I catch Nadine’s eye from across the room and mime being sick. I
feel
sick when it’s Nadine’s turn. My own legs wobble as she strides out. My own mouth aches as she smiles bravely.
Nadine walks in a perfect circle, slowly, gracefully, with a little bouncy twirl as she steps into the spotlight. She smiles at the guy with the camera and he waves his fingers at her. She poses brilliantly, turning this way and that. All those hours staring at herself in her bedroom mirror have paid off at last. She seems entirely at her ease. She doesn’t blink when the camera flashes right in her face. She smiles at the lens. Then she reaches for the mike.
“Hello, I’m Nadine,” she says. “I’m nearly fourteen. It feels weird to be standing here looking so girly. I usually have a white face and black clothes. My best friend, Ellie, calls me a vampire. But it’s OK, I actually feel faint at the sight of blood.” She bares her teeth in a jokey way and everyone laughs and claps.
Fancy Nadine mentioning me! She’s so clever to say all that stuff so that people like her and remember her.
“Great, Nadine. Well done,” I whisper as she comes over to join me. I give her a hug. “Hey, you’re
shaking
.”
“It was so scary standing there with everyone staring,” she whispers. “I didn’t make a complete idiot of myself, did I?”
“No, you were great. Honestly. Heaps and heaps better than the others—even that awful Annabel.”
“Do you think I should have said I read
Spicy
magazine too?”
“No, it sounded far too sucky. What you said was brilliant. I can’t believe you could do it all so well. I couldn’t have acted like that in a million years.”
I couldn’t—even if I was as thin and striking as Nadine. She’s sitting cross-legged like a little girl, her neck bent so that her hair falls forward, the weeny plaits looking cute. Her jeans are almost baggy on her, she’s so skinny. Her tiny T-shirt is taut against her body. She doesn’t have even one little roll of fat, sitting hunched up like that. Her elbows stick out, delicately pointed, emphasizing the skinniness of her arms.
It’s so
unfair
. Nadine eats like a horse. On cue she fumbles in her jacket pocket and finds a Twix bar. She offers me a chocolate stick.
“I’m on a
diet
.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry,” she says, munching. “Yum. I’m starving—I was too het up to eat any breakfast.”
I didn’t have breakfast either. Or any supper last night. It’s easier to skip a meal altogether rather than discipline myself to nibble just a tiny amount. Once my mouth starts chomping I can’t stop it. I breathe in the rich chocolatey smell wistfully.
“Don’t look at me like that, Ellie. You make me feel bad,” says Nadine, gobbling the last little bit. “Still, you’ve done ever so well. I never thought you’d keep it up like this. You’ve lost quite a bit of weight now.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You
have
. Look at your tum!” Nadine reaches across and pats my tummy.
I try to suck it in, hating even Nadine to feel how huge it is.
“It’s all gone. Practically flat,” says Nadine.
“I wish,” I say sourly.
We sit through endless hours while each girl has her go. I stare at their stomachs, all much much flatter than mine. I cuddle into my check shirt and under cover of its enveloping material I pinch my waist viciously, wishing I could tear pieces off with my fingertips.
Some of the girls are so nervous they muck it up like Hayley. Some of the girls are so gorgeous they prance professionally like Annabel.
“Only three girls get chosen from each area,” Nadine whispers. “I haven’t got a chance.”
“Yes, you have! Wait and see. You’ll walk it. You’re heaps more attractive than any of the others.”
“Not that Annabel.”
“
Especially
that Annabel.”
But when they announce the winners Annabel is the first to be chosen. Then another blonde, an Annabel clone.
Nadine tenses beside me, praying to herself so hard I can almost see a please-please-please speech bubble above her head. I squeeze her hand. The third girl is announced. There’s one squeal of triumph—and dozens of sighs all round the room. It isn’t Nadine. It’s a redhead with long white limbs and big green eyes, a striking girl, but she can’t hold a candle to Nadine.
“It’s not
fair
!” I wail.
Nadine says nothing. She looks totally stunned.
“So—is that it?” she says. She swallows hard. She’s trying not to burst into tears.
Some girls are already crying, and another mother from hell is remonstrating with the bossy lady, demanding to know why her daughter wasn’t picked.
“All you girls did splendidly. You look model-girl marvelous,” says the bossy lady into the mike. “I just wish it were possible to pick you all. Thanks so much for taking part. Have a safe journey home—and please pick up a complimentary copy of
Spicy
magazine on your way out.”
