The Celeb Next Door

by Hilary Freeman

  ‘I thought he liked you!’ she practically screams. ‘It was so obvious, the way he kept staring at you when you were talking.’

  ‘Was it? Did he?’

  ‘Yeah. Like, derr.’ She giggles. ‘And what’s even better is that Rufus Justice gave you the news – how cool is that! Just think, if you go out with Max you’ll be practically in the Justice family! You’ll be a rock star’s little sister. Almost.’

  ‘Yeah, but …’

  She isn’t listening. ‘Rosie and Max sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,’ she chants, teasing me.

  Oh God, I think, if I go out with him I’ll have to kiss him. I picture his face. I can’t imagine doing that. That’s not a good sign either. I tell her my fears and she tries to reassure me.

  ‘I wasn’t into Rich as much as I am now, at first,’ she says. ‘He was much more into me.’ She looks a bit wistful. We both know that now it’s the other way around.

  ‘You know what?’ she says. ‘I think you should go for it. Go out with him one evening, sort of on a date, but not an actual proper date, and see how you feel then. It would be like trying before you buy.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea.’

  ‘It would be so cool if you had a boyfriend too, one who I get on with. Hey, if it works out, you and Max and me and Rich can double date.’

  ‘Yeah, but what about Vix?’

  ‘She’ll be OK. She’ll get used to the idea. And I’m sure Max has some nice mates he can introduce her to, someone else she’ll like. Then all six of us can hang out. Just talk to her, Rosie. Sort it out before she gets upset.’

  ‘I will,’ I say. And I do mean to. I know I should call Vix right now, but I’m too much of a coward. It can’t do any harm to leave it a few days, until I have a better idea of how I feel about Max, can it? There’s no point upsetting her until I’m sure.

  Chapter 11

  Testing the Water

  It’s Friday evening, and tonight is my ‘sort of ’, ‘kind of ’, ‘try before you buy’ tester date with Max. Max doesn’t know this, of course. He thinks it’s a real date, a proper first date, and he’s made a big effort tonight. He’s wearing really smart, dark blue jeans with an actual shirt, which it looks like he’s tried to iron, and he’s doused himself in too much of Rufus’s aftershave again. I think he might even have had his hair cut, although he’s still got so much of it, it’s hard to tell. I’m slightly more low key, in a hoodie, vintage jeans and Converse. Well, I don’t want to look like I’ve tried too hard and give him the wrong impression, do I? Or maybe I do? I guess that’s why I’m here: to find out!

  Over the past few days, since he asked if I’d like to go out for dinner tonight, just the two of us, I have tried to make it clear that I’m not sure if I want to be more than friends. I avoid too much eye contact and I’m trying not to play with my hair while we’re talking, as I’ve read this is a sure-fire sign that you like someone. But I don’t think he’s quite got it. I’m pretty sure Rufus told him what I said, but I also think he might have said I was ‘playing hard to get’ and, that, unfortunately, has just made Max even keener. He’s started looking really intensely into my eyes whenever he talks to me, and when I act shy and uncomfortable, I think he thinks I’m being coy and flirtatious.

  I’ve finally spoken toVix about what’s going on. I knew I had to tell her, but it never seemed to be the right time, so I kept putting it off. I know it’s awful, but I left it until the last possible moment. I was hoping Sky might say something for me, but she said that wasn’t fair, it was up to me. She also said Vix had been talking about Max a lot, wondering when we’re all going to go out again, and that not being honest with her was cruel.

  I called her a couple of hours ago. I keep replaying the conversation in my mind.

  ‘Hey, Vix, I need to talk to you about Max,’ I began.

  ‘Yes?’ She sounded excited. Bum, I knew that was the wrong way to start.

  ‘God, I don’t know how to say this. Ur, I might like him too. Maybe. Sort of.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t. When I asked you, at the picnic.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure, I was confused … I’m still confused. The thing is, God, um, it turns out he likes me. He told Rufus.’

