I worried about not having the right clothes, I worried that I was still so shy with Daniel, and I worried that it might take me a while to get the hang of the game. But I ran to the Bertrams’ house joyfully at one thirty, wanting to be there in plenty of time.
I had to knock at their front door several times. I could see both Bertram cars so I knew they weren’t out. Little Richard came to the door at last. He gave a cheerful cry when he saw me.
‘Laura! Whoopee! I can do proper wheelies on my skates now,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’ll show you in a bit. We’re all in the garden just now.’
They were sitting on benches either side of a long table in their back garden, still having their lunch. It wasn’t just the Bertram family. Patsy was there too, with her mother and father and an older sister, Lizzie. Patsy was pretty in a vacant doll-type way. Lizzie was dazzling, in a kittenish kind of way, like Brigitte Bardot. She was sitting next to Daniel.
‘Hey, what are you doing here, Laura?’ said Nina.
‘This is a lovely surprise,’ said Nina’s mother, politely inserting the kind adjective in front of surprise.
Daniel hadn’t told them about our tennis date! He was looking surprised too, as if he’d forgotten all about it!
‘I’m sorry, I thought … but I must have got it wrong,’ I mumbled, blushing. ‘I’ll go now.’
Nina was staring at my white sleeveless blouse and shorts. ‘Hey, you’ve come to play tennis!’ she said.
‘Oh yes, tennis!’ said Daniel, smacking his temple with the palm of his hand. ‘I told you to come round, didn’t I? Come and sit down for ten minutes, and then I’ll take you up to the club. You’ll lend Laura a racquet, won’t you, Nina?’
‘Sure,’ said Nina. ‘Budge up then, Patsy, make room for her.’
‘There’s plenty of salad left. And fruit tart. Help yourself, Laura,’ said Dr Bertram (female), pouring me a glass of lemonade.
There was enough food to feed the whole street: big blue bowls of different salads, chicken and ham and egg mayonnaise, crunchy bread, and two different fruit tarts, raspberry and apple, with a jug of thick cream. I’d had half a Spam sandwich before I left home because I was too excited to eat.
‘Thank you, but I’m absolutely full,’ I lied.
‘Isn’t it wonderful that this heavenly weather is lasting,’ said Patsy’s mother. She looked rather like a film star too, but her face was harder, and she wore too much make-up, though it was expertly applied. ‘Don’t you just love lunching al fresco?’
She seemed to be talking to me. I presumed she was asking if I liked eating outdoors. I imagined Mum and Dad carting our table and chairs out the back door and the three of us sitting in the small square of back garden underneath the washing line, eating Spam and pickled beetroot. I gave her a wan smile.
‘So, are you one of Patsy and Nina’s friends, dear?’ she persisted.
I wouldn’t be Patsy’s friend in a million years but I could hardly say so to her mother. I ducked my head and shrugged a little.
‘She’s very shy!’ she whispered to Patsy, which made me want to grind my teeth. I hated sitting there, a total interloper, but I waited it out, telling myself that soon Daniel and I would be at the tennis club and it would all start to be just as I imagined.
But it didn’t work out like that. They all came to play tennis: Nina and Patsy and Lizzie.
Nina quickly got changed and found me her old racquet. It looked brand new to me. Daniel got changed too. He looked marvellous in his tennis whites. Then we stopped at Patsy’s house so that the sisters could change too. Their house was even grander than the Bertrams’ but I didn’t like it as much. It was too big, too shiny, with silly white pillars that didn’t look real.
Nina and Daniel and I waited outside. They were gone a long time.
‘Hurry up, girls!’ said Daniel, looking at his watch. ‘We won’t get a court at this rate.’
‘If there are five of us we’ll need two courts,’ said Nina pointedly. ‘I don’t see why Lizzie has to trail along too.’
I felt a flood of relief that she didn’t like her much either.
‘Oh, come on, she’s good fun,’ said Daniel.
He might just as well have poked me in the stomach with his own tennis racquet. ‘Look, I can’t even play yet. I could just go home,’ I mumbled.
