Love and Other Drama-Ramas!

by Sarah Webb

  Suddenly Russ starts playing “Here Comes the Bride.” Clover squeals and runs toward the doorway. I follow her.

  Monique is walking across the park, leading Mum by the arm. Monique’s wearing a black tuxedo, complete with a black bow tie. Her hair is slicked back with gel, she has “stubble” above her lip and on her chin, and her stuck-on eyebrows are thick and furry, like two black caterpillars.

  Clover grins as they join us in the gazebo. “So good of you to join us, Mr. Big. And I see you’ve blindfolded your lady friend as requested. Nice job.”

  Monique bows. “I aim to please. And you’re looking good, as always. Dig the suit.”

  “Can I take this off now?” Mum paws at the silk scarf tied across her eyes.

  “Not for a minute,” Clover says. “We’re still waiting for Samantha. I think I see her coming, though.”

  “Who?” Mum asks, confused.

  Someone’s tottering toward us in red sandals with six-inch heels and a beige raincoat. As she draws nearer she unbuttons the coat, hangs it neatly over her arm, and lifts her sunglasses. It’s Prue, dressed as Samantha.

  She tinkles her fingers at us. “Darlings, so sorry I’m late. Traffic. And I’m not used to heels. Rather difficult to walk in, aren’t they?” She wriggles her dress down her legs and then stands up straight. She purses her lips, and even dressed to kill in a hot red body-conscious dress that is so tight it looks as though glossy paint has been poured over her, she still looks like an uppity teacher.

  We all stare at her, and Clover’s mouth is open so wide she looks like a pelican trawling for fish. “Well, póggity póg, Prue,” she says. “Who’d have thought? Mrs. Stickleback — where have you been hiding those chili-hot curves? Hubba, hubba.”

  “I feel as though I’m wearing a swimsuit,” Prue says, sounding flustered. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

  “Not at all,” Monique says. “If I was blessed with those curves, I’d flaunt them too. I’m Monique, by the way — aka Big.” Monique sticks out her hand politely.

  Prue shakes it. “Prue Stickleback. Um, Samantha, I suppose.”

  “Prue’s Samantha?” Mum gasps. “And Monique’s Big. I’ve got it! This is a Sex and the City party, isn’t it, girls? Come on, you have to let me peek now.”

  Monique whips off Mum’s blindfold and spreads her arms out theatrically. “Ta-da! Welcome to the Boathouse restaurant, baby,” she says in a growly “Mr. Big” voice. “For your very own Sex and the City lunch. It’s not Central Park — but it does have its very own lake and ducks. And Clover and Amy have a special ‘Carrie’ dress ready and waiting for you.”

  Mum squeals with delight. “Unbelievable! You girls never cease to amaze me. It’s perfect. I’m speechless.”

  As her eyes sweep over the gazebo, her hand pressed over her mouth, she notices Russ and waves at him. “Taking requests, Russ?”

  “Surely am, Sylvie. Let me guess? ABBA?”

  Mum bites her lip. “Would you mind horribly?”

  He smiles. “Not at all. Dave did warn me. I can even throw in a bit of Take That during dessert if you like.” (Mum has such sad taste in music.)

  “Oh, I like, I like.” Mum’s eyes glitter with happiness. I smile — so far, the party is going swimmingly.

  I’m having a long sleep-in the next day when Mum comes into my room.

  “You awake, Amy? Mills is on the phone. Talk to her, please. Otherwise I’ll have to, and she’s far too cheery for this hour of the morning.”

  “Mum, it’s nearly lunchtime.”

  “I know, but Clover and Monique kept me up chatting nearly all night. I didn’t get to bed till four. You were right to sneak off early.” Last night we’d all shared Chinese takeout in front of the movie When Harry Met Sally, which is one of Mum’s favorites. It was Dave’s idea — he said lying on the sofa would be the perfect end to Sylvie’s bachelorette party. He was right. Mum was thrilled.

  After lunch in the park, we’d booked Mum an exclusive styling session in Brown Thomas, a fancy department store on Grafton Street. The rest of us had watched for hours as the stylist picked out loads of fabulously expensive clothes for Mum to try on in a special private room. They’d even provided champagne and smoked salmon. We felt like movie stars!

