by Rosie Ruston
‘Hey, chill!’ he replied gently, raising his voice above the drumming of rain on the conservatory roof. ‘I’m only telling the truth. You are gorgeous and you do fascinate me. A lot.’ He brushed her cheek with his finger. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, ‘and later, I’ll tell you just what you do to me. But right now . . .’ His tone changed to one of briskness and efficiency. ‘. . . you’re needed asap,’ he said. ‘We want a photograph to stick up on the board at M-Brace – get people interested before our slot. Ned’s battery is flat but he says you’ve got a decent camera.’
Frankie nodded, thankful to be able to change the subject. ‘My brother gave me his old Nikon.’ At the thought of William and her aunt’s spiteful interference, her eyes filled with tears again.
‘Hey,’ Henry said, cupping her face in his hands. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. Oh, just that William – my brother – has lost his job and he wanted to come and stay but Nerys told him he couldn’t. And she had no right – interfering old bat!’
‘He’s the photographer, right?’
She nodded.
‘I guess you two must be really close,’ Henry said easily. ‘I mean, what with the problems you’ve had to face. I know that’s how it worked with Alice and me.’
He does understand, Frankie thought with surprise.
‘We are close,’ she admitted. ‘When Mum got ill . . .’ She hesitated.
‘It was you two against the world?’ Henry ventured.
She nodded. ‘And I so want to see him. He’ll be back in a few days. But with Uncle Thomas and Tina away, Nerys is on her high horse and shouting the odds and . . .’
‘Maybe Nerys is just having a bad day,’ he said. ‘Although Nerys on a good day can be pretty daunting, can’t she?’
Frankie laughed in spite of herself.
‘That’s better,’ Henry said. ‘It’s not up to her anyway. Just send Tina a text and get her to deal with it. Job done!’
Frankie nodded. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m being a wimp.’
‘Well,’ Henry went on, ‘I’m here if ever you need to talk to someone with no axe to grind. OK?’
She nodded, wondering whether perhaps she’d been too hasty in forming her initial opinion of him.
‘Oh and by the way, if you want driving practice without having to wait for my sister to leave Ned in peace, I’m your man.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured. ‘That’s really kind.’
‘Great.’ He smiled. ‘So let’s get that camera and start shooting.’
‘So – what do you think?’
Alice and Mia threw a pose as Frankie adjusted the focus on her camera. They were wearing tiny gold shorts, bra tops studded with strategically-placed fake jewels and gold-glitter dancing shoes.
‘You look lovely, Mimi-pops,’ Nick said, sidling up to her and sliding his hand down her back.
‘For the last time, don’t call me that!’ Mia snapped. ‘Come on, Frankie, get on with it!’
Grateful for the chance to hide behind the viewfinder, Frankie clicked away for several minutes. ‘And now all of us!’ Jon insisted. ‘An action video. In position everyone!’
‘Wait!’ Frankie said. ‘I can’t remember how to find the switch to go to video . . .’
‘Let me see.’ In an instant, Henry was behind her, his arms over her shoulder manipulating the dial. ‘There!’ he said. ‘That should do it.’
And equally quickly, he was back in position at the keyboard.
As Frankie, feeling her cheeks burning, pressed record, she saw Mia staring hard at her. The look on her face was one of pure spite.
‘Right – action!’
Jon snatched up the mic and began rapping as though the audience was already in front of him. James’s drumsticks darted like lightning between bass drum and snare, while Henry, foot tapping and swaying, bashed away on the keyboard. Mia and Alice strutted their stuff, Alice clearly the better dancer, even throwing in a couple of cartwheels during which one of her shoes flew off and hit Nick in the face. Even Nick, the so-called stooge, made a play at lightly clumsy dancing and clapping.
The only one who looked awkward and out of place was Ned. At first his eyes never left Alice, but after a couple of minutes, he began to look distinctly uncomfortable and stared at the ground, twice hitting the wrong chord and earning glares from his brother.
‘You know, these stills are good,’ Jon said afterwards, taking the camera from Frankie and clicking through the shots. ‘We’ll get them printed and blown up and start sticking them up round the site. Give me the camera and I’ll upload them onto my laptop.’
