Playlist for a Broken Heart

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘You’re being very annoying,’ I said.

  He grinned even more. ‘Good. I like to know I’m causing a reaction.’

  It was him. I just knew it. I had a million questions I wanted to ask. When did you make it? Who’s Sarah? Where is she now? But we’d reached the top of Milsom Street and Alex spotted Callum with his guitar outside a café. He went charging over and I was about to follow him when my phone bleeped that I had a text.

  It was from FB. Meet me to the right of the stage ASAP. Important info about your mystery boy. FB.

  I quickly texted back, It’s OK. I think I’ve found him. He’s here.

  He texted back. ??? Not possible. He’s here.

  I clicked my phone shut. ‘Woah. Things are getting confusing,’ I said to Allegra as I linked her arm and began to run towards the park.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mystery Boy

  Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers?

  Shakespeare: Troilus and Cressida – Act 3, Scene 1.

  Battle of the bands. Everyone was there. I looked for Sarah in the crowd and saw her down the front. Hang back, I told myself. Hang back. Let her come to you. First Cybermentor played. I strained to see her reaction over the heads in front of me. As they started playing, she turned to a friend to say something. Had she recognised the song? I think she might have. It was track eight on the CD. Overheated were on next. They played track six. Then Lady B singing, Make your life. A personal favourite of mine and was track four on my CD. It was going like a dream. I couldn’t have orchestrated it better. I edged forward. She turned and saw me, waved. I went to join her and asked her what she thought of the music.

  ‘I’m blown away,’ she said. ‘I know most of it.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s from a CD,’ she replied.

  ‘What CD?’ I asked acting cool.

  ‘It was made specially for me,’ she replied. ‘Custom made.’

  My heart stopped. ‘Who by? And how do you know that?’ I asked.

  ‘He told me,’ she replied.

  That can’t be, I thought.

  ‘Sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,’ she said.

  ‘Who is he?’ I asked. ‘Where is he?’

  Sarah pointed. ‘There he is,’ she said.

  I looked over the crowd to where she pointed. Unbelievable, I thought when I saw who it was. The snake. I am going to kill him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  From the throbbing bass notes resounding through the park, we could hear that the battle of the bands was underway.

  Allegra was more interested in the beautiful Georgian architecture evident everywhere we looked. ‘Ohmigod,’ she said when we got up to the Royal Crescent and she saw the sweeping curve of the thirty tall houses towering over the parkland in front. They made an impressive sight. She pulled out her camera and starting taking photos. I couldn’t blame her. I remember the first time I saw the Crescent and how blown away I was. I wanted to stay with her but I was also eager to find FB and see what he had to say.

  ‘You go,’ she said. ‘Give me five minutes up here and I’ll come and find you. Give me your T-shirt and I’ll see if anyone recognises it.’

  I pulled my Songs for Sarah T-shirt out of my bag and she put it on over her shirt. ‘Well I’m not undressing in this weather,’ she said when she saw me laugh. ‘I wish I’d brought a coat!’ In the twenty minutes it had taken to walk from town up to the park, the sky had grown overcast and looked like it might rain. ‘Go on, you go,’ she urged. ‘See you in a minute.’

  I followed the music and raced down through the trees to find the stage area where a band of four boys was finishing their set to rousing applause from the audience. I soon spotted FB, who was standing to the left of the stage. He waved when he saw me.

  ‘So what’s all this about you knowing who made the CD?’ I panted when I’d got to him. ‘Did you find another clue when you scanned the cover.’

  He took a deep breath and hesitated as if unsure what to say. ‘Not exactly. Nothing new anyway. I . . . I guess I should have told you . . .’ he said. He stopped mid sentence when he saw a new performer get up onto the stage, his expression turning black. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘What is it? Do you know him?’

  ‘I do. We all do. Keiron Mills. He’s a creep.’

  I looked back at the boy who was getting out his guitar. ‘He looks familiar. I think I may have seen him somewhere, at school . . . around Bath . . .’ I searched my mind to try and remember where it was.