It’s the last thing most of the girls want to look at now.
“Never mind, Nad. It’s obviously a total lottery. You still look terrific.”
Nadine shakes her head, her face contorted.
“I look idiotic,” she says, unraveling her cute plaits, tugging so hard it’s a wonder her hair doesn’t come out in handfuls. “Come on, let’s get out of here, Ellie.” She starts pushing her way through the crowd, her lips pressed tight together, a vein standing out on her pale forehead.
“Hey, hang on! You! The dark girl!”
Nadine whips round, sudden hope flashing across her face—but it’s just the photographer.
“Bad luck. I really thought you were in with a chance when I spotted you at that shopping center.”
Nadine shrugs bravely. “I just came along for a laugh,” she lies.
“I still think you’ve got a hell of a lot of potential. I don’t know what you’ve done with yourself today though. You don’t stand out from the others. I didn’t even recognize you at first. You should have stayed with the white face and the dramatic sweep of hair.”
“Oh!” says Nadine, stricken.
“Never mind. You could really make it as a model, you know. You should get yourself a decent portfolio. Look, here’s my card. Give me a buzz and I’ll take the photos for you at my studio. I’ll have to charge, of course, but as you’re a half-pint I’ll do you for half price.”
“Oh, right! Great!” Nadine burbles.
I seize her wrist and drag her away.
“Hang on, Ellie! Oh, wow! Look, he gave me his card. And he says he’ll photograph me for half price.”
“And probably half
clothed
. For God’s sake, Nadine, get real. It’s the oldest con trick in the world. That’s just such a seriously sleazy offer, can’t you see that?”
“No, it’s not. He’s
nice
. He says I’ve got real potential. He’s a professional photographer so he ought to know.”
“Yes, I bet he gave his card to half the girls here today.”
“Well, maybe you’re just being bitchy because he didn’t give his card to
you,
” Nadine snaps. “Fat chance of that!”
She stops. I stop. We both stand still in the street outside the studio. Nadine’s words buzz in the air, sharp as stings.
“Thanks,” I say weakly.
“Oh, Ellie. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
“Yes, you did,” I say. “Look, I came today when I didn’t want to, I tried to be ever so helpful and supportive, I’ve sat for hours and hours and hours watching all you lot, I’ve tried to stop you minding too much when you didn’t get chosen—and when that cheesy photographer hits on you I try to make you see this is a seriously dodgy proposition—because I’m your
friend,
Nadine. Not because I’m a fat jealous bitch. I’m sorry you feel that way.” I turn on my heel and march off. Nadine follows me, tucking her hand in my arm, telling me she’s really sorry.
“Of course you’re not a bitch, Ellie.
I’m
a bitch for saying it. Oh, come on, don’t go all moody on me. I’m the one who should be cast down with gloom because I didn’t get chosen.”
I let her carry on as long as possible, rather enjoying it. We pass lots of would-be model girls, all of them letting off steam. Several are quarreling just like us. One girl is being dragged along toward us by her mother.
“It’s not just that you’ve let
me
down so badly. You’ve let yourself down too,” the mother shrieks. “Now we’re going back to the studio and you’re going to ask them to give you another chance.”
Oh, God. It’s Hayley. Her mum’s managed to drag her all the way back—though it’s too late now.
“Never mind poor you and poor me. Poor Hayley,” I say.
“Poor poor Hayley,” says Nadine. “Ellie—are you still in a huff?”
“Sure, I’m as huffy as hell,” I say, putting my arm round her.
It’s a pain maintaining my self-righteous pose. I’m ready to make friends too. On the train going home we see a whole load of boys playing footie and we wonder if Magda’s Mick is one of them. We strain our eyes but don’t spot her blond head and fur jacket on the sidelines.
“I wonder where they’ll go after? Do you think he’ll take her out clubbing?” I ask.
“No, he’ll be too knackered after playing football. A meal, is my bet. Hey, shall
we
go out for a meal, Ellie? My treat, because you’ve been a real pal today.”
“Not a meal. My diet.”
“Oh, Ellie. Look, we could go for a pizza and you could just have a weeny slice and some salad.”
“
No,
Nadine.”
“You’re still mad at me.”
“No, I’m not. Though I don’t exactly relish being called a fat bitch.”
“I didn’t!
You
said that.”
