The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually)

by Denise Deegan

‘They’re fans,’ Sarah says. ‘What are they going to say? We love you?’

  ‘Even if someone posted something iffy, you just delete it,’ Alex adds.

  ‘Hey,’ Sarah says. ‘We could all set it up together. It’d be fun.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  We walk back to our lockers. Two people I’d normally say hi to, blank me as they pass. I get this a lot - people who don’t want to look as if they’re being friendly because I’m on TV. I also get the opposite. People who never normally say hi, starting to. Even I’ve changed, not wanting to act like I think I’m some sort of celebrity acknowledging everyone. The easiest thing is to just not look at people.

  When I leave school, it’s already dark. People, including Mark, are running out onto the pitches, their breaths frosting up. I wish I’d time to still play hockey. Maybe when D4’s over, I’ll take it up again.

  As we walk down to the DART, Alex gets a text.

  ‘Yes!’ she says. ‘What?’

  ‘Undertow are having their first gig this Friday.’

  ‘Undertow?’ I ask.

  ‘Louis’s band. They were trying to get included in a competition for new bands. They’ve just been accepted. It’s on next weekend.’

  ‘Are they going to be ready?’ I ask.

  ‘They only have to play three songs. So they’re going to perform two of their old ones and one that the lead singer, James, has written.’

  ‘So that’s why they’re rehearsing all the time. He never tells me anything,’ Sarah says.

  ‘We should go,’ Alex says. ‘The judges look at the reaction from the crowd. It’s so dumb. The group with the most friends has the best chance.’

  ‘Then we have to go,’ Sarah says.

  We've been on the DART five minutes, when Alex says to me, ‘Don’t look now but there’s a woman over there who keeps staring at you.’

  Automatically, we look.

  ‘I said, “Don’t look now,”’ Alex says, sitting back and looking out the window.

  The woman is small and old. I’ve never seen her before, but she seems to know me. I smile to be polite. She gets up and comes over. Maybe I do know her, just don’t remember. I try to think. Is she a friend of my gran’s? She sits beside me. Her lipstick has gone over the edges. And she has plum-coloured nail varnish. Her handbag is triangular and wooden. She reaches out and clasps my hand in hers, the way people do at funerals. I look at Alex and Sarah. They’re as baffled as I am.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you that you’re a very brave girl.’

  OK so she has got the wrong person. Awkward.

  ‘Most people fall to pieces when they are diagnosed with cancer.’

  Oh, God. She thinks I’m Naomi. I start coughing so I don’t laugh.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I say, because it is cute that she cares even if Naomi isn’t real.

  She squeezes my hand in sympathy, then leans towards me and whispers, ‘I’ll be praying for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She gets up to return to her seat. Alex and Sarah snort.

  I frown at them. Then I look over at her and smile.

  After a while, she gets up like she’s reached her stop. As she’s passing, she starts to look confused.

  ‘You’ve changed your uniform.’

  I look down at it. ‘Oh,’ I say.

  Then, luckily, she has to go.

  When she gets off the DART, Sarah and Alex collapse laughing.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell her it’s not real?’ Alex asks.

  I shrug. ‘It is to her.’

  In D4, I put fairy lights around my mirror. And little Santas and angels on my dressing table. I turn on the lights. They wink and glow Jelly Tot colours. Ho, ho, ho, I think.

  ‘Cool,’ Rebecca says when she sees them. ‘I must get some.’

  My scene, which is to go out in the Christmas Special, is an interior shot in the clinic with Naomi’s doctor:

  ‘Naomi, I’m recommending surgery,’ she says.

  ‘Why?’ I ask and allow the tiniest bit of hope to reach my eyes.

  ‘To slow the progress of the disease.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Naomi, I need to speak with your parents. You should not be dealing with this alone.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Naomi, you’re seventeen. I need their consent for surgery anyway.’

  ‘I’m not having surgery. If I’m going to die, let me die in peace.’ I get up and walk out.

  I go back to the dressing room thinking about Shane and Alex’s mum and what it must be like to have a deadline on your life. I should be removing make-up. I should be putting on my uniform, grabbing a taxi. Instead, I just sit here.

