Why did I ever mention it to him???
‘Well, maybe,’ I hedge. ‘After all, Magda’s dad got the tickets. It would be silly to waste it. And my dad doesn’t mind because – because he’ll drive us there and then drive us back so he can keep an eye on us all the time.’
‘How about if he drives you and me to the dance and then drives us back? Then he can keep an eye on us,’ says Russell.
‘I don’t think that’s quite the same.’
‘No, things aren’t quite the same,’ Russell says – and I don’t like the way he says it.
He doesn’t suggest we go to the park. He doesn’t suggest we go anywhere. We sit in McDonald’s for half an uncomfortable hour and then Russell looks at his watch ostentatiously.
‘Gosh, is that the time? I’d better get back. I’ve got heaps of homework to do tonight.’
‘You’re mad at me, aren’t you?’ I mumble.
‘No, really. It’s OK. I understand,’ he says – sounding like he doesn’t understand at all.
‘I feel so mean letting you down.’
‘Well.’ Russell shrugs his shoulders. ‘Maybe I’ll find someone else to go to the dance with me.’
I feel as if he’s slapped me in the face. I stand up, feeling sick.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well. See you.’
‘Yes. See you,’ says Russell.
We both know what this means. We won’t see each other, Ever again.
I try to tell myself that if he can be so mean and petty just because I can’t go to his dance then he’s really not worth bothering about.
‘He’s not worth it, worth it, worth it.’
That’s right. I shall go to the Claudie concert with my two best girlfriends in all the world and we’ll have a great time.
It’s no use. I wish I hadn’t said no to Russell. He is worth it. I care about him. I love him.
I go straight home.
I go straight home from school the next day too. There’s no point going to McDonald’s. Nadine and Magda are sisterly and supportive. It doesn’t really help.
In afternoon Art the next day Mr Windsor is still into Myths and Legends. I draw a sad silly Psyche drooping miserably because she can’t see Cupid. Mr Windsor is very complimentary but for once this doesn’t mean much. He admires Nadine’s Circe too but barely glances at Magda’s Venus, mumbling ‘Very good’ and edging past quickly. Magda does her best to maintain her cool but her face is as red as her hair.
She rushes out of class without waiting for us.
‘Don’t you rush off too, Ellie,’ says Nadine. ‘I need you to be there just in case . . . well, you know. If Liam’s there.’
‘Oh Naddie,’ I say, giving her a little pat.
But it isn’t Liam who’s waiting at the gate. It’s Russell – and he’s talking to Magda.
I feel dizzy. Maybe he’s always liked Magda. Everyone else does. Maybe he’s asking her out instead of me. Maybe he’s asking her to the dance!
I grab Nadine’s arm.
‘It’s OK, Ellie,’ she says, peering over at the wall where Liam used to wait. ‘He’s not there.’
‘Russell is,’ I hiss urgently. ‘Only he’s chatting up Magda. Hang on to me tight, Nadine. I want to walk right past as if I haven’t even noticed them. Nadine, stop staring!’
But I can’t help staring too. Magda’s smiling at Russell. She’s looking right into his eyes and he’s looking back eagerly, hungrily, like she’s the juiciest ice-lolly in the freezer and he wants to lick her all up.
‘I can’t believe it,’ I say. ‘How could he?’
‘How could she? She doesn’t even like him. She told me she was amazed you were so dotty about him. She said she thought he was a snotty little creep,’ says Nadine.
‘He’s not a snotty little creep!’ I say, outraged. Then I see him smile at Magda and my stomach turns over. ‘Yes he is!’
‘Look, take my arm, Ellie. Come on, we’ll whizz past them quick. You hold your head up high. Don’t say a word to Russell – or Magda. We’re not going to speak to her at all. And she’s supposed to be your friend!’
Nadine leads me across the playground although my legs have turned to jelly. I wobble all over. I try to set my face in a mould but as we get close up everything threatens to melt and run.
‘Ellie?’
It’s Russell – smiling at me!
The nerve! I walk past, my head high.
‘Ellie!’
It’s Magda, and she’s smiling too.
My eyes sting. It’s bad enough that Russell could betray me, but I can’t bear it that my best friend Magda could do this to me, and so blatantly too.
