She looks at me with enormous eyes. ‘Sam and Maria are officially together now. Did you know?’
I think about the suction-pump action I just witnessed by the auditorium doors. ‘You told me yesterday.’
‘I can’t do a show with them in it,’ she groans. ‘It’s hard enough seeing them together at college. She puts her hand under his T-shirt in Music Theory.’
‘Don’t be so wet,’ I say, determined to jolt her out of this. ‘Is this the girl who once ran topless down Leasford Hill? Who can limbo like a gymnast? Who can breathe through her eyeballs?’
‘I can’t breathe through my eyeballs,’ Tabby protests. ‘I can just make a weird squeaky noise.’
I take a slug of her orange juice, bang the glass down. ‘Don’t you realize, it’s actually better if Sam’s in the show? You can kiss Jem right under his nose. You’ll drive Sam crazy with jealousy and he’ll come running back with Maria looking on, helpless in the face of your mutual passion. Your reunion will be monumental. Everyone knows that make-up kissing is the best kind. And make-up kissing with the full welly of Aphrodite’s Kiss behind it? You’ll knock him off his feet.’
Tab’s eyes flicker. ‘You don’t believe in Aphrodite’s Kiss.’
‘But you do.’
She drops into my lap like a ripe plum from a tree. ‘Oh my God,’ she says in wonder. ‘This could be epic.’
I pat her on the shoulder. I have done what I can. ‘Now finish up your drink and let’s go.’
Tabby knocks back the remainder of her drink and stands up, smoothing her outfit down her tummy and tugging her skirt down to a moderate length. Her fingers stop as she clocks Sam and Maria at the bar, metres away from us. Sam glances across semi-casually. There is an agonising pause.
‘You’re Sam, right?’ I say brightly, deciding to get things moving. ‘We haven’t met properly. I’m Delilah.’
‘And I’m the guy who kissed your ex-girlfriend,’ Jem puts in helpfully across the bar.
‘I know,’ says Sam in a voice as thin as finely-sliced ham.
Maria pokes him in the arm. ‘Here’s your Coke, Sammy. Let’s get that table.’
‘Your audition sounded good,’ says Sam, looking at Tabby again.
‘The director seemed to like it,’ Tabby says in a remarkably airy voice. For extra points, she shoots a smouldering look across the bar at Jem. ‘I really hope I get a part.’
‘I’d give you one,’ says Jem.
‘Unfortunately it’s not up to you, Shoulders,’ says Tabby flirtatiously.
Sam looks like a rabbit teetering on the brink of Niagara Falls.
‘Babe,’ says Maria in a loud voice from a corner table. ‘I’m over here.’
Sam does a sort of head-ducking thing at me and Tab, fires another poisonous look at Jem and goes to join his girlfriend.
‘You were cold, Tab,’ I say wonderingly. ‘Like ice. I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘Nor did I,’ says Tab, sounding a little dazed. ‘Do you think we should leave now? You know, go out on a high?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say.
Linking arms with her, I propel us both across the carpet. I’m not sure why I turn my head back as we reach the double doors, but I do. Almost instantly I wish I hadn’t.
Jem is resting his arms on the bar top, his eyes fixed appreciatively on my best friend’s backside.
‘I don’t think kissing Jem tonight is such a great idea,’ I begin as a specs-free Tabby fixes her lippy in the mirror two days later in preparation for her first Musical in a Month rehearsal. To her amazement but not mine, she’s bagged the role of Miss Prissy-pants Hero and has been called to the Gaslight tonight at seven for a read-through. Sam and Maria are Benedick and Beatrice. The evening that lies ahead promises fun for all the family.
I don’t know if I’ll be allowed in, not being in the show myself, but Tab and I have decided that if I need a reason for my presence I will simply say I work there. It isn’t a lie, although nor is it technically true on Thursdays. Jem would be proud of me.
‘He’s friends with a drug dealer and his eyes were all over your bum on Tuesday. I think you should just gun for Sam,’ I continue. ‘I don’t think he’ll take a lot of persuasion.’
Tabby caps her lippy with a firm popping action. ‘I’m sticking with the plan, Lilah. Time check?’
