Secrets at St Jude's: New Girl (13 page)

Dermot smiled at Gina to signal the end of their little chat, then reached over to take the money from Charlie’s hand. He turned on his heel and headed off, forgetting to wait for any further orders.

‘That was a bit bloody rude,’ Charlie commented, loud enough for Dermot to hear.

‘Shhh!’ Gina insisted. ‘It’s packed in here – he’s probably just really, really busy.’

‘Oh, I forgot – Yank at the table: suck up to the staff, everyone!’ Charlie sneered.

By 6.50, the atmosphere on Year Four’s floor of the boarding house was close to hysterical. Eighteen girls were rushing about in various stages of dress and undress, screaming for hairdryer sockets, quick-drying nail polish, make-up corrector wipes and lost lipsticks.

Zips were jamming, hair was misbehaving, mascara was smudging . . . it was pre-party pandemonium. In just forty minutes, the summer ball, the social highlight of the whole term, would begin.

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A girl called Jo was in tears because a glass of water had just been spilled on her satin dress. Selina’s freshly highlighted hair was deemed to still ‘stink of bleach’

even though she’d washed and dried it twice. A friend was spraying expensive perfume into the offending locks.

In Daffodil dorm there had been frenzied activity, but now something approaching calm was descend-ing. Min looked sweet: she’d borrowed a bright-red, knee-length, strapless silk dress from Amy which glowed against her black hair and freshly moisturized brown skin. Amy wasn’t mad about Min’s choice of sensible black patent pumps, but Min had ruled out squeezing her feet into the heel-crushing red shoes again.

Gina was in baby pink, a slinky little cocktail number, her shoes the kind of baby-pink suede confections that made Amy gasp in admiration.

‘Isn’t your dress a bit tight for dancing?’ she had already warned.

To which Gina had replied, ‘Like I care! I can’t do a single one of your crazy Scottish numbers anyway.’

‘You have to dance!’ Amy had insisted. ‘What’s the point of going to a ball if you don’t dance? That’s the best bit!’

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And suddenly, at the thought of holding Jason’s hand and feeling his arm at her back as they spun round the dance floor, Amy had felt almost sick with nerves. What if he didn’t ask her? She wouldn’t be able to bear it. What if he
did
ask her? She wouldn’t be able to bear it!

She stood in front of the mirror one last time, turning her shoulders side on and looking for any detail she might have missed. But there was already no doubt which of all the Year Four girls had the best dress.

After phoning her father from the personal shopping suite in Harvey Nichols and begging him to approve an immediate extension on her credit card limit, Amy had bagged the ballgown of her dreams.

The ballgown of any girl’s dreams.

With a draped bodice of creamy chiffon and a wide skirt, ballerina length, trimmed with (wait for it)
feathers
– actual real, snowy, fluffy feathers – this was a dress made in heaven. It had certainly come with a price tag that was out of this world.

‘
Are you sure? Are you really, really sure about this?
’

Gina had double-checked with her friend as they had looked once again at the four-figure bill. Amy had just nodded and handed over the plastic.

Now, with her pale hair piled up loosely, light 141

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make-up and the shimmer from understated drop pearl earrings, Amy looked sensational. Of course she was going to be the most beautiful girl at the ball. A dress like that had authority. It said:
Pay attention – I
am the most precious jewel here in the most exquisite
setting
.

‘It’s just wonderful,’ Min said, coming up to stroke Amy’s skirt. ‘But aren’t you worried it might get spoiled? What if someone spills coffee on it?’

‘No chance!’ Amy assured her. ‘This is a work of art.

Even people like Penny will respect that and stand back.’

‘Oh, fluffy bum! I’ve ripped my tights! Does anyone have spares?’

Niffy’s question brought an exasperated sigh from Amy. ‘Yes, but hurry up, we have to go! We’ll have to wear our day shoes, walk over to the school block and then change there. So unbelievably inconvenient!’

Niffy struggled to get her long legs into the new pair of tights.

‘Don’t pull so hard!’ Amy warned her. ‘You’ll rip those ones too.’

