At school the next day, we don’t even make it to the lockers. Robin O’Neill and Orla Tempany come rushing over.
‘Welcome back, you guys,’ Robin gushes, all highlights and fake tan.
‘Oh, my God. Maggie’s so beautiful,’ Orla says. ‘I can’t believe she has her own Facebook and Twitter. She looks like a little baby chicken.’
I try not to laugh.
Alex gives her a death look.
‘You’ll so have to bring her to school,’ Robin says. These are people who when Alex was pregnant treated her like she had The Plague.
‘I can’t believe you’re with Louis Healy now,’ Orla says, getting to the point at last.
‘I’m not,’ Alex says, totally calm.
‘But on Facebook, he’s tagged as Maggie’s dad.’
‘He is Maggie’s dad.’ Alex starts to walk. We go with her. But so do the others.
‘So you’re not together?’
‘No, Orla,’ Alex says, like she’s tired.‘We’re not together.’
‘Oh.’ Thoughtful pause. ‘Shame.’
Alex stops. Slowly she turns. ‘Why is it a shame?’
She hesitates. ‘I don’t know. I just thought it’d be nice, you know, to have someone.’ Her voice rises at the end, like it’s just a suggestion.
‘Why?’
‘With a baby and that.’
‘This may come as a total shock. But I don’t need a “someone”.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Orla looks confused. The bell goes.
‘Better go,’ Robin says, looking relieved.
The two of them walk off, heads together. This information will keep them going for days.
‘Like I need a guy,’ Alex snaps as we make our way to our lockers.
‘I know,’ Sarah says. ‘You’ve just had a baby.’
Alex looks at her, like she doesn’t get it. ‘Sarah, I’m never having another relationship.’
‘You can’t say that,’ Sarah says.
‘Just did.’
We get to our lockers, fling our bags and phones in, and grab our books.
‘So, what, you’re going to be, like, a spinster?’ Sarah slams her locker shut.
‘I’m going to be a mum.’
‘Until Maggie grows up and leaves you on your own.’
Alex stares at her.
‘Guys, we’re talking about, like, twenty years’ time,’ I say.
‘Exactly. Alex will have fallen in love a million times by then - even if she tries not to.’
‘No she won't,’ Alex says. ‘She's never going to fancy another guy.’
‘How do you know?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘Just do.’
‘You’re seventeen,’ Sarah says.
‘Amazing to be so wise at such a young age.’ She smiles like she’s won.
We leave it. And as we walk to class, I can't help thinking how I’d love her to have someone. Eventually. Someone who loves her. And Maggie.
We get to class. Simon, Sarah’s ex, comes up to her like he doesn’t see anyone else. ‘I’m so sorry about Shane.’ His voice is full of emotion. Like he’s actually apologising. He was really hard on Shane when he was alive, so maybe he is.
Sarah looks at him for a long time. Finally, she says, ‘OK,’ like it’s over. Forgotten.
Then everyone is telling Sarah how sorry they are. She looks like she’s been ambushed.
‘We better sit down.’ Alex says and we walk with Sarah to her seat.
‘Is that all you’re getting?’ Alex says at lunch, looking at my tray. On it is a can of Coke.
I shrug. ‘Not hungry.’ Mum’s coming to take me to the studio in fifteen minutes. And I’m kind of freaking.
‘You should have something anyway to keep your energy up,’ Alex says.
‘You sound like my mum.’
‘I am a mum,’ she says, like it gives her rights. She picks up a banana and points it at me. ‘And I’m watching you.’ She puts the banana on my tray. ‘Eat.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘You’ll thank me later,’ she says bossily.
I smile.
‘Let’s go skydiving,’ Sarah says, like she wants to drop everything and do it right now.
We laugh.
‘I’m serious.’
Alex and I look at each other, then back at Sarah. ‘Skydiving?’ Alex asks, squinting at her.
‘Yeah. Why not? You gotta live till you die. And what do we do every day? Go to school and do homework. That’s not living.’
