He looks at me. ‘He hasn’t just walked out on her mom, he’s walked out on her. At least, that’s how she’ll feel.’
Like I feel, then. ‘I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do?’
‘Listen. If she talks.’
‘She won’t.’ Because in that way Sarah’s like me.
We get to the beach and carry the boards to the sea. I test the water with one toe. And tell him I’m not going in. When he comes towards me, I know what he’s planning. And I run. But he catches me, lifts me up and carries me back to the water’s edge. Then he wades in, and, when he’s waist-deep, despite my screams, he drops me.
It’s freezing.
I scream. Call him an asshole. And worse. I scramble up quickly, planning a quick exit.
He blocks me. ‘You’re wet now. So stay in.’
‘No way.’
‘Yes way.’ He grabs me again, and I think he’s going to fling me back when he lifts me up instead and kisses me. I forget the cold. I forget the sea and melt into him, wrapping my legs around him. He sinks down so I’m fully immersed. And I don’t care.
‘Come on,’ he says finally, ‘Let’s get the boards.’
We catch the waves, paddle like mad and glide to shore. Then we’re running out again and boarding in. It’s amazing. I’ve never felt so alive. So happy. And then suddenly it’s clear. I’m here on Killiney Beach, one of Mum’s favourite places, and I can laugh. And it’s OK. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten her. Or love her any less. It is possible to be happy and not forget. To not feel guilty. I look at David and remember what he said. She’d want me to be happy. It makes so much sense now. She wanted me to be happy when she was alive. Why would it be any different now?
When I get home, I want to burst into The Rockstar’s office and tell him. I want him to know that he may have abandoned me but I’ve someone else. Someone who has brought me back to life. Despite him. But I don’t burst in. I don’t tell him. Because he doesn’t deserve to know.
Next day, Gran brings us to lunch in a seafood restaurant in Dun Laoghaire. It’s big and bright and the waitress is friendly.
‘You’re looking well,’ Gran tells me.
And I know she’s not lying. Last night, in the mirror, I hardly recognised myself. Must be the sea air.
‘You’re happy,’ she says to me, then looks meaningfully at David.
I don’t argue. I am happy.
‘So,’ Gran says to him. ‘What was she like? In the beginning. Was she impossible?’
I’m appalled.
He looks at me and smiles. ‘Impossible.’
I hit him.
She laughs.
He’s looking at Gran again. ‘Gave me a seriously hard time.’
‘Excuse me. Hel-lo? I’m, like, here.’
Gran laughs again. She’s loving this. She looks at me proudly, like she’s glad I was tough.
‘And how did you get together, in the end?’ she asks him, knowing she won’t get the answer from me.
He looks at me. ‘I guess I eventually wore her down.’
I’m relieved he didn’t bring up the party. Or Louis. But then I know he wouldn’t.
‘She’s worth it, though, isn’t she?’ Gran asks.
Then he’s looking at me again. ‘Seriously worth it.’
And suddenly it’s like no one else is in the room.
FOURTEEN | THE GREAT SEDUCTRESS
Monday morning, David and I walk into class.
‘Here comes the bride,’ sings Orla Tempany.
I force myself to keep walking, to not react. But I’m thinking, Oh my God.
‘Daa, dum, de dum,’ sings Simon Kelleher. As imaginative as ever.
David squeezes my hand. We smile like we don’t care, like it’s all hilarious. Then I have to leave him and make what seems like an expedition down and across the class. I ignore all the eyes, all the comments, all the grins. I sit down and look across at David. He turns and smiles.
It’ll blow over, I think.
Then Amy Gilmore twists around in her seat. ‘So, why the big secret?’
‘What?’
‘I asked you straight out about David. You acted like you didn’t know what I was talking about. You might as well have lied, Alex.’
She turns back around as if I’m some sort of criminal.
For the rest of the morning, I keep my head down.
At break, David waits for me. We go to the canteen with Rachel, Sarah and Mark.
‘That kiss was definitely a bad idea,’ Mark says.
