Ella on the Outside

by Cath Howe

  “Yeah, but we’re always fighting and Mum keeps unpeeling my stars. She doesn’t unpeel Jack’s though.”

  Molly kept lightly touching things: the plants along the windowsill in their bright spotty pots, the tea and coffee canisters. “Your house is very smart,” she said. We paused by the lounge with its big floppy sofas. Jack was on the computer by the window.

  “Worm,” he said without turning round.

  “Worm yourself.” I slammed the door. “That was my brother.”

  “Do you all sit in there?” Molly asked, as we went upstairs.

  “Not often. Mum’s always working. But if we watch a film, we do. Come on!”

  Molly hung back in the doorway of my room. “I like all the colours,” she said.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “Can I sit down?” Molly gazed around at the two large posters on my walls, one of elephants at sunset and the other of clowns. The clown one was from Jack’s room. I’d used it to cover the space left by Operation 13 being all torn off and pushed in a drawer. How horrible to think of all the ideas I’d had, pretending to be a police enquiry. I wished I could give Molly a present, make everything better.

  “I like the red ladybird,” she said, picking up my furry cushion.

  I thought of Lydia holding it, sitting right there on my bed, making me tell her…

  “If I had a bedroom like this, I’d never come out,” Molly said.

  I laughed. Molly laughed too.

  “Have you always had eczema?” she asked, staring at the bottles and creams by my bed.

  “Yes,” I said, “but sometimes it’s worse. Mum’s making me try out some new ointment.”

  Molly smiled at me. “I only noticed you had it a few days ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Will it go away?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You probably think people are looking at it when they aren’t really,” she said.

  Mum called us down for tea and we all sat round the table. Mum had made one of her strange new recipes with lots of red and yellow peppers on the top. Jack said “yuck” under his breath and Mum shot him a furious look.

  “So, tell us about your family, Molly,” Mum said.

  Molly’s face filled with dismay. She looked at me.

  “There’s just Molly and her mum,” I said quickly. “And her mum’s always busy.”

  Mum grinned. “I know that feeling.”

  Even though Molly was an extra person for tea, somehow the kitchen seemed quieter with her in it.

  Jack whined, “Why haven’t I got a friend round?”

  There’s a bar in the middle underneath the table and if you aim just right, you can stamp the other person’s foot off. We’re always doing it. Today, Jack kicked my foot off and I stamped on his and Molly just silently ate.

  “Now, you two, that’s enough,” Mum said, loading salad on to her plate. “You had Sammy yesterday, Jacko.”

  “There’s no one to play football with,” Jack whined again.

  “I’ll play,” said Molly. Her smile lit up her face.

  I stopped eating.

  “Will you?” asked Jack. “Mum’s always busy and Ella hates football.”

  I went to stamp his foot off again but Jack had already got up to clear the plates. Jack never cleared the plates.

  Mum’s meal was even weirder than usual but Molly seemed to love it, even some little curled-up things that looked like rice but weren’t. Mum told Molly the whole recipe. “It’s so nice to see someone who loves their food. Ella and Jack can be a bit picky. You need to watch the quantities of garlic in this one,” she said. “And don’t fry the onion, sweat it.”

  “Molly’s got a rabbit,” I said.

  Jack’s mouth fell open. “A rabbit…? How old is he…? How big…? What’s his name?” He and Molly disappeared outside with him just going on and on asking about Nelson.

  I went out too. Molly was running up and down the garden, winning the ball off Jack and hammering it into the goal. I was goalie for a while then I wandered away and sat on the bench. Molly looked like a giant playing against Jack; her legs were so long.

  “Goal!” they shouted each time one of them scored. Sometimes, when Molly tackled Jack, she would lift him right off the ground and his legs would still be bicycling and they’d fall on to the grass, giggling and tickling each other. I might as well not have been there. I kept watching them, thinking, he’s horrible Jack – how come we’re playing with him?

