Girls Under Pressure (3 page)

“Well, you have this one, Ellie,” says Dad.

“I’m not really hungry, actually,” I say. “In fact I feel a bit sick. Maybe it’s the smell of the bacon. I think I’ll go up to my room.”

“Ellie? I
thought
you looked a bit odd. I hope you haven’t got some dreaded bug,” says Dad.

I go upstairs, my tummy feeling like a huge cavern, my mouth slavering like a waterfall with that glorious smell.

I want a bacon sandwich so
much
. Just
one
won’t hurt.

No. Think pig. Big big big pig.

I draw an Ellie pig upstairs. I start on an entire menagerie of Outsize Ellie Animals. Ellie warty warthog. Ellie snaggle-tooth rhino. Ellie blubbery seal. Ellie humpback whale.

I hear the phone downstairs and then Dad calling. It’s Nadine.

I don’t want to talk to Nadine just now.

“Tell her I’m not feeling very well. I’ll call her back.”

I hear Dad muttering. Then he calls again. “She wants to come round to see you, OK?”

“No!”

I jump up, hurtle downstairs, and snatch the phone from Dad as he’s about to put it down.

“Nadine?”

“Oh, Ellie. What
is
it? You just ran off!” There’s a buzz behind her. She’s obviously still out.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve just got this bug or something. I feel sick.”

“You’re sure that’s what it is? It’s not that we’ve done something to upset you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Magda thought it might be the modeling thing. She said you seemed fine before that.”

“Well, Magda’s talking rubbish,” I snap. “Let me speak to her.”

“No, she’s gone off too,” says Nadine. “We went to the Soda Fountain, right, and there were these boys and they were all going on somewhere else and they asked us too and I didn’t want to go but Magda did.”

“I get the picture.”

“So can I come round to your place, Ellie? I know you don’t feel very well but you can just loll on your bed and take it easy if you want.”

“Well,” I say, weakening.

“And I need your advice. You see this photographer guy, you know, the
Spicy
one, he told me he reckoned I was really in with a chance, and he said they’d be getting in touch with all the possibles quite soon and we’d have to go to this new photo session in a proper studio, and I don’t know what clothes to wear, whether to go dead casual in jeans or whether they expect you to dress up in all sorts of fashion stuff. And then there’s makeup. Do you think Magda would do it for me because she’s much better at that sort of thing? And what about my hair? Do you think the ends need cutting, Ellie?
Ellie?
Are you still there?”

“Mmm. Nadine, I really do feel sick. Don’t come round, eh? I’ll phone you tomorrow. Bye.”

I can’t stand to listen to Nadine another second. She’s obviously getting in a twitch about nothing. This photographer probably says that to all the girls. And there were so many pretty ones there today. Lots of them were heaps prettier than Nadine. She won’t get chosen. She won’t get to be a
Spicy
cover girl.

Oh, God, what’s the matter with me? Nadine’s my best friend. I
want
her to get chosen.

No, I don’t.

I do. And I don’t.

I can’t stand feeling like this. Jade-green with jealousy.

I creep back to my room, feeling like I’m covered in shameful green slime. I don’t feel like drawing anymore. I try to find something to read. Mrs. Madley, our English teacher, said we’ve all got to read
Jane Eyre
over the Christmas holidays. Everyone’s outraged and says how can they possibly plow through such a huge long boring book. I moaned too, of course. Catch me letting on that I’ve already read it for fun. I liked the video of it so I thought I’d see what the book was like. Anna’s got an old Penguin copy.

Maybe I’ll get stuck into
Jane Eyre
again. Perhaps I’d better try to be as highbrow as possible seeing as I’m so hideous. And it’s a good story. Jane’s OK. At least she’s not pretty.

I read and read and read. It’s fine at first. I like all the little-girl-Jane bits because she’s so fierce and then when she’s sent away to school and starving all the time I identify totally. My tummy’s rumbling so crazily I’d wolf down Jane’s bowl of burnt porridge, no problem. Though porridge is ever so fattening, isn’t it?

