Girls Out Late

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Oh, Ellie, we’ve been ever so worried!’ Anna pushes past him and gives me a hug. She clings to me as if she’s really really glad I’m safe. But then she pushes me away again, almost as angry as Dad. ‘Why didn’t you phone? The shops close at nine.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry – it’s just we went to McDonald’s after, Nadine and Magda and me,’ I say.

  ‘And?’ says Dad.

  ‘And we just got talking, you know what we’re like.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re like any more, Ellie,’ says Dad. ‘I never thought you’d start behaving like this. You’ve no idea what you put us through.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Look, I’m really tired now, can we all just go to bed?’

  ‘No we can’t. We’re going to have this out now.’

  ‘Look, maybe we should all go to bed and discuss it in the morning,’ says Anna.

  ‘For God’s sake, you’re the one who has been in tears for the last hour!’ says Dad.

  I stare at Anna. Her eyes are red.

  ‘Why were you crying?’ I say. ‘I mean, I can see why you’re cross, but there was no need to get upset.’

  ‘Our thirteen-year-old daughter out God knows where, nearly two hours late home. Come on, Ellie!’ says Dad. He goes into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. He reaches for the coffee mugs, slamming them hard down on the table – as if he’d like to slam me down hard too.

  ‘Look, I don’t know why you’re getting so shirty with me, Dad. OK, OK, I’m late home, but it’s not that heinous a crime, is it? You’re often ever so late home yourself.’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, Ellie. Now, tell me, where have you been?’

  ‘You know where I’ve been, at Flowerfields – and then McDonald’s. You’re acting like I’ve been popping pills all night at some rave, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Where did you go after McDonalds?’

  ‘Well, we were there ages.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Dad! Magda, Nadine and me, honestly.’

  ‘And then what did you do?’

  ‘Well, Magda went home, and I went back on the bus with Nadine – and I just popped in her house to see some stuff and she started showing me this really creepy video Girls Out Late and I suppose I stayed a bit late watching it, goodness knows why, because you know I hate horror movies and this one is really truly gross.’

  Dad and Anna are staring at me. I burble on and on, making stuff up about the movie. The kettle boils. Dad looks as if he should have steam spiralling out of his ears likewise. He makes the drinks, stirring so fiercely coffee slops all over the place.

  ‘So you were at Nadine’s?’ he says.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, Ellie,’ Anna says.

  My heart is thumping. This is all going horribly wrong.

  ‘And then where did you go?’ Dad says.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘By yourself?’

  ‘Well, it’s only a few streets.’

  ‘You know you’re not allowed out after dark by yourself.’

  ‘Yes, well, I didn’t think it would really matter, just from Nadine’s home to here. I suppose I could have rung you.’

  Oh no! I suddenly remember. I told Anna I would ring from Nadine’s. I look at her and she shakes her head sadly.

  ‘We waited for you to ring. And then we rang Nadine’s – and Nadine’s mother said Nadine had come home on her own,’ Anna says.

  I swallow. ‘What did Nadine say?’ I whisper.

  ‘She came out with a whole load of stupid evasions and downright lies,’ says Dad. ‘She couldn’t seem to see how badly we needed to know where the hell you were.’

  ‘So you’ve been bullying Nadine too,’ I say.

  ‘Ellie, nowadays you can’t just have a thirteen-year-old out late by herself – not without going out of your mind with worry. Surely you can see that?’ says Anna.

  ‘And eventually Nadine tells us you’ve gone off with some boy you picked up in McDonald’s,’ says Dad.

  ‘I didn’t pick him up! He talked to me first,’ I say indignantly.

  ‘A complete stranger! And you went off on your own with him. Are you mad?’

  ‘He’s a Halmer’s boy,’ I say.

  ‘Well, they’re the worst. They’re famous for it. Picking up silly little girls and seeing how far they can go,’ Dad thunders.

  ‘Don’t, you’re making all this horrible. Russell isn’t a bit like that. He likes art, he was sketching and I was sketching, that’s how we got talking – and then he came on the bus with Nadine and me and then afterwards we just had this little walk. We were talking about all sorts of stuff, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all?’ says Dad. ‘You’ve got your make-up smudged all over your face, Ellie. It’s obvious what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘I haven’t been up to anything! Stop it! I don’t know why you’re being like this, spoiling everything.’