  ‘Oh,’ she sounded hurt.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Vix. I know that you’ve got a bit of a thing for him and all. I didn’t mean it to happen and I didn’t do anything to make it happen, honest. I was actually going to say something to him about you liking him, before Rufus told me.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said, generously.‘It’s just the way it goes.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks, Vix. I knew you’d understand.’

  ‘So how are you going to tell him you’re not really interested? Are you going to let him down gently?’

  ‘Um, well, not exactly. Not yet. You know I said I wasn’t sure how I feel? Well, I’ve decided there’s only one way to find out. I’m going out with him, like on a date. Er, tonight.’

  ‘What, you’re actually going on a date with him?’

  ‘Just to see how I really feel, yes. It won’t be that different from the other times I’ve been out with him. Date’s just a label, doesn’t mean anything.’

  She paused and took a deep breath. ‘Rosie, I’ve known you for ever, and I know you wouldn’t go on a date with someone if you didn’t think you fancied them. I think you’re just doing it for the VIP passes, so you can hang out with Rufus and his mates. You don’t really like Max. You’ve never once said you thought he was cute. If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t be going. You’d just have said no. You’re becoming totally obsessed with celebrities. It’s like you’ve forgotten about real people.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ I said. What she suggested hurt me, because I’m not using Max – although I can’t pretend that the thought of backstage passes and a summer with the Fieldstar crew isn’t a tiny part of it all. ‘I do like Max a lot. You know I do. And we get on so well, I need to see if there’s something more there.’

  ‘You said you’re going tonight?’ She sounded tearful. ‘And you never said anything to me till now.’

  ‘I know, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Well, you have.’

  ‘I know. And I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Enjoy your date,’ she said, and she sounded bitter.

  ‘Thanks.’ I tried to think of a way to make things better. ‘I promise I’ll come round tomorrow and we can catch up properly. I don’t like leaving things like this.’

  ‘If you want,’ she said.

  ‘So what are you doing tonight?’

  ‘I dunno. Sky’s seeing Rich. Some of the girls from school are going to the cinema. Maybe I’ll tag along.’

  ‘Cool,’ I said. ‘Have a good night. Speak tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure.’ She didn’t say,‘Have a good night too.’ She just said, ‘

  I guess you’ll tell me all about it tomorrow then, won’t you?’

  I made a right mess of that, didn’t I? I didn’t feel good when I hung up the phone. Vix and I used to do everything together, share everything together. This is one thing we can’t share. It feels weird.

  So here I am, sitting in a local restaurant, across the table from Max, who can’t stop grinning at me. We’ve come to Marine Ices, which is probably the oldest and best Italian ice cream parlour in London. It’s right on my doorstep, just opposite Chalk Farm Station and it serves real, home-made Italian ice cream, in every flavour you can imagine, with tons of sprinkles and sauces. You can take them away in big, fancy cones, or eat them in, in bowls or glasses – knickerbocker glories and all sorts, with wafers sticking out … But I’m getting ahead of myself. It isn’t dessert time yet. There’s also a proper Italian restaurant attached to Marine Ices and that’s where we are. The walls are decorated with signed photos of all the celebrities who have been here over the years, actors and musicians and even Hollywood film stars from way back. I gaze at them, trying to f
igure out who I recognise, and I wonder whether I should ask Max if Rufus has come here yet.

  Max is such a gentleman. When we arrived, he held open the door for me and he pulled out my chair behind me (which was a bit unfortunate because I wasn’t expecting it). He’s asked me what I want to drink and eat, ordered the food for both of us, then waited for me to start when his meal came first. I think he’s the sort of guy who’d do this even if you weren’t on a date with him. I’m not used to it. It’s actually quite lovely.

