Star Struck (9 page)

I looked down at the plate and concentrated on the creases in its cardboard. I felt okay as long as I didn't think about how full the room was, and I was eating, well, snacking, looking interested –
just like a real person
. No-one could tell that I couldn't even remember if I'd grown to like pickles; and if I didn't think about how many people there were, milling about in that small space, where I couldn't touch the walls, I'd be fine. Fine, yes, if I didn't think about the people breathing my air, holding me in place so I couldn't run, couldn't get out,
get out 
…

I found myself standing in the dusty yard, plate still in hand, unable to remember how I'd got through the crowd and slightly surprised, because I hadn't consciously
felt
stressed, until I'd run. And yet, here I was, gasping, dragging the hot air down into my lungs, feeling it scritch and swirl down my throat, knowing that I couldn't be dying because I was breathing. My heart chiselled away at my ribs and I had to drop the plate because my hands were shaking so much.

It was caught before it hit the ground. ‘Careful, girl. They're valuable, these plates. Ten dollars per hundred, see?'

Clenching my toes to prevent the incipient faint, I looked up. Gethryn stood beside me, his own plate in his hand and his face wrapped in a smile that I wasn't sure was for me. I looked over my shoulder, but there was nothing there apart from the scrubby cactuses which had been planted all along the wall. He couldn't be smiling at a cactus, could he? Cautiously I smiled back.

‘That's better. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be frowning. You'll give yourself wrinkles.' A hand extended my way. ‘Name's Gethryn. Unless you knew that, in which case just call me Mr Moron.'

‘I … did know.' Almost afraid to make contact in case he disseminated into a stream of atoms, I touched his hand. Cool and sure it closed around mine. ‘I'm Skye.' Still trembling.

He didn't seem to notice the vibration of my fingers. Gave my hand a firm shake. ‘Jesus, I'm glad to meet someone who's not completely barking.' A confidentially lowered voice. ‘Most of the women in there? They'd have the boxers off my arse if I stopped moving long enough. Christ, fans are bad when they're at a distance, never mind being trapped in a room with a hundred of the buggers.' He tipped his head towards the people standing at the doors to the diner or sitting on the steps that led down, out into the desert, chatting to one another and pretending not to know who he was.

‘Actually, I'm a fan,' I managed to stammer out. ‘I'm here for the convention.'

Gorgeous tawny eyes met mine and a firm hand under my elbow guided me further from the pretending-not-to-be-listening crowd. ‘Ah, but you're not barking though, are you? Haven't noticed you lifting your top to get your boobs signed, or sitting outside my trailer all night in a tiny little dress and no knickers.'

I couldn't force my eyes away from his face. Gethryn must have thought I had some kind of staring disorder. ‘I … like … the programme.'

Yeah, that's kind of the definition of ‘fan', I berated myself from inside my head, but Gethryn was gracious. ‘Thanks,
bach
. If only I could have stayed on … I had plans for Lucas James – oh, never mind.'

Now I could only nod. I felt much as I should think a toddler feels on being quizzed by a department-store Santa, as though I was in the presence of a representative of God. Every millimetre of his face was familiar to me, yet I still couldn't stop my eyes from blazing all over it, seeing the raised lines of stubble around his mouth and the way his lips pouted around his Welsh accent. In the show he spoke with a generic English inflection; there was something erotic beyond words at the dips and swoops of the Brecon intonation. There was something about the way he said
bach
that made it sound far more intimate and sexy than the English equivalent ‘dear'. And
he was still holding my hand
. I was afraid to move and draw attention to the fact, so I just stood. My mouth was open slightly, I didn't dare lick my lips, he might think I was drooling, so I just gaped at half-mast and hoped that I didn't look like the village idiot.

‘You looked a bit panicked in there.' Gethryn spoke again; his voice was quieter now, for me only. ‘Not like crowds then,
cariad
?'

Cariad? Had he just called me
darling
?

‘I'm not good with lots of people, no.' He didn't need to know about the stress thing that caused the anxiety attacks; it might make him revise his opinion of me up to Grade Two Bonkers.

Gethryn moved closer, half a step, a full step. Now he was right beside me and I could feel him breathing, the weight of his pale linen suit brushing against my wrist. ‘Something we have in common, lovely, I don't like the crowds so much either. It's a stupid profession that I'm in for someone who hates gatherings like this, but, hey, you do what you're good at, don't you?'

I gave a hard, slow blink to stop myself wondering exactly what
else
he was good at. ‘Where's your …. every time I've seen you there's been … security men?'

‘Ah, Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men. Given them the slip for a moment.' He gestured towards a bottle of Scotch and a single, full glass balanced on the wall near the steps. ‘Just wanted some fresh air and a drink of something that doesn't taste like mule's piss.' The voice dropped to that whisper again and I had to lean in close to catch his words. ‘You won't give me away, will you,
bach
?' He shook his head, comically scuffing a toe in the sand like a child.

Suddenly there was a presence at my other shoulder.

‘Geth? You're wanted inside. They're going to announce the arrangements for tomorrow's Big Competition, you have to be there.'

‘Oh, what? Why? Can't they get on without me?'

‘You're the
star
.' Jack's voice was bitter. ‘Of course they can't do it without you.'

‘But …'

‘Geth.' Warning, now.

‘Oh, fuck. All right, boy, I'll be there. Keep your shirt on.' Gethryn turned to me. ‘Rain check on this then,
bach
, yes?' And before I could answer he'd headed back up the steps into the diner.

I stayed where he'd left me, stunned. Half-consciously rubbing my scar with the back of my hand and making a mental note to always
always
use this brand of cover-up. Mouth still open.

