I started crying again.
I am the most horrid person that ever lived, I thought. Bad. Selfiiiiiiish. Self-obsesseeeed. And God . . . starv . . . ing!!
The aroma of frying bacon was wafting up the stairs.
Feed me. Feed me now! My film for the day was the Little Shop of Horrors and my role was that ever-hungry alien plant that demands food. Images of toast, coffee, muffins and peanut butter sailed in front of my eyes.
My stomach was growling and all further thoughts of contrition disappeared as I tried to think of a way of sneaking into the kitchen before the inevitable confrontation with Those Who Shall Be Obeyed. Parents.
I slipped into my dressing-gown and made my way into the kitchen. Mum, Dad and Tony were sitting like High Court judges on stools at the breakfast bar, staring at me as I crept in. No getting out of this, I thought.
‘Er, morning,’ I said as I tried to gauge the atmosphere. Something was going on, as Mum and Dad looked surprisingly cheerful considering that I’d done the technicolour yawn all over the hall the previous night. There was a bottle of what looked remarkably like champagne in an ice bucket. And a carton of orange juice! In front of Mum and Dad were two crystal glasses.
I went and sniffed a glass and the smell made me retch as it brought back last night.
‘Are you drinking Balloonis?’ I demanded.
‘No, Buck’s Fizz,’ said Mum.
‘Erlack, how could you? You’ll get an awful headache, you know!’
Dad laughed. ‘Actually, the word is Bellini. It’s champagne with peach juice – Buck’s Fizz is with orange.’
‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘But first thing in the morning? Gross.’
‘And good morning to you, sunshine,’ said Dad.
‘Actually, we’re celebrating,’ said Mum. ‘I would have told you last night but you’d already gone to bed by the time I was back. See the reason I couldn’t pick you up last night was because I was having dinner with the studio boss and . . .’
‘And?’ I asked.
‘And my contract has been renewed for another three years,’ grinned Mum. ‘Plus, they’ve given me a rise.’
I went over and gave her a hug. ‘That’s brilliant, Mum! Well done. So does that mean that everything’s going to be all right?’
‘For a while,’ said Dad, raising his glass. ‘Life goes on.’
Tony hadn’t said a word through all this. He was eating a bacon toastie and glowering at me through slit eyes.
Finally he couldn’t hold it in any longer. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing going off on your own last night? Me and Simon spent ages looking for you up and down Kentish Town Road. Anything could have happened . . .’
Oh God. Simon. I hadn’t even said goodbye to him. Might as well add his name to the ever-growing list of people who were mad with me.
‘I got the tube home,’ I said, eyeing up the pile of toast on the bar.
‘Well we didn’t know that. You said to Lucy that you were making your own way home.You weren’t answering your mobile. We didn’t know whether you’d tried to walk or get a bus or what . . .’
Mum and Dad nodded along with Tony. It was like he was the strict parent, not them.
‘It was far too late for someone of your age to be out on your own,’ continued Tony. ‘There are some real nutters on the streets.’
I decided not to argue. ‘Sorry’ I muttered and I reached out for a piece of toast.
‘Sore head?’ asked Dad.
I nodded. ‘Tanya gave me one of those things you’re drinking. I didn’t realise they were so strong.’
‘How many did you have?’
‘Er . . . three. And never again, I double promise,’ I said, turning to Tony. ‘Did Lucy or Izzie say anything? Are they speaking to me?’
‘Dunno,’ said Tony. ‘They went home with Lucy’s mum while Simon and I looked for you. You really don’t think, do you? That people might be worried.’
‘Bet Lucy and Izzie weren’t worried.’
‘Yeah. They did seem kind of mad,’ said Tony. ‘Specially Lucy.’
I poured a cup of coffee from the cafetière.
‘I’ll text message them right away,’ I said.
‘Chicken. Why don’t you ring or go round?’ asked Tony. ‘I think you owe them a face-to-face apology.’
I couldn’t. Not yet. I knew I couldn’t face them being mad, not today.
Later that afternoon, Dad came and tapped on my bedroom door.
