My Life So Far Page 6

  Shops are whipping by like a commercial break on fast forward: Live Food-Tarot Reading-Psychic Planning-Total Body-Karma-Nails-Vintage-hippy-tie-dyed-Afro-dayglosequinnedstuddedslashed – at the speed we’re going any potential molester would be lucky to catch me.

  Brandy comes to an abrupt halt in a place called Tompkins Square. He’s stopped by a gumball machine. He stands there panting and staring at me expectantly.

  Something tells me that in Life-Before-Dog-Shelter Brandy has been here, because this is no ordinary gumball machine. This one sells ‘Hashed Liver Flavor Dog Treats’.

  ‘OK boy, you win.’

  I feed five quarters into the machine and out comes the dog treat in its little plastic bubble.

  I stand getting my breath back while Brandy chews contentedly on his dog treat. Automatically, I check my mobile.

  I have a text message.

  It’s from Becky:

  B+J = x!!!!!

  I puzzle over this odd equation. Is Becky losing it? Overwork, perhaps? But then its full meaning dawns on me with all its shattering implications. OK, that’s it. It’s now official – I’m a freak. Becky has been kissed. I gaze around the square as I take this in. Suddenly everyone in Tompkins Square Park is a person who has been kissed, even that big fat lady who’s feeding the pigeons over there. I am the only person who hasn’t. I’m a sad, lonely thirteen-and-three-quarter-year-old who has never been kissed. As far as I can see ahead, I may well go through my entire life un-kissed.

  Saturday 31st May, 7.00 a.m.

  The Wessex Hotel

  I wake up realising that I’ve been dreaming I’m at this new school and that Shug is one of the teachers and I’ve walked up to the blackboard and taken the chalk from him. He’s staring at the blackboard because I’ve just written out this equation – about a hundred symbols long – which has solved the whole mystery of time, motion and the age of the universe, with the kind of neat solution that’s absolutely clear in your brain when you’re dreaming but total rubbish when you wake up. My answer is simplicity itself. It all equals x. But Shug is staring at it and kind of sneering, which gives me an uncomfortable feeling that maybe I’ve loused up.

  I lie in bed trying to work out what the dream means. Shug! Ugghh! His very name makes me feel like I’m going to break out in something terminal. And that dad of his – that beastly cold fish Oliver Bream who oh-so-very-nearly became my stepdad! But Mum ever-so-wisely stood him up at the airport when they were going to fly to Vegas for the ceremony.

  And then I have an even more uncomfortable feeling. ‘The son of a friend goes there’ – how did Mum know where Shug went to school? She must be back on speaking terms with Oliver Bream. Or even seeing him.

  8.00 a.m.

  I was intending to have a quiet private breakfast. I’ve actually spotted a pack of Lucky Charms buried among the little individual cereal packs in the dining room and I’m homing in on it, intent on a deliciously unhealthy feast well out of Mum’s sight lines, when Vix comes storming into the restaurant. She’s carrying her organiser and has her mobile on headset. She’s looking frayed.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Your mother’s meant to be on location. I’ve got the director on the line going spare and she’s not in her room. Have you any idea where she is?’

  ‘No. I’ve been with Dad. I didn’t even speak to her yesterday. Did you try her mob—’

  (Silly question. Mum always has her mobile turned off when she’s not working.)

  ‘Can you think of anyone?’ demanded Vix. ‘Anyone she might be seeing?’

  ‘No, but . . . hang on, maybe . . .’ I’m getting this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Who were those lunches with? My suspicions are all pointing to one person.

  ‘What? Tell me! He’s bawling me out as if it’s my fault.’

  ‘Is Oliver in town by any chance?’

  ‘Oliver Bream? Last thing I heard he was in Cannes – at the film festival.’

  ‘I reckon she’s been seeing him.’

  ‘But they broke up.’

  ‘Something tells me they’re back on.’

  ‘Right,’ said Vix. ‘There’s one way to find out.’