‘Ellie, stop. Wait! I want to talk to you,’ Russell says, hurrying after me.
‘Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you,’ says Nadine, elbowing him out of the way.
‘Ellie? Nadine? What’s up with you two?’ says Magda, dodging round the other side.
‘What’s up with you?’ says Nadine. ‘How could you, Magda?’
‘How could I what? Here’s me doing my best to act like Cupid, helping these two idiots get it together again, and you act like I’ve done something dreadful!’
I stop. Nadine stops. Magda stops. Russell hovers, while we three girls stare at each other.
‘What are you on about, Magda?’ says Nadine.
‘Russell stopped me as I came out of school and asked me how Ellie was and whether she was still mad at him. He’d hung around McDonald’s for hours yesterday and she didn’t show, so he wanted to know if she might be willing to make it up or had he blown it for ever. I said I thought she was still crazy about him and pretty miserable at the moment and that she’d be more than willing to make it up – but then you two sweep past with your noses in the air, not even speaking. I can’t work out why. I mean, don’t speak to Russell if you don’t want to, Ellie, but don’t take it out on me.’
‘Oh Mags,’ says Nadine. ‘You’ll never guess what Ellie thought!’
‘You thought it too!’ I say, weak with relief.
‘You thought what?’ says Magda.
‘Nothing!’ I say quickly, because Russell is in earshot. I turn to look at him. He looks at me. I feel like I’m the ice-lolly now. Melting.
‘Go on, you two. Go and enjoy your romantic reunion. Have a happy little snog in McDonald’s,’ says Magda.
‘French kiss over the French fries.’
‘Blush amongst the burgers.’
‘Cuddle over your Cokes.’
‘Sauce the ice-cream with your sweet talk.’
‘Froth the coffee with your feverish embraces.’
‘Shut up, you two,’ I say – but fondly.
They’re such sweet friends. And so is Russell. When we get away by ourselves at last he says he’s really sorry he said he’d take someone else to the dance.
‘I just wanted to hurt you, Ellie. It was stupid. You didn’t believe it, did you?’
‘Of course I didn’t!’ I insist. ‘Oh Russell, I’m still so sorry I’ve let you down over the dance.’
‘Well, it’s not like it’s this super-cool ultra great social date. It’s just a school dance. It’ll probably be a totally sad embarrassing occasion, so maybe it’s just as well you’re not coming.’
‘Maybe we could go to some other dance together?’
‘Sure. That would be great. Though actually I can’t dance very well. I sort of fling my arms and legs around and look like a total prat. Maybe if you saw me you’d go off me instantly. Always assuming that you’re on me, of course.’
‘You’re the one who went off me. You were really mad at me last time.’
‘You were the one who didn’t turn up at McDonald’s. I waited hours.’
‘You didn’t suggest meeting there. I didn’t think you’d go. I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.’
‘I do.’
‘I do too. Want to see you.’
‘Oh, Ellie.’ Russell suddenly pulls me close, right there in the street.
br />
I don’t care who’s watching. I fling my arms round his neck.
There’s a toot on a car horn.
‘Eleanor Allard!’
Oh my God! Mrs Henderson is leaning out of her car window.
‘Put that boy down at once!’ she calls, and then she winds up her window and drives off.
‘Oh oh!’ says Russell sheepishly. ‘Who was that? One of your mum’s friends?’
‘Mrs Henderson’s my form teacher,’ I say, hoarse with shock.
‘Your teacher? Wow, she’s a good sport.’
‘I suppose she is,’ I say.
But the next day Mrs Henderson gives me a half-hour lecture about decorous behaviour out in the street in school uniform. I am very glad she didn’t come across Russell and me later on by the allotments!
‘So you’re all lovey-dovey with the Walking Sketchbook again?’ says Nadine.
‘Don’t call him that, Naddie, his name’s Russell,’ I say, nudging her. I give Magda a nudge too. ‘What’s all this about you calling Russell a snotty little creep?’
‘Me?’ says Magda, all outraged innocence. ‘Look, I’m the Cupid who brought you two together again.’
I can’t believe how good it feels to be together again with Russell. And with Magda and Nadine.
