let your boyfriend do . . .’ Ooh! ‘And if he complains that his tackle . . .’ What’s his
tackle
? Like in
fishing rod
?”
We both get a fit of the giggles.
“No, you nutcase. It’s his . . .
you
know.”
Oh. Yes. Even
I
can work it out now. I carry on reading the letter. “So does your Liam get all narked with you like the guy in the letter?”
“He did yesterday. He said he’d been ever so patient. And didn’t I love him enough. And I said I loved him desperately but I still didn’t feel ready, right? And he said if I wasn’t ready now I never would be, and what was the matter with me, didn’t I want our relationship to develop.” Nadine’s not giggling now, she’s nearly in tears.
“Oh, Nad. He’s acting like a right . . .
tackle
!” I hope she’ll laugh, but a tear drips down her cheek.
“No, I can understand, Ellie. I mean, it’s so frustrating for him—”
“That’s
rubbish
! Look, you don’t have to do anything with him. You’re only thirteen, for goodness’ sake. It’s against the
law
.”
“Yes, but nobody takes any notice of that. And all his other girlfriends have always done it, no bother.”
“There you are! You don’t want to be one of a whole long
line
of stupid girls. Honestly, Nadine, where’s your
brain
?”
“I have often been tempted to ask that question myself,” says Mrs. Henderson, walking through the door.
Nadine shoves her mag under her desk and bends her head so that her hair hides her tearstained face.
Mrs. Henderson approaches. She’s actually looking
concerned
. “What’s up, mmm?” she says, in a different sort of voice altogether. “I know you girls think I come from another planet—but maybe I can still help. What’s the problem?”
Nadine fidgets behind her hair. I look down at my lap.
“Nadine?” says Mrs. Henderson. “Are you upset about a boyfriend, is that it?”
I suppose it’s a reasonably obvious guess, with Nadine’s neck still purple.
Nadine keeps quiet.
“It does help to talk things over, you know,” says Mrs. Henderson. “And no problem is unique. I’m sure I’ve had similar problems myself.”
I immediately get this amazing image in my head of Mrs. Henderson doing this particular thing to Mr. Henderson. I have to bite the sides of my cheeks to stop myself shrieking with laughter. Nadine’s shoulders shake. She’s obviously got the same mental image. Thank God Mrs. Henderson doesn’t twig the trouble.
“Don’t cry, Nadine,” she says gently.
Nadine gives a little gasp.
Mrs. Henderson interprets it as a sob. “Oh, come on, now. Well, I can’t force you to confide in me. But don’t forget, I’m always here. Now. How far have you got with your lines?”
Nadine hands her page over, her head still bent.
“ ‘I must not be insolant.’ One hundred times. Oh, dear, I really ought to give you another hundred: ‘I must learn to spell.’
In-so-lent,
Nadine. But never mind. Off you go now. And you too, Eleanor.”
I hand in my own page, hoping she won’t count the lines as I’m still only at seventy-something. She scans them quickly, raises an eyebrow, but waves me away.
Nadine and I hold our breath till we’re safely down the corridor, and then we let out great
whoops
of laughter. At least it cheers Nadine up for a bit. But she still can’t seem to see any kind of sense at all.
The next day I have a private word with Magda.
“She’s totally mental,” says Magda.
“I know. But there’s no way I can get through to her,” I say.
“I’ll have a go,” says Magda.
“Well. Do be ever so tactful. And don’t let out that
I
said anything, eh?” I say, but Magda isn’t listening to me.
“Nadine! Come over here! Ellie says you’re going to do it with Liam, you silly cow.”
Practically every girl in the playground looks up and gawps.
“Magda! You and your big mouth!” I say.
“I think it’s you and
your
big mouth, Ellie,” says Nadine. “Thanks a bunch.”
“Hey, don’t be
tackle
? Like in
fishing rod
?”
We both get a fit of the giggles.
“No, you nutcase. It’s his . . .
you
know.”
Oh. Yes. Even
I
can work it out now. I carry on reading the letter. “So does your Liam get all narked with you like the guy in the letter?”
“He did yesterday. He said he’d been ever so patient. And didn’t I love him enough. And I said I loved him desperately but I still didn’t feel ready, right? And he said if I wasn’t ready now I never would be, and what was the matter with me, didn’t I want our relationship to develop.” Nadine’s not giggling now, she’s nearly in tears.
“Oh, Nad. He’s acting like a right . . .
tackle
!” I hope she’ll laugh, but a tear drips down her cheek.
“No, I can understand, Ellie. I mean, it’s so frustrating for him—”
“That’s
rubbish
! Look, you don’t have to do anything with him. You’re only thirteen, for goodness’ sake. It’s against the
law
.”
“Yes, but nobody takes any notice of that. And all his other girlfriends have always done it, no bother.”
“There you are! You don’t want to be one of a whole long
line
of stupid girls. Honestly, Nadine, where’s your
brain
?”
“I have often been tempted to ask that question myself,” says Mrs. Henderson, walking through the door.
Nadine shoves her mag under her desk and bends her head so that her hair hides her tearstained face.
Mrs. Henderson approaches. She’s actually looking
concerned
. “What’s up, mmm?” she says, in a different sort of voice altogether. “I know you girls think I come from another planet—but maybe I can still help. What’s the problem?”
Nadine fidgets behind her hair. I look down at my lap.
“Nadine?” says Mrs. Henderson. “Are you upset about a boyfriend, is that it?”
I suppose it’s a reasonably obvious guess, with Nadine’s neck still purple.
Nadine keeps quiet.
“It does help to talk things over, you know,” says Mrs. Henderson. “And no problem is unique. I’m sure I’ve had similar problems myself.”
I immediately get this amazing image in my head of Mrs. Henderson doing this particular thing to Mr. Henderson. I have to bite the sides of my cheeks to stop myself shrieking with laughter. Nadine’s shoulders shake. She’s obviously got the same mental image. Thank God Mrs. Henderson doesn’t twig the trouble.
“Don’t cry, Nadine,” she says gently.
Nadine gives a little gasp.
Mrs. Henderson interprets it as a sob. “Oh, come on, now. Well, I can’t force you to confide in me. But don’t forget, I’m always here. Now. How far have you got with your lines?”
Nadine hands her page over, her head still bent.
“ ‘I must not be insolant.’ One hundred times. Oh, dear, I really ought to give you another hundred: ‘I must learn to spell.’
In-so-lent,
Nadine. But never mind. Off you go now. And you too, Eleanor.”
I hand in my own page, hoping she won’t count the lines as I’m still only at seventy-something. She scans them quickly, raises an eyebrow, but waves me away.
Nadine and I hold our breath till we’re safely down the corridor, and then we let out great
whoops
of laughter. At least it cheers Nadine up for a bit. But she still can’t seem to see any kind of sense at all.
The next day I have a private word with Magda.
“She’s totally mental,” says Magda.
“I know. But there’s no way I can get through to her,” I say.
“I’ll have a go,” says Magda.
“Well. Do be ever so tactful. And don’t let out that
I
said anything, eh?” I say, but Magda isn’t listening to me.
“Nadine! Come over here! Ellie says you’re going to do it with Liam, you silly cow.”
Practically every girl in the playground looks up and gawps.
“Magda! You and your big mouth!” I say.
“I think it’s you and
your
big mouth, Ellie,” says Nadine. “Thanks a bunch.”
“Hey, don’t be
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