  ‘Probably playing in Bath. He busks a lot on the main drag near the Abbey,’ said FB.

  ‘That’s it! I knew I’d seen him somewhere. It was on my first day here. He was playing in the square next to the Abbey and this idiot who lives next door to Tasmin was heckling him.’ I suddenly remembered that I’d seen Niall’s name on FB’s list of Facebook friends. ‘Oh! Sorry. I think you know him. Niall Peterson. He was giving Keiron a really hard time.’

  ‘Niall? Good,’ said FB. ‘Someone needed to.’

  ‘Why? What’s he done?’

  ‘What hasn’t he done? Keiron’s trouble. He nicks people’s material and lyrics, changes a few things ever so slightly and then passes them off as his own. He’s notorious for it, as well as being a liar. He might look sweet-faced but he’s got no morals at all. It’s an unspoken rule amongst musicians: you don’t steal other people’s material. He does – he changes a few words here and there but everyone knows that he does it.’

  ‘So that’s why Niall was giving him a hard time. I thought he was just being mean.’

  FB shook his head. ‘Niall? Nah. He hasn’t got a mean bone in his body. He’s a good mate.’

  ‘Maybe for boys but he’s a player when it comes to girls.’

  FB looked shocked. ‘Niall? I doubt it. I’ve known him a long time and know where he’s at. He’s one of the good guys. What makes you think he’s a player?’

  ‘I saw him with three girls in one day.’

  FB laughed. ‘Girls like Niall. No doubt about that, but that doesn’t make him a player. When was this?’

  ‘When I first arrived in Bath. First there was a blonde one, then a redhead, then I saw him in town with his arm around a girl with short hair.’

  ‘Chestnut coloured?’

  I nodded.

  ‘OK, she’s his friend, Carol. Just mates. He’s known her forever. The blonde is his ex. She follows him around like a puppy dog and chances are, if you saw them kissing, actually it was her kissing him. She’s always turning up begging him to go back with her. The redhead was his new girlfriend. Was. She didn’t last long. She was still hung up on her old boyfriend and went back to him. So back to the drawing board.’

  ‘He seems a bit full of himself too.’

  FB laughed. ‘Not really. He’s been a good friend to me, especially last year when I was down when my dad was ill. He’s the kind of guy who’d do anything for a mate. And Niall’s not a player, I do know that. He’s a bit of a romantic in fact. Looking for The One he says, but then aren’t we all?’

  I felt a fool. I remembered Niall telling me that things weren’t always as they seemed. Having heard what FB had said about Keiron, I realised that I’d jumped to conclusions and judged Niall. He must think I’m a first-class bitch, I thought. I owed him an apology.

  Up on the stage, Keiron started playing and there was cheering from the crowd and some booing. ‘See what I mean,’ said FB. ‘Niall isn’t the only one who doesn’t like him. I can’t believe his cheek actually, getting up there in front of the very people he’s stolen from. But forget him for a moment, what did you mean, you’d found the boy who made the CD?’

  ‘Yes. Well I think I have. I’m pretty sure it’s my friend from London. I think he might be one of your Facebook friends too, though I looked at so many last night that I can’t remember who knows who. I’ve got a list somewhere, th
ough it doesn’t make as much sense today as it did last night. Anyway, it doesn’t matter any more because I’m sure it’s Alex.’

  ‘Alex? From your old school? No. It can’t be,’ said FB.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  ‘Did he say for certain it was him?’

  ‘Not exactly but he intimated that it was.’

  FB shook his head again. ‘He’s messing with your head.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I asked again. ‘And what was it that you wanted to say to me about the boy who made it.’

  ‘Oh . . . just to keep an open mind,’ said FB.

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘He could be anywhere, be anybody,’ he continued.

  ‘Well I already know that.’

  ‘Could even be me!’ FB blurted. ‘Have you considered that?’

  I burst out laughing, then saw that FB looked hurt. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘You’d have said so when we first made the announcement that we were looking for the boy who made the CD.’

  ‘Maybe I wanted to get to know you first.’

