Drama Girl

by Carmen Reid

  Finn was about six inches taller than the last time she’d seen him: he was thin but broad-shouldered – he’d definitely filled out a bit. His hair was a glossy dark brown, casually floppy, and he was so, so much better looking than Amy remembered.

  It occurred to her that they’d been shaking hands and checking each other out for just a little bit too long now. Could it be that he was looking at her the way she was looking at him? With interest; with real, feeling-stirring interest?

  Suddenly the prospect of a half term at Blacklough Hall didn’t seem so bad after all – now that she knew Niffy’s brother was going to be here.

  Chapter Five

  IT WAS VERY cold in Milne Close at two minutes to nine that evening. At least Gina was wearing a proper feather-filled duvet coat and a furry hat – she knew just how brutal the Edinburgh weather could be. But she felt very sorry for Paula and Maddison, who were hopping from foot to foot, pulling their thin anoraks tightly around them to try and keep out the biting night air.

  Lorelei looked as elegant as ever, with her collar turned up and her chic coat belted against the chill. ‘He’s late,’ she pointed out, as if Gina somehow hadn’t noticed that Dermot wasn’t here yet.

  ‘Well . . . it’s not quite nine yet. Maybe he’s been held up,’ Gina offered.

  ‘At nine we set off. That’s when the tour begins. We can’t keep the guide and the rest of the group waiting!’ Lorelei already sounded snappy. As Gina had warned Dermot, she hated unpunctuality. This wasn’t exactly a great start for him.

  Gina hadn’t expected the tour to be quite so busy. There were about thirty other tourists milling about the pavement with tickets, brochures and street maps in their hands, chatting in many different languages. Gina recognized the word for ‘cold’ in both French and Spanish.

  ‘Right . . . is that us then?’ asked the guide, a middle-aged man bundled up in a thick woollen overcoat and scarf.

  Lorelei looked at Gina and shrugged. ‘Have you tried to call him?’ she asked her.

  ‘What do you think?’ Gina snapped back.

  Then she got a nudge in the ribs from Paula as Maddison pointed at a figure racing along the pavement towards them.

  ‘Is that him?’ Paula asked.

  ‘Yes!’ Gina answered, able to tell at once.

  She recognized Dermot’s battered old coat, which she knew he’d bought in a charity shop; she recognized his military short haircut, which he was growing out just for her – and, well, because his mum preferred it longer too. Most of all, as he drew closer, she recognized his broad grin.

  ‘I’m sorry! I am so sorry!’ Dermot announced as soon as he’d spotted them and was within reach. ‘My bus . . .’ he went on, panting with the effort of the long uphill sprint. ‘It didn’t come for hours! I was beginning to think it would never come . . . had been abducted by aliens or something.’ He smoothed his hair down nervously and smiled at Gina.

  ‘OK, everybody ready?’ the guide asked. ‘Do you have a ticket?’ he asked Dermot.

  While Dermot was patting down his coat in search of his wallet, Lorelei held up the five tickets she’d bought, and told the guide, ‘He’s covered.’

  ‘Very well, follow me,’ he instructed.

  As the thirty or so tourists fell in behind him, Dermot started on a round of handshaking.

  Nervously he turned first to Gina’s mom. ‘Ms Winkelmann, how are you? Very nice to meet you . . . Obviously I’m late, you’ve had to buy my ticket and I’ve made a terrible first impression. I will totally understand if you want me to just leave now and never contact your daughter again . . .’

  Gina gave Dermot a nudge, hoping he would remember her instruction about not being funny. While she loved Dermot’s ability to turn just about everything into a joke, she didn’t think her mom would get it.

  Paula and Maddison giggled nervously. They hadn’t come across Dermot’s brand of humour before, but they too realized it might not appeal to Lorelei.

  ‘No, Dermot,’ Lorelei said, taking hold of his hand and shaking it briefly, ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’ She gave a small smile before adding, ‘Gina tells me that you’re very amusing,’ but the way she said this implied that she disagreed.

  ‘Gina is a very kind and generous person,’ Dermot offered.

  ‘Hmmm . . . Anyway, this is Paula.’ Lorelei made the introduction.

