The Celeb Next Door

by Hilary Freeman

  I feel …

  I feel …absolutely nothing. Zilch. Zero. Nada. I might as well be chewing a piece of gum that’s lost its flavour. The kiss seems to be going on for ever. I had no idea kissing could be so boring. What’s that black thing on the wallpaper? Is it a squashed fly? Oh God, what have I started?

  ‘Thank you,’ he says, eventually, drawing away. His face is flushed and his eyes have taken on a dreamy, glassy look. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.’ He strokes my hair.

  ‘Me too,’ I say, because to say anything else would be cruel.

  ‘You’re so beautiful, Rosie,’ he says.

  ‘You too,’ I say, because my mind has now gone completely blank.‘I mean, thank you.’

  I tell him it’s time for me to go and he insists on walking me to my garden gate, even though I say it isn’t necessary.

  ‘I’m so happy,’ he says, kissing me again, when he’s sure my parents can’t see us through the window. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  I wave goodbye and let myself into the house, hoping that Mum and Dad won’t grill me about the date. I’m surprised to find everyone, including Charlie – who should be in bed – in the living room, watching TV.

  ‘Where’s Rosie been?’ asks Charlie.

  ‘Rosie’s been to the cinema with her new boyfriend,’ says Dad, grinning at me. ‘They’ve been on a date.’

  ‘Eughhh,’ says Charlie, who is at the stage when little boys think that little girls are disgusting. He can’t imagine why a boy and a girl would want to talk to each other, let alone kiss.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, under my breath. ‘I know how you feel.’

  Chapter 16

  Kissing Adam Grigson

  When I first learned to ride a bike, I was hopeless at it. Dad would take off my stabilisers and I’d manage to cycle for about a metre before I’d tip over to one side or the other and collapse. He’d pick me up, rub my bruises better, put me back on the bike and hold on to me while I tried again. And again. And again. And then one day, he let go and I didn’t realise I was cycling on my own until I’d reached the end of the garden. After that, it was plain, er, cycling.

  So maybe it’s the same with kissing. With some people, it just comes naturally. You move towards them, they move towards you and your mouths fit together like magnets, even if your eyes are closed. With others, it takes practice (but, just to be clear, not my dad’s help. Ewww). Perhaps the more I do it with Max, the easier and better it will get until, one day, I’ll forget I have to try at all and I’ll find myself enjoying it. In the meantime, there are loads of things I can do to make it less of a chore. The night after our first kiss, when Max came round, I closed my eyes and imagined I was kissing Adam Grigson (without the fangs), and it helped a lot. And so that’s what I’ve been doing, for the last week or so, to get through it. The trouble is, it doesn’t seem to be working as well, any more.

  I wish I could talk about this with Sky, but she’s in Goa now, and I guess it’s a bit difficult to use your phone while you’re sitting in the lotus position, chanting mantras. She’s promised to message me as soon as she can find an internet café. I can’t talk about it with Vix, obviously, even though we are at least speaking again. She loved the dress and told me I didn’t need to give her presents to say sorry and that, of course, we’d always be best friends. But something feels different. There’s a great big Max-shaped block in between us. When we talk, we try to talk about everything except him, which is crazy, as there’s not that much else going on for me right now, and so there are tons of weird silences. And whenever, inevitably, the subject of Max does come up, she sounds like she doesn’t really want to hear about what’s happening with him. So, I feel like I have to lie to her. I’ve told her that I’ve realised I was wrong and that now I’m one hundred per cent sure I really do fancy Max, after all, and that I’m really happy being his girlfriend. Saying it made me feel a bit sick. She hasn’t said it outright, but I can tell she’s thinking, ‘Who are you really trying to convince here?’

  I am not going to worry about any of that right now because today it’s the G Festival in Regent’s Park and I’m on the guest list as Max’s ‘plus one’. Mum and Dad didn’t take much persuading in the end. Once they realised the festival was only up the road, and that I wouldn’t be staying in a tent with boys, or getting trench foot, they were perfectly happy to let me come. Max promised them he’d look after me too.

