Girls Out Late (5 page)

I stop and swallow. I feel my face going red.

“Go on,” says Mrs. Madley. “It’s good, Ellie.”

“That’s it,” I say. “I’ve finished.”

“No you haven’t. I can see there’s another verse. And I stipulated a bare minimum of twelve lines. I can count, Ellie.”

I take a deep breath.

“Hold me in the park
Your pale face intent
Luminous above mine
Tall, thin, dark
Around me twine
Surrounding, savoring, spent.”

There’s a gasp and then the entire class explodes. Mrs. Madley stares at me, and then she sighs. Heavily.

“Quieten down, you idiotic girls. Eleanor Allard, what did I ask you to write?”

“A poem, Mrs. Madley.”

“What sort of poem?”

“On Nature.”

“Did I ask for adolescent soft pornography?”

“No, Mrs. Madley.”

“That’s right. It seems to me unbelievably stupid to waste your poetic talent and my valuable lesson time on such nonsense. You will do double homework. An essay on nature poetry and another nature poem—and on Monday you will read it out aloud and if anyone so much as titters at the content you will start all over again. Do I make myself plain?”

As plain as a pikestaff. What
is
a pikestaff? Some sort of weapon?
She’s
a deadly weapon. A member of staff with the features and ferocious nature of a pike. It’s so unfair. I wasn’t trying to be insolent—I just got carried away thinking about Russell and me in the park. And it was a poetical comment, contrasting Nature with
human
nature. Mean old bag!

Nadine and Magda are mouthing messages at me but I daren’t respond with Mrs. Madley in this mood. What’s the matter with all the teachers today? I can’t stick school. I go off into a private dream about when I’m grown up and I have my own little studio flat and I can draw all day. Maybe it could be a
big
studio flat with two desks. I could work at one end of the studio, Russell at the other . . .

I am mad, I’ve only just met him and already I’m thinking about living with him. I wonder what it would be like spending all the day with him. And then all the night too . . .

I jump when the bell goes, startled right out of Russell’s arms. Magda and Nadine pounce on me the moment we’re outside the classroom.

“Tell us what happened with Russell, Ellie!”

“Your poem! God, you really spelt it out. How could you read it out in front of the entire
class
?”

“I didn’t want to. She made me.”

“But you wrote it in your English book, you idiot.”

“Yes, well, the words just came.”

“Like Russell!” says Magda, and she and Nadine hoot with helpless laughter.

“So you actually did it with Russell?”

“I can’t believe it when you’ve only just met him.”

“And you lectured me like crazy about not going too far with Liam.”

“You were careful, weren’t you, Ellie?”

“What was it
like
?”

“Tell us absolutely every little detail.”

I stare at them like they’ve gone bananas.

“OK, OK, he kissed me. Once. Several times.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

“But you made it out in your poem you did it.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did, you did. Here, give us it.”

Magda snatches my English book and fumbles for my poem. She reads the last line—and she and Nadine curl up laughing again.

“What?”

“You put
spent
.”

“Yeah, I know it sounds a bit odd.”

“I’ll say.”

“But, I wanted an
s
word to make it alliterative, right, seeing as Mrs. Madley’s so hot on it—and it had to rhyme with
intent
and it was all I could come up with.”

“Can you believe it, Nadine!” says Magda, sighing and raising her eyebrows.

“Oh,
Ellie
! You mean you didn’t
mean spent
?”

“I meant—well, we spent time together, the evening was spent—it was the end. What else could I mean?”

“It sounded like you and Russell—you know. So then he was
spent.
”

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean
that.
No one thought I meant that, did they?”

“That’s what we all thought you meant. Including Mrs. Madley.”

“No wonder she’s given me all this extra homework.”

“So you and Russell didn’t really do anything,” said Nadine, sounding disappointed. “The way your dad was creating you’d have thought you’d both eloped.”

“I’m sorry, I feel awful about him harassing you.”

“No problem. I just wish I could have invented some satisfactory excuse for you. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Neither did I. He’s still really mad at me. He says I’m not allowed out at all now.”