‘But they’re not long enough,’ Niffy complained,

‘and this dress is so short, I’m going to have my gusset hanging down!’

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She stood up. Despite Amy’s best efforts with her hair and nails and Min’s diligent pinning of her bodice, the effect wasn’t great.

Niffy looked like a messy, schoolgirl version of a bunny girl. The dress was so short and her legs were so indecently long.

‘Well?’ She held out her arms and attempted a curtsey. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s really nice,’ Gina assured her.

‘Funky, huh?’ Niffy asked. ‘Are we set? Shall we go?’

‘Shoes,’ Min pointed out. ‘You need to put on your shoes.’

‘Shoes?’ This seemed to confuse Niffy. ‘Shoes!’ she repeated.

‘Yes, your
shoes
,’ Amy said, as if speaking to a naughty toddler.

‘I haven’t got any shoes,’ Niffy revealed. ‘I didn’t think about shoes.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Nif!’ Amy’s patience was well and truly exhausted now. ‘What do you mean you didn’t think of shoes? Everyone thinks of shoes! Everyone who buys a dress works out which shoes to wear with it. What are you? Fashion retarded? No one has feet as big as yours! What the bloody hell are you going to do?’

*

*

*

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By the time the boarders arrived in the school hall, many of the day girls were already there doing double takes, hardly recognizing each other at first glance now that they were out of uniform and in full-on glamour mode.

Niffy’s outfit drew plenty of friendly comment. The strange thing was, as soon as she’d strapped on the clumpy but clean tall riding boots with buckles, the mini-dress seemed to work much better. Maybe she’d just relaxed into it, now that she was wearing her favourite boots. Because Nif was as tall and thin as a rail with fabulous rider’s posture, it didn’t matter that she had a big nose, horsy face and cheap dress; tonight she looked like a catwalk model in some mad designer’s latest brainwave.

But she wasn’t drawing gasps in quite the same way that Amy was: gasps of admiration from friends; gasps of envy from others.

In that dress, Amy didn’t stand a chance of escaping the inevitable showdown with Penny and friends. In fact, Penny, in a floaty floral green number, was already circling.

‘It’s a dance, Amy, not a performance of
Swan Lake
,’

was Penny’s starter for ten.

‘Yeah, so I heard.’ Amy turned away, hoping to escape any further remarks.

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But Penny went on, ‘Daddy bought you the wrong thing then, did he? But then he’s probably never been to a ball at a proper school, has he?’

Amy looked back over her shoulder at Penny, whose pretty face was spoiled by the sneer spread across it. Why couldn’t she just leave Amy alone? At least for tonight. This was a big hall – there was plenty of room for them to avoid each other.

‘Yeah, Penny,’ Amy began, not able to walk away from the insult, ‘I suppose that’s why Llewellyn isn’t here tonight – because he’s not at a proper school either. You know, I’m just sooo sad that my dad is loaded and can buy me whatever I want. I mean, it’s not exactly tragic, is it? The only thing here that’s tragic is the dress that you’re wearing.’

With that, Amy let her dainty white and silver shoes carry her away to the other side of the room as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, this was the moment when the first busload of boys was decanted at the school. Troupes of them – in tweedy kilt jackets and multi-coloured kilts or sleek black dinner jackets with bow ties coolly askew – thronged into the hall with their tousled hair and goofy grins. They looked just slightly older and slightly wilder than the roomful of girls, who all 145

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seemed to pause for a moment . . . make a collective gasp, then start up again with the buzz of chat at a much higher level of excitement. There were frantically self-conscious conversations going on all round the room, as everyone pretended not to notice The Boys. But cheeks were flushing and hearts were skipping nervously as deep voices and testosterone started to flood the room.

‘Niffy! There you are!’ The group of gatecrashers, including Finn, headed over. Niffy, Gina and Min were relieved to have familiar males to talk to so soon, instead of having to stand about waiting for the ice to be broken. Amy gave a warm hello, but couldn’t help scanning the room beyond them for any sign of Jason.

