Girls in Love Page 3

  So we’ve been this best-friend threesome ever since, right through Years Seven and Eight. Now we’re Year Nine, thirteen – well, Magda’s nearly fourteen, and Nadine is fourteen in December, but I’ve got to wait all the way round till next June.

  It’s irritating. I really look the youngest now, because I’m still so small and roly-poly with these revoltingly chubby cheeks. I have dimples, for goodness’ sake. I’m used to Magda looking older, especially now she’s highlighted her hair. But Nadine used to look really young for her age with her heart-shaped face and her long black hair tumbling round her shoulders like an Alice in negative. Now she looks . . . different.

  ‘Come on, then, I haven’t seen you both for ages! What have you been up to?’ says Magda, but she doesn’t pause for breath. She tells Nadine and me all about her Spanish holiday, and how all these waiters kept waylaying her and this guy at the pool kept picking her up and throwing her in the water and this other much older guy kept trying to buy her drinks at the poolside . . . This is the standard Magda stuff and I don’t always concentrate because I’m watching Nadine. She doesn’t look as if she’s listening either, bending forward so that her hair hides her face like a black velvet curtain. She’s inking a tattoo on her wrist with a black felt-tip pen, a careful heart with an elaborate inked frill. This is a change for Nadine. Her tattoos are usually skulls or spiders.

  ‘What about you, Nadine?’ I say the second Magda shuts up.

  ‘What about me?’ says Nadine. ‘You mean my hols? I saw you after. Before you went to your cottage. It was hell. Relentlessly cheery. And you had to queue for hours and all the kids had Mickey Mouse ears and there were all these giant cartoon characters waving at everyone. It was all so bright. It made my eyes ache.’

  ‘Crawl back to your coffin, Ms Vampire,’ says Magda, laughing. ‘I bet Natasha loved it.’

  Natasha is Nadine’s little sister. Nadine and I have never been able to stand her, but Magda is extraordinary, she actually likes little kids. She’s even fond of Eggs. She’s always going on about how she’d like to have little brothers and sisters herself.

  ‘Natasha ate four ice-creams and then was very sick all down her brand-new pink Minnie Mouse T-shirt,’ says Nadine. She painstakingly inks a name across her heart.

  I lean forward to read it. ‘Liam?’ I say.

  Nadine blushes. Nadine never blushes – she doesn’t look as if she’s got enough blood – but now I can see bright pink beneath the fronds of black hair.

  ‘Liam?’ says Magda. ‘I didn’t know you were an Oasis fan.’

  ‘Not that Liam,’ says Nadine.

  Magda looks at me for enlightenment. I shake my head. We both turn back to Nadine.

  ‘So who’s this Liam then?’ Magda asks.

  ‘Oh,’ says Nadine. A tiny pause. ‘He’s my boyfriend.’

  We stare at her. ‘Your boyfriend?’

  I nearly tip over backwards down the steps. Nadine has a boyfriend. I can’t believe it! How come Nadine’s got a boyfriend before me? Before Magda? Magda has loads of guys fawning all over her – well, so she says – but she doesn’t actually go out with anyone yet.

  ‘A real boyfriend?’ says Magda, and she sounds just as shocked as me.

  ‘But you don’t even like boys, Nadine,’ I say.

  ‘I like Liam,’ says Nadine. ‘And he isn’t a boy anyway. Not really. He’s seventeen. At college.’

  ‘So where did you meet him?’ says Magda, sounding suspicious. ‘How come you’ve never even mentioned him before?’

  ‘Yes, you didn’t say a thing about this Liam in your letters, Nad,’ I say.

  I wrote lots of letters to Nadine and Magda when I was cooped up in the cottage. Magda never bothers to write back properly. She just sends postcards with ‘Love and Kisses, Magda’ on the back – which is sweet, but not exactly informative.

