Girls in Tears Read Online Free PDF Page B

doesn’t do any fancy stuff.
    There is also wine, and I get a glass! OK, not a very
big
glass, but it’s lovely to be given it all the same. It’s such a grown-up meal. Our meals at home aren’t a bit like this, mostly because Eggs is always yelling with his mouth full and slurping his orange juice and waving his knife and fork around and spilling stuff all over the place. We don’t really talk properly at mealtimes, not to discuss stuff. Brian and Russell have this long involved conversation about politics, for God’s sake. I get a bit anxious. I feel I should have my say too, but if I’m totally honest I have to admit I don’t know a thing about politics. I mean, I’m into saving the environment and whales and whatever and obviously I want world peace and respect for everyone regardless of race, religion or sex, but I’m well aware that my political thoughts are as woolly as one of Anna’s sweaters.
    Cynthia talks about equal rights for women and their changing role in the modern world. She asks me what I want to do when I leave school. I say I want to go to art school just like Russell. I quickly see this is a
big
mistake. Brian goes on about this being a complete waste of time and why should anyone spend three or four years daubing paint about and what on earth did that qualify you to do? You’d just end up teaching art yourself.
    “Ellie’s dad teaches at the college,” Russell says sharply.
    Brian looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I wish I hadn’t said all that now.”
    “It’s OK. That’s exactly what my dad says too,” I say.
    “What about your mum?”
    I swallow. “Well, my real mum died ages ago. She actually met my dad at art school. So did Anna. She’s my stepmum. She
isn’t
a teacher. She designs sweaters for children. She started off designing just for this magazine but she’s diversifying now, doing all sorts of stuff for other people— woolly toys, adult knitwear, whatever.”
    “Where does she sell her knitting? Craft fairs?” Brian asked.
    “Oh no, she sells through shops. Special children’s shops mostly. There was an article about her in last week’s
Guardian,
and one of her sweaters was in a feature on children’s fashion in
Harper’s,
” I tell them, slightly resenting the craft fair remark.
    Cynthia gets very excited and runs and finds her last month’s
Harper’s,
flicking through until she discovers Anna’s little deck chair sweater with all these baby bunnies sunbathing and eating carrots like ice cream cones.
    “I love it! It’s so cute! And she’s now doing an adult range? I’d like one for me for holidays.”
    Even Brian seems impressed that Anna’s designs are in the papers and glossy magazines. I suppose it
is
impressive. Anna’s become successful so quickly. You’d think Dad would be more thrilled. I suppose it’s a bit unsettling for him.
He’s
always been the professional—he used to teach Anna, for goodness’ sake. And yet he’s stayed a teacher, whereas Anna is a real designer. . . . Is that why he’s being so grumpy with her nowadays? Is Dad simply
jealous
?

when things go wrong at home
    It’s very late when Brian drives me back home. I’m a bit scared that Dad will be furious because it’s a school night. I take a deep breath when I let myself in. I wait for Dad to come pounding out into the hall, shouting at me. Nothing happens. I find Anna sitting all by herself in the living room. She’s not sketching or doing little cross-stitch calculations or knitting up samples. She’s not reading or listening to music. The television isn’t on. She’s just sitting, staring into space.
    “Anna?”
    She blinks at me as if she can hardly see me. “Hello, Ellie,” she says in a tiny voice.
    “Anna, what is it? What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. I’m fine. Well, did you have a good time round at Russell’s?”
    Normally I’d want to launch into a long girly discussion about Russell and his flat and Russell and his stepmother and