“What—
ever
?”

“For the foreseeable future. Of course I’m not taking any notice. I’m seeing Russell tonight.”

“Really! Wow, he must be keen.”

“So are you just going to walk out or what?”

“Well, Dad’s not going to be at home so it’s simple.”

“What about Anna?”

“Oh, she’s no problem,” I say lightly—hoping it’s true.

“You’re so lucky, Ellie. My mum’s my
big
problem,” says Nadine.

“So you’re really stuck on Russell?” says Magda.

We’re sitting down in the canteen by this time, eating school pizza. Magda’s licking up her melted cheese strands. Her little pink cat tongue is very pointed. Her tone is a little pointed too.

“Well . . .” I shrug. I wish I knew what Magda and Nadine think of him. I don’t want to act like I’m going overboard if they think he’s a total upper-class anorak. On the other hand, if they’re dead impressed and envious then I want to act like I’m really enthusiastic, that he’s ultra-keen. And he is—isn’t he?

What about me? I wish I knew! Sitting here eating pizza in my gungy school uniform I feel almost like I made him up. I’m glad I’ve got Nadine and Magda as witnesses to the fact that he actually exists.

I can’t quite conjure his face up now. I know longish hair. I know brown eyes, but that’s about it. I’m not even a hundred percent sure of his voice. Is he really posh or just sort of ordinary? There’s one thing I do remember vividly. The feeling of his mouth on mine.

“Ellie! You’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” I protest foolishly, though my face is red hot.

“Are you
sure
you didn’t do anything else but kiss?” says Nadine.

“Sure!”

“What’s he like at kissing?” asks Magda.

“Good!”

“Mmm—that sounds heartfelt. Better than Dan?”

“I’m sure
Eggs
is a better kisser than Dan.”

Dan was never a real boyfriend anyway, whereas Russell . . . Can I call him a boyfriend yet? I know one thing, I simply have to see him tonight—and there’s nothing Anna can do about it.

It’s hard all the same. Anna has a lovely little snack of fruit bread and soft cheese and plums waiting for me when I get back from school. We have a little munch together while she tells me all about Eggs’s new little girlfriend in Year Three—an older woman! Eggs gollops down half a bag of plums and smiles smugly whenever Mandy’s name is mentioned.

“It was a bit bold of you to chat her up, seeing as she is in the juniors,” I say.

“
She
was the one who chatted
me
up,” says Eggs, biting into another plum. “She thinks I’m sweet. She wants me to play with her every day.”

“She won’t think you’re sweet tomorrow when you’re stuck in the boys’ bogs with terrible diarrhea after eating all those plums,” I say.

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, so I won’t
be
at school, ha ha ha,” says Eggs, and he puts an entire whole plum in his mouth.

“Eggs! Don’t be so greedy and disgusting. Oh God, you’ll choke,” says Anna, leaping up and bashing him on the back.

The plum flies out of Eggs’s mouth and lands with a messy
phut
on the kitchen floor.

“My plum!” Eggs protests, about to pick it up.

“It’s all grimy now,” says Anna, whisking it away.

“So is Eggs,” I say. “Look at him, he’s
filthy
.”

“He had finger painting today,” says Anna. “Only in Eggs’s case it was more like entire-body painting. Shall we give you a bath, little chap?”

“Oh, I want a bath,” I say quickly.

Anna looks at me. I usually have my bath late at night. I only have a bath early if I’m going out. She hesitates. We haven’t even referred to the tempestuous events of last night and this morning. I can see her struggling, not wanting to spoil our friendly time unless it’s absolutely necessary.

I whiz out of the kitchen before she makes up her mind—up to the bathroom, where I wash hurriedly, glad that the hot bath has steamed up the mirror. After my stupid anorexic bulemic blip I’m trying hard to accept my body the way it is—but the way it is is P-L-U-M-P. When you’re about to go out on your first serious date you’d
so
much rather look skinny! I pull on my best trousers and a lacy top, decide they look way too tight (why did I have three slices of fruit bread?), put on my baggy trousers and a shirt, decide I look too casual, put on a dress, which looks much too
dressy,
stand in my knickers and search my entire wardrobe, and
eventually
shove my best trousers and lacy top back on.

