Drama Queen Page 5

  The moment you’re free, the card said. Maybe she was married, or she might be living with someone else. In which case she could still be somewhere in our building and it was merely a case of someone having got the wrong flat number. Clearly, I would have to start my research from square one.

  I decided to drop in on Cedric. He said he’d lived at Rosemount all his life, so he should know of ‘J. Seymour’ if anyone did. I made my way downstairs and rang on his doorbell. After a moment’s pause I heard the sound of footsteps from inside. The spyglass went dark and I could tell someone was peering through.

  ‘Hi!’ I tried.

  But the door didn’t open right away. Odd. I waited another minute or so and then rang the bell again, harder this time. There was a sort of scuffle the other side, then Cedric swung the door open with a flourish.

  ‘Hi!’ he said. He’d obviously just gelled his hair. The tidal wave was sticking up vertically as if he’d had an electric shock. The strength of his aftershave nearly knocked me flat.

  ‘Come on in,’ he said.

  I stepped inside.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Cedric.

  ‘I just wondered. I mean, you’ve lived here for ever. Have you ever heard of anyone called Jane or Seymour living in the building?’

  ‘Seymour … don’t think so. Like a cup of coffee? Tea? Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s just that a letter arrived for her. Misdirected to our address.’

  He shook his head. ‘Coke. Lemonade?’

  I followed him into the kitchen. ‘No, really, thanks.’

  He opened the fridge door. ‘Orange juice?’

  ‘Well, maybe …’

  Kicking the fridge door closed with his heel cowboy-fashion, he flipped open the orange juice with his thumb, grinning at me in an over-confident manner. ‘Jane who did you say…?’

  ‘Seymour. Maybe it was someone who stayed with the Hills when they lived in our flat?’

  ‘Can’t ever remember anyone staying. They were really quiet. Kept themselves to themselves.’

  ‘In another flat then?’

  ‘Not that I can remember. There’s a girl in number six. She’s new. Don’t know her name.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘Dunno. She’s got a baby.’

  ‘Is she married?’ I asked.

  ‘Haven’t seen a bloke around.’

  (My mind was racing. Maybe Jane and Henry had got separated. Yes … They’d broken up and Henry had left the country, or been swept away at sea, or lost his memory. Any of those standard things they use to get rid of fathers in soap operas. And Jane had been left struggling to survive alone …)

  Cedric had located two glasses and was leaning up against the fridge. He gave me a sideways look: ‘What are you doing later?’ he asked.

  I was suddenly struck by the awful thought that he might think my story of the lost letter was an excuse to see him. Oh no, surely not. I mean Cedric was fine for a friend. I don’t want to be arrogant, but standing there in his hideous shiny shellsuit bottoms, he was no match for me, even on my very worst bad hair day.

  Cedric + hssb < Jessica + vwbhd Pl-ease!

  ‘Clare said she might drop by,’ I improvised. (I could always call her.)

  ‘When?’ he asked.

  ‘‘Bout six, I think.’

  He glanced at his watch. Not a good move when holding a carton of orange juice. When we’d finished sponging juice off ourselves, he suddenly blurted out, ‘I was thinking of going to see Terminal Crime. It’s on at the MGM.’

  ‘Really?’ (Terminal Crime was a really gory suspense movie. I’d been trying to avoid it actually.)

  ‘Maybe you’d like to come along?’

  (You? This was obviously meant to be ‘You’ plural, i.e. me and Clare. Too shy to ask Clare on her own, I guess.) So, in spite of the fact that Terminal Crime was the last thing I wanted to see, I said, ‘Why not. What time?’

  ‘8.40.’

  ‘Great. Meet you outside.’ He let me out of the flat and I made my way upstairs, still wondering uneasily about that sideways look. No, it was Clare he was after, I told myself firmly – I’d been imagining things.

  I rang Clare right away. ‘Can you make the 8.40 at the MGM?’

  ‘To see what?’

  ‘Terminal Crime.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t want to see it.’

  ‘I know. But guess who’s going to be there?’

