Girls in Tears

by Jacqueline Wilson

'Well, I was actually worrying about Nadine because—'

  'Because you're obsessed with her and Magda – I know,' says Russell irritably. 'I don't know why you bother seeing me sometimes. You'd be far happier going round in your girly threesome all the time.'

  'We've had a row, if you must know,' I say. 'Listen, I'm very worried about Nadine, she's gone completely crazy and—'

  'She is crazy. Look, forget her, forget Magda. Come back to my place and we'll have a lovely time, just the two of us.'

  'I can't.'

  'Why not?'

  I can't tell him that I need to be in my own bathroom as soon as possible. I know you should be able to talk to your boyfriend about anything. We do talk about some stuff. But not that. I'd feel so embarrassed.

  'I – I don't feel very well,' I say, truthfully enough. 'I just want to go home and lie down.'

  'Come and lie down with me instead,' says Russell.

  'Oh sure,' I say.

  'I'll be sweet to you. I'll massage your forehead – and your shoulders – and anywhere else we can think of. . .'

  'Leave it out!' I wish he wouldn't be quite so insistent all the time. I love it that he cares about me and loves me, but just recently all he seems to want to do is see how far he can go with me. I love the things we do together but sometimes I wish he'd relate more to me as Ellie the person, not Ellie the body.

  My body is letting me down big time. My stomach squeezes. I feel an alarming dampness. 'I'm sorry, Russell, I really have to go home now,' I say, and I start running.

  I'm in a right state when I eventually make it home. Anna's left a note to say she's gone up to town to see the buyer of a big chain store who's interested in some special bargain children's knitwear, designed by Anna but produced on a massive scale.

  'It'll mean heaps more work if it comes off, so I'm not sure I'll say yes,' Anna's scribbled to me. 'You know what the Dad situation is like.'

  'Definitely say yes, Anna,' I mutter. 'Never you mind Dad.'

  I read on. Oh God. Eggs has gone to tea with Natasha, Nadine's little sister.

  'I hope to be back around sixish, but if I'm delayed can you be an angel and go and collect Eggs, Ellie?' Anna writes.

  Let's hope she's not delayed. I don't want to go anywhere near Nadine's, not now.

  It's lovely to have the house to myself just for once. I have a long hot bath, lying back under the bubbles and stroking my poor sore swollen tummy.

  FAT.

  No! I'm not going to think about Nadine. Or Magda. Or Dad. Or Anna and Eggs. Or even Russell. I'm going to think about me.

  I towel myself dry, put on my comfy old dungarees and a stripy sweatshirt and then sit cross-legged on my bed drawing Myrtle Mouse. She has any number of scary adventures. She even runs away to London and becomes an Underground mouse, lurking in tunnels and diving for cover every time the terrifying tube roars past. Her beautiful blue fur turns sooty black and she loses the tip of her tail when she only just manages to scamper clear of a maintenance man's big boot.

  I make sure she has a happy ending, though. A little girl bribes her up onto the platform with a cheese sandwich, wraps her grimy little body in a tissue and then pops her in her pocket. Myrtle is taken home and tenderly cleaned up and cared for and given a splendid new home. It's another doll's house, but this time it's her very own Myrtle Mansions, with colour-co-ordinated blue willow-pattern wallpaper in the kitchen and blue roses in the living room and midnight blue with tiny silver stars in the bedroom.

  When I finish I gently stroke little Myrtle's crayon head as she snuggles under her dark blue duvet in the very last picture. Then I find a big envelope and address it. I write a note explaining that I don't have a competition form and I know I'm a bit late entering anyway, but can they please have a look at the enclosed all the same.

  Anna isn't back by six. There's no sign of Dad either. So I have to be the responsible big sister.

  I post my Myrtle drawings on my way round to Nadine's. I feel stupidly nervous as I walk up the neat gravel path to her front door. My footsteps go crunch crunch crunch. My stomach goes clench clench clench.

  Nadine's mum answers the door, looking a little distracted. There are shrieks of laughter coming from the kitchen – very youthful high-pitched laughter.

  'Oh, it's you, Eleanor. Come in, dear. I was expecting your mother.'

  'Yes, sorry, she's tied up with some work thing.'

  'Well, I do hope you've come to collect your brother, dear. He's getting a little over-excited. Not really a good idea so near bedtime. He tipped his orange juice all down himself so I had to change his clothes. I was going to dress him in Natasha's jeans and a jersey but I'm afraid he had other ideas.'

  Right on cue Eggs dashes out of the kitchen, chased by Natasha. She is wearing her jeans, with her long hair crammed under a baseball cap. She's wearing Eggs' clompy boys' shoes. Oh God. Eggs is wearing Natasha's flounciest pink party frock. He's got various pink slides stuck in his short hair, bangles up and down his arms, and he's shuffling in high heels with diamante bows.

  'Hi, Ellie-Belly! I'm your sister Eggerina, and this is my boyfriend Nat,' Eggs squeaks in a silly falsetto voice.

  My brother, mini transvestite.

  'Get that dress off this minute, Eggs. You'll muck it up,' I say. 'Come on, we've got to go home.'

