Thinking of You (26 page)

The excitement among the crowd was palpable, fans buzzing with growing anticipation as the hands of the clock moved toward seven thirty. It wasn't often that a genuine A-list Hollywood celebrity came to Bristol to sign copies of their autobiography, but Marcus McBride was on his way. Now forty, he had been a true star for almost twenty years, something of a hell-raiser early on in his career but talented and dedicated enough to get away with it. Not to mention in possession of buckets of sex appeal. With his dark, unconventional looks, undoubted intelligence, and quirky sense of humor, women all over the world had fallen for Marcus McBride's charms and many millions more had swooned over him from a distance. The opportunity to buy his just-published book, have it signed by Marcus himself, and actually get to shake his hand had been just too good to pass up.

“Look, I bet that's him!” Lucy pointed up at the gray sky and hundreds of pairs of eyes followed the direction of her arm as the faint winking lights of a helicopter appeared in the distance.

“And it's starting to rain.” Davy pulled a face as a raindrop splashed into his left eye. “You know, we could always forge his signature, pretend we met him, and just go for a drink instead.”

But he said it good-naturedly, knowing it wasn't an option. Lucy was looking forward to seeing Marcus McBride. And his mother would have his guts for garters.

“Poor Rhona, missing out on all this.” Lucy was still watching as the helicopter grew larger. “She'd have loved it.”

Davy smiled, because his mum had never made any secret of her crush on Marcus McBride. When she'd heard he was coming down to do a book-signing in Bristol, she had been beside herself with excitement.

It was just a shame she wasn't able to come down to the shopping center herself.

The helicopter landed somewhere behind the complex and everyone in the hundreds-long queue began mentally preparing themselves. Lucy checked her camera for the umpteenth time. “I'll take loads of photos,” she had told Rhona, “of Marcus and Davy together when he signs the book.”

“Bless you.” Rhona had smiled, touched by her thoughtfulness.

“Your collar's crooked,” Lucy told Davy now, busily straightening it. “There, that's better.”

“I'm sure it'll make all the difference. Along with this.” Davy ruefully ruffled his new haircut, still unused to it. Lucy had dragged him along to a trendy salon in Cotham, standing behind him like a prison warden until she was completely satisfied with the short, spiky cut the stylist had teased out of his previously long, straggly, determinedly unstylish hair.

“Stop moaning, it looks great.”

“It cost a fortune.” Six whole hours of cleaning, to be precise, which was crazy when he had a perfectly good pair of scissors at home.

“Get a move on,” the man behind them murmured impatiently. “The queue's moving.”

It was, but with several hundred people ahead of them, Davy wasn't holding his breath. Marcus McBride hadn't even made his entrance into the bookshop yet.

“Look at him, that's the kind of man I could go for.” Now they'd shuffled along a bit further, Lucy was able to drool over a huge promotional poster of Marcus in the shop window. “You can't call him handsome, can you? But he's better than that, more edgy and interesting than just handsome. And those eyes. I wonder what he'd do if I kissed him?”

“Nothing,” said Davy. “It's only a poster.”

“
You
.” Lucy dug him in the ribs. “I'm going to miss you when I leave.” Tilting her head to one side she said, “Remember when you had that big crush on me? Whatever happened to that?”

“I don't know. Just kind of evaporated.”

“And now you don't fancy me anymore. At
all
.” She pulled a tragic face. “It's not very flattering, you know.”

“Sorry.” Davy grinned. “Don't take it personally.”

“But you were besotted with me.”

He shrugged, equally bemused. “I used to play my Darkness CD all the time too. I thought it was the best album ever. Then after a couple of months I didn't play it quite so often. And now I don't bother listening to it at all. The magic just… wore off.”

“If you're saying I sound like Justin Hawkins, I'll give you a Chinese burn.”

“You don't sound like him.” Straight-faced, Davy said, “Mind you, looks-wise…”

They had a bit of a tussle outside the bookshop, won by Lucy as usual. Davy was glad his inconvenient crush on her had subsided of its own accord, to be replaced by an easy camaraderie. Because he was no longer hopelessly tongue-tied in her presence, they were able to banter together like… well, best friends.

