At the allotted time, we donned our singing outfits. We had decided to keep it really simple and went with similar outfits – jeans, little camisole tops with lace edging, leather belts slung low over our hips and cowboy boots. Her outfit was all black; mine white. We had to borrow some things from the other girls to make it work. The jeans were our own, but Cat lent Izzie a black top, TJ lent me a white one, Nesta lent Izzie a fab black leather belt with a silver buckle and Lia lent me a white one with diamante studs. I had my white cowboy boots from Prague and Izzie had cowboy boots that she’d bought on the King’s Road in London.
When we’d finished dressing and faffing about with hairdryers and make-up, we stood side by side in front of the long mirror in the hall downstairs.
‘You look faaaantastic,’ said Dad, who had arrived earlier to be our chauffeur.
Mum came out to join him. She nodded. ‘Beautiful. Let me a take a picture.’
It was good to see Mum and Dad together. Both of them seemed relaxed and at ease with each other and, even though a part of me would have preferred it if we were living together still, another part was beginning to accept that this was how it was going to be from now on. I understood that we were still a family. Nothing could ever change that. And some days, like today, we’d do stuff together like we used to. We just didn’t live under the same roof any more. And I couldn’t deny that both of them seemed happier, like some of the strain from the last few months had lifted. Mum was in jeans for a change and she looked pretty with her hair loose on her shoulders.
When Dad went out to bring the car round, I looked out at the unrelenting rain, then down at my outfit. ‘Maybe we should both have gone for black,’ I said to Izzie. ‘You’ll be OK if you get covered in mud. White wasn’t such a great idea.’
Mum handed me my wellies and raincoat. ‘Just get these on until you’re inside the tent and you’ll be fine.’
I put on the coat, wellies and my baseball cap, found my umbrella and made a dash for the car. Soon the four of us were on our way up to Maker once again.
‘We’re singing in the rain,’ Dad sang as the rain continued to come down in buckets.
‘Just singing in the rain,’ Mum joined in with him.
Up at the festival site, the car park was jammed with cars, the drivers trying not to let their tyres get stuck in the field that was fast turning to mud. Dad found a spot in the corner on some grass and we scrambled out and sloshed our way across to the main tent. The site was a total washout – a disaster area, with tents blown away and a multitude of wet people slopping about in wet-weather gear. We made our way over to a stall selling tea and bacon sandwiches near the main entrance, where we had arranged to meet the others. They were all huddled under a couple of umbrellas and dressed like Izzie and me in raincoats and assorted caps and hats to keep off the rain.
‘Ah, the British summer,’ TJ said with a laugh as we joined them.
‘Poor campers,’ said Cat when she saw me looking around at the sea of mud.
‘Actually, no one seems that bothered,’ said TJ as a guy wearing only a T-shirt and boxers slid past on his backside in the mud. He was followed by a bunch of his mates. All of them had mud smeared over their faces. Another guy was entertaining people with juggling. At various spots around the site, people were sitting with drums or guitars, singing and playing under umbrellas or makeshift tents. Some people had given up trying to stay dry and had simply got soaked through – it was wet, but it wasn’t cold.
‘We got here early and had a look round,’ said Cat. ‘People have been having a right laugh.’
‘I wouldn’t want to be camping,’ said Nesta with a haughty sniff. ‘Give me a five-star hotel and hot water any day. Camping is so not my style.’
‘Nor mine,’ I said. ‘I’d be with you, Nesta – in big white fluffy towels, all dry and warm.’
‘Room service,’ she said, smiling back.
‘Mini bar,’ I said. We were so on the same level.
I took a peek inside the main tent as the others finished their bacon sandwiches and saw that TJ had been right. It didn’t seem to matter that it was raining outside. Amid the earthy smell of mud and wet bodies and clothes drying off, everyone looked happy enough, and the place was rocking to the sound of Blue Monday up on the stage. I took a leaflet from a guy dressed in a kilt and glanced at the line-up: The Local Heroes, Donkey Boys, Jellied Eels, Pelican Moon and Manic Zone had been on already. After Blue Monday, it was Club 4, the Lady Rebels, Izzie and me (we were billed simply as Izzie Foster and Becca Howard), Big Minging Momma, and then the grand finale, Sambuca, an eight-piece Latin groove ensemble.
My stomach seemed full of a thousand butterflies as I looked around and thought about the fact that within the next hour, I had to get up on stage and sing.
