by Emlyn Rees
She poked her head around the side of the dust sheet, which Scott had rigged up for her to get changed behind. Jimmy stared at her. Her neck was bare, dappled and golden in the early afternoon sunlight which stretched through the wide window and slanted across the room. Her brown hair was piled up in tight ringlets on the top of her head and, as her eyes met Jimmy’s, she cocked her head to one side in expectation.
Jimmy blinked for the first time since she’d appeared. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, he wanted to tell her. She was like an angel, he thought, like the stained-glass one that looked out from the round church window over on Tudor Square.
‘Well?’ she prompted him.
Jimmy cleared his throat. ‘Tom Stirling’s mum just rang Ellen,’ he answered.
Tom, or Stirling as Jimmy had always known him, was a guy in the same year at school as Jimmy. Stirling was captain of the school soccer side and had himself down as something of a superman. He’d given Jimmy a kicking in the school car park three years ago. For no other reason than the hell of it, Jimmy had found out later, after Ryan had gone behind Jimmy’s back and knocked Stirling flat on his behalf.
But even though Jimmy hated Stirling’s guts and could picture – as clear as if it had happened this morning – Stirling’s boot swinging into his ribs, he’d give anything for that very leg not to be broken now. Because it was Tom who was meant to be dressing up and playing the part of Caroline Walpole’s treacherous lover, Leon Jacobson, today.
‘He bust his ankle this morning in soccer practice,’ Jimmy finished off explaining.
A look of consternation spread across Verity’s face and she made to step forward, before suddenly stopping. ‘Hang on,’ she called, vanishing from view, then reappearing a moment later with a rich green full-length skirt pressed up against her body, covering her from the bottom of her neck to the tops of her thighs. ‘Does that mean the filming’s off?’ she asked.
Jimmy turned to Ellen in desperation. ‘There’s got to be someone else. From the auditions, right?’ he suggested. ‘I mean, you must have had a second choice …’ But already Jimmy was doubtful, because only a handful of guys had turned up to try out for doing numbers at the memorial concert – unlike the girls, where half the town’s female teen population had rocked up like a coach party of groupies off to see Fame.
‘Ye-es,’ Ellen, admitted. ‘But they’re not here now, are they? And you are, and so’s Verity and so’s Roy,’ she continued, indicating the sound man, who’d travelled down from Bristol for the day and was currently typing something into an electronic organiser.
‘And Roy can’t make tomorrow, can you, Roy?’ Scott said, walking past him.
‘Afraid not,’ Roy answered, ‘I’ve got to be up in Manchester by midday.’
‘And I’m on holiday tomorrow and heading off sightseeing for the weekend,’ Scott said.
‘And I can’t get another afternoon off lessons till next Thursday,’ Verity added.
‘So it’s got to be today,’ Ellen concluded.
Jimmy glared at the clothes which Ellen was holding in her hands. ‘But I can’t wear … those –’
‘Why not?’ she asked.
‘Because for one thing,’ replied Jimmy, ‘I’ll look like a complete nob in them. And … and for another, because … because I can’t act,’ he protested. ‘How’s that? The last time I went on stage was dressed as the back end of a donkey for the primary school nativity play. And I even managed to mess that up,’ he added, remembering the sinking feeling that had swamped him as Mary – carrying a plastic baby Jesus wrapped in nylon swaddling clothes – had slipped off his back into the orchestra pit after he’d stumbled over his own shoelace.
Verity gasped. ‘You were the hind legs?’ she asked.
‘See,’ Jimmy told Ellen. ‘I totally trashed everyone’s night.’
‘Particularly Mary’s,’ Verity confirmed, raising her eyebrows in mock reproach. ‘I had bruises for a week.’
Jimmy had forgotten she’d played Mary, it had been so long ago. But he found himself smiling back at her all of sudden, enjoying the fact she felt she could tease him like this, grateful that they had enough common ground between them for that to be possible.
