The Bex Factor (19 page)

Matthew

Dad filmed all my parties before Mum got ill, but it still feels strange with all these cameras about. The breakfast telly weather girl sings ‘It’s Raining
Men’, which is kind of random, and the presenter of that cookery programme, where they have a food fight at the end if he doesn’t like your recipe, wheels in a massive, guitar-shaped
cake.

Everyone brought really cool presents – apart from Dad who got me a box of Liquorice Allsorts – and I manage to catch up with Justin before he slips off to the airport. ‘Thanks
very much for my present, Justin.’

‘No problem.’

‘Perhaps you could show me how to use it sometime.’

‘Perhaps,’ he says, spotting his driver by the smoked salmon. ‘Sorry, got to go. What I did I get you anyway?’

‘An iPad . . . and a 42 inch telly,’ I call after him across the crowded ballroom.

According to Nikki, the place is crawling with celebrities. I recognised a few of them from that reality show
Stunning Cows
, about a group of bitchy models who have to take over an
abattoir. But to tell you the truth, it all feels a bit empty without Twilight. She said she was going to make herself look beautiful for me (like that could take longer than two seconds) and
I’m dying to see her.

Dad is still stalking Nikki. If that wasn’t enough to make anyone puke, it’s all I can do to keep the spinach and salmon vol-au-vent down when I realise who’s walking towards
me. ‘What are
you
doing here?’

‘Nikki wanted me to bring a touch of A-list glamour to this wretched C-list catastrophe,’ says Bart Smedley.

‘Which reminds me,’ I say. ‘Bad luck for getting knocked out last week. It must have been awful for you.’

‘Best thing that ever happened.’ Bart shrugs. ‘When has the public ever appreciated true talent? Anyway, if I was still slumming it with the wannabes I would never have got my
latest gig.’

Bart is going to be the new face of a well-known brand of sausage. ‘I thought you said you’d never do an advert.’

‘I said I would only do one if it was right for me artistically,’ says Bart, giving Mrs Magwicz a regal wave. ‘Just wait till you see it. The director said it was the first
time he’d seen great acting in a commercial.’

‘Yeah, whatever, Bart. Anyway, I need to find Twilight. I want to talk about the final with someone who really understands.’

‘Still barking up that tree, are we?’ says Bart, picking a piece of spinach out of his teeth. ‘I don’t want to rain on your parade or anything, but she’s just using
you, Matt – trust me.’

‘No she’s —’

‘Excuse me . . .
Sausage
,’ says Nikki, dragging me towards the cake. ‘I need Matt to blow out his candles.’

‘Can’t we wait for Twilight?’

‘No can do, I’m afraid,’ says Nikki. ‘We have to get this done and dusted before the crew go into overtime. OK, people, let’s sing “Happy Birthday”.

KFT do the first line unaccompanied and then everyone joins in, apart from Dad who stands next to the cameramen and films it all on his phone. ‘Go on, son, take a deep breath.’

I’m not really in the mood. The candles are like those things they have in churches and I feel dizzy by the time I’ve blown out all fifteen. That’s why I’m not sure if
I’m seeing things when the front of the cake opens and out steps Twilight. It’s only when Nikki insists on filming it again (‘and this time, for God’s sake, everyone
clap’) that I’m sure she’s for real.

‘Where have you been?’ I say. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

‘I’ve been hiding in that stupid cake for the last twenty minutes,’ she whispers, beaming at the cameras. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to give you your present.’

‘Great,’ I say. ‘What is it?’

‘Not here,’ she says, taking my hand and glancing anxiously over her shoulder. ‘Let’s find somewhere a bit more private.’

And I feel even dizzier when she takes my hand and leads me out of the ballroom and down the corridor until we come to the white sofas outside the cocktail lounge.

‘Sit down,’ she says.

I take a seat on the edge of the sofa. ‘Thanks for spending all that time in my cake. It was a really nice . . .’

I feel her warm thigh against my white suit. ‘I’ve wanted to do this for ages,’ she says.

‘Have you?’ I say, tightening my calves so I don’t black out. ‘What do you mean?’

Twilight checks the corridor to make sure no one’s watching. ‘Open your mouth and close your eyes and you shall have a big surprise.’

I do what she says, screwing my eyes tight shut. ‘Can I open them ye—?’

A moment later her lips latch on to mine and she sticks her tongue in my mouth. It ought to be the best moment of my life, but if you really want to know, I’m just scared. I remember
Curtis Morgan saying something about ‘getting some decent tongue action going’ so we kind of circle tongues, like two towels in a tumble drier, while I figure out what to do next. She
tastes of mouthwash. I kind of wish I’d gone easy on the spinach and salmon vol-au-vents.

Twilight makes a strange grunting noise, which I guess must mean she’s enjoying it. I desperately need to come up for air, but when I try to pull away, she locks on to my mouth and carries
on kissing.

And then I open my eyes. ‘Oh my God.’

There’s a camera crew filming the whole thing. ‘Don’t mind us,’ says the sound guy.

‘It’s OK,’ says Twilight, pulling me back down. ‘Don’t take any notice of them.’

I try to carry on, but it feels all wrong. ‘I’m sorry I . . .’

And that’s when I see her; standing over me with her arms folded and a weird expression on her face. At first I’m pleased, next I’m confused, and then I’m just really
angry. ‘Hang on a minute. What are
you
doing here?’