‘Can we talk about something else, please?’ I say.
But Sarah’s looking at Mark. ‘So don’t you make the same mistake.’
He squints. ‘What?’
‘Come on, Mark. Don’t act dumb. News is, you and Rachel are next.’
‘What?’ he says again. He’s gone totally white.
Suddenly, Rachel’s standing, looking at Sarah. ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to believe the news?’ She grabs her tray and walks.
Mark looks like he’s been slapped.
I stare at Sarah as if to say, what the hell did you do that for? Then I go after Rachel.
I find her marching around the hockey pitches. I have to run to catch up.
‘You OK?’ I ask.
She slows to a stop, then turns to me, looking totally frustrated. ‘Why did she say that?’
I make a face. ‘You know Sarah. Can’t keep anything in.’
‘I know, but now I’ve gone and insulted him.’
‘No you haven’t.’
‘I practically said no to him in public.’
‘Rachel, all you said was not to believe the news.’
‘Which means, more or less, “no.” And now he knows I told you guys. He probably thinks I’ve been gloating.’ She puts a hand to her forehead. ‘Oh God! Just when I was going to say yes.’
I brighten right up at that. ‘You were?’
‘It didn’t seem fair to hold off, after what you told me about Macbeth and everything.’
‘That’s great, Rache.’
‘If I thought he’d ever talk to me again.’
‘Of course he will.’
She looks at me hopefully. ‘D’you think he’ll get that I was just embarrassed?’
‘Sure,’ I say. Though, from my limited experience, guys don’t ‘get’ a lot of stuff.
‘Oh God,’ she groans. ‘Now I have to go in and rehearse with him.’
I’m surprised. I really didn’t think Rachel said that much. But Mark has totally backed off. At rehearsals, apart from when they’ve lines together, you’d think he didn’t know she existed. If it’s any comfort to Rachel, and I know it’s not, he does look pretty miserable. Rachel looks like she wants to be somewhere else. As for Sarah? The only thing she looks sorry for is having to stay back to work on ‘acoustics’.
‘Did you see him?’ Rachel whispers, as soon as we hook up. ‘Totally cold.’
We watch him leave – one of the first out the door. David, with him, looks back to see if I’m coming. I wave him on.
‘Go on,’ Rachel says.
‘No, sure I’ll see him later.’
‘Go on. I’m fine.’
I widen my eyes at her. ‘Rachel. I’m not going.’
She half smiles. ‘Thanks.’
We walk to our lockers. Rachel looks miserable.
‘D’you think he’s gone off me?’
‘No.’
‘Then what was all that about?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s just recovering his pride?’
‘You think?’
‘Sure.’ I’m not, though.
‘What’ll I do?’
‘Rachel, don’t worry. He’ll probably be fine tomorrow.’
‘No. He won’t.’
We get our bags from our lockers and head out. Outside, wind blows rain into our faces, so we reverse back under the shelter. I get my cap from my bag and pull it down. We brace ourselves and walk out.
�
�Oh, God. Why didn’t I just say yes when he asked me out? How am I going to face him tomorrow?’
‘Just be yourself.’ I guess.
‘What about lunch?’
I think about that. She’s right. The canteen might be tricky. ‘We won’t sit with them. I’ll talk to David.’
‘But what about you two?’
‘Rachel, we see plenty of each other. Seriously, don’t worry about it.’
‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ She sounds so down.
‘It’s Sarah who should be sorry. I know she has her problems. But still.’
It’s David’s turn to mind Bobby, so we just hang out in his room. It’s like our refuge, the one place we can go without anyone bothering us. We lie, facing each other, talking. I gaze into his eyes and wonder if it’s normal to want to climb inside a person and live under their skin. I’ve never loved anyone’s ears before. Or anyone’s eyelashes. They’re not things I normally notice unless there’s something wrong with them. David’s ears are perfect, tucked neatly into his head. His eyelashes are long, dark and curled. Which is, like, amazing, given he’s so blonde. I run a finger along them.
He laughs. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just checking they’re real.’
