by Cath Howe
“It seems rather early days. I’ll think about it,” Mum said, disappearing into the study.
I stared at the keys with their neat labels … Back Door … Bikes … Spare Front … One key ring looked familiar. I unhooked it. A yellow and blue snapping crocodile, hard and shiny. It was Dad’s; I’d given it to him for his birthday. I remembered him saying how much he loved the snapping crocodile; he would never lose his keys again. I twisted the key off, hung it back on the hook and put the key ring in my pocket.
I wiped my eyes and took my shoes off.
That evening, after tea, I flicked through the pictures on my phone, looking for the rabbit. Most of them were of Molly’s strange house. The rabbit was only good in one of them, leaping away from the camera.
Molly’s house looked like nobody cared.
At least I’d got my jumper, even if it did look old and worn.
Even though only a few hours had passed, I felt as if I must have dreamed Molly’s strange house down the road … like a place in a film.
Not real at all.
That evening, Mum came to say goodnight and watched me while I soaked my hands.
“I saw you were writing to Dad again,” she murmured.
I darted a look at her, my face flushing, and stopped swirling the oil around my fingers. “Have you written to him, Mum?”
Mum sighed. “You’re not old enough to understand…”
“He won’t know what we’re doing.” Words tumbled out. “I need to tell him about the house and school and…”
“I don’t mind you writing.” Mum’s voice had gone firm and brisk. “Now, let’s just leave it.” She patted my hands dry, handed me my pot of cream and helped me rub it in. “I’m glad we’ve sorted out your uniform.”
I climbed into bed and she kissed me. “And you’re pleased with the phone? Grandma was determined to get you one.”
“It’s brilliant. I love it.”
Mum was at my door. But then she stopped. “Just one thing. Let’s not talk about what happened in Milton… with other people, I mean.”
“Nobody?”
“I really can’t discuss this, Ella. There’s so many new things to sort out.” She came over and hugged me tightly. “We’re going to be happy here: new school, my job… Please, love, don’t argue.” She flicked off my light. “Goodnight.”
Chapter 4
Party Invite
Dear Dad,
There is a girl on our road called Molly and her house is a big mess because no one tidies it. Mum would call it a DISGRACE. Mum says I can cycle to school but not yet.
I think about you a lot at night. You know the creaky floorboards outside your bedroom and you pretending it was our own friendly ghost? In this house it’s the water pipes – they clank at six o’clock in the morning and Mum says a rude thing and gets up.
Ella
The next day, Mr Hales smiled at me as I came in and took my place. He had changed his eyebrow ring for a black stud.
I fidgeted with the sleeves of Molly’s old jumper in the warm classroom. My wrists were flaming red. I had scratched them badly in the night. The jumper felt prickly, but I didn’t take it off. My white school shirt was short-sleeved; everyone would see. Horrid eczema.
“Where’s your blue jumper?” Stiggy asked.
“A rabbit ate it,” I said.
“Really?” Stiggy’s eyebrows went up.
I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s a joke!”
Molly was at the back again, bent over a notebook. She never talked to anyone and nobody talked to her. Like a piece of furniture, a girl-shaped grey table. At playtime, I stayed round the edge of the playground again, hanging off the railings, gazing up, trying to decide what kinds of animals the clouds looked like.
And then a face took the place of a cloud and Lydia was there, all smart, her chestnut hair scrunched in little clips that must have taken ages to do and bracelets on her wrists even though they weren’t allowed. “Ella,” she called. “You live near me. I’ve seen you. You’ve got a little brother in my sister’s class.”
My heart raced. Why had she come to talk to me? “His name’s Jack,” I said, all in a rush.
Lydia stayed there, looking at me. “Well, my sister Anna is a champion swimmer.”
“Oh.” I tried to look interested and pleased.
“See you got your uniform then?” Her eyes scanned me, like someone staring at things for sale in a shop they wouldn’t usually visit.
I pulled down my cuffs. “It’s from a girl in my road. Until my proper things arrive.”
