t at registration. Good heavens, girl, you’re spectacularly late today. I’m waiting with bated breath for your excuse.”

I sigh. “I haven’t really got an excuse, Mrs. Henderson.”

Mrs. Henderson frowns. I wait for her to inflict some kind of ferocious punishment on me. Perhaps she’ll bounce her bag of netballs on my head. She’s threatened me with worse. But she drops the bag altogether. Several netballs fall out and roll along the corridor. She tuts but she doesn’t go after them. She bends close, peering at me.

“What’s up, Ellie?” she asks gently.

Oh no. I don’t want her to be kind. If she yells and shouts I can stare her out and act like I don’t care. But if she’s sweet to me I’ll collapse. I can already feel tears prickling in my eyes. I can’t cry. Not here, not at school.

I swallow hard, trying to stay in control.

“OK, Ellie. I can see you don’t really want to talk about it. Don’t worry, I’m not going to press you. But can you just tell me if it’s trouble at home? Trouble with friends? Trouble with your love life?”

“It’s all of them!” I say, sniffing.

“Oh, Ellie,” says Mrs. Henderson. “It’s not much fun being thirteen, I know. I remember when—” But she shakes her head again, thinking better of it. “No, I’d better not start the true confession lark or you’ll tell Magda and Nadine and you’ll all have a good laugh at me.”

“I won’t tell Magda and Nadine,” I say mournfully. “We’re not friends anymore.”

“Oh, come on, Ellie! You three are totally inseparable. They were both very concerned when you weren’t at registration this morning. Don’t worry, you’ll make friends again soon, just you wait and see. Now off you go—and see if you can manage a little smile, eh?”

I stretch my lips into a sad little smirk and slope off. I’m amazed horrible old Hockeysticks Henderson can be so kind. I wonder what on earth she was like at thirteen! But it was all so different in her day. She can’t possibly understand what it’s like now. And she’s so wrong about Magda and Nadine. I can’t ever be friends with them again.

Well, maybe I can still be friends with Nadine. I know we haven’t been getting on too well recently, but she did try to be kind to me at the party. OK, she might be crazy enough to get involved with strangers on the Internet but she’d never ever be cruel enough to make out with my boyfriend.

Maybe she left the party early because she hated seeing Magda with Russell. She’s probably not talking to Magda now. Perhaps we’ll slot back into being our old twosome, Nadine and Ellie. . . .

I go into Mrs. Madley’s English class. Nadine and Magda are cozied up together in a corner, whispering. They are obviously still the best of friends. So that’s the way it is.