That’s the trouble. Jane might be plain but she’s this skinny little thing. People go on about it all the time. I start to get irritated. What’s she got to grouch about if she’s tiny? And Mr. Rochester loves her. Why can’t they both shut up about the first mad wife up in the attic? I skip forward to find the bit where mad Bertha growls and bites. My heart starts thumping as I read the description. She’s not just hairy and purple. She’s got bloated features. It says she’s
corpulent,
as big as her husband. Rochester says is it any wonder that he wants Jane. He asks them to compare Jane’s form with Bertha’s
bulk
.

He doesn’t want Bertha because she’s fat. And mad. But maybe she only went mad because Rochester didn’t fancy her anymore when she started getting fat.

Maybe Dan won’t fancy me.

Well, I don’t fancy him. I mean, he’s OK, he’s funny, he’s my friend, we sometimes fool around together—but he’s just too odd and geeky and immature to be a real
boyfriend
.

He’s never seen things that way. He’s been nuts on me ever since we met in the summer. He’s traveled down from Manchester to stay with me and he writes heaps of letters and he phones every now and then just to say hello.

I suddenly run downstairs and start dialing.

“You OK now, Ellie?” Dad calls. He’s sprawling on the sofa with a can of beer. Eggs is sitting on Dad’s stomach, sipping Coke. They’re both dipping into a big bowl of crisps, watching football on the telly.

I think of a salty golden crisp cracking inside my mouth. Water oozes over my tongue. I’m so
hungry
.

“You ready for something to eat yet?” Dad says, proffering the crisp bowl.

“No, thanks,” I say, turning my back.

One crisp would be fatal. Then there’d be another and another until I’d munched the lot
and
licked round the bowl for the crumbs.

The phone rings for ages at Dan’s house. Then one of his even geekier brothers answers. He starts waffling some nonsense about Dan being otherwise engaged. At last Dan comes to the phone himself.

“Hi! It’s me.”

“Hi,” says Dan.

There is a little silence. I thought he’d act more thrilled. I’ve never phoned him up before, it’s always him phoning me.

“What was your brother wittering on about?”

“Oh, nothing. You know what he’s like.” Dan sounds awkward. “What are you phoning for, Ellie?”

“Just to say hello.”

“Right. Well. Hello.”

I wait. There’s a long pause.

“Well, can’t you say something else?” I say.

“You’re not saying anything either.”

I don’t usually have to. He’s the one who burbles nineteen to the dozen. I can’t normally get a word in edgeways. But the edges are wide open now.

“What have you been up to?” I say limply.

“Well, right now I’m watching the match on television.”

“What, football? Are Manchester United playing?”

“Rugby.”

“
What?
Rugby? You hate rugby.
Everyone
hates rugby.”

“I’ve got quite interested recently. It’s a great game actually.”

There’s a distant roar at his end of the phone.

“Oh, nuts. I’ve missed a try,” says Dan.

“Don’t let me keep you then,” I say sharply, and I slam down the phone.

great art girl

I
can’t sleep. I lie on my back and think f-o-o-d. If I breathe in deeply I can still smell the takeaway pizza they had for supper. Dad ate a good half of it. Eggs nibbled the topping and the crusty bits. Anna went without, saying she’d eaten a lot with her friend. And I said I still felt sick.

I feel sick now. Sick with hunger. My tummy is like a geyser, gurgling endlessly. I’m so hungry it hurts. I groan as I toss and turn. I feel like a baby bird with its beak gaping, cheeping nonstop. Think cuckoo. Great big blobby baby cuckoo, twice as big as the other birds, far fatter than the frantic stepparent feeding it. That’s me, that’s Anna.

I’m sick of her being so much skinnier than me. I’m sick of being Nadine and Magda’s fat dumpy friend. I’m sick of being fat. I’m sick.
Think
sick to stop yourself eating. I’ve got to lose so much weight, I’ve got to get thin, I’ve got to,
I’ve got to. . . .

I’m out of bed, running barefoot down the stairs, into the kitchen, where’s the pizza box? I thought there was a huge great slice left. Oh, God, did Anna dump it straight in the dustbin, no, here it is, oh, food, food, food!