“Mmm,” said Lydia, smiling. “You’ve changed your school bag too.” Lydia’s eyes were so big, they shined more than normal eyes.
“Yep.”
She tossed her hair and the clips clicked. “I liked the kittens. Cute.”
I tried to feel pleased. At least Lydia was being friendly. Wasn’t she?
“Well, byeee!” she called, skipping away.
She wouldn’t be back. I looked up at the clouds again and wished I could be up there on top of one: a girl in a cloud, lost in whirling smoke.
I kept trying to join conversations, then finding myself standing alone. Boys wouldn’t talk to me properly. In Milton, there’d always been loads of boys I could chat to, but these ones seemed to race off or laugh. The sun came out. I wandered and watched shouting people rushing around and calling for someone to pass them the ball. Molly was perched by the railings near me with a notebook on her knee. She didn’t look up.
My eyes were always drawn back to Lydia because she was surrounded by so many laughing girls. Like a queen bee. And what was I, Ella Mackay? A new-bee? Imagine being in the middle of everyone. Oh, ask Ella… Ella’s so fun!
At afternoon break, I watched people coming and going at the water fountain, like birds, head peck down, head peck up. A voice shouted my name. “Ella!” I saw Lydia swinging her legs on the monkey bars. “Come here!”
I hurried over and stretched my arms out to help Lydia jump down.
She gave me a smile, just like that, like a gift. “I’m going to Immy’s after school,” she said.
Suddenly I wanted desperately to go to Immy’s too – even though I’d only just worked out which one she was – to curl up with a friend and watch TV and play games and laugh… well, anything really.
“Does she live near here?”
Lydia smiled and pursed her lips together as if she had something hard to explain. “No, her mum’s picking us up. We might go to a film…”
I knew what that meant. It’s all planned. You’re not included. Buzz off!
“Oh, well, bye then.” I turned away.
But Lydia bobbed back beside me. The smile came on again. “I’m having a party next weekend, for my birthday.”
My heart skipped. “Are you?” My voice sounded squeaky, too excited. I tried again. “Are you?” That sounded better.
“Saturday. Four thirty.” Lydia was still smiling, fixing her big blue eyes on me. “And a sleepover.”
“Four thirty,” I repeated, as if it was a memory test.
Lydia skipped away and left me… on top of the world. An invitation. A party! But as soon as she had gone, worries started nagging at me. Had she invited me to the party just then? She wasn’t telling me about her party just for something to chat about, was she?
All the rest of the day, I replayed what she’d said… Saturday. Four thirty. Sleepover. I kept gazing across the classroom. Would Lydia hand me a smart invitation? Then I’d know.
If you had taken a picture of me, you would have seen me concentrating and listening. I kept the green jumper on so no one would see the sore patches down my arms. I would blend in. I could blend. I’d be so blended I’d be… liquidised.
I hung round the edge of Lydia’s group. I smiled whenever they smiled, laughed whenever they all seemed to be laughing. They all wore a woven blue and green bracelet Lydia had bought them on holiday. “Hey, Lydia did you know this?” one of them would call, or, “
I heard this hilarious thing…” The group was a mixture of different girls; so complicated. There was Sophie who was nearly always with Lydia. Then there was Hannah and Rachel, and then Zing and Immy. Immy was always rushing back from being in a sports team, but she was the most smiley, which must be a good thing. Rachel actually talked to me sometimes. Hannah and Zing giggled a lot. Sophie sort of looked past me, as if she was waiting for someone else.
I waited for my party invitation, but nothing happened and nobody mentioned it.
Mum had arranged for me to do art club after school on Mondays because I liked art. Jack would be doing football practice. There was a special art loft at the top of the school, in the roof space, with beams stretching up and the sun pouring in through the huge roof windows. The teacher was a proper artist. The first surprise was the radio playing in the corner and the voice of the DJ announcing songs.