  ‘Cedric?’

  ‘Uh huh?’

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘He suggested it. I reckon it’s so that he can see you.’

  ‘So why didn’t he ask me himself?’

  ‘I think he would have done if I hadn’t dropped by.’

  Still having a couple of hours to kill, I decided to use my time constructively and check out the girl in number six. It all fitted. I was starting to build up the story in my mind. Jane and Henry must have split up. Maybe he didn’t even know about the baby. But someone must’ve told him. Now, realising that he couldn’t live without Jane – and the baby of course – Henry was trying to get back together with her. And I was about to reunite them.

  I paused outside the door, feeling the full significance of the occasion … but wondering how best to introduce the subject. I had just raised my hand to ring on the bell when the door was flung open.

  This was no perfect Gwyneth Paltrow/Meg Ryan clone. The girl facing me had a wild expression and her hair was all over the place. Her clothes looked as if she’d slept in them.

  ‘Yes?’ she snapped, glaring at me.

  She’d put me totally off my stroke. ‘I … umm. I mean, I’m trying to track someone down …’

  There was an ear-piercing screech from inside the flat. The girl disappeared from sight and re-emerged carrying a baby. I stared at the baby. Henry was in for a shock here. This baby was of the less attractive kind – the blotchy, red and runny-nosed variety. If I were Henry, I’d stay well away until it reached a reasonable age.

  A sudden noise of water gushing from an overboiling saucepan came from inside the flat. ‘Oh my God. Hold him, can you?’ She thrust the baby into my arms. It took one look at me and emitted another painful scream – obviously didn’t take kindly to being planted on strangers. More screams followed, telling me in no uncertain terms that the sooner I handed it back the better. I tracked the girl down to a kitchen that looked as if it had been recently vandalised.

  ‘Sorry …’ she said, leaning exhaustedly on the kitchen table. ‘You were saying?’

  The baby had taken up a steady howling. ‘I’m from upstairs. Number twelve. I’m trying to track this person down,’ I shouted above the noise. ‘A letter came to our flat, wrongly adressed.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be called “Jane”, by any chance?’

  ‘No, Roz. My name’s Roz,’ she shouted back.

  I thrust the baby back into her arms. ‘Thanks, that’s all I wanted to know. I’ll let myself out.’

  I shut the door thankfully against the volume of screams. Poor thing, I thought. Trying to manage all on her own. What she needed was a man around. Someone sensitive and caring, like Jekyll perhaps – or even Hyde … They lived in the same building. All they needed was someone to bring them together …

  I got ready for the cinema, plotting ways to help them meet up.

  As luck would have it, when Clare and I joined the queue, who should be four people ahead of us but Christine. I really didn’t want to be seen with Cedric. I just prayed she’d get in ahead of us and that we’d be able to smuggle him in under cover of darkness.

  Christine was alone and kept looking round behind her. She tossed her perfect hair and gave us just a half smile of recognition. She was obviously waiting for someone. Matt probably. Sure enough, after a few minutes he came swinging down the street. Every girl in the queue visibly perked up. He joined Christine with a big public display of affection. All of us ordinary mortals sank back into oblivion.

&
nbsp; The film was really popular. The attendant kept on coming out and counting the queue. People were being admitted in batches. We were just about to get inside when Cedric showed up. Or to be more precise, his bus drew up. And Cedric, while trying to wave, nearly got carried on to the next stop. He jumped off, causing a hooting commotion as he narrowly missed getting run over by the car behind. Great entertainment value for the queue. He should have taken a hat around.

  ‘Hi!’ he said to Clare. (Feigning surprise at seeing her with me.) People behind us were starting to get restive at yet another person joining the queue ahead of them. ‘Maybe I should go to the end,’ said Cedric.

  ‘No way,’ said Clare, taking him possessively by the arm. ‘We were saving a place for you. Weren’t we?’

  I nodded.

  A guy behind us sneered at Cedric, ‘I’ve been standing here for half an hour, mate. If I don’t get in, you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, right, I’m going to the back right now …’ said Cedric, tugging himself free.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Clare, grabbing him again. She turned to the guy behind. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever kept a place for anyone,’ she said. ‘‘Cos who would want to sit with you?’