‘So are we done?’ Alice asked. ‘Because the rain’s let up and I’ve got to get changed and saddle Fling. Ned’s going to have his first go at cantering, aren’t you, babe?’
‘I’ve just got to take Frankie over to meet the guys from KOT,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘You’d better not be,’ Alice said. ‘Fling doesn’t like to stand around once he’s saddled and ready to go . . .’ She smiled at him coyly. ‘And neither do I.’
‘Has Alice said anything to you? About anything?’ Frankie asked Poppy later that evening as they walked to the pub to meet up with some of the old gang from school.
‘Frankie, she lives with me, worse luck, and yes, occasionally she deigns to speak,’ Poppy teased. ‘About what precisely?’
‘About her and Ned.’ Frankie sighed.
‘Now I get it!’ Poppy laughed. ‘You’re jealous.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m not!’ Frankie protested. ‘Why . . . should I be?’
‘Well,’ Poppy went on, ‘Alice says that Ned is adorable, has the cutest bum she’s ever seen, and comes on to her a bit stronger every time they meet. But you really didn’t want to hear that, did you?’
‘I don’t care.’ Frankie shrugged. ‘Why would I care? I’m just interested, that’s all.’
‘There’s something else,’ Poppy added.
‘What?’
‘Henry says pretty much the same about you.’ Poppy grinned.
Like that’s any comfort, Frankie thought. Although he is nicer than I thought. And definitely fit.
But he’s not Ned.
CHAPTER 8
‘You are such a fine speaker that I’m afraid
you may actually end in convincing yourself.’
(Jane Austen, Mansfield Park)
BY SATURDAY AFTERNOON, THE RELENTLESS RAIN HAD rendered the festival site a quagmire. Tents sagged under the weight of water, hawkers selling transparent brollies did a roaring trade and every event in the indoor arena was packed out. The leaflets that Frankie was supposed to be handing out were sodden within moments of leaving the shelter of the KOT gazebo and mud clung to her boots making every step an effort. Health and Safety had closed the zip-wire attraction as well as the climbing wall and a few disconsolate children were making do with trampolines and ball pits in the large marquee. Ned had never got his riding lesson because the pause in the downpour had only lasted for ten minutes, but Frankie could take little comfort from that. When she had returned to the house the previous evening, she had seen Alice and Ned emerging from Fling’s stable and it didn’t take a genius to work out the meaning of Ned’s dishevelled appearance and the straw sticking to Alice’s usually immaculate hair. All in all, the weather reflected the way Frankie felt.
Everyone else, however, seemed to be on a high. Even the fact that having the five o’clock slot wasn’t exactly prime time, they were all acting as if they were about to headline at O2. When she got back to the house, splattered with mud and longing for a hot shower, the kitchen had been buzzing. Henry, Jon and Ned were packing instruments in their cases, all set to hike them over to the stage; Alice and Mia were spraying glitter on every part of their anatomy that wasn’t covered (which was almost all of it) and Nick was wandering around in pink cords and a paisley waistcoat, asking if he looked OK, and being ignored by everyone. Even Nerys, clad in a waxe
d jacket and trilby of uncertain age, was filling a Thermos flask and declaring that she was determined to brave what she called ‘the screaming masses’ to see her beloved niece perform. But the biggest surprise of all was to see Tina perched at the kitchen table, watching the rehearsal video on Jon’s laptop and clicking her impeccably manicured fingers in time to the beat.
‘Hi Tina, I didn’t think you were coming back till Sunday,’ Frankie said.
‘I wasn’t, darling,’ Tina replied, ‘but to be honest, there’s only so much raw food and wheatgrass a woman can stand. And of course, one doesn’t like to be away from home for too long – it doesn’t do to let other people take over, does it?’ She cast a sidelong glance at Nerys and then smiled at Frankie. ‘And then there’s William to prepare for, isn’t there? I’m thrilled he’s going to join us.’
Frankie ran over and gave her a hug. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much.’
Tina winked at her as Nerys slammed the Thermos flask onto the counter top with unnecessary force.