  “Jack’s really fun,” Molly said when the game was over. “You’re lucky. I don’t have anyone else.”

  We only spoke about her mum once, when we were sitting in the garden on our own watching a squirrel raiding the bird table.

  “What does your mum do all day?” I asked her.

  “Before she got ill, she listened to the radio… sorted through my dad’s stuff.”

  “Do you think your mum might like to open a shop? There must be valuable things in the piles, mustn’t there?” I said.

  Molly sighed. “I don’t know. I just wish she’d get better and make some meals and stop crying.”

  The squirrel was hanging upside down now, calmly turning a nut in its claws. I was glad there was something to watch.

  “I didn’t know your mum cried,” I said.

  Molly bit her lip. “Well, she does. She can’t help it.”

  How horrible to be crying all the time and not be able to stop. If Jack and I fought and he cried, Mum always took his side, even if the whole fight had been his fault. He only had to switch the tears on and the stupid big sobs and she would make us both apologise. Then Jack would stop, like turning off a tap. And Mum practically never cried. She just sniffed and sighed and said you had to move on. Like the day Dad got taken away. “I don’t want to talk about it” was all Mum would say, staying strong and busy.

  A grown-up who couldn’t stop crying sounded like a nightmare!

  “But your mum is getting better, isn’t she?” I asked.

  “She just needs to eat more. I’ve bought loads of medicines,” Molly said. She looked at her watch. “I’d better go now. Can I come again?”

  “Of course.” I watched her from the door as she sprinted home on her long lanky legs.

  While I soaked my hands that evening and rubbed in my creams, I thought about Molly Gardener, the things she’d said, her quiet ways. She’d talked about eczema as a small annoying thing. It wasn’t that she didn’t care; she just hadn’t noticed. Maybe she was right. Maybe other people didn’t really notice much either. Lydia had made me feel miserable about my eczema, but being with Molly made it seem just like a part of life.

  I wondered how Molly’s mum was today in their gloomy house. Maybe she was up and dressed already. Maybe Molly was having tea with her and they were both listening to some music on the radio.

  Lydia would understand that I’d changed my mind, when I explained about Molly’s mum tomorrow. I’d get to school early. I’d find her before anyone else. I’d make everything all right.

  Chapter 20

  Alone

  Dear Dad,

  Mrs Reynolds saw me give some chicken to Smokey and she said, “He knows which side his bread is buttered, that cat.” But it was chicken, not bread. I think she means Smokey has an easy life. But it’s not easy for birds. Half an hour later he caught a little bird under the tree and he wouldn’t let it go; each time it did a little flap he batted it with his paw but when we tried to take it away from him he hissed. So it died. Mrs Reynolds just shook her head and said “It’s a cat’s way.” Jack cried and cried. I really hated Smokey, just for a while. He is such a nice cat, so why is he mean? Jack said, “If Dad was here, he would have saved it.”

  You haven’t answered about the money. Is that why you have stopped writing to me? Please write to me again even if it’s just about boring things – I won’t mind.

  Please, Dad.

  Love, Ella

  I was going to set off early for school next
day to find Lydia, but when I came out on to the step, Molly was waiting for me with her bike. “Can we go together?” she asked.

  Mum smiled. “That’s fine Ella, love. Just go across the recreation ground and keep off the road.”

  I got my bike out and waved goodbye to Mum and Jack. We set off. Inside I started panicking. How could I talk to Lydia if Molly was with me?

  I wanted to make things all right. They nearly were.

  I dashed into Willow class while Molly was changing her reading book. Lydia was on her own on the carpet. “The photo,” I gasped. “You have deleted it, haven’t you?”

  Lydia smiled up at me. “Of course not.”

  I froze. “But I asked you to,” I said. “I should never have taken it.”

  “Well, it’s too late now,” Lydia said calmly.

  I stood there, reeling. “Lydia, you can’t show it to anyone. Molly’s mum’s ill. It’s not funny. She’s a real person!”

  “Well, I think it’s funny.”

