Miss Wrong and Mr Right (4 page)

‘No Mummy. It says eight hours…’

Sharon went over to Felix and grabbed the leaflet.

‘Eight hours? Why didn’t that bloody woman in the chemist say! I didn’t want the eight hour one! Eight hours takes us to…’

‘Midnight,’ I said.

‘Yay, yay, yay! Can we stay up?’ shouted Amy. ‘We’ve only ever stayed up till midnight on New Year's Eve!’

‘Cool!’ shouted Felix, joining in with Amy jumping up and down in excitement. Sharon stood with the leaflet, tears starting to prick her eyes.

‘It’s all right. Just rinse it off and do it again tomorrow,’ I said. Sharon bit her lip.
 

‘No, because I will still have nits, and I’ll have to do them again, and it says you shouldn’t use these chemical shampoos more than once a month… And I can’t take them to school tomorrow if they haven’t been done.’

‘Really?’ I asked.

‘There’s virtually been a witch hunt to find whose children are responsible for the nit outbreak. And I can’t come to your fancy launch party with nits! What if I gave Ryan Harrison nits? I’d be mortified!’

Sharon grabbed a tissue, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

‘Can we have a Dr Who marathon Mummy?’ asked Felix. Sharon sighed and nodded. The kids both screamed and ran through to the living room.

‘BUT DON’T SIT RIGHT BACK ON THE SOFA CUSHIONS!’ she shouted after them. ‘This shampoo smells like industrial solvent.’

‘Are you sure you won’t come? You could stay at mine and…’

‘Thanks, but no,’ she sighed. ‘Mummy duty comes first.’

‘There will be plenty of time to meet Ryan. He’s going to be at the theatre for five weeks. Plenty of time, I promise,’ I said giving her a hug.

‘I even had my tits measured at Marks and Spencer’s, and bought an expensive new bra,’ sniffed Sharon. ‘Turns out my tits are bigger than I thought. God I could have seen Ryan tonight with my new big tits. He must like big ones, he’s from Los Angeles…’

I peered at her breasts to see if they looked any different. Sharon blew her nose and dabbed her eyes.
 

‘Will you be okay Nat, if I don’t come? Is Benjamin coming?’

‘He was invited but he’s got his meditation group…’ I said. Sharon turned to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.

‘I know you’re pulling a face,’ I added.

‘I’m not doing anything,’ she lied.

‘I know you think Benjamin is selfish… And I suppose he is, sometimes, but he’s just focused on his yoga and his meditation and… And we all need things to focus on. I focus on my job.’

Sharon nodded unconvincingly and poured herself a huge glass of wine.

‘I gave him a key this morning,’ I added.

‘To what?’

‘Nicky asked the same thing. To my flat, of course…’

Sharon went to say something when the Dr Who theme wound down and we heard the unmistakable sound of the Daleks.

‘They are not watching that episode, Felix won’t sleep. He’s terrified of the Daleks,’ said Sharon jumping up. I followed her into the living room and watched her go into Mum mode, commandeering the remote and choosing a different episode. I realised that I had to go. She gave me a hug by the door.

‘Phone me later, and tell me everything,’ she said.
 

‘Of course,’ I promised. ‘And thanks for the dress.’

I felt a twang of envy as I made my way back to the train station. Not that I wanted nits or to watch Dr Who… I just envied Sharon’s life, with her full house.

Ryan Harrison

The sky was heavy with cloud as I made my way up from Charing Cross Station and back to Soho. The rush hour was reaching its peak. I expertly weaved my way through the crowds, the plastic-wrapped dress sticking to my skin in the thick afternoon heat.
 

When I reached the theatre I was shocked to see a huge crowd had formed. The pavement and part of the road directly outside the main entrance had now been blocked off with a long line of crash barriers. The front row had been nabbed by members of the press and paparazzi, who were leaning languidly against the barriers, seemingly used to the routine of waiting for a famous person to materialise. In contrast, the Ryan Harrison fans behind them were whipping themselves into a frenzy, with an excited babble of chatter, shrieks and laughter.
 

There were teenage girls and guys, and some women a similar age to me and Sharon. Phone camera flashes went off as they took group selfies, and there were some elaborate homemade signs being held up with things like: ‘WE LOVE YOU RYAN!’, ‘I LOVE YOU RYAN!’, ‘RYAN! I WANT YOUR BABIES!’ And a group of older ladies were all wearing pink t-shirts reading, ‘WE’RE MORMONS, RYAN. MARRY US ALL!’