  Nadine is a much more satisfactory correspondent – several pages in her carefully printed italic script, with little showers of star and moon sequins scattered inside the envelope. But all she wrote about was this weird new band she’s keen on and how she’s trying to teach herself to read the Tarot and a whole long moan about her family. Her dad’s forever on at her to work harder even though she’s always in the top three at school. He can’t see why she can’t come top in everything, which is crazy because Amna is always way in front of everyone and she’s got this mega IQ, like she’s a total genius andno-one could ever beat her no matter how hard they tried. Then her mum hates Nadine’s clothes and make-up and hairstyle and wants her to smarten up and wear these chichi clothes and smile like an American cheerleader. And Natasha is just Awfulness in Ankle Socks, acting the Angel Child whenever Mummy and Daddy are around but being the Brat from Hell whenever Nadine is forced to look after her.

  So, there was all the usual stuff but not a single line about a Liam. I can’t help feeling outraged. Nadine and I always tell each other everything. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I say. My voice cracks, almost as if I’m going to start crying.

  ‘I’ve only just met him,’ says Nadine, stretching her arm out to admire her completed love-token tattoo.

  ‘Ah!’ says Magda, her eyebrows arching. ‘So he’s just this guy you’ve seen around, right? Not an actual boyfriend?’

  ‘An “I wish” boyfriend,’ I say, cheering up considerably, getting all set to tell them about the blond guy I saw coming to school this morning.

  ‘No, no. Liam and I went out together Saturday night,’ says Nadine. ‘We met in Tower Records that morning. I was sorting through the indie section and he was too, and we were both looking for the same band and there was just the one CD so he said I could have it.’

  ‘And then he asked you out, just like that?’ I say incredulously.

  ‘Well . . . we chatted a bit. He did. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, actually. I was just standing there dying, wishing I could come out with something, anything. Then he started asking me about this other group who had a gig at the Wily Fox that night and he said did I want to go. So I said yes. Though I’ve never been to the Wily Fox. Well, any pub. You know my mum and dad, they’d go crazy if they ever found out, so when I got back I said you’d got back from the cottage early, Ellie, and we were both going round to Magda’s for this little party, and then your dad was going to take me home. I had to say that, because I guessed I’d be back really late from the Wily Fox. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘So you went there on your own?’ I say, astonished. I still can’t believe it. Nadine’s always so quiet. She generally stays shut up in her bedroom playing her loopy music night after night. She never goes anywhere.

  ‘And he turned up OK, this Liam?’ says Magda.

  ‘I didn’t think he would. I was so scared of going in there by myself. I was sure they’d chuck me out for being under age,’ says Nadine.

  ‘Why didn’t you phone me? I’d have come with you,’ says Magda.

  ‘Yes, but it might have put him off. Or he might have liked you better than me,’ says Nadine.

  Magda nods.

  ‘No, I thought I’d just put my head round the door and have a look and then I could always run home if I wanted. But he was there before me and he paid for us to go into the back room where the band were playing and then he took me home after. Well, to the end of the road. I didn’t dare let him come further in case my mum and dad saw. And then I’m seeing him again next Saturday so can I say I’m spending it with you, Ellie?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure,’ I say, still stunned.

  ‘So what’s he like?’ says Magda.

  ‘Oh, he’s really cool. Dark hair, moody dark eyes, hip clothes.’

  ‘Did you tell him how old you are?’ I ask.

  ‘Not at first. I made out I was fifteen. And he said “Nearly old enough”,’ says Nadine, giggling.

  ‘Oh, God,’ says Magda.

  ‘Yeah, OK, but later I was talking about you two, and I said I’d been friends with Ellie for ever and friends with Magda the two years we�
��d been in secondary school, and then I realized what I’d said. And Liam twigged – but he just teased me a bit. He doesn’t mind that I’m only thirteen. Well, nearly fourteen. He says I act old for my age, actually.’

  ‘I see,’ says Magda. ‘So. Did you snog?’

  ‘Yes. Lots.’

  ‘Did he open his mouth?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Nadine. ‘He’s a truly great kisser.’

  My own mouth is open. Nadine and I have frequently discussed French kissing and we both thought it a squirmily revolting idea, someone else’s sluggy tongue slithering around your fillings.

