by Chloe Rayban
10.30 p.m., Suite 6002
Still nothing happening. I’ve done my homework and I’m not even tired. I check my mobile.
Hey, there’s a text from Becky!
you’ll never guess what!
i’ve been selected for:
a) miss world
b) pres bush’s new mars mission
c) young musician of the year !!!!!!!!!!
Young Musician of the Year – it’s like this talent competition for all young people who play classical stuff. Win it and you’re lauched on a career as a top international performer. It’s like coming number one in the charts in the States and the UK simultaneously – in fact worldwide. Wow! Becky! So all that dedicated practising has paid off! I am so proud for her. Forget SotR no late calls ruling. I ring her straight away. She answers immediately.
‘Becky! You are a genius!’
‘Hi, Holly!’ comes the whispered reply.
‘You must be over the moon!
‘Shhhh!’
‘Becky, you still there? You sound all muffled.’
‘I’m under the covers. Someone might hear.’
‘You’re in bed?’
‘Holly, it’s after lights out.’
I had totally forgotten that SotR has this obsessive regime. The girls are meant to be asleep by ten thirty because they have to be up at 6.00 a.m.
‘But you’re going to be on TV and everything.’
‘I’m only shortlisted. There are loads of us in the violin trials.’
‘But I know you’re going to win.’
‘Honestly, Holly, I’m happy just to get on the shortlist. I’ve got to go now. Keep texting me, OK?’
She rang off. I was left thinking how different this was from Mum. If she wasn’t the best at something she wasn’t worth living with. (‘There’s only one number one, Holly. If I don’t get that I know I’ve failed.’)
Tuesday 11th March, 8.30 a.m.
The elevator of The Royal Trocadero
There are so few guests in the hotel the bellboys have been given the month off. I have begun to take the elevator down to the hotel pool in slippers with my towelling robe thrown over my swimsuit. Suddenly the elevator makes an unscheduled stop at the ground floor and who should climb in but SHUG!!!!!
He is SO NOT the person you want to bump into at an unholy hour of the day when you are feeling totally fragile and you are half undressed.
I can feel myself totally blushing all over. I never knew feet could blush before.
Shug is really lapping this up. He closes the elevator doors and then stands leaning against the buttons, looking me slowly up and down. He kind of snorts.
‘Hi.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘This is a hotel, isn’t it? Or has your mum bought the whole place as a private residence, maybe?’
‘No. But I thought you were in LA?’
‘Been checking up on me, have you?’
‘I just saw you looking totally dumb at the Oscars, that’s all.’
‘Sweet of you to take an interest. What are you doing by the way? On your way out?’
I do a big fake smile. ‘Very funny. Can you stand aside please so that I can get to the elevator buttons? I’m going down for a swim.’
‘Oh! I thought the way you’re dressed might be a fashion statement.’
Shug makes no move so I am trapped in the elevator with him. I’m not going to let him see I’m fazed. I step back and lean, in a manner I hope looks nonchalant, against the far wall.
‘So? What are you doing in the Trocadero?’
‘I came to see you, as a matter of fact.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not about to ask you out on a date or anything.’
‘Oh wow, where did you learn your charm from? Your dad, maybe?’
Shug rolled his eyes. ‘It’s my dad I’ve come about. Have you seen him lately? Have you any idea what’s going on between those two?’
‘Not a lot, I imagine. You don’t stand up the richest megastar in the universe and get away with it.’
‘Yeah,’ said Shug with a grin. ‘Must’ve been pretty tough on Kandhi being blown out like that.’
‘Must be pretty tough on Oliver being dumped.’
‘Oh, she’s dumped him, has she?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I reckon your mum’s crying her pretty little self to sleep every night.’
‘You must be joking. Do you think Kandhi actually cares about some stuffed shirt, cold fish …’ I was running out of insults.
‘Do you think my dad cares about some overdressed, overrated bimbette who can’t even sing?’
I paused for breath. So did Shug.