  Eggs takes no notice whatsoever. He barges past with a joyous whoop and starts doing a can-can, staggering in his high heels. Natasha shrieks with laughter as he shows all of us he's even appropriated her frilly knickers.

  'Leave him to me,' says Nadine's mother wearily. 'You go and talk to Nadine. She's in the study working on the computer. She's finding the Internet so useful for her homework nowadays.'

  I'll bet. I don't want to go and see her but neither do I want to let her mum know we're not speaking. I shuffle towards the study. Nadine is crouched in front of the computer screen, smirking at some e-mail message. She jumps in alarm when I come into the room, quickly closing down everything on the screen – and then she sees it's just me. We look at each other. We both go pink.

  'Ellie?'

  'Nadine?'

  There's a little pause. What's the matter with us? We're best friends, always have been, always will be.

  'It's your little fat friend,' I say shakily.

  'Oh El, I'm sorry.'

  'I'm sorry too,' I say.

  We both rush at each other and hug.

  'We are such nuts,' I say.

  'I know, I know. Ellie, I didn't mean it.'

  'And I didn't mean to come on all pious and po-faced about – you know . . .' I wave at the blank computer screen.

  'I know it's a bit risky. I know you do get some nuts on line. But Ellis is so different, Ellie. He's just . . . oh, like the guy of my dreams. He says such amazing things. And he wants to know all about me. He doesn't go on and on about himself the way Liam did. He doesn't try to kid me he's Mr Cool. He confides all sorts of stuff about himself, how he's shy and scared of all kinds of things. He says if we ever met he'd probably be struck dumb and unable to think of a thing to say.'

  'You're not going to meet him, are you?' I ask, alarm bells ringing.

  'No, no, of course not,' Nadine says quickly. 'Don't look so worried, Ellie, He's lovely, he really is. Look, I'll show you.'

  She switches her computer back on and finds me some of his early messages. And he does sound lovely. He chats for ages about Xanadu and what fantasy means to him and how he's read The Lord of the Rings five whole times but it's such a boy book, and how Xanadu is great because it's all about girls and he loves girls. He goes on about how he'd always had this dream girl in his head from when he was about twelve, a strange, shy gothic girl he could share everything with. He doesn't want to be forward or rush things but he feels Nadine is this girl, only better, because she's so beautiful, much prettier than the actress who plays Xanadu in the TV series . . .

  'Then he goes into some really personal stuff. I'm not showing you, Ellie. I haven't even shown M
agda some of it.'

  'Oh come on, Nad, please!'

  So she shows me. I read it, my heart thumping. There's a part of me that still thinks this is crazy. There's a complete stranger writing all sorts of intimate things to Nadine when she's only fourteen, for God's sake. But he does write beautifully. It's not sleazy at all, it's tender and exciting and romantic. It's the sort of thing I wish wish wish Russell would say to me.

  Chapter Ten

  Girls cry when

  their boyfriends

  don't understand

  Ten

  Girls cry when

  their boyfriends

  don't understand

  'Oh, Ellie, I love you.'

  Kisses.

  'Oh, Ellie, I love you.'

  More kisses.

  'Oh, Ellie, I love you. Please.'

  More than kisses.

  'Oh, Ellie, I love you. Please, please, please.'

  Struggles. Sulks. Another kiss. Sometimes it's a kiss goodnight. Sometimes we start the whole routine all over again. It's starting to get a bit . . . boring.

  No it's not! What's the matter with me? I love Russell. He's the only boy in the world for me. I wear his ring all the time. It's just that we've got into this same little routine every time we see each other. Russell always always always says the same things.

  I can't help wishing he'd be as inventive as Nadine's Ellis. I make up an entire alternative scenario in my head, with Russell saying and indeed doing the most delightful and unexpected things. Our own undignified little snogging sessions seem so pathetic by comparison. No, not pathetic. There I go again, picking holes, being so fussy. It's not as if I'm all that great at being romantic and making things wonderful for Russell. There's one thing he keeps begging me to do and I nearly do it, but then I can't help getting a fit of the giggles. Russell gets really annoyed with me, which only makes me splutter more.

  'Do you always have to be so giggly, Ellie?' he asks, exasperated.

  'Well, I'm a girl. All girls giggle. It goes with the territory.'

  'Yeah, but some girls know when it's appropriate to be a bit serious,' says Russell.

  'Then why don't you go off with some of these girls then?' I say, starting to get in a huff.

  'You know you're the only girl in the whole world for me,' Russell says.

  I calm down and kiss him lovingly. He can still be so sweet a lot of the time. It's just that I wish he wasn't always trying to push me into doing stuff I don't want to. Well, sometimes I want to do it as much as him, of course I do, but I don't somehow feel ready for that kind of relationship.

  'Jeff's girlfriend Julie lets him. And Jamie and Big Mac have done it with heaps of girls.'

  'So they say,' I sigh irritably. 'Do you discuss our love life with all your mates in Year Eleven?'

  'No!' says Russell, though he's gone a little pink. 'Anyway, I know for a fact you tell Magda and Nadine everything so don't be such a hypocrite.'

