Rockoholic (4 page)

The hot chocolate tastes like liquid sunshine. Sometimes me and Grandad used to sneak downstairs and have hot choccies with cheese-and-Marmite sandwiches. We liked dipping our sandwiches in the chocolate. Mum didn’t like that, said it was childish. That’s why we had to do it on the sly. I put my free hand in my pocket and clutch the moon rock tightly.

“That rock fell from the moon, Jody. Neil Armstrong himself kicked it down and I caught it. It’s magic. You look after that.”

“I will, Grandad, I promise.”

8:31
A.M.
—
I catch the eye of Zebra T-shirt Girl but pretend I’m looking at the poster behind her. Three more fans turn up in a red Vauxhall Nova — a small red-haired girl with a photograph-covered bag, a blond boy in orange coveralls eating Sugar Puffs out of the box, and a lanky boy who looks like he’s cut his hair and stuck clumps of it to his cheeks. Way too much random there for me.

8:38
A.M.
—
Mac and I sit on the wall and play with the piano and dressing-up apps on his iPod. The wind is cold but sitting next to Mac in his bomber jacket, it’s warm. The Hairy Boy from the Vauxhall Nova asks Mac for “some herb or bounce or summing” and Mac says no, sorry. Then he asks him for “a light” and again, Mac says no. Mac doesn’t smoke, because of his singing.

9:00
A.M.
—
People in suits and skirts
clip-clop
by. I’m glad I’m not at work today. I work at Bumblebees, this three-story town house that’s been converted into a children’s day-care center. The only two staff members I get along with are Alice and Serena, since they have at least heard of The Regulators, and Regs are all I like to talk about. But Alice breeds pot-bellied pigs and Serena thinks Chris Brown is a genius. And this is all we usually talk about.

9:31
A.M.
—
We run through Mac’s steps for one of his
Rocky Horror
songs, “The Time Warp.”

10:12
A.M.
—
Hairy Boy gives Small Redhead a piggyback. Then they make out for ages, slurps and all. Ugh. More fans join the line — boys in shorts, skinny girls in tights and ribbed wife-beaters. It’s, like, minus ten degrees? I can’t help giving them the warm evils. I ask Mac what “herb or bounce” is. “Drugs,” he says. “What did you think it was, laundry detergent?” He laughs. I laugh, but I kind of did, yeah.

10:46
A.M.
—
A bus pulls up, drops off some fans and other people in work clothes who head toward town. As the bus pulls away, some lads lean out the window, gob on the pavement, and shout, “Sad wankers!” at us. I get the moon rock out and rub the smooth side against my cheek.

10:58
A.M.
—
There’s nothing to look at other than the cinema posters opposite, so it calls for drastics:
OK!
magazine. We take the piss out of the celebs and their “Look at my endless sofa” poses for a bit, and then Mac starts up a random convo with Number 13 in the line about how pregnant weather girls annoy him. Number 13 looks like Hermione out of
Harry Potter
, but with black hair and not posh.

11:44
A.M.
—
A group of girls and one curly-haired boy in a green school blazer join the line. “Is this the Regs queue?” Green Blazer Boy asks, acting all drunk. Then I realize he
is
drunk. He takes a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from inside his blazer and swigs it, making a face like he’s drinking acid. It’s morning and he’s, like, fourteen? He laughs like all lads like him do,
hur, hur, hur.

11:45
A.M.
—
“That’s it, I’m going to have to go into town,” says Mac, clapping his hands. “Or else my Visa’s going to run off without me. Do you need anything?”

I shake my head. “Can’t you wait another hour?”

“No wayski. I’ve waited this long.” I sigh, then quickly regret it cos I know what Mac’s going to say. “You wanted to get here early. Get talking to people. Make the effort. I’ll be back about one with some munchables.” He pulls his iPod from his coat pocket and puts it in my hand.

“Don’t take up all the battery, and guard it,” he squeezes my freezing hands around it, “with your miserable, empty, dried-up husk of a life.”

I brighten immediately. “OMG, you sure? You are a legend.”

“What’s a friend for?” he says, finger encircling the pinky-yellow friendship bracelet on his wrist, one I made for him. “Keep it quiet, though, eh, Presh? They’ll all want a piece of me.”