  Rebecca walks in with all this energy, singing along to her iPhone.

  ‘Back in a sec,’ I say and leave before she can even think.

  In the canteen, I stare into a bowl of Cornflakes, watching the sugar melt and the flakes slowly go soft. After a while, I feel someone beside me. I turn. It’s Maisie Morrin, standing there with her tray.

  ‘We haven’t been introduced,’ she says.

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Hi. I’m Rachel.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Mind if I sit?’

  ‘Eh. Sure.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She lowers her tray onto the table.

  ‘Am I the only person you haven’t been introduced to?’

  She pretty much is. But I can't admit that.

  She waves a hand. ‘It’s OK. I’m joking.’ She smiles. ‘You’ll get used to me.’ She pours milk on her muesli then looks up. So, the Queen Bee has taken you under her wing.’

  Queen Bee. Sometimes, it does feel like that.

  ‘Make sure it doesn’t get too hot under there.’

  I give her a ‘what-do-you-mean?’ look.

  She ignores it. ‘I just came over to congratulate you on that scene you’ve just shot. Powerful.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m a huge fan of your work,’ she says.

  I laugh.

  ‘I was actually being serious, that time.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘So how’re you getting on? What do you think of D4?’

  ‘I love it. It’s amazing,’ I say genuinely.

  ‘Can be difficult, at times, though.’

  I look at her.

  ‘You felt the emotion in that scene. Didn’t you?’

  I nod. Thinking about it I start to tear up. ‘Sorry,’ I say, embarrassed.

  She smiles for the first time. ‘You remind me of me. A long time ago. Actually, still me. Nothing wrong with feeling empathy with your character, Rachel. In fact, I’d recommend it.’

  I nod.

  ‘Oh, oh. Queen Bee alert.’

  I turn and follow her eyes. Rebecca’s on her way over with a tray.

  Just as she reaches the table, Maisie stands. ‘Well, I’ll leave you two young whippersnappers to it.’ Then she's gone.

  Rebecca sits down, with a frown. ‘I thought I said not to bother her.’

  ‘She sat with me.’

  ‘That’s weird. What did she want?’

  I can’t help it: ‘To know why you hadn’t introduced us.’

  ‘Seriously?’ She actually looks worried.

  I laugh. ‘She was joking.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘She’s nice, Rebecca.’

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t go getting all cosy. She bit my head off once. For, like, nothing.’

  Knowing Rebecca, it probably had something to do with personal space.

  ‘Then again,’ she says, ‘maybe it’s just me she doesn’t like.’ And even though she says it like it’s a fact and she’s not worried, I feel bad for her.

  We go back to the dressing room together. ‘What time are you on?’ I ask.

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Then what are you doing here?’

  ‘Ah, sometimes I just like to keep my face in front of theirs. You know, so they don’t
forget to write me into the script.’ She laughs.

  ‘But the scriptwriters work from home.’

  ‘Emily doesn’t.’

  ‘Is it worth missing school over, though?’

  ‘You are way too obsessed with school. Hey! What are you doing for Christmas?’

  ‘Nothing much. Sleeping. Eating.’

  She looks shocked. ‘Be careful. You don’t want to put on any more weight.’

  ‘What?’ I laugh, shocked. Any more?

  ‘I’m just saying. The camera adds ten pounds.’

  ‘Thanks, Rebecca, for the concern.’

  ‘No probs,’ she says, missing the sarcasm.

  Maybe she was just being helpful, I think. In her usual speak-first-think-last way.

  In the shower room, I change back into my uniform. Standing in my knickers, I look in the mirror. Properly. I’m not fat, am I? I turn to my side. Try to pinch my skin. I’ve never worried about my weight before. Should I start?

  As soon as I get home on Friday, I have to get ready to go out. We have to be in town at half-seven.

  ‘Rachel can I ask you a huge favour?’ Mum says.

  I look at her. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Jessica’s come down with a bug. She can’t help me out tomorrow.’

  ‘What about Maeve?’ She’s Mum’s fallback.

  ‘She has a christening. She can help me serve but not prepare. Could you help me? I’ll pay you.’