I was still feeling icky and my head hurt, so I’d gone for a lie-down. He came in and sat at the end of the bed.
‘How’s my princess?’
‘Not great,’ I said. ‘Feels like a family of goblins in hobnailed boots are jumping about in my head.’
‘Do you want anything?’
‘No.’ I still wasn’t sure if I was going to get more of a telling-off so I decided that, if there was one coming, it was best to get it over with. ‘Aren’t you mad with me?’
Dad shook his head. ‘No, not mad, Nesta.’ Then he grinned. ‘Tony gave you enough of a roasting at breakfast. And I think you learnt your lesson as far as drink goes.’
‘First and last,’ I said.
‘I doubt it,’ said Dad. ‘But maybe wait until you’re a bit older before you go knocking back half a bottle of champagne, even if it is diluted with orange. Lesson one about drink – champagne gives a killer hangover to even the most hardy of drinkers. So lesson learnt. No, I’m not mad at you. More concerned than anything. Mum says you’ve been a bit down lately. And you sure looked bad last night.’
Dad was looking at me with such kindness that I felt tears well up in my eyes. His reaction was so unexpected. I thought I was in for a major grounding. Suddenly it all came pouring out and I told him all about the journey home and how scared I was and . . .
‘. . . and I’ve got this new boyfriend. But I think he only likes me because I’m a laugh. And sometimes I don’t feel like being a laugh. It’s exhausting, being the entertainment all the time . . .’
‘So be yourself,’ said Dad. ‘If he’s worth it he’ll stick around for the highs and the lows. Everyone has days when they feel a bit blue. It’s OK. It’s called being human. And if you’re going to have a relationship with someone, it’s important to feel comfortable enough to be real with them. Have you let this boy know how you feel?’
I shook my head. ‘No. He’s going to Courchevel soon. Skiing. And there was a spare place and he asked if I wanted to go . . . Oh, Dad, it’s been awful. He’s really rich and I haven’t been able to keep up.’
‘It sounds to me like you and he have some talking to do. Tell him who you are. How you feel. And if he stays around, great. If he doesn’t, he wasn’t worth it.’
He got up and walked over to my desk in the corner. I thought he was going to say something else, but he’d spotted the paper with the model agency ad circled. Oh no, I thought, don’t let him look at that. Too late. He sat down at my desk chair and read the ad.
I put my head under the pillow.
‘Oh, Nesta,’ he said. ‘You haven’t contacted these people, have you?’
I nodded my head under the pillow.
‘Did they ask for money?’ he asked slowly.
I gave a small nod.
‘Come out of there,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you something about these agencies. They make their money by exploiting young girls like you. Believe me, I know. I’ve worked with model agencies for over two decades and the good ones won’t ask you for money for registration or a portfolio. The good ones will see it as an investment in your future. These other places tell all sorts of kids they’ve got potential, but only to get their money out of them. They never get you real work.’
‘Sorry . . .’ I whispered.
‘Look, if modelling is so important to you, we’ll look into it when you’re sixteen.’
‘But I don’t want to be a model,’ I said. ‘I want to be an actress.’
‘So what’s with the ad in th
e paper?’
‘I wanted to earn some money. To help you and Mum out . . . And buy some clothes and stuff.’
Dad laughed. ‘Oh, Nesta. You don’t have to worry about us yet. Maybe when we’re old and dribbling but . . .’
‘But you haven’t got a film to work on, have you?’
‘There are a few possibilities around. I just don’t want to take the first thing that comes along,’ said Dad. ‘Plus, I’d like to work closer to home for a while, keep an eye on my wayward daughter. We’ll see. Nothing is ever certain in the film industry and if you want to be an actress, you’d better get used to that fact. Actors, like directors, aren’t always in work and you’re only ever as good as your last job. There’s an awful lot of talent out there that is, as we say, “resting” or in between jobs.’
‘You mean unemployed?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I hope something comes up for you, Dad.’
‘It will. It always has up until now,’ he smiled, ‘and in the meantime, there’s a certain young man I think you ought to talk to.’