I shuffle through Mac’s iPod. I come to a song I’ve heard him singing before, by some band called Van Morrison. He sings it to me cos I’ve got brown eyes like the girl in the song. It’s not screamy like I’m used to, but it’s OK.

12:02
P.M.
—
A blonde girl in a “Team Gatlin” T-shirt goes along the line with a box of donuts and offers them to people. I say no. They’ve probably been injected with something.

12:15
P.M.
—
Pigeons peck the cake crumbs. Can’t stop listening to that Van Morrison song.

12:39
P.M.
—
I can’t ignore the fact that I really need the loo. I think I might just have to pee myself and send Mac to town again to buy me some more cargo pants.

1:04
P.M.
—
Mac reappears with a bargain bucket of chicken, chips, beans, corn on the cob, and coleslaw. I nip across to the cinema for a wee and when I come back I sit on the pavement and tuck in to the vegetarian options in the bucket. My mouth is flooded with the thought of chicken. I pick at the most vegetarian part of a drumstick, the skin, as Mac shows me what else he’s bought — black skinny jeans, Topman T-shirts, lace-ups, a leather jacket, and a silver belt. He hands me a small white bag. Inside it is a zipper clip of that zebra from
Madagascar.
Mac still thinks I’m into zebras and presents me with trinkets like this whenever he sees one. I haven’t told him about the llama thing.

“Aw, thanks,” I say, taking it. “Did you text Alastair?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m meeting him at the record store after lunch.”

“Good,” I say, attempting to attach the zebra clip to my fleece. “At least you’re not on your own. And you’ll go round his place for tea, yeah?”

“Yes, stop worrying. You could come into town for a bit, if you wanted?” I shake my head. “Didn’t think so. Not
that
worried about me, then,” he sniffs, taking over and attaching the zebra zip pull for me since my hands are so frozen they’ve lost all function. “Go on, can’t you come in just for a bit? Someone’ll hold your place, won’t they? Do you want me to ask?”

“No, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying put until those doors open.”

“All right, keep your hair on,” he snaps. “Pardon me for wanting to spend some time with you.”

“Mac, this day is about the concert, OK? Nothing else matters.”

He mumbles something as he looks away and it sounds like, “Don’t I know it.”

“You know I can’t leave. Look at the queue now. I’m sixteenth of sixty.”

Mac sighs. “You won’t get any closer. The first fifteen will get the best spots at the barrier.”

“Why d’you say that? Don’t say that. I’ve got as good a chance as they have.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, with more than a hint of haughty. He looks away from me and sniffs the air. “I’m going to dump this lot in the car and go back in for round two.”

“Are you in a mush now?” I ask him.

“No,” he snips. “Just fed up. So you’re going to stay here until seven o’clock tonight, just sitting on the pavement?”

“No. I might stand up for a bit.” I smile, but he doesn’t. “Anyway, think of all the shopping you’ll get done without me getting in the way and moaning. Bet you’re in your element.”

“I miss the moaning. It’s not as fun on my own.”

“Well, you won’t be on your own for much longer, will you?”

“How do you mean?”

“If you’re meeting your cousin?”

“Yeah, I s’pose.” He’s all jittery and the longer I stare at him the pinker his cheeks get. “You are meeting him, aren’t you?”

“I told you I was, didn’t I? Do you want anything else in the meantime?” He’s doing everything he can not to look at me.

I shake my head. I haven’t lost the use of my voice, I’m just cold.

“Right, I’m off, then,” he says. “River Island’s got a sale on. I’ll see you later.”

I watch him wander off out of sight. He can be so weird at times. One of the
Shining
twins is suddenly very close to my side and smiling at me. Her hood is still up.

“Your boyfriend must really l-l-love you, to hang around all day and not even have a t-t-ticket,” she says, juddering with cold, or it could be a stammer, I’m not sure.

“He’s just my friend,” I say and try to smile. Our two-line conversation comes to an end, seeing as I make no effort. I’m a bit anti-boyfriend. None of them live up to Jackson so what’s the point? I’ve only done it once with Seth Chambers from school, and it was rubbish. His family was downstairs watching
Britain’s Got Talent.
I’d spent years dreaming about losing my virginity and, when it happened, it was all over before Simon Cowell let that middle-aged unibrow woman know if she’d made it to the semifinals. Sex is a waste of time if it isn’t with someone like Jackson. If it isn’t with someone I love as much as Jackson. And that’s impossible.