‘I’m so h-a-p-p-y, hippy hoppy happy,’ I sing in the shower on the day of Claudie’s concert. It’s this silly little song she’s tacked on to the end of her album. It goes on: ‘I don’t need the love of a good man, I don’t need the love of a bad man, I don’t need the love of a-n-y man at all – ‘cause I’m so h-a-p-p-y, etc., etc.’ But that’s not the way I sing it. I invent my own version: ‘I do need the love of a good man, though I don’t need the love of a bad man, I do need the love of MY man Russ-ell – cause I’m so h-a-p-p-y, hippy hoppy happy . . .’
The shower is full on so I don’t think anyone can hear me. I am wrong.
‘I’m so d-i-r-t-y, dippy dotty dirty,’ Dad bawls from the other side of the bathroom door. ‘I do need the scrub of a good soap, I do need the the scrub of any kind of soap, I do need the scrub of a-n-y soap at all – ‘cause my daughter’s in the shower and she won’t let me in so I’m so d-i-r-t-y, dippy dotty dirty!’
‘Dad!’ I say, emerging blushing in my bath towel. ‘Do you have to listen?’
‘Ellie!’ says Dad, gently pulling a lock of my wet hair. ‘Can I help listening when you’re singing fit to bust, o Daughter Diva of the Shower Stall. But hey, I’m glad you’re happy. Now what are the plans for the concert tonight? Is Nadine’s dad driving you or Magda’s? I’m sorry I’ve got this stupid meeting at the college.’
‘Magda’s dad’s taking us,’ I say.
‘Poor guy,’ says Dad gratefully. ‘I owe him.’
But when I get to school Magda says her dad can’t manage it after all because the wheelshaft went on his car last night and it’ll need to be in the garage for a couple of days.
We look expectantly at Nadine.
‘Oh help,’ she says. ‘Dad always takes Natasha and Mum to their loopy line dancing on Friday nights.’
‘Well, my dad’s got this meeting and needs the car so Anna can’t drive us. She’s stuck with Eggs and she’s knitting nine hundred and ninety-nine stupid sweaters every evening anyway,’ I say.
We ponder.
‘Tell you what,’ says Magda. ‘We’ll take ourselves. Train and then tube. Couldn’t be simpler.’
‘Couldn’t be harder,’ says Nadine. ‘My mum won’t let me.’
‘I don’t think Anna will either,’ I say. ‘Well, getting there’s OK. It’s coming back late at night. Won’t your mum mind, Mags?’
‘Sure. But she won’t know. She thinks your dad’s taking us, Ellie. Your folks think Ellie’s dad’s taking us too, Nadine. And Ellie, you can say my dad’s taking us. Then they don’t have to worry and we can push off and have fun.’
‘Great,’ says Nadine, though she looks worried.
‘Perfect,’ I say, though I’m fussed about having to tell a whole load of lies all over again.
‘So it’s all settled,’ says Magda. ‘We’ll meet up at six, right? At the railway station. Don’t worry about cash, Ellie, you can borrow off me. It’ll be fantastic. A real girls’ night out.’
So that’s exactly what we do. Nadine’s at the station first, looking great in black, with new black shoes with huge heels so that she’s taller than ever.
‘I’m going to have to carry a little collapsing ladder and clamber up it every time I need to talk to you,’ I complain. ‘You make me feel littler and dumpier than ever.’
‘Don’t be daft, Ellie. You look great,’ says Nadine.
I’ve certainly done my best, trying on half my clothes before plumping (horribly ominous word) for my black trousers and silver grey top. I suppose I do look plump. If only I was lithe and long and lean like Nadine. But at least Russell doesn’t seem to mind. He phoned me when I was getting dressed.
‘I’m just phoning to wish you a good time at the concert,’ he said.
‘If I ever get there. I can’t decide what to wear. I’m half in and half out of my trousers at the moment.’
‘Oh help. You’d better not tell me any more, you’re dangerously inflaming me.’
‘Calm down, Russell, it’s not a pretty sight.’
‘You’re a very pretty sight. I think you look wonderful in your trousers – and even more gorgeous half in them. Which half?’
‘Oh shut up. Though you’re very sweet. I’m wearing your hairslides. They’re really great. You’re really great, Russell.’
There was a sudden totally disgusting mock-vomiting sound. Eggs had crept up behind me and was groaning and gagging.