He rolls on top of me. ‘Everything about me’s real.’
And I don’t know if it’s chemistry or biology or physics, but when two people who’re mad about each other lie down together, it’s impossible not to kiss, impossible not to touch. Mouth on mouth, skin on skin, mouth on skin, it gets faster and faster, hotter and hotter. It takes on its own speed, and if you don’t step in, it will leave you behind, like a boat heading for the rapids. And that’s a problem.
I roll him over so I’m on top. I sit on his stomach. Pin his arms down. Like I’m messing. Playing.
But he gets it. ‘You OK?’
I bite my lips together. Nod. My heart is pumping. I look at him. Guilty. ‘I’m not ready.’
He looks at me for a long time. Then smiles. ‘Who says I am?’
I know he’s just saying that but am so grateful. He lifts me off him. ‘Let’s go get a drink.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Come on.’ He springs from the bed, then takes my hand and drags me up.
In the kitchen, he goes to the fridge. I watch his back and imagine the body under the T-shirt. I tell myself to stop.
‘Is Mark OK?’ I ask.
He turns from the fridge, serious. ‘Do we really want to do this?’
‘What?’
‘I tell you about Mark, you go back to Rachel. Pretty soon, information’s going round in circles.’
‘I just want to know if he’s OK. He seemed a bit upset.’
He pours two glasses of juice. Then hands me one. ‘He just took it as a no. Which I guess it was.’
‘No! It wasn’t!’ I rush, putting down the juice. ‘She was just embarrassed that Sarah brought it up in front of everyone.’
‘Right,’ he says, like that’s the end of it.
‘So, what now?’ I ask.
He looks at me. ‘I guess that’s up to Rachel.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, if she’s interested, she should try telling him.’
It sounds so simple. I feel stupid for not thinking of it.
‘You’re right!’
He shakes his head. And laughs. ‘Come here.’ He takes me in his arms and kisses me. I kiss him right back. The genius.
Mike drops me home. I don’t know if he’s told The Rockstar that I’m seeing someone (assuming he’s worked it out himself). If he has, nothing’s been said. I walk past his office. It’s 9.00 p.m. The door’s slightly open and the light’s on. And there he is, as unimaginative as porridge, working.
I go up to my room and call Rachel. I tell her what David said.
‘So just say yes,’ I sum up.
‘Just go up to him and say yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh God.’
‘I don’t think you’ve a choice here, Rache.’
There’s a pause. ‘OK. When’ll I do it?’
Yay! ‘The sooner the better . . . Tomorrow.’
‘God.’
‘Maybe after school, if you can get him alone.’
There’s a longer pause now. ‘Can you distract Sarah?’
‘Leave it to me.’
I hang up, hungry again. It feels like I haven’t eaten in months. Which, actually, is pretty much the case. I go downstairs and ask Barbara for a smoothie. To cheer her up, I make it complicated. Strawberry and banana with kiwis and grapes. Hopefully, it’ll taste OK. She breaks into this really amazing smile I never knew she was capable of. And because she seems happy and because I’ve nothing else to do, I sit at the counter and watch her work. She does everything with such care, like she takes pride in her work. I think about the only work I’m supposed to be doing right now – Macbeth costumes. And feel guilty. Rehearsals are flying ahead. And I haven’t done anything. Any day now I’ll be asked for my thoughts. I don’t even have thoughts! I should, at least, do a Google search. I force myself upstairs for my laptop and carry it back to the kitchen, feeling a little better for taking some action. I slide it onto the counter just as Barbara delivers the smoothie in a tall, elegant glass she’s been hiding somewhere for just this sort of thing. I take a sip.
Oh my God. ‘Yum!’
Her expression goes all soft. And I think she might be starting to like me. I google ‘Macbeth’ and ‘costumes’. Up pop the sites. Mostly drama companies showing off costumes they produced rather than actual online shops. At least they give me some idea of what people wore back then.
‘Oooh, I think I’ll have one of those,’ says a voice behind me. It’s The Stylist. She seems so different now. Not this annoying, sunny person, but someone who’s sunny despite everything or at least is trying to be. And it seems mean to go on calling her The Stylist.