  ‘You said—’ I start.

  Nadine giggles. ‘Yes, but it’s different with Liam.’

  ‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ says Magda, who has given us frequent accounts of her own amorous encounters.

  Nadine is looking at me almost pityingly. ‘You’ll see, Ellie,’ she says. ‘When you get a proper boyfriend of your own.’

  That’s it.

  My mouth stays open and starts talking. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got a boyfriend,’ I say, before I can stop myself.

  Nadine stares at me.

  Magda stares at me.

  It’s like I’ve nipped out around my glasses and I’m staring at me too.

  What have I just said???

  What am I doing?

  How come I started this?

  But I can’t stop now . . .

  I hear this voice going on about a boy on holiday in Wales. A boy I kept seeing – but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him until we met up in a romantic ruined castle one wild and windy day. ‘We literally fell into each other’s arms!’ I say.

  Well, it’s sort of true.

  I tell them he’s called Dan. They immediately ask how old he is.

  ‘He’s not as old as your Liam, Nad,’ I say.

  That’s true too.

  ‘So how old is he?’ Magda insists.

  ‘He’s . . . fifteen,’ I say.

  He will be, in three years’ time.

  ‘What does he look like? Is he dishy? What sort of clothes does he wear?’ Magda persists.

  I abandon all attempt at truth. ‘He’s very good looking. Blond. His hair’s lovely, it sort of comes forward in a wavy fringe, just a little bit tousled. He’s got dark eyes, a really intense brown. He’s got this way of looking at you . . . He’s just a real dream. His clothes are very casual, nothing too posey. Jeans, sweatshirt – still, that’s just what he was wearing on holiday. It’s so unfair, we didn’t meet up properly until right at the end, and yet somehow when we started talking it was like we’d known each other for ever, you know?’

  ‘Did he kiss you?’ Nadine asks.

  ‘We didn’t get a chance to kiss, worst luck. We were with my stupid family nearly all the time. We did manage to steal off together at a picnic, but just as Dan was getting really romantic, Eggs came chasing over to us and started pestering us and that was it! Honestly!’

  ‘What are you getting all passionate about, Eleanor?’

  Oh, God, it’s Mrs Henderson in her tracksuit, jogging off to the gym.

  I look down at my lap, going all pink, trying desperately hard not to giggle.

  ‘Her boyfriend!’ says Magda.

  ‘Surprise, surprise!’ says Mrs Henderson. She sighs. ‘You girls seem to discuss little else. You’ve all got one-track minds. Many thousands of determined intelligent women fought battles throughout this century to broaden your horizons, and yet you’d sooner sit there babbling about boys than concentrate on your all-round education.’

  ‘You said it, Mrs Henderson,’ says Magda. Unwisely.

  ‘Well, you three are going to have to curtail your cosy little chat and do a detention tomorrow, because you’ve been so carried away by your enthralling conversation that you’ve failed to notice the bell for afternoon school went five minutes ago. Now get to your lessons at once!’

  We jump to it. We get told off all over again when we get to English. It isn’t fair. I quite like English. It’s about the only thing I’m any good at, apart from Art, but now Mrs Madley glares at us and goes on and on and we get divided up and I have to sit right at the front.

  We’re doing Romeo and Juliet this year. Everyone thinks it’s dead boring. Privately I quite like Shakespeare. I like the way the words go, though I don’t understand half of it. Certainly the beginning bit’s dull – but when I flip through the book and find the first Juliet part it gets much more interesting. Juliet is only thirteen, nearly fourteen, so she’d be in Year Nine too. As far as I can work out her mother and her nurse are keen for her to get married.

  I sit wondering what it would be like to be married at thirteen in Juliet’s day. It would be fun as long as you were rich enough to have someone pay the mortgage on your Italian mansion and loads of servants to spruce up your medieval Versace frocks and deliver your pizzas to your marital fourposter . . .

  Mrs Madley suddenly shouts my name, making me jump. ‘You not only come to my lesson ten minutes late, Eleanor Allard, but you obviously aren’t paying the slightest attention now you’re here! What on earth is the matter with you?’