  ‘Your dad doesn’t want to spoil anything, Ellie. He’s just been so worried wondering if you were all right. He’s over-reacting. I am, too. It’s just this is the first time this has happened and we’re obviously getting het up over nothing,’ says Anna. She takes a sip of coffee then tries to smile as if this is a normal conversation. ‘This Russell sounds really nice. Are you going to see him again?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ says Dad.

  ‘Dad! Look, what is this? I thought you were really cool about any kind of boyfriend stuff.’

  ‘It’s not about boyfriends, it’s about you lying to us.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I just said the first thing that came into my head.’

  ‘It’s frightening, you seemed so plausible. I just can’t believe it of you, Ellie. And I hate the idea of you going off on your own with the first boy that beckons in your direction, letting him slobber all over you in the dark.’

  ‘Shut up, Dad. Who are you to talk anyway? You’ve done enough slobbering yourself, as you so charmingly put it. I remember all those girls you went out with after Mum died, before Anna. Maybe after Anna too.’

  ‘How dare you!’ says Dad.

  ‘I do dare. I’m sick of you. Why is there always one rule for adults and another for teenagers? What gives you the right to tell me how to behave?’

  ‘Stop it, Ellie,’ Anna says sharply.

  ‘Why should I? And why should I do what you say anyway? You’re not my mother.’

  I push past both of them and run upstairs. Eggs is standing in his pyjamas on the landing.

  ‘You’re in big trouble, Ellie,’ he hisses.

  ‘You shut up,’ I say and go into my bedroom and slam the door.

  I flop down on my bed and burst into tears. I hate them all. Why did they have to spoil what was the most magical evening of my life?

  Breakfast is terrible. Dad and I aren’t speaking. Anna talks enough for both of us, chit-chatting to try and pretend this is a perfectly normal morning. Eggs is intrigued and delighted by all of this, and asks endless idiotic questions about ‘Ellie’s Boyfriend’.

  ‘He is not my boyfriend. He is just a boy in Year Eleven I happened to meet yesterday and we had a good long chat about art.’

  ‘And a good long encounter in the park afterwards,’ says Dad bitterly, breaking his silence.

  ‘Please!’ says Anna, nearly in tears. ‘Don’t talk to Ellie like that.’

  ‘I’ll talk to her how I damn well please,’ says Dad, pushing his plate away and standing up. ‘She’s still a child, and she is going to have to learn to do as she’s told. She’s not staying out till all hours.’

  ‘Dad, I was home at twenty past eleven. Heaps of girls in my year stay out till way past midnight.’

  ‘I don’t care what anyone else does, although from my conversation with Nadine’s parents last night it was all too humiliatingly clear they were obviously appalled. It was evident that Nadine would never behave like that.’

  This is so infuriating! If only they knew! Last term when Na
dine had this thing with this total creep, Liam, she sneaked off and saw him all the time and she lied her little head off to her mum and dad, forever making out she was round at my place or Magda’s. But obviously I can’t tell Dad this because I don’t want to tell tales on Nadine. So I just sigh deeply and tap my fingers on the table, acting like I’m too bored for words.

  This winds Dad up so much he starts really yelling at me. Eggs stops thinking it’s funny and hunches down in his chair, sucking his thumb. I start to feel scared too. Dad’s acting like he really can’t stand me. I just don’t get it. Why does he have to be so horrible? I try to stare him out and act like I’m not even listening but my throat hurts and my eyes have gone all blurry behind my glasses.

  ‘Will you please stop it,’ says Anna, standing up too. ‘You’re frightening Eggs. Dear God, you’re frightening all of us. Now please – go to college. We’ll talk about it tonight, when we’ve all calmed down.’

  ‘I’m out tonight, there’s a faculty meeting,’ says Dad. ‘I’ll have a sandwich at work and go straight on to the meeting. I’ll be back around ten.’

  I shall be out too, seeing Russell.

  Dad’s staring at me – and it’s as if his mean narrowed eyes can laser through my skull and see what’s in my mind.