‘Don’t be daft, Laura! You’re the reason we’re going,’ said Daniel, putting his arm round me. It was the first time he’d ever touched me – but it was just a kind gesture, almost paternal. ‘I’m going to make you a great player, just you wait and see,’ he said.
We could only get one of the courts, the furthest away from the club house. At least I didn’t have too many spectators. Daniel showed me how to grip the racquet and how to do a forehand and backhand at the side of the court while Nina and Patsy and Lizzie had a few random rallies, taking it in turns to play. I tried a few practice strokes but they were mostly mis-hits.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it in no time. Just relax a bit,’ said Daniel. ‘Let’s have a proper game. I think you’ll get into it then.’
He cleared the three girls off the court. They sat beside it, watching me. It made me ten times worse. It wasn’t a proper game about winning points. The aim was for me simply to return the wretched ball over the net. Daniel lobbed the softest of balls directly at my racquet but I was so flustered I could rarely hit them back. I missed the ball altogether several times and swiped wildly at thin air. Patsy burst out laughing. Nina tried not to, but I could see her sniggering.
‘Stop it, you two. It’s not fair. We’ve all been playing for yonks,’ said Lizzie, and Daniel flashed her a grateful look.
I struggled for another five minutes, clenching my teeth. I seemed to be getting worse if that were possible.
‘I think you need a little rest. You’ve been working really hard,’ said Daniel.
So I came off the court and sat down, and the four of them played a set, Daniel and Lizzie against Nina and Patsy. Daniel and Lizzie won, inevitably. I watched them, all four so fast and graceful. They made it look easy.
Daniel beckoned me up on the court again for me to have another practice, and for a few seconds I thought I could suddenly play properly. I actually hit the ball in the middle of the racquet and sent it smoothly back over the net. But then I missed the next ball and I stumbled when I was running backwards and ended up falling on my bottom. It hurt so much I had to fight not to burst into tears.
Daniel jumped across the net and ran to pick me up. ‘Are you OK? Never mind! Happens to all of us,’ he said, and his kindness made me want to cry even more. ‘You haven’t done too badly for a first time,’ he added. ‘Nina was absolutely hopeless for ages. But you’ll get much better, I promise. We’ll have to have another practice session some day.’
He didn’t set an actual date. We both knew there wasn’t going to be one.
I trailed back home. Mum and Dad were both at work so I was free to fling myself on the bed and cry, but somehow I was past tears now. I just lay there, burning with humiliation.
Things weren’t the same after that awful tennis day. I was still supposedly Nina’s friend, but not really her best friend now. Patsy was back in favour. We went around in a trio at school and sat at the same table at lunch and sometimes even strolled round the playground arm in arm but I didn’t go home with Nina any more, and I didn’t see her at the weekends. My pride made me pretend to Mum and Dad that I saw her all the time, and I even trailed round the town by myself one very long Saturday, having just one frothy coffee at the Black and White Milk Bar. The young waitress asked me where my friends were.
‘Oh, I’m meeting them later on,’ I said brightly, but I’m not sure she believed me.
I still had one proper friend left and that was Moira. I walked to school with her, I walked back from school with her too, and when I had any spare pocket money I bought us both cakes from Mrs Bun’s. We went back to Lily Cottage to eat them, and then Moira stayed on for an hour or so before reluctantly sloping off home.
‘It’s so lovely here,’ she said, whispering in awe as if she were going round a beautiful cathedral. ‘It’s so clean and tidy and quiet!’
She particularly liked my bedroom, with its pink eiderdown and furry rug, and the white neatly stacked bookshelf, old Girl comics and annuals on the biggest bottom shelf, hardbacks on the middle one, and paperbacks squeezed together at the top. She especially liked Rosebud, my baby doll.
I wondered if Moira was still young enough to play with dolls so I said she could take her down from the windowsill if she wanted. Moira picked her up reverently and sat rigidly on the edge of my bed, Rosebud in her arms. ‘There now,’ she said, rocking the doll gently. ‘Good baby!’