Something about my friend seems different tonight. Like she’s discovered some kind of superpower. Not for nothing is her character called Hero.
‘I’m serious about this, hon—’ I say.
‘Chill out, will you?’ Tab interrupts a little crossly. ‘We already discussed everything and you said you were fine with it. You can’t turn round and change things now. For the hundredth time, Jem’s just a means to an end. The more I read about Aphrodite’s Kiss – and I’ve been reading a lot – the more convinced I am that there’s something in it.’
‘AND you need a full moon,’ I go on doggedly. ‘The next one’s not for three weeks.’
‘You don’t actually need the moon. Not according to the stuff I’ve been reading. It just sharpens things up. A hot guy like Jem isn’t going to hold on to the Kiss for long, so if I don’t get in there quickly, I’ll lose it to someone else and then where will we be?’
I’m not conveying this very well.
‘I’m worried about you,’ I persist, following her through the swinging doors and back into the college corridor. ‘Jem’s an operator. Before you know it, he’ll be having sex with you outside by the theatre bins.’
Tabby looks aghast. ‘What kind of girl do you think I am?’
‘A lovely girl,’ I say hurriedly. ‘A pretty, kind, naïve girl – and I mean that in a really nice way.’
She glares. ‘Don’t patronize me, Delilah. Having sex with Frenchmen in sand dunes doesn’t give you the right to dictate my love life.’
I feel like my teddy bear has just grown fangs. ‘W . . . what?’
She marches through the main doors and on to the street.
‘Hey!’ I say furiously, following her. ‘First of all, I didn’t have sex with Laurent. You don’t rush into these things. After Dave—’
Tabby swings back to face me. ‘OK, so Dave was the perfect boyfriend but in the end he dumped you, Delilah. Was it because you tried to run his life too? You never did explain.’
‘You asked me to help!’ I splutter.
‘And now I’m telling you to stop! I’m sixteen, I have a plan, and I need to take control of my life my own way, however dumb it seems to you or to anyone else.’
We stare at each other. My first thought, irrationally, is how much Jem would be enjoying this. So much for the tree and the bicycle. Mother Duck. Tectonic plates shift, creak and settle.
‘So,’ says Tab more quietly. ‘You still coming to this rehearsal or what?’
‘Why should I,’ I mutter. ‘My advice is clearly not wanted.’
I stay by her side. We walk towards the Gaslight in silence. Two parts of my brain are wrestling like snakes in a trap. I’ve created a monster, complains one part. Get over yourself, states the other, with considerable scorn. You’re not God.
I catch her by the arm as the Gaslight comes into view. ‘Just . . . don’t get carried away,’ I say lamely. ‘Eyes on the prize.’
Tabby squeezes me in a bone-crunching hug. ‘I’m sorry, Lilah,’ she says, sounding appalled at herself. ‘I shouldn’t have said all that. It’s just – for once in our lives, we don’t agree about something. Are you OK?’
No, but hey.
Lots of people are milling around the Gaslight lobby – old people, middle-aged people, normal people. The director is talking to a cluster by the auditorium doors. Sam and Maria are by the bar, chatting to the red-haired clipboard woman from the auditions while Val pumps beer and d
istributes peanuts and bottled water. Others are starting polite little conversations with each other about the show.
Tab scans the room anxiously. ‘Jem works on Thursdays, right? You met him here this time last week, right?’
‘Ah,’ I say, remembering with a mild flash of relief. ‘He does a half-shift arrangement so he can do his body-painting on Thursdays.’
Tabby deflates on my arm like a sad balloon.
‘He’ll be back by nine,’ I add.
‘Nine’s too late! I need to boost my confidence before we start rehearsing!’
The spotty kid who was behind us at the auditions comes over. He looks directly at Tab’s chest. ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m Warren and I’m playing Claudio.’
Tab lifts her bag to shield her cleavage. ‘Er . . . hi.’
‘See you both later.’ Warren adjusts the collar on his unpleasantly transparent T-shirt and wanders off.
‘By “both”, did he mean your boobs?’ I ask.