  He then started on a stream of insults.

  ‘Don’t take any notice,’ said Clare to Cedric.

  At that point we got to the head of the queue and were allowed through to the ticket desk. We were the last to be let in. The guy behind us totally lost it. ‘I’ll see you outside, after the film,’ he bellowed after us. We ignored him with dignity.

  Once inside, I positioned myself strategically so that Clare was in the middle, and Cedric on the other side of her. The film was pretty scary. I noticed Clare was actually clinging to Cedric. Or was it Cedric clinging to Clare? Anyway, it was first-class bonding material.

  We emerged from the cinema feeling shaken and jumpy. Clare and Cedric got deep into a discussion over the goriest details. Since I’d had my eyes shut for at least fifty per cent of the action, I didn’t have much to contribute.

  We were just making our way down the high street when the guy who’d been behind us in the queue appeared from out of the shadows. ‘Enjoy the film?’ he sneered at Cedric.

  Cedric cleared his throat. ‘Bit predictable, actually,’ he said. His voice sounded kind of squeaky.

  ‘Bit pre-dic-table,’ echoed the guy in a nasty sarky tone. He started tailing us. He was a bit older than us, a lot shorter than Cedric, but built like a tank. We stepped up speed considerably. But he still caught up with us. He grabbed hold of Cedric’s jacket, swinging him round. ‘Wanna come’n tell me ‘bout it?’ he snarled.

  Clare got between them. ‘Get your hands off him,’ she demanded. ‘You could be had for assault for that.’ I stared at Clare. I’d never seen her being so assertive before. The guy had already let go his hold and was backing away as she continued. ‘We’re witnesses. I know who you are. You go to my brother’s school, don’t you?’

  ‘What are you? His bodyguard?’ said the guy with a half-hearted laugh, but he had already turned and was making his way back up the street.

  ‘Jeez, Clare, well done,’ I said.

  ‘Wow, not bad for a girl,’ said Cedric, pulling his jacket back on.

  ‘Any time,’ said Clare.

  ‘Does he really go to your brother’s school?’ asked Cedric.

  ‘I haven’t got a brother,’ said Clare. ‘But he didn’t know that.’

  I usually stayed over at Clare’s when she and I went out on a Saturday night, but I wanted her and Cedric to have some time alone together, so I suggested that I took a cab while Cedric saw Clare home. But Cedric pointed out that it would be easier if Clare took a cab, since we were both going back to Rosemount. And then Clare stupidly said that if Cedric was with me, I wouldn’t need a cab so wouldn’t have to fork out for the fare. But I nobly said I didn’t mind. Which ended in one of those stupid circular conversations where no one could make their mind up. Eventually we decided on a round trip by bus, taking in a coffee at Clare’s.

  Back at Clare’s I went to her room to sort out the music, leaving the two of them alone to make coffee. I could hear them bantering away happily in the kitchen. I reckoned the whole episode with the guy in the queue had thrown them together.

  I had confirmation of this on the way back to Rosemount.

  ‘So what do you think of Clare?’ I asked Cedric.

  ‘Some girl,’ he said, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘She’s really into jungle,’ I prompted.

  ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘All kinds. She’d love to hear some of your stuff.’

  ‘Would she?’

  ‘Yeah. You ought to ask her round.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll do that.’

  It was well past midnight when I got home. I noticed Mum’s light was still on. I peeped round her door. She must have fallen asleep learning her lines. She still had her glasses on and the script for the play was on the duvet. I lifted it gently from under her hands so as not to wake her. I was in half a mind to read it through to see just how bad it was. But it was late and I was pretty tired so I thought better of it.

  Mum half woke. ‘Why didn’t you stay at Clare’s?’

  ‘Cedric brought me back.’