1:57
P.M.
—
I offer the bargain bucket to the Smiley
Shining
Twin, who’s reading a battered copy of
Jane Eyre
. Scary
Shining
Twin just sits on the wall and stares at me, but Smiley
Shining
Twin seems pleased. Effort made. Check off that box, Jody.

2:03
P.M.
—
The platinum blonde girl next to me in the “Team Gatlin” T-shirt waves excitedly and knocks my cold chips out of my hand. I apologize (WTF?). She has that glossy hair that I want. The kind of hair that model had, the one Jackson went out with. I’ve tried everything but my hair just won’t gloss. I’m just destined to be overweight and un-glossy.

2:06
P.M.
—
A seagull shits in the bargain bucket.

2:21
P.M.
—
Mac’s back, talking to Team Gatlin about how Superdry is overrated. He used to wear it, until everyone else started wearing it, then he went off it. He’s so fickle. They talk for ages, swapping makeup tips and shopping bargains and trying to remember lines from
Mamma Mia!
They’re acting like lifelong friends. He’s got his back to me. He’s so annoying when he ignores me. Really winds me up. I can’t help it if this is the most important day of my life so far. Why’s he being so pissy? I don’t like it when Mac talks to other girls. It just reminds me there are girls out there who’d be a better best friend for him. Chatty, pretty girls who like shopping.

2:37
P.M.
—
Mac takes over from me so I can go to the cinema loo again, and asks me to grab a leaflet of showtimes while I’m over there, which I do. When I come back, he announces he’s going to see this Jennifer Aniston rom-com. Our section of the line has bunched up where people are mingling, getting to know each other. Small Redhead offers me a swig of vodka. I shake my head and play with the moon rock.

Something above catches my eye. Mac’s waving out of the window at the top of the cinema. Part of me wishes I was with him. We don’t get to do much stuff on our own anymore, not since his mum went back to working full-time. We’ve usually got to bring Cree along, so we have to go to some playground or petting zoo. We always have a good time, though. A laugh. I’d be laughing now if I was with him, not freezing my tits off sitting on the pavement. I force myself to remember why I’m here. I try sketching to kill time, but my fingers are too cold. I put Mac’s iPod on instead and find a Regs song, “Plug It Up.” I close my eyes. Eyes on the prize, Jody, eyes on the prize.

3:25
P.M.
—
Commotion surrounds me. A warm sensation creeps down the sides of my head. Laughter. I must have nodded off. People are squealing and scattering away from me. I pluck the earphones out and slowly start piecing the awful puzzle together. Green Blazer Boy has puked on my head.

3:26
P.M.
—
I stand up, my head hanging over, hot frothy sick running down my scalp and neck. Green Blazer Boy is apologizing and laughing at the same time.

“It’s OK, it’s not that bad,” says Smiley
Shining
Twin. “There’s not that much of it.” She’s pouring her bottled water over my hanging head and tearing out pages of
OK!
magazine to scrape my hair with. Scrunched-up pictures of Pippa Middleton and one of the Kardashians flutter about my feet.

“I’m really sorry,” the Green Blazer Boy keeps saying, but he’s laughing with his friends.

I’m so angry, I swear I can feel my own stomach acids spitting inside me. What if Jackson pulls me out of the crowd for a duet now? I’m going to stink of some moron’s digestive juices and put him right off. “You aimed for my head, you shitwit.”

“I so didn’t, oh my God, I so didn’t, I didn’t even see you ’til the last second.”

Shining
Twin finds my face under my hair. “Do you want to clean up? I’ll hold your place.”

“No, it’s OK. Oh God.” I remove Mac’s iPod from my pocket to inspect it. “Stupid prick,” I grumble in Green Blazer’s direction. He slumps down against the wall, dribbling mouth, pale as a window.

“Is the iPod OK?” says
Shining
Twin.

“Yeah, just surface splashes. Don’t tell him. This thing means more to him than I do.”