  I’m eating spaghetti pomodoro, which is possibly the least romantic thing you could eat, as the tomato sauce flies everywhere when you slurp the spaghetti. I didn’t pick it deliberately to put him off me, honestly. If I’d wanted to do that, I could have had garlic bread, and I didn’t. It’s just the least calorific thing on the menu, and I’m saving myself for dessert. Max is having a pizza with spicy pepperoni on it. It’s the size of a satellite dish, but he’s working his way through it impressively. As usual, talking to him is a breeze, even though I’m feeling a bit more self-conscious than I normally do. We talk about our friends, moan about our parents and our teachers. He tells me about the term he decided to turn vegetarian, mainly because he really liked a girl in his class who was an animal rights activist. The problem was, he couldn’t resist the lure of a bacon sandwich, and when she found out, their relationship was toast.

  He stops talking for a second, and laughs. ‘Hey, you’ve got sauce on your chin.’

  ‘Oh, whoops!’

  ‘Come here, you …’

  Oh no, he’s picked up his napkin and now he’s leaning over and, before I can stop him, he’s wiping my chin for me.

  ‘You’re just like a baby,’ he teases. ‘So cute.’

  No! No! No!

  ‘I’m just super-messy, clumsy, a real klutz. You can’t take me anywhere.’

  ‘No, you’re all right.’ He laughs. ‘I’ll just buy you a bib for next time.’

  I cringe – invisibly, I hope. I still don’t know if I want there to be a next time.

  All evening, I’ve been compiling a list in my mind, a chart of pros and cons for going out with Max. So far what I’ve come up with is this:

  Pros:

  – He’s so chivalrous.

  – OK, so he’s not my usual type, but he’s kind of cute. He has nice eyes and full, soft-looking lips.

  – We have so much fun together and I can talk about stuff with him. He’s probably the best guy friend I’ve ever had.

  – He is Rufus Justice’s brother, etc, etc.

  Cons:

  – When he’s talking and he looks into my eyes and I have to do the same back, because looking away would be rude, instead of feeling all gooey, I find myself wondering if he’s got better eyelashes than mine, and if that’s a bit of sleep I can see there, in the corner.

  – He’s not my type. I prefer blue eyes, and his are brown. And his mouth is too big for a boy, almost girlish.

  – I’m not sure I really want a boyfriend right now.

  – Going out with him would make things difficult with Vix. It already has.

  Poor Max has no idea that by the end of the night he might have failed an exam he doesn’t know he’s taking. Right now, he looks really excited because the waiter has just brought the dessert menus, and his eyes are as big and round as the scoops of ice cream he’s about to savour. He can’t decide what he wants, so he plumps for four different flavours, topped with chocolate sprinkles and strawberry sauce. I’ve tried everything on the menu before – I’ve been here so many times – so I just have a scoop of Belgian chocolate and, even though it doesn’t really go, some melon sorbet on the side. It’s so fruity I’m sure it must count as one of my five a day. Mum would be proud.

  ‘Wow,’ says Max, several times. And, ‘Mmm.’

  But it soon becomes clear that, despite an impressive effort, he can’t finish his ice cream. In fact, he’s beginning to look distinctly queasy.

  ‘Want to help me polish it off?’ he says, eventually. He holds out his spoon to me, expectantly. I think he actually wants to feed it to me himself.

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t,’ I say. ‘Too much pasta.’ And it doesn’t look that appetising to be honest. All the flavours have melted together with the sauce and sprinkles into a big, soupy mess. ‘You finish it. It looks so great, you shouldn’t waste a drop.’

  If there’s one thing I know about boys, it’s that they don’t ever like to be defeated, even by food. Max plunges his spoon back into his bowl and shovels some more of the gloop into his mouth. ‘Mmm,’ he says, unconvincingly. ‘Mmmm. Mmmm.’A few moments later, he puts down his spoon and groans. ‘I can’t. I think I feel a bit sick now.’

  This could be good news. Obviously, I don’t want him to feel ill. But, hopefully, it means he won’t feel up to trying to kiss me goodnight. I don’t think I’m ready for that.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ he asks. ‘I don’t think I can eat or drink another thing.’

  ‘Nah, me neither.’

  He asks for the bill and I insist on paying half, even though he says I really don’t have to, as it’s his treat. But it wouldn’t be right to let him.