A woman with a mass of white hair under a stripy band appeared out of a dark alcove. “Just emptying the kiln,” she said in a warm friendly voice. “Spread yourselves. You need room to breathe!” She saw me and came over. “Our new girl. This is not an ordinary club. We have two important rules. DON’T BE HORRID and DON’T SCOFF ALL THE BISCUITS. Welcome to art club, Ella.”
There were twelve of us. Each person took a table to themselves. All around us were interesting things to get ideas from and strange objects to draw – shells, costumes, driftwood and puppets, a skeleton in a bowler hat in the corner.
The club had started several weeks before so the others were used to finding their own things.
“OK, Ella, this is not a telling-off club. This is not an all-doing-the-same club. This is a WHAT-DO-I-REALLY-LOVE?-OK-I’ll-do-that club,” said our teacher. “What do you want to do – make something, create an image?”
Miss Denby looked like a hen – rounded, not very tall, her white hair scrunched and flying out at the sides. I stared at the messy paint stains on her shirt and decided I liked her.
I held out a photo of waves rushing into a cave.
“Did you take this yourself?” Miss Denby asked.
“Yes.”
“Great!”
Miss Denby suggested I made a collage of my photo using tiny little bits of torn-up paper from magazines, matching colours and laying them glued next to each other until the white paper underneath couldn’t be seen any more. She left me to start.
A few minutes passed. The door crashed open.
Chapter 5
A Bird with a Large Beak!
Dear Dad,
I’ve been watching a squirrel. Sometimes it dashes up and down but other times it goes frozen still. Maybe it knows I’m watching and wants to pretend to be a bit of tree. It doesn’t understand that it’s easy to see. Do you ever wish that you could be so still and frozen that nobody would see you?
Ella
“Sorry I’m late again, miss. Mum was dropping off my equipment.” It was Lydia.
“Just sort yourself out, Lydia,” called Miss Denby.
“Ella! You’re here!” Lydia plonked herself right beside me and put down a large wooden box, a bit like a briefcase, and began unloading it. “I can’t let you borrow any of my things – they cost two hundred pounds. I’ll tell you about them, though… This is a kind of smudger. This is very expensive ink that Mum has to order. She says I’m unusually creative…”
Being next to Lydia in art club was like having the TV on in the house except that every now and then I had to agree with her or she would ask a question and wait for an answer. But mostly she just prattled. Like a bird… with a very large beak! “This is so fun, Miss Denby… You’re my favourite teacher, miss… Miss, when’s your birthday? Which is your car in the car park…? If I make this blue then yellow, it looks wrong. Aww…! Can we have the radio louder?”
Miss Denby seemed used to her. “Lydia Sheridan, you’re like a wind-up toy. Just give us all a bit of peace,” she said.
“I love this song.” Lydia started singing. “You’re my only-eeeee—”
“Lydia, that’s too loud,” Miss Denby called.
“Can I hum then?”
“Lydia, everyone else is getting on with their work except you.” Lydia flicked ink on her picture. “That’s ruined now.” She flicked some more. “Actually, I think it looks better.” She grabbed my arm and hugged me to her. “Art club is perfect now you’re here.”
I tore off more bits of coloured magazine to add to my pile.
“You and me are going to bring sweets every week – Miss Denby won’t care. She gets cross,” whispered Lydia, “but she’s a pussycat.”
“A pussycat with ears who can hear every word you say, young lady,” Miss Denby said.
Lydia smiled. Then her face changed. “You haven’t forgotten about my party, have you, Ella?” she asked sharply. Her eyebrows went up. She tutted. “Well, are you coming or aren’t you? Ask your mum.”
“I … I … I, yes, I’ll ask her… Thank you,” I said.
Lydia poked me hard. “Funny Ella,” she giggled.
“Thank you,” I said again, giggling too.
Hi Grace – my room is yellow. I’m gonna miss your birthday
Who are you sitting next to?
Hi Ella – I’m sitting with Abbi. She says hi.