Time is tick-tocking faster and faster. I do my makeup, doing a serious cover-up job of every weeny snippet of a spot. I outline my eyes to make them look big and beguiling and put mascara on my lashes so I can flutter them provocatively. I leave the lipstick out altogether as I don’t want to smear it all over Russell. Then it’s hair raking time. I flex my muscles, brandish my fiercest hairbrush, and do my best to tame it—though it’s curlier than ever from getting damp in the bath. I still hate the way I look when I’ve finished, but I looked
worse
yesterday and yet I was the one Russell sketched. Not Magda, not Nadine. Me.

That’s still so amazing I can hardly take it in.

“Me me me me me!” I sing, sounding like an opera singer warming up.

Then I go downstairs, steeling myself. I
could
just charge up the hall and out the front door without saying anything. Maybe it would be easier all round?

“Ellie?” Anna calls. She comes to the kitchen door. “You’re going out!”

“Bye, Anna,” I say, trying to act perfectly normal.

“Ellie! Your dad says you’re not allowed out.”

“I know, but he’s not here.”

“Oh for God’s sake, don’t do this to me! Ellie, you
can’t
go out, not after last night.”

“You know Dad overreacted.”

“Maybe he did a bit, OK—but if you go out now he’s never going to back down over this.”

“He won’t know. I’ll be home long before him.”

“I should tell him.”

“But you won’t, will you?”

“
I
don’t know. Look, Ellie, can’t you invite this Russell round here? That way you could still see him and not defy your dad.”

“I don’t know his phone number. I don’t even know his second name. That’s why I have to go and meet him, Anna. If I don’t he’ll just think I’ve stood him up and then I’ll never see him again.”

“And you really like him?”

“Yes! Oh, Anna, please. I’ve got to go and see him.”

“I
can’t
just let you go off with him. What if anything happened?”

“What could happen? Look, we’re meeting at Flowerfields. I expect we’ll go to McDonald’s. Or maybe for a pizza, I don’t know. I’ll explain that I have to get back early—really early. By nine. Well, nine-thirty, say. Please, Anna. Please let me go. I
promise
I’ll get back by nine-thirty. I won’t let you down. Please trust me.
Please.
”

“Oh go on then, you bad girl,” says Anna, and she even gives me another fiver.

I throw my arms round her and give her a big kiss. “You’re a darling,” I say, and I rush off.

I’m so thrilled she’s let me go that I bounce up the road. It isn’t until I’m on the bus into town that I start to get nervous. I wonder what I’m going to say when I see Russell. “Hi, Russell,” I mutter to myself, grinning and giving little waves. Oh God, someone’s staring at me. They’ll be wondering about the mad girl sitting muttering and waving to herself. I am starting to get very hot inside my lacy top. It’s quite cheap lace so it’s itchy. I’m scratching myself with both hands. Now everyone will think I’ve got
fleas
.

I must keep still when I meet Russell. No more grins, mutters, waves and definitely no more scratching—otherwise he’ll sketch me as a monkey.

The bus is taking forever. I’m scared I’m going to be late, and he’ll think I’m not coming. Oh, Russell, of
course
I’m coming. I’ve braved my dad, I’ve bullied poor Anna—I’ve chanced everything to see you.

I leap off the bus as soon as it gets into town. I run wildly all the way to Flowerfields Shopping Centre. I pull up, panting, with one minute to spare. I’m
first
.

And last. This is why.

I wait.

Russell is late.

I wait and wait and wait.

Russell is very very very late.

I wait until eight.

And then I trail home, trying not to cry.

doom and gloom time

Oh, “ Ellie, thank goodness. You are a good girl! But you didn’t have to come back this early,” says Anna.

Then she sees my face.

“Ellie? Oh dear. What happened? Wasn’t he so nice this time? Did he do anything to upset you?”

“He didn’t do anything. He didn’t turn up!” I wail, and then all the tears inside me gush like the waters in
Titanic.