The ceilidh band began to play and everyone noticed, then pretended not to notice, prompting nervous boys to ask the girl standing closest to them to dance. Hardly anyone ever plucked up the courage to ask the girl with whom they really wanted to dance.

On the dance floor, it was tense, anxious, sweaty-palm central.

At least there was a formality to Scottish country dances – complicated steps to concentrate on instead of how to prolong or avoid eye contact. Little bursts of stilted conversation came between the different steps: 146

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‘So which school are you at?’ Min was asking her partner.

‘Oh, do you know Johnnie as well?’ the boy dancing with Amy wanted to know.

‘You got in then? What a blast!’ Niffy said, swooping across the dance floor with her brother. ‘Bum,’

she cursed. ‘This dance is much more complicated than I thought.’ Then she trod firmly on someone’s toe.

‘
Ouch!
’

Gina had been whisked into Charlie’s arms for an Eightsome Reel despite her protests that she couldn’t dance. He was twirling her too hard and pushing her around. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that she didn’t know the required steps, when everyone else around them seemed to be dancing so effortlessly.

‘Could you just stop it?’ she asked firmly when she’d been spun round roughly and then pulled back into line again. ‘You’re going to rip my dress.’

‘Here’s hoping,’ he replied.

When the music finished, she abruptly turned away and went in search of a glass of regulation school punch and some moral support from friends.

‘Having fun?’ Niffy asked, heading back to the dance floor, a boy on each arm. Maybe she was 147

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bringing a spare. ‘Dashing White Sergeant,’ she explained. ‘It’s a three-way!’

Niffy was a hilariously oblivious boy magnet, it suddenly occurred to Gina. Every male within radius drooled, especially at the legs under the mini-dress, but she treated them all with casual affection, like big brothers . . . or, more likely, big dogs. Niffy had recently confessed to Gina that it had been months since she’d even thought of having a crush on anyone.

‘Aha, you’ll do.’ A boy walked quickly up to Gina, holding out his hand in greeting. ‘Jason Hernandez,’ he announced. ‘Can’t remember if we’ve met or not, but would you like the next dance?’

Amy
’s Jason! Gina felt scared. Even one little dance with this guy was going to mean trouble with Amy.

But, boy, was he handsome. It was the way he fixed his gaze on you, as if you were suddenly the only person in the room that mattered.

‘Oh . . . I don’t know any of these dances,’ she told him. ‘I’m kind of an embarrassing partner. I’m sure there are lots of other girls who’d be much better.’ And she scanned about, somehow hoping to conjure Amy up before them.

But Jason, dark brown eyes firmly on hers, assured her, ‘This is a waltz: everyone knows to waltz.’

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‘No! Not me. I’m from the States, remember? We invented disco.’

‘Look, it’s easy. How about I waltz and you just hold on tight, OK?’

He slipped his hand into hers; it wasn’t exactly easy to refuse.

‘So what’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Gina Peterson,’ she told him, way, way too conscious of her hand, which was now firmly in his grip.

‘I remember you.’ His face brightened. ‘We met at the Filmhouse – you were looking for your friend’s contact lens. Come on then, let’s boogie.’

He didn’t let go of her hand, just tucked her arm under his and led her out onto the dance floor.

She’d never waltzed before. In California, dancing with boys had meant doing her practised disco moves alongside the weird flapping and jiggling boys seemed to think would pass for steps. Even if Californian boys
did
waltz, she doubted it would be like this. Jason held her right hand up with his, then put his other hand easily across her bare back, and they whirled about the room with as much grace as a novice waltzer could muster. All the time, he didn’t take his eyes from hers and continued to chat with the assurance of a sixteen-year-old Matt Damon.

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Gina found she couldn’t take her gaze from him either, which was probably just as well – otherwise she’d have seen the blizzard of snowy feathers spinning deliberately towards them from the other side of the dance floor.

Amy was steering her partner closer and closer towards Gina and Jason so she could keep her steely blue eyes trained on them at all times.

As soon as the music stopped, she managed to position herself right beside them, so that saying as confidently as possible, ‘Hi, Jason! How are you?’ was absolutely natural and unavoidable.