  ‘OK. Then who’s Sarah?’

  FB looked like he’d gone into a sulk. ‘Sarah might not be real,’ he said.

  ‘Not real?’

  ‘Maybe she’s a fantasy girl. Someone who was made up. Or maybe she is real and I do know who she is but the Sarah the CD was made for was . . . she’s a fantasy Sarah.’

  I sighed. ‘What are you on about? This really isn’t funny, FB. I thought you and I were friends, and you know what this CD means to me, so why are you winding me up like this? Now I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘I’m not winding you up, honest. I just wanted to say that you should keep an open mind and don’t pin too many hopes on when you find the boy, that he’s Mr Perfect. We know what the CD is about – meeting the perfect girl – but what about if it’s not like that in real life. Maybe you’re looking for a fantasy boy more than a real one with flaws. That’s all I wanted to say. Try and see what’s in front of you instead of avoiding relationships by holding on to a romantic ideal.’

  Inwardly, I felt myself squirm. It felt like FB had seen right inside of me. Mystery Boy was my fantasy, the dream I escaped to when I was feeling low or feeling full of self doubt, a place where everything was perfect, but I didn’t want to let FB know how insightful he’d been. ‘Wow. That’s heavy stuff, FB. What are you really trying to say?’

  ‘I’m trying to say that I think we have something special regardless of whether I made the CD or not. We have so much in common.’

  ‘We do—’

  ‘I know I’m not Mr Hunky Gorgeous like, say, Niall,’ FB interrupted.

  ‘He is not gorgeous, or at least he might be but he’s not my type. He’s so obviously good-looking. I prefer someone more interesting.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said FB. ‘That’s why I thought I could risk telling you how I felt. You wouldn’t throw it back at me.’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ I felt totally confused and glanced away. I noticed Alex coming down over the park towards us. He was with Callum and he waved when he saw us then pointed towards the stage, then at Callum, as if to say that he was going to go with his cousin. I gave him the thumbs-up to say I understood.

  FB’s expression looked even sulkier. ‘Your Alex is Alex Taylor?’

  ‘Yes. How do you know him?’ I asked.

  ‘He used to live in Bath. We went to the same junior school. He wasn’t one of my mates and we stay in touch on Facebook. He’s your Alex?’

  ‘Well not my Alex exactly.’

  FB looked at me closely and then back over at Alex’s back. His expression said everything. ‘But you’d like him to be,’ he said wistfully.

  Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Clover and Tasmin who were both wearing their Songs for Sarah T-shirts. FB looked shocked when he saw them.

  ‘Where’s yours?’ asked Tasmin. Her face was slightly flushed and she smelt of alcohol.

  ‘Allegra’s got it on,’ I said.

  Clover nodded. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Taking photos at the Crescent,’ I said and looked at droves of teenagers who were still arriving in the park, many now carrying umbrellas to keep off the rain that had started.

  ‘What’s the idea?’ FB asked. ‘You never told me about the T-shirts.’

  ‘And why should we?’ slurred Tasmin. ‘Since when do we need your permission?’

  I was about to tell her that Alex and FB had both insinuated that they were the mystery boy when FB blurted, ‘because I’ve been helping Paige find him too.’

  ‘But—’ I started.

  ‘So far no luck,’ said FB and shot me a warning glance as if to say don’t tell what we’d been talking about. What was he playing at? I wondered.

  ‘We’re going to listen to the music,’ said Tasmin and started to go over to the area where people were seated on the grass. I noticed that she was swaying slightly as she tottered away. ‘You coming?’

  ‘In a mo,’ I said. ‘Er . . . has there been any reaction to the T-shirt?’

  ‘Loads,’ said Clover. ‘People think they’re really cool. A few people have asked where they can get one. We should get a market stall selling them. Catch you laters.’

  As soon as they were out of earshot, I turned back to FB. ‘What is going on FB? If you are Mystery Boy, why can’t I tell them?’

  ‘Why do you think you haven’t found out who he is. Maybe he wants to be anonymous. Say it is me. No one would know who I am. It’s like wearing a mask and people can’t make fun or assumptions.’

