Drama Queen Page 13

  ‘I think I’ll have a bath and go straight to bed,’ she said. ‘I’m really tired. Incidentally,’ she added, ‘you are going to come and see the play, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We’re having a party afterwards. I really want you to be there.’

  ‘A party. It’ll be all your amateur dramatic friends. I won’t know any of them.’

  ‘Well, this is your opportunity. Anyway, you know George.’

  ‘Mr Williams. Pl-ease!’

  ‘Honestly, Jessica …’

  ‘OK, which night is the party?’

  ‘The final night. The 2nd.’

  (The 2nd! Excellent! The excuse I’d been waiting for. Now there was no way I could make the Cranshaw Ball.)

  ‘OK, I’ll be there,’ I said.

  I went to my room plotting how to tell Cedric. I’d better not tell him right away or he might invite some other random girl. I needed to find precisely the right moment so that I could be sure that Clare was in the front of his mind.

  Through my bedroom wall I could hear Mum in her room talking on her mobile. Which was really extravagant, not like her at all. She always used the house phone. There could be only one reason for that – she didn’t want me to hear who she was talking to.

  When she came out of her room she had a secretive expression on her face. I bet it was Dad.

  On the way to school that Monday I felt I had to tell someone. I confided in Clare. ‘Guess what. I think Mum and Dad are going to get back together.’

  ‘No,’ she said, her eyes round. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh, lots of things. Hints, phone calls, I think they met up last night in a pub.’

  ‘What’s made them change?’

  ‘Well, I might have had a bit to do with it,’ I said modestly.

  ‘Really, how?’

  I didn’t give her a full rundown, just the gist of how I’d subtly engineered the whole thing: like getting Dad to join a gym and talking Mum into her make-over and …

  ‘You make it sound so easy,’ interrupted Clare, then she stared out of the window. I bit my lip. Maybe it was tactless of me to go on about Dad and Mum like that. But Clare seemed to have lost interest. ‘Oh my God, look at that,’ she said, craning out of the window. She was staring down at the bus stop below us. Ms Mills was standing there in her raincoat.

  ‘It’s Ms Mills, so what?’

  ‘But look.’

  A car I recognised as Mr Williams’s had drawn up alongside and she was climbing into it. ‘So he’s giving her a lift to school.’

  ‘Which means,’ said Clare. ‘When we saw her getting out of his car the other day, it didn’t mean they’d spent the night together. It didn’t prove a thing.’

  ‘No. I suppose it didn’t.’

  ‘I thought that was another of your matchmaking triumphs,’ she said in an unusually off tone.

  ‘It doesn’t prove anything either way,’ I said. ‘I still reckon they’re made for each other.’

  Clare was really off with me all day at school. I reckoned it must be because she was starving herself. I always get cross when I’m hungry.

  At lunchtime, I realised how dependent I’d got on her. I couldn’t see her anywhere in the canteen. I actually had to sit at a table with a couple of the swots. I could see them sort of eyeing me uncomfortably and wondering what I was doing there. Then one of them leaned over and asked, ‘Is your friend all right?’

  ‘Who, Clare? Yes, I think so. Why?’

  ‘You usually sit together, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose she isn’t hungry.’

  ‘So she’s OK then?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. (O-m-G. Everyone was noticing now. And she hadn’t even come down to lunch. It must be serious.)

  I didn’t see her all afternoon. And at the end of the day she didn’t wait for me in the cloakroom so I had to go home on the bus alone.

  Mum got back from her rehearsal that night with a worried look on her face. She took a load of flyers for the play out of her bag.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Tickets aren’t selling. We’ll have to cancel if we haven’t got an audience.’ (Huh. Serve Mr Williams right, I thought.)

  ‘Could you give some of these out? We’ve got to drum up an audience somehow.’

  ‘I suppose so. I could take some into school.’ Maybe I’d find someone who’d be interested. At least I reckoned Ms Mills would want to go. In order to make absolutely sure, I took one of the handbills and added in scrolly writing:

  Saturday 2nd, Celebration Party After the Play with Free Wine and Refreshments.

