Stars

by Sophia Bennett

  ‘Is she . . . ?’ I whisper.

  Edie shakes her head. ‘I thought so. That’s why I called you. But they found a pulse. Look, I’d better go with them.’

  She’s anxious and distracted. She heads off after the paramedics, but they tell her to go home and get some rest. Everything’s under control. She tries to insist on going in the ambulance, but they won’t let her.

  ‘Look, love, there’s nothing more you can do. We’ll look after her. Best if you leave us to it.’

  They carefully manoevre the stretcher down the stairs. Edie looks so panic-stricken that Harry says, ‘Why don’t Nonie and I drive you to the hospital? Then you can check she’s OK. And we can drive you home.’

  Slowly the panic starts to fade from Edie’s face.

  ‘Are you sure? Don’t you have loads to do?’

  ‘Nothing more important than this,’ Harry assures her.

  We head quickly for the car and make it to the hospital not long after the ambulance. Then comes the long wait, in various different queues, until we find out where they’ve taken Gloria and how she is. Slumped in a chair in a badly lit waiting room with a hot cup of tea, Edie explains what happened.

  ‘The phone rang last night. It was this weird call. Nobody said anything. Just breathing. And I messed up finding the number. Then I woke up in the night and I realised – it must have been Gloria. I dashed over to the flat, but it was too late. There were pills and bottles everywhere. She was lying in the bed and she’d been sick. I don’t know when she took them, but by the time I got there she wasn’t moving. I tried to wake her but I couldn’t. I thought . . . I thought . . .’

  I put my arm around her. Harry gently takes her tea off her and holds her little hand in his big one. She cries quietly, but for a long time, her body shaking with the sobs. We sit with her until she feels a bit better, and then some more, until a male nurse eventually comes over and asks us to follow him. By this time, I have flicked through more celebrity magazines than I’ve previously read in a lifetime and know about every diet and every broken marriage in the history of Hollywood. I also know it will be a while before I drink hot tea from a vending machine again.

  ‘She’s over there,’ the nurse says. He points us in the direction of a large ward with several beds in it. Gloria is in the furthest one, screened by some inappropriately cheerful yellow curtains. Her eyes are still closed but her face looks slightly less grey. There’s a drip in her arm and wires attaching her to a monitor that’s busy flashing meaningless numbers.

  The nurse has already gone. After staring at Gloria for a while, we find some female nurses sitting round a table at the entrance to the ward, chatting. Harry goes over to them. Instantly, they all look up, stop talking and flash broad smiles. The Harry effect. Even when he’s wearing last night’s tee-shirt and hasn’t brushed his teeth. I don’t know how he does it, but I wish he’d give some of it to me.

  After a couple of minutes of questions from Harry and adoring gazes from the nurses, he comes back over to Edie and me.

  ‘She’s stable. The fact that she was sick saved her. That and you getting there, Edie. She’ll be OK, but it’ll take time.’

  He hesitates. There’s something else, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to tell us.

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘Whatever it is – I think we should know.’

  At first he shakes his head, but Edie and I as combined forces are hard to resist. Eventually he gives in.

  ‘They said that in this sort of case she’s likely to try again. We need to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘Oh!’

  There’s a gasp from Edie. I wonder if she’s going to cry again, but she doesn’t. Instead, she bites her lip and goes very still. I put my arm around her and help her back to the car. I’m so glad we’ve got Harry with us to worry about all the practical stuff like paying for parking and negotiating a way through the busy London traffic.

  We take Edie back to her house. We’re expecting it to be empty, but to our surprise, her whole family is there. In the hall, her mum folds Edie into her arms and starts crying.

  ‘Thank God you’re safe, darling,’ she says. ‘We’ve been so worried. I tried calling you the minute I got your message. We came back straight away, but we didn’t know where you were or how to find you.’

  She looks up at Harry and me.

  ‘I can’t thank you both enough. You must be exhausted. Come and have a cup of tea.’