The pizza is cold and congealed but I don’t care. I bolt it down, barely stopping to chew, tearing off great chunks. I even eat the bits that Eggs has licked. I run my finger round the box. I get a carton of milk from the fridge and wash it all down so quickly that milk dribbles down my nightie but I’m still not satisfied. I feel hungrier than ever.

I go to the bread bin and make myself a jam sandwich, then another, then another, then a spoonful of jam by itself, more, more. . . . Now, what else is there? Frosties! I eat them straight out of the packet, scooping them up in my hand, and there’s raisins too, I’m cramming so many into my mouth I nearly choke. I cough and a disgusting slurp of raisins dribbles down my chin. I catch sight of myself in the shiny kettle and I can’t believe what I look like. Total crazy woman. Oh, God, what am I doing? What have I eaten? I can
feel
the food going down into my stomach. It’s starting to hurt. What am I going to do?

I run to the downstairs loo by the back door. I crouch over the toilet. I try to make myself sick. I heave and heave but I can’t do it. I shove a finger in my mouth. It’s horrible, oh, my stomach, two fingers, I’ve got to, I’ve got to . . . oh . . . oooooh . . .

I am so sick. So horribly revoltingly disgustingly sick,
slowly
—again and again and again. I have to hang on to the edge of the toilet to stop myself falling. Tears stream down my face, sweat runs down my back. I pull the chain and then try to get up, the room spinning round me. My throat burns and my mouth stays sour no matter how many times I swill it with water.

“Ellie?” It’s Anna in her blue pajamas, her pageboy hair ruffled, so she only looks about my age. “Oh, you poor thing. Have you been very sick?”

“Mmm.”

“Come here, let’s get you sorted out.” She puts the lid down on the loo and makes me sit on it. Then she runs the towel under the tap and gently mops my face and hair as if I was Eggs. I lean against her weakly and she puts her arm around me.

This is weird. Anna and I are acting like a regular mother and daughter. We never ever act like this. I made it quite plain right from the start when she came to live with us that I didn’t want another mum. I
had
a mum, even if she was dead. For years I wouldn’t let Anna near me. We didn’t exactly
fight
—we were just like two strangers forced to live under the same roof. Just recently we’ve started to get a bit closer. We go shopping together or we watch a video or we flick through a glossy magazine but it’s just like sisters. Big sister, little sister. Well. I’m bigger than Anna. Not taller.
Fatter.
It’s so unfair. Why do I have to be fatter than everyone?

Tears are still running down my cheeks.

“Hey,” says Anna gently, wiping my eyes. “Do you feel really terrible, Ellie?”

“Yes,” I say mournfully.

“Have you got a bad tummyache? Headache?” Anna puts her hand on my forehead. “I wonder if you’ve got a temperature. Maybe I should call the doctor?”

“No! No, I’m OK. I was just sick, that’s all. Probably just something I ate!”

“You’re still ever so white. And you’re shivering.” Anna leads me into the kitchen and gets her old denim jacket that’s hanging on the back door. “Here.” She wraps it round me and sits me down at the kitchen table. “Do you want a drink of water?”

I sip it delicately.

“Your dad said you’ve been feeling lousy all day, not eating anything.” Anna sighs. “I wish I could say the same for him. Look at the state of the kitchen! He must have had a secret midnight feast—and then he moans because his jeans won’t do up!”

“Why does he still try to squeeze himself into those jeans anyway?” I say, feeling guilty that Dad’s getting the blame.

“He just won’t admit that he’s too fat,” says Anna, sticking everything back in the food cupboard.

“I’m even fatter,” I say, the glass clinking against my teeth.

“What? Don’t be silly,” says Anna.

“I
am
. And I didn’t even realize. I mean, I knew it, but it didn’t really bug me. But now . . .”

“Oh, Ellie. You’re
not
fat. You’re just . . . rounded. It suits you. It’s the way you’re supposed to be.”