‘I’m so looking forward to seeing him,’ she said. ‘We all are.’
‘Seeing who?’ The kitchen door swung open and James, carrying a music stand, eyed his mother sharply. ‘Are you telling me Dad’s on his way back?’
Frankie glanced at him and was astonished to see a mixture of anger and fear in his eyes.
‘I wish,’ said Tina with a sigh. ‘No darling, we’re talking about William – he’s coming up for a few days.’
‘Great,’ James said. ‘That’s great. Now can we get a move on everyone, please?’
The stage designated for ENT night was on the very edge of the site at the top of the Maddoxes’ field, within sight of Park House and hard up against their boundary hedge. To one side was a small tent, in which performers could wait for their slot and tune their instruments. Frankie had arranged to meet up with Lulu, who had spent the whole day drooling over a variety of acts on the main stage. She was waiting for her under a dripping beech tree when Mia, a bright yellow waterproof hiding her skimpy costume, shouted to her from the doorway of the tent.
‘Hey, Frankie, over here! Jon wants you.’
Reluctantly Frankie splashed her way through the puddles and into the tent where the band were getting ready.
‘I’ve brought your camera back,’ Jon said. ‘And I need a favour. Will you take some more photos?’
She nodded.
‘Great. So what I want is candid camera – lots of shots. Now, while we’re getting set up, and then during the act. And not just us, but close ups of people’s expressions while they watch us, mood shots, all that kind of stuff. I want to use them for a collage on the website we’re revamping.’
‘Actually, I’m waiting for Lulu,’ Frankie ventured, swallowing her fury at being spoken to like some kind of hired servant.
‘So you can’t press a shutter button while talking to a mate?’ James said, swigging a can of Red Bull. ‘For God’s sake, Frankie, it’s not like you’re contributing in any other way.’
She glanced at Ned for support but he was too busy helping Alice adjust the strap on her top.
‘I’m sorry,’ James said at once. ‘I’m just stressed out and nervous.’
‘Relax, man,’ Jon said, slapping him on the back. ‘You’ll be fine. Pretend it’s just like any other gig.’
‘Sure.’ James smiled. ‘No sweat. So you’ll do the photos, Frankie, yeah?’
‘OK,’ she agreed. At least Lulu would be happy; she might even manage to get her into a shot with James. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
As she walked back out into the rain, she couldn’t help wondering just what it really was that was stressing James out. Because she was pretty certain that it wasn’t anything to do with the band.
‘Hey!’ James shouted after her, as she walked away. ‘You’re supposed to be taking pictures of us.’
‘You want random reportage,’ Frankie retorted. ‘That’s what you’re getting. I’ll take you when you’re not expecting it.’
‘She has a point,’ Jon said. ‘OK, everyone, final tuning! We’ve only got twenty minutes to go.’
‘Hey, look at that one – isn’t he just to die for?’
Lulu peered over Frankie’s shoulder as she scrolled through the twenty photos she had taken so far through a gap in the back of the tent as the band got ready – Jon play-punching Nick and yelling at him to stay deadpan; Ned frowning in concentration as he tuned his guitar; Henry yawning and looking bored, a bottle of water in one hand; Alice adjusting her false eyelashes (Frankie hadn’t been able to resist catching her when she was pulling a very unflattering face in the mirror) and – the shot that had reduced Lulu to a weak-kneed wreck – James gelling his hair and flexing his shoulders while smiling that slow, languid smile that even Frankie had to admit had a film-star quality about it.
‘And you’re sure there’s no one on the scene,’ Lulu asked, raising her voice above the applause for the act leaving the stage.
Frankie shrugged. ‘No one that he’s letting on about anyway,’ she replied, suddenly wondering if he was acting so uncharacteristically because of girlfriend trouble. ‘Hey, look, they’re going on stage now. I guess I’d better get closer and start snapping.’
The rain had lessened to a slow drizzle and a glimmer of sunlight was peeking through the mounds of grey clouds, casting light on wet umbrellas. Encouraged by the improvement in the weather, more people were drifting towards the stage as, to a ripple of applause, the band struck up the first number.
