Drama Queen (18 page)

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.

‘Listen, 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.

Everything was going wrong. To top it all,
nightmare
, today was the day I was due to have lunch with Dad and
Mandy
at the Gran' Paradiso.

I arrived at the Gran' Paradiso before them and was shown to a table in the window, so I saw them arrive. Dad parked the bike half up on the curb and then ‘
Mandy
' climbed off.

I don't know if my jaw actually dropped. But it did metaphorically. I suppose you have to wear a short skirt if you're on the back of a bike. That's unless you're wearing trousers of course. Which might've been a better idea in the circumstances.

I tried my best not to stare as Dad stowed his and Mandy's crash helmets. Mandy had the kind of legs that looked as if they'd spent their entire life on stilettoes – like the ones she was currently wearing. Muscular. I guess they needed to be to support the rest of her – she was a big girl. Her mini-skirt was topped by a cropped jeans jacket that was flashily mock stone-washed in bright white creases.
Underneath I suddenly caught a glimpse of … No! I didn't believe it.
She had a ring in her belly-button
. Now that was just so unfair. The double standards of parents. Dad went absolutely ape when I wanted to have my ears pierced. And that was only
ears
.

But Dad steered Mandy in ahead of him with an expression on his face like the cat that had got the cream. The Italian waiters did a predictably Italian double-take at the sight of her. But Mandy's attention was elsewhere. The Gran' Paradiso was one of those restaurants which economised on windows and made up for it by covering the walls with mirrors. Mandy was currently taking full advantage of them. She tossed her hair at the first and then glided by the others giving herself loving half-glances with a fixed mirror-face pout.

‘Hello Poppet,' said Dad, giving me a hug. ‘I want you to meet—'

‘Jessica!' interrupted Mandy. ‘My … don't you look just like your dad?'

‘Hello,' I managed to smile. (I didn't look a bit like Dad. It was Mum I looked like.)

There was a painful pause. Dad was shuffling from foot to foot and rubbing his hands. Was I meant to get up and kiss her? But no, thank God, he was
drawing out her chair and making false-sounding ‘Isn't this place lovely?' noises, which was really embarrassing seeing as he'd chosen it. I mean, the Gran' Paradiso is fine because of the food and everything, but they do have really dire false flower arrangements and the kind of flouncy blinds that Mum calls French knickers.

‘Well, how are things?' asked Dad when we were all seated. He stared at me pointedly, willing me to speak. I tried not to catch his eye. Luckily, the waiter came along and provided a welcome diversion by handing out the menus.

‘So, let's have some drinks then. Bottle of rouge? Coke for you, Jessica?'

‘I'll have a Campari-soda,' announced Mandy. I couldn't help noticing that this was the most expensive drink on the drinks list. Dad ordered a beer to keep her company.

‘Oooh,' said Mandy, studying her menu. ‘Look Ted, insalata tutto mare! We haven't had that since—'

Dad interrupted. ‘Great. Why don't we start with that?'

I said that I'd be happy with a spaghetti carbonara. ‘Oh, but you must have a starter. Try the insalata tutto mare,' said Mandy.

‘No, really I—'

‘Come on, Poppet. Give it a try,' said Dad. There was an edge in his voice. I could see I'd have to give in. So I shrugged in agreement.

An awkward silence descended which was broken by Mandy. ‘That's a nice colour on you, Jessica. That top you're wearing,' she said. ‘I've gone mad for pale blue this spring.' (God, was she was struggling to find common ground.)

‘Thank you.'

‘She suits it, doesn't she Ted?'

‘Yes!' said Dad. As if pale blue was the most amazing colour anyone had ever worn.

‘We ought to go shopping together some time,' continued Mandy. ‘I love shopping, don't you?'

‘Umm, it depends …' I said, staring at my plate. Visions of myself done-up to look like Mandy flashed through my mind.

Dad stirred uncomfortably on his chair. ‘You know you enjoy shopping, Jessica. All girls do.'

‘Maybe I'm not like
all
girls …' I said rather too quickly.

Dad glared at me. At that point, with welcome timing, our food arrived. I picked at my salad, wondering what the white bits on the top could possibly
be. Some vegetable perhaps, cut in rings. I cut off a tentative piece and chewed. It tasted like old car tyres. Mandy was busy calling the waiter over to ask for fizzy water.

‘What is it?' I spluttered to Dad.

‘Octopus,' he whispered back.

What I had in my mouth was
horrible wobbly tentacles
. The room seemed to go all slurry before my eyes and I felt really sick. ‘Excuse me,' I muttered, pushing my chair out. I ran for the loo and spat it out.

I stayed in the cubicle wondering if I was going to be sick or not. Wild thoughts were racing through my mind. How long had Dad known her? My mind kept going back to the belly-button ring. And I suddenly knew what was odd. She and Dad were exactly the same colour. As if they'd got a tan at the same time. This couldn't simply be a coincidence. Mandy must have gone to Spain with him, which meant … My mind did a terrible calculation. Did Mandy plus belly-button ring and flashy mock faded denim equal Dad plus his Harley-Davidson and his black leathers:

M + (bbr + fmfd) = D + (HD + bl)
Match or Mismatch? I thought wildly
.

There was a knocking on the cubicle door. ‘You all right, love?' Mandy had come to find me.

‘Fine, thank you,' I said. I flushed the loo and came out of the cubicle.

‘Ooh, you do look pale. Do you want me to stay with you?'

I shook my head. Mandy was wearing this really strong perfume. She seemed to be filling the space between the basin and the hand-dryer. All I wanted was for her to leave me alone.

‘No, I'm really OK. You go back. I'll be with you in a minute.'

When I got back to the table, Mandy wouldn't leave the subject alone. ‘You must be allergic,' she said. ‘Allergic to seafood. Lots of people are. Aren't they Ted?' Then she started to list the things she was allergic to. She went on and on talking about food which made me feel worse.

I managed to catch Dad's eye and whispered, ‘Would it be all right if I left now?'

‘If you really don't feel well.'

‘She can't go home on her own, Ted. Look at her.'

‘Yes I can. A walk in the fresh air will do me good.'

But Mandy insisted on calling a taxi. The taxi took ages to come. I didn't feel like eating anything, so I
had to sit there sipping fizzy water while Mandy rabbited on about star signs and how she could tell I was an Aries right from the start. I reckon Dad must've told her when my birthday was.

I felt really sick in the taxi. I kept on getting the taste of octopus in my mouth.

As soon as I got home I rushed upstairs and cleaned my teeth and washed my face in cold water. I wished Mum had been there so I could tell her all about it – about the meal and the octopus and how terrible Mandy was. She'd understand.

I spent the afternoon laid out on the sofa watching an old black and white movie on TV. I wanted Mum to come back and reassure me that it was just a passing phase and that Dad would be back to normal soon. They both would. Back to how they used to be, like in that photo Dad had hanging up to dry. It seemed such a long time ago now. But there was still hope. They weren't divorced yet.

After an hour or so, Dad rang. ‘You OK, Poppet?'

‘It was only the octopus.'

‘So … ?' he said.

‘So what?'

‘So maybe the lunch wasn't such a good idea.'

‘No. I don't think it was.'

‘Listen, Mandy's a great girl when you know her. Why don't you spend some time alone together? Girl stuff. I want to buy you a nice outfit as a present. For that party of your mother's after the play. You know what I'm like, I can't choose. Why don't you go shopping with her, like she suggested?'

‘Do I
have
to?'

‘Of course you don't
have
to.'