Drama Queen (7 page)

‘No way,' said Clare, taking him possessively by the arm. ‘We were saving a place for you. Weren't we?'

I nodded.

A guy behind us sneered at Cedric, ‘I've been standing here for half an hour, mate. If I don't get in, you'll be sorry.'

‘Yeah, right, I'm going to the back right now …' said Cedric, tugging himself free.

‘No, you're not,' said Clare, grabbing him again. She turned to the guy behind. ‘I don't suppose you've ever kept a place for anyone,' she said. ‘‘Cos who would want to sit with you?'

He then started on a stream of insults.

‘Don't take any notice,' said Clare to Cedric.

At that point we got to the head of the queue and
were allowed through to the ticket desk. We were the last to be let in. The guy behind us totally lost it. ‘I'll see you outside, after the film,' he bellowed after us. We ignored him with dignity.

Once inside, I positioned myself strategically so that Clare was in the middle, and Cedric on the other side of her. The film was pretty scary. I noticed Clare was actually clinging to Cedric. Or was it Cedric clinging to Clare? Anyway, it was first-class bonding material.

We emerged from the cinema feeling shaken and jumpy. Clare and Cedric got deep into a discussion over the goriest details. Since I'd had my eyes shut for at least fifty per cent of the action, I didn't have much to contribute.

We were just making our way down the high street when the guy who'd been behind us in the queue appeared from out of the shadows. ‘Enjoy the film?' he sneered at Cedric.

Cedric cleared his throat. ‘Bit predictable, actually,' he said. His voice sounded kind of squeaky.

‘Bit pre-dic-table,' echoed the guy in a nasty sarky tone. He started tailing us. He was a bit older than us, a lot shorter than Cedric, but built like a tank. We stepped up speed considerably. But he still caught up
with us. He grabbed hold of Cedric's jacket, swinging him round. ‘Wanna come'n tell me ‘bout it?' he snarled.

Clare got between them. ‘Get your hands off him,' she demanded. ‘You could be had for assault for that.' I stared at Clare. I'd never seen her being so assertive before. The guy had already let go his hold and was backing away as she continued. ‘We're witnesses. I know who you are. You go to my brother's school, don't you?'

‘What are you? His bodyguard?' said the guy with a half-hearted laugh, but he had already turned and was making his way back up the street.

‘Jeez, Clare, well done,' I said.

‘Wow, not bad for a girl,' said Cedric, pulling his jacket back on.

‘Any time,' said Clare.

‘Does he really go to your brother's school?' asked Cedric.

‘I haven't got a brother,' said Clare. ‘But he didn't know that.'

I usually stayed over at Clare's when she and I went out on a Saturday night, but I wanted her and Cedric to have some time alone together, so I suggested that
I took a cab while Cedric saw Clare home. But Cedric pointed out that it would be easier if Clare took a cab, since
we
were both going back to Rosemount. And then Clare stupidly said that if Cedric was with me, I wouldn't need a cab so wouldn't have to fork out for the fare. But I nobly said I didn't mind. Which ended in one of those stupid circular conversations where no one could make their mind up. Eventually we decided on a round trip by bus, taking in a coffee at Clare's.

Back at Clare's I went to her room to sort out the music, leaving the two of them alone to make coffee. I could hear them bantering away happily in the kitchen. I reckoned the whole episode with the guy in the queue had thrown them together.

I had confirmation of this on the way back to Rosemount.

‘So what do you think of Clare?' I asked Cedric.

‘Some girl,' he said, raising his eyebrows.

‘She's really into jungle,' I prompted.

‘Really? Who?'

‘All kinds. She'd love to hear some of your stuff.'

‘Would she?'

‘Yeah. You ought to ask her round.'

‘Maybe I'll do that.'

 

It was well past midnight when I got home. I noticed Mum's light was still on. I peeped round her door. She must have fallen asleep learning her lines. She still had her glasses on and the script for the play was on the duvet. I lifted it gently from under her hands so as not to wake her. I was in half a mind to read it through to see just how bad it was. But it was late and I was pretty tired so I thought better of it.

Mum half woke. ‘Why didn't you stay at Clare's?'

‘Cedric brought me back.'

‘That was nice of him. Goodnight,' she murmured sleepily.

The next morning I woke to hear the phone ringing and Mum answering it. I strained my ears. It was obviously Dad on the phone. He was sounding off at Mum about something. She came into my bedroom to wake me up with her ‘tired look' on.

‘What was that all about?'

‘Dad went spare about me being out at rehearsals on Friday night. Seems he thinks you nearly burnt the building down.'

‘Oh, for goodness sake. I only mentioned I just a-tiny-weeny-bit overcooked a batch of brownies.'

‘He said, you said that the smoke alarm went off.'

‘It did. So?'

‘Well, it could have been serious.'

OK, I'd had this before. Each of them showing the other how to be the ideal parent. Which basically meant treating me like a child.

‘Well, it wasn't, was it?'

‘Maybe I shouldn't be out so much.'

‘Don't be daft. It's only two nights a week.'

‘Oh, I don't know.'

‘Look, if something did go wrong, it's safe as anything in a building like this. There are always loads of people around.'

‘Yes, I suppose you're right.'

‘It's just Dad being paranoid.'

‘It's Dad being
something
,' she said.

I had to be more careful what I told Dad. Edited highlights of my life would do. In fact, I had to be pretty careful what I told Mum, if I wanted to avoid this ‘competing over who could be the most
over-
protective'.