Eggs is in bed, thank God, and Dad is out of course. So it’s just Anna and me. She puts her arms round me and I howl on her shoulder. She’s wearing a new pale blue sweater her friend Sara gave her and I’m wearing a lot of mascara.

“Oh God, Anna, I’ve got black splodges all over your sweater. I’m so sorry,” I burble.

“Never mind. I don’t actually like this sweater anyway—simply because Sara shows off so much about designing her own-label clothes. She thinks I’m dotty about her stuff but I only bought it to be polite.”

“I’ll have it off you if you don’t like it.”

“I wonder why you want to wear everyone
else’s
sweaters,” says Anna, mopping at my face with a tissue.

“I draw the line at Dad’s,” I say. “Oh, Anna, don’t tell him Russell didn’t turn up, will you?”

“Of course not. I’m not even telling him you went out! I’m so sorry, Ellie—but I’m so relieved you’re OK. I
shouldn’t
have let you go out. Not because of your dad. It’s really not safe for a girl your age to go out by herself.”

“Yes it is. All too safe. No one wants to have their wicked way with me. Certainly not Russell. Oh, Anna, it was so awful waiting there. All these girls were hanging around and they kept looking at me and giggling. It was totally obvious they knew I’d been stood up.”

“You’re sure it was tonight you were supposed to be meeting?”

“Yes, the time, the place, everything. He obviously didn’t mean it. Dad was
right.
He wasn’t the slightest bit interested in me. He just wanted to try it on.”

“Did he?” Anna asked, alarmed.

“No. We just kissed.”

I think about Russell’s kisses—and how special they were to me and yet he obviously doesn’t want to kiss me ever again. I cover my face and sob.

“Poor old Ellie. Don’t take it to heart. I’ve been stood up before. So has everyone. Don’t get so upset. Look, why not phone Nadine or Magda? Have a good moan to them.”

But for just about the first time in my life I can’t face talking to my two best friends. I know they’d be sweet to me, but it would be just so humiliating, especially after showing off about Russell so at school and writing that stupid poem. . . .

I can understand why Nadine would barely talk to me when she was so cut up about Liam. He was a hateful pig who just wanted to have sex with her—but at least he went out with her lots of times and made her think she was really special. Russell couldn’t be bothered to go out with me
once.

I go upstairs to bed very early, wanting to be well out of the way before Dad comes home. In my bedroom, I take out my sketchbook. I look at the portrait of Russell. Then I take my fattest blackest crayon and scribble all over it, again and again until it’s just a black crumpled mess. Then I pull it out of the book and tear it into tiny little shreds and empty them out of my window. They flutter into the night air like black confetti.

Right, I’ve torn him up. Now I shall forget all about him. He’s not worth another thought.

I know this. But I do think about him. Half the night. I have a lie-in until really late in the morning, huddling right down under the covers so I can’t see the daylight. I dimly hear the telephone ringing. Then Anna’s light footsteps.

“Phone for you, Ellie.”

For one lunatic second I wonder if it could possibly be Russell ringing to apologize—and then I remember he doesn’t know my number, he doesn’t even know my full name.

It’s Magda.

“Were you still in
bed?
So you had a seriously late night with the divine Russell, right?”

“Wrong,” I mumble.

“What? Oh, is your dad around?” says Magda.

Dad’s actually out at the swimming baths with Eggs. Thank goodness.

I mumble something even less intelligible to Magda.

“I can’t
hear
you! Look, just answer yes or no if your dad’s earwigging. Did you have a good time with Russell?”

“No.”

“Oh, so you had a
bad
time with Russell?”

“No.”

“Well, make up your mind!”

“Look, I can’t talk about it, Mags.”

“Well, meet me this afternoon, OK? And Nadine?”

“I’m not allowed
out.
Dad won’t let me,” I say, and I put the phone down.

“Your dad
will
let you go out with Magda and Nadine,” says Anna.

“I don’t feel like it anyway,” I say, and I droop back up the stairs.

“Are you going to have a bath?” Anna asks.