After Dad had gone, I dialled Simon’s mobile number. The answering service was on.
I tried his home number.
‘He’s gone down to Wiltshire,’ said a voice I didn’t recognise.
Course. I’d forgotten. He’d told me on the night of the gig that he was going down to the country house for a few days.
I decided I’d send him an e-mail.
Hi Simon,
I’m writing this to you to say goodbye for ever.
Also to apologise for last night. Tony told me that you were looking for me. I am sorry if you were worried, but I got home safe then threw up all over the hall. Mum and Dad were really chilled about it.
I can’t come to Courchevel. My family isn’t as rich as yours and at the moment we can’t afford extras like skiing trips.
That’s why I think it’s best if we say goodbye. I can’t keep up with all the things you do, like skiing and horse-riding. Not on the pocket money I get.
And not being able to keep up makes me miserable. Talking of which, I do. Get miserable sometimes, that is. In fact, some days I can be grumpy and horrid. Downright repugnant. In the weeks I’ve known you, I don’t think you have seen the real me. You said you liked me because I was so confident and funny. Well now you know the truth. I’m not like that all the time.
Sorry about everything. And maybe we can still text message sometimes.
Lots of love and, as Ali G says, keep it real.
Nesta.
Before I could change my mind, I pressed ‘Send’ and off it went.
Nesta’s Diary
After breakfast, I sent both Izzie and Lucy the same message:
RUStlFrnds?
No reply
So I sent:
%*@: -( hungover
:-[ unhappy
SrySrySry
No reply
So then I sent:
:-C really unhappy
:-/ confused
:"-( crying
IluvU
SrySrySry
No reply.
E-mailed Simon to say goodbye. Kind of hoped that he’d do something extraordinary like abseil down the side of our flat with a box of Black Magic and declare his undying love and say that he’ll never let me go. Or stand outside my window with a guitar singing a love song.
But no such luck.
No reply from Simon. No reply from Lucy or Izzie.
So that’s it. No girlfriends. No boyfriend.
My life is over.
Chapter 13
‘For heaven’s sake, go round,’ said Mum after two days of me moping about the flat. ‘When does term start again? I can’t wait. Go. Apologise. Make up.’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘I was just hoping that, well, they might have replied to one of my text messages or something.’
‘And what about Simon? Any word from him?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I don’t expect I’ll ever hear from him again either.’
‘But I thought you liked him?
‘I did. I do. But . . . I don’t think he’d like me if he really knew me.’
‘Have you given him a chance?’
‘Sort of. I was really honest in my e-mail. But he hasn’t replied. Nobody likes me any more.’
Mum came and gave me a big hug. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘In fact, I love you. Now, go on, phone your friends.’
I took a deep breath and went to the phone. I dialled Izzie’s number first.
‘She’s gone to Camden Lock with Lucy,’ said Mrs Foster.
‘Thanks,’ I said and put down the phone. Out having fun without me. It was too much. I couldn’t let it go on.
‘Mum. They’re at the Lock,’ I called from the hall. ‘I’m going to look for them.’
‘Good for you,’ said Mum, getting her purse. ‘And here’s a little spending money. Get yourself something you like while you’re down there.’
Twenty quid! I gave Mum a hug. Happiness is some dosh in your pocket and permission to spend, I thought, as I set off for the tube.
As usual, the Lock was heaving with people. I decided to try Cyberdog first as Izzie and Lucy might be visiting Ben.
‘Ben? Nah, he’s not in today,’ said one of the alien mutants who worked there.
I had a quick look round to see if the girls were there anyway, but there was no sign of them. May as well have a quick look at the clothes while I’m here, I thought, as I saw the rails of clothes and jewellery. On display there was a choker like the one Ben had borrowed for Izzie. Transparent turquoise with studs on it. I tried it on and it looked stunning. Then a little voice in my head said, buy it for Izzie. That’s it! I realised. I’ll use the money from Mum to buy something for Iz and Lucy. Then, if I don’t find them, I’ll go round and beg forgiveness.