  Next day I found Ms Mills by the photocopier.

  ‘Did you know Mr Williams was a famous playwright, Ms Mills?’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ she said. ‘He’s very modest about it.’

  I handed her one of the flyers. ‘He’s got a play on next week, my mother’s in it. He wrote the whole thing,’ I said.

  She looked at the handbill. ‘Six into Eight Won’t Go, by George Williams. How very clever of him,’ she said. ‘I certainly won’t miss that.’

  I went down to the canteen feeling a glow of achievement. I was relieved to see that Clare was there for once. I decided to be all calm and cheerful and act as if nothing was wrong. I got my tray of food and breezed into the seat opposite her.

  ‘Guess what? Ms Mills is going to Mr Williams’s play,’ I said.

  ‘So?’

  By her tone I could tell that she was still being a pain. ‘Well, that must prove something.’

  ‘She’s keen on plays?’

  I ignored her sarky tone and said, ‘And keen on Mr Williams.’ I made a big act of enjoying my meal of lasagne, hoping she might relent and go back for some. ‘Mmm, this is really yummy. Is that all you’re having?’

  She eyed my plate with a pained expresson. All she had in front of her was a natural 100% fat-free yogurt and an apple. ‘Yes.’

  I ignored her hostile look and said on a more positive note, ‘It’s Marie’s party on Friday.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Cedric’s going to be there. What are you going to wear?’

  ‘Not sure yet, why?’

  ‘Anything but beige,’ I said.

  Clare looked really hurt. ‘What’s wrong with beige?’

  ‘Beige is the kind of colour you just can’t get worked up about.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Black. Black’s always flattering.’

  ‘You do think I’m fat, don’t you?’

  ‘No!’

  I got home that night to find Mum muttering to herself in the kitchen.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘It’s this one long speech. Keeps coming out like gobbledegook.’

  ‘Want me to test you on it?’

  ‘There’s something more important, if you’ve got time. You wouldn’t be an angel and go round the building and see if you could get rid of some of these tickets, would you? There are still loads left …’

  ‘Sure. I’ll do it after supper.’ (It had occurred to me that this would be the ideal way to get Roz and Jekyll together. I could get Mum to invite them to the party afterwards. There’s nothing like a party to set things in motion …)

  I started to wash salad, only listening to Mum with half an ear as she moaned on about the play. ‘There’s only a week to go till the first night. And the last act is still a disaster. George says we’ve got to rehearse all next Saturday …’

  I dropped the salad spinner with a clash. ‘Saturday? But you can’t…’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because …’ I started. ‘I thought you were having lunch with Dad.’

  ‘With Dad. Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I muttered. (I had a horrible sinking sensation in my stomach. If Mum wasn’t having lunch with us, who was?)

  I left Mum to prepare the meal and went to my room
. I called Dad on my mobile.

  ‘Dad, tell me the truth. Who are we having lunch with on Saturday?’

  ‘Someone I’d like you to meet.’

  ‘Someone?’

  His tone changed. ‘Look, Poppet. I’m human, you know. I need friends.’

  ‘Friends’? Maybe it was some bloke, I thought wildly. Some mate of his from the pub.

  ‘Well. A friend. A special friend.’

  ‘A girlfriend?’ I asked. I swallowed. (I’d known it would come to this some day. But I’d always put off thinking about it.)

  ‘I think you’ll like her.’ Dad was laying it on. ‘I’m sure you will. She’s a great girl. A fun person. Not like your mother at all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘No, for God’s sake, I didn’t mean that. Of course, your mother’s lovely and fun too in her own way. But Mandy isn’t serious like, you know, like …’

  ‘Mandy?’

  ‘Short for Madeleine.’

  ‘Dad, you can’t possibly go out with someone called Mandy. How old is she?’

  ‘Old enough. Why the cross-examination? You’ll meet her yourself on Saturday. Come on, Poppet. Give your old dad a chance …’

  ‘You’re not old,’ I said.

