A warm return to Ellie, Nadine and Magda
A whole generation learned about crushes, fallouts, and friendship from Ellie, Nadine and Magda. Now they’re back—older, messier, and still very much themselves. Jacqueline Wilson’s new novel, Think Again, picks up their stories years after the Girls series that filled school libraries and sleepovers in the late 1990s and early 2000s. It’s a sequel aimed squarely at the readers who grew up with them and are now juggling jobs, families, and the question of what comes next.
The focus is Ellie. Life has slowed to a halt: her daughter Lottie is off at university, the cartoon she hoped to publish is cancelled, and her daily routine feels flat. Into that slump come two jolts—new friend Alice, and Gary Windsor, the teacher Ellie once knew as Mr Windsor. The spark with Gary is real, if complicated, and the friendship with Alice gives Ellie a fresh sounding board as she asks what happiness looks like in midlife.
We also catch up with the other Girls. Nadine leans into the chic goth persona that made her a teenage standout—still sharp, still glamorous. Magda, forever social and high-gloss, is on her third marriage and working out what it means to be a stepmother. Their scenes pop, but the book keeps the camera mostly on Ellie, whose voice and choices steer the story.
Wilson’s trademarks are here: warmth, pace, and dialogue that flows like a chat with a close friend. That ease is part of the appeal. You fall back into the group with the same familiarity you’d feel scrolling through an old group chat—old nicknames, old rhythms, old jokes. The domestic details—quiet breakfasts, texts that land at the wrong time, first dates that wobble—carry the emotional weight, and Wilson makes them feel lived-in rather than staged.
The setup is simple but relatable. When a child leaves home, many parents learn the silence is louder than expected. When a creative project dies, you have to decide if you’re still that person who makes things, or someone who tried and let it go. Ellie’s journey sits right in that space: a reset you didn’t plan, with no clear roadmap beyond gut instinct and the people you trust.
What works—and what doesn’t
Wilson knows how to build a comfort read. The tone is breezy, the chapters turn fast, and the jokes land without breaking the spell. There’s warmth in the way old friends show up for each other—less “best mates forever,” more “we have history, and that still matters.” The book shines when it shows how adult friendship looks after years apart: affection wrapped around new boundaries, with occasional pangs for the simplicity of the past.
But there’s friction too, and some of it feels intentional. Dating a former teacher raises thorny questions even when both people are long past the classroom. The book doesn’t treat Gary as a villain, and it’s not a scandal story. Still, the power dynamic echoes, and a few intimate moments read younger than the characters’ ages suggest. That mismatch—grown-up stakes, teenage cadence—creates a tonal wobble you can’t ignore.
Ellie’s voice is the biggest swing. Longtime fans will recognise the chatty, confessional mode that made the Girls series feel like reading a friend’s diary. The upside is charm and momentum—you hear her, you get her. The trade-off is maturity. At points Ellie thinks and speaks with the same impulsive rush she had as a teen. That can be funny in a nostalgic way, but when the novel moves into sex, consent, and long-term attachment, the lighter register can undersell the complexity.
Nadine and Magda are present but not central, and that will split readers. If you want a full ensemble reunion, you won’t get it—this is Ellie’s book. On the other hand, their lighter involvement underlines a truth the series never had to face head-on: teenage intensity rarely survives intact. Adult friendship is tidal; people drift, then return; there’s love, but less daily play-by-play. The novel hints at that without turning melancholic.
New character Alice is a smart addition. Making a friend in midlife is hard, and the book treats it as a small miracle rather than a given. Alice listens without fixing, nudges without pushing, and gives Ellie a space that isn’t tied to parenting or old school hierarchies. Those scenes carry the book’s argument for trying again: change who you talk to, and you’ll change what you do next.
Tonally, Wilson stays in her comfort zone: everyday dramas, quick comic beats, and emotions that arrive in clear, declarative lines. Readers who came for big structural experiments won’t find them; this is a character-driven story built on familiar rhythms. What has shifted is the life stage. Divorce, step-parenting, and the long tail of first crushes live here beside work disappointments and the shock of an emptying house. The novel doesn’t chase shock value. It keeps the temperature low, trusting recognisable situations to do the work.
It’s also part of a broader trend: authors revisiting beloved characters years later, but writing for the original readers as adults. Wilson has done this successfully before with Tracy Beaker, showing her as a mother without breaking what made her tick. Here, she tries something trickier—taking a teen romance universe and moving it into midlife relationships. That leap is ambitious and, at times, uneven. The nostalgia is soothing; the adult material occasionally strains against the voice that nostalgia brings back.
Who is this for? If you wore out library copies of the Girls books, you’ll feel seen. The callbacks land without elbowing you in the ribs, and the emotional map—embarrassment, bravado, longing—remains intact. If you’re new to the characters, you can follow the plot just fine, though the history adds texture. You’ll understand Ellie’s choices; you’ll understand them more deeply if you remember the insecure bravado of her teenage years.
What’s missing is simple: more Nadine and more Magda. They aren’t short-changed so much as underused. A handful of scenes show their lives in sharp outline—Nadine’s cultivated cool, Magda’s high-gloss resilience—but the book rarely lets their arcs breathe. Given how many readers identified with one of the three, that will feel like a missed chance.
Still, the core promise holds. Wilson offers a story about trying again when life shrinks and plans fall through. She writes the loneliness of a quiet flat and the thrill of a text from someone who really sees you. She suggests that growing up doesn’t end at 18—or 28, or 48—and that the bravest move, sometimes, is risking embarrassment for the life you want.
If you’re measuring by comfort, this is an easy yes. If you’re measuring by growth, the picture is mixed: sturdy themes, a few sharp insights, and a voice that sometimes lags behind the characters’ ages. But the affection is real, and the welcome is warm. You can feel Wilson rooting for Ellie to figure it out and, by extension, for anyone staring at a blank next chapter.
File it under: a sequel that knows exactly what it’s reviving, delivers the feeling many readers came for, and stumbles a little where nostalgia and maturity collide.