Suddenly I felt someone nudge me in the ribs. ‘Eyes left,’ said Lucy, appearing at my side. ‘Your poor, sad, ex-boyfriend. He looks soooo upset, like he’s missing you soooooo much.’
A stab of guilt hit me as I glanced over to where Lucy was looking, then I burst out laughing. In the middle of the dance floor were Lal and Shazza. They had their arms wrapped round each other, eyes closed and totally oblivious to the rest of the world as they snogged away.
‘You rotten thing,’ I said as I play-strangled her. ‘You had me going for a minute there.’
Lucy laughed. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Listen. I’ve been told to ask you to go back to the main entrance. There are some photographers there from the local paper who want to take some pics of you and Izzie.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said and turned to go.
‘Better take off your rain gear,’ said Lucy. ‘They won’t want to snap you in that.’
I took off my mac and cap, gave them to Lucy and dashed back to the main entrance. Izzie looked relieved to see me and grabbed my hand.
‘I was wondering where you’d got to. They want some pics of us outside in the rain with the hills and clouds in the distance. We should be OK if you tread carefully and we keep our umbrellas up.’
‘Should I change into my white boots?’ I asked.
Izzie shook her head. ‘No. Keep your wellies on. They’ll probably only do a head-and-shoulders shot.’
The photographer was beckoning to us, so we went out to meet him and he positioned us by a fence to the left of the main tent. As he snapped away, I noticed that Steve Lovering was busy taking photos of his own. To our right, the bunch of lads that we’d seen earlier with mud-smeared faces had now stripped off down to their underwear and were totally caked with mud from head to toe as they rolled and slid about in the puddles.
By this time, I had goose pimples all over, the rain was still lashing down and, even though we had the umbrella up, the rain was coming down at an angle and my jeans and top were getting wetter by the minute. I was glad I hadn’t worn my white boots, as they would have been totally ruined.
When the photographer had finished, he thanked us then turned to go and join Steve, who was taking shots of the boys larking about in the mud.
‘Let’s get back inside,’ urged Izzie.
I turned to follow her, but as I did, one of the mud boys slid down the hill and straight into the back of my knees. I buckled immediately on the impact, lost my grip on the umbrella and went flying. The umbrella flew off in a sudden gust of wind and I hit the ground, the boy landing on top of me a split second later.
‘Ohmigod!’ cried Izzie as she tried to push him off and help me up.
Another strong gust of wind blew her umbrella inside out and the boy she was trying to move aside slipped on to his back and his feet hit her on the side of the legs. Then she lost her balance and toppled on top of me.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ the boy blustered as I tried to get on to my knees. Izzie reached out to me and the boy tried to scramble away up the slope, but he slid back into us and knocked us both over again so that we were all lying on top of each other in a heap of wet bodies.
By this time, the rain had plastered my hai
r to my face and I could feel the sting of my mascara as it began to run down my cheeks. Izzie tried to get up again, but slipped further down the grassy hill and straight into a huge puddle of mud. Her mascara was also running and her hair stuck to her face, and there was mud smeared on her bare arms.
Izzie sat up, groaned and looked at her watch. ‘Oh, Christ,’ she said. ‘We’re on in ten minutes . . .’
I looked up at the sky, then around at the faces staring down at us with dismay. I glanced down at my clothes. My gorgeous white outfit was now dark brown.
‘I told you I should have worn black,’ I said as all my dreams of looking my glamorous best on stage drained away. I glanced over at Izzie, my sodden fellow rock chick, and burst out laughing.
Izzie burst out laughing too. As the rain continued to pelt down, we both turned our faces up to the sky, rose to our knees, opened our arms to the skies and let the rain wash over us.
‘If you can’t beat them, join them,’ said Izzie.
I suddenly became aware of Steve Lovering snapping away. So now I know how he sees me – a mud-coloured fool . . . Talk about humiliation, I thought, as he zoomed his camera in on me. How could I have ever imagined that he might fancy me? Well, I hoped he was having a good laugh as I tried to get up, slipped again and mud oozed through my fingers.
A few moments later, Izzie dragged me to my feet and, looking like two pathetic wet drips, we trooped back into the main tent.
Mac came running towards us. He looked horrified at our appearance. ‘Ohmigod. What happened? Zac’s looking for you. You’re on next. You can’t go on like that . . . You’re covered in mud.’
‘Oh really,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t noticed!’
‘It’s the new look,’ said Izzie. ‘And we haven’t got time to change.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Mac.
‘The show must go on,’ I said.