I quickly bought the choker for Izzie, then went to look for something for Lucy. I wasn’t sure Cyberdog was her style so I went to look at some of the stalls in the main courtyard. There were some brilliant T-shirts for sale. I flicked through the rails trying to decide which one Lucy might like.
One said, ‘If you think I’m a bitch, wait until you meet my mother’.
Another, ‘www.whassup.com’.
Another said, ‘Mad Cow’. Probably not appropriate to give to a friend who I’m trying to make up with, I thought. Nor was the next one. That said, ‘I hate everyone and you’re next’.
Then I saw one that was perfect for Lucy. It had two inky hands positioned right over the boobs. She has a hang-up about being flat-chested and this would make her laugh.
I paid the stall owner and made my way through the rest of the stalls. I spent over an hour looking everywhere for Lucy and Izzie but there was no sign. I looked in the indoor and outdoor market.
By the entrance to the indoor market was a stall selling T-shirts and a huge sign saying that you could make up your own slogan. Five pounds.
A current trend going round school was to have the name of an opponent or rival written on your chest. I could have Jennifer Lopez written on one for Izzie and Stella McCartney for Lucy. I looked in my purse, but didn’t have enough left. Another time, I thought.
I had four pounds fifty left, so I went and bought an Easter egg instead, then took a deep breath and phoned Lucy’s.
Her brother Steve answered. ‘Er, is Lucy back yet?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just a . . .’
‘No, no Steve, don’t call her. Is Izzie there as well?’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK, don’t tell them I called, OK?’
‘OK.’
Half an hour later, I rang the doorbell at Lucy’s house and Steve let me in. ‘They’re in the bedroom,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I said and crept up the stairs.
Should I knock or just burst in? I stood at the top of the stairs wondering what was the best plan of action. Maybe I should listen at the door for a moment? No. Bad idea, I thought. Last time I eavesdropped I heard Cres
sida calling me a zebra. No, there was only one way forward. I must think of a character from a film that I can be. Someone who needs to grovel . . .
Got it! I thought, and got down on my knees. I opened the door and crawled in.
‘I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy,’ I said, prostrating myself at their feet. My film for today was Wayne’s World. In it, Wayne and his mate Garth kneel and bow in front of their rock idol, Alice Cooper.
Lucy and Izzie looked very surprised to see me and exchanged looks.
‘What on earth are you doing, Nesta?’ asked Izzie.
Maybe she hasn’t seen Wayne’s World, I thought, as I got up off the floor. ‘Er, throwing myself on your mercy,’ I said. ‘Admitting that I am the lowest of the low, an amoeba. The slime on an amoeba. The slime on the slime of an amoeba. Please guys. I miss you so much. And I know I blew it. And the way I behaved at the gig was unforgivable. I’m so sorry. Please be my friends again. I brought presents and everything . . .’
I handed them the choker, the T-shirt and the Easter egg.
‘Please. Sorry,’ I continued. ‘Buddhists are into forgiveness, aren’t they? Izzie. Huh? Guys? I know I am the worst friend in the whole world. Truly horrid and I beg you to have mercy on me and . . .’
Izzie and Lucy burst out laughing. ‘We were just about to call you,’ said Izzie. ‘We miss you too.’
‘And we know it wasn’t all your fault,’ said Lucy. ‘You were upset after those things WC said about you. And then the champagne . . .’
‘But that was such a show you just put on,’ laughed Izzie. ‘We couldn’t possibly have interrupted.’
I sank on to the bed. Happy happy.
‘And we have a pressie for you,’ said Izzie, grinning wickedly. ‘We were down the Lock and saw this T-shirt stall that does slogans.’
‘I saw it,’ I gasped. ‘I was going to have some done but I’d run out of money . . .’
‘Well we had one done for you,’ said Izzie, pulling out a bag and handing it to me.
Lucy was grinning like a maniac.
I pulled out the T-shirt and burst out laughing when I saw what they’d had written on the front.
Mates, Dates and Portobello Princesses Page 10