  'I don't tell them. Well, not much,' I say. 'Nowhere near as much as they tell me. You should hear some of the things Nadine's Ellis says to her!'

  'What about Magda? Who's she seeing at the moment?'

  'Well, no one really. She was wondering whether to get back with Greg, but now she thinks he's insensitive. Her hamster had this terribly traumatic terminal accident and Greg wanted to give her little new baby hamsters Toffee and Mallow straight away, but Magda says she's still mourning and she can't bear to get involved with any other hamsters at the moment. She doesn't really want to get involved with Greg either!

  'Oh great,' says Russell. 'Because Big Mac's having a big do for his birthday and most of the guys in my class are coming, right, but there's a distinct shortage of girls.'

  'Magda's not that sort of girl,' I say fiercely. 'I know what your mate Big Mac is like.'

  'No no, this is a proper party, dead respectable, parents in the background, I swear. I promised Big Mac we'd go. That's OK, isn't it?'

  'Well, you could have asked first. You never tell me things, Russell. Like that Art competition—'

  'Don't nag, Ellie! OK, OK, point taken. I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner. Still, there'll be heaps more competitions.'

  'But you're not to appropriate my Ellie Elephant ever again,' I say, tapping him on the nose.

  'She's not your elephant. Anyone can draw a flipping elephant.'

  'Not a cute girl one with a twisty trunk and painted toenails. She's Ellie Elephant. My invention.' I tap a little harder.

  'Ouch! Stop it, missy,' says Russell, grabbing me by the wrists.

  We play at wrestling, mucking about at first – but then Russell starts to get serious again.

  'Oh, Ellie, I love you. Please.'

  'Russell! You've got a one-track mind.'

  'Look, if I win the competition I'll share the prize with you, seeing as you insist you invented the silly little elephant.'

  This is sweet and generous of him. Though I still find it annoying. And I don't want this wrestling match to develop.

  'Stop it, Russell. I've got to go now. I've got to get to the shops before they shut.'

  'You'd sooner go boring old shopping than be with me?' Russell says, sounding peeved.

  'I'm not shopping for me. It's food shopping for all the family.'

  I told Anna at breakfast I'd go to Waitrose for her as she was tied up with so much work. I said it pointedly in front of Dad. I knew it would get to him.

  'Look, we'll all go on Sunday,' Dad said. 'Stop looking at me like that, Ellie. You don't have to play the martyr.'

  It wouldn't work if we all went shopping on Sunday as a family. We're not acting like a family now. Dad and Anna are barely speaking. Dad stays out late most evenings. Anna works solidly. She has a permanent little worry frown on her forehead and dark circles under her eyes. Eggs is forever whining, even though Anna keeps buying him little treats to keep him happy. He's started to cling to Anna like a baby. I know Anna's really worried about him. I don't want her to have to worry about me too.

  I do all the shopping, even though it's more boring and bothersome than I thought. I can't find half the stuff. I have to trail round every single aisle. I stand in the check-out queue for ages. There's just one woman in front of me now. I start getting all the stuff out the trolley and then sneeze. I fumble in my pocket for a tissue. Oh no. Tissues. I forgot all about them.

  I charge back for them, my trolley careering wildly on its wobbly wheels, and bash right into this tall blond guy in a white hat and overall filling up the fridge with cartons of milk. He drops a carton and we both hold our breath – but it doesn't split or spill.

  'So we don't have to cry over spilt milk,' I say, wondering why he's grinning at me in such a familiar way. And then I realize. He's not just any tall blond guy. He's my Mr Dream Man, the boy I bump into on the way to school. Literally. And now I've done it again. 'I'm so sorry! Honestly, I don't always bash into people.'

  'Only when I'm around!'

  'I didn't realize you worked here.'

  'Well, I can't really feel like Joe Cool in this gear,' he says, tipping his funny hygiene hat into a rakish angle. 'But it's an OK job just for now. I'm having a gap year before starting at university.'

  'I'm definitely going to have a gap year too,' I say. 'My girlfriends and I have got it all worked out. Six months' work and then six months' travelling . . .'

  I want to go somewhere wonderful like Australia. Nadine fancies somewhere more exotic like India. Magda wants to hire a car and drive all over America – well, if she's passed her driving test.

  I tell him all this and he listens politely, but you can tell he's really thinking, Yeah, well, maybe. He tells me about his month Euro-railing, staying on campsites. I don't think much of camping. We always used to go camping in Wales before we got the cottage. It was so damp and so dreary and ants got in my sleeping bag and I'm pretty certain a mouse ran over my face in the night. It could just have been my own hair but I screamed my head off anyway.

  I'
m telling Mr Dream Man all about it and he's laughing. Then I look up and there's Russell standing staring at us, even though we said goodbye half an hour ago.

  'Russell! What are you doing here?'

  'Don't worry. Don't let me interrupt,' he says in a surly tone.

  'I'd better get back to work anyway,' Mr Dream Man says quickly. He leans his head close to me. 'Is he the boyfriend? He's nice!

  Russell isn't acting a bit nice. He's marching off so quickly I have to gallop after him, my trolley veering wildly left and right so that little old ladies and mums with toddlers have to leap for their lives.