Love and Other Drama-Ramas! (20 page)

I check my watch again. I’m really on edge. Mum and Finn have to get here soon — they just have to. I’m so nervous it was hard to concentrate on the first half of the show, and I know Mills and Seth felt the same. Dave and Mac clapped enthusiastically after every song, even after Annabelle Hamilton’s warbling rendition of “Defying Gravity” from
Wicked,
complete with window-shattering top notes. But then they don’t know what’s to come. We haven’t told either of them that Finn is coming.

“Wow, that girl has some pipes,” Dave said as Annabelle took her third bow. The D4s in the seats behind us were going wild, cheering and whistling like they were at a rugby match. Annabelle has clearly been “applause training” them all week.

Out in the lobby, I try ringing Mum again, but she’s still not answering.

Come on,
I say under my breath.
Please!

And then finally a text arrives:
JUST PARKING THE CAR.

I almost pass out with relief when a minute later she rushes through the door, Finn at her heels. His eyes are flickering around nervously. He nods at me. “Hey, Amy.”

“Hi, Finn.” I smile back gently.

“Have we missed Bailey?” Mum puffs, her face flushed. “It took ages to find a space. I dumped the car on double yellow lines in the end—” She’s cut off by a yell from our left.

“OMG, it’s Finn Hunter from the telly!” Nina is squealing. The D4s with her all give high-pitched shrieks, like a chorus of fighting cats.

Finn gives them a wave — which makes them scream even louder.

“Take your seats, please, girls.” Miss Lupin appears from inside the school hall, clipboard in hand. “The second half’s about to commence.”

“But, miss, it’s Finn Hunter,” Nina says. “Can we go and tell Annabelle? Maybe he’d put her on the telly.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, Nina,” Loopy says patiently.

“Can I just say hi to him, then, miss, please?” she begs. “I’m his number-one fan!”

Loopy rolls her eyes. “If you must. But for goodness’ sake, hurry up.”

Nina immediately runs over and begins batting her ridiculously long fake eyelashes at Finn. “Can you autograph me?” She giggles manically and rolls her shirt up her arm.

“I don’t do skin or clothes,” Finn says. “Sorry, I’m just here to catch the show.”

“Leave the poor man alone,” Loopy says, shooing Nina toward the door with the clipboard. “Come along now, move.”

“You all right, Finn?” Mum asks him in a low voice.

He nods silently — but he doesn’t look great. The left side of his face is distorted. He must be chewing the inside of his cheek, just like Bailey does.

It’s dark inside the hall, and Finn looks around, a little lost.

“We’ve kept a seat for you,” I tell him. “Beside Mac.”

“Mac?” he says anxiously. “You didn’t tell me he’d be here, Sylvie.”

Mum pats his arm. “You’re both here for Bailey, remember that.”

And before he has a chance to say anything else, the blue velvet stage curtain sweeps open to reveal a band of senior boys calling themselves Barcelona. They start blasting out a passable cover of “Mr. Brightside,” an old Killers song.

We find our seats quickly, engineering it so that Finn and Mac are sitting beside each other. Mac stares at Finn as if he were a ghost. I was expecting him to be angry, but even in the gloom, I can see his eyes are sparkling with tears. He rubs his jaw, then stands up and pulls Finn into a rather awkward-looking hug and pats his back. They stay that way for a few seconds before pulling away and sitting down. I realize at that moment that Finn didn’t just abandon Lane and Bailey — he left Mac behind too.

“Good to see you, lad,” I hear Mac say over the music.

“I’m so sorry,” Finn says. “I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

“We both have.” Mac pats Finn’s hand. “We’ll talk later. Let’s listen to our boy sing, eh?”

Finn just nods.

After the band, one of the Crombies from our year, Hugo Hoffman, sings “Rehab” — which, I hate to admit, is surprisingly good. Next up are some transition-year D4s, who jiggle and shimmy around the stage in red Lycra dresses and heels to a Girls Aloud song. Only one of them, Candy Hutnell, has any talent, but they get a huge cheer from their cronies regardless.

And then finally, Bailey walks slowly onto the stage without making eye contact with the audience. We all clap and whoop: “Go, Bailey!”

He doesn’t look up but settles himself on the stool, resting his guitar on his knee and staring at the floor.

