The Bex Factor (21 page)

‘Hi, Curtis, how’s it going?’

He takes out his ear buds. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in the hall with your groupies?’

‘What are you listening to?’

Curtis snorts and turns up the collar of his black trench coat. ‘I’m surprised you’re interested.’

He used to be my one friend around here. ‘Well, of course I’m —’

‘What happened to you, Matthew?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You were actually quite cool once; you were the only person who cared about music as much as I did. So how come you’re “having the best time of your life” in that
soulless celebration of anti-talent?’

And I’m about to tell him that jealousy is a terrible thing, and that I don’t take lessons in coolness from someone who wears a trench coat in the middle of May, when I spot her,
down by the temporary classrooms, heading towards the field. Even at this distance, I’d know Bex’s walk a mile off. ‘Sorry, Curtis. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve
got to run. See ya.’

Bex

I hate the school field – it reminds me of rounders. But it’s the only place I can get away from the screaming. All week, Dad’s paper’s been full of
Matt and Twilight this, Matt and Twilight that (blah de blah de blah) and it’s really getting on my tits. Shezza said I should come to the hall to heckle the ‘two-timing toad’,
but I was like, G
et a life, why don
’
t you?
That’s not the real reason I’m angry with Matthew, anyway. Even though it’s as plain as the zits on my face that
Twilight is
so
not right for him, I was never anything more than his pretend girlfriend – but don’t tell Shezza, yeah?

All I want is to get tomorrow over with. The rest of my family are really up for it, but if I hadn’t promised Sue Layton I’d push her wheelchair, I’d rather stay in and watch
repeats of
Newsnight
.

‘Mind if I walk with you?’

Just for a split second, I’m pleased to see him. And then I remember how angry I am. ‘It’s a free country.’

We walk to the faded, centre line in silence.

‘I thought the football pitches would bring back bad memories, Matthew.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That penalty you missed.’

‘Ha, ha.’ When we get to the goalposts, he jumps up and touches the bar. He couldn’t have done that a month ago. ‘How’s Mum?’

‘Why haven’t you asked her yourself?’

‘I’ve been on the Battle Bus all week. It was mental.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I say, looking at the penalty spot and wondering how anyone could miss from there. ‘I saw you at Alton Towers.’

Matthew wanders on to the pitch and starts mumbling at his feet. ‘I just wanted to say . . . thanks for everything, Bex. I could never have done this if you hadn’t helped out with
Mum. She is all right, isn’t she?’

‘I’m surprised you’re interested.’

He turns and kicks a crisp packet into the goal. ‘How come everyone suddenly knows what I’m interested in? Look, all I want to know is if my mum’s OK. You can tell me that,
can’t you?’

‘She’s fine – no thanks to you.’ He doesn’t look as happy as someone who’s got a one in three chance of winning
The Tingle Factor
ought to. He might be
several centimetres taller than when we first met, but he looks smaller somehow, and so miserable, I almost want to give him a cuddle. ‘Your mum’s OK. A lot better. She even tried a
couple of steps without her crutches.’

‘Great,’ says Matthew, turning back towards school. ‘Look, they’ll be wondering where I am, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘So you’re really going to let her go through with it then?’

Matthew pulls up on the edge of the penalty area. ‘Let who go through with what?’

‘Your mum. You’re actually going to let her go on the show, yeah?’

Matthew shrugs and looks down at the balding grass. ‘She says she wants to.’

‘No, she doesn’t. She’s just doing it to please you.’

‘Why shouldn’t she, anyway? Like you said, Bex, it’s a free country.’

‘I don’t get you,’ I say, struggling to find the right words. ‘First you’re so ashamed of her you try to pretend she doesn’t even exist. And now you want to
make a fool of her on live TV. Nikki Hardbody’s just using her, can’t you see that?’

He laughs sarcastically and shakes his head. ‘Not you as well. Why can’t people just be happy for me? It’s only backstory, anyway, no big deal. And let’s face it, Bex,
you would have done anything to get to the final. Don’t you remember:
Pleeez, Justin, it
’
s my dream
?’

‘At least I’d never use my mum’s illness to win a stupid talent competition.’

‘Well, you couldn’t, could you, because your mum’s not ill.’

We glare at each other across the penalty area. ‘You know how much she hates being seen in that wheelchair. If you don’t stop her, Matthew, I’ll never speak to you
again.’

‘Whatever, it’s your loss,’ he says, starting the long walk back into school.

Just before Matthew gets to the Millennium Pagoda, a camera crew jumps out from behind the temporary classrooms and starts following him. A few seconds later, the weirdest thought pops into my
head:
I wonder why he’s wearing that T-shirt I bought him for his birthday?

Matthew

My dressing room is full of cards and flowers from people I’ve never met. The breakfast TV lady said the Prime Minister is a ‘faMATTic’, which seemed pretty
cool until I found out that the sexy celebrity chef Dad fancies is an ‘Elizabethan’.

‘Leave us alone for a moment, would you?’ says Nikki Hardbody, holding the door open for my dresser. ‘I need a quick word with Matt.’ She studies her face in the mirror,
looking pleased with what she sees. ‘Your guests have arrived in hospitality. Now before we go and see them, I want to make sure you know what’s happening.’

