The Girls from See Saw Lane by Sandy Taylor Page B

touch, so they had sort of grown up together. Neither of them had brothers or sisters. Ralph was a tall, awkward-looking boy and whatever time of day it was, he looked as if he’d just fallen out of bed. 
    â€˜Do you think Elton really likes Mary?’ I asked him one day when we were sitting on the field.
    â€˜I dunno,’ he said.
    â€˜But does he talk about Mary?’
    â€˜All Elton talks about is football and music. Perhaps if Mary had a number on her back he might take more notice of her.’
    â€˜You can be quite funny sometimes, Ralph Bennett.’
    Ralph went bright red.
    â€˜It’s not true love, then?’ I said.
    Ralph laughed. ‘They’re a bit young for that, don’t you think?’
    I thought so too, but Mary was smitten.
    Sometimes Elton would completely ignore Mary and walk around the field holding Valerie Colahan’s hand, or lean against the climbing frame, laughing out loud at something Beverly Johnson said, and you just knew it was all an act, because Beverly Johnson couldn’t be funny if her life depended on it, added to the fact that she had the sense of humour of a gnat, and all this was done in sight of Mary.
    At those times, Mary would sit with me and Ralph, looking sad and upset, and to make it worse, Ralph would then stop talking and I wouldn’t know how to make things better for either of them. One day when the three of us were sitting together in silence, Mary suddenly said: ‘You know what you ought to ask your mother to get you for Christmas, Ralph Bennett?’
    â€˜What?’ said Ralph, looking startled.
    â€˜A tongue,’ said Mary.
    I thought that was a mean thing to say and I knew Mary wasn’t a mean person. She was just feeling bad. Suddenly a football hit Ralph on the back of his head, a crowd of kids started laughing and one of them shouted, ‘Ahh, did I hurt your little ginger bonce?’
    Suddenly, Elton came racing across the field. He ran up to the boy and pushed him to the ground. ‘What did you say to him?’ he snarled.
    The boy looked terrified. ‘Nothing, Elton,’ he said.
    The other boys had backed away.
    â€˜I asked you what you said.’ He was glaring down at the frightened boy.
    â€˜I just asked him if he was okay.’
    Elton looked at us. ‘What did he say?’
    â€˜Something about his ginger bonce,’ said Mary.
    â€˜Leave it,’ said Ralph, ‘I’m okay.’
    Elton pulled the boy up off the ground. ‘Don’t you ever say anything like that to my friend again, do you hear me?’
    â€˜I won’t, Elton,’ said the boy.
    â€˜Now beat it.’
    The boy didn’t move.
    â€˜What?’ said Elton.
    â€˜Can I have my ball back?’
    â€˜What do you think?’ said Elton, smirking.
    â€˜But I only just got it for my birthday, my dad’ll kill me.’ The boy looked as if he was about to cry.
    Elton kicked the ball hard across the field.
    â€˜Thanks, Elton,’ said the boy, looking relieved, and ran off after the ball.
    â€˜Are you all right, mate?’ said Elton, sitting down next to Ralph.
    Ralph was rubbing his head. ‘I’ll live,’ he said.
    â€˜I’ve had more fights over your flippin’ hair than I’ve had hot dinners,’ said Elton and we all fell about laughing.
    That same year someone put a Valentine’s card in my desk. It had a big heart on the front surrounded by little cupids holding garlands of flowers and inside was a little poem and whoever had sent it had written: ‘From your secret sweetheart.’ All the girls had been really impressed when I found it. At first, I thought it was someone playing a mean trick on me, and Mary, who hadn’t received a card at all that year, said it was probably someone’s idea of a bad joke. I wasn’t the sort of girl who got Valentine’s cards, so I pretended I didn’t care about the card at all. I