The Betrayal by Laura Elliot Page A

should have faced her but, somehow, talking to her reflection felt less embarrassing. ‘It’s far too big for me and I hate the colours.’
    Her lips puckered. I thought she was going to laugh again but, instead, she said, ‘I hate them too. I’ll look so disgustingly fat in this skirt.’
    ‘No, you won’t.’ I turned around and spoke directly to her. ‘It’ll look lovely on you.’
    ‘Tell me what you think.’ Before I could move, she wriggled out of her t-shirt and jeans. She was wearing a bra, a flimsy white piece of lace that pushed two swelling buds upwards and outwards. Mine barely existed. It seemed unfair that someone so small should have such beautiful breasts. She buttoned the blouse and fastened the skirt. The hem of her skirt rested neatly on her knees and the cream blouse enhanced the colour of her skin.
    ‘It’s dire on both of us,’ she said, almost apologetically. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to get used to looking awful.’
    ‘No, it looks really nice on you.’ I felt no envy towards her as we stood together and observed our reflections.
    ‘Are you nervous about starting in St Agatha’s?’ she asked.
    ‘Sort of,’ I admitted. ‘I know some of the girls from primary so that will help.’
    ‘I won’t know anyone,’ she said. ‘I hope we’re in the same stream. My name’s Karin Moylan. What’s yours?’
    ‘Nadine Keogh.’
    ‘Do you think we’ll be bullied?’ she asked.
    The same fears had been running through my own mind. I’d heard of wedgies and heads being pushed down toilets but that seemed like boy torture. With girls it was different. I imagined being excluded from groups, whispered about, picked on, the victim of vicious lies.
    ‘Why should you be bullied?’ I couldn’t imagine such treatment being meted out to her.
    ‘People will pick on me because I’m small.’ She looked up at me, her eyes filled with dread. ‘I can’t sleep thinking about it. But you’ll be all right. You’re so big they’ll think you’re a fourth-year.’
    I immediately stooped my shoulders, a habit I’d developed the previous year when I became the tallest girl in my class.
    The curtains opened again and my mother said, ‘What’s keeping you, Nadine?’ She stopped when she saw Karin. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you were with a friend. Come on out so that I can take a proper look at the pair of you.’
    We emerged from the fitting room. Karin was composed as she twirled around but I stood self-consciously in the open space, aware of my large feet and gangling arms, convinced the customers passing by were comparing my lankiness to her petite frame.
    Her parents were sitting on a sofa in the waiting area. Max Moylan had the resigned expression that men acquire in an all-female shopping environment. The sofa was a two-seater but, even then, I sensed the distance between him and his wife. Joan had her daughter’s small-boned physique but her hair, split in the centre, was long and black, a fringe almost covering her eyes. Max stood up when he saw us and whistled. Karin had inherited his fair complexion and his wide-eyed embracing gaze. I’d never known a father who wore a ponytail. It seemed incredibly cool and daring.
    ‘You look very elegant, young lady,’ he said to me. ‘I reckon you’ll be a famous model someday. Mark my words, you’ll knock them for six on the catwalk.’
    Karin tilted her head. Her gaze sharpened, as if she was viewing me with fresh eyes. She smiled and said, ‘Wouldn’t that be absolutely brilliant.’
    When our uniforms were purchased, we headed towards the exit. Our mothers exchanged a few words before they parted. The natural light emphasised the artificial blue-black sheen of Joan’s hair, the colour too stark for her pale face. Later, my mother would claim that Joan was freeze-framed in the sixties. Karin walked ahead with her father, her arm linked in his, and I knew she’d already forgotten me.
    On the first day of term I saw her in the assembly