“But you implied it.”
“No, I didn’t. Listen, if you don’t mind my saying so, Ellie, you’re getting positively paranoid.”
“So now I’m a paranoid fat bitch?” I say—but I’m laughing now, because even I can see I’m getting ridiculous.
I still bow out of the meal idea, even so. When I get home I tell Dad and Anna that I’ve eaten with Nadine. I don’t hang about downstairs. I go up to my bedroom and play music and do a huge crayon drawing—a mad landscape where the sun is a giant pizza, the mountain peaks are vast cherry-tipped iced buns, the forests are fairy cakes, the rivers are bubbly strawberry milk shakes, and the grass is studded with Smarties flowers.
I go to bed early and try to sleep late because it’s one way of avoiding eating times.
Anna comes into my room at ten o’clock.
“Magda’s on the phone for you, Ellie.”
Oh, God, what does she want at this time? I remember her big date with Mick. She probably wants to boast and give me a blow-by-blow account. I groan and get out of bed. The room suddenly spins.
“Ellie?” Anna’s by my side looking worried. “Are you all right?”
“Mmm. I just went a bit dizzy, that’s all. I’m OK now.”
“You don’t look OK. Are you feeling sick again?”
“A bit.”
Sick with hunger, hunger, hunger.
“Ellie . . .” Anna is staring at me, biting her lip.
“Look, I can’t keep Magda waiting,” I say, pushing past her.
I don’t want Anna fussing and finding out how little I’ve been eating. Just because she’s given up on her diet it doesn’t mean I’ve got to. And besides, Anna is skinny as anything anyway.
“Hi, Magda,” I say into the phone. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it? I was trying to have a lie-in.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t think. I just wanted to talk to you,” says Magda. She sounds unusually subdued.
“Mags? What’s up?”
“I don’t want to go into details just now,” says Magda. I can hear music in the background and family noises. “It’s pandemonium here. Can I come round to your place, Ellie?”
“Yeah, OK.”
“Like . . . now?”
“Fine.”
I have a quick shower and shove on some clothes. Anna’s made me tea and toast. She means to be helpful, but I’d much sooner coffee and then I can have it black and not waste calories on milk. And she’s buttered my toast for me, making big yellow puddles, absolutely oozing.
“Thanks, but I seem to have gone off tea,” I say, trying to be tactful. I gnaw delicately at the crust of my toast and then leap up thankfully when Magda rings the doorbell.
She looks awful. Her hair’s brushed straight back, she’s got no makeup on at all, and she’s wearing an old gray fleecy thing instead of her beautiful fur coat.
“Magda? Hey, come in.” I bundle her quickly upstairs to my room so she doesn’t get waylaid by Anna or Dad or Eggs. She doesn’t look in the mood for socializing.
She sits on the end of my unmade bed. My Patch hot water bottle tumbles out of my duvet. Magda sits it on her lap and strokes it absent mindedly, as if it were a real dog. She looks like a little girl again.
“Magda?”
She starts to say something, clears her throat, tries again, fails. She shakes her head impatiently.
“What’s the matter with me? I’m so desperate to tell you I get you out of bed specially—and yet now I’m here I can’t get started.” She seizes Patch by the ears. “It’s Mick.”
“Yes. I sort of gathered that.”
I wait. Magda waits too. If Patch was real he’d be squealing.
“Didn’t he turn up?” I prompt.
“Oh, yes. Well, I watched him play his football, didn’t I? Hours I stood there. It’s so cold and it’s so boring and I was dying for a wee but I hung on with my legs crossed and every time he came near the ball I shouted encouragement like a loony.”
“So? After?”
“He was ages getting changed, with all his mates. I just hung about. I nearly lost my temper and went home. I mean, I don’t
usually
lurk outside sweaty dressing rooms for hours. And they were singing utterly infantile songs, you know the sort. But anyway, I hung on in there, and at long last out he comes, still with all the mates. And he did look pretty fabulous, in this black leather jacket, and his hair all floppy and shining because he’d just washed it. It’s so unfair, how can such a creep look so drop-dead gorgeous?”
“He’s a creep?”
“The lowest of the low. Because . . . well, we wandered off to the park.”
“You and Mick?”
“And all the mates. I mean, I know most of them, Jamie’s OK, and I went out with Larry that time. They all seemed in a good mood, larking about, making a bit of a fuss of me, you know.”