  I have no idea what the ‘G’ in G festival stands for. Nor, it turns out, does anyone else. Max said it’s probably ‘G’ for guitar, or G-string (as in the musical note, not the underwear, I hope), as all the bands playing are guitar bands, like Fieldstar. Isabella said it’s ‘G’ for Green because it’s in the park. Rufus laughed and said it must be ‘G’ for G-spot. I think I’ve heard of it, but I’m not completely sure what it is. Isabella slapped Rufus, so I thought better of checking.

  Being on the guest list means I’m wearing a red wristband which allows me to go in the VIP area, where there are free drinks and snacks and proper seats. It also means that I get to use a proper, clean toilet with soap and towels. Everyone else – the people who’ve actually paid for their tickets – has a green band, which means they have to queue for hours for smelly portaloos, sit on the grass and buy their own food and drink. It’s not really fair, is it? The weird thing is, my red band makes me feel ever so important, like I’m a celebrity too, like I’m better than the people wearing green wristbands. Now I can see why some celebrities start to act so spoiled and full of themselves and start demanding ridiculous backstage riders. I asked Max what Fieldstar have on their rider. It’s pretty dull: just some mineral water, fruit and biscuits. But he told me that when Rufus and his band mates first started playing big gigs they’d compete to dream up the most ridiculous demands, just for fun. Once, Rufus asked for a boar’s head, three orchids and a pint of fig juice, to be presented on a silver platter by a milkmaid. I think he got a ham sandwich, a cup of tea and a reputation for being a diva in a gossip mag instead.

  Fieldstar are headlining, so I’ve got hours to enjoy the rest of the festival with Max, to hang around in the VIP area, listen to the other bands, or check out the stalls. The atmosphere is incredible. Everybody is walking around with huge grins, like it’s Christmas and their birthday and the end of term, all rolled into one. I can’t wait till I’m older and I’m allowed to go with my friends to one of the big festivals, like Glastonbury, where people camp out for three whole days and nights. Dad went when he was young and he still tells cringe-making stories about it. I think he’d like us all to go as a family but there is no way on earth I am ever going to a music festival with my parents. Dad would do his embarrassing sing-along-dance thing and Mum would probably go around telling people to stop drinking so much and warning them about skin cancer.

  I’ve just wandered out of the VIP tent, holding hands with Max, when I bump into Lisa, the bitchy girl from school. She greets me like we’re best mates, and I find myself telling her that Rufus Justice is my next-door neighbour.

  ‘And,’ I nod towards Max, who is right next to me, holding my hand, ‘this is my boyfriend, Max – Rufus’s brother.’

  Max grins and squeezes my hand. I guess it’s the first time I’ve ever called him my boyfriend in public. He looks so proud to be seen with me, with ME, Little Miss Nobody, that I feel guilty for trading on his famous brother’s name to introduce him.

  Lisa looks him up and down, approvingly. ‘I’m Lisa,’ she says, holding out her hand. ‘A friend of Rosie’s from school.’

  What a cheek! I don’t think she’s spoken more than two words to me in the past three years. Oblivious, Max shakes Lisa’s hand and smiles his big, friendly grin at her.

  ‘So, anyway, really nice to see you and all, but we’ve got to go, haven’t we, Max?’ I say, before Lisa can try to schmooze her way into our group. ‘We’re meeting Sky over by the jewellery stall, and we’re late. Sorry, Lisa.’

  Max looks puzzled. ‘But I thought
Sky was in …’

  ‘… In her own little world as usual! Come on, we’d better find her before she goes off on her own again.’

  ‘Oh right,’ says Lisa, with transparent disappointment. ‘Maybe see you later then.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, giving her my best fake smile. ‘Have a nice time.’

  As we walk away, I giggle. ‘I can’t believe her nerve,’ I say to Max. ‘She acted like my best friend and at school she wouldn’t be seen dead with me.’

  ‘Really? I don’t get you girls, sometimes. I could have sworn when she first came over that you really liked each other.’

  ‘Hmm, sometimes you have to fake it for an easy life,’ I say, and I feel a stab of guilt at the knowledge that I’m faking it with him too. But I’m not being two-faced like Lisa. I do like Max, I’m just waiting for the chemistry to happen. And it will. Soon. I’m sure.