She has a point. But. ‘Isn’t there something a little less dangerous?’
‘It’s the danger that makes it exciting,’ Sarah says.
‘I think I’ve had enough excitement in my life,’ Alex says. ‘And now that I’ve Maggie, I should probably try to stick around.’
Sarah looks at me. Expectantly. The thought of jumping out of a plane at however many thousand feet makes my stomach plummet.
‘Could we do something else exciting?’
‘It’s OK. Forget it,’ she says. ‘It was just an idea.’
But she sounds depressed and I’m thinking, I don’t know, maybe she needs this. I think of bungee jumping. Then remember the girl whose chord snapped.
‘White water rafting?’ I try.
‘Yeah?’ She cheers right up.
Mark comes over and sits beside me. And I cheer up myself. I miss the time when David was going out with Alex and I was with Mark and we’d all sit together. Now he tends to sit with the people he plays rugby with, rather than be the only guy with us.
‘Just came to say break a leg,’ he says.
‘Thanks. I think.’
‘Nervous?’
‘A bit.’
‘I could come.’
I smile. ‘Thanks anyway.’
‘All right then, best of luck. Give me a call later, yeah?’ His eyes hold mine and I know he wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him. We never do. In here.
At a quarter to one, Alex and Sarah come outside with me. We hug and they wish me luck.
‘Maybe I won’t go.’
‘Why wouldn’t you go?’ Sarah asks surprised.
‘It’s just not great timing.’ I look at them.
‘You’re going,’ they say together.
Sarah puts her hands flat on my back and pushes me towards the car. Alex opens the door. Then I’m in. I lower the window.
‘You’ll be OK, yeah?’
‘Shut up,’ Alex says.
And I do because I know what it's like when someone thinks you can’t take care of yourself.
In fifteen minutes, we’re at the studio. Mum starts to get out of the car.
‘Mum, it’s OK! You don’t have to come in.’ This is a job. You don’t turn up with your mother.
She stops and looks at me for a minute. ‘You sure?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
‘You’ll be great.’ She looks a little teary, like she thinks I’m emigrating or something. ‘I’ll see you when you get out.’
‘Mum, I’ll be hours. Don’t wait.’
‘It’s fine. I’ve got my book.’ She holds it up.
‘You’re running a catering business.’
‘It’s quiet.’
‘That could change.’
‘I want to be here for you.’
‘Mum, it’ll probably be rush hour when I get out. I’d actually be quicker in a taxi. There’s a whole line of them outside the TV centre.’
She looks at me, unsure.
I check my watch. ‘I better go.’
‘OK, but if the taxi driver looks in any way dodgy don’t get in. Just call me. OK?’
‘OK.’
She hugs me tight.
‘See you later,’ I say and go.
I can’t believe the executive producer, the actual boss of the whole show, is showing me around. She’s in her, like, forties and looks like the most confident person I’ve ever met. I nearly drop when she tells me to call her Emily. Then she actually apologises tha
t I’ve to share a dressing room.
She opens the door to it.
It’s a simple room in pale pink with a bench and two dressing tables. They have mirrors with bulbs around them. One side of the room is full of stuff - clothes, magazines, shoes, posters. On the wall are stills from The Devil Wears Prada. The dressing table is jammed with make-up, perfume, necklaces and a small bunch of flowers. It’s the side of the room that’s alive. And it’s kind of spilling over into the other side.
‘You’ll be sharing with Rebecca French, who plays Daisy. We try to put people around the same age together. Unless you and Rebecca are filming at similar times, you’ll probably have it mostly to yourself.’
‘It’s lovely,’ I say. Everything will be fine. It was a long time ago.
She opens a door to a shower room - also full of stuff. ‘I’m sure Rebecca will clean that up now that she’s sharing.’
Wouldn’t bet on it, I think.
‘Now, I’ll quickly show you around,’ she says.
Following her around the studio, I can’t believe how small the sets are. The pub is tiny, like a very small room. So’s the clinic, the coffee shop, the restaurant.