  Mum fell in love with this beautiful dark-pink swishy dress, and Monique secretly bought it for her as an early wedding present. You should have seen Mum’s face when Monique handed over the bag outside the shop. “I can’t accept this, Monique,” she’d squealed. “It’s too much.” Monique had shrugged and given one of her very French pahs. “You are my best friend, Sylvie. And I love you. Take it, please. Otherwise you will get a bread maker or toaster or something equally boring.”

  So Mum had kept the dress.

  I take the phone off her and say, “Mills, can I call you back? I’ve just woken up.”

  “OK,” she says. “I guess the party was a success, then?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Bailey says hi, by the way.”

  “How is he?”

  “Good. We’re going to the beach this morning. He’s teaching me how to surf.”

  “Surf?” I try to picture Mills on a surfboard: crouched down, arms outstretched, waves splashing over her, hair flying in the wind . . . Nope, just can’t see it.

  “Are you laughing at me, Ames?” she asks crossly.

  “Course not. But you do know saltwater ruins your hair?”

  “It’s in a French braid.”

  It’s no use. I have to giggle.

  “You are laughing at me.”

  “Not at all. You’ll make a perfect surf chick. Bye, Mills. Oh, and tell Bailey I said hi back.”

  Mum smiles as she sits down on my bed. “I can’t imagine Mills surfing.”

  I’m so used to her eavesdropping on my conversations that I don’t even comment on it. “I know,” I say instead. “But it’s nice of Bailey to offer to teach her — he has his work cut out.”

  “How’s Bailey dealing with being back at school? I haven’t had a chance to ask you yet.”

  I shrug. “He seems to be coping all right. He only came back on Thursday, and all the teachers are being pretty decent to him. Especially Loopy — sorry, Miss Lupin. She said that if he ever wanted to talk to someone, she was always available.”

  “Is she tallish with red hair and a rather odd dress sense?”

  I smile. “That’s her.”

  “I talked to her at a parent-teacher meeting once. She seemed nice.”

  “And Mills persuaded him to do the J Factor,” I add. “So people will get to see how talented he is.”

  “What’s the J Factor?”

  “School singing competition — like the X Factor. Bailey’s going to sing one of his own songs, and we’re all going to cheer him on. You can come too if you like — and Dave.”

  “Thanks, Amy, that sounds fun. I’m glad he’s OK. He’s been through an awful lot in his life already.” She pauses and sucks her teeth. “I told Finn what happened on the beach and about Bailey being in the hospital and everything. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mum! You’re always telling me not to interfere.”

  “I know, but this is different. Finn was so upset listening to it all, Amy. He excused himself and went and had a little cry in the backyard, I think. When he came back inside, his eyes were all red. If they’d just talk to each other . . . communicate in some way . . .” She breaks off and sighs. “Men can be so stubborn.”

  I remember what Mac said about how hard Bailey has always found it to communicate — that his true feelings only come out when he’s singing — and then I have an idea. “Mum,” I say slowly, “what do you think about inviting Finn to the J Factor?”

  She stares at me for a long time before answering. “Are you sure it’s not going to make things worse, Amy?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. But I think Bailey’s in a different place now. At least, I hope he is.”

  Mum squeezes my hand. “
Then it’s worth the risk. You’re always determined to help people, no matter what, aren’t you? You just bulldoze right in there, pushing everything else out of the way.” She tries to put on my voice. “‘No, stop, don’t run away. I’m trying to help you.’”

  I stare at her. “Mum, sometimes you may think you’re complimenting me, but you’re really not.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess your dogged enthusiasm just gets to me sometimes. I don’t find life as easy as you seem to, and maybe I get a little jealous. And I’m a bit stressed out with all this wedding stuff. There’s so much to do! Clover and Monique are being amazing, but Dave’s not the most organized of people.”

  I roll my eyes. “He’s a man, Mum. What do you expect?”

  “Amy! You’re far too young to be saying things like that.”