  We have a wonderful day. Max and I stuff ourselves with free drink and food and ice cream, and he even buys me some freshly spun candy floss from a stall. I’ve tried on vintage clothes and jewellery, watched acrobats and dancers, and bounced up and down on a giant trampoline. The sun is beating down and the air is thick with the smell of sun cream and delicious food. I can’t remember ever having this much fun. It feels like going to the best shopping centre, visiting the circus and going to a theme park all at the same time. Some of the other bands are really good, even the ones I’ve never heard of, and in between I’m loving hanging around the VIP area, waiting to see who walks in. If I had anyone to play the Celebometer with, my points would be going off the scale today. I’ve seen TV presenters and actors and models, as well as rock stars, and I know some of them have been looking at me and wondering who I am too. I’ve been playing it really cool, of course, trying not to react or appear starstruck. I just smile at them, enigmatically, as if I know them from somewhere, but can’t quite place them.

  It’s getting dark now and it will soon be time for Fieldstar to start their set. We’re lying in the grass, at right angles to each other, my head on Max’s chest. He’s stroking my hair with one hand, and my arm with the other. It feels comfortable, not exciting or thrilling, but lovely, as if I’m safe and cared for. I feel like I want to give him a great big bear hug.

  ‘I wish this wasn’t just a one-day thing,’ says Max. ‘It would be fun to camp out with you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘But Mum and Dad would never let me. Not unless I shared with Isabella and you shared with Rufus, and there was a padlock on the tent.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he says. ‘Although Rufus would get his own hotel room. The bands don’t have to camp. Which is a good thing, as I could never share a tent with him. God, no.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He pauses for a second. ‘Rufus has a terrible sleepwalking problem,’ he says, quietly. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but when we were younger he used to get into all kinds of fixes. Once, we found him wandering naked in the garden. Another time, he tried to climb out of his window. He doesn’t remember anything about it the next day and he’s really embarrassed about it; it’s like our big family secret. I don’t think he’s so bad any more, but if you check out his bedroom window you’ll see it’s fixed so it doesn’t open much, just in case.’

  ‘Wow,’. I say. ‘Course I won’t tell anyone. Poor Rufus.’

  ‘Yeah. I think the drumming helps. That’s kind of why he started doing it. He was hyperactive as a kid and my parents thought that if he used up some of his energy he might stop sleepwalking.’

  ‘Wow, so Fieldstar wouldn’t exist if Rufus didn’t sleepwalk?’

  ‘No, probably not. You won’t say anything, will you?’ he says. ‘He’d hate it if it got out.’

  ‘Course not. Who am I going to tell?’

  Max strokes my cheek and props himself up on his elbow. ‘Come on, then,’ he says. ‘Let’s go and find our places for Fieldstar. Isabella promised she’d reserve a good spot for us.’

  Fieldstar play the best gig they’ve ever played. To be fair, it’s only the second time I’ve seen them live, so I can’t be certain, but they do keep saying it and telling us – the crowd – that we’re the best audience they’ve ever seen or heard, and that we’re all beautiful, so it must be true. They play a storming hour-long set, with all their big anthems, plus a few tracks from the new album, the one Dad is designing the cover for. At first, I feel self-conscious singing along because I’m not just a fan any more, I’m a friend. And I’m standing right next to Mick Jagger, who doesn’t seem to be enjoying it all that much. But it’s dark and there are thousands of people singing and waving their arms, and soon I don’t care; I just let the music and the atmosphere carry me away. I feel so relaxed and happy that when Max grabs me and plants a smacker of a kiss on my lips, I almost want to kiss him back.

  Chapter 17

  He Loves Me . . . Oh God!

  Still half-asleep, I’m just logging on to my email, when an instant message pops up from Sky.

  Sky: Rosie, thank God you’re there!

  Me: Hey, Sky, it’s so good to hear from you. So you found an internet café then? How’s it going?

  Sky: Honestly? I’m going crazy. This place is filled with wall to wall flakes. My mum is loving it!