  ‘Paula, yes, I guessed it was you – Gina’s told me all about you,’ Dermot said, winning himself an instant friend. ‘And Maddison, isn’t it? Hi. Welcome to the balmy warmth of Edinburgh in November. Gina? Yes’ – he risked giving her a small peck on her cheek – ‘I think we’ve met before, haven’t we?’

  She smacked his arm playfully. ‘Look at your eye!’ she exclaimed, seeing the purplish bruise and crusty scab on the side of Dermot’s face properly for the first time.

  ‘Yeah, well, nothing serious – healing up nicely,’ he insisted.

  They had both had quite an adventure at the party the night before – what with a prowler, an Internet stalker and several Halloween pranks.

  ‘Did this happen last night?’ Lorelei asked. ‘Gina has done some explaining, but I don’t think Mrs Knebworth is very pleased that you got in under false pretences.’

  ‘Erm . . . no . . .’ Dermot agreed, realizing this was awkward.

  ‘You should probably go round there and offer her an apology,’ Lorelei suggested.

  Dermot and Gina exchanged glances. Go round and apologize? To Norah the terrifying Neb?

  ‘You’re right,’ Dermot began. ‘And hopefully I’ll live, you know, to tell the tale.’

  Instead of laughing, Lorelei made an unamused throat-clearing kind of sound. Fortunately the tour had now come to a halt in front of the cathedral, and the guide turned to face them.

  The tourists fell into respectful silence and the Americans and Dermot had to do likewise.

  The guide began to tell them about ghosts. After several minutes Gina realized that it certainly wasn’t the most thrilling talk she had ever heard.

  ‘I think this is going to be cold and boring,’ she whispered to Dermot.

  He pushed his hand into her coat pocket and squeezed her cold fingers. ‘Trust me, at the end of the Royal Mile he takes us to one of the oldest houses in Edinburgh and that’s when it gets properly scary.’

  Gina smiled and raised her eyebrows at him.

  ‘Seriously!’ he promised. ‘And he’s good.’ He tilted his head towards the tour guide. ‘He just needs to warm up.’

  ‘Me too. So you take a lot of girls on the ghost tour, do you?’ Gina couldn’t help asking.

  ‘No!’ Dermot replied, before being shushed by a Spaniard with threateningly bushy eyebrows.

  The blackened stone house at the end of the Royal Mile was very old. It had a gnarled front door decorated with hundreds of years worth of scrapes and scratches. Great metal hinges anchored it to the stone walls and it was locked with two rusting iron bolts.

  The guide wrestled the bolts back and then took a key out of his pocket; it was several centimetres long and intricately wrought.

  ‘Now, this house has no less than seven ghosts all of its own. All seven have been independently witnessed many times,’ he said in a quiet voice, which was meant to sound spooky.

  ‘Has anyone seen all seven?’ one of the women in the crowd wanted to know.

  ‘Who believes in ghosts?’ Gina whispered to her little group.

  ‘You know I don’t,’ said Lorelei, ever the pragmatist.

  ‘Um . . . I don’t think so,’ Paula said when Gina looked at her.

  ‘I’m not sure . . .’ Maddison answered.

  ‘What about you?’ Dermot asked Gina.

  ‘No way!’ she insisted. ‘They’re just stories. Stories made up to frighten the kids.’

  Dermot looked at her with his eyebrows raised. ‘I totally believe in ghosts,’ he said – so seriously that Gina immediately suspected he was teasing.

  ‘No way you do!�
� she exclaimed. ‘You don’t even believe in Santa Claus.’

  ‘Santa Claus! Of course I believe in Santa Claus, and I believe in ghosties . . .’ He gave a deep, mock horror-film laugh as the guide motioned for them all to follow him into the house.

  ‘We’re going down to the vault,’ Dermot explained. ‘You won’t believe how big it is – with lots of little passages leading off in different directions.’

  Down in the darkness of the cellar, the tourists instinctively huddled close together in the damp chill.

  ‘Edinburgh vaults had all kinds of uses,’ the guide was telling them. ‘The poor used to live in them; plague victims were often kept underground, so they couldn’t infect anyone else. Until very recently, every vault came with its own family of rats.’

  Gina shuddered. Of course there weren’t rats down here now, she tried to tell herself. But in the flickering darkness, lit only by the two torches in the guide’s hands, things which might have been funny upstairs or out on the street were a bit more creepy.