‘What’s up?’ she asks, taking a peek at the computer.
‘I have to do the costumes for the school play.’
‘Hey! That should be fun.’
I imagine Lady Macbeth in tight leather trousers and wonder if I’m making a mistake when I say, ‘You can help – if you like.’
‘Really?’ She says it like I’m doing her the favour.
She starts to examine the images of Lady Macbeth posted by some theatre company.
‘What were you thinking?’ she asks.
‘I wasn’t really. Just starting.’
‘OK.’ She moves her stool closer. ‘Let’s think about Lady Macbeth. Who is she? What does she want? What drives her?’
Since Mum got sick, my concentration hasn’t exactly been the best. But I got this much: ‘She wants the throne for her husband, Macbeth.’
‘Ah, but to get it, he has to kill his beloved cousin, right?’
She knows Macbeth?
‘So what kind of person is she?’
‘Ruthless?’ I try, starting to get into it.
‘Exactly. A power-hungry, ruthless bitch.’
I laugh. It’s like she’s talking about a real person. Her ex’s girlfriend?
‘So,’ she says, ‘how does Lady M. persuade her husband to become a murderer?’
I’m trying to remember.
Marsha doesn’t wait. ‘She uses her womanly ways. She comes on to him.’
Doesn’t sound familiar. ‘I don’t think that’s in the play.’
‘Maybe not in words. But it’s there. It’s meant. You got a copy of the play?’
‘Somewhere.’
‘Well, what’re we waiting for?’ And you’ve got to admire her, the way she can just zone all her energy in on this and forget the other Big Thing.
I find my copy of the play at the bottom of my bag. It’s a bit ragged, but pretty much intact. Marsha flicks through the pages and skims the lines with a finger.
‘Here we go. Act 1, Scene 5. First time they’re together. She’s all over him, telling him how great he is.’ She reads the l
ines. ‘Can’t you see her?’ she says, ‘totally coming on to him?’
When she reads it like that, I can.
‘It all ties in,’ she says. ‘Here look, later, when he’s backing out, she tells him he’s not a man. She builds him up. Knocks him down. Complete cow.’
I get it. Absolutely. But what about Rachel having to come on to Mark Delaney? ‘Doesn’t the director decide that kind of stuff?’
‘Well, yeah, technically.’ She looks at me. ‘Who’s playing Lady Macbeth?’
‘My friend, Rachel.’
‘Well, then. All we do is dress her like a tramp –’ I almost choke here ‘– and have her seduce him. Trust me, the director will love it.’
But I’m not thinking about the director. I’m thinking about Mark. I try to bring Marsha back to reality. ‘So, clothes-wise, what did you have in mind?’
‘OK,’ she says, like she’s already got it sorted. ‘I was thinking, something corseted. Low cut. Low belt, like that one there.’ She points to the screen. ‘You know, coming down in a V over her crotch.’
I burst out laughing.
‘And wide sleeves.’
I don’t think anyone will notice the sleeves.
She starts sketching like she’s on fast forward. In minutes, she has three different costumes. ‘Wow. This feels great,’ she says. ‘I haven’t designed in such a long time.’
‘You’re an actual designer?’
‘What did you think I was?’ she asks, curiously. I go a bit red at this. ‘Design is my background. It’s what I do. Or at least it was before I got sucked into this whole stylist business.’
‘You sound like you don’t like it.’
‘It’s OK.’ She starts to sketch again. ‘Like a lot of things, the problem is the people. When celebrities get their hands on you, they suck you dry. They want you all to themselves and they want all of you. All the time. Not your dad,’ she rushes, ‘but the others, they think they own you.’ Then she looks up like she’s decided something. ‘Tell you what, I’ll help make Rachel’s costumes if you help me source the fabrics and accessories. If you want, I’ll even help put together the other costumes.’
‘Really? Have you got time?’
‘Honey, I’ve nothing but time.’
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 12