  ‘But how do I really know if it’s you or Alex?’ I asked.

  FB looked deeply into my eyes. ‘In the same way that I know it’s really you. You’re the girl I’ve dreamt about but this time, you’re real. Don’t be like me, Paige, hiding in a fantasy because you’re afraid you may get hurt. Make it real.’

  I felt totally conflicted and confused. Alex had said something similar, that I’d know when I met the boy. I liked FB but I’d never thought about him as boyfriend material. He was my friend – but we did get on well. I could talk to him more easily than any other boy I’d ever met. Why shouldn’t I think of him as a boyfriend? Because there just isn’t the chemistry, I thought. There isn’t. When I look into his eyes I don’t feel that flutter. But how do you tell a boy that you don’t fancy him? I asked myself. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt his feelings. How can I tread on his dreams? Suddenly it made sense that it could be FB. I understood. A boy like him wasn’t the obvious babe magnet like Niall or Alex. Making a CD like Songs for Sarah was a way for him to express his deepest feelings without being known or rejected. It made sense that if it was him, he would want to stay anonymous, but then he’d just made himself vulnerable by revealing his feelings about me. God, this is difficult, I thought.

  ‘But you hardly know me, FB—’ I started, but FB put up his hand, palm facing me.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘And don’t give me the ‘‘can’t we be friends’’ line either.’

  ‘But—’ I began again.

  ‘In love there are no buts,’ said FB and he turned and walked away.

  I felt awful, mean and cruel, but mostly frustrated. ‘Wuh-arghhhh,’ I muttered. I turned and kicked the nearest tree just as Niall Peterson walked into sight. He glanced at me then at the tree. He didn’t say anything. Not a word. He just walked on by.

  For a nano-second, I thought about going after him, to apologise for judging him, to explain why I was kicking a tree. And how is that conversation going to go? I asked myself. Oh yes, I always kick trees that have done me no harm. No point. Now he probably thinks I’m bad tempered as well as a judgmental grumpy bitch.

  ‘You OK?’ asked Allegra, suddenly appearing at my side.

  ‘Boys do your head in,’ I replied just as the skies opened and it began to really pelt down. Not the usual soft Somerset drizzle, this was like a tropical storm that soaked everything and everyone in se
conds. As we made a dash for cover, I thought, This day is so not turning out the way I’d planned.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My frustration about boys soon vaporised with a new concern. Tasmin. By late afternoon, everyone had taken shelter in the refreshment tents and piles of teenagers were packed in there like sardines. The air smelt musty from damp clothes and hot bodies, and the noise level was high with so many people talking or shouting to make themselves heard. Vodka bottles and alcopops were being quietly passed around and just outside the tents, under the trees, there was a smoking area, but I knew the groups out there weren’t just smoking roll-ups or cigarettes. I recognised the smell of weed from parties with sixth formers that I’d been to in London.

  I found Tasmin at the back of the pizza tent. She was slumped on the floor at the end of the counter and she wasn’t alone – a few of her mates from school were with her, including Clover. They all seemed to be out of it, talking loudly slurring their words, some of them being clumsy, falling over or bumping into each other. At first it was all a laugh and they were funny to watch but as time went on, I noticed that Tasmin was responding less and less.

  ‘How much has she actually drunk?’ I asked Stu.

  Stu shrugged. ‘Dunno. Same as most of us. She’ll be fine. Chill, Paige. Have a drink yourself.’

  Clover offered me the bottle of vodka to which she’d added cranberry juice. I didn’t really like alcohol but I took a swig because I didn’t want her or their mates to think I was uncool. It tasted sour to me. Allegra had no qualms about refusing the bottle. ‘You don’t know who’s been drinking from it,’ she said.

  I’m not prudish about alcohol nor is she. It was just that we’d been to enough parties in London and seen people acting like idiots or throwing up, particularly boys, to show us that it wasn’t always that much fun.

  ‘I’m worried about Tasmin,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen her like this and think she may have overdone it.’