He inhaled a blast of the peppermint chewing gum being noisily chewed by the man behind them. Lucy had picked up a sheaf of details from a flat-letting agency on the way home this afternoon. He would miss her too.

Aloud Davy said, “You don't have to go.”

She slipped an arm through his, gave it a grateful squeeze. “I know I don't have to. But I should. Your mum's fantastic and I love her to bits, but I can't stay on forever. The whole point of leaving home and being a student is so you can live like a student and do studenty things.”

“Making a mess, having all your friends round, getting drunk, sleeping with people your parents wouldn't approve of,” said Davy.

“Arguing about who finished the milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge.”

“Sorry, I forgot that one.”

“Wondering where the terrible smell's coming from, then finally discovering an open tin of tuna under the living room sofa.”

“That old classic.” Davy shook his head sympathetically. “I can see why you miss it so much.”

“There are good bits too. Like borrowing your flat mate's clothes,” Lucy pointed out. “And sharing each other's makeup.”

“That wouldn't really work if he was a rugby player.”

They fell silent for a couple of seconds, both thinking.

“I wonder what's happened to Jem?” Lucy spoke at last. “No one's seen her all week.”

Davy knew how hurt Lucy had been when the whole Jem and Rupert thing had come out, with Jem choosing to stay with Rupert rather than siding with her best friend. The two girls hadn't spoken since.

“Maybe she's ill.” But they'd both heard about the mixer-gun incident and Jem's instant dismissal from the pub. “I could give her a quick ring,” he suggested. “Check she's all right.”

But Lucy was already shaking her head. “Don't bother. She's got Rupert to look after her.” Pressing her lips together she said, “Anyway, let's not talk about them. Let's talk about whether this damn queue is ever going to move…”

At that moment, almost as if she had caused it to happen, a whoop of excitement went up inside the shop, indicating that Marcus McBride had made his entrance. Flashbulbs went off like fireworks, people were jumping up and down to get a better view and a round of applause broke out.

“Wow.” Lucy was impressed. “I've never met a real film star before.”

“You're not going to meet him now,” Davy pointed out. “This isn't a cocktail party. You're not going to end up snogging in the stockroom. He's got hundreds of books to sign and one hour to do it in. While he's signing ours, you'll have about two seconds to take the photo.”

“You really know how to squash a girl's fantasies,” said Lucy.

Over the course of the next thirty minutes the queue edged forward, into the back of the store at last. Shop assistants demonstrated how to hold open their already-bought copies of Marcus McBride's autobiography at the title page, ready for his pen to make its illegible squiggle. As they neared the front of the queue and the desk at which he was sitting, they saw him for the first time. Flanked by burly minders and uniformed security staff with high-tech earpieces, Marcus was squiggling away and flashing his famous smile with production-line regularity. Anyone who'd hoped to stand and chat for a minute or two was firmly moved along. Nothing was allowed to interrupt the flow.

More minty fumes indicated the arrival of a fresh piece of chewing gum in the mouth of the man behind them, ensuring he had nice breath for his fleeting encounter with Hollywood royalty. When the queue advanced a couple of feet further and Davy was slow to catch up, the man prodded him in the back and said irritably, “Look, if you're not interested, don't bother.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow and Davy flushed, trying to pretend he hadn't heard. This was when he felt his confidence deserting him, when strangers said something uncalled for and a braver person would stand up for themselves without giving it a second thought. Davy had always been embarrassed by the rudeness of others and had never known how to react; consequently he never did react, which was utterly pathetic. Had Lucy expected him to come out with some quick retort, some cutting comment that would have put the man behind them in his place?

Of course she had. Davy swallowed, ashamed of himself, and pretended to be engrossed in a shelf of Fiction for Teenagers. That was just the way he was, the way he'd always been, and there was nothing he could do to change it. Even if it did mean Lucy thought he was a complete wimp.

Almost there now. Marcus McBride was wearing a tight pink T-shirt, black jeans, and blue cowboy boots, because he'd reached the level of film stardom that meant you could throw on whatever you liked and not be laughed at. Which must be nice, Davy thought with feeling, as the overweight woman in front of him readied herself for her turn. Patting her permed hair and glancing over her shoulder at Lucy, she whispered longingly, “Ooh, isn't he gorgeous? If I was thirty years younger!”