‘That guy’s playing Claudio? Just my luck. I should have come in a hoodie,’ Tabby moans. ‘But I didn’t think Jem would look at me in a hoodie.’
I want to laugh but I don’t dare. ‘You wanted a confidence boost.’
‘That wasn’t it,’ she mutters.
‘Tabitha!’ The director is hobbling towards us. ‘Welcome to the company. You’re going to be tip-top as Hero.’
‘Hi Desmond,’ says Tabby, looking pleased and flustered as she shakes his gnarled hand. He smells of cigarettes
and hair oil.
‘I work here,’ I supply on cue as he looks at me.
Nodding politely and flashing me a set of yellow tombstone teeth, he turns back to Tab. ‘Read-through starts in five minutes in the auditorium.’
‘Better get in there and nab a place as far away from those two as possible,’ says Tab, shooting a dark look at Sam and Maria as the director moves away. ‘Please say you’ll stay until we break at nine? I can’t do this without you there to back me up.’
With a huge and heroic effort, I mentally slice two hours off my night and choose not to remind her about the whole ‘I’m running my own life’ thing she threw at me half an hour ago. ‘That’s what friends are for,’ I say.
My old phone is too slow for Instagram, so after rifling through the magazine rack on the wall, I find a dog-eared edition of New Scientist and settle down on the sofa by the double doors to wait. It’s a pleasant enough way to spend an hour or so, when I can stop the more troubling thoughts from taking over my brain. Tabby doesn’t know the half of it.
‘Hey.’
I pull myself from the underwater world I’ve been reading about. Jem is looking down at me with half his face missing. Behind him, the lobby clock states that it has just gone eight-thirty.
‘You’re early,’ I say, gazing at the flaps of zombie skin that appear to be peeling off his cheek and revealing the bones beneath.
‘I’m usually back around now unless something else intervenes. Nine’s just the cut-off point. What are you reading?’
I am remembering a little too clearly how I intervened last Thursday evening. ‘An article about deep-sea squid sex,’ I say, still staring at his face.
Jem guffaws.
‘It’s interesting,’ I insist, wishing I’d chosen to start a conversation about something else but doing the best with what I have. ‘The male lies upside down and back to front on top of the female, and holds on to her head with his tentacles to stop her eating him while he fertilizes her. They only discovered this a couple of years ago because the squid live so deep underwater.’
He looks enchanted. ‘Are you serious?’
‘No. I just go around making up random cephalopod sex facts to impress half-zombies.’ Bantering feels easier than normal, thanks to his beautiful face looking like a road accident.
‘You’re pretty funny for a hot chick.’
‘You’re entirely hilarious for a dead guy.’
He sits down on the sofa, the unpainted side of his face towards me and his leg warm against mine. He studies the magazine in my hands. ‘What else is in there?’
The banter god abandons me like a dog on a motorway. ‘Just nerdy science stuff,’ I mumble.
‘Impress me.’
I swallow and wish he wasn’t sitting so close. ‘A global mercury treaty. A four-stranded version of DNA that may have something to do with cancer.’
‘How many strands does DNA normally have?’
‘I’ve never met a guy who asks questions like you do,’ I say helplessly. ‘Are you genuinely interested, or just annoying?’
‘I spent more time out of school than in it.’ Idly he picks up one of my curls and twiddles it round his fingers. ‘It’s only after something’s gone that you realize you may have missed out.’
It isn’t fair. How can he look like a nightmare and yet still be this hot?
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ he asks, still twiddling. ‘Val give you an extra shift without telling me?’
‘Tab’s first rehearsal. Moral support,’ I say, unable to speak in proper sentences.
‘And are—’
‘Angry boyfriend plus new girlfriend are here as well, yes.’
He replaces the curl on my shoulder and absently starts stroking my earlobe instead. ‘So what’s the plan? I’m guessing you and her have a plan.’
I stand up. ‘The plan is that you don’t do stuff like stroke my ears.’
He raises his hands apologetically. ‘Totally subconscious. Sorry.’
I order my heart to stop thumping. ‘Do you plan to terrify everyone when they get out of the auditorium or are you going to wash your face?’