Jon was good, Frankie couldn’t deny that. His rapping was a sort of gangsta rap but with a political theme – the lyrics were about justice and the underdog, prejudice and tyranny and exploitation, but it was his street dancing that had the crowd on their feet, clapping and cheering at his locking, krumping and popping, the way his body flowed from one move to another without pause. It was clear that he was the star: James was a cool and highly professional drummer and Henry’s keyboard playing was great – he really did manage to surprise her – but the girls were merely eye candy and Ned, well, Frankie felt embarrassed for him, he seemed so out of place. As the act progressed, Frankie noticed a camera crew from East Today had paused and were training their lens on the stage.
‘The black guy – he’s good,’ she heard one of the men remark. ‘Stick with this one for a bit, Carl.’
When Jon started his comedy routine, Frankie focused her lens on Nick. Her heart went out to him – he was trying so hard to respond to Jon’s set-up lines, but his eyes kept going to Mia who at that point was leaning provocatively against the keyboard, giving Henry sidelong glances and letting her fingers run across his back. It was, of course, all part of the act but somehow it seemed to Frankie that Mia enjoyed Nick’s obvious discomfort and jealousy.
As the band launched into their final number, the heavens opened again. Rain poured down and a flash of lightning lit up the surrounding area. Frankie followed the TV crew’s example and edged closer to the stage where the overhang from the roof offered at least a little protection for her lens. She switched the setting so that she could take a succession of shots one after the other and capture the action.
It was a good thing she had, she thought two minutes later; she was so stunned by what she saw that she was sure she would have been unable to press the shutter button. At the end of the song, Mia and Alice turned round, their backs to the audience, whipped off their bra tops, did a quick twirl, blew kisses to the crowd and ran from the stage, as Jon belted out the last line of his song, ‘Strip them bare and make them pay!’ The crowd erupted, lewd remarks and wolf whistles filling the air.
‘More! More!’ someone shouted but a festival organiser stepped speedily onto the stage.
‘Fifteen minutes and no encores!’ he reminded the crowd and began to introduce the next act.
‘I think,’ Frankie heard the TV cameraman say, ‘that we have that one in the can. The boss said he wanted some local colour and, boy, that’s what he’s got!’<
br />
Later Frankie wished she had thought more about what he was saying, but at the time she had more pressing things to think about.
‘Come on, back to the tent,’ Lulu ordered. ‘This is where you do your best friend bit. Introduce me to James and I’ll do the rest.’
She pulled a bottle from her shoulder bag and waved it in Frankie’s face. ‘Party time!’ She giggled. ‘And between you and me, it’s not water in here! Full strength voddie – and a bit more.’
‘LULU! You’re not supposed to bring alcohol onto the site.’
Lulu grinned, stuffing the bottle back in her bag. ‘I’ll just have to make sure me and James get off the site quickly, won’t I? Come on, what are we waiting for?
Back in the warm-up tent, Frankie, despite all her efforts, felt totally out of place. Alice and Lulu, high on whatever cocktail Lulu had produced, were flirting outrageously – Alice with Ned and Lulu with James. Mia held hands with Nick and occasionally gave him a kiss, but her eyes constantly followed Henry and it was clear to anyone with half a brain that they were communicating with each other, if not verbally, then through body language and intimate gestures.
When Jemma had turned up ten minutes after the act ended, Frankie had hoped she might slink off with her and watch Apparition, the headline act for the evening, but even Jemma had her own agenda.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Jon had cried, as Jemma prised the lid off a huge Cath Kidston cake tin and wafted it under his nose.
‘Pineapple cherry cake,’ Jemma declared proudly. ‘You said you grew up in St Kitts and . . .’
‘Oh man!’ Jon gasped as Jemma cut the cake into slices. ‘I haven’t had this since I went to see my gran five years ago. You’re amazing!’
Jemma flushed and looked at him coyly. ‘Well, hang around and I’ll cook you rikkita beef,’ she laughed.
‘You know how to do that?’ Jon spluttered his mouth full of cake. ‘How come?’
Jemma shrugged. ‘I may be a lousy singer and a pretty useless dancer, but I can pretty much cook anything. Try me!’