I don’t know if I’m more nervous about singing in the final or Mum and Dad being in the same room together. ‘You told me last night.’

‘Let’s just run through it one more time,’ says Nikki. ‘After you’ve finished your first song, Willow’s going to ask you why you should win
The Tingle
Factor
. You say all the usual stuff: it’s what you’ve lived for since you were a foetus, best day of your life, da dee da dee da, and then you come out with the
coup de
grâce
.’

‘Coup de what?’

‘The death blow, darling. As soon as you tell them you’re doing it all for your wonderful mother, and that little chav friend of yours wheels her down the aisle, Ugly Betty
won’t have a prayer.’

‘You said it was just backstory.’

‘Of course it is,’ says Nikki, ‘and if that doesn’t wreck the old swamp donkey’s chances, I’ve decided to let her have her own way and finish with a ghastly
folk song.’

‘Isn’t that a bit unfair?’

‘What would be unfair is if I let that horrendous woman come between my two babies. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Are you . . . helping Twilight too?’

‘Twilight doesn’t need my help. Face it, Matt, her backstory makes your sorry little saga look like
The Sound of Music
. And in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s drop
dead gorgeous. But of course you have,’ adds Nikki with a wink. ‘And I’m sure your lovely girlfriend would want you to be the best that you can be.’

I had to put a good luck card under Twilight’s dressing room door because she’s keeping it locked while she warms up for the show. ‘And you really think Twilight and I could
work together?’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ says Nikki impatiently, ‘but we need to get tonight over with first. Now come on, let’s go and meet the parents.’

Just as we’re about to head off to hospitality, the door swings open and a grey-haired lady in a frilly blouse and purple cardigan storms into my dressing room. ‘I’m looking
for Victoria,’ she says accusingly, like I’m hiding this Victoria person under the sink.

‘Well, you won’t find her here,’ I say, wondering how she got past security. ‘Would you mind getting out of my dressing room? I’m trying to prepare for a show
here.’

‘Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man,’ says the lady in purple. ‘
I
was a justice of the peace.’

‘I’ll handle this, thank you, Matt,’ says Nikki Hardbody, who’s really good at dealing with difficult punters. ‘Why don’t you wait in my office, madam?
You’ll find it much more comfortable there. I’ll try and find a runner to help you track down this . . . Victoria. We can drop you off on our way to hospitality.’

Dad is the first to greet us at the door. ‘Hello, Nikki, lovely to see you again. Did you have time to look at those ideas I biked over?’

‘Not now, Mervyn,’ says Nikki, rescuing her hand from Dad’s sweaty grip. ‘As you can see, I’m rather busy.’

‘Yes, of course,’ says Dad. ‘Catch you later.’

Most of the McCrory clan has gathered around the refreshment table. Kyle is showing Emily how many hula hoops he can fit in his mouth and the rest of them are taking it in turns to entertain the
flatulent baby.

‘All right, Geez?’ splutters Kyle. ‘Good luck for later, yeah?’ The rest of them offer words of encouragement before returning their attention to the flatulent baby; all
apart from Bex, who’s standing under the monitor whispering with Mum, and totally refuses to catch my eye when Nikki drags me over.

‘Hello, Matthew,’ says Mum, who’s wearing that black trouser suit she had for school.

‘Hi, Mum,’ I say, kind of wanting to kiss her, but not wanting to at the same time. ‘Hi, Bex.’

Bex shakes her head and stares at the back of Mum’s wheelchair. Did I mention how ridiculous it looks with wing mirrors and all that silver paint?

‘Hello, Sue,’ says Nikki. ‘Thank you so much for coming. I just want to talk you through what’s going to happen later.’

‘Listen carefully, won’t you, Sue?’ says Dad. ‘What Nikki doesn’t know about television isn’t worth knowing.’

‘Thank you, Melvin,’ says Mum. ‘When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it.’

Nikki steps in front of Dad, pushing him firmly to one side. ‘We don’t want to pre-empt a wonderful moment by having you in the studio audience, so you’ll have to watch the
show from here. As soon as Matt introduces you, the lovely Bex . . . It is Bex, isn’t it?’

Bex grinds her teeth.

‘The lovely Bex will push you through
that
door and on to the studio floor,’ says Nikki. ‘Don’t worry, there’ll be someone on hand to give you the signal.
Now, can you do that for me, Sue?’

‘No,’ says Mum triumphantly.

Dad almost drops his plastic cup of white wine. ‘Come on, Sue; you’re not going to be difficult, are you?’

‘I don’t need Bex to push me,’ says Mum. ‘I’ve been practising at home and I’m sure I can make it to the stage under my own steam.’

‘That’s great, Mum,’ I say, slightly guilty that I’m feeling kind of relieved. ‘I’m really pleased.’

Nikki doesn’t look at all pleased. ‘I don’t think so, Sue. I really think it would be much better if we stick to the wheelchair.’

‘But why?’ says Mum. ‘I can do it. I know I can.’

Nikki checks her face in Mum’s wing mirror. ‘I don’t think you understand, Sue. It’s a question of what makes for the best television. Help me out here, Mervyn.
It’s obvious from those ideas you sent me that your visual sense is second to none. What do
you
think?’