  “But…”

  Lydia’s laugh chimed out. “And Sophie will. And Rachel. And Immy. Hilarious!”

  “You’ve sent it to them?” I said. “I said definitely not to…”

  Lydia grinned her horrible smile. “You’re not as brave as I thought.”

  “This isn’t brave. It’s just wrong.”

  How had I ever liked Lydia Sheridan? She looked like a monster to me now, a cruel monster. She waved me away as if she was swatting a fly. “Criminella was really the right name for you. Or Evil-hand Ella, that would be good, cos that’s all you do, scratching your hands.”

  I stood there, Evil-hand Ella… little bullets piercing me, moving in and in.

  No one had their phone with them in the classroom. I had to wait all day. I had to sit next to Molly, listen to her, eat my lunch with her, all the time with the truth burning … the picture I’d taken sent from phone to phone. In a hot panic I waited, watching Lydia, watching the others. Who had Lydia sent my photo to? And the worst thought: what if Molly saw it?

  We’d said we’d cycle home. She didn’t talk to anyone else.

  I had to keep her away from the others at the end of school.

  I called out to Molly that I’d find her by the bike shed and dashed to get my phone the minute Mr Hales let us out. When I got to the office, a crowd of milling parents and children were all busy by the window asking the secretary questions. The air was full of complaining and shouting. Little kids with scooters had come in. Infants were being collected. I stood in the queue for phones. Come on, come on! I wanted to shout. I asked for my phone, grabbed it.

  Giggles sounded around me. Sophie… Rachel… Immy. They had picked up their phones too, switched them on.

  I had to get out.

  Immy wandered right in front of me, staring at her phone. “Hey, Ella, have you seen this? Looks like a clown. Looks like a crazy grey clown with rats’ tails for hair.”

  I had to get away.

  I pushed against the crowd. Murmurs of irritation rose, a gap opened up.

  “I came to find you!” Molly, coming through the gap towards me.

  “Molly!”

  Immy dropped her phone and Molly bent to pick it up from between her feet. She looked at the screen. She stiffened, looked again, stared at me then slowly handed back Immy’s phone.

  Immy stared at Molly, then at me. Her mouth dropped open.

  Molly turned, pushed her way back to the doors. Disappeared.

  I cycled to Molly’s house.

  I tried her front door. No answer.

  I banged on her gate.

  “Please, Molly. You must let me explain. Please!”

  Molly’s voice, when it came, had a terrible cold calm about it. “Did you take that photo in my house?”

  “Molly, Lydia told me to do it.”

  “You sent it to her? Was it for a joke?” The fury in Molly’s voice was unmistakable. “Imagine if it was your mum. I’m trying to look after her and you’ve ruined everything. You don’t care – you’re just selfish. Now everyone will know and they’ll take her away. Or me. I should never have trusted you, Ella.”

  “But I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I sobbed.

  “Go away. I don’t want to know you,” Molly said. “You are a bad person. I wish I’d never met you.”

  Chapter 21

  All Kinds of Stubborn

  Dad,

  When I do a bad thing, sometimes I wish I could start again.

  I wish you were here, Dad. Why did you have to go away? Everything would be all right if you hadn’t gone away.

  I don’t think I’m a photographer any more. It was a stupid idea.

  Ella

  When Mum came to get me up for school next morning I told her I wasn’t well.

  Mum’s cool fingers rested on my forehead. She frowned. “You’re not hot,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just… quite ill,” I said. I closed my eyes and lay very still.

  The cool hand went. I peeped out.

  Mum had started picking up my trousers and socks. “Ella, I can’t take time off work; I’ve only just started. And Mrs Reynolds did lots of extra days over half-term.” She laid all my uniform on the end of my bed. “You’ll just have to go in and have a rest when you get home.” She pushed back her hair. “Look, love, I’m trying to look after you and Jack. You have to be grown-up sometimes even if you don’t feel great.” She was at the door. “How about a pizza at the weekend?”