  We all troop into Edie’s kitchen, where her mum bustles around making drinks for everyone. I don’t think I can face another cup of tea right now, until one’s put in front of me with a big spoonful of sugar in it. I don’t normally have sugar in tea, but the sweetness turns out to be just what I need. And Edie’s mum’s right. I do suddenly feel exhausted. Even though I’ve spent most of the last few hours just sitting around waiting for things to happen in the hospital, it’s been more tiring than I realised.

  ‘What happened?’ Edie’s brother Jake asks. His eyes are wide. ‘Did she die, that lady?’

  Harry smiles gently. ‘No, she didn’t. She’s going to be fine, actually. Your sister’s a real hero.’

  I don’t even need to look at Edie. I know how pink her cheeks will be. She’s got her head down anyway, hiding her face with her fringe while she checks her phone for all the texts and messages she’s missed from home while we were at the hospital.

  ‘Sorry about the Scout thing,’ I say to Jake. ‘Did you miss much of it?’

  ‘Most of it,’ he shrugs. ‘But we wanted to check Edie was OK. Mum said Edie sounded really upset in her message. And then Mum started crying. And Dad looked really upset too. And I didn’t really feel like doing scouts anyway after that.’

  ‘Oh, Jake,’ his mum says, looking mortified.

  Harry and I catch each other’s eye. He has the ghost of a smile, but he’s trying to hide it. I guess he’s touched, like I am, by the way Edie’s family sticks together in a crisis. How kind they all are. How easily her mum gets embarrassed. They’re not like our family at all, but they’re great.

  ‘Well, I’d better be going,’ Harry says eventually. ‘There’s this thing I was supposed to be at . . .’

  Edie glances up from under her fringe and puts her phone on the table.

  ‘Er, thanks,’ she says. ‘For everything, Harry. Thanks very much.’

  She stands up. Harry goes round to say goodbye. She sticks her hand out to shake his, but he’s already leaning in for a quick hug, so she gets him in the stomach with her pointy fingers. Harry laughs and gives her a very formal handshake and a bow. She looks just as mortified as her mum did earlier.

  On the sofa later, watching old episodes of Glee with Edie and Jake, I can’t help wondering about our families. I can’t possibly imagine Mum dropping everything to come and rescue me from some emergency. But on the other hand, we’re natural huggers.

  And thinking about hugging reminds me of kissing. Which naturally leads me to thoughts about Liam. I get my phone out and stare at it. Do I dare text him? Lately, we’ve only texted about practical stuff like meeting arrangements. Is it a bit too much for a girl to text a boy when she wants to talk about something terrible that’s just happened? Will he think I’m getting serious, and go off me instantly?

  I decide I’ll have to risk it, but keep it as light and vague as possible. I think about what to say for a full episode of Glee, going through the various options until I finally come up with: ‘Are you around?’

  I wait. And wait. And no text comes back. Greeaat.

  Then, just as I’m about to leave Edie’s and go back home, something comes through.

  ‘Sorry babe. Working for my dad today. Hope you’re ok. Miss you x’

  I keep staring. It’s hardly Shakespeare. But it uses the words ‘babe’, and ‘miss you’ and ‘x’. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a Jane Austen novel – with a happy ending. Despite the day, and the memory of Gloria’s grey face on the stretcher, it fills me with a warm glow that starts in my tumm
y and spreads out to my earlobes.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK to go home now?’ Edie’s mum asks, checking me for signs of stress. But suddenly, they’ve gone.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I assure her, truthfully. ‘Absolutely fine.’

  They keep Gloria in hospital for a week, to start her on some medication and to keep an eye on her. Edie visits her every day, and Harry pops in too. I manage to go a couple of times, but the rest of my time is taken up with revising or thinking about Liam, texting Liam, receiving texts from Liam, seeing him in class or generally wondering when the next kissing goodbye opportunity will arise.

  I know Edie’s called Jenny to tell her the news. I don’t know what Jenny said, but it obviously wasn’t what Edie wanted to hear. Her face clouds over whenever Jenny’s name is mentioned.

  I call Crow to let her know what’s happened. I haven’t seen her since before term began and I’m really missing the sight of her light in the basement workroom. More than anything, I just want to talk to her.