She said it with a little grin at me to show she wasn’t seriously playing, just going through the motions.
‘I suppose you’re probably fed up with babies because you’ve got so many little brothers and sisters,’ I said.
‘You’ve got it,’ said Moira. ‘This is the sort of baby I like. She don’t cry, she don’t throw up, she don’t wet herself, and she’s got pretty clothes.’
‘Did you ever have a baby doll?’ I asked her.
Moira looked at me with one eyebrow raised. ‘I had some paper dolls once, cut out from a book, but my brothers tore them up for a laugh.’ She laughed bitterly.
‘Tell you what, you can have this doll if you like,’ I said on impulse. Rosebud had always been my favourite doll and I’d thought I’d want to keep her for ever, but now she was starting to unnerve me, sitting staring at me every morning when I woke up.
‘Are you joking?’ Moira asked, astonished.
‘No, truly, you have her,’ I said. ‘Her name’s Rosebud but you can call her whatever you like.’
‘I’ll still call her that, it’s really pretty,’ said Moira. ‘But can I keep her here, in your bedroom? To keep her safe?’
‘It’s OK, your brothers can’t tear her up because she’s plastic,’ I said.
‘Don’t matter. They’ll scribble all over her with biro and tear her clothes and pull her pants off so they can see her bottom,’ Moira said wearily. ‘Please let me keep her here, Laura!’
‘OK. You can come and visit her every day,’ I said.
‘Promise? Apart from any time when your friend’s here,’ Moira said.
I nodded, touched that Moira was being so tactful, though we both knew Nina was very unlikely to come round now. Moira herself had actually made quite a few friends. The first years had started playing a new form of tag that was mostly dashing about and screaming. Moira always seemed in the thick of it, often thumped on the back and congratulated. At the end of school several kids pleaded with her to come home with them to do their homework together or watch television or simply have a laugh, but Moira always preferred to come home with me.
She sometimes stayed until Mum came home. Mum was quite nice to her and always gave her a sandwich or a big slice of cake because Moira looked half-starved and maybe really didn’t get enough to eat.
‘You have a plateful of that, dear,’ Mum would say, smiling at her, but she was much sharper behind her back.
‘Why on earth have you palled up with that poor mite?’ she asked. ‘I daresay she’s a sweet little thing but she’s a Flannagan, for goodness’ sake. She says her pleases and thank yous, I’ll grant her that, but her accent! She’s so common, though I know she can’t help it. And she doesn’t look too clean to me. Don’t you get too close to her, Laura, or you might catch something.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ I moaned. ‘There’s no pleasing you. You didn’t like me going round with Nina because the Bertrams are posh. And now you don’t like me having Moira for a friend because she’s not posh enough.’
‘She’s just not suitable, that’s all. She’s only a little girl. Why don’t you get a nice friend your own age?’ said Mum.
Nina and Patsy and all the so-called nice girls my own age chatted constantly about boys and how far you should go when you were with them, and I hated that sort of talk now. It was a great comfort to play dolls with Moira and read my old Girl comics and do colouring together. When Moira went home I studied hard, spending ages on my homework, filling my mind with maths and English language and history and science. I hated French though.
English literature was still my favourite subject. We’d started to read Pride and Prejudice which seemed a bit weird and stilted at first, but once I’d got used to the language I started to love it. I wished I lived back in Regency times when there were strict rules of decorum – though Lydia’s behaviour was disconcerting. We were only set a couple of chapters at a time for homework but I read on right to the end of the book, needing to know what happened to Lydia. She didn’t end up disgraced or dying. She married, even though she was only a year or so older than me, and presumably lived happily ever after.
My English teacher was very pleased with my Pride and Prejudice essays and gave me a higher mark than Nina now. I sometimes beat her at the other subjects too. Nina rolled her eyes and pretended not to care. She was heaps better than me at French though, and she was still team captain at netball. She always chose me first to be in her team, because I rarely missed a goal.