  She stabbed at her mobile. ‘Sid, that mate of yours – Oliver’s driver. Call him up. We’ve got to know if Oliver’s in New York. And if so, where he’s staying.’

  ‘. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .’

  ‘I know you’re all sworn to secrecy. But this is like life and death . . .’

  ‘. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ’

  ‘OK, if Kandhi’s with him, you sort it out. If she’s not on the corner of Murray and North End Avenue like ten minutes ago, I’m out of a job.’

  ‘Right, Holly. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do?’

  ‘No.’

  Vix and I took a cab to the corner of Murray and North End. The street had been cordoned off with red-and-white tape. There were several police cars and a fire engine standing by. Parked along the curb was a bank of those massive location trailers that film companies use, their tangled web of cables snaking out across the street. I’d already spotted Daffyd waiting on the steps of one marked ‘Wardrobe’, anxiously smoking a cigarette.

  Vix went up to the security guy who was manning the cordon.

  ‘Has Kandhi shown up yet?’

  ‘No, ma’am. Looks like things are getting pretty tense in there.’

  Once inside the cordon, you could feel tension in the air like static before a storm. They’d done up this old disused cinema to look like a tacky nightclub. It was plastered with flyers featuring ‘Kandhi and the Popsicles’. (Sad but true – that was the name of Mum’s first backing group.) A couple of guys were stretching a big white reflector over the entrance, and the cheap glitzy stars around the doorway kept flashing on and off. I could see a body double who was standing in for Mum, poised in the foyer as they took camera readings off her.

  A guy with big headphones stormed over to Vix.

  ‘So where is she?’ he demanded.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Vix, cupping her hand over her ear as she listened to her mobile. Her face cleared: ‘It’s OK, she’ll be here in five.’

  The guy, who I later found out was the director – and awesomely famous – went over to a fellow with a megaphone and a voice rang out:

  ‘Right, everybody. Back to starter positions. Looks like we might even get something in the can this morning.’

  ‘OK, Popsicles, stand by. We’re going for another take.’

  Three blondes dressed in glittery pink minidresses and huge platform boots clambered down from one of the trailers.

  ‘Did Mum’s backers actually look like that?’ I whispered to Vix.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ said Vix. ‘This was her retro phase.’

  ‘Silence, everybody!’

  A bank of lights flashed into life and a boy with a clapperboard leapt in front of the camera and slapped the clapper shut.

  The Popsicles started tottering on their platform soles towards the entrance of the ‘club’.

  There was a tense silence as a camera inched forward, tracking them.

  Just then a scarlet Maserati screeched up, went straight through the cordon tape, slammed into a bank of trash bins sending them crashing to the ground, and lurched to a halt.

  Mum climbed out.

  ‘Cut!’ went the voice on the megaphone.

  The director strode across the set.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded.

  Mum stood her ground.

  ‘Am I late or something?’

  ‘Late? You were due on the set two hours ago!’

  ‘Well, I’m here now,’ said Mum, and started to head towards the trailer where Daffyd and June were standing waiting.

  ‘Now, you listen to me,’ said the director. ‘You may be Kandhi the star. You may even be K
andhi the Supernova. But on this set you are one of the actors, and like all the others you are under my direction, and if you don’t toe the line, one of us is going to be out of this film.’

  Mum turned and eyed him levelly. ‘Well, it certainly won’t be me,’ she said.

  It was at that point that another figure climbed out of the car. As he rose to his full height, my worst fears were confirmed. Large as life and just as creepy, there stood Oliver Bream! My mind went into a flat spin. Mum must have spent the night with him. Oh. My. God. So it was true – they were back on.

  ‘Errm, excuse me . . .’ he was saying in that ultra-posh English voice of his, ‘I think this could be my fault . . .’

  The director turned and stared at him threateningly. There was absolute and total silence on the set.

  ‘You see, the thing is, right now, Kandhi might have had other things on her mind. Because . . .’

  There was a pause in which you could have heard a cotton ball drop.

  ‘This morning I asked her to marry me and she agreed to be my wife.’

