Eve.”
“Imagine looking at all the Nativity paintings in the Metropolitan Museum and then going skating outdoors at Rockefeller Center,” I say, because I’ve seen them doing it in films.
We both imagine endlessly . . . and sigh.
“Tell you what,” says Anna, “if I ever get a decent job when Eggs is a bit older—Sara says
she
can maybe fix me up with something—I’ll save up and
we’ll
go to New York one Christmas.”
“Dad hates flying. And Eggs would be a right pain in the shops.”
“Not them. Us. Well, we’ll maybe come back for Christmas itself, I wouldn’t want to be away from them then, but we could easily whiz away for a few days, just you and me.”
I feel an odd squeezing feeling inside me. I know Anna’s only playing games, it’s not like it’ll really happen—but even so, it’s weird us playing games together. We’ve always been on separate sides of the family. Yet now it’s almost like we’re best friends.
I don’t mind. I
like
Anna. And yet, I think of my own mum and I feel so horribly mean to her.
“Ellie? What is it?” Anna says.
“Nothing,” I say, and I rush away quickly before I burst into tears.
I seem to be in an ultra-weepy watery mode at the moment. The last day at school is a serious strain. Oh, it’s fun too, because the sixth grade put on this special entertainment and it’s seriously rude and we all fall about laughing. But when we have our last homeroom lesson with Mrs. Henderson she suddenly produces this big carrier bag and she’s bought every girl in the class a little chocolate Santa. Not as big as the one Mrs. Lilley offered as a prize but this is a Santa for every single girl. Sometimes the teachers give you cards but I’ve never had one give you presents before, especially a really strict old-fashioned teacher like Mrs. Henderson.
Most of the others chomp up their chocolate straight away, a gulp of bearded head, a gollup of tummy, a crunch of boots and he’s gone. I wrap mine up carefully in a hankie and put him in my schoolbag.
“For God’s sake, Ellie, one little chockie isn’t going to make you fat,” says Magda.
“I’m saving him for sentimental reasons, not because I’m trying to get slim.”
“Don’t you overdo things, Ellie,” says Mrs. Henderson, overhearing as always. “Tuck into a few mince pies and the Christmas pudding and really let rip this holiday. You can always work it off in my aerobics class in January.”
She’s being so nice I almost wish I’d got
her
a present.
I
have
got a present for Mrs. Lilley. Well, for little baby Lilley. I find Mrs. Lilley in the art room at lunchtime and hand it over, feeling stupidly shy as I thrust the little red crepe parcel into her hand.
“Can I peep at it now?” Mrs. Lilley asks.
“OK. If you want,” I say awkwardly, wishing it was more special.
I made it in a rush in a couple of hours last night. It’s a little yellow cloth teddy bear wearing a red jumper and purple trousers.
“I had buttons for his eyes at first but then I thought the baby might choke, so I sewed eyes on instead. They look a bit crossed, actually.”
“No, they don’t, he just looks a bit anxious. Oh, Ellie, he’s lovely.” Mrs. Lilley makes him pad about on his soft paws, acting like a little kid herself.
I’m so pleased she likes the teddy and so sad that she’s going that I have to swallow hard and sniff.
“It’s going to be horrible without you for art,” I mumble.
“Ah! I think you might enjoy art even more,” she says. “I met your new art teacher the other day. I think you’re in for a surprise.”
“Is she really nice, then? Is she young? What does she look like?”
“I’m not going to say another word,” says Mrs. Lilley, laughing. “But I think your art lessons are going to be fun. You could do with a bit of fun, Ellie. You’ve seemed a bit down the last few weeks. There’s nothing really serious troubling you, is there?”
“No. Not really. I just wish I could
“Imagine looking at all the Nativity paintings in the Metropolitan Museum and then going skating outdoors at Rockefeller Center,” I say, because I’ve seen them doing it in films.
We both imagine endlessly . . . and sigh.
“Tell you what,” says Anna, “if I ever get a decent job when Eggs is a bit older—Sara says
she
can maybe fix me up with something—I’ll save up and
we’ll
go to New York one Christmas.”
“Dad hates flying. And Eggs would be a right pain in the shops.”
“Not them. Us. Well, we’ll maybe come back for Christmas itself, I wouldn’t want to be away from them then, but we could easily whiz away for a few days, just you and me.”
I feel an odd squeezing feeling inside me. I know Anna’s only playing games, it’s not like it’ll really happen—but even so, it’s weird us playing games together. We’ve always been on separate sides of the family. Yet now it’s almost like we’re best friends.
I don’t mind. I
like
Anna. And yet, I think of my own mum and I feel so horribly mean to her.
“Ellie? What is it?” Anna says.
“Nothing,” I say, and I rush away quickly before I burst into tears.
I seem to be in an ultra-weepy watery mode at the moment. The last day at school is a serious strain. Oh, it’s fun too, because the sixth grade put on this special entertainment and it’s seriously rude and we all fall about laughing. But when we have our last homeroom lesson with Mrs. Henderson she suddenly produces this big carrier bag and she’s bought every girl in the class a little chocolate Santa. Not as big as the one Mrs. Lilley offered as a prize but this is a Santa for every single girl. Sometimes the teachers give you cards but I’ve never had one give you presents before, especially a really strict old-fashioned teacher like Mrs. Henderson.
Most of the others chomp up their chocolate straight away, a gulp of bearded head, a gollup of tummy, a crunch of boots and he’s gone. I wrap mine up carefully in a hankie and put him in my schoolbag.
“For God’s sake, Ellie, one little chockie isn’t going to make you fat,” says Magda.
“I’m saving him for sentimental reasons, not because I’m trying to get slim.”
“Don’t you overdo things, Ellie,” says Mrs. Henderson, overhearing as always. “Tuck into a few mince pies and the Christmas pudding and really let rip this holiday. You can always work it off in my aerobics class in January.”
She’s being so nice I almost wish I’d got
her
a present.
I
have
got a present for Mrs. Lilley. Well, for little baby Lilley. I find Mrs. Lilley in the art room at lunchtime and hand it over, feeling stupidly shy as I thrust the little red crepe parcel into her hand.
“Can I peep at it now?” Mrs. Lilley asks.
“OK. If you want,” I say awkwardly, wishing it was more special.
I made it in a rush in a couple of hours last night. It’s a little yellow cloth teddy bear wearing a red jumper and purple trousers.
“I had buttons for his eyes at first but then I thought the baby might choke, so I sewed eyes on instead. They look a bit crossed, actually.”
“No, they don’t, he just looks a bit anxious. Oh, Ellie, he’s lovely.” Mrs. Lilley makes him pad about on his soft paws, acting like a little kid herself.
I’m so pleased she likes the teddy and so sad that she’s going that I have to swallow hard and sniff.
“It’s going to be horrible without you for art,” I mumble.
“Ah! I think you might enjoy art even more,” she says. “I met your new art teacher the other day. I think you’re in for a surprise.”
“Is she really nice, then? Is she young? What does she look like?”
“I’m not going to say another word,” says Mrs. Lilley, laughing. “But I think your art lessons are going to be fun. You could do with a bit of fun, Ellie. You’ve seemed a bit down the last few weeks. There’s nothing really serious troubling you, is there?”
“No. Not really. I just wish I could
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