  ‘You’re not allowed out, Ellie. You do understand that? You’re completely grounded.’

  ‘Oh please! What a stupid expression. Grounded! It’s like something out of prep school.’

  This is a clever diversionary tactic. It’s always the easiest way to score points off Dad. He likes to act like this ultra lefty alternative guy and yet Grandma and Grandpa are ultra strait-laced and right wing and posh and Dad got sent right through the public school system. It’s something he’s very embarrassed about. He does his best to talk down, but the odd little phrase creeps into his conversation every now and then and betrays him.

  ‘You might find the expression stupid, Ellie – but I trust you understand what it means?’

  ‘I’m not allowed out, right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Not at all?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Oh great, I can’t go to school then, can I? So I’ll just go back to bed for a nice long snooze.’

  ‘Ellie, acting like a six-year-old is not going to convince me that you’re old enough to stay out half the night with strangers,’ says Dad, and he walks out of the kitchen.

  He doesn’t say goodbye to me, he doesn’t even say goodbye to Anna and Eggs. He just stomps out of the room, still acting like some Victorian control freak dad, like he’s Mr Barrett of Wimpole Street and I’m poetic Elizabeth. Only I’m not reclining on a sofa, I’m on a hard kitchen stool – and I’m not about to elope with my romantic Mr Browning. Russell and I are hardly at the eloping stage. I don’t know whether he writes poetry or not. I don’t even know his second name. But I’m going to find out. I’m meeting Russell tonight if it kills me. And Dad very likely will kill me if he finds out.

  I don’t tell Anna my plans. She might well ring Dad up at work and tell on me. She’s acting like she’s really upset.

  ‘Don’t mind your dad too much, Ellie,’ she says anxiously.

  ‘I won’t, don’t worry!’

  ‘That’s not what I meant! Oh Ellie, I wish I knew what to say. It’s so awful. I can see everyone’s point of view. I think your dad over-reacted – but you were very very rude.’

  I open my mouth and she shakes her head.

  ‘Don’t say any more, Ellie, please. You’ve said more than enough.’

  I feel mean. I know I shouldn’t have put in that cheap dig last night about Dad playing around. A while ago, Anna did get ever so worried that he might be having an affair with one of the students at the Art College. I suppose it’s not surprising she worries because Anna was once at the Art College herself. That’s when she met my dad. He is out an awful lot, though he’s always got some excuse, like this meeting tonight. If I were Anna I’d really have it out with him – but she always likes to pretend everything is perfect. She doesn’t stand up to Dad the way she should. I haven’t always stood up to Dad either. But now I’ve shown him he can’t bully me!

  ‘I’m sorry I said some of that stuff last night. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just him,’ I say. ‘He can’t treat me like that, giving me his orders.’

  ‘You are his daughter, Ellie.’

  ‘That doesn’t give him automatic ownership of me! You might let him walk all over you, Anna, but I’m not going to let him do it to me.’

  And with that Supergirl swoops out of the kitchen and gathers up her schoolbag.

  ‘You haven’t finished your breakfast.’

  I grab my toast and say I’ll eat it on the way to school.

  ‘I’m in a hurry,’ I say and dash off.

  I’m not in a hurry to go to school. I’m in a hurry to see Nadine and Magda and tell them everything.

  But by the time I make it to school the bell has already gone and Mrs Henderson, our form teacher, is in a right mood this morning. When I get Magda and Nadine in a corner and start my story she tells me to stop gossiping and get down to the gym in double quick time.

  Mrs Henderson is also the P.E. teacher, worst luck. I positively hate P.E., whether it’s hockey or netball or athletics or rounders. You get hot and sweaty and people yell at you and you feel stupid. Well, I do. Nadine’s pretty hopeless too – and though Magda can be quite nippy and she’s good at ballwork she generally hangs around with us and doesn’t try, just to be matey.

  So the three of us get into a little huddle in the changing rooms and I start for a second time, but Mrs Henderson hounds us again, telling us to cut the cackle and get changed or we’ll be for it.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Henderson, I’m having a really heavy period. Can I be excused Games today because of my stomach cramps?’ I wail, clutching my tummy.

