The Celeb Next Door (9 page)

‘Oh no, don’t worry, stay there. I’ll be fine,’ he says, smiling at me.‘I’ve got inbuilt GPS. But if I get lost, I’ll call.’

‘OK,’ says Vix, who seems disappointed. She sits back down again, rubbing the life back into her leg.

Max says his goodbyes and we watch him silently, as he makes his way down the hill and out through the park gate, where he disappears from view.

‘So, now he’s gone, what do we all think of Max?’ I say. ‘I’ve been dying to ask you. He’s all right, isn’t he?’

‘I like him,’ says Sky. ‘He’s a nice guy. Fun. A bit posh, but down-to-earth. You’d never guess he was Rufus’s brother though, would you?’

I shake my head. ‘No way! I told you.’

‘I think he’s lovely,’ says Vix. She sighs.
‘Really
lovely.’

‘Vix!’ says Sky. ‘Have you got a bit of a crush? It’s not like you.’

‘Maybe a little,’ says Vix. ‘But I doubt he’ll like me back. He doesn’t seem remotely interested. Anyway, did you see the way he was looking at Rosie the whole time, grinning like the cat who —’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I interrupt. ‘We’re just mates. It’s probably just because he knows me better than you two.’

‘You think? So you’re not interested?’ asks Vix.

‘Nah, I don’t think so,’ I say.

If I were, I’d know, wouldn’t I?

I
t’s a few days later, and I’m on my way to the high street I when I see Rufus, standing in the middle of the road outside the art collective house. For some reason, he’s staring up at the roof but, as far as I can tell, there’s nothing there.

‘Hey, Rufus, what are you doing?’ I say. I’m still a bit nervous about starting conversations with him, but if I just think of him as Max’s big brother and not as the celeb next door, it’s much easier.

He turns around and smiles, as if he’s actually pleased to see me. ‘Ah, Rosie, hello. I was on my way to check out the collective. One of the guys invited me along. Want to come with?’

‘Ooh yes,’ I say. I’ve been dying to see what goes on inside the collective’s house ever since the artists moved in. (Do squatters
move
in or break in?) Plus, Mum would go ballistic if she knew, which makes it even more appealing.

‘Come on, then,’ he says. He begins to stride towards the front door, with me a couple of steps behind him. I have to run a little to catch up.

‘Why were you looking up at the roof like that?’

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Well, if you want to get into the art collective, you have to follow a secret code. They told me to stand here, wait and look up. One of them appeared at the top left-hand window and made a hand signal when it was safe for me to come in.’

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Seriously? I didn’t see anyone.’

‘No,’ says Rufus. ‘Don’t be silly. I just have to ring the doorbell like at any other house. I was looking up at the sky because I thought I heard a helicopter.’

I blush. This is just the sort of wind-up Max would pull on me. Rufus raises his left eyebrow and grins at me, mischievously, and for the first time I can see a little of his brother in him.

‘I did know you were joking, obviously,’ I say.

‘Sure you did.’ He sounds unconvinced. ‘Don’t worry, Max tells me you’ve got a wicked sense of humour. Among other things. He probably won’t thank me for telling you this, but he likes you, you know.’

‘Oh, that’s great. I really like him too. He’s good to hang out with.’

‘Hmm,’ says Rufus. ‘And?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Is that all? You just like hanging out?’

‘I don’t get you?’

‘God, Rosie, you are slow today. He
likes
you.’

‘Oh,’ I exclaim, as what he means finally dawns on me. I know I look OK from certain angles, but I never expect anyone to think I’m attractive. ‘You don’t mean …’

‘You got it, Ms Buttery. Max has got the hots for you. He fancies you.’ He grins again, cheekily. ‘So, my little brother and you, eh? What do you think?’

‘I … I … don’t know,’ I begin, flustered. The first thing that pops into my head to say is, ‘Max is lovely, but I don’t like him like that,’ but the truth is I’m not really sure how I feel. I love hanging out with Max, but I don’t know him well enough yet to know if I fancy him. Which is a rubbish excuse, because that’s never made a difference before. Usually, when I fancy someone, I don’t have to think about it: I just look at them and I know, instantly. But maybe I could fancy Max. He’s such a great guy … maybe he will grow on me. None of my other boyfriends (OK, there’s only been two of them) has ever worked out, have they? So maybe having butterflies in your tummy when you look at someone is actually a bad thing, and it’s good that I don’t get them when I’m with Max.

And then there’s Vix – Vix, who hardly ever fancies anyone but who has made it clear she’s interested in Max. If anything happens between me and Max, she’ll be upset, won’t she? Things are already a bit weird between us. But if he likes me, not her, then there’s not much either of us can do about it, is there? It would be pointless to throw away my chance just so I don’t hurt her. And it’s not as if Vix has declared her undying love for Max; she’s just said she might have a little crush. She’s only spent a few hours with him, after all, and I introduced him to her. She can hardly say, ‘I bagsied him first.’ Max isn’t a pair of shoes in a shop window, he’s a person. Oh, boo, it’s all so complicated. How I wish there were rules about these things.

‘Yes?’ says Rufus, raising his left eyebrow, and I wonder if he can see the cogs turning in my brain.

‘Um … tell him I
might
do,’ I say, cryptically.

‘Ah, playing hard to get,’ says Rufus. ‘I like your style. I’ll let him know.’

I give him a coy smile. That isn’t it, at all, but I’m not going to let him know how confused I am.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Let’s check out the collective.’ He rings the doorbell, without waiting for me to reply. It takes an age for someone to answer, but then there’s the sound of several locks being turned, and a girl peeps her head around the door. She has enormous green eyes and she would be very pretty if she didn’t have half her head shaved and piercings in her eyebrow, nose and lip.