Finn is gazing up at him, a hand over his mouth, and even from three seats away I can hear him taking loud, gulping breaths.

I nudge Seth. “Finn’s as terrified as Bailey.”

“Has Bailey seen him yet?” Mills asks.

“Don’t think so,” Seth says. “Hang on, wait a second . . .”

As if on cue, Bailey lifts his head, and his eyes sweep the first few rows of the audience. They stop on Mac . . . and Finn. His eyes rest on his dad’s face. From the sudden rapid rise and fall of his chest, I’d say he’s in shock. He had no idea that Finn was going to be here. We hadn’t wanted to say anything in case Finn changed his mind, or in case knowing that his dad was coming would put Bailey off his performance. It was a risky decision, but we had agreed that it was the only way. I know we are all praying now that Bailey will sing so that Finn can see what an amazingly talented son he has. After that, none of us can predict what will happen. The rest is up to Bailey.

Bailey’s gaze shifts from Finn to his grandpa: his family. I think having them both here supporting him, along with all his friends, is almost too much for him. Every one of us is smiling up at him eagerly, willing him on. He tears his eyes away from us and stares at the floor of the stage again.

Seth shakes his head. “This isn’t looking good. Bailey had better start playing soon. The crowd’s getting restless.”

A whole minute later, Bailey still hasn’t played a note. A low murmur is running across the hall, and one of the D4s has started to giggle. “Get on with it,” a girl shouts from behind us. It sounds suspiciously like Nina’s voice.

“Shush!” Mills says loudly, swinging round. “Give him a chance.”

But Bailey is still just sitting there, head down, his left hand gripping the guitar fret so hard his fingers are white.

“
Siúcra
,” I whisper. “We have to do something.”

“Get him off the stage?” Seth suggests.

“No, make him sing,” Mills says.

“But how?” I ask.

Mills shakes her head. “No idea. But we can’t just leave him up there alone. He’s dying.”

“I could accompany him,” Dave says. “What’s he singing?”

“It’s one of his own,” Mac pipes up. “So it’s a kind thought, but you won’t know it, mate. I know someone who might, though. Finn, the song he’s doing, it’s one of Lane’s old ones, ’Atlantic Blues.’ He’s set new words to it. Do you remember the melody?” Finn nods and Mac pats his hand. “He needs you, lad. Get up there. Just do your best.”

After a few long seconds, Finn finally stands up. As he climbs onto the stage, the whole hall erupts with shouts and whistles, and several of the D4s pretend to swoon. Finn and Bailey stare at each other, and then Finn sits down at the piano to the left of the stage, stretches his hands out, and starts to play strong, haunting music, his fingers tripping lightly over the keys.

“Finn’s pretty good,” Seth says. “Did you know he could play, Amy?”

“I had no idea.” Then: “Come on, Bailey,” I whisper under my breath. “Play!”

Agonizingly slowly, Bailey starts to strum his guitar.

“Thank God,” Mum says, her hand fluttering to her chest. “I don’t think my heart can take much more.”

Finn continues to play, and slowly Bailey opens his mouth.
“You abandoned me once,”
he sings, his distinctive, husky voice soaring, making the whole hall immediately hush.
“You were young and scared. Then I called to you twice, there was no one there.”
The song sounds familiar yet brand-new, like all good songs, and Bailey is rocking it, his face screwed up in concentration.

“I called in the dark, I begged for my mother. I cried and I cried, but no one delivered.”
He takes a deep breath and continues:
“So I hate you, hate you, hate you, and all you do. For leaving, leaving. My soul beaten black and blue. Abandoned, yeah, yeah, yeah, Abandoned.”

I look at Mum. She’s sniffing and tears are streaming down her face. (She’s such a softie.) Mills is crying too, and Mum passes her a tissue. I’m on the verge of it myself — the lyrics are pretty powerful.

Bailey strums heavily, picking up the tempo, while Finn plays on in the background, his face set rigid. He looks stern, but I think he’s trying not to break down.

Bailey gets to his feet then and swings his guitar around: lost in the music. The cheers and claps are so loud, they nearly take the roof off.