  There was a kind of sigh like a deep communal ‘Aaaah’ from everyone. Two of the Continuity Team embraced. I saw a camera man drying his eyes.

  Mum turned shyly and walked back to Oliver and put up her face to his, and he leant down and kissed her.

  At that, the whole set exploded into applause.

  The director threw up his hands and shook his head, but even he was smiling. ‘OK, I know when I’m upstaged. Come on you folks, break it up. And let’s get this movie moving.’

  All right, so it was a touching scene. But back to me and my reaction. Oliver had released his hold on Mum and she was heading towards the wardrobe trailer. And I was running towards it too . . .

  I clambered up the steps behind her: ‘Mum! You can’t mean it. After all that’s happened. You’re not going to marry Oliver of all people!’

  Daffyd slammed the door shut and Mum fell into the seat June held ready for her.

  ‘No, Holly,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m not.’

  Daffyd and June set to work on Mum like it was a resuscitation job in ER.

  ‘But Oliver just said –’

  ‘Oliver said that to get me out of a scrape. Marvin is the most brilliant director. If Marvin walks out, we’ve had it.’

  ‘But you turned round and kissed him like –’

  ‘Acting, babes. We’re both actors in case you’d forgotten.’

  ‘But why were you so late?’

  ‘Because we overslept, which was all Oliver’s fault. So we were having this almighty row! When he came out with all that stuff about proposing, you could have knocked me down with a . . . a . . . whatever.’

  ‘Oh, I see . . . So he hasn’t proposed?’

  ‘Not unless I missed it in all the shouting. Now, can you leave me in peace to get dressed? Where’s my wig, Daffyd?’

  I climbed slowly down from the trailer, going over this in my mind. Phew! What a relief! She wasn’t going to marry Oliver. But everyone now thought she was. How were they going to get out of this one? Nightmare!

  ‘Hi, Sis!’ a voice hissed from the far side of the trailer.

  I froze. It wasn’t! Yes, it was. It was SHUG. He moved in and trapped me in the narrow bit between two trailers.

  ‘Where did you spring from?’ I said. ‘Crept out from under some stone, maybe?’

  ‘Charming! I was in the back of the car as a matter of fact. Glad I didn’t miss that moving little scene.’

  ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up. That’s just what it was – a scene. Acting. Mum wouldn’t want to marry your dad if he was the last man on earth.’

  ‘Hopes? To have an ex-Popsicle for a stepmum? Oh purr-leese!’

  ‘Well, you were there. What was going on in the car?’

  ‘Your mum was doing the hysterical bit, blaming Dad for lousing up her movie.’

  ‘But it was only one tiny sequence.’

  ‘Not if Marvin Helpman walks out on her and directs the film Dad’s casting.’

  ‘That’s what the row was about?’

  ‘Among other things.’

  ‘You mean, Mum thought your dad made her late on purpose?’

  ‘She didn’t put it quite so calmly, but yes, I guess.’

  ‘But I still don’t get this. Why were they late?’

  Shug looked at me sideways and then came out with a slow grin. ‘Maybe someone cancelled Dad’s wake-up call. Maybe someone thought they wouldn’t want to be disturbed seeing as they’d just got back together again . . .’

  I stood staring at him in amazement. ‘You sabotaged their wake-up call? You caused this row on purpose?’

  ‘Well, neither of us think they’re suited, do we?’

  ‘No, but that was way out of line.’

  ‘Oh come on, don’t start giving me that self-righteous stuff!’

  ‘Let me pass,’ I said. ‘I want to see what’s going on on the set.’

  Shug was standing in the way. I had to squeeze really close to get past. He was tall for his age and I couldn’t help noticing that, for sixteen, he was pretty well-built. Despite myself, I found I was blushing as my body brushed up against his.

  Shug noticed. In fact, he was lapping it up. ‘Hey, you’re growing up, Holly. And in all the right places . . .’

  ‘Get out the way before I kick you!’ I said.