“Got it open to the right page? Right, off you go,” ordered the strict sergeant major type in charge at the head of the queue. The woman tottered up to the desk, said breathlessly, “You're my favorite actor!” and held out her book.

Smile, squiggle, smile, all over.

“Next,” barked the sergeant major as Lucy readied herself to take the all-important photo.

“Hurry
up
,” the man behind Davy hissed, blasting him with mint.

Davy moved forward, held out his book, and self-consciously half turned so that the camera wouldn't just get a shot of his back. He felt rather than saw the signature being scrawled on the title page of the book he was still holding and, glancing behind Lucy, noted that the man behind her was fidgeting in an agitated fashion with something in his trouser pocket. God, how embarrassing, he hoped the man wasn't doing what he appeared to be doing; then again, some people could get inappropriately carried away in the heat of the—

Flash
went Lucy's camera, temporarily blinding Davy. He hoped he hadn't had a gormless expression on his face. The sergeant-major type made vigorous move-on gestures, indicating that their time was up. In the split second that followed, Davy glimpsed another flash, of metal this time. Blinking, he realized that Mint Man had pulled a knife from his pocket and was now gripping it tightly in his right hand, keeping it hidden from view beneath his jacket. Ever hopeful Lucy, flashing a dazzling smile at Marcus McBride, was making her way past the desk, and the sergeant major was making increasingly urgent sweeping movements with his arms. It was Mint Man's turn next.

“No!” yelled Davy, realizing that no one else had spotted the knife.

Mint Man shot him a look of wild-eyed fury and launched himself at the desk. Davy, who had always loathed rugby at school, flung himself at Mint Man and tackled him to the ground. God, it hurt. All the air was punched from his lungs, and Mint Man was now roaring like an enraged bull elephant. Dazedly realizing how right he'd been to hate rugby, Davy became aware that he was now being crushed beneath a scrum of bouncers and security guards. Next moment he felt himself being hauled to his feet and discovered that his legs had gone wobbly. He could hear screams of panic all around him, interspersed with barked orders from security and loud staccato cursing from Mint Man.

Someone yelled, “Oh God, he's been stabbed,” and Davy stumbled toward Lucy, feeling sick at the thought that the knife had gone into the madman on the ground. Then he saw the look of terror in Lucy's eyes and heard her gasp, “Oh, Davy! Oh my God,
someone
call
an
ambulance
…”

 

“He's been arrested and taken down to the police station. Long psychiatric history, it turns out.” The sergeant-major type, who was actually Marcus McBride's PR manager, brought Davy and Lucy up to date in one of the offices behind the shop. “Apparently, Princess Margaret told him to do it.”

“That woman, she's nothing but trouble. This was my best shirt.” Davy stuck his finger through the slash in the heavily bloodstained blue-and-green-striped cotton and looked mournful.

“I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.”

Lucy's tone was despairing. “You got it from Oxfam.”

“So? It's still my best shirt.”

“There.” The doctor finished applying the last of the skin sutures and peeled off his surgical gloves. “You'll live.”

“I'll call it my dueling scar.” Davy inspected the cleaned-up knife wound inflicted by Mint Man's panicky response to being brought down. At twenty centimeters long it had bled profusely and looked spectacular but was actually far less painful than it appeared, which he didn't mind at all. If it had been a stabbing injury rather than a shallow slice across his chest, on the other hand… well, the thought of it was enough to make him feel a bit queasy.

As if to emphasize this point, the sergeant major said, “That was a brave thing you did, son. Incredibly brave and unbelievably stupid.”

Davy agreed with the unbelievably stupid bit. He didn't even feel as if he'd been brave back there on the shop floor, simply because he had acted without stopping to think first. If he had thought about it, he would certainly never have tackled a lunatic wielding a knife.

The door to the office opened then and Marcus McBride walked in, exuding charisma.

“Hey, kid. You did good.” He shook Davy's hand and this time his smile was genuine. “You're a hero.”

Embarrassed, Davy said, “I'm not really the heroic type.”

