Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco (28 page)

‘Nobody knows where he is.’ Flora shrugged. ‘I thought
you
would know.’

‘I expect he’s festering in a swamp somewhere.’ Jess tried to sound light-hearted rather than murderous – a challenge.

It was pandemonium out in the hall. The DJ was spinning his food music (as opposed to mood music) while the band had a break. People clutched at Jess as she passed, and hugged her and kissed her and told her how much they were enjoying themselves. She felt relieved as all the dread of the preceding weeks vanished – Chaos was a success. But her bitter fury at Fred’s hijacking of her routine was still burning in her chest.

‘Come to our table,’ said Flora. ‘We’ve got a chair for you.’ Jess found herself sitting with George and Humph (both dragged up in wigs and ball gowns) and Tom, who looked completely normal in his tux and had a sweet girlfriend with long shiny hair and very pink cheeks.

‘Jess, this is Rhiannon,’ said Tom. ‘And this is Lady MucRaker and her daughter – what’s your name, mate?’ he asked Humph.

‘Susannah,’ said Humph in a camp lisp.

‘Great costumes,’ commented Jess. ‘It made me realise we should have specified fancy dress on the tickets.’

‘This isn’t fancy dress, child!’ screeched George, looking down his nose at her. ‘I’ll have you know these are top-notch designer threads, rented from a chic little boutique in Mayfair!’

‘Stunning!’ Jess nodded.

‘But tell me, dear.’ George leaned across the table for a secret word. ‘Are you engaged to that very distinguished ape? Because, if not, I’m tempted to have a crack at him myself. Such charisma!’

‘Oh no, he’s available,’ Jess smiled. ‘Although he may have evolved into something else by now.’ Suddenly she felt hungry, and she tucked into some chargrilled tuna with tabbouleh. Polly was right, it was delish.

Jess wasn’t in the mood for dancing, so after the supper break she just sat and watched George and Humph fooling around. They both insisted on dancing with Jack (who looked embarrassed) and Tom (who looked as if nothing would embarrass him, ever). She tried to relax and enjoy herself. But she couldn’t get past the monstrous injustice of what Fred had done to her. And because nobody must know, somehow she had to try and keep smiling. It was hard work – her face felt tired and twitchy.

Then, as the evening neared its end, Jess sneaked away backstage to get ready for her last appearance. This time she was introduced by Gordon the DJ.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he cried, ‘let’s have a big hand for . . . Cinderella!’

Jess slid into the spotlight and curtsied to the crowd. There was clapping, cheering, stamping and whistling. When they had quietened down, she spoke.

‘The organisers have asked me to read out this little message,’ Jess said, fishing a crumpled piece of paper out of her corsage and smoothing it out. ‘Oh dear, sorry, I forgot I can’t read.’ At this point she was supposed to interact with somebody in the audience and get them to read out a shopping list – pumpkins, mousetraps, firelighters, etc. – but once again her routine was swept aside.

Fred leapt into the spotlight, dressed as a naff Georgian prince with a powdered wig, white tights and buckled shoes. The tights looked ridiculous on his long skinny legs, and he struck up a ludicrous pose. The audience screamed with laughter as he tried to maintain his dignity. Fred turned on them with an indignant glare.

‘As you can see, I’ve now evolved about as far up the food chain as I can possibly go,’ he announced pompously.

‘Bring back the amoeba!’ shouted somebody at the back.

‘At the last chime of midnight I shall
de
volve back into an amoeba, and not a moment sooner,’ said Fred firmly. ‘Until then, it only remains for me to thank you all for coming, and ask you to bear witness as I ask this ravishing creature if she will be my valentine!’ Elaborately, he tottered down on one knee and held out his hand in a preposterous appeal to Jess.

Suddenly her mind went blank again as the howling blackness enveloped her. How dare he pitch her into this? She boiled with rage.

‘I’m sorry,’ she informed him icily, ‘I can’t be anyone’s valentine right now. When the clock strikes midnight I shall turn back into a pumpkin – although some would say I’ve been a pumpkin all along! Goodnight, everybody, and thanks for coming!’ She turned and ran offstage, then paused in the wings to listen – Fred was saying something else.

‘What?’ he cried theatrically. ‘No glass slipper? Not even a dropped contact lens? Who was she? She’s gone! And I don’t even know her name!’

‘It was Jess Jordan!’ shouted somebody.

‘No, no, that beautiful stranger couldn’t be Jess Jordan. I haven’t met Jess Jordan but I hear she’s one of the ugly sisters.’ Fred glanced briefly into the wings, where Jess was standing, and winked. It was obviously meant to be a joke, but in Jess’s present state of mind she received it as a slap in the face. ‘Well,’ he went on, ‘whoever that ravishing creature was, I shall spend the rest of my life searching for her, and until I find her, no other woman will turn my head for a moment. Although if any of you ladies would like to kiss my shoe buckle, you’re welcome to form a queue. Thank you for coming, and goodnight!’

A midnight-style blast of music, complete with chimes, rang out. Jess, peeping from the wings, saw Fred vanish in the direction of the bar, and the whole hall was swamped with cheering. The awfulness of the past few weeks with Fred, culminating in him literally stealing what should have been her comedy triumph, overwhelmed Jess, and she darted back to her dressing room, fighting back tears of absolute rage.