  ‘Go on, say pretty purr-leese nicely then . . .’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ I said and squeezed past him all the same.

  I glanced back and saw him sizing up my back view. The cheek of it! I composed my face into a suitably cross expression and glared back at him.

  On the set things had moved on somewhat. Mum was out of the trailer and making strides towards the ‘club’, followed by her three Popsicles. It was weird seeing Mum in that oh-so-obvious wig and those totally over-the-top false eyelashes. An actor who was meant to be playing her first manager was waiting for her at the entrance. They were shooting a scene in which they have this blazing row and she fires him. Actually, it made me realise how far Mum had come. She didn’t talk about the past much, but it must have been like this. Tacky clubs. Weeks on the road. She likes to give the impression that she took the easy route to fame, but no way.

  Sunday 1st June, 10.30 a.m.

  The Wessex Hotel

  It’s Sunday. Traditional day for a good long laze in bed. And it’s the holidays too which should make it doubly delicious. Except that I haven’t got that much to do – well, nothing actually. Which makes me feel rather sorry for myself. So I should be able to indulge in a nice satisfying wave of self-pity. But can I get any peace? No such luck. I’m cruelly woken by the phone by my bed.

  ‘Hi, Holly! Where are you? Didn’t see you at breakfast.’ It’s Vix.

  ‘I was having a lie-in.’

  ‘Well, you’d better stop lying in and get your butt down here because you’re wanted downstairs.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Your mum wants a family picture.’

  ‘Family? Is Dad here?’

  ‘Not with Pete, dumb-brain. Your new family.’

  My heart turns over with a thump. What new family? Oh my God!

  Down in the Lobby, the place looked like a war zone. Frantic staff were trying to keep some kind of order as a heaving crowd of journalists waving press cards tried to force its way – like toothpaste through a very narrow tube – through the entrance doors.

  I spotted Vix at the far side beckoning me over and I squeezed my way through to her. She eyed my jeans and crop top dismissively. ‘What have you got on? Oh, it’ll have to do.’

  Then she hauled me behind her through a side entrance into a suite that had been set up for a press conference. The press were being held back. I could hear the muffled roar of their voices coming through the double doors.

  Mum and Oliver were already there, seated on a couch in front of a kind of antique tapestry screen thingy flanked by banks of flowers. And then out from behind the screen came .
. . oh great! It’s Shug.

  ‘Hollywood, babes, we’ve been waiting for you,’ said Mum, holding open her arms.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ I said, giving her kisses on both cheeks.

  ‘Hi, Oliver.’ It seemed I was expected to kiss him too. I gave him only the teensiest peck on one cheek.

  I glanced at Shug. He leant forward and tapped his cheek too, so I stuck my tongue out at him.

  ‘God, this is a farce!’ said Oliver, looking thunderous.

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ snapped Mum.

  ‘OK! It seemed like a good idea at the time. I hadn’t envisaged the press reacting like this.’

  ‘Yeah, Dad, and so many of them,’ said Shug, grinning evilly at Mum. ‘I wonder who let on?’

  ‘There were hundreds of people at that shoot – it could have been any one of them,’ returned Mum. Then she smoothed her skirt and added: ‘Anyway, it doesn’t take a genius to know that anything I do is going to get noticed.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Shug. ‘It must be tough being worshipped like you are, Kandhi.’

  Mum shot him a hurt look. And Oliver actually said: ‘Cut it out, Shug. Kandhi’s got enough on her plate as it is.’

  Vix was standing at the doors listening in to her headset. She started signalling violently to Mum.

  ‘Maybe we should let them in,’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes. Let’s get this whole charade over with as fast as possible,’ said Oliver.

  ‘Yes, why not?’ said Mum in a clipped tone that perfectly matched his. ‘Open the doors, Vix.’

  As the doors were flung open, the photographers stormed in like a river in full flood bursting a dam. They were jockeying for a place in the front and they’d started taking pictures way before I’d composed my face into anything like a smile.

  ‘Hey, closer in there! Get your arm round the little lady.’