  ‘Look around – feel free to wander about,’ the guide added. ‘I’ll light a few tapers and you can go off in groups. See if you find anything interesting . . . or unusual.’

  As soon as Dermot had a taper in his hand, he slipped his arm through Gina’s and whispered against her hair, ‘Shall we try and sneak off?’

  These words made Gina giggle and tingle. When Dermot took her hand in his, there was a momentary fizz of static.

  As the crowd of tourists spread out, Dermot hurried her towards a little side passage. As soon as they had rounded the corner, they paused, looking into each other’s eyes, totally caught up in what they knew was going to happen next.

  Their heads moved together, and although it had only been twenty-four hours since they’d last kissed like this, it felt too long. Much, much too long.

  Gina leaned back against the damp brick wall. She slid her hands in under Dermot’s coat collar and scarf so she could touch the soft skin of his neck.

  She felt his teeth bump against hers and opened her mouth a little further. Opening her eyes slightly, she saw Dermot’s cheek in fascinating close-up in the dim light of the taper. Just beyond his shoulder, holding a taper of her own, she also saw her mother.

  ‘Er . . . erm . . .’ Lorelei cleared her throat, before adding frostily, ‘Excuse me!’

  Chapter Six

  AS SOON AS Finn had chosen his seat at the dinner table, Amy picked the chair opposite. This way, she thought to herself, she’d have something good to look at in the gloomy dining room, and something entertaining to take her mind off the meal. She’d had dinner at Blacklough Hall often enough to know that the supply of snacks hidden in her luggage was essential. Cooking and eating just weren’t N-B priorities.

  It was easy to understand why Mr and Mrs N-B were so slim; what was not so easy to understand was how their children had grown so tall. Maybe that was due to boarding-school food: Niffy always ate enormous portions at school.

  ‘So tell us all about St Jude’s,’ Finn said, shooting Amy a grin. ‘What’s happening? What’s the latest? How is your Californian friend settling in?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ Niffy said, before slurping up a mouthful of the bitter spinach soup. ‘She’s written a play or something, hasn’t she?’

  Niffy wasn’t totally up-to-date with the school gossip because she’d insisted that she wasn’t going back to St J’s until she knew that her mum was on the road to recovery.

  ‘Yeah, there’s this house competition: four plays written by pupils are going to be performed, and Gina’s is one of them,’ Amy explained. ‘I’m going to audition for the main part because she thinks it would suit me,’ she added, because it suddenly seemed important that Finn should know about this.

  ‘I had a friend who was in all the plays at school and now she’s a famous actress,’ Mrs N-B chipped in.

  ‘Really?’ Amy asked, astonished. The idea of Mrs N-B being friends with anyone famous or even slightly glamorous was strange. She was the kind of woman who wore the same dresses for twenty-odd years and spent a lot of time weeding.

  ‘Yes, Gwen Smith-Turner,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of her?’

  Now Amy was open-mouthed with astonishment. ‘You know her?’

  Gwen Smith-Turner was one of the poshest, most glamorous, most utterly famous actresses in the country.

  ‘Oh yes, very well,’ Mrs N-B confirmed.

  ‘She was at St Jude’s?’ Amy gasped.

  ‘Mmmm. I’ve got some photos. I’ll look them out for you later.’

  Amy would have liked to ask about a hundred more questions, but then Finn said, ‘Aha, so you’re a fellow thespian?’ His arching eyebrows threatened to rise up into his hair.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘He just means he’s into theatre stuff as well,’ Niffy explained through a mouthful of bread.

  ‘Do you like acting too?’ Amy asked, aware that she was finding it hard to take her eyes off Finn. And also aware that whenever she looked at him, he was already looking at her, which made her fizz with some kind of nervous energy.

  ‘No, I like to direct,’ Finn replied. ‘I’m hoping I’ll get the chance to direct the school play next term. In the meantime I’ve got a nice little video camera – I like to make films. I’ve got a couple of long-suffering friends who don’t mind doing a bit of acting for me . . .’

  There was a pause and Finn carried on looking at Amy as Amy carried on looking at Finn.

  She wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking: would he like to film her acting for his video camera? That would be so intimate and intriguing . . . The thought of it was making her shiver.

  Amy was enjoying her secret little crush so much. It seemed to be growing stronger by the second, even though it was only yesterday that she’d told her last crush to get lost.