‘How can she be quite good at netball when she’s so hopeless at tennis,’ Patsy said spitefully.
Nina and Patsy played tennis together every weekend while it was still warm enough. I gathered that Daniel and Lizzie played too. It sounded as if they were going out together now. There was no invitation for me to have any more tennis instruction from Daniel, but that was actually a relief. I’d made such a fool of myself that I didn’t want to see him ever again, though at night I sometimes pretended he was my own Daniel and we were holding hands as we walked up Blackwood Hill.
We had an inter-schools netball tournament at the end of term and Nina and I were both in the junior team. The grammar school nearly always won these tournaments, simply because we had proper netball courts and a keen PE mistress who made us stay behind for practice twice a week. But this year the secondary modern the other side of town happened to have a junior team of big burly girls who pushed and shoved and snatched the ball, intimidating everyone, even the referee. It looked as if we might actually lose and bring shame on the school. I didn’t really care. I didn’t seem to share the same team spirit. I didn’t join in the singing of the silly choruses and all the ‘ra-ra-ra’ nonsenses before and after each match. I played in a rather cowardly way in the tournament, scared of the girls competing with me. Some of them had been at my own primary school and now called me Snooty-pants and Posh-nob.
I veered away from them when they tried to barge into me. Someone desperately threw the ball towards me right at the end of the match when we were five goals each, and I flung it towards the goalpost automatically, barely taking aim. The ball wobbled at the rim for a second and then incredibly fell through the net. The whistle went for the end of the game. We’d won!
My team were all over me, cheering and slapping me on the back, hoisting me up and running round the court with me. Nina had actually scored three of the earlier goals, one more than me, but she was ignored now. The girls even tried to make me do a lap of honour in the dreaded communal showers. I nearly always lurked in the lavatory until everyone else had showered, and then got dressed under a big towel, hating anyone staring at me – but it was impossible now.
I blushed like an idiot and by the time I was towelling myself dry I was bright red all over. I glanced anxiously at Nina who was already dressed and brushing her hair.
‘Such a fuss,’ I murmured to her. ‘And you played much better than I did.’
Nina shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. ‘But you got the winning goal. Well done, Tubs,’ she said lightly.
I missed a beat. Then, ‘Tubs?’
‘Hey, it was meant affectionately. Admiringly, in fact. Look at your boobies! They’re getting bigger than mine. Shame about your little pot belly though. You’ve been eating too many cream doughnuts, girl,’ she said.
I pulled my clothes on, desperate to hide my body. ‘Don’t you dare call me Tubs again!’ I said.
‘OK, OK. I promise I won’t, little dumpling.’
‘You’re not funny,’ I said, trying not to burst out crying.
‘Hey, don’t get upset! I was only joking,’ said Nina, surprised.
‘Yes, well, I’m sick of your so-called joking,’ I said. ‘You’re just being spiteful because I got all the praise for that last goal. You can’t stand it if anyone else gets any attention.’
‘True enough,’ said Nina, surprisingly.
‘So why don’t you just shove off and leave me to get dressed? Little friend Pat-a-cake will be hanging around outside somewhere to make a fuss of you,’ I said, struggling into my underwear.
‘Oooh, now who’s being spiteful!’ said Nina, getting up off the bench. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting so fussed. I’d have thought you’d be thrilled to be getting a proper figure at last after being a stick insect all your life. You’ll get all the boys wolf-whistling.’
‘I don’t want any stupid boys whistling at me, unlike some people,’ I snapped, thrusting my arms into my school blouse and doing up my buttons so hurriedly I managed to pull one right off.
‘See, you’re even busting out your blouse!’ said Nina, laughing.
I shoved her furiously, but she caught me by the wrist.
‘Hey, you! Don’t let’s fight,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, sorry, sorry! You know me, I just can’t help it. Let’s be friends again, please!’
‘I don’t want to be friends any more,’ I said.
