Cross Your Heart, Connie Pickles by Sabine Durrant Page A

her?’
    ‘Julie.’
    ‘She is not.’
    ‘She is. Likes things her own way.’
    ‘At least she’s not spoilt like Delilah.’
    ‘Delilah’s not spoilt, she’s messed up.’ His last stone hit the buoy. ‘There’s a difference.’
    ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Did you hear what she did last night?’
    ‘Who? Julie?’
    ‘No. Delilah.’
    ‘Did I hear about it? I saw it . Or them , I should say.’
    ‘Oh.’ The impact of William seeing Delilah topless was momentarily swept away by the realization that everyone I knew had been at Dan Curtis’s the night before. ‘You were there too, then?’
    ‘Yup. Poor little cow.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I didn’t see much. There were too many people around her. By the time I reached her, she had put her top back on. She was out of her head. I don’t know how I got her home.’
    ‘You took her home? That was nice.’
    He looked a bit grim. ‘Someone had to.’
    ‘Julie was there too.’
    ‘I know I saw her walking off with some bloke at the end.’
    We had sat down on the end of the ramp. The sun was getting low and I pulled my mohair cardy round me and rested my chin on my knees. ‘He’s called Ade. He’s asked her out,’ I said, looking out at the river. I watched a couple of swans glide past a large piece of driftwood. ‘They’ve gone to the cinema.’
    One of the swans was floating away from the other, towards the bank, where the water gleamed like petrol. William was saying something.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘I said , “Do you fancy going to the cinema some time?’”
    ‘What?’
    ‘The cinema.’
    ‘What about it?’
    ‘Do you want to go some time?’
    The swan had drifted back towards its mate. It was feeling cooler now.I didn’t have much time. How was I going to stop Mother going out with Bert tonight? Could I ring him and say Mother was ill? How could I do that without being found out? ‘Not really,’ I said absent-mindedly.
    William cycled back with me to my house, but didn’t come in. Delilah must have been watching from her window, though, because she was in his face before he had a chance to cycle off. She was wearing her black Juicy tracksuit, sparkly flip-flops and big pink lipstick.
    ‘Will, Will, Will,’ she said. ‘I made such an idiot of myself last night. I was just, like, wasted. How can I ever, ever thank you for being such an angel?’
    ‘Hi, Delilah,’ I said.
    ‘Sorry. Hello, Connie.’
    William – or should I call him ‘Will’? – muttered, ‘S’all right.’
    I said, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t get cold, that’s all. I mean, it’s only March.’
    She laughed and I felt mean.
    William got on to his bike, muttering about homework, and Delilah drifted back into her house. I went in, still trying to cook up a plan. My family was watching 101 Dalmatians , for about the hundred and first time. Marie looked up when she saw me in the doorway and said, ‘Daddy’s not coming because Mum’s not going out, after all.’ I looked at Mother, who was in the armchair next to the fridge mending Cyril’s school jumper. She said, ‘Bert rang. Something came up.’
    I stared at her, my mind racing. So I didn’t need to think of a way to cancel Jack. Julie must have got to Uncle Bert first. What on earth could she have said to him? (I’ve just tried to ring her, but she’s still not back from the cinema.)
    Then Cyril said, ‘I’m sad because I wanted to see Dad,’ which gave me a momentary pang. That’s the problem with war. There are always innocent casualties.
    After Cyril and Marie had gone to bed, Mother and I looked at the photo albums like we used to. There are pictures of her, a young girl in Paris, on the back of someone’s Vespa. (So romantic.) There are pictures of a small smart couple, arms round each other, outside a church. Her parents. But she closed the book then and put it back. We watched the news – more soldiers, more politicians – and then we watched my father’s video. She didn’t look sad. In fact,