Bailey’s last chord is lost in the eruption of applause. And then a miraculous thing happens — Finn hugs Bailey, and Bailey hugs him back. It’s awkward — there’s a guitar in the way for a start — but it’s a hug, and that’s a very good beginning. When they pull away, Finn holds Bailey’s hand in the air and makes him take a bow.

Dave smiles at Mum and wipes her tears away with his fingers. Meanwhile, Mac is sobbing so hard he can barely breathe, and Mills is staring up at Bailey, beaming through her tears and clapping wildly. “Bailey!” she shouts. “You did it!”

He looks down at her, smiles, and blows her a kiss. Pure joy lights up her face, and I’m so happy for her and Bailey. But most especially for Bailey. I jump to my feet, cheering and whooping. I’m quickly followed by Seth, Mills, Mum, Dave, and Mac. Soon everyone is giving Bailey a standing ovation — the applause is deafening.

“Talk about star quality!” I yell at Seth.

“And look at his face. He’s ecstatic.”

Seth’s right. Bailey’s beaming from ear to ear, lapping up all the applause, his fist lifted in the air like a champion. Finn is right by his side, holding his other hand aloft too.

“I think they’re going to be OK,” I say. “Finn and Bailey.”

“Thanks to you,” Seth says. “You never gave up on Bailey, not once. You really are something, Amy Green.”

And with that he kisses me on the cheek, making my own heart soar.

This book would not have been possible without a
lot
of people’s help. First up my family: Mum, Dad, Kate, Emma, and Richard. OK, Richard didn’t really help at all (little brothers, you know how it is!), and Kate is working in New Zealand, so technically they weren’t of any practical use, but they’re still family and I still love them to bits! Ben, Sam, Amy, and Jago were, however, very much on hand. Ben never complains when I take off to festivals or on tours; Sam is always a mine of information on all things teen, whether he knows it or not; and Amy and Jago entertain me on a daily basis with their various shenanigans.

As always, I have to thank my dear friends Andrew, Tanya Delargy, and Nicky “Pleasantly Decorated” Cullen (see, I put your second names in this time, those that wanted me to — I do listen!). In every book I have to rotate the order of the names so no one gets jealous. Honestly, you’d think my friends were three years old sometimes.

And of course huge kudos to my writer friends, fellow travelers on the book path, especially the fab and lovely Martina Devlin, who makes me think — which is always a good thing. Judi Curtin is always cheerful and a rock of good sense, and David Maybury makes me laugh on a weekly basis, for which he deserves a Giggler’s Medal.

I thank my agents, Philippa Milnes-Smith and Peta Nightingale, for their good counsel and unerring enthusiasm, and the gang in Children’s Books Ireland (CBI) for flying the kiddie-lit flag in Ireland. Tom is off to pastures new, and I wish him all the best in his quest.

I salute the gals and girls of Walkerville for being such Amy cheerleaders. I continue to have a ball working with all of you. My editors, Gill Evans and Annalie Grainger, deserve huge thanks for pouring the book into its best party dress; the lovely Jo Hump-D, Jane Harris, Eve, Ruth, and Alice supplied the party invitations, streamers, and hooters; Sean, Hanna, Heidi, and the gang were certainly at the party; and Katie was in charge of hair and makeup, and a lovely job she did too. And Conor Hackett continues to be the Irish party coordinator and general ringmaster supreme. And a huge thanks to Sarah and Nicola for the beautiful new covers.

I must mention my special teen editor and fount of all knowledge, Kate Gordon. Kate has been part of the Amy team right from the start. And I look forward to recruiting several more clever and smart young editors very soon. And a big shout-out to fellow book fan Michelle in Navan, and hi to Ella Tubs, just ’cause you asked so nicely, Ella!

Can’t forget the children’s booksellers near and far, who have been so good to me over the years, especially Superhero of the Children’s Book World, David O’Callaghan, for all his support and the fab mixtapes; the fantastic Dubray gang, especially Susan, Ruth, Kim, and Mary Esther; and the lovely Mary Bridget in Hodges Figgis.

To Erin Carolan, winner of the Ask Amy Green Facebook competition, and last but certainly not least, you, the uber-cool reader. For all your e-mails, letters, cards, and photos, I thank you. It’s YOU that makes writing worthwhile. I thank you, Amy thanks you, Clover thanks you . . .