  ‘That was nice of him. Goodnight,’ she murmured sleepily.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning I woke to hear the phone ringing and Mum answering it. I strained my ears. It was obviously Dad on the phone. He was sounding off at Mum about something. She came into my bedroom to wake me up with her ‘tired look’ on.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Dad went spare about me being out at rehearsals on Friday night. Seems he thinks you nearly burnt the building down.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake. I only mentioned I just a-tiny-weeny-bit overcooked a batch of brownies.’

  ‘He said, you said that the smoke alarm went off.’

  ‘It did. So?’

  ‘Well, it could have been serious.’

  OK, I’d had this before. Each of them showing the other how to be the ideal parent. Which basically meant treating me like a child.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t, was it?’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be out so much.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. It’s only two nights a week.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Look, if something did go wrong, it’s safe as anything in a building like this. There are always loads of people around.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘It’s just Dad being paranoid.’

  ‘It’s Dad being something,’ she said.

  I had to be more careful what I told Dad. Edited highlights of my life would do. In fact, I had to be pretty careful what I told Mum, if I wanted to avoid this ‘competing over who could be the most over-protective’.

  It had been on the tip of my tongue that morning to tell her about the card. But in her current mood the idea of me doing a flat-by-flat search for missing persons unknown was hardly going to appeal. So I decided to keep the whole thing to myself. I went and ran a big hot bath – always the best place to think things over.

  I lay in the water racking my brains for the right way to go about bringing my two unknown lovers together. Maybe I could put posters up on all the lampposts like people do for a lost cat.

  MISSING

  Jane

  Please contact Henry

  who desperately wants to hear from you

  With my mobile number for further information. Then I imagined what Mum would say with all these weirdos calling me up. Certainly not a good idea. Or maybe I should contact the local radio station. I could imagine the DJ’s voice:

  ‘Hey Jane, if you’re out there, this is your lucky day. Henry is longing to hear from you. He loves you, baby. Don’t keep him waiting too long. I’ll just put on a smoochie number to bring you two lovers together … ‘

  But I could hardly count on Jane or Henry lis
tening in, could I? Or maybe I should put out a message on the net.

  From: Henry

  To: JaneSeymour@lostinthepost4evR

  Sent: 22 April 2002

  Subject: ng U

  Will you marry me?

  But if Henry had been into computers, instead of trusting the post, wouldn’t he have e-mailed her? He hadn’t, he’d sent a card. So sweet and old-fashioned and romantic of him. Poor Henry, wherever you are. You shouldn’t be suffering like this.

  I could picture him now, sitting by the phone, waiting for it to ring. Day in day out, night after night, nothing. And then maybe walking out across the common in desperation … getting to the bridge across the river … and pausing to stare down into the dark eddying water. He’s about to throw himself in. Climbing up on to the ironwork of the bridge, edging his way along a girder. Just at that moment, he catches sight of Jane across the street. (Hey. There was a story here. Enough material for a whole blockbuster.) He’s slipped. He’s there clinging to a girder, but his fingers are losing their grip. Jane has caught sight of him, she’s shading her eyes against the sun …

  ‘How long are you going to be in there?’ Mum’s voice came through my reverie. ‘Your boiled egg’s as hard as rock and you’ve got to change Bag’s kitty litter or it’ll walk out of its own accord.’

  (So much for romance!) ‘Nearly finished. I’m out now.’ The water had gone stone cold.

  An hour or so later, I was making my way down the stairs to the bins with the rubbish bag. The lift wasn’t working as usual. Just as I passed Jekyll and Hyde’s front door, Jekyll shot out ahead of me. He stabbed at the lift button.

  ‘It’s jammed,’ I informed him. He muttered something inaudible, then shot down the stairs two at a time. He was about the right height for Roz, I reckoned. But was he really father-material?

  I was still musing about this when I reached the hallway. The front doors were thrust open and Cedric crashed through carrying his bike, dressed in full racing gear complete with helmet.

  ‘Hi Jessica,’ he gasped. He was red in the face and had big sweat marks on his T-shirt.

  ‘You look hot,’ I commented.

  ‘Just done 50 k in under an hour and with a headwind,’ he said.