  Me: Oh you poor thing.

  Sky: Yeah, the only good thing is I’m getting an awesome tan. How’s things with you?

  Me: Good … ish. Went to the G Festival yesterday with Max. I was on the guest list!

  Sky:I am so jealous! Who did you see?

  Me: Loads of people. Don’t even know all their names. Everyone you’ve ever heard of was there.

  Sky: Everyone? Was Adam Grigson there?

  Me: No, apart from him. Shame. Maybe he’s gone back home now. I’ve been looking out for him in coffee shops but I haven’t seen him again, worse luck. I tell you who was there, though – not a celebrity – Lisa, this really bitchy girl from school. She was waiting outside the VIP area and she tried to make out she was my best mate, just so I’d get her in too. Can you believe it?

  sky: You crack me up! Rosie, you do realise that if you didn’t know Max that would have been you, don’t you? You’d have been hanging around outside the VIP area, desperate to see someone you knew so you could get in too!

  Me: God, I guess you’re right. How embarrassing. I never looked at it like that. Am I that pathetic?

  Sky: Don’t worry, I’d have been right there with you. So what’s the goss?

  Me: Nothing really. Been seeing a lot of Max. Still not 100% about him. Sorry, I know that’s boring. Oh, and I’ve made up with Vix, although it’s a bit weird still. Um, other than that, nothing really.

  Sky: Go on, you must have something interesting to tell me. Please! I am sooooo bored here. I need something to keep me going.

  I ponder her request. I could fill her in about Rufus, but I promised Max I wouldn’t tell anyone. Then again, I tell Sky everything. And she’s thousands of miles away at a meditation retreat. Who is she going to tell? The yogi?

  Me: Welllll I did find something out about Rufus, something nobody else knows …

  Sky: Yeah? Go on …

  Me: OK, this is a secret, yeah? Rufus sleepwalks. He’s got a real problem. He climbs out of windows and goes wandering around the garden stark naked.

  Sky: Seriously?

  Me: Yeah, Max says he started doing it when they were kids.

  From downstairs I can hear the buzz of the doorbell. I’m still in my nightie and I’m not expecting anyone. I really don’t want to have to break off my conversation and go downstairs to open the door. What if it’s Rufus? Not that he’s ever popped round unexpectedly before. He’s probably still at the after-show party, the one I had to leave before it had barely begun just so Mum and Dad could see I was home safely. I glance in the mirror on my dressing table. I look a mess, with last night’s mascara smeared down my cheeks. Someone else can get the door.

  Sky: Have you seen him do it – wandering around the garden naked?

  There’s tha
t annoying buzz again, more persistent this time. I check my watch: it’s eleven-thirty. Mum will be at work and, now that I think about it, Dad said he was taking Charlie to some summer holiday sports activity day. He won’t be back for at least half an hour. I’m the only one in.

  Me: Hang on, Sky, I just need to get the door.

  I stuff my feet into my slippers and rush downstairs, two steps at a time. Through the frosted glass I can make out the shape of a large man, wearing what looks like a motorbike helmet. He’s carrying something big, in both arms. I put the door on the chain, like Mum told me to do, and peer around it. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Delivery for Rosie Buttery. Needs to be signed for.’

  For me? I can’t remember the last time I had a delivery. I don’t remember ordering anything online, and it isn’t my birthday for months. ‘Hold on …’ I’m excited now: what can it be? I grab Dad’s overcoat from the coat rack and put it on over my nightie. Then I take the door off the chain and cautiously open it a little wider.

  ‘Miss Buttery?’ The courier is about twenty and very cute. And here I am in my nightie. I haven’t even cleaned my teeth. How embarrassing.

  ‘That’s me. Although I don’t normally look like this. Had a late night, you see.’

  ‘Right. Er, would you like to sign here, please?’

  ‘Sure!’ I have a great signature. I’ve practised it endlessly, ready for the day when I’m famous and known as Rosie B and have to sign autographs. I present him with my best squiggle – with a smiley face inside the ‘o’ – and, nodding, he hands over the giant box. ‘Ooh, do you know what it is?’ I ask.