It had been on the tip of my tongue that morning to tell her about the card. But in her current mood the idea of me doing a flat-by-flat search for missing persons unknown was hardly going to appeal. So I decided to keep the whole thing to myself. I went and ran a big hot bath – always the best place to think things over.

I lay in the water racking my brains for the right way to go about bringing my two unknown lovers together. Maybe I could put posters up on all the lampposts like people do for a lost cat.

MISSING
Jane
Please contact Henry
who desperately wants to hear from you

With my mobile number for further information. Then I imagined what Mum would say with all these weirdos calling me up.
Certainly
not a good idea. Or maybe I should contact the local radio station. I could imagine the DJ's voice:

‘
Hey Jane, if you're out there, this is your lucky day. Henry is longing to hear from you. He loves you, baby. Don't keep him waiting too long. I'll just put on a smoochie number to bring you two lovers together …
‘

But I could hardly count on Jane or Henry listening in, could I? Or maybe I should put out a message on the net.

From: Henry

To: JaneSeymour@lostinthepost4evR

Sent: 22 April 2002

Subject:
ng U

Will you marry me?

But if Henry had been into computers, instead of trusting the post, wouldn't he have e-mailed her? He hadn't, he'd sent a card. So
sweet
and old-fashioned and romantic of him. Poor Henry, wherever you are. You shouldn't be suffering like this.

I could picture him now, sitting by the phone, waiting for it to ring. Day in day out, night after night,
nothing
. And then maybe walking out across the common in desperation … getting to the bridge across the river … and pausing to stare down into the dark eddying water. He's about to throw himself in. Climbing up on to the ironwork of the bridge, edging his way along a girder. Just at that moment, he catches sight of Jane across the street. (Hey. There was a story here. Enough material for a whole blockbuster.) He's
slipped
. He's there clinging to a girder, but his fingers are losing their grip. Jane has caught sight of him, she's shading her eyes against the sun …

‘How long are you going to be in there?' Mum's voice came through my reverie. ‘Your boiled egg's as hard as rock and you've got to change Bag's kitty litter or it'll walk out of its own accord.'

(So much for romance!) ‘Nearly finished. I'm out now.' The water had gone stone cold.

 

An hour or so later, I was making my way down the stairs to the bins with the rubbish bag. The lift wasn't working as usual. Just as I passed Jekyll and Hyde's front door, Jekyll shot out ahead of me. He stabbed at the lift button.

‘It's jammed,' I informed him. He muttered something inaudible, then shot down the stairs two at a time. He was about the right height for Roz, I reckoned. But was he really father-material?

I was still musing about this when I reached the hallway. The front doors were thrust open and Cedric crashed through carrying his bike, dressed in full racing gear complete with helmet.

‘Hi Jessica,' he gasped. He was red in the face and had big sweat marks on his T-shirt.

‘You look hot,' I commented.

‘Just done 50 k in under an hour and with a headwind,' he said.

‘Re-ally!' I said, trying to sound suitably awestruck.

‘Yeah well, phew,' he said and rested on his bike.

‘Lift's stuck. I'll send it down for you if you hang on,' I said, turning to start my journey back up.

‘No, wait …'

‘What?'

He took his helmet off. His hair was plastered to the top of his head where the helmet had been, and the tidal wave stuck out beneath like a kind of horizontal halo. He was still trying desperately to get his breath back.

‘What are doing later today?' he gasped.

I had been planning a really thorough floor-by-floor search for Jane, but there was no time like the present …

‘Clare's coming over. We thought we might drop by on you. Hear some of your stuff?'

‘Yeah? Great! I'll get some munchies in.'

‘See you then.'

I ran up the next few flights and called Clare straightaway. ‘Listen, Clare. Confirmation! You're on. He wants you to come round.' (A slight exaggeration, but it worked like magic.)

‘Does he?'

‘To listen to some of his stuff.'

‘Really?' Her voice sounded doubtful.

‘Rule one. Take an interest in his interests,' I reminded her.

‘I have! He's already bored me rigid with his bike. And I don't know anything about … what's it called?'

‘Jungle.'

‘I don't even know what it
sounds
like.'

In the circumstances I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to suss up on the key elements of the ‘jungle' scene. I agreed to meet Clare in the high street at Virgin Megastore. The guy behind the counter was so laid-back he was scary.

I cleared my throat. ‘Have you got any “jungle”?'

‘What are you after, mainstream or alternative?'

I exchanged glances with Clare. ‘Alternative,' she said.

‘Nah, no call for it.'

‘Mainstream, then?'

‘Which artist in particular?' (Tricky question.) ‘What have you got?'

He reeled off a list of names that meant absolutely nothing to either of us. We had to get him to repeat it twice before we settled on a shortlist. Then we spent ages listening to bits on the headphones. The trouble was they all sounded the same. In the end we settled on a compilation CD with the nicest-looking guy on the cover.

Clare went home to do a two-hour ‘jungle' crash-course, determined to get to like it.

 

By four that afternoon we were at Cedric's place. His mum was out so the coast was clear to play music as loud as we liked. He led us towards a door at the rear of the flat. Throwing it open, he showed us into his room.

I've seen lots of boy's rooms, mostly of the knee-deep in slowly composting clothes variety. But Cedric's room could get into the
Guinness Book of Records
for tidiness. The walls were lined with metal shelving units, packed so tight with sleeves that you could hardly fit a credit card between them.

‘All vinyl,' he said proudly. ‘All original recordings.'

‘Where did you get them?' asked Clare.

‘Specialists. White-label outlets.'

‘Uh huh?' she said, raising an eyebrow at me. I shrugged. Neither of us had the faintest idea what he was talking about.

‘Want to hear something?'