  ‘How about a walk on Primrose Hill? I’m sure I’ll feel better if I have some fresh air.’

  ‘Um … ’ I’m not stupid. I know that going for a stroll on Primrose Hill at night (even though it’s still light) equals a romantic walk for two. Unless you’re taking your dog, that is. ‘I don’t know. I think it’s a bit late.’

  He looks at his watch. ‘It’s only eight-thirty!’

  ‘I said I’d be home by nine.’This is a lie. What I actually said was, ‘See you later.’

  ‘Well, you can text your parents. I’m sure they won’t mind if you’re half an hour late.’

  ‘No, really, I’m a bit tired. I think we should head back. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ he says. ‘Next time.’

  He loops his arm through mine, which is fine because I do that with all my friends, and we set off on our walk home. Neither of us talks much: me because I’m deep in thought, him because, I guess, he’s still feeling sick.

  We stop outside my front door. ‘Thank you so much,’ he says, dropping my arm and turning to face me.‘I’ve had such a fab evening.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say. I’m not lying. It hasn’t been as weird as I thought it might be. ‘Thank you.’

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans in towards me. My stomach tightens and I now know with one hundred per cent certainty that I don’t want him to kiss me. I offer him my cheek, instead, and he plants a slightly wet smacker on it.

  ‘Goodnight, Rosie,’ he says, smiling. I’m relieved. Maybe he’s too much of a gentleman to expect a proper kiss on the first date. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  I watch him walk away and let himself into Rufus’s house. Before I go inside my own house, I stand on the doorstep and look out at my street. Dusk is settling now, but the street lights have not yet come on. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I can see Vix, peeking through a crack in her bedroom curtains. I turn to look properly but, if she was ever there, she’s gone.

  Chapter 12

  Missing Vix

  When I say I’ve known Vix for ever, I mean for ever. She moved into the street when I was two, so I can’t remember a time when we weren’t friends. We went to nursery together, to Brownies, to primary school, and then secondary school. We hung out at the same youth club. We had so much fun. Our families went on holiday together. We even started our periods in the same week. I wouldn’t ever want to have to choose between Vix and Sky – they’re both my absolute best friends – but if you stuck a gun in my face (which has been known to happen in Camden’s edgier streets, although probably not for this reason) and said you’d kill me unless I picked just one of them, I’d pick Vix. Just because.

  That’s why it hurts so much that she’s off with me.

  Unlike Sky, who’s on the phone at ten a.m. sharp, digging for details, Vix does
n’t call me to find out about the date. That isn’t surprising, really. If it went well, she won’t want to know. If it didn’t, she’ll feel smug and think it was my own fault – although she’d be too sweet to say it. The problem is, I can’t win: if I don’t call her and tell her all about it, she’ll be upset too, because then she’ll think I’m avoiding her.

  So, I pick up the phone and call. She lets it ring longer than she usually does, although she might just be in the loo.

  ‘Hey,’ she says. ‘So you’re back then.’

  It’s a weird thing to say. The date was last night. Did she think I was going to sleep at Marine Ices?

  ‘Yeah, course. How are you? How was your evening?’

  ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I stayed in. Didn’t feel like going out in the end.’

  I know this is a dig at me, but I don’t rise to it. ‘Oh right.’There’s a silence. ‘I just rang to say hi, really.’

  ‘So how did it go then?’

  ‘OK, fine, well. It was nice.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I like him, I really do. But . . .’ I hesitate, wondering whether I should say this to her. ‘I’m still not sure if I fancy him. I think I might just need to go out with him one more time to make my mind up.’

  ‘Trust me,’ she says. ‘You don’t.’

  ‘I don’t need to go out with him one more time to know?’

  ‘No, you don’t fancy him.’

  Ouch. If I were a bitchy person, which I’m not – at least I hope I’m not – I could say something along the lines of: ‘You’ve never had a boyfriend so how would you even know?’ But I don’t. Instead, I say, You really can’t say that, Vix.’