“I don’t want to be fat, I want to be thin. As thin as you.”

“
I’m
not thin,” says Anna, though she looks like a little pin person in her schoolboy pajamas. “I wore my old black leather trousers today because they’re about the only sexy garment I’ve got nowadays and I was so desperate not to look dull and mumsy and suburban, but the zip’s so tight now I could barely
breathe
. It was cutting into my stomach all through lunch. Which was
not
a success. Oh, God, Ellie, this friend of mine, Sara, she looks incredible. She’s got this fantastic new hairstyle, all blond highlights, and the
shoes
she was wearing, really high, and the way she walked in them! Every man in the restaurant was staring at her.”

“Yes, but you don’t want to look like some blond bimbo,” I say.

“But she’s
not
a bimbo, she’s the top designer for this new fashion chain. They’re even going to be bringing out her own label, Sara Star. She showed me the logo, two big
S
s in shocking pink. Oh, Ellie, she’s really made it big now. She kept politely asking me what I’m doing and I had to say I haven’t even got a job at the moment.”

“You’ve got Eggs to look after.”

“Yes, but it’s not like he’s a baby.”

“And Dad.”

“OK, he
is
a baby,” says Anna, smiling at last. “But even so . . . I just feel . . . Anyway, I’m going to try even harder to find some work, even if it’s just part-time. And I’m going to do something with my stupid hair.
And
I’m going to go on a diet.”

“I’m going on a diet too,” I say.

“Oh, Ellie. Look, you’re still a growing girl.”

“Exactly. Growing fatter and fatter.”

“Well, we’ll see when you’re better. I do hope you haven’t got gastric flu. It sounded as if you were being so terribly sick.”

“I’m fine now. Really. I’m going back to bed.”

“Ellie? You’re acting sort of funny.” Anna looks at me worriedly. “You would tell me if . . . if there was anything really wrong, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Well, no. I can’t tell Anna my throat is raw and my stomach still heaving because I’ve eaten half the food in the cupboard and then practically clawed it out of my insides with my own hand. What sort of mad revolting loony would she take me for?

I go back to bed and pull the covers right over my head. I remember this game I played when I was little, after my mum died. I’d kid myself that when it was morning I’d wake up in a different parallel life and Mum would be sitting on the end of the bed smiling at me. It was years before I gave up on that game. But now I catch myself playing a new version. No Mum. No Ellie, either. Not the old one. I’ll wake up and I’ll get out of bed and pull off my nightie and then I’ll peel off all my extra pounds too and there I’ll be, new little skinny Ellie.

The old huge fat Ellie sleeps late and slouches to the bathroom in the morning. I can smell faint eggy toasty smells. Oh, God. I hope they’ve all finished eating when I come down.

Dad is in his third-coffee-and-delve-into-the- biscuit-tin stage. Eggs is busy making some kind of collage with macaroni and what’s left of the raisins. I can’t look at them without feeling sick.

“Toast, Ellie?” says Anna.

“No, thanks. Just coffee. Black,” I say quickly.

“Look at my lovely picture, Ellie,
look,
” says Eggs.

“You
still
not well, chum? Anna said you were horribly sick in the night,” says Dad.

“I’m OK. I just don’t fancy anything to eat yet.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm. Maybe I’ll go back to bed in a bit, OK?” It’ll be easier avoiding food upstairs. And if I can sleep I won’t be feeling so starving hungry all the time.

“Well, we were planning on eating out at lunchtime and then maybe having a little jaunt somewhere,” says Dad.

“To see some pictures, Dad says,” says Eggs. “Look at
my
picture, Ellie. See what it is?”

“Yes, macaroni and raisins, very fetching,” I say. “You lot go out. That’s fine with me. I’ll just flop around.”

“But I haven’t got any food in for your lunch, Ellie,” says Anna. “I missed out on the big Saturday shop because I was seeing Sara.”

“I’ll cook myself some eggs or something. It’s OK,” I say.

“It’s a
lady,
Ellie, can’t you see? The macaroni is all her
curls,
and the raisins are her eyes and her nose and her smiley mouth, see.”

