Girls in Tears Read Online Free PDF

way
all
happy elephants look,” says Russell. He taps me gently on the nose. “Don’t go all huffy, Ellie. You don’t have the copyright on all cartoon elephants.”
    He tries to kiss me and I eventually respond, but nowhere near as enthusiastically as before. I feel as if he’s stolen my Ellie Elephant from me. She’s
mine
. I feel like a toddler and someone’s snatched my favorite cuddly toy. I know I’m being childish but I feel like bursting into tears. It seems so sneaky of him to have kept quiet about this competition. We could have worked on it together. But I don’t want to do that now. I’m going to go in for the competition myself. And I’m not conferring with Russell. I’m not even going to tell him.
    Russell tries to get me to lie down with him on his dark brown bed but the mood has gone. It’s his turn to go a bit huffy. Still, he quite likes it when I have a good peer at all the books on his shelves. He’s got lots of art books, well-thumbed Harry Potters and Philip Pullmans, all the Discworlds,
The Lord of the Rings,
several Stephen Kings, some Irvine Welsh and Will Self but also old tattered Thomas the Tank Engines. When I have a little nose in his cupboard I find several tattered teddies and a tiny army of toy soldiers in the woolly dungeon of his sweater drawer.
    We’re actually in the middle of a complicated war game, with the toy soldiers spread out all over the carpet, when Cynthia gets in from work. I think she’s
lovely
—very glamorous even though she’s getting on a bit, with red hair and a smart cream suit and a lot of gold jewelry. She tries
so
hard, fixing us proper coffee and special American brownies, asking all sorts of questions, trying to keep the conversation going. I do my best but Russell barely bothers to grunt his replies.
    I wonder if I was as bad as this when Anna first came to live with Dad. Maybe I was
worse
. It must have been hell for Anna, especially when she was only a student herself. I’m going to try harder to help her. She’s working too hard with her knitwear designs and Dad’s being the typically unreconstructed male, grumbling and groaning and acting up worse than Eggs.
    So I’m chatty with Cynthia and help her start preparing the supper. Russell acts annoyed, wanting me to play around on his computer with him. He says he’ll teach me how to do all these fancy graphics. He always wants to
teach
me stuff. If he knows it all, why does he steal
my
Ellie Elephant?
    No, that’s mean. As if it really matters anyway. All that matters is that I love Russell and he loves me. When Russell calls from the living room for the third time I get up to go to him, though I raise my eyebrows at Cynthia.
    “I’d better go and see what he’s on about,” I say apologetically.
    “I know,” she says, smiling wryly. “They snap their fingers and we’re silly enough to jump.”
    Still, when Russell’s dad gets home it’s obvious who’s in charge in their relationship. Cynthia’s all sweet girly charm and acts like she’ll do whatever he says, but somehow she gets
her
choice of wine,
her
favorite program on the television, and
he’s
the one who takes over the cooking of the meal.
    I’m fascinated. I wonder if Russell is going to end up like his dad. They certainly
look
like each other. Brian, Russell’s dad, has got the same fair floppy hair, the same direct gaze, the same stance, the same walk—he’s just a bit more lined and jowly and a stone or two heavier.
    Brian calls me into the kitchen, asking me all sorts of stuff, laughing and joking, almost flirting with me, which feels a bit weird. Russell isn’t very happy about this either and comes out to get me. Brian takes his time with the meal, but it’s marvelous when it’s eventually served. We start with fresh figs and Parma ham, then there’s a big pasta dish with all sorts of seafood, and then a proper crème brûlée pudding. My dad can cook but his specialty is your basic spag bol. He certainly