Tilting his head, he examines his reflection in the plate-glass window behind the sofa. ‘I don’t suppose this show has zombies in it?’
‘Might improve it,’ I say. ‘But sadly it’s directed by an old man for an audience with an average age of sixty-five. You’re more likely to send them all screaming for the doors than commissioning you to do the make-up.’
‘Better put my pretty face back on then.’ He gives me a slow half-skull smile as he unfolds himself from the sofa. The effect is horrific.
‘Any good-looking women in the cast more likely to fall for my boyish charms than you?’ he asks when he is upright.
I probably should mention Tab here. I don’t.
‘Depends how choosy you are,’ I say, folding my arms across my chest.
‘Get back here, Jem!’ Val calls. ‘We have ten minutes to change a barrel before all hell breaks loose.’
Jem does a surprising thing. Encircling my wrists with his fingers he pulls them downwards, placing my arms back by my sides; unlocking me.
‘We’re not all like your ex-boyfriend, you know,’ he says.
As he heads for the bar, people start coming into the lobby, checking their watches: partners, family, friends, all rolling in for a first post-rehearsal drink with the cast. In a matter of minutes, the auditorium doors crash open and a herd of people gallop towards the bar like pigs towards a feeding trough. The volume of noise goes through the roof.
‘Lilah, it was brilliant!’ Tab is before me, her eyes glowing. She is clutching a book of music. ‘I’ve got the best songs. And the dialogue is really funny once you get past how wet Hero is. And the others are all lovely, apart from Witch Knickers and Warren who’s totally as creepy as we thought. Desmond’s actually directed Les Mis! The repetiteur is the red-haired lady and she’s called Honor and she’s awesome! I can’t believe we’ve only got a month to put it together. Desmond wants us three times a week from next week, plus extra rehearsals for soloists.’
Jem is serving efficiently, all evidence of facepaint gone. Already a cluster of girls are colonizing his end of the bar. ‘I won’t ask what a repetiteur is,
’ I say, because it’s important to muster something resembling conversation for my best friend. We’re not all like your ex-boyfriend, you know. ‘Do you want a drink?’
‘I’ll get it,’ Tabby says meaningfully.
The action at the bar is as good as a show itself. Sam is already nursing a Coke at a table. Warren is at the end of the bar trying to look down Maria’s shirt while she flirts with Jem. Tabby is being bounced around like a pinball, dropping out of the pressing crowd and jumping back in again with renewed enthusiasm for the game. Desmond the director and Honor the vocal coach are comparing notes with a bottle of red wine and no doubt a nice selection of heart pills. Two good-looking dark-haired guys are clearly into each other over a shared bag of Monster Munch. Older members of the cast sit together by the fruities, nursing pints of bitter and glasses of wine and considering their raucous comrades with curiosity. I feel left out.
‘Pineapple juice,’ Tabby gasps ten minutes later, plonking a half-slopped glass in front of me. ‘I’ve got it too. It’s meant to be good for the voice. Sam’s looking completely miserable, don’t you think?’
‘Warren alert,’ I warn in a low voice.
Warren’s T-shirt is more transparent than ever, thanks to the large, fresh sweat patches front and back. ‘Can I join you?’ he asks.
A kind of madness descends on me like a mist. ‘I haven’t seen my girlfriend in two hours,’ I say, and take Tab’s hand. ‘We’d like some privacy if you don’t mind.’
‘Lilah, you’re so naughty,’ Tab giggles as Warren blushes and leaves. ‘I’m now going to get a reputation as the cast lesbian. I couldn’t get anywhere near Jem just now. Sam being here’s making me really nervous. It feels like I’m being unfaithful all over again every time I look in Jem’s direction. I don’t know how I did it at the college party.’
‘Alcohol,’ I remind her.
‘That must have been it. I’ll have to start smuggling vodka into rehearsals in my water bottle.’ She brightens at the thought. ‘Not a bad idea, actually. We’re rehearsing Thursdays, Fridays AND Saturdays from next week – that’s good, isn’t it? When you’re on the bar you can keep everyone else at bay while I try Jem again.’
The Kiss Page 8
