Cross Your Heart, Connie Pickles by Sabine Durrant

dance. ‘You. Better. Had.’
    She went ahead of me down the stairs. ‘So, Mission Break-Up. Are you on the case? You’ve got to think of a way to stop Jack from babysitting tonight.’
    I followed, jogging down each step one by one. ‘Yup,’ I said. I don’t know why I was behaving so stupidly. I expect I was still feeling a little self-conscious around her and also a bit disappointed that, after everything, she was leaving so soon.
    But Julie turned when she reached the bottom of the first flight and watched me. She was laughing. ‘Con,’ she said, ‘in all seriousness, do you think it might be time you bought a wired bra?’
    That was two hours ago. Since then, I have studied myself in the mirror, stationary and joggling, sideways and front-on. Julie is right. There is quite a lot of movement there now. But do I really have to get a proper upholstered bra? I don’t want one. Is it because I don’t want to grow up? It can’t be that. I am grown-up. When I was, like, five, people were telling me how grown-up I was. I like my support-vests. They’re cosy and safe. Real bras look so uncomfortable. I can see the purple lacy one Mother was handwashing earlier on the line. I’m going to experiment.
    I’ve just sneaked down and slipped it off the dryer to bring it back up to the bathroom. Cyril saw me. ‘What are you doing with Mother’s bra?’ he said. I just glared at him and ran past. It’s still a bit damp, but the main problem is it was actually too small. I’d need a bigger one. Oh Lord.
    My room, 9 p.m.
    I had to have a lie down to recover from the bra exertions, and was reclining on the sofa when the doorbell went. Mother opened the door. It was William.
    ‘You all right?’ he said, squatting down next to me on the floor. He was wearing baggy army shorts, a washed-out red T-shirt with a torn neck and writing you couldn’t read, and his huge, new, gleaming white trainers. I noticed the muscles on his calves, and the pale inner thighs where there aren’t any hairs.
    ‘Where’ve you been?’ I asked him.
    ‘Playing tennis with my brother.’
    ‘Glad you’ve made some concession to whites,’ I said, nodding at his Nikes.
    ‘No one cares down the rec,’ he said. ‘You ill?’
    ‘Malingering,’ I said truthfully.
    He stood up and put out his hands to pull me off the sofa. ‘Come on, let’s go for a bike ride down the towpath. It’s quite sunny out. Unless you’ve got homework.’
    ‘I’ve done it,’ I said. ‘Did it on Friday afternoon.’
    He grinned at me. ‘Course you did.’
    It was sunny down by the river, warm on the back of your neck. William raced ahead of me. He’s still wearing his pant elastic above his shorts. He turned back once. ‘Having a bit of trouble with your old men’s trews?’ he hollered, which made me put on an extra spurt to catch up with him. It’s bumpy along the towpath, and you have to slow down for the occasional ambling family group, but we cycled alongside each other most of the way. I’d forgotten my lingerie crisis and was filled with good spirits, and relief. William has that effect on me sometimes. And I don’t think I’d realized how unhappy the Uncle Bert thing had made me. I knew he was wrong for Mother, but couldn’t face up to it with Julie behaving so oddly towards me in case it made things worse between us. Now both anxieties had been cleared up in one fell swoop. All I had to do was think of a way to prevent their date tonight. And it was sunny at last. So bugger bras.
    When we reached the boathouse we threw our bikes on the ground and ran down the ramp to the sludgy beach below. ‘What are you smiling about?’ William asked.
    ‘Nothing.’ I picked up a pebble and skimmed it across the grey water. ‘I’ve made up with Julie.’
    William was trying to hit a buoy several metres into the river. ‘What was all that about, then?
    ‘I don’t know. But it’s all right now.’
    ‘Funny girl.’
    ‘Who? Me or