Hi Grace – A cat comes in our garden – a bit like Percy but fatter. Can you come and visit one day?
At home that evening, Mum cleaned and piled up the towels while I soaked my hands and rubbed all the different creams into the hot, irritated skin.
“So, have you made any friends yet?” she asked.
“I think so…”
“And you’re getting used to it?”
I nodded.
“And the lessons. Maths? And writing?”
“The work’s fine, Mum.”
“You mentioned somebody … Lydia?” Mum held out a towel and folded it over my fingers. I love that moment when the itching stops.
“She invited me to her party next Saturday so she must think I’m all right.”
Mum laughed. “Of course she does, love. That’s great.” She frowned. “You don’t look very happy about it.”
“It’s just … I don’t really know her. I don’t really know anyone.”
I thought about Grace’s text and found my eyes filling with tears. Maybe Grace had found a proper friend already.
“I know it’s hard, but just be yourself, love,” Mum was saying.
I didn’t say it to Mum, but I wasn’t sure what ‘being myself’ meant.
When she’d gone, I drew a picture of Lydia and stuck a crown on her head with the title Lydia’s Court Rules.
Lydia decides everything. You’re lucky if she chooses you.
She can go off people but you can’t go off her.
Lydia has nice things, especially hair and art things.
If I’m lucky, I’ll get to be her third-best friend. Exciting!
I switched off the light again and made myself think about all the photos I could take of those strange objects in the art room.
I thought about Grace and the days we had spent decorating the wall in her summerhouse last summer with snippets from magazines, sketches and photos, and telling her everything, even the hardest things. Grace felt very real when the light was off – so real I sat up and texted her again.
Grace – are you OK? Did you get my message about coming to see me for a weekend or something? Can you ask your mum? I really want to see you.
I lay back in bed and tried to imagine Lydia being in the garden with me instead of Grace, or, sometimes, me being the one she chose to sit next to in class rather than Sophie or Rachel. I thought about us laughing together in art club.
But Lydia was a loud person. And, anyway, how would I ever get to be her first choice? I felt like a person in a queue, but at the back. Lydia seemed to like me but she didn’t know me. But she had invited me to her party.
School got easier as that first week went on. Willow class were OK. I liked Mr Hales, especial
ly when he played his guitar for us. Stiggy was actually quite funny and rude, and there were other children who hated PE as much as I did. I couldn’t help scratching the backs of my legs and rubbing them against the metal edges of the school chairs.
We went to a doctor’s surgery.
“How is your new school, Ella?” the doctor asked. “Have you made some friends? Are you happy?”
I stared at the colours in his beard. I kept nodding. My head could have fallen off I was nodding so much.
We came out with bags and bags of new creams and Mum kept saying no one would look at my hands.
I loved taking pictures with the new camera on my phone: by the river, apples in a bowl, our bikes leaning in the shed.
And, all week long, I felt little ripples of excitement and worry each time I remembered. I was going to Lydia’s party!
Chapter 6
Lydia’s Party
Hi Dad,
Jack has a new friend called Felix and they are always being superheroes loudly!!!!
Moor Lane is a very big school with masses of corridors. Did I tell you my teacher is Mr Hales? He’s funny and he plays the guitar and sings songs about Willow class. Last week, he sang, “All the kids from Moor Lane School fell into a swimming pool”, and we all made up extra bits. Do you remember singing stupid words to Jack’s music in the car, like “I’ve got a hamster, you’ve got broccoli, we’ve all got marmalade, yeah!” I suddenly thought about that. I still don’t know anybody who sings like you.
Love, Ella
Saturday came. I took ages choosing a pair of tiny sparkly blue earrings in town. I’d noticed Lydia had pierced ears. I pictured her opening the yellow wrapping, saying, “Oh, Ella, they’re the best present I’ve had!”
I walked round to Lydia’s house, loaded up with a sleeping bag and overnight stuff and rang the doorbell. I stood by a big pink flowering bush in the front garden, listening to laughter ringing out from inside.