Seeing this crack open in Jimmy’s armour, Ellen strode quickly forward to take advantage of it. ‘But what you’re going to be doing today is easy,’ she soothed. ‘And you’re not even going to have to set foot on a stage. We’re going to film you standing next to the window, looking out over the terrace together. And then we’ll do another brief scene with you being greeted by Verity at the main entrance to the house. Neither of you is even going to be heard speaking. Once we’re back in London, we’ll get a professional actor to read a few lines from Caroline’s diary as a voice-over to explain what’s going on.’
‘It’s a cinch, Jimmy. Don’t be such a wimp,’ Scott shouted over.
‘Yeah, come on: it’ll be fun,’ Verity added.
Jimmy snorted. ‘Like the last time we worked together?’
‘Well,’ Verity said, a less than sincere twinkle in her eyes, ‘I’ll just have to remember not to climb on your back this time, won’t I?’
‘But –’
But Jimmy’s arguments seemed to fade from his mind as he continued to look at Verity – or more specifically, as she continued to smile at him. At him, he thought. Verity Driver was smiling at him, Jimmy Jones. Suddenly Tara’s words came back at him: Will. You. Go. Out. With. Me? They didn’t seem at all ridiculous right now and the fact that Verity had something going on with Denny Shapland was also no longer the end of the world. If a girl’s smile could make Jimmy feel this way – light-headed, almost high – then he couldn’t help thinking that surely it had to mean something to her, too? And if it did, then not wanting to hang out with her – even if he would have to be dressed up like an undertaker while he did – would be the act of a madman.
‘And it’s not like you’re going to be looking any more silly than me,’ she told him, rolling her eyes upwards for a second, indicating her hair.
‘But you don’t look sill—’ Jimmy started to point out.
But Ellen obviously felt they’d wasted enough time already. She jerked the top hat firmly down on Jimmy’s brow. Then, without giving him time to protest, she knelt down before him and held the breeches up against his legs. ‘Just as I thought,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘They’re going to be a perfect fit.’
‘Fit up, more like,’ Jimmy muttered, as Verity disappeared back behind the screen again.
Even as he said it, though, it was all he could do to stop himself from whispering Verity’s name, just the same as he’d been doing every time he’d thought of her since he’d chatted to her during Saturday’s auditions.
It had thrown him, to be honest, seeing her there at all, after what he’d heard Denny Shapland saying in the Sapphire on the Wednesday before about them going out together. But then Jimmy had guessed that they’d probably be hooking up in a pub after the auditions had ended.
Still, Jimmy hadn’t let that put him off going over and sitting down next to her and saying hello. And he was glad he’d taken advantage of Denny’s absence like that. It made him proud of himself for a number of reasons. Firstly, for having pulled up the courage to go and talk to her in such a public place, when he’d wimped out every time at school. Secondly, for having succeeded in acting significantly cooler than when he’d given Verity the CD. (Although, let’s face it, he thought, that hadn’t exactly been difficult.) And thirdly, and most importantly, for putting all that negative stuff he’d felt last week on the cliffs – about Verity and the rest of the town – to the back of his mind.
OK, so Verity had agreed to go on a date with Denny and Denny was a dick. But it wasn’t like Verity had chosen Denny over Jimmy, see, because it wasn’t like Jimmy had even asked her out yet. And as for the auditions, well, Jimmy had changed his mind about them, too. He’d enjoyed watching Verity do her piece, and watching Ellen and Scott excha
nge the kind of glance that made it clear they’d just found their Caroline Walpole.
Fair enough, so he still thought the idea of the concert sucked and smacked of self-righteousness. But he hadn’t felt guilty or complicit about attending, the same as he hadn’t felt like he’d been letting Ryan down or anything. He’d gone there looking out for himself, for his future and for his career. And he’d gone there looking out for Verity, hoping she’d be there. And he couldn’t think of many better reasons for doing anything than these.
He walked over to the corner of the room and started to get changed.
Jimmy got back from Scott’s and Ellen’s Land-Rover with the cool box and walked over to Scott, who was standing with his back against the left side of the main entrance of Appleforth House. It was nearing the end of their afternoon break and, in spite of the cool air, the Australian had his shirtsleeves rolled up over his hairy arms, his wraparound ski shades on and his face to the sun, which hung low, yet brightly on the horizon.
‘Working on your tan?’ Jimmy asked.