Bex

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ I say, trying hard not to think about what I’ve just seen. ‘I’m here for the party.’

‘But it’s guest list only,’ says Matthew. ‘Who the hell let you in?’

‘The bald guy in the suit that doesn’t fit. He showed me the side entrance.’

‘Mr Packham?’ says Matthew. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘He said he wanted to see what happened next.’

‘Look, I’m busy, OK?’

‘Yes, I can see that.’ The cameraman closes in on us. I shove my hand in his lens. ‘Look, could you stop filming, please? This is private, OK?’

‘Yeah, all right,’ he says, nodding at the microphone guy. ‘We’ve got what we came for anyway.’

I turn to Twilight. ‘Look, I’m sorry, yeah, but I really need to talk to Matthew.’

‘She’s staying here,’ says Matthew.

‘It’s all right,’ says Twilight, following the camera crew back down the corridor. ‘You and your lady friend obviously have things to discuss. I’ll leave you to
it.’

‘Don’t go, Twilight,’ calls Matthew. ‘It’s not important. She’s just a . . .’ He watches her disappear around the corner and then turns on me.
‘Now look what you’ve done.’

‘Shut up, you idiot. Your mum’s here.’

‘What?’ says Matthew, looking like someone’s just pulled a gun on him. ‘Why?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Crap,’ says Matthew, looking like the gunman’s about to shoot. ‘Where is she?’

‘She’s out the front with Emily.’

‘Look, Bex, I can’t see them right now.’

‘You are unbelievable! Have you any idea what you’ve put her through? The least you can do is talk to her.’

‘Everything all right here?’ says the security guard outside the main entrance.

‘We’re fine thanks, Des,’ says Matthew. ‘She’s with me.’

‘Hi, Matthew,’ calls Emily from the bottom of the steps.

Matthew freezes when he sees his mum. ‘She said she wouldn’t be seen dead in that thing.’

‘Changed her mind, didn’t she?’ I say. ‘Come on, Matthew. What are you waiting for?’

Matthew follows me reluctantly down the steps. ‘Hi, Mum,’ he says, staring at her feet.

‘Come here, you,’ says Sue Layton, grabbing him round the neck and giving him a big sloppy kiss. ‘Now tell me what’s going on.’

Matthew pulls away, brushing down the sleeves of his stupid white suit. ‘What do you mean?’

Sue Layton wheels herself towards him. ‘All that stuff with your dad. We saw the show, Matthew. Are you really so ashamed of me that you’d rather pretend I don’t even
exist?’

‘I’m sorry, Mum, I . . .’ Matthew’s face is whiter than any vampire’s. ‘Look, I’d better go back in. They’re having a party for me.’

‘We know.’ Emily smiles. ‘That’s why we’re here. Can you introduce me to Elizabeth, Matthew, can you?’

Matthew backs slowly up the steps. ‘It’s guest list only, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Em, you can’t come in.’

‘But we’re your
family
,’ says Emily, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

‘Sorry,’ says Matthew, trying to shake free.

Sue Layton’s voice is quivering with pain. ‘Let him go, darling. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to see us right now.’

‘But why?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she says. ‘Let him go.’

Emily releases him and pulls the skanky rabbit from her back pocket.

And that’s when I crack. ‘Here’s your present, you spineless bastard.’ You wouldn’t believe how careful I was about wrapping it, but now I just chuck it at him with
all my strength. ‘I thought I wanted to be famous once. But not if it means turning out like you.’

Matthew stoops in the gutter to pick it up and scurries back to the revolving door.

Matthew

The ballroom is practically empty. Three red-faced waiters are humping the guitar-shaped ‘cake’ on to a trolley, and a red-dressed lady is polishing off the last
spinach and salmon vol-au-vent.

‘Where is everybody?’ I ask.

‘Nikki told them to go home,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Oh, and your dad said he was sorry he couldn’t stick around to say goodbye – important meeting, I think.’

And now I’m starting to panic. ‘Where’s Twilight?’

Elizabeth shakes her head; I try not to look desperate. ‘I’m sorry, Matthew, I don’t know. Last time I saw her she was dancing with the wee guy from that children’s
programme.’

‘But I have to speak to her. You see we were . . .’

The spinach and salmon vol-au-vent that Elizabeth is about to swallow gets a momentary reprieve. ‘Yes?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Sorry, look, I’ve got to . . .’

Twilight isn’t in her room either. I bang on her door about a million times, but there’s no answer. What looked like being the best day of my life has suddenly transformed into the
worst equal, and I slink back to my room and do something I haven’t done since the day Dad left – jump on the bed and cry myself to sleep.

I must have been sleeping for ages, because when the knocking wakes me, I see that it’s almost eight o’ clock. I’m still feeling a bit woozy, but I don’t care, because I
know who it is. I knew Twilight wouldn’t desert me for long. ‘Come in,’ I call, trying to uncrumple my suit, hoping against hope that she’s come back to finish what we
started.

Disappointment floods over me like a tropical tidal wave when I realise who it is.

‘You seemed a wee bit upset,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I thought I’d better pop up and see how you’re doing.’

‘I’m fine thanks,’ I say, lying through my teeth.

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ says Elizabeth, hovering in the doorway. ‘Now if you don’t mind, Matthew, I’ve got a wee favour to ask you.’