‘Everything looks miniature,’ I say.
‘It’s to get as many of the cast as possible into one shot. The camera angles make everywhere look bigger.’
‘Wow.’ This is so interesting to me.
It’s amazing how many people are involved in the show. Two directors, one for the indoor scenes, one for outdoor. Two cast managers for making sure that all of the cast are where they’re meant to be for shooting. And two floor managers to supervise each shoot. Each team needs all its own crew. And then there’s the cast. I’m introduced to whoever isn’t actually working on something as we pass by. I try to remember names, but it’s impossible. Everyone’s so friendly when they don’t have to be. I’ll be gone in three months.
Emily walks me back to the dressing room.
‘I was hoping to introduce you to Josh, who plays Joe, but he’s not in yet. I’ll try and pop down later.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s fine,’ I say. ‘You’ve taken up so much of your time already.’
She knocks on the door to the dressing room, then opens it.
‘Oh, good. Rebecca’s here. I wanted to introduce you two before I go.’
She’s sitting at the far dressing table, removing makeup with facial wipes.
‘Rebecca, this is Rachel.’
‘Oh, hi,’ she says, bursting into a smile. She gets up and comes over. She stops smiling and starts squinting. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Rachel Dunne. We were in junior school together.’ I look her straight in the eye so she knows I’ve changed. I’m not afraid.
‘Oh, my God. Rachel Dunne,’ she says, as if we were besties.
‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ Emily says, and smiles like she's pleased.
‘Rach-el Dunne,’ Rebecca says again and I know she’s remembering. Everything.
I’m remembering too. All the names for stupid and what it was like to be called them. Having stuff stolen and worn to my face. How a smile can kill.
‘Rebec-ca French,’ I say back, still eyeballing her.
‘So where did you disappear off to, in sixth class?’
‘Went and got myself a life.’
‘You needed one.’ She laughs.
‘D'you always laugh at your own jokes?’
She looks surprised. ‘It wasn’t a joke.’ Then she laughs like it was.
I smile like I don’t care. She can say what she likes, her words will miss their target.There’s a knock on the door.
‘Rachel?’
I turn.
‘They’re ready for you in Wardrobe.’
‘Great.’ I don’t turn back to Rebecca, I just go.
In Wardrobe, there are racks and racks of costumes, a full-length mirror, a camera and loads of stills of cast members pinned onto a huge board. I’m introduced to someone called Rita who looks me over, then goes to a nearby clothes rail. She selects a costume she has already put together. She collects shoes and hands me a bundle.
‘Do you want to try those on in your dressing room and come back to me, and we’ll see how you look?’
Five-inch shoes, micro-mini and low-cut top. I know how I’ll look. But I just smile.
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, nearly forgot.’ She goes to her desk, opens a drawer and roots for a minute. The she lifts up ginormous diamondy earrings. She comes over and hands them to me. I’ve seen the same ones in Penneys. They were nice but not me.
Back in the (thankfully, empty) dressing room, I change into my costume then check it out in the mirror. The skirt is shorter than I thought. At least I don’t have to sit down in it, I think.
I go back to Wardrobe.
‘Hmm,’ Rita says. ‘The skirt.’
Exactly.
‘We need to up it a bit.’
She reaches out and turns the waistband over, bringing the skirt so high that it stops just below my bum.
I’m so shocked, I actually thank her.
She takes photos for Continuity, so that she can dress me exactly the same if she needs to - for reshoots or editing.
From Wardrobe, I go to Make-Up. Two actors sit in front of mirrors, having their faces done. One of them is an older actress who made the show on Saturday night. Her face is full of humour and her brown eyes sparkle mischievously. She’s chatting to a skinny, male make-up artist. In the mirror, she looks serious. But whatever she’s saying cracks the guy up.
‘Maisie, you’re a riot,’ he says.
‘You’re the riot, Damien,’ she says, still serious.
The other actor is Josh Haley who plays Joe. He’s even more good-looking in real life - though his lips are a bit weird. Kind of like a baby’s.