  ‘Ooh, me too, Mrs Henderson,’ says Nadine. ‘It’s really bad.’

  ‘And me too, Mrs Henderson,’ says Magda, determined not to be left out.

  Mrs Henderson puts her hands on her hips. ‘So you are all three having your periods?’ she says, eyebrows raised.

  ‘It’s a very strange but true phenomenon that women living in close circumstances menstruate at exactly the same time,’ I say. This is a fact. I’ve read it somewhere, anyway. Even though it doesn’t actually apply to Nadine and Magda and me. It would be kind of creepy. And what if you found you needed to do everything else in unison too, so you all woke up at exactly the same time and had to make a dash for the loo simultaneously?

  ‘It’s a very strange but true phenomenon that lazy schoolgirls will concoct any silly excuse whatsoever to get out of Games,’ says Mrs Henderson. ‘I don’t care if you three girls are about to have babies – you are still going out on the games field and you will take exercise.’

  We are forced to take so much exercise that I can’t even speak the rare times I stagger near Magda or collapse beside Nadine. I just gasp helplessly like a goldfish.

  Mrs Henderson keeps us hop, skip and jump-jump-jumping until the bell goes, which is incredibly mean because we have to charge back to the changing rooms and shower and shove on our clothes in a frantic rush as we only have a five-minute changeover period and it’s Mrs Madley next lesson. A double period – just enough to give everyone stomach cramps! Mrs Madley takes us for English and it’s my second favourite subject (Art first, of course) but Mrs Madley is mega-strict and the one thing she really gets mad about is if we’re late for her lesson, which we are.

  She rants on as if it’s all our fault, and when Magda explains we were still dashing around the athletics field in our P.E. kit when the bell went Mrs Madley says that’s no concern of hers, her concern is her lesson and we are late, and that is inexcusable. She wastes a good ten minutes telling us we can’t afford to be late because we’ve got so much to do, and when she eventually starts the lesson it’s poetry. I like a good story, not airy fairy poems. Especially as she wan
ts us to concentrate on nature poetry. It is not in my nature to like nature. It sucks. I should have ‘townie’ tattooed on my forehead. We have this awful mouldering holiday cottage halfway up a mountain in the wettest part of Wales and every hour I’m forced to spend there seems to last as long as a week.

  Mrs Madley glares at our groans and reads us examples from the Romantic Poets. I perk up a little at the word Romantic but it doesn’t mean romance. I don’t know what romantic countryside these Romantic Poets tramped through but I never stand transfixed on my little Welsh hill and admire the fair musk-rose blooms or mellow fruits – there’s just a lot of rank vegetation and mud everywhere.

  Then she swaps to modern poetry and she reads a Sylvia Plath poem about blackberrying and I suddenly sit up and listen because I like it, it’s so sharp and strange, but then she starts another poem called Wuthering Heights and the first line says something about horizons ringing her like faggots and we all collapse and Mrs Madley gets very narked indeed and says we’re all utterly pathetic and then she says we all have to write a poem now. Straight away. At least twelve lines. On Nature. And any girl who fails to do so will get a detention and double English homework.

  I struggle.

  I think of Wales. I think hard.

  Mud, mud, horrible mud.

  It’s like that old hippopotamus song.

  If you slip in the mud.

  You fall down with a thud.

  I think Mrs Madley requires a more passionate response to Nature.

  I try again.

  Up in the mountain

  Through the glen

  You will always wonder when

  You can clear off

  Home again.

  I peer round the room. Help! Everyone else seems to have got stuck in straight away. Nadine rolls her eyes at me and Magda sticks out her tongue, but their eyes are vague. Concentrating on their poems. The entire class is looking serious. I daren’t do something silly and jokey. But how can I act like I care about the countryside? Hang on. Nature doesn’t stop bang at every town boundary. I could write about Nature here. I peer out of the window. It is a grey dreary day. The privet hedges of the suburban gardens over the road are cut into ugly arcs. The bedding plants are crude poster paint colours, set out in unattractive repeating patterns, like wallpaper. The trees have all been pollarded so their branches don’t wave in the wind. Suburban nature is not a pretty sight.