  ‘It’s sort of good news, in a way,’ I explain. I don’t want to alarm Crow too much. ‘Gloria’s agreed to see a therapist and talk things through. Plus she’s going to let social services visit, so Edie won’t have to go round so often.’

  ‘Good,’ Crow says.

  There’s a bit of silence, while we both work out what to say next. Crow and telephones don’t mix brilliantly.

  ‘Er, did you get my email?’ I ask, eventually.

  I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while. I sent the email ages ago. Since then I’ve been a bit busy with Liam and kisses and Gloria and stuff, but at the back of my mind I’ve still been worrying about Crow’s total lack of contact. I thought she liked emailing these days.

  ‘What email?’ she asks.

  FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE!

  ‘The one about the MIMOs. The one about your sketches for cotton print dresses,’ I say, crossly. The one about her whole new career as an international designer! Honestly! What email does she think it would be?

  ‘Mee-mos? Oh, that,’ she says. ‘I remember. Those sketches were just stuff I did when I was supposed to be revising for maths. I didn’t expect anyone to see them.’ She sounds guilty again, which is how I feel.

  ‘I’m sorry I sent them without asking you. But it seemed such a shame to waste them. I was so sure the MIMOs would be really excited about them.’

  ‘I’m glad you liked them.’

  ‘The MIMOs? I thought they were a bit weird, but—’

  ‘No, the sketches,’ she says. ‘I liked the way you described them.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I thought they were amazing. But what I think doesn’t matter any more. You need to talk to the MIMOs direct. I sent you their details. Promise me you’ll talk to them, Crow? Promise?’

  ‘OK.’ She sounds unconvinced. Maybe she has something totally different in mind. But I so want to be able to help her. I want it to be my thing she does. Not whatever else she’s thinking of.

  ‘How’s your family?’ I ask, as an afterthought. I’d hate her to think I’m just obsessed with her sketches. Although I suppose I am.

  She sighs down the phone.

  ‘It’s difficult. Now Edie’s stopped doing her website, there’s not so much money for the school back home. Please don’t tell her, I know it will make her sad, but she was so good at raising money. Now it’s harder for my dad to buy books. And maybe they won’t be able to pay Henry to be a new teacher after all. So I’m designing some fabrics for the school bags because they say if the bags have my name on, they’re easier to sell. But you mustn’t worry, Nonie. I wasn’t going to tell you . . .’

  I’m so shocked I don’t know what to say. She wasn’t going to tell me? Why? Has she given up talking to me altogether? I have no idea how to end the conversation. I can hear a sort of judder in my voice as I say goodbye. I’ve obviously done something terribly wrong. Was it sending off the sketches, after all? I’m not sure. I’m not really sure about anything Crow-related any more.

  Even Mum notices something’s up. She’s spotted that Crow’s hardly around at the moment, at least.

  ‘That girl’s working too hard,’ she says one day. ‘She needs some fun.’

  WHAT? This, from the woman who would physically chain me to my laptop if she knew how. I say nothing.

  ‘It’s her birthday soon, isn’t it? Her sixteenth?’

  I nod.

  ‘Sixteen’s a big deal,’ Mum goes on. ‘I’m sure if she was at home, her family would do something to mark the occasion. And Crow’s never really celebrated, has she?’

  This is true. Up to now, we’ve normally been busy doing a collection or something and she hasn’t had much time to think about it. It only highlights what a fashion desert this year has become.

  ‘I’m happy to organise something for her,’ Mum offers. ‘If she wants. Can you find out what she’d like?’

  I try and think of an excuse not to call her, but I can’t come up with anything, and besides, just because she doesn’t want to talk to me, that doesn’t mean she should miss out on a birthday party. So I call, and it’s as if nothing ever happened. She’s thrilled by the party idea and very grateful to Mum. I’m more confused than ever, but glad that Crow still gets on with at least one member of my family.

  They decide on a grown-up dinner party, with close friends and family members. Mum suggests going to a posh restaurant in Mayfair. I’m not sure why. Our kitchen is perfectly good enough. But Crow loves the idea. And I suddenly realise that I really, really need somebody else to be there too.