Damien removes Maisie’s cape. She stands and thanks him. On her way out, she smiles at me.
Damien is on his way over to me now. He’s young but balding, his hair shaved tight. He’s wearing a grey, ribbed jumper that falls expensively. His belt has a pewter buckle. Strapped low around his hips, like a tool-belt, is a special holder for make-up brushes. His smile is wide.
‘Hi, I’m Damien.’
‘Rachel.’ I smile back.
He shows me to the chair Maisie was in, then puts a cape around my shoulders.
‘So just rest your head back against the headrest.’ He puts his hands on my shoulders to make sure I do. ‘There.’
It’s like being in a hairdresser’s. I look at him in the mirror, half expecting him to ask him about my summer holidays. Only it’s November.
‘So, you’re new,’ he says, like I’m interesting. ‘How do you fit in to the plot?’
I’m not sure what I can tell him. How that works. We’re not supposed to share the plot with anyone. Then again, he works here.
‘Oh I’ve just a small part.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘I think I have to, like, flirt with Joe.’
He widens his eyes at me, then he whispers, ‘Lucky you.’ I smile and start to relax.
He lifts pieces of hair and lets them fall. I’m thinking, Isn’t he the make-up guy?
‘What do you use to wash your hair?’ he asks.
Surprised, I tell him the brand of shampoo.
He tells me another. Just says it. Like I should use it. Like it’s an order.
‘I’ll get it,’ I say.
‘Do you brush?’
‘My hair?’
‘No, your teeth. Of course your hair.’
‘Not really.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Are you telling me you had to get a part in a TV drama for a queen to tell you to brush your hair?’
I smile.
‘Ready for make-up?’ he says like he’s quoting a line from an ad.
‘Ready.’
Wearing thin, transparent, plastic gloves he applies foundation with a sponge. I close my eyes. It’s so relaxing. Until Rebecca French comes cra
shing into my mind. Along with all the others. Especially Béibhinn Keane, the ringleader. I see their faces so clearly and when I start to feel my stomach twist, I remind myself what’s different. Back then, I was alone. My parents had just separated me from Jack by moving me down a class. They said I was in his shadow. So they took the shadow away. Leaving me exposed, a turtle without its shell. It was like Rebecca and her gang smelled it. I was easy prey, the weakling of the herd. When they moved in on me, I was so shocked, I didn’t put up a fight. Now, it’s different. I’ve been without Jack for six years. I’m the ‘individual’ my parents wanted me to be. I don’t need anyone now. I can take Rebecca French if I have to.
‘Are you OK?’
I open my eyes.
‘You feel a little tense.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, it’s your first time. Just take loads of deep breaths.’
I nod and take one. To keep him happy.
He brushes on powder. I close my eyes again. I can’t blame my parents. It was my fault. I was copying his homework. He was faster. If we both finished quickly, we’d have more time outside, playing football. When I started failing, our parents warned us to stop. We didn’t. It was our little rebellion. Us against the world. The way it always was back then.
I feel cold running along my eyelids as Damien applies liquid eyeliner.
‘OK, now look up.’
He puts more eyeliner on my lower lids. Then under them. I try not to blink.
‘It’s OK,’ he says when I do. ‘Nearly finished.’
Then he asks me to close my eyes again and puts more on my upper lids.
When eventually I look in the mirror, I am a different person.
‘Wow.’
‘Not finished,’ he says. There’s pride in his voice. And I hope that when I eventually have a job, I’ll love it as much as he loves his. He darkens my eyebrows then fluffs up my hair so I look like I’m the kind of person who doesn’t care about hair. Or anything. He even gives me black nail varnish. All this for one line.
‘Thanks so much.’
‘Are you kidding? You’re a pleasure to work on.’
‘Really?’
‘Such cheekbones.’
I love him. Though I never love anyone that quickly. It took me ages to go out with Mark, to trust that he wasn’t just messing me around.
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 60