‘Ellie? Are you OK?’ Russell sounded alarmed.
‘I am fine. However, my little brother Eggs is going to be minus his head in a millisecond,’ I said. ‘Anyway, enjoy the dance, Russell. I’m really really sorry I’m not going with you.’
‘I know exactly where you’re going to go with me to make it up to me,’ he said, chuckling mysteriously.
‘I’ll go anywhere with you, Russell,’ I said – provoking Eggs into such an orgy of mock-vomiting he nearly made himself really sick.
I didn’t tear his head off his shoulders. I felt so great I just laughed at him.
I feel great now. I don’t care if I look great (as in enormous).
‘I’m so h-a-p-p-y,’ I sing again and Nadine harmonizes with me. We’re not feeling quite so harmonious after another ten minutes have gone by. Magda still hasn’t turned up – and she’s got the tickets for the Claudie concert.
‘Why is she always late?’ I say.
‘Maybe she’s got distracted chatting up some boy,’ says Nadine. ‘You know what she’s like.’
‘How about you, Nadine?’ I ask gently. ‘Are you over Liam once and for all now, ready to do some chatting up yourself?’
‘Sure,’ says Nadine firmly – but when a boy with dark hair and wicked eyes comes sauntering out of the station, his arm round some girl, Nadine’s head jerks and she turns white.
I look at the boy too.
‘It’s not Liam,’ I say.
‘I know. I just thought it might be,’ says Nadine.
‘Oh, Naddie. You know exactly what he’s like now. You’ve got to forget about him. You’ll meet someone else soon.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone like Liam,’ says Nadine. ‘Not that I’d want to, of course.’
I hope Nadine means it. She looks a bit down, so I change the subject.
‘Where is Magda?’ I say. ‘Why does she always do this to us?’
‘Hi, you two!’
It’s Magda, running wiggle-waggle up to us in her high heels, coyly waving to two grinning boys who are eyeing her up and down.
‘Sorry! Am I a bit late?’ Magda asks infuriatingly. ‘It was just Warren came round to borrow a tie from one of my brothers and you know I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him – he used to be at scho
ol with my brother, right? – hey, you should see his hair, he’s got this totally cool new haircut so he looks a total dish, and this evening when he saw me all dressed up to go out to the concert it was like he’d suddenly seen me for the first time. I wasn’t just this silly little schoolgirl. And you’ll never guess where he’s going tonight! Would you believe he’s got this scholarship to Halmer High sixth form and he’s going to the dance. And guess what again – he broke up with his girlfriend a couple of months ago and so he was all set to go by himself but when we got talking, Warren and me, he asked if I’d like to go to the dance by any chance! Get that! I was ever so tempted actually.’
‘What?’ I say.
Magda grins. ‘But then I thought to myself, it wouldn’t be sisterly. I explained I couldn’t possibly let my girlfriends down. He was ever so disappointed but said he understood. And guess what yet again – he’s asked me out tomorrow night. A real date, a special meal out, at the Terrazza, you know, that Italian place. It’s ever so posh. Bit of a change from a burger in McDonald’s, eh?’
‘Lucky old you,’ I say a little sourly.
‘Yes, you don’t have to go on about it,’ says Nadine. ‘Have you remembered the Claudie tickets?’
‘Of course I have. Cheer up, you two! It’s our girls’ night out, right?’
We do cheer up on the train, messing around and singing Claudie songs. We get on the wrong tube at Waterloo and have to catch another tube back to where we started, and then we bump into some silly middle-aged business blokes and get a fit of the giggles, and then we’re not quite sure where to go when we get out of the tube station and we wander round for a while until Magda chats up a policeman and he escorts us all the way up the road.
Time is getting on and we’re all starting to worry we might miss the beginning of the concert. I want Magda and Nadine to run but it’s like they’re both on stilts with their high heels so we don’t make much progress. We turn into the main street and see lots of people wearing Claudie T-shirts which is reassuring – until we realize they all seem to be walking away from the concert hall.
‘What’s up? Where are you going? Isn’t the Claudie concert this way?’ Magda asks a group of girls.
‘She’s cancelled it,’ says one girl miserably.
‘What? Why? Is she sick?’