  ‘Would you come?’ I ask Liam after French. ‘It will be truly awful. I mean, lovely for Crow, but full of my family. And they’ll probably ask you the most embarrassing questions. But . . . well, I don’t want to be there on my own.’

  I know this is putting pressure on him, which I feel bad about, but at the moment I always feel I’m on my own unless he’s there.

  He’s very brave about it. Positively cheerful, in fact.

  ‘I’d love to meet your family,’ he says. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to ask. They all sound totally mad from the way you talk about them. Particularly your granny. Bring it on!’

  The restaurant is grown-up and sophisticated. Panelled walls and big, round tables with white tablecloths and a spotlight on each one. Photographs by one of Mum’s artists on the walls, which is spooky, but hopefully a lucky sign. And waiters who couldn’t be more attentive if we were Elton John and Alicia Keys.

  Crow arrives in a special party outfit that consists of silver dungarees, a red and black ladybird cape and two little bobbing antennae in her enormous hair.

  ‘Ladybirds are lucky,’ she explains. ‘I want this to be a lucky year for me.’

  Hopefully, having a giant silver ladybird at the table will be lucky for us all. However, once she sits down she blends so easily into the conversation that you sort of forget about the antennae and the cape. She spends ages chatting to Harry about Victoria’s bag-making empire in Uganda. Well, not exactly empire. Just this female co-operative making stuff, but it feels like an empire to me. And to Harry too, by the sound of it. He’s seriously impressed and offers to buy a bunch of bags to give to his friends at fashion shows. Maybe they will pay for part of a new computer for the school.

  I’m sitting opposite them both. Harry gives me a puzzled frown and asks me what I’m thinking. I’m actually wondering whether Crow has talked to the MIMOs yet, but I lie and say I’m admiring Edie’s new haircut. She has finally, after many years, got it cut into a short bob and she looks beautiful. Crow suggested it, apparently. She’s sort of taken Edie under her wing since the Gloria thing. We all look across to where Edie’s sitting at the other end of the table. She’s brightened up a lot since Gloria came out of hospital. And the new haircut was a seriously good decision.

  ‘Better,’ Harry says, with a grin and a raised eyebrow. ‘Definitely better. She’s quite fit, in fact. Don’t tell her, though.’ This – from a boy who is constantly
surrounded by models and engaged to a super-version – is about as good as it gets.

  Liam, meanwhile, is being monopolised by Mum. After she’s asked him all the boring questions about A-level subjects and college applications they get onto favourite photographers, and it turns out that Liam knows nearly as much about Henri Cartier-Bresson as Mum does. In fact, it’s all going so bizarrely well that I start to wonder if the evening will be all right after all.

  Then it’s Granny’s turn. I wince as she starts asking him about his family, and where they’re from, and whereabouts in Kensington they live exactly, and all sorts of ‘subtle’ questions designed to work out if he is from good stock and whether there might be some relative in the background with a yacht, or a trust fund, or something else useful. I can’t bear to listen. Because I know that Granny’s about to find out that Liam’s dad is a chef. Not a Michelin-starred one, but a chef at the local caff where we do our revision. And his mum’s a receptionist at the hospital where we took Gloria. As it happens, they do have a dinghy, which they keep at his uncle’s place on the west coast of Ireland, but if I tried to show off my graceful calves by jumping off that, I’d probably sink it.

  I tune out, although I can’t help noticing Granny’s lips turning down a bit more with every new piece of information, and Liam’s turning up – because I’ve warned him about this and hopefully he’s finding the whole thing quite funny. Instead, I focus on my food, which is a yummy steak, and Mum, who’s now talking to Crow about wedding-dress designs.

  ‘The Galliano dress sounds amazing,’ Crow says. ‘Isabelle was telling me about it. He’s doing the one for the reception. It’s a narrow column dress at the front, but there’s a panel that balloons out at the back to make a sort of hidden train.’ Her fingers flutter as she describes it with her hands.