I don’t feel like having a bath. I don’t feel like getting dressed. I don’t feel like having breakfast. I don’t feel like having any communication with the outside world ever again. I don’t even want to talk to Anna anymore.

I go back to my rumpled bed and huddle up, my knees under my chin. I wish I still had my old blue special elephant. I wish I was a really little girl again. I wish I still thought boys were stupid mucky creatures who picked their noses and ate it and yanked the arms off Barbie dolls. I wish Eggs didn’t exist and Dad hadn’t met Anna. I wish my mum was still alive.

My throat aches and my eyes burn and I start crying because I suddenly miss Mum so much even though she died long ago. I cry under the covers for ages. When I eventually crawl out at lunchtime my eyes are sore and swollen. I come downstairs to have bacon sandwiches. Anna has obviously said something to Dad and Eggs. They both stare at me but after one fierce glance from Anna they start nattering on about swimming. Eggs demonstrates his version of freestyle so wildly that his sandwich crusts go flying and he nearly pokes me in the eye. Dad tells him to calm down. Eggs gets wilder. Dad gets cross. Anna intervenes. I let it all wash over me. As if I care about any of this stuff. As if I care about anything anymore. It’s not like I’ll ever have a family of my own. It’s obvious no boy is ever going to want to go out with me, let alone form a proper partnership. My first boyfriend, Dan, was a total nerd. Anorak Boy with a capital
A,
and yet even he fell out of love with me. And Russell couldn’t even be bothered to turn up on our very first date. I am going to lead a totally solitary unloved uncherished life.

A tear drips down my cheek.

“Oh, Ellie,” says Dad. “I can’t bear to see you so miserable. Look, I’m
sorry
I wouldn’t let you meet up with this boy yesterday.”

I glance at Anna. She raises her eyebrows a fraction. I decide it’s safer to say nothing.

“Ellie’s crying,” says Eggs, unnecessarily.

“Just finish your sandwich, Eggs, and leave Ellie alone,” says Anna.

“I feel like I’ve overplayed the heavy father role,” says Dad. “You do understand, Ellie, it was just because I care about you.”

No one else cares about me. No need to worry about Russell going too far with me, Dad. Russell doesn’t want to get anywhere
near
me.

I don’t say any of this. I simply sniff.

“Anna says you told Magda I wouldn’t let you meet up with her this afternoon. Ellie, I’m not that mean. You can go out with your girlfriends, for goodness’ sake.”

I just shrug and shrink back into my bedroom.

But Magda and Nadine don’t give up on me that easily. There’s a knock at the door ten minutes later. Magda. And Nadine. Dad answers the door and walks right into it.

“Oh, Mr. Allard! Look, we’ve come round to plead with you,” I hear Magda say.

“We know you’re cross with Ellie. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on straightaway. It’s partly my fault,” says Nadine.

They badger and flirt and flutter. Dad is clearly enjoying the situation and lets them carry on for ages. Then he pretends to weaken.

“Well, girls, I’d hate to spoil your afternoon. OK, you’ve persuaded me. Ellie can go out with you.”

They squeal gratefully, then come bounding upstairs. Magda clatter-clatters in her platforms, Nadine bounce-bounces in her trainers. They barge into my bedroom like two knights in armor rescuing a princess. I feel more like the loathsome monster.

They show off about their supposed victory and I try to act grateful.

“Though actually I don’t really feel like going out,” I protest weakly.

I pretend it’s because I’ve got a bad period. They are as suspicious as Mrs. Henderson. They are both peering at my sore eyes and blotchy face.

“Come
on,
Ellie,” says Magda. “Tell us about Russell. Oh God, didn’t he turn up?”

“You’ve got it,” I say, and I start sniffing again.

“Oh, Ellie, what a creepy mean rotten thing to do. How long did you wait for him?” says Nadine.

“An
hour
!” I wail.

I tell them all about it. Magda puts her arm round my neck and Nadine puts her arm round my waist and they both pat me sympathetically. Nadine says she thought his eyes were too close together and he had this really seriously shifty look which should have been a warning. But then, she’s not one to talk, looking at her and Liam. Magda says he seemed awfully juvenile for his age anyway, just wanting to show off about himself, but she’s no one to talk either, she went out with Greg, who had all the sophistication of Dennis the Menace.

