The Bex Factor (23 page)

Matthew

I learnt a lot from my time on
The Tingle Factor
. I learnt that oxymorons are figures of speech and not illiterate gravy granules; that you should beware television
producers bearing oversized birthday cakes, and that singing vampires are not necessarily all they’re cracked up to be.

I learnt something else too, something that deep down I think I already knew: Mum’s illness was
never
anything to be ashamed of. We had a really good talk about it, and she’s
so much more positive now she doesn’t feel like my ‘guilty little secret’.

And I don’t hate Dad any more. Things will never go back to the way they were, but last week we all went out for a pizza together, and he’s even doing some idents for my YouTube
video.

That’s right – I haven’t ruled out being famous one day. I just don’t plan on selling my soul to the likes of Nikki Hardbody. So I’m only doing my own songs now,
and Curtis says that if I ever go all ‘showbiz’ on him, he’ll dig out the recording of yours truly prancing around a telly studio in a doggie outfit.

Actually there’s one more thing – something rather surprising. You see, when Twilight dumped me, it should have been the worst moment of my life. But riding home in the taxi, I
suddenly realised that I wasn’t particularly bothered. And the reason was sitting right next to me. Never mind
The Tingle Factor
; we’re talking about the The Bex Factor here.

I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. She’s kind, she’s loyal, she’s not afraid to tell me what I don’t want to hear. And perhaps more importantly, I fancy
her like mad – which is why, whenever we run into each other at school, I grin like a maniac and totally fail to ask her the billion dollar question.

Come to think of it, why would she go out with me anyway? Curtis said that after ‘two seconds on a crap reality show’, I turned into a ‘megalomaniacal monster’. But I can
change, can’t I?

‘Oi, Emily,’ I shout. ‘There’s someone at the door. Hurry up and get it, will you?’

And my heart starts beating in hemi-demi-semiquavers when I lean out my bedroom window and realise who it is.

Bex

I haven’t been here since the night of
The Tingle Factor
final, and it felt a bit weird when I got the message inviting me. But it seems like nothing’s
changed until I reach the front door and see Sue Layton’s coffin propped up on some bricks, like one of Kyle’s cars. They’ve planted some flowers and turned it into a miniature
garden with a little pond and everything.

And I can’t help smiling when I spot the painting I did of Matthew in his yellow hoodie. I’ve seen him a few times at school, but I think he must be embarrassed or something, because
all he does is look dead strange and run away. When he first came back, they wouldn’t leave him alone. It took everyone about two days to forget he was ‘the boy off the telly’,
and whenever I see him now, he’s hanging out with that weird kid who wears make-up.

So I’m just a
little
bit relieved when it’s Emily who answers the door.

‘Hi, Bex,’ she says, grabbing me round the waist and refusing to let go. ‘Crystal’s pregnant again – I think it’s twins. Come and have a look.’

‘Later, yeah. I just need to see . . .’

And that’s when I spot Matthew, standing at the top of the stairs. ‘Hi,’ I say, feeling kind of glad I wore this dress and not the jeans I put on first or the skirt I tried
afterwards.

‘Hi,’ he says, doing that thing with his hair. ‘Would you like to come up for a minute? There’s something I want to ask you.’

‘OK then,’ I say, wondering why Emily’s gone all giggly.

Matthew’s bedroom is right at the top of the house. ‘Where’s Sue?’ I say, as he leads me up a second flight of stairs.

‘Who?’

‘You know, Sue, your mum.’

‘Oh right,’ says Matthew, opening the door with the
Star Wars
poster on the front. ‘She’s in the kitchen preparing ratatouille. Dad’s coming for dinner
tonight.’

I check out the clothes on the floor, the old-fashioned record player, the pile of
NME
s by the Xbox and the radio playing softly on the bedside table. ‘That’s great,’ I
say. ‘Are they getting back together again?’

‘This isn’t a fairy story, Bex. But at least they’re talking to each other.’

‘Cool room,’ I say. ‘My dad does loft conversions.’

He sits on the edge of his unmade bed looking dead uncomfortable. ‘Oh . . . right. That’s . . .’

‘So come on, Matthew,’ I say, picking up three socks, an empty packet of Fun Gums and
The Definitive Bob Dylan Songbook
and stacking them on the bookcase. ‘What is it
you wanted to ask me?’

He gulps in a mouthful of air. ‘Did you know that Curtis and I are writing some new songs?’

‘Oh . . . good,’ I say, pleased that he’s getting back into music, but not sure why he’s telling me. ‘That’s really —’

‘Hey, Bex,’ he says, grinning like a madman. ‘Did you hear about the insomniac, agnostic dyslexic who lay awake at night wondering if there was a dog?’

‘That’s what you wanted to ask me?’

He jumps up from the bed, and starts hopping from foot to foot like a really bad street dancer. ‘No, it’s just . . . The thing is . . . The thing is . . . I
really
like you,
Bex. And I was thinking . . . Maybe we could . . . Maybe we could go out some time.’

What do I say? I look into his eyes for, like, a decade of double geography lessons, knowing deep down that there’s only one sensible answer. Three weeks ago I was his imaginary
girlfriend. It looks like that’s the most I’ll ever be.

‘No, no, I don’t think so, Matthew – not just now anyway.’

‘I don’t get it,’ he says, looking all hurt. ‘Why did you come round, if you didn’t want to see me?’

‘Your mum invited me. People said such nice things about my wheelchair designs that she thought we might be able to go into business together. We’re going to do a SWOT
analysis.’

‘Oh . . . right.’

‘And anyway,’ I say, getting to the important part. ‘What about poor Twilight? I thought you were going out with
her
.’

‘She said she wasn’t interested in spotty teenagers.’

‘That’s not what it looked like when she kissed you.’

‘She told me she only did it to get more votes. And she said . . .’ He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to say it. ‘She said I was a terrible kisser.’

Who cares about sensible? Suddenly it seems like the right thing to do. I’m not going to lie to you – it’s dead awkward to start with. Matthew almost jumps over the moon when I
slip my arms around his neck and pull him towards me. And we bang teeth and noses until he stops apologising and presses his lips against mine. The next bit’s private, yeah? But there’s
one thing I will tell you: Twilight was wrong. OK, so maybe it helps when you’re doing it with the right person, but take it from me: Matthew is a
really
good kisser.

If you listen carefully to the radio, you might just be able to make out the intro of the fastest selling download of all time. Because it turned out everyone loved Elizabeth McQueen’s
version of ‘An Eriskay Love Lilt’, and even if Twilight hadn’t got all flustered and forgotten the words to ‘Tainted Love’ I’m sure Elizabeth would have won
anyway. And I’ll tell you another thing – when she starts singing, I have a feeling that it’s not all over. In fact, if you ask me, it’s only just begun.

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