Chapter 34

Moments later, Flora arrived with Jack. She threw herself into Jess’s arms and gave her the biggest hug ever.

‘You were brilliant!’ she yelled. ‘It was terrific! The whole evening really rocked! Come out and meet your public!’

Jess realised that she had to go out because, apart from anything else, she hadn’t thanked all the people who had helped her: Mum and Dad, Martin and Polly, Ben Jones and his cousin Melissa . . . She should really have thanked them in her farewell speech, but her farewell speech had been brushed aside by Fred’s relentless egotism.

People were leaving, waving and calling goodbye to one another, the hall was emptying, and Dad was already up a ladder fiddling with some lights. Jess found Polly and all her mates – they’d cleared the buffet away long ago and were chilling out, sitting along the edge of the stage.

‘Thanks so much!’ Jess told them. ‘The buffet was just amazingly delicious, and it all went like clockwork!’

‘Our pleasure!’ said Polly. ‘Any time you’re holding another event, just let us know!’

‘Sure!’ said Jess, though privately she had promised herself that she would never organise another event as long as she lived. Then Martin appeared.

‘Thanks so much, Martin – the band was terrific!’ cried Jess, giving him a grateful hug. She hoped that Martin would be around in her life from now on, but it all depended on Mum really. And on Dad, currently only visible from the knees down as he was up a ladder, fiddling with some lights.

‘The lighting was amazing,’ murmured Flora with a sigh. ‘That mirror ball! And all those lasers! It was just stunning!’

Jess looked around the thinning crowds for Fred. She had to confront him – she was seething. Maybe he would be helping his dad.

‘I have to thank Fred’s dad for running the bar,’ she said. ‘I won’t be a minute!’

She went off to the side room, where Mr Parsons was packing glasses away in a box.

‘Thanks so much for running the bar, Mr Parsons!’ Jess gushed. ‘You were absolutely wonderful!’

‘I’ll have their guts for garters, never fear,’ he replied with his usual charismatic gloominess. She supposed this must refer to Frobisher’s Filthy Glasses Ltd.

‘Is Fred not here? I thought he’d be helping you?’ she asked.

Mr Parsons shrugged. ‘He could be anywhere,’ he said with a melancholy sigh, as if Fred was regularly glimpsed on the ceiling, up the chimney, or hanging from the minute hand of the town-hall clock.

‘Well, thanks so much for helping out,’ she blustered, moving towards the door. Mr Parsons was so weird. Still, he had run the bar for them. This was the longest conversation she had ever had with him, and she was going to keep things like that.

Back in the hall, there were now only a few groups of people laughing and gathering their things together. No Fred. Jess smiled falsely to the last few departing friends while blazing with hidden fury. Fred couldn’t just go home and pretend that that was it, everything was sorted. How dare he?

If she couldn’t find him, she’d have to phone him when she got home and tell him just what a stupid, thoughtless, destructive thing he’d done. First, though, she had to get her coat – now the hall was emptying, she could feel cold air sneaking in from the lobby. She shivered and went backstage to her dressing room again.

There was Fred, coming out of it! He looked startled and embarrassed.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I was just leaving you a note.’

‘A note?’ Somehow the idea of a note filled Jess with even more indignation. She dragged Fred into the dressing room and shut the door. ‘Couldn’t face me, huh?’ she demanded.

Fred cringed. ‘No, no,’ he stammered. ‘It’s just – I’ve got to go now – I think my flu has come back. I shouldn’t really have come out tonight.’

‘You bet you shouldn’t have come out tonight!’ yelled Jess. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve just done?’

For an instant Fred looked genuinely stunned and puzzled. ‘Done?’ he asked dumbly.

‘You ruined my routine!’ cried Jess. ‘I’d worked out this really brilliant, brilliant routine, all about Cinderella – I’ve been working on it all week, at the same time, may I remind you, as having to organise this whole event! OK, I turn up, really looking forward to the hosting bit, and you just come barging in and upstage me in front of everybody!’

‘But . . .’ Fred’s lip trembled. In the harsh light of the dressing room, Jess could see beads of sweat breaking out across his brow. ‘I thought you’d be pleased that I turned up and gave you some support.’

‘
Support?
’ screamed Jess. ‘
Pleased?
Pleased that you hijacked the whole evening and didn’t let me get a word in? Pleased that I worked for hours polishing great gags that I never got a chance to deliver? Pleased that I didn’t have a clue what you were going to say next? Pleased I had to improvise, and that I was lame and stupid when I actually managed to get a word in, which was almost never?! I was so freakin’
pleased
with the whole situation that when you bounded off the stage and disappeared after your amoeba thing, I completely dried up! My mind was a total blank! My ears were horrible and roaring and I thought I was going to faint! If that’s what you call support, you can keep it!’

‘Phew!’ said Fred after a pause, wiping his brow. ‘I think I might be going to faint myself.’

‘Go home, then!’ hissed Jess, incredulous and seething because he still didn’t seem to realise what he’d done. Instead of apologising, he had grabbed the limelight yet again – he was going to faint now, and his faintingness was going to be so much more important than hers! ‘Go home and go to bed.’ She glared defiantly at him.

He hesitated in his gangling way, which she had so often found adorable. But not now. Now it was infuriating.