Six uniformed police officers were stationed at intervals along the crash barriers, watching over the growing crowd. Inside the enclosed area on the pavement, Nicky was supervising Xander and a couple of the guys who worked in the box office as they straightened and vacuumed a huge roll of red carpet leading up to the main entrance.
 

I reached the barrier and tapped one of the police officers on the shoulder. He wouldn’t believe who I was and I had to shout for Nicky to come over and vouch for me. The police officer wordlessly opened the barrier and I slid through.

‘Sorry Nat, I meant to give you a pass before you left,’ she said handing me a laminated square with my name and staff photo. ‘Ryan Harrison’s people have been in contact. He’s running half an hour late.’

I checked my watch. It was five thirty-five. There was a rumble of thunder, and the crowd screamed. Xander came over with a clipboard for Nicky.

‘This is the final guest list,’ he said. ‘Everyone who comes in will be verified three times. Once out front, once in the foyer when they get their goody bag, and then once more when they enter the bar.’

The thunder rumbled again, and the sky seemed to grow heavier.

‘Have we got umbrellas?’ I asked.

‘Yes, we’ve got a load upstairs, I’ll move them down to the foyer,’ said Xander and went back inside.

‘Can I see the dress?’ asked Nicky. I unhooked it from my shoulder and she gave me an approving smile.

‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘This is crazy, huh?’

‘I know. The crash barriers, the press, the fans… All at our theatre!’

Nicky grinned and squeezed my hand. ‘It’s what we’ve been working towards Nat, for so long… Look, we’ve even got press here from America.’ She pointed to a blonde lady in an immaculate trouser suit as she did a piece to camera with her microphone.

We went back inside and I went up to one of the spare dressing rooms to get ready. The green dress from Sharon was beautiful, simple and elegant with a bit of cleavage on show for good measure. I gave my hair a touch up with the straighteners, and vamped up my make-up a little. It was one of those occasions when everything went right. My eyes were dramatic and smoky; my hair was sleek and straight with just enough volume. Why could I never pull this off on a date? The last couple of times I had been out with Benjamin, I’d been bloated and had an attack of the frizz.
 

I pulled out my mobile and called Benjamin, but after a couple of rings his phone went to voicemail. I stared at the screen. He’d cancelled my call… Maybe he was just about to meditate, I thought. A knock roused me out of my thoughts and Nicky entered.

‘Nat. Ryan Harrison’s car will be here in ten minutes.’

‘Okay. I’ll be down in a sec,’ I said. I suddenly felt very nervous.
 

When Nicky and I went back out of the theatre, the atmosphere on the street was crazed. The air was hot and thick, and black clouds hung low above the rooftops. Streetlights were flickering on, even though it wouldn’t get dark for a few more hours. The crowds had now swollen to fill Raven Street, and we were met by a policewoman who explained they’d made the decision to close it in both directions, and divert traffic. ‘The Metropolitan Police have taken control of the crowd management and all public areas, please do not interfere,’ she added sternly. We nodded obediently. The radio on her lapel hissed and crackled and a tinny voice said, ‘incoming.’

The screaming suddenly intensified, and camera flashes started to fire off, lighting up the crazed faces of the crowd whose heads were snapping back and forward trying to see what was happening.

‘This is it Natalie. That’s Ryan’s car!’ shouted Nicky over the mayhem.

A black people carrier was waved through the barrier, which had been erected halfway along Raven Street. Four police officers flanked it, moving fans out of the way as it crept through the crowd. It stopped at the crash barrier and, holding the fans back, the police officers made a small opening near the rear door. A few seconds passed and then it slid open.
 

Ryan Harrison emerged to an epilepsy-inducing strobe of camera flashes. He posed for a moment on the pavement outside the theatre, pouting in his Ray Bans and looking fashionably dishevelled. He was gorgeous dressed in simple blue jeans and a tight white t-shirt, but as with most famous male heart-throbs, he was tiny.

Ryan’s ‘people’ emerged behind him from the aptly named people carrier; a huge woman with jet-black hair pulled back from her pale face, and two serious-looking younger women in dark blue trouser suits. The huge woman moved quickly to the theatre entrance and vanished inside. One of the younger women approached me, whilst the other shadowed Ryan as he made his way along the barriers, posing for pictures and selfies with the press and fans.