‘And you, pull yourself together.' Jack spoke from between clenched teeth. ‘Mr Fantastic
has gone now.'

‘I can't believe …' I was staring into space. ‘He spoke to me. He actually
spoke
to me!'

‘Whoopee doo.' Jack sounded sardonic now. ‘Is that his drink?' He gestured towards the bottle and glass on the wall.

‘No.' I wanted Jack to give me the bottle. It was something Gethryn had touched. I would keep it forever. And I was never going to wash this hand again.

‘Okay. If you say so.' Jack gave me an odd look. A sudden renegade breeze startled his hair over his face and, as he brushed it back, I noticed his eyes looked worried. Unsettled. ‘Just … Skye. Gethryn isn't … He's sometimes a bit … difficult, you know?'

‘You don't have to worry about me,' I said tightly. ‘I'm capable of looking out for myself.'

All I got for that was an ironically raised eyebrow which, bearing in mind this morning's little fiasco, had a point. ‘I realise that I'm shouting prayers in the Church of Satan here but just … be careful. That's all.'

He was more smartly dressed than I'd seen him before, I noticed now. A proper shirt, and jeans that were if not exactly dressy, then at least clean. He wore a narrow-framed pair of glasses and for one tiny second I felt a tickle of familiarity.
I've seen you somewhere before. A long time ago …
Before the accident? Possibly, but this had the feeling of not being part of the memory loss, simply something I couldn't immediately recall. Perfectly normal not-remembering of
something …
Something that came associated with … trouble?

‘Oh,
there
you are.' Felix came fussing across the yard like a hen whose chicks have become dispersed. ‘Fancy a stroll?'

Jack stared at him. ‘Are you not going to listen to the announcement about tomorrow's qu–'

Felix cut him off. ‘Are you feeling all right, Skye? You're a bit pink … Did it all get a bit much?'

‘She's been having a tête-à-tête with Mr Tudor-Morgan.' Jack's voice was dry.

‘I'd actually quite like to go inside now.' I tried to disengage myself from Felix's arm but he had a surprisingly strong grip on my elbow.

‘Oh, it's nothing important. I shouldn't think,' he added hastily. ‘But shouldn't you be …?' A nod to Jack and an indication of the head towards the rapidly filling diner, where I could see Gethryn being hustled towards an empty square of flooring, being kept free from people by more of the jacketed security men. ‘Don't they need you?'

Jack shrugged and he blew out as though he had another lit cigarette between his lips. ‘Not really. I'm just one of the team, that's all. And, let's face it, I could be standing beside Geth with my dick out and no-one would notice.'

‘
I
would,' Felix said gamely. ‘I'd be looking.'

‘Cheers. I think.'

‘What have you got against Gethryn?' My anger was rising at his cavalier way of dispatching a man who had been flirting so ego-boostingly with me.

Jack fixed me with a suddenly very serious brown-eyed gaze. ‘Skye. I wouldn't hold
anything
against Gethryn Tudor-Morgan that wasn't made of asbestos, and even then it would have to be reinforced.' I watched his eyes move, taking in my scar. ‘But you're right. I'd better go. Someone who knows what's going on should be there with him.' And he was gone, slipping his shadowy body up the three shallow steps and back inside, where the crowd moved to allow him entrance.

I twitched to follow, but Felix pulled me back.

‘Come on. I want to know where you vanished to. I'd just got across to Mr Jared White in there, who, I might add has the scrummiest set of abs under that get-up and he needn't try to pretend otherwise, and when I turned round, you'd gone.'

‘I had a bit of a panic, went outside and Gethryn and I got talking. That's all, nothing scandalous.' We started walking. Dusk was gathering overhead and the cicadas' thrumming noise was all around us like tiny razors being stropped. ‘Jack came and interrupted before it got interesting.'

Felix looked up, checking our position. We were out of sight of the diner now, heading around the motel towards the main doors … ‘So, was Gethryn chatting you up? Go on, lover, tell me everything.'

I recounted as much of the conversation as I thought repeatable. I wanted to hold some of the words secret, not spread them out and make them public property but keep them only for myself, to take out and think over when I was alone. And besides, what really remained of the conversation boiled down to the memory of Gethryn's studied stubble and his hair moving in the breeze; the feel of his fingers holding my hand and those leonine eyes watching my soul.

‘Darling, I'm surprised your underwear hasn't spontaneously combusted – do you know how many women here would pay
any money
to have Gethryn Tudor-Morgan get them alone? And a fair few men as well; at least, I'm hoping.'

‘It was … nice, yes.'

‘
Nice? How
long have you been lusting after that man? A year-and-a-half? Two series' worth of
Fallen Skies
; what, nearly fifty episodes? I seriously fear for your attitude sometimes, Skye. Next time he chats you up – and yes, I am
certain
there will be a next time – then you just follow along anywhere he wants to lead,
tout de suite
and I shan't have a glass to the wall, all right?'

I gave a kind of sideways nod which could have meant anything, but Felix took it as agreement. He always thought I agreed with him. We stood in the softly encroaching dark for a while, Felix leaning against the wall of the motel while I crossed my arms over my chest.

‘You thinking about the accident?' Felix's voice was surprisingly gentle. ‘Your fingers.'

I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jeans. ‘Faith, actually.' Felix gave an almost inaudible sigh. ‘She wanted to go to America, didn't she?'

‘Yeah.' He bent to examine the toe of his shoe. ‘Never got the chance.'

‘I miss her.' Inside my pockets my thumbs were running along the fingertip scars, tracing them. Inside my head the colours of the accident raged, the blue flames, the red-hot metal. Not memories, something older, harder and more primitive.