‘Hi there,’ says Rufus. ‘I’ve brought a little friend, Rosie, with me, I hope that’s OK.’

Oh my God, Rufus Justice called me his friend! I’m not quite so keen on the ‘little’ part, but I’ll forgive it. I grin at the girl, revelling in my new status.

‘Sure,’ she says, looking me up and down, suspiciously. ‘Hi, I’m Amanda.’ She lets us in and I stop for a second, taking in the decor. The inside of the collective house looks like any other house on the street, except the floorboards are bare, there are empty wine bottles and beer cans everywhere, and the unpapered walls are covered in doodles and half-finished paintings. Some of the paintings seem very familiar in style. There’s this famous but mysterious artist known as Winksy, who paints images on walls in the dead of night, and there have been several rumours that he lives in Camden. Could these paintings be his? Does he live here? Am I going to meet him? Wait till I tell Dad …

‘Rufus, Jack is waiting for you in the rehearsal room just here,’ says Amanda, pointing to her left. ‘Rosie, why don’t I show you around?’

‘OK,’ I say, keen to explore. I turn to say goodbye to Rufus, but he’s already disappeared.

‘So how do you know Rufus?’ asks Amanda.

I wonder if I should make up an intriguing story, but I can’t think of anything. ‘Er, he lives next door.’

Amanda bristles. ‘Oh right. I thought I’d seen you around. Well, please don’t tell anyone on the street about
what you find here. The council is trying to get us out.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘It sucks.’ I don’t tell her that Mum, as chairperson of the residents’ association, is backing them all the way.

Amanda doesn’t talk much as she shows me around; she just opens doors and points at things, like she can’t wait to get it over with. The collective house is amazing. They’ve got darkrooms for photography, art rooms that Dad would kill for, and music studios. There’s also a huge space for parties, where there are decks permanently set up, which extends out into the garden and is covered by a canopy. Amanda doesn’t show me where anyone sleeps, and I think it would be rude to ask, but I’m dying to see. She does tell me there are up to fifteen people living here at any one time. I wonder what she’d say if I asked to move in for a while …

‘Right,’ says Amanda. ‘Tour over. Sorry, but the rest is private and I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘Oh,’ I say, disappointed. I want to stay longer, to meet some of the others, especially if one of them might be Winksy. Everyone I’ve passed looks really quirky and interesting. One guy was dressed like he’d stepped out of a photo from the Forties, complete with a moustache and RAF flying jacket.

It’s not to be. Amanda shows me to the front door. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she says. ‘See you around.’ No party invite, or suggestion to return. She opens the door just
wide enough so that I can squeeze through the gap and bolts it shut behind me. Before I walk away, I stand on the doorstep for a moment, wondering if I’ll ever have the chance to go inside again.

What to do about Max bugs me all afternoon. I’m glad I’m not seeing him today – he’s gone to meet some friends from school who live in South London. When he sends me a text to find out how I am, I reply with a friendly message but I feel really self-conscious about putting three kisses at the end, even though I always do that. Funny how knowing someone fancies you changes everything. I wonder if Rufus has told him what I said yet? I feel like I need to talk about it, but Sky isn’t picking up her phone, and obviously I can’t talk to Vix. Dad is home, so I decide to ask him for his opinion. He can be quite good at giving advice because he doesn’t see life like most older people do; he still remembers being a teenager and what it feels like.

Dad is in his studio, surrounded by sketchbooks and screwed up bits of paper with half-finished drawings on them. He looks frustrated. He tells me he’s having another go at the Fieldstar album cover. Rufus didn’t like his first ideas because he said they weren’t ‘honest’ enough, whatever that means. The problem is, he won’t let Dad hear the tracks (they still haven’t been mastered) or tell him what the new album is called, mainly because it doesn’t have a name yet. ‘We’re trying to come up with
something that truly captures the genuine nature of the material,’ he told Dad. As Fieldstar’s first two albums were called
Fieldstar
and
Fieldstar Two
, it’s probably not too much of a stretch to guess the title of the third one, but that doesn’t really help Dad.

‘Can I ask you something, Dad?’ I say, cautiously.

‘Of course you can, Rosie. You can ask me anything you like – as long as it’s not for a bigger monthly allowance.’

‘No, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s personal.’

Dad stiffens. I think he looks a trifle scared, as if he’s going to have to give me a lecture on the birds and the bees, or something. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to ask your mother? She’s better on
that
kind of thing.’

‘No, really, she isn’t. And don’t worry, it’s not a woman thing. It’s a life thing.’

He relaxes. ‘OK. Fire away.’

I’m not sure how to explain myself, so I just come straight out with it. ‘How do you know when you fancy someone? I mean, how can you be sure?’

Dad creases his brow. ‘Hmm, I think you just know.’

This is what I’m afraid of. ‘Yeah, but is it always right away?’

‘Oh, no,’ says Dad, a misty look in his eyes. ‘It can take time. One day you don’t notice someone – they’re just a friend, or a colleague – and then they say something, or do something, or wear something, and you look at them and you think they’re the most beautiful, perfect person you’ve
ever seen, and you can’t imagine ever not feeling that way.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes. When I first clapped eyes on your mother, I wasn’t interested in her romantically at all. I thought she was a bit bossy, a bit prim. And she used to wear these horrible, shapeless black dresses, although to be fair, it was the Eighties … Don’t ever tell her I told you this, but it was her friend Susie I was after …’