‘Who is Natalie Love?’ shouted the woman above the noise from the crowd.

‘Hello that’s me,’ I said.

‘Wait here,’ she snapped, pointing at the piece of pavement where we stood. She went back to Ryan and guided him to the end of the line, speeding things along.

‘Who are all those women?’ I said bristling a little from her attitude.

‘The big dark-haired woman is Terri, Ryan’s manager, the other two are her assistants,’ explained Nicky. After about ten minutes, they decided Ryan had been paraded long enough. He posed for a final group photo with the ‘MARRY US WE’RE MORMONS’ ladies, then bade them farewell, gliding past us and into the foyer. We hurried in after them.
 

The theatre foyer was packed. Five of our beefy security men milled about, Terri stood in the corner, still wearing the grim scowl. Her two assistants were leaning in, whispering to her intently. The doorway leading to the rest of the theatre was blocked by a huge trolley piled high with goody bags, which were being unloaded by Xander and a couple of girls we’d hired. Ryan stood in the middle of the box office, still wearing his Ray Bans. As we approached him, I could see our faces reflected in them, like staring at the back of a teaspoon. Nicky and I introduced ourselves with manic smiles. He didn’t remove his Ray Bans, and just nodded politely. One of Terri’s assistants came over.
 

‘Nadia… We need to move Ryan out of here,’ she said indicating the cameras still flashing outside, illuminating the foyer.
 

‘It’s Natalie,’ I said. ‘And of course, we’ll show you up to the dressing room we’ve had put aside.’

We got Xander to move the goody bag trolley. We went through and I pressed the button for the lifts.
 

There was a silence as we rode up. Terri and her assistants stared straight ahead with the same grim concentration you see from secret service agents. Ryan remained behind his shades.

‘How was your flight?’ I said to Ryan.

‘Loooong,’ he said. There was another silence.

‘We were worried something had happened to you… I was wringing my hands a little like Lady Macbeth!’ I said.

‘Who?’ asked Ryan. I went to say something but the lift pinged. We all piled out onto the third floor.

‘As requested, we’ve set up our number one dressing room for your exclusive use,’ said Nicky.

‘Hey! Hello America,’ said Ryan perking up at the sound of Nicky’s voice. He pulled off his shades to reveal dark circles around his piercing green eyes. He gave us a cute smile revealing perfect white teeth.

‘Yeah. I’m from Dallas, Texas,’ said Nicky.

‘Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio,’ he said.

‘Sowerton, Devon!’ I quipped. There was a crashing silence. Thankfully we arrived at the dressing room.
 

‘Okay, make yourselves comfortable,’ said Nicky opening the door.
 

‘Thanks,’ said Ryan. He went in followed by the two assistants. I went to file in after Terri’s enormous bottom, but she reached behind her and closed the door in our faces.

‘Charming,’ I said.

‘Your terrible jokes didn’t help Nat…’

‘Didn’t it worry you he didn’t know who Lady Macbeth was?’ I hissed as we made our way back down the corridor.

‘They’ve all just come off a sixteen hour flight,’ said Nicky diplomatically.

‘But he’s agreed to be Macbeth in Macbeth! How could he not get what I was saying?’

‘Isn’t it bad luck to mention the Scottish play?’ asked Nicky.

‘Oh crap. It is, isn’t it? What happens if you say Mac… the name of the Scottish play?’

Nicky started to tap at her phone. ‘Here in Google it says, using the M-word is like a curse on a theatre, which may cause disaster, plaguing theatre productions with accidents, bad luck, and misfortune…’

‘That’s all we need,’ I said.

‘There is, however, a cleansing ritual we can do,’ said Nicky swiping at her phone.

‘A cleansing ritual?’

‘To reverse the bad luck. It won’t take a sec, but we have to go back outside.’

Despite the stupidity of it all, I followed her back downstairs and out onto the pavement. The crowds behind the barriers were staying put, now looking up at the windows and chanting for Ryan.
 

‘What do I have to do?’ I asked.

‘Turn around three times,’ said Nicky. I turned around three times.

‘Okay then what?’

‘Then spit over your left shoulder…’

I went to spit.

‘Not on the red carpet!’ scolded Nicky. ‘Do it in the gutter!’

I moved to the kerb and surreptitiously spat over my left shoulder.

‘And you need to say the line from Hamlet, “Angels and ministers of grace defend us…”’