I start to feel a bit better. Nadine goes to the bathroom, comes back with my flannel and bathes my eyes. Magda whips out her own makeup bag and powders them deep gray and outlines them in black and I now have new eyes and old friends and I feel a
lot
better.

“Coming out now?” says Magda.

Nadine gets my jacket, and off we go, the three of us. I start to wonder why on earth I was so upset over Russell. Boyfriends are OK, but they aren’t a patch on girlfriends who’ve stuck by you and care about you forever.

We go down the town to Flowerfields and I actually manage to be funny about a sad little ghost of Ellie still standing waiting there. We wander round the clothes shops for a while, trying on different stuff and hooting with laughter.

“There! I knew you’d cheer up if we took you out,” says Magda. “Forget Russell, forget all boys. They’re not worth it.”

At that precise moment her eyes are following three boys in tight jeans fooling around outside the HMV shop. They disappear inside.

“I’m wondering about buying that new
Best
Ever Love Songs
compilation album,” says Magda. “Can I go and have another listen?”

Nadine catches my eye and we have a giggle.

We saunter into HMV and Magda eyes up the boys while Nadine and I have another flip through our current favorites, playing the If-I-had-a-hundred-quid-to-spend game. The Claudie Coleman album is high on both our lists.

“Hey, look!” says Nadine, pointing to a Claudie Coleman poster above the counter. “She’s singing at the Albert Hall next month.”

“Oh wow, let’s go!” says Magda, actually distracted from the boys. “I’d love to see her in person, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, the tickets would be seriously pricey,” I say cautiously, wishing I wasn’t always so strapped over cash. “But maybe Anna would help me out.”

“Look, I’ll help you out if needs be—and you too, Nadine,” says Magda. “But us three girls have simply
got
to go and see Claudie, right?” She’s scribbling down the phone number for the ticket office. “I’ll get my dad to book them on his credit card the minute I get home, OK?”

We take it in turns singing along with Claudie at the listening station. There’s one particular tune that I can’t get enough of. Claudie’s singing very close up, soft and breathy, like she’s whispering in your ear.

“Don’t even think about him
He’s not worth it, worth it, worth it.
Who needs a man to feel a woman?
You’re doing fine without him, girl.”

I replay it till I know it off by heart and we sing it as we go all around Flowerfields. I sing it as a duet on the bus with Nadine. She’s bought the album, lucky thing, but she’s promised to do a tape for me. Then I hum a solo version as I walk back from her house.

Who needs Russell? Who cares about Russell?
Don’t even think about him.

“Ellie, guess who came calling round here this afternoon?”

I stand staring and wait.

“Guess,” says Dad.

“
I
don’t know,” I say, shrugging.

“A certain young man.”

I miss a beat.

“
Which
young man?”

“With floppy hair. Rather full of himself. Sketchbook tucked slightly pretentiously under his arm.”

“Russell!”

“The very one.”

“But how did he know where I
live
?”

“Ah. That was my question too. And he had a rather impressive answer. He knew vaguely the area, so he’d worked his way up and down several roads describing a certain young lady called Ellie—and eventually someone somewhere recognized the description and suggested he call at our house.”

“Oh my God! Are you
serious,
Dad? Russell really did come round?”

“He did indeed. He was very worried about last night. Russell’s dad kicked up merry hell because the lad was late back on Thursday night. Apparently he hadn’t deigned to tell his dad he was going walkabout after school and when he sauntered home at midnight he was so angry with him he wouldn’t let him out at all yesterday, even though young Russell begged and pleaded and moaned and groaned. So he couldn’t meet you at your special trysting place—which is just as well because you were similarly shut up by your equally outraged parent. Yes?”

“Yes, yes, right! So what else did Russell say?”

“Not a lot. He seemed a little dismayed by my reaction. I was extremely angry with the young man. He had no right to purloin you and whisk you off to the park.”