  ‘Precisely. So cheer up, eh? Nice meal at the Paradiso. Saturday should be fun.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ I clicked off my phone and sat down on my bed. So, Dad had a girlfriend. A girl friend. A fun person. Mandy. Yukk! Mandy! But it didn’t have to be for ever, did it? It was just some girl. Someone to go out with for a while. Have fun with. It could even do him good. Couldn’t it?

  I decided to put the problem to the back of my mind until I’d actually met Mandy. You never know, if she was so awful, it might make Dad realise what he was missing not being with Mum.

  Chapter Seventeen

  That evening I did a tour of the whole building with the tickets. Practically everyone said they’d like to come. Madame Zamoyski was delighted. She hadn’t been to the theatre for years; but she didn’t know how she would get there. This was easily solved by Colonel Mustard, who lived opposite. He said he’d be only too delighted to give her a lift in his car.

  Jekyll actually asked me in. Hyde was in the kitchen doing the ironing. Jekyll, who was actually called Barry, said he and Hyde (Jeremy) just adored the theatre and as it happened they were both free on that night.

  Roz said she’d come if she could find someone to baby-sit. The Serial Killer was out and so were several other people. So I just left the tickets in their mailboxes with a note. All in all, I got rid of twelve tickets, which I reckoned was quite an achievement.

  The following few days, however, were fraught with tension. I had to avoid Cedric because I knew if we met he’d be bound to ask about the ball. Which was tricky seeing as we lived in the same building. I got to be able to estimate which floors the lift stopped at simply by timing the noise it made. And I checked religiously who was calling before I answered my mobile.

  Somehow we got to Friday – the night of Marie’s party – without an encounter. I just hoped and prayed that when the right moment came I’d be able to get Cedric alone. Then I’d kind of slip the idea of inviting Clare instead of me into his head – as if he’d thought of it himself.

  I’d arranged to go round to Clare’s so that we could get ready together at her place. I was going to make sure that Clare looked brilliant if it was the last thing I did.

  Clare was in better spirits when I arrived. ‘Tonight’s the night!’ she announced, pumping tea-tree bodymist all over herself. She started taking umpteen things out of her wardrobe and holding them up against herself. ‘What shall I wear? It’s really important,’ she said.

  (She was so right.) We went through her entire wardrobe before we settled on the optimum combination. I had her dressed in a pair of flattering black jeans and my favourite black top, and I went over her hair with her mum’s heated hair tongs. Just as we were ready to leave, her mum came in to say she’d made us some supper.

  ‘There’ll be tons to eat at the party,’ Clare objected.

  ‘Bowls of crisps, I expect. You get something inside you.’ Her mum insisted, so we both sat down at the table. I ate the spaghetti bolognese she’d made. It was scrummy. But Clare emptied hers into the bin when her mum wasn’t looking.

  ‘You’ll be starving later,’ I remarked.

  ‘No I won’t.’

  The party was in full swing when we arrived. We could hear the music from way down the stairwell and the neighbours had already started complaining, which is always a good sign. Clare and I forced our way past a load of hopeful gate-crashers and made towards the source of the music. The room was full of gyrating bodies. To my relief, Cedric was nowhere to be seen.

  Marie must have asked practically everyone from our year. They were all crammed into the first room. The girls, minus school uniform but plus make-up and heels, looked twice as old as the boys. While the boys, curiously transformed, mostly by hair gel, were sadly the same dweeby boys as ever.

  A group of Cranshaw boys was in the second room and only the most confident girls – like Christine – had ventured in. She was already entwined with Matt. I peered through the doorway but Cedric wasn’t there either.

  ‘So where is he?’ demanded Clare.

  ‘Maybe he’s not here yet,’ I said. ‘You get in there and start dancing. When he turns up, I’ll bring him in. Whatever you do, make sure you don’t look interested. Make out like you’re having a fantastic time and he doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Right,’ said Clare and she started dancing enthusiastically right beside Antony – dweeb-of-the-year. I sighed. Would she ever learn?

  I came across Cedric in the kitchen. He had somehow landed himself the job of opening bottles and pouring drinks and was currently pegged behind the kitchen table which was a-swill with a multicoloured cocktail of spilt liquid. Brilliant, I’d got him on his own.