Izzie nodded. ‘Lead the way,’ she said and together we dripped our way up to the front.
Zac took one look at us and burst out laughing.
‘Don’t ask,’ I said.
‘Yeah, mud is the new black,’ said Izzie. ‘It’s the Queen Boudicca warrior-look.’
‘Very fetching and most authentic,’ said Zac. ‘Up you go, then . . .’
We made our way up on to the stage and stood at the microphones. A stunned silence fell in the tent.
‘Er . . . a funny thing happened on the way here,’ Izzie started.
‘And nobody can say that we don’t muck in,’ I said.
‘People have been asking what our stage name is,’ said Izzie. ‘We didn’t know until just now but we’ve decided to call ourselves the Sludge Buckets.’
Stage right, Zac clapped, then called out, ‘Let’s hear it for the Sludge Buckets!’
At the back, I could see Mac, Squidge and the others laughing and then they began to cheer. Soon the whole tent was cheering us. I turned to look at Izzie. She looked a total mess. Water was still dripping down her face in tiny rivulets. She looked over at me and burst out laughing. It felt exhilarating to be up there in front of so many people, not caring a blot about what I looked like. I was covered in mud, my make-up had run and somewhere along the way, I suddenly realised, I had managed to lose one of my wellies.
Izzie reached behind to the back of the stage where Zac had left her guitar ready for her. She slung it over her shoulder and began to play the opening chords to ‘Cosmic Kisses’. I took a deep breath, waited for my cue and then we both began to sing.
‘I’m sending you cosmic kisses straight from my heart;
A planet collision won’t tear us apart.
The distance between us is never too far;
I’ll hitch a ride on a comet to get where you are.’
The following morning, I got a call from Izzie.
‘Have you seen the paper?’ she asked.
‘No. Why?’
‘There’s a photo of you on the front.’
‘Me? But the guy took photos of both of us . . .’
‘Yeah. There are some more inside – loads from the festival, but the one on the front is of you on your own and it was taken when we were swimming in the mud.’
Oh God, I thought as I raced downstairs to find the paper. It’s going to be so humiliating. I’ll be the laughing stock of my year when I go back to school in September. I can just hear their comments: Failed in Pop Princess and now look at her . . . Oh God.
The paper was lying on the mat in the hall and I picked it up, took a deep breath and prepared myself for looking a fool. The shot of me took up a quarter of the page. But it wasn’t awful.
It was fabulous!
I looked like I was having the time of my life. My head was thrown back, my face turned up to the sky. The caption underneath read: Mud Princess.
Mum came down the stairs in her dressing gown and looked over my shoulders, then blinked. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s you . . . You look beautiful, Bec – really beautiful. Free and wild. That’s possibly the best picture I’ve ever seen of you. You have to get me a copy of the photograph.’ She screwed up her eyes to read the name of the photographer.
‘Steve someone,’ she said as she strained to read the small print.
I took the paper back from her and read the name. Steve Lovering, it said. Steve Lovering?
For a moment I didn’t know what to think. I went into the kitchen and put on the kettle to make Mum and myself a cup of tea and looked at the other photos from the festival. There was a whole selection, some by Steve, some by the man who had photographed Izzie and me before we fell over.
As the kettle was boiling, I heard the sound of the doorbell and Mum opening the door. A moment later, she appeared in the kitchen.
‘There’s a boy at the front door who says he’s got your welly. He says you lost it last night,’ she added, then started laughing. ‘It’s not exactly a glass slipper and he’s not exactly dressed as a prince, but he does look charming.’
I went out into the hall.
It was Steve.
The complete Cathy Hopkins collection
The MATES, DATES series
1. Mates, Dates and Inflatable Bras
2. Mates, Dates and Cosmic Kisses
3. Mates, Dates and Portobello Princesses
4. Mates, Dates and Sleepover Secrets
5. Mates, Dates and Sole Survivors
6. Mates, Dates and Mad Mistakes
7. Mates, Dates and Pulling Power
8. Mates, Dates and Tempting Trouble
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10. Mates, Dates and Chocolate Cheats
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Mates, Dates and Flirting
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Mates, Dates Guide to Life
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Mates, Dates Journal
The TRUTH, DARE, KISS, PROMISE series
1. White Lies and Barefaced Truths
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4. Starstruck
5. Double Dare
6. Midsummer Meltdown
7. Love Lottery
8. All Mates Together
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1.This Way to Paradise
2. Starting Over
3. Looking For a Hero
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