  ‘Sure.’ Then I remember the white water rafting. I don’t want to let Sarah down. But Mum’s stuck. This is a huge gig for her. ‘Yeah, I’m sure it’s fine. I just have to ring Sarah. I said I’d go white water rafting with her - but I’m sure we could do it another time.’

  ‘I really need you, Rachel.’

  ‘I know. It’s fine. Sarah won’t mind.’

  ‘Thank God,’ she says and her whole body relaxes in relief.

  I go upstairs, call Sarah and explain the problem.

  ‘Could we do Sunday instead?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve booked for the morning.’

  ‘Could you ring?’

  ‘There’ll be no one there now. And we’re meant to be there at eleven. Pity you didn’t tell me before now.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum only just asked me.’

  ‘It’s OK. Don’t worry about it. I’ll ring first thing.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sure they’ll be able to change it.’

  ‘I’ll tell them that if we like it, we’ll go back.’

  ‘Good idea. Sorry, Sarah.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll see you later.’

  NINE | Mad

  We get there on time but the queue is really long.

  ‘I wonder how many people are here for Undertow,’ Alex says.

  ‘How many bands are there?’ I ask.

  ‘Eight,’ Sarah says.

  ‘OK, so they’ve a one-in-eight chance,’ Alex says.

  ‘Very good, Alex,’ Mark says.

  She hits him. ‘I know they’re not here to win, just to practise gigging live - but imagine if they did.’

  After about ten minutes, the queue starts to move. Soon, we’re in. There’s another queue to hand in coats. Alex takes hers off. She’s wearing a short, tight, white dress that I’ve never seen before. She looks amazing.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Sarah says. ‘You’re so skinny.’

  ‘I had to do something. Yuri, Dad’s trainer, started me on a fitness programme. His favourite words are “pooosh it”.’ She rolls her eyes.

  ‘The dress is amazing,’ Sarah says.

  ‘It’s not too much?’ Alex asks, looking around. The girl in front of us is wearing a T-shirt that says, ‘Dirty Girl’. She’s pretty much pierced everywhere. Her friend’s hair is blue and her arms are completely covered in tattoos.

  I look at Alex again. ‘Right. That’s it. I’m going on a diet.’

  ‘Are you high?’ Sarah asks, looking me up and down.

  ‘The camera adds ten pounds.’

  ‘Which would make you just about right. If you lost weight, you’d be a stick insect,’ Alex says.

  ‘Yes, Mummy,’ I joke, but a little would help. I’ll be careful over Christmas.

  We go inside where it’s dark and mobbed. Alex gets a text.

  ‘Louis has reserved us some seats up near the front,’ she says excitedly.

  ‘Quick,’ Sarah says, ‘before someone nabs them.’

  They’re good seats.

  ‘What’s everyone drinking?’ Mark asks.

  ‘Diet Coke,’ I say.

  ‘Diet?’ he checks.

  ‘Good idea!’ Alex says. ‘I’ll have one too.’

  ‘I’ll just have Coke,’ Sarah says.

  ‘Eh, Mark, could I have vodka in mine?’ Alex asks at the last minute.

  ‘Sure.’ He disappears into the crowd.

  Alex starts drumming her fingers on the table. ‘Will we go back stage, say hi? Actually, no. Dad hates anyone coming near him before a gig. I wonder if anyone’s filming this. Imagine if they put it up on YouTube. God, they so need a manager.’

  I think it’s cute that she’s so nervous for him.

  ‘Here he is.’ Sarah announces.

  Louis is coming our way. He’s wearing a tight, white T-shirt. His hair’s gelled which makes it even darker. He has a pair of drum sticks in the back pocket of his faded denims.

  ‘Everyone OK?’ he asks, like we’re his guests.

  ‘Yeah, great,’ Alex says.

  ‘You look nice,’ he says to her.

  She looks down at the dress and laughs. Oh, God. Don’t tell me she fancies him.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ she says.‘You guys need a manager.’

  ‘Yeah. We’re looking for one.’

  ‘I could talk to Dad.’

  ‘We’re grand.’

  ‘He knows the industry.’