“Well, she’s got a dirty nose and very black teeth and she’s having a seriously bad hair day,” I say.

“Don’t be mean to him,” says Dad, giving me a little nudge. “Come out with us, eh? You’ll feel better for a bit of fresh air.”

“No, thanks.”

Nadine rings around twelve, pained that I haven’t phoned her back. She wants to come round this afternoon and she’s still burbling about her hair and her makeup and her clothes in case she gets selected as a
Spicy
cover girl.

“Nadine! Look, wait till they get in touch with you, right?” I’m not quite bitchy enough to add “Maybe they won’t” but I imply it.

“I want to be
prepared,
Ellie.
Please
can I come round?” Nadine lowers her voice. “My gran and granddad are here and this Happy Families lark is getting way too heavy for me. They’re all gathered round Natasha just
watching
her, as if she’s a little television set or something, and my God, is she performing with her volume turned right up.”

“Oh, Nad,” I say, weakening. “Look, I don’t know what help
I
can be. I’m no expert when it comes to makeup and stuff. Why don’t you go and see Magda?”

I expect Nadine to say that she and I are best friends from way back and that she wants to plan it all with me. Then I’ll swallow the last sour jealousy pill and ask her over and fuss round her like a real friend. I’ll try terribly hard not to mind that she’s got serious model-girl potential and I’m just her fat freaky friend.

“Oh, I’ve tried Magda. She’s so great with makeup. I thought she’d maybe trim my hair for me too. But she’s going out with this guy she met at the Soda Fountain. Not the one she really fancied, this is his friend—but life’s like that. Anyway, I can come over, Ellie, can’t I? Straight after lunch?”

I take a deep breath.

“Sorry, Nadine. We’re going out for lunch, and then on up to town somewhere,” I say. “See you tomorrow at school. Bye.”

“You’re coming,” Dad calls from the kitchen. “Great.”

“I wish you wouldn’t listen to my phone calls. They’re
private,
” I say. “And I’m not really coming. I just said that to get out of seeing Nadine.”

“Of course you’re coming,” says Dad. “And what’s up with you and Nadine? I thought you two girls were practically joined at the hip. Have you broken friends?”

“Of course not. You make us sound like little kids,” I say haughtily.

“Just don’t break friends with Magda too. She’s a really cracking little girl,” says Dad, with a touch too much enthusiasm.

“Stop bugging Ellie,” says Anna sharply. “And Magda’s young enough to be your daughter.”

So I end up going out with Anna and Dad and Eggs to this tea shop in Clapham. It’s a great place, actually, with lovely deep blue-and-pink decor and cushioned chairs and round glass-topped tables, and all sorts of interesting people hang out there, students, actors, huge crowds of friends or romantic couples . . . but it’s not the place to go with your
parents
. I feel a total idiot, convinced everyone is staring at this sad fat girl who has no social life of her own. And the menu is agony. I read my way through all the delicious choices twice over: bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich; smoked salmon and scrambled eggs; bagels; scones with jam and cream; cheesecake; banoffi pie; sticky toffee pudding . . .

“Just a black coffee, please.”

“Isn’t there
anything
you fancy, Ellie?” Dad says worriedly. “What about chocolate fudge cake? I thought that was your favorite.”

Oh, Dad, they’re all my favorites. I could easily eat my way through the entire menu. I’m almost crying with hunger as I look at everyone’s piled plates.

“She’s still feeling a bit queasy,” says Anna. “But you’ll have to eat something, Ellie, or you’ll pass out.”

I end up agreeing to a plate of scrambled eggs. Eggs aren’t too fattening, are they? Though they come with two rounds of golden toast glistening with butter. I tell myself I’ll just toy with a forkful of egg—but within five minutes my plate looks as if it’s licked clean.

“There! Great, you’ve obviously got your appetite back,” Dad says happily. “So how about a wicked cake, too?”

“Yes, I want cake, Dad,” says Eggs, although he has only nibbled his prawn sandwich. He pulls out every prawn and puts them in a circle on his plate.