‘In a country like this, you’ve got to worship the sun every chance you get.’
‘Here,’ Jimmy said, chucking Scott the car keys.
Scott snatched the keys from the air and slipped them into his shirt pocket in a single fluid motion. His head didn’t move so much as an inch, though, as if his body were on autopilot while his mind was somewhere else entirely.
‘So, let me guess,’ Jimmy said, ‘you’re fantasising about slobbing out on some beach in Sydney, or off skiing some place?’
Scott chuckled. ‘Not even close. Though the word fantasising does just about sum it up …’
Jimmy knelt down and opened up the cool box – or Esky, as Scott called it. ‘Thirsty?’ he asked, proffering a can of Diet Coke to Scott.
‘Nice one.’ Again without looking at Jimmy, Scott took the can from him, opened it and took a swig. ‘She’s quite a stunner, isn’t she?’ he then commented, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Jimmy pictured Verity upstairs an hour ago, when they’d stood side by side at the window for the camera and Ellen had directed them to hold hands. ‘She’s perfect.’ he said, almost as a reflex. ‘Even holding hands with her was …’
But Jimmy couldn’t find a way to describe what he’d felt as Verity’s fingers had entwined with his. There’d been heat. The touch of her skin had warmed him like a fire. Or had it been cold? Because it had caused him to shiver as well, hadn’t it? But there’d been more to it than these purely physical reactions, too. What had stayed with him most had been what her touch had made him think of: excitement, hope, security, trust, a sense of arrival and belonging all rolled into one. And it had been what her touch had made him want to do: to kiss her gently and wrap his arms round her and pull her close into his body; to walk with her hand in hand away from this town and to another place which they could make their own.
‘Yeah,’ he concluded. ‘She’s perfect all right.’
In the silence that followed, Jimmy became aware of Scott repositioning himself for the first time since Jimmy’s arrival with the drinks. He watched as the cameraman raised his mirrored sunglasses on to his brow and looked Jimmy over with amusement.
‘What?’ Jimmy asked.
‘I wasn’t talking about Verity, mate,’ Scott then explained with delight. He pointed to Jimmy’s right. ‘When I said she was stunning, I was talking about her.’
Craning his neck, Jimmy followed Scott’s stare. There was a tall, red-haired woman in her twenties ten yards along the path that bordered the house. She was walking slowly towards them and a little girl was hopping alongside her.
Jimmy groaned with embarrassment, realising his mistake.
‘But thanks for sharing your feelings with me about our leading lady anyway,’ Scott said, before cracking up laughing and slapping Jimmy on the shoulder.
Jimmy felt like finding the nearest bucket of sand and sticking his head into it. He said nothing, though, not wanting to make the matter any worse. Instead, he continued to watch the woman. She wore a short blue plastic mac and her long – less red, more auburn, he now saw – hair hung down over her chest in thick bunches. Scott was right: she was stunning, even from this distance.
The woman smiled and waved, and Jimmy looked up to see Scott waving back.
‘Er, you know her, then?’ Jimmy enquired, hoping to keep the subject away from Verity.
Scott shrugged. ‘Not as much as I plan to, but a little, yeah,’ he said. ‘She gave me a lift home the other day.’ He paused for a second, before continuing, ‘But it’s not serious. It’s not like we’ve held hands or anything yet … not like you and Verity, eh?’
Jimmy grimaced up at the cameraman who’d broken out into a grin again.
‘You won’t say anything to her, will you? Verity, I mean,’ Jimmy elaborated in case there was any more confusion.
‘What?’ Scott teased. ‘Not even the bit about how perfect you think she is?’
‘Ple-ase,’ Jimmy begged.
The Australian scratched his chin pensively. Then he winked. ‘Forgotten it already,’ he said.
Jimmy sighed with relief, knowing that Scott meant it. He trusted the Australian and respected him, too. Scott had been true to his word about the job, teaching Jimmy stacks already. He’d kept Jimmy busy, having him fill out shot lists and record time codes from the camera’s monitor, as well as doing more mundane tasks, such as lugging around everyone’s gear and sorting out refreshments. More importantly, he’d kept his promise about not making a gratuitous fiction out of Ryan’s death. His and Ellen’s only interest had been in working out the best way to shoot the upcoming memorial gig, and letting the facts speak for themselves.