  I smile back at her. “Anyway, stop worrying, it’ll all be fine. At the end of the day, a wedding’s just a big party, and you like parties.”

  “You’re right, Amy. I love parties. And sorry for having a moan at you.”

  I nudge her with my shoulder. “That’s OK, Mum. I’m used to you and your moody blues by now.”

  “Hey!”

  “Only kidding. I love you really.”

  “And I love you too, Amy. My special girl, all grown up.” She brushes my hair back off my face and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Mum! Stop being so soppy.”

  But you know something? I don’t really mind. Sometimes Mum’s not so bad.

  The hours seem to creep by on Halloween, J Factor day. We’ve been off school all week (it’s half-term, yeah!), and I’m delighted to report that the old gang — me, Seth, Mills, and Bailey — is back with a vengeance, although Mills and Bailey have spent most of the holiday wrapped around each other, playing tonsil hockey. But since they’re both so happy, Seth and I don’t really mind. And yes, we’ve had the odd lip-smacking session too. Rude not to join in, don’t you think? We even did a test to see whose hearts were racing the hardest and fastest after a smooching session by taking each couple’s pulses. Bailey and Mills, aka Romeo and Juliet, won, of course — boo! Although they have had a lot of practice this week.

  It’s nine o’clock now, and we’re midway through the J Factor. I’m standing in the Saint John’s hall, checking my watch nervously. The second half of the show’s supposed to kick off any minute, but there’s no sign of Mum yet.

  Her plan was to arrive with Finn during the intermission — Bailey’s not on until the second half, and Mum thought it would be better for Finn to slip in just as the lights were going down to avoid any sort of “fan” kerfuffle. Mum’s got a lot of smarts sometimes — even Clover couldn’t have come up with a better idea.

  Clover really wanted to be here tonight, but Brains has whisked her off for a romantic weekend on the Aran Islands. They’ve gone to some diddly-eye traditional music and seafood festival, just the two of them. Since dealing with the Cliona conundrum, she’s been in fantastic form. She only has one slight concern now: Amber Horsefell. “I think I’m starting to like her,” Clover reluctantly admitted last night. “I caught myself laughing like a drain at one of her jokes today. Très worrying, Beanie. I can’t be friends with a D4. It’s against my religion.”

  I check my watch again. I’m really on edge. Mum and Finn have to get here soon — they just have to. I’m so nervous it was hard to concentrate on the first half of the show, and I know Mills and Seth felt the same. Dave and Mac clapped enthusiastically after every song, even after Annabelle Hamilton’s warbling rendition of “Defying Gravity” from Wicked, complete with window-shattering top notes. But then they don’t know what’s to come. We haven’t told either of them that Finn is coming.

  “Wow, that girl has some pipes,” Dave said as Annabelle took her third bow. The D4s in the seats behind us were going wild, cheering and whistling like they were at a rugby match. Annabelle has clearly been “applause training” them all week.

  Out in the lobby, I try ringing Mum again, but she’s still not answering.

  Come on, I say under my breath. Please!

  And then finally a text arrives: JUST PARKING THE CAR.

  I almost pass out with relief when a minute later she rushes through the door, Finn at her heels. His eyes are flickering around nervously. He nods at me. “Hey, Amy.”

  “Hi, Finn.” I smile back gently.

  “Have we missed Bailey?” Mum puffs, her face flushed. “It took ages to find a space. I dumped the car on double yellow lines in the end—” She’s cut off by a yell from our left.

  “OMG, it’s Finn Hunter from the telly!” Nina is squealing. The D4s with her all give high-pitched shrieks, like a chorus of fighting cats.

  Finn gives them a wave — which makes them scream even louder.

  “Take your seats, please, girls.” Miss Lupin appears from inside the school hall, clipboard in hand. “The second half’s about to commence.”

  “But, miss, it’s Finn Hunter,” Nina says. “Can we go and tell Annabelle? Maybe he’d put her on the telly.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how it works, Nina,” Loopy says patiently.

  “Can I just say hi to him, then, miss, please?” she begs. “I’m his number-one fan!”

  Loopy rolls her eyes. “If you must. But for goodness’ sake, hurry up.”