  A big sob rolled inside me. “I wish we’d never come to this house,” I said.

  Mum turned. “There’s no point wishing things like that.” Her voice had a dangerous angry mum waiting in it. “Up you get, young lady!”

  None of Lydia’s group spoke to me at school. I didn’t care about them anyway. I didn’t care if I had to work with joking boys or with Bryony. Anyway, Bryony was the only girl who had no idea what was going on. The only important thing was that Molly was off school. When Mr Hales called her name out, there was a hush and someone said, “Maybe she’s tidying her room,” and my class laughed and I felt bad. Everyone must know about the inside of Molly’s house now. I sat by myself in the playground by the railings where Molly always sat sketching in her notebook.

  I went to art club and worked on my own. Lydia didn’t come. I kept thinking of the mountain maze and a lonely sad girl wandering through it, so worried about her mum that she didn’t dare leave her. Taking photos just made me think of the horrible picture I’d taken. What if one of the teachers saw my photo? Molly was right; I was a bad friend. I was a liar and a cheat. I remembered when they took Dad away – the quiet in our house and Jack waking in the night and clinging to me, asking if Mum would go away and leave us too.

  When I got home with Mrs Reynolds and Jack I felt glad to do homework and read and not think about the mess I’d made. Jack couldn’t wind me up. Each time he said something mean or when he took the last biscuit, I just said, “Go away. I don’t care what you do.” He even threw a duvet down the stairs and it landed on my head. I saw his face, full of glee. But I just rolled the duvet up and carried it back upstairs to the cupboard on the landing.

  “You’re no fun!” Jack wailed.

  Mrs Reynolds offered me an extra biscuit, saying, “You look like a wet weekend, sweetheart.” I felt the tears start in my eyes, sniffed and wiped my nose on the tissue she handed me.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked, laying her cool dry hand over mine. “Have you had an argument?”

  I sniffed and gulped. “Kind of,” I said.

  “Girls can be very unkind,” she said.

  My tears spilled out then. The unkind person was me.

  She patted my hand. “Now, now, it can’t be that bad.”

  “It is.” I gulped. “I did something so mean.” I couldn’t say any more words.

  “Then make it right. Apologise. Life’s too short to let these things roll on.” Mrs Reynolds’ face was full of concern. “Can I tell
you something? There’s all kinds of stubborn. If you know you are in the wrong, you should always say sorry. My husband could never bring himself to do it, bless him. If we had an argument, he’d let it run on for days. But it does no good.”

  “I’ve tried,” I said. “She won’t listen.”

  Mrs Reynolds smiled. I wished she wouldn’t smile. She didn’t understand how bad this was if she could smile like that.

  “Keep trying,” she said briskly. “Now how about peeling some carrots? I thought we’d make a casserole for your mum. She’s a wonder, all those hours she’s putting in at work.”

  I thought of the lists and the rules on the fridge and how Mum made me feel safe. I know she got cross and she didn’t have much time to spend with me and Jack, but I didn’t worry about her. I thought about Molly – she must feel as if life might go wrong every minute. She didn’t have a mum who wrote lists and sorted everything out.

  I had to try again to say sorry. I’d done a terrible thing. Mrs Reynolds was right. I had to make things better.

  Chapter 22

  In the Maze Again

  Dad,

  Why don’t you write to me?

  While Mrs Reynolds was shouting answers at the TV I let myself quietly out and went down the road to Molly’s. A faint light was still on in the upstairs window. The rest of the house was dark. I tried the back gate. Locked. I took the route over the fence, half climbing half falling over the top. I tried not to think of Molly’s furious face.

  I went inside and weaved my way through the piles, waving away webs, round furniture, not stopping this time, upstairs. I pushed the bedroom door open.

  Around the sofa, bottles, drinks, plates and cups lay scattered. A smell like curdled milk hung in the air.

  Molly was sitting beside her mum. She turned and her raggedy black hair fell over her eyes.