  ‘Hi!’ I said, squeezing my way through a jam of thirsty people to get to him.

  ‘Jessica!’ he called out, looking ominously pleased to see me. ‘Want to dance?’

  ‘Errm, not really.’

  ‘Nor do I. Let’s find somewhere quiet.’ He clambered out under the table, sending a tidal wave of slops over the waiting crowd. ‘Uh, sorry,’ he said.

  We squeezed our way out into the corridor and found ourselves kind of wedged between the kitchen and the bathroom. People kept weaving their way back and forth. I practically had to shout. The music was deafening.

  ‘Cedric, listen. I’ve got to talk to you,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I can’t go with you – to the Cranshaw Ball …’

  ‘You can’t?’

  ‘No, I’ve promised Mum. I’ve got to go to see her play.’

  ‘Her play? Can’t you go another night?’

  ‘It’s the final night. Mum wants me to go to the party afterwards.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  ‘But you could take someone else.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  I moved a little closer. This was it …

  ‘Listen Cedric. Why don’t you take Clare? She really wants to go. And I know she’s free that night … And she’s got this dress and everything and …’ I tailed off. Cedric was looking over my shoulder. He gave me a warning glance.

  ‘Thanks a lot …’ It was Clare’s voice behind me. I swung round. She was right up close to me. She must have heard every word.

  ‘I don’t need you to arrange my social life for me, Jessica, thank you very much,’ she said. ‘And just for the record,’ she added, turning to Cedric, ‘I wouldn’t go with you if you were the last male on earth.’ Then she stormed into the bathroom.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ said Cedric.

  I went after her. She slammed the door in my face and locked it. I banged on it. ‘Clare, open up. Let me in. Please.’

  ‘Go away,’ came her muffled voice through the door.

  ‘Liste
n, Wobble …’

  She flung open the door and glared at me. ‘Don’t ever call me Wobble again.’ And she swept past me. I watched as she snatched up her coat and left the party.

  ‘That’s done it,’ said Cedric.

  ‘Oh my God. What shall I do?’

  Terrible visions of her throwing herself under a car, or out of a window, or off the top of a building, swam before my eyes.

  ‘I’ll go after her,’ said Cedric.

  I watched over the bannisters as he ran down the stairs two at a time. ‘Clare … Clare … listen …’

  The door slammed behind them.

  I didn’t stay long at the party. I felt too guilty and miserable. I got a mini-cab home and called Clare up on the way. She didn’t answer my call. Where was she? I left a humble text.

  so sorry

  i should mind my own business

  That night I had a weird dream in which Clare had turned into a slither of herself. I mean she looked like Clare from the front, but sideways she was thin enough to slip between the floorboards. I woke with a shock. What if Clare starved herself to death and it was all my fault?

  Mum came into my room at some excruciatingly early hour the next morning. It was barely light. ‘I’m just off to the rehearsal. How did you go with the tickets?’

  The events of the night before flashed through my brain. I pulled the duvet up over my head with a groan. Mum was insistent. ‘Come on, wake up. George will need to know how many are left.’

  So I rose on one elbow. ‘Tickets?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Errm. I got rid of about twelve I think. The rest are on the kitchen table.’

  ‘Well done. So where’s the money?’

  ‘Money?’

  ‘Money, cheques, whatever, for the tickets.’

  I was wide awake now. ‘People didn’t have to pay for them, did they? I thought they were comps …’

  ‘Jessica, honestly. How do you think we can afford to put on a play if we don’t sell tickets?’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, I thought it would be better to have an audience than no one …’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to think again. You’ll have to go back and ask those people for the money. Someone’s going to have to pay up.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ I pictured Madame Zamoyski, she’d been so delighted. And Roz who didn’t have a bean to her name. And Jekyll and Hyde, I mean Barry and Jeremy – they didn’t look too well off. I lay back in bed miserably wondering how much I had in my post office savings account. I heard Mum go out and close the door rather more firmly than usual behind her. Bag climbed on to my bed and rubbed himself against me, purring furiously. I drew him to me and buried my face in his fur.