Read Online When Good Friends Go Bad by Ellie Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ellie Campbell
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cared about Georgina's unhappiness and her mother would never have noticed.
No wonder they never wanted to go to Georgie's. Her mother was a snob, unbelievably posh, far too loud and gushing, her lipsticked smile wide and fake. They lived in terror of breakages, spills and mud on her Axminster carpet. The house on its gated estate was half the size, apparently, of their previous home and so crammed with furniture and antiques that it was difficult to move about.
Mrs Carrington had been devastated when the family business collapsed and they'd all moved to Sussex. The woman had never met a Martini she didn't like and she positively doted on Georgina's older brother Lance, but that affection was not extended to her chubby, graceless daughter. Poor Georgie, thrown out of expensive private education into the horrors of Ashport Comp. Her lunchboxes always held lettuce, carrots and apple slices, so she'd spend her pocket money on the school dinner: fried chicken, greasy chips and stodgy, cream-laden puddings.
It was her grandmother on the mother's side, an aristocratic lady who rode to hounds even in her seventies, who'd bought and paid for the ponies. A self-avowed man-hater, she had some feud going with her son-in-law and the rest of the Carrington males, promising Georgina that when she died all her vast wealth would go to her only granddaughter. No wonder Georgina had been such a peculiar mix of vulnerability and surface arrogance.
'The bullying was out of control,' Georgina said now, signalling to the waiter to clear her plate. 'That atrocious punk girl, Yvonne Spitz, her cronies Maureen whatever her name was and Linda Petroski made my life a misery. Pulling off my towel when I was in the showers . . .' She broke off, burying her nose in her water glass.
For a few awkward moments they averted their gaze, not sure how to respond. Then Meg perked up. 'Say, Jen, I'll never forget our first week at school when that big second-year lout made Georgina cry and you went over and started beating up on him.' She began to laugh. 'And he went wailing to the teacher on playground duty, who spun around looking for the bully and there you were, this little shrimp with your fists up.'
Georgina had recovered her composure. 'I do remember Jen fighting a lot. She was a little spitfire.'
'You saved me loads of times too,' Jen reminded Meg. 'What about when Yvonne's gang had me cornered by the tennis courts and said they were going to beat me to a bloody pulp? And you turned on that hose the caretaker had left out and soaked them. They wanted to kill you.'
'They'd have had to catch me first.' Meg's eyes danced in the candlelight with the hint of the wild child she'd been. Jen had always admired her heroic fearlessness, her willingness to tackle situations head on and with a cheerful lack of restraint that somehow persuaded the teachers to let her get away with murder, and meant tough girls like Yvonne rarely chose her as a victim. She could still see Yvonne, Linda and Maureen, the slutty bleached-blond thugs who ruled their playground, mascara running, hair straggling wetly on their skulls and bras visible through soaked shirts. Attacking them with the hose had been one of the greatest triumphs of their school career, even if they'd had to hide for the rest of term.
'If you had a problem, she was the greatest person to confide in,' Meg mused, and they instantly knew who she was talking about.
In the end every conversational byway that evening had led back to Rowan. It felt plain wrong for the three of them to be there without her.
'I always remember her blushing,' said Georgina, daintily dabbing at the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin. 'I've never seen anyone go so scarlet. You couldn't even be jealous of how stunning she was because she wouldn't look a boy in the eye. All that long silky black hair – so wasted on her.' She poured herself more sparkling water, looking like a contented cat, basking in the glow of a perfect life
No wonder they never wanted to go to Georgie's. Her mother was a snob, unbelievably posh, far too loud and gushing, her lipsticked smile wide and fake. They lived in terror of breakages, spills and mud on her Axminster carpet. The house on its gated estate was half the size, apparently, of their previous home and so crammed with furniture and antiques that it was difficult to move about.
Mrs Carrington had been devastated when the family business collapsed and they'd all moved to Sussex. The woman had never met a Martini she didn't like and she positively doted on Georgina's older brother Lance, but that affection was not extended to her chubby, graceless daughter. Poor Georgie, thrown out of expensive private education into the horrors of Ashport Comp. Her lunchboxes always held lettuce, carrots and apple slices, so she'd spend her pocket money on the school dinner: fried chicken, greasy chips and stodgy, cream-laden puddings.
It was her grandmother on the mother's side, an aristocratic lady who rode to hounds even in her seventies, who'd bought and paid for the ponies. A self-avowed man-hater, she had some feud going with her son-in-law and the rest of the Carrington males, promising Georgina that when she died all her vast wealth would go to her only granddaughter. No wonder Georgina had been such a peculiar mix of vulnerability and surface arrogance.
'The bullying was out of control,' Georgina said now, signalling to the waiter to clear her plate. 'That atrocious punk girl, Yvonne Spitz, her cronies Maureen whatever her name was and Linda Petroski made my life a misery. Pulling off my towel when I was in the showers . . .' She broke off, burying her nose in her water glass.
For a few awkward moments they averted their gaze, not sure how to respond. Then Meg perked up. 'Say, Jen, I'll never forget our first week at school when that big second-year lout made Georgina cry and you went over and started beating up on him.' She began to laugh. 'And he went wailing to the teacher on playground duty, who spun around looking for the bully and there you were, this little shrimp with your fists up.'
Georgina had recovered her composure. 'I do remember Jen fighting a lot. She was a little spitfire.'
'You saved me loads of times too,' Jen reminded Meg. 'What about when Yvonne's gang had me cornered by the tennis courts and said they were going to beat me to a bloody pulp? And you turned on that hose the caretaker had left out and soaked them. They wanted to kill you.'
'They'd have had to catch me first.' Meg's eyes danced in the candlelight with the hint of the wild child she'd been. Jen had always admired her heroic fearlessness, her willingness to tackle situations head on and with a cheerful lack of restraint that somehow persuaded the teachers to let her get away with murder, and meant tough girls like Yvonne rarely chose her as a victim. She could still see Yvonne, Linda and Maureen, the slutty bleached-blond thugs who ruled their playground, mascara running, hair straggling wetly on their skulls and bras visible through soaked shirts. Attacking them with the hose had been one of the greatest triumphs of their school career, even if they'd had to hide for the rest of term.
'If you had a problem, she was the greatest person to confide in,' Meg mused, and they instantly knew who she was talking about.
In the end every conversational byway that evening had led back to Rowan. It felt plain wrong for the three of them to be there without her.
'I always remember her blushing,' said Georgina, daintily dabbing at the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin. 'I've never seen anyone go so scarlet. You couldn't even be jealous of how stunning she was because she wouldn't look a boy in the eye. All that long silky black hair – so wasted on her.' She poured herself more sparkling water, looking like a contented cat, basking in the glow of a perfect life
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