  Nina immediately runs over and begins batting her ridiculously long fake eyelashes at Finn. “Can you autograph me?” She giggles manically and rolls her shirt up her arm.

  “I don’t do skin or clothes,” Finn says. “Sorry, I’m just here to catch the show.”

  “Leave the poor man alone,” Loopy says, shooing Nina toward the door with the clipboard. “Come along now, move.”

  “You all right, Finn?” Mum asks him in a low voice.

  He nods silently — but he doesn’t look great. The left side of his face is distorted. He must be chewing the inside of his cheek, just like Bailey does.

  It’s dark inside the hall, and Finn looks around, a little lost.

  “We’ve kept a seat for you,” I tell him. “Beside Mac.”

  “Mac?” he says anxiously. “You didn’t tell me he’d be here, Sylvie.”

  Mum pats his arm. “You’re both here for Bailey, remember that.”

  And before he has a chance to say anything else, the blue velvet stage curtain sweeps open to reveal a band of senior boys calling themselves Barcelona. They start blasting out a passable cover of “Mr. Brightside,” an old Killers song.

  We find our seats quickly, engineering it so that Finn and Mac are sitting beside each other. Mac stares at Finn as if he were a ghost. I was expecting him to be angry, but even in the gloom, I can see his eyes are sparkling with tears. He rubs his jaw, then stands up and pulls Finn into a rather awkward-looking hug and pats his back. They stay that way for a few seconds before pulling away and sitting down. I realize at that moment that Finn didn’t just abandon Lane and Bailey — he left Mac behind too.

  “Good to see you, lad,” I hear Mac say over the music.

  “I’m so sorry,” Finn says. “I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

  “We both have.” Mac pats Finn’s hand. “We’ll talk later. Let’s listen to our boy sing, eh?”

  Finn just nods.

  After the band, one of the Crombies from our year, Hugo Hoffman, sings “Rehab” — which, I hate to admit, is surprisingly good. Next up are some transition-year D4s, who jiggle and shimmy around the stage in red Lycra dresses and heels to a Girls Aloud song. Only one of them, Candy Hutnell, has any talent, but they get a huge cheer from their cronies regardless.

  And then finally, Bailey walks slowly onto the stage without making eye contact with the audience. We all clap and whoop: “Go, Bailey!”

  He doesn’t look up but settles himself on the stool, resting his guitar on his knee and staring at the floor.

  Finn is gazing up at him, a hand over his mouth, and even from three seats away I can hear him taking loud, gulping breaths.

  I nudg
e Seth. “Finn’s as terrified as Bailey.”

  “Has Bailey seen him yet?” Mills asks.

  “Don’t think so,” Seth says. “Hang on, wait a second . . .”

  As if on cue, Bailey lifts his head, and his eyes sweep the first few rows of the audience. They stop on Mac . . . and Finn. His eyes rest on his dad’s face. From the sudden rapid rise and fall of his chest, I’d say he’s in shock. He had no idea that Finn was going to be here. We hadn’t wanted to say anything in case Finn changed his mind, or in case knowing that his dad was coming would put Bailey off his performance. It was a risky decision, but we had agreed that it was the only way. I know we are all praying now that Bailey will sing so that Finn can see what an amazingly talented son he has. After that, none of us can predict what will happen. The rest is up to Bailey.

  Bailey’s gaze shifts from Finn to his grandpa: his family. I think having them both here supporting him, along with all his friends, is almost too much for him. Every one of us is smiling up at him eagerly, willing him on. He tears his eyes away from us and stares at the floor of the stage again.

  Seth shakes his head. “This isn’t looking good. Bailey had better start playing soon. The crowd’s getting restless.”

  A whole minute later, Bailey still hasn’t played a note. A low murmur is running across the hall, and one of the D4s has started to giggle. “Get on with it,” a girl shouts from behind us. It sounds suspiciously like Nina’s voice.

  “Shush!” Mills says loudly, swinging round. “Give him a chance.”

  But Bailey is still just sitting there, head down, his left hand gripping the guitar fret so hard his fingers are white.

  “Siúcra,” I whisper. “We have to do something.”