Outside, they had to have their picture taken by a clamor of photographers. Davy, wearing his bloodstained shirt, stood awkwardly while Marcus McBride rested his arm across his shoulders. Still in a daze, Davy told the waiting journalists his name. They wanted to see the wound across his chest. When they asked him how he felt, he said, “Like a Page Three girl,” and everyone laughed.

Five minutes later the press was dispatched. Marcus said, “Seriously, you did great. I don't know how to thank you. I'd offer you a signed copy of my book, but…”

“We've already got one.” Lucy held up the shopping bag containing the copy Davy had flung aside before tackling Mint Man to the ground. Luckily it didn't have blood on it.

“We'll sort something out.” The sergeant major consulted his watch. “Now, is your car here or do you need transport home?”

“We caught the bus,” said Davy.

“No problem. I'll organize a car.” Taking out his mobile phone, the sergeant major began rattling out orders. Marcus's helicopter was evidently waiting on standby to whisk him up to a TV appearance in Manchester. A car was summoned to take Davy and Lucy back to Henbury.

An idea had come into Davy's mind; he plucked up the courage to voice it. “Actually,” Davy looked at Marcus, “you know you said you didn't know how to thank me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, my mum would love to meet you. She couldn't be here tonight but she's only ten minutes away.”

“Sorry, son.” Having concluded his call, the sergeant major said firmly, “Can't do anything now, we're behind schedule as it is. Some other time, OK?”

Deflated, Davy said, “Oh. OK.”

***

Rhona finished the washing up and took a cup of tea through to the living room. She switched on the TV and semi-watched a program about a woman so addicted to shopping for new clothes that she was on the verge of being declared bankrupt.

At least that was something that she was never going to suffer from. Even observing the woman on TV as she rushed through Marks and Spencer grabbing armfuls of dresses off the rails made Rhona feel jittery and nervous.

Oh well, never mind about that. It was a shame she hadn't been able to go down to the shopping center this evening but she couldn't help the way she was. Maybe in time the panicky sensations would subside of their own accord. And at least Davy and Lucy were down there getting a book signed for her, so she wasn't completely missing out…

When the doorbell rang some time later, Rhona padded out to the hall. She opened the front door and looked at Marcus McBride.

For several seconds she carried on looking at him, as if he were a crossword clue she couldn't quite work out. Because it couldn't
really
be Marcus McBride.

“Rhona?”

“Yes.” How incredible, she could still speak. Well, just about.

“Hi, I'm Marcus.” The visitor on the doorstep took her hand and gravely shook it.

“How… how, how… I mean, how…?”

“Davy happened to mention that you'd like to meet me. And I said great, because I wanted to meet you too.”

Rhona wondered if she had fallen asleep in front of the TV and was in fact having a dream. Then again, her dreams had never been as good as this. Unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth, she said, “Davy?”

“Your son?” Marcus broke into a smile. “That's why I'm here. I want to tell you, he did a very brave thing tonight. I'm very grateful to him.”

“
My
son did a brave thing?” Rhona closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them again Marcus McBride was still there, waiting on her doorstep and looking incredibly
real
. Forgetting that she wasn't wearing any shoes, she said, “Um… where is Davy?”

“Over there in the car. With Lucy. Look, I can't stay long; my PR guy's giving me a hard time. But when Davy said you'd like a visit, how could I refuse? He's fine, by the way.”

“Fine? What d'you mean, fine? Why wouldn't he be fine?”

And, surreally, Marcus McBride explained what had happened at the book signing. Rhona's stomach clenched with horror and disbelief and she ran barefoot down the path to the waiting car. Wrenching open the rear door she shouted, “Davy, how
could
you? You might have been killed! Oh my God, look at your
shirt
…”

Lucy used up the rest of the film in her camera taking photos of Rhona and Marcus McBride. Finally Marcus gave Rhona a kiss on the cheek then laughed at the expression on Lucy's face and kissed her as well.

“Now I really have to go. Thanks again.” He shook Davy's hand and said, “You take care of yourself.”

“Bye,” said Davy.

The car pulled away. Still barefoot, Rhona clapped her hand to her chest and said, “I don't know, I can't let you out of my sight for two minutes.”

Davy rolled his eyes. “Mum, there's no need to fuss.
I'm OK.
”