‘What are you two talking about?’
Jimmy flinched at the sound of Verity’s voice, but promptly recovered and set about rearranging the Esky’s contents in as casual a manner as was humanly possible – for someone who’d just confessed to having been thrown into raptures on the back of holding his co-star’s hand, that is.
‘Our love lives,’ Scott answered. He gently nudged Jimmy’s ankle with the tip of his Timberland boot. ‘Isn’t that right, Jimmy?’
Ignoring him, Jimmy hurriedly got up and handed over a can of Diet Sprite to Verity, who – on the back of Scott’s comment – was now looking at Jimmy with polite expectation.
‘Er, yeah,’ was all Jimmy could think of to say, itching at the gross starched shirt collar he’d been forced into wearing. Pure Clark Gable, he thought to himself as soon as the words had left his mouth. A yawn would have been as charming.
Verity looked between the two of them as she folded her magenta costume coat over her arm. She cracked open her drink, slurping at it as it foamed out of the can. Jimmy concentrated first on it and then on the flat, rounded pork-pie hat she was wearing, which had three green feathers sticking up on its side – anything to avoid having to look into her eyes and to have Scott scrutinise that moment’s contact.
‘Who are the lucky girls, then, boys?’ Verity asked.
Cocking his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, Jimmy flashed Scott a warning look. But Scott’s sunglasses were back in place over his eyes and he gave no clue as to whether he’d seen, let alone understood, Jimmy’s signal.
‘Well, she’s mine over there,’ was all Scott said, pointing with his drink towards the woman on the path, who was now in profile and had started walking away from the house along one of the gravel paths that led into the gardens. ‘Only she doesn’t know it yet,’ he added with a smile.
‘She walks like a model,’ Verity remarked, smoothing down the front of her pale-green dress so that it lay flat against her stomach.
‘Yeah,’ Scott agreed, ‘now that you mention it, I guess she does.’
‘What’s her name?’ Verity asked.
‘Debs.’
‘But doesn’t the fact that she’s got a little girl –’ Verity started to say, before cutting herself off.
‘What?�
��
‘Nothing.’
‘No,’ Scott insisted pleasantly, ‘if you’ve got something to say, then say it.’
Verity looked Scott up and down, as if trying to work him out. ‘Well, wouldn’t it bother you, having someone else’s kid around all the time?’ she asked. ‘I’d have thought it would make most blokes run a mile …’
Scott’s face scrunched up in mock-concentration. ‘Nah,’ he then replied, ‘not a bit of it.’
The scent of coffee drifted towards them from somewhere near. Verity gazed after Debs and, in the few seconds’ silence that followed, Jimmy found himself thinking about Rachel. She was probably back home in Carlton Court with baby Kieran, watching TV, or showing him pictures in a book. Either that or she’d be down at the playground at the South Beach end of town.
Jimmy had watched Rachel there at the playground one time from a distance, as she’d stared out to sea and pushed Kieran up into the sky on the swing time and time again. It had nearly torn his heart in two, he’d felt so sorry for her, being on her own the way she was. It had worried him sick, thinking about what she’d do if his dad let her down. And even though he’d only been going there to ask her if she’d needed him to pick anything up from the market, he hadn’t been able to take another step.
‘And even if Debs was that little girl’s mother,’ Scott was saying, as Debs and the girl disappeared from sight behind the smooth grey-brown trunk of a giant sycamore tree, ‘which she isn’t, by the way …’
Verity turned back to face him, a look of confusion on her face.
‘Because Debs is just her nanny,’ he explained, before going on, ‘then it still wouldn’t bother me. Kid or no kid, what’s the difference? I reckon you should be into people for who they are inside, not because of what family or other commitments they’ve got. It’s character that counts, not circumstance. If you only look at surface, then the chances are surface is all you’ll get.’
‘Yeah,’ Jimmy said. ‘I agree.’ He glanced into Verity’s eyes, then gazed down instead at the tight stitching on her quaint black leather shoes.