  ‘Alex, I don’t need your dad.’ His voice is firm.

  ‘But he’s so many contacts. And that’s what the music business is all about.’

  ‘I don’t need a leg-up. Especially not from him.’

  ‘You hate him, don’t you?’ she asks miserably.

  ‘No. I get him. I’d kill anyone who got my daughter pregnant.’

  She looks surprised. ‘Me too,’ she admits finally.

  ‘Let’s make a pact,’ he says. ‘Maggie’s never going out with anyone.’

  ‘Never?’ She’s smiling now.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘No boyfriends at all?’

  ‘None.’

  They laugh.

  ‘I better go,’ he says, looking behind him.

  ‘Good luck up there,’ Sarah says.

  ‘Thanks. And seriously loud clapping from over here - even if we’re crap.’ He winks, then he’s gone.

  The first band are wearing a lot of black. And a lot of eyeliner. They look a bit like The Cure and I’m expecting them to be kind of dreamy-sounding. The minute they start, though, it’s noise. Very loud noise. Like screaming. They’re all jumping around, jerkily. I can’t work out the lyrics. Except maybe, ‘over’. I’m hoping they soon will be. We sit, kind of stunned. Finally, they leave the stage, all sweaty and quiet. The silence is a shock. There’s buzzing in my ears. We look at each other.

  ‘Christ,’ Mark says.

  We laugh.

  Some backstage guys come out and change around the equipment.

  The next band are totally different. Skinny and pale with really cool haircuts and too-big clothes. When they introduce themselves, they sound timid but funny. Their music reminds me of the Juno soundtrack. I imagine their fans clap quietly. I’m wrong.

  Next up is a solo artist, making me wonder how entries are selected. This guy is doing ballady stuff. A bit like Ed Sheeran.

  ‘Hard to take him seriously with those shades,’ Mark says.

  ‘He’s good, though,’ Alex says, like it’s a bad thing.

  The next band are all girls. I think, yeah. They’re loud and seriously talented. I’m
beginning to think that Louis was right in not expecting to win.

  The next two bands are a bit like the first and have me hoping again.

  Last up are Undertow. And when I see Louis walk on stage, I suddenly feel nervous, like I’m about to go on set. They take their places and pick up their equipment. Louis takes out his drumsticks. The lead singer stands at the mike. Be brilliant, I think.

  ‘Testing one, two. One, two,’ James jokes.

  People laugh.

  Sarah is squinting up at him. ‘He does look like Kurt Cobain, doesn’t he?’

  Louis taps his sticks together, one, two, three. Alex is on the edge of the seat, looking worried and beautiful. Then they’re playing. I’ve never heard the song before, but I like it. Somewhere between Coldplay and The Script. When it’s over, they don’t go straight into their next song like other bands.

  ‘Hello, Dublin,’ James deadpans. ‘We are Undertow.’

  We go wild, whooping and stomping our feet.

  He looks over at us. ‘Who let them in?’

  Then he’s straight into the next song. I love that you can hear his Irish accent. Louis looks so different up there. At first, I don’t know what it is. Then I get it. He looks happy, like this is what he was born to do. Alex was right. I glance at her. She’s looking up at him, smiling.

  After their last song, the whole place goes wild. They don’t rush off the stage like some of the others, they walk off slowly, looking at the audience. James holds up an arm. Louis smiles.

  One of the organisers comes on stage. He thanks the entrants and says that judging will take about fifteen minutes, and to sit back and enjoy ourselves until the winner is announced.

  Then, Rebecca French is standing in front of us. She’s wearing this really tight, short, red dress and seriously high, very cool shoes. Mark and possibly every guy in the place is staring.

  ‘Hey!’ she says. ‘They were amazing, weren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, amazing,’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh, I saw you guys plugging the gig on Facebook and thought I’d bring some friends along to support.’

  ‘Cool. Where are they?’

  She waves casually. ‘Oh. Over there somewhere. You must be Alex,’ she says.

  ‘Eh, yeah.’ Alex looks at me.

  ‘This is Rebecca from D4.’

  ‘Can I join you guys?’ Rebecca asks.