Nina let my arm go. She shrugged. Her face darkened. ‘OK,’ she said calmly. ‘But you’ll regret it.’
I suppose I did regret it over Christmas. She didn’t get in touch once. She didn’t send me a present or even a card. I’d saved my pocket money and bought her a diary with a blue leather cover and its own little silver pencil, but I decided to keep it for myself. I’d even bought Patsy a small present, just a cheap biro. I kept that too.
I gave Moira a tiny baby doll from Woolworths. It was no bigger than my thumb, but it had a smiley face and a little outfit, a pink gingham dress with matching knickers.
‘You can keep her in your pocket all the time so your brothers can’t get at her,’ I said.
‘She’s truly lovely!’ said Moira, her pale face flushing. ‘Can I call her Laura after you?’
‘If you like,’ I said, touched.
‘I haven’t got a present for you, though I wish I had, but I’ve made you a card,’ said Moira, offering it.
She must have made it at school, using their thin card and crayons. It was a picture of two girls in uniform, one big, one small. They were looking up in the sky and there was Father Christmas overhead in his sleigh pulled by a little herd of reindeers. Father Christmas was throwing parcels at us, smiling broadly. It was all very carefully coloured in.
‘Oh, Moira, it’s fantastic!’ I said, peering at every detail. ‘It must have taken you ages.’
‘I liked doing it. I didn’t colour the pavement because it’s meant to be snowy,’ said Moira.
‘I can see that. It’s perfect. Thank you so much, Moira!’
We grinned at each other. I didn’t dare ask her after the 25th if Father Christmas had paid her a visit. From the little I knew of Moira’s home life it was likely he hadn’t given it a thought.
Mum and Dad gave me books: new ones from W.H. Smith’s – a story about a ballet dancer, another about three girls and their ponies, and the third was Odhams Pictorial Children’s Encyclopaedia. They were very wholesome choices, and rather dull, though there was a picture of an island in the encyclopaedia that fascinated me. It was brightly coloured with yellow sand and green palm trees and a turquoise lagoon. I moved my finger across the sand and up and down a tree and made it dive into the water.
I hoped Aunt Susannah would send me a book too, maybe another selection of Katherine Mansfield’s short stories. But the parcel from Wales was too big and flat and light for it to be reading matter.
Mum looked at it suspiciously. ‘What’s she sent you now?’ she said.
I ripped the wrapping paper off and found two garments: a baggy black polo-necked sweater and tight black trews. I seized them with joy.
‘Black?’ said Mum. ‘What’s she thinking of? You’re far too young to wear black! And these are awful – you’ll look like a Beatnik!’
I desperately wanted to look like a Beatnik and have cool clothes and read strange books and dig jazz. Aunt Susannah was so clever!
‘I’m not having you wearing awful clothes like that!’ said Mum. ‘I’ve a good mind to stick them straight in the bin.’
‘You can’t! They’re mine,’ I said, and I rushed to my bedroom to try them on. I pulled off my tartan pinafore and white frilly blouse. The black sweater looked marvellous.
‘Cool cat!’ I whispered to my reflection in the mirror.
I stepped into the trews. They clung to my legs in an amazing way, emphasizing the curves. But when I hitched them right up and tried to do up the zip I was stuck. They were far too small. I had grown far too big. I put my hand on my tummy and tried to pull them up higher – then I felt something squirmy inside me. A sort of movement!
I felt sick. I sang songs inside my head but I couldn’t distract myself this time. I thought of the island in my new encyclopaedia, imagining I was there walking across the sand towards the beautiful blue lagoon, a light breeze cooling my hot face, but that didn’t work either. I stayed in my bedroom, staring at myself in horror, the trews stuck on my hips, looking ridiculous.
I pulled them off again, took the sweater off too, and stuck them at the back of my wardrobe. Mum and Dad looked surprised when I came back into the living room in my pinafore.
‘What did they look like then?’ Dad asked.
‘I looked a bit weird in them,’ I said quickly.
Mum nodded smugly, and no one mentioned them again.