The Ned Wood Archive

Ellie

Ellie’s switching back into mother mode.  She knows she’s got to be the one who takes charge on Monday morning.  She needs to be the one that gets everyone up and gets them to pack up and get over for the coach.  She’s run through the plan fifty times in her head.  They have to leave the campsite with all their gear at nine am.  Everything falls into place from that.  Get up at seven, she reckons.  Roughly.  Bloody Hell.  That’s early.  Well, they did it on Wednesday, coming.

She does a bit of tidying in the tent.  She can still hear Phoebe’s steady breathing, so she’s still asleep.  Ellie is as quiet as she can be.  Picking up odd shirts and knickers and stuffing them in her bag.  The rest can wait until tomorrow.  They’ve got some fun to have today.  She makes a bit more noise hoping that it’ll ease Phoebe out of her slumbers and then crawls out into the area between the two inner tents.  No sign of any movement from Abi or Lauren next door.

Ellie picks up some rubbish in that vestibule area of the tent and bags it.  She’s just fussing while she’s waiting.  She knows it won’t be long before Phoebe’s head appears out of their inner tent.  It isn’t.  Phoebe asks her the time then decides to get up too.  She also wants some of that fun that’s going.  

“Last day,” says Phoebe.  “Make the most of it.”

“Bastille day,” says Ellie.  “Can’t go wrong, can we!”

They’ve discussed it often enough, so they know they’re starting with Kae Tempest, ending with Taylor Swift, and peaking with Bastille in the middle.  All that’s left is who else to see.  How to fill in the gaps.  Frankly, they don’t really care.  Maybe they’ll tag along with whoever Lauren and Abi want to see.  Maybe they’ll even go to Bryan Ferry.  I mean he’s old style, ain’t he, but he’s a legend.  Plus Ellie always got teased by her Mom about Bryan Ferry.  Her gran’s got loads of old albums. (Bloody, hell, her gran!)   Her gran is mad for Bryan Ferry.  Says they dated once.  Ellie’s Mom says that Ferry only dates cover girls from his albums and she shouldn’t boast about it.  Ellie’s Mom used to wind her up about her short hair, saying it was like Ferry on that album where he looked like a waiter.  In that white tux.  (Bloody hell, a waiter!)  So Ellie’s kinda curious about going.  She’s actually heard those records and some of it isn’t too bad. 

Kae Tempest is up first.  When he finishes, they’re all in awe.  Of the way he has with words.  Of the confidence he projects from the stage.  Of his happiness.  They’ve sort of grown up with him these past ten or so years.  They know his history and they’re so amazed at his courage.  That one about “I used to be a boy when I was young, then I hit puberty, I had to be a girl” resonates.  Even though they’re all girls, none of them want to do girlie things all the time.  I mean, she can ACT like a boy or a girl, but Ellie really feels like a girl deep down inside.  All that climbing trees, playing football stuff is just doing what she wants to do.  Doesn’t mean she’s a boy.  Anyway, who says that climbing trees is a boy thing.  Football’s a girl thing, obviously.  I mean how many European Championships have the boys won?  Who are the World champions at rugby?  Not the boys, that’s for sure.  So that ‘girls do this boys do that’ stuff is all crap.  Anyone can do whatever the fuck they want.  What she really has sympathy for is for people like Kae who feel like one thing deep down inside, but end up living in a body that contradicts that.  Boy that must really suck.  They really need to put his statue up in the square.  

Ellie’s phone rings.  She doesn’t know the number so she ignores it.  Wait.  What if it was from Joe after all?  She gets a message from the same number.  It looks like a scam.  She pings back a blunt response, hoping they’ll realise she’s not interested.  Then she gets another, longer message.  She’s going to delete that too, but something about it looks right.  Maybe not fake.  She shows it to Phoebe.  

“I think you should text back,” says Phoebe.  “Tell them to meet up in half an hour.  I’ll come too.”