Page 116 of Tricky Girls

‘You texting your mum?’

‘Yeah, and Dan. Dunno if she’ll be getting them though if her phone’s died. They’re not allowed chargers in their rooms.’ She sniffs and the light disappears. ‘I’ll go see her in the morning. I’m scared they’re gonna section her again.’

‘Sorry you’re having to deal with all this.’

‘Yeah. That’s life I suppose.’

‘You should tell the others.’

Elly grunts.

‘Come on, they’re your friends. They’d want to know.’

‘Scares me that they don’t sometimes. Like, I know they like me, obviously, but as funny old easy Elly. I don’t want to become just another problem for them.’

‘Never figured you for a crisis of confidence.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m vulnerable tonight.’ She yawns around her smile. ‘Kinda glad we’re not at Vipers right now. I’m wiped.’

‘Did the others make it?’

‘Dunno. Not asked.’

‘Haz will come round. Can I tell her? Not all the deets, just the basics. That your mum’s unwell.’

Elly shrugs. ‘Do what you like.’

‘I just don’t want her being mad at you.’

Elly reaches back and pats me. ‘Thanks for caring, pal. You kinda rock.’

‘So do you. That’s why I care.’

She murmurs sleepily, shifting under my arm. I press closer, sweet-smelling tufts of hair brushing my face.

Yeah, I just can’t see myself doing this with Tommy. The thought genuinely makes my skin crawl. I suppose it’s because he’s not my type. But then, neither are these girls. Yet cuddling up to them feels like second nature. Maybe they’ve just worn me down. They’re certainly relentless in their fruitless pursuits of me.

Although, how fruitless are they if all I’m thinking about is kissing this one again?

I squeeze shut my eyes. This meandering won’t do me any good, not this late at night with everything going on. I’m still tipsy from all the beer; thoughts whirling like a wobbly fairground ride.

Taking a leaf out of Elly’s book, I will myself to sleep.

CHAPTER 25

Tilda

‘She wouldn’t come out and see you?’

Elly shakes her head, eyes on the spiderwebbed ceiling of the shed. I’d been getting dressed when she entered, my silky forest green shirt—as close to a Christmas jumper as I’m ever going to get—still not buttoned up right.

But that hadn’t mattered, not when I saw the look on her face.

‘Why not?’

She lifts one shoulder. ‘Her prerogative, I suppose.’

But despite her casualness, her throat bobs as she swallows, eyes unblinking as she tries not to cry.

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