  The previous object of Amy’s affections had been Jason: so handsome and so fantastic when he was right there in front of you, but completely unreliable, thoughtless – and even a cheat. Yes, her last crush had left her crushed.

  But Jason was sooo yesterday. Today, right here, right now, was all about Finn.

  Just how nice and how interested did Finn seem? He was Niffy’s brother, and Niffy was her best friend in the whole world – there was no one more in tune with Amy than Niffy – so didn’t it make sense that Finn and Amy would be a perfect match?

  ‘What are the plans for tomorrow?’ Mr N-B asked, forcing Finn and Amy to tear their gazes from each other.

  ‘Well, Amy will borrow wellies and anoraks and stuff,’ Niffy began, ‘and then we’ll tramp about giving the dogs their run in the morning and maybe she’ll watch me do a bit of riding, then we’ll head into the village for lunch. How does that sound?’

  ‘Yeah . . .’ Amy agreed dubiously. On the journey down, the prospect of borrowing Niffy’s old wellies and wax jackets had seemed bad enough, but now that Finn was around to see her – it was horrible.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like horses?’ Finn asked.

  Amy gave what she hoped was a tactful shrug-smile. She didn’t want to hurt Niffy’s feelings – but on the other hand, maybe Finn was going to suggest something else she could be doing with him while Niffy was riding.

  ‘Well, when you’re riding, Niff, I could show Amy some of my films – I mean, if you’re interested, Amy; if that’s the kind of thing you—’

  Amy felt her heart leap with excitement.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Finn!’ Mr N-B cut in. ‘I’m sure Amy doesn’t want to spend hours trying to make sense of your arty twaddle.’ He turned to Amy. ‘I think Finn’s been over-exposed to experimental Russian films at school. Biggest load of gloomy nonsense I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Well, Dad, you are someone who thinks Monty Python is the epitome of cinematic achievement,’ Finn said crossly.

  ‘Monty Python – absolutely hilarious,’ Mr N-B insisted, laughing at the mere thought.

  Before Amy could insist that arty twaddle w
as the one thing she would most like to spend tomorrow morning watching, Mrs N-B offered her suggestion.

  ‘Amy, when Niffy is riding, why don’t you spend some time with me? We’ll look out those old school photos of Gwen and maybe do a bit of baking. I’ve heard that you make an unbelievably good Glasgow scone.’

  ‘The Dough School recipe,’ Amy confirmed. ‘My gran taught it to me.’

  ‘Great idea!’ Finn was looking at Amy again. ‘I love scones – almost as much as I love doughnuts.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Niffy and Finn said together. ‘Doughnuts.’

  They were doing Homer Simpson. It was a brother-sister thing, Amy realized with a tiny pang of jealousy.

  ‘Can I watch you make the scones?’ Finn asked.

  But just as Amy imagined an hour or two in the cosy kitchen laughing at Finn’s jokes, smiling into Finn’s eyes and making Finn fall down in amazement at her incredible scones, Mrs N-B dashed her hopes.

  ‘Don’t be silly! I want Amy to myself, Finn – and anyway, you are the clumsiest person I know. No, you definitely can’t help us make scones!’

  Was it just Amy’s imagination or did a look of disappointment flicker across Finn’s face?

  Chapter Seven

  GINA COULDN’T HELP giggling when she read the text Dermot had just sent her: IS YR MOM STILL NOT TALKING 2 U?

  SHE’S FORGIVEN ME BUT NOT U, she texted back.

  O 2 BAD, came the reply.

  HV TO STOP TXTING COS MAKING ME C-SICK, she told him.

  Because she, Paula, Maddison and Lorelei were now on a ferry. This was part two of her mother’s frantic week of sightseeing.

  As soon as Edinburgh had been ‘done’, Lorelei had hired a car and loaded up the three girls and all their luggage: they were off to the tiny little island in the Inner Hebrides where Lorelei had spent so many summer holidays when she was a girl.

  ‘I can’t wait to show you Colonsay,’ she kept telling them. ‘It’s this beautiful, amazing place. I bet it’s hardly changed at all since I used to holiday there. Twenty . . . oh my goodness, over thirty years ago now . . .’ She’d seemed slightly shocked by the calculation.