  ‘She’s in love, Mrs Madley,’ says Magda. She can’t ever keep her mouth shut.

  Mrs Madley groans in exasperation while the whole class collapses.

  It looks like I’m in serious trouble again. I stare wildly at the page in front of me. I spot a line at the top that looks dead appropriate ‘“Under love’s heavy burden do I sink”,’ I quote, sending myself up.

  Mrs Madley is wrong-footed. She even looks mildly amused. ‘Well, take care you don’t sink too far, Eleanor. Look what happens to these star-crossed lovers at the end of the play. Now, girls, settle down, and let us all concentrate on Shakespeare.’

  I decide I’d better concentrate too – so I don’t really have time to plan what on earth I’m going to say going home from school with Magda and Nadine.

  In Maths last lesson there’s no point my trying to concentrate because I can’t figure any of it out, so I sit nibbling my thumbnail, worrying about this boyfriend situation. When I was little I used to suck my thumb a lot. Now when I’m ultra-anxious I find I have to have a little weeny suck and chew just to calm myself. I wondered if smoking might have the same effect – not in a classroom situation obviously – but when Magda shared a packet of Benson’s with me I felt so sick and dizzy by the time I lit up my second it’s put me off for life.

  I have to sort out what I’m going to say about Dan. I think of his blond hair and dark brown eyes . . . Only that’s the boy I saw this morning on the way to school. I don’t even have a clue who he is. I just started describing him when Magda and Nadine asked all those questions. I couldn’t tell them what the real Dan looks like or they’d crease up laughing.

  Oh, God, why did I open my big mouth? I was like some demented Fairy Godmother waving a wand over nerdy little boy Dopey Dan in Wales and turning him into the Golden Dream I saw this morning.

  Magda and Nadine believe it all too. I practically believe it. I’ve always had this crazy habit of making things up. It was mostly when I was little. Like after my mum died . . .

  It was so horrible and lonely that I kept trying to pretend she wasn’t really dead, that if I could only perform all these really loopy tasks like go all day without going to the toilet or stay awake an entire night then suddenly she’d come walking into my bedroom and it would all be a mistake, someone else’s mother had died, not mine. Sometimes when I was lying awake holding my eyelids open I’d almost believe she was really there, standing by my bed, leaning over ready to give me a cuddle, so close I could actually smell her lovely soft powdery scent.

  Even after I gave up on those daft tricks I didn’t give up on my mother. I felt she still had to be around for me. I talked to her inside my head and she talked back, saying all the ordinary Mum things, telling me to be careful crossing the road, and to eat up like a good girl, and when I went to bed she’d chat to me about my day and she’d always say �
�Nightie Nightie’ and I’d whisper ‘Pyjama Pyjama’. I did that long after Dad married Anna. She said some of that stuff too, but it wasn’t the same at all. I used to hate Anna simply because she wasn’t Mum. I’m older now. I can see it’s not really Anna’s fault. She’s OK, sometimes. But she’s still not my mum.

  So what would Mum say? This is the awful bit. I can still make Mum say all this stuff to me, but it’s the old stuff that I needed to hear when I was little. My made-up mum can’t seem to get her head round the idea that I’m big now. Big enough to want a boyfriend. Only I haven’t got one and yet I’ve told my two best friends I have.

  ‘Tell them the truth, Ellie,’ Mum says firmly, her voice suddenly loud and clear.

  She sounds so real I actually look round the classroom to see if anyone else can hear her.

  I know Mum is right. In fact I even work out how to do it. I shall say I was just teasing them, playing a silly joke to see how much they’d swallow. I’ll say I did meet a boy called Dan on holiday but I’ll say what he’s really like. I’ll even tell them about the gorgeous blond bloke on the way to school. I’ll draw a cartoon for them, the real Dan and me with my wand turning him into the Dreamboat. They’ll think it’s funny. Well – maybe more funny peculiar than funny ha-ha. But they’re used to me being a bit weird. They’ll still like me, even though they’ll think I’m nuttier than ever.