‘Why does it matter to you, anyway?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘I was just trying to track down my dad, that’s all.’
‘Running out of pocket money?’
‘Oh, very funny.’
‘Well, there’s no point in looking for him here, that’s for sure. Now, could you kindly get away from those elevator buttons and let me go on my way?’
‘You only had to ask nicely.’
He stands aside. He even presses the lower ground button for me.
When the doors open I walk out with as much dignity as someone dressed in a bathrobe and pink fluffy slippers can muster.
Wednesday 12th March, 11.00 a.m.
The Penthouse Suite, The Royal Trocadero
Shug has sown the seeds of doubt in my mind. Has Mum really dumped Oliver? Or NOT? She’s been very quiet about the whole thing. In fact, she hasn’t mentioned his name in days. This usually means she’s up to something.
So I’ve popped up to her suite to see if there’s any evidence lying around. Oliver’s photo in her bedside drawer, love letters in her mail tray, shaving foam in the bathroom, that kind of thing. There’s nothing. There’s not so much as the negative imprint of a biro on a Post-it slip.
2.30 p.m., suite 6003
I’ve still got Mum and Oliver on my mind when Rupert arrives for our lesson.
I guess I’m not concentrating as much as I should. Rupert has actually started to lose his cool.
‘Holly, are you listening to me?’
‘Yes, sure I am. What was it you said?’
‘Look at you. You look grey. When did you last get outside?’
‘Thanks, you’ve really made me feel better.’
‘No, but seriously. When did you last go out?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Sid and Abdul are always with Mum. I’m not allowed out alone.’
‘Well, I don’t think that’s fair on someone your age. I mean, here you are living in the very centre of London and you’ve hardly been anywhere.’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘Tell you what. Why don’t we plan an educational outing. I bet you’ve never visited the Globe.’
‘The Globe?’
‘It’s a full-size replica of Shakespeare’s original theatre. You must’ve heard of it.’
‘Well, yes. I guess.’
‘They do a tour of the theatre. We should give classes a miss one afternoon and go on one. You know, to feel the atmosphere of the theatre Shakespeare actually wrote for.’
A trip out to a theatre with Rupert! I mean, wow! It’ll feel like a date. Except it won’t. Not if we take Sid or Abdul with us. But Sid and Abdul are like totally busy right now. And if I’m with Rupert I won’t really need a bodyguard, will I? And it’s only in the afternoon. I mean, it’s a lesson really. Essential study.
‘Yep, I’d like that. When?’
‘How’s about tomorrow?’
‘Brilliant!’
Thursday 13th March, 12.30 p.m.
Suite 6002
I’ve spent the entire morning preparing for the afternoon. I am in a turmoil about what to wear. I’ve taken every single thing out of my closet and tried it on and put it back again. Oh, indecision!
I consider ringing Abdul and getti
ng him to drive me to Harrods’ young fashion department. I’ve still got a kilo of blueberry jelly beans. But Mum might need him and want to know where where he’s going and this could ruin my plans.
In the end I’ve got dressed in a white Kandhi Store miniskirt ’cos it shows off my legs and a loose top that disguises the fact that I don’t currrently have boobs worth mentioning. (Recently, these have moved nearer the top of my U.W.L.) A belt around the loose top so that I don’t look totally shapeless and a black crochet poncho thingy that is really cool in spite of the fact Gi-Gi made it for me from a pattern.
Rupert has said he’ll meet me in reception at 2.30 p.m. I have kind of avoided mentioning this trip to anyone. I mean, I know Mum would just put up stupid objections.
2.30 p.m.
I go down in the elevator to Reception and to my horror Sit is standing at the elevator entrance as I get out.
‘Hi, Horry. You look, er – nice. Where you going?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘Is not possible,’ says Sit.
‘Oh, stop being philosophical for once, pl-ease.’
‘OK. Have nice day,’ he says.
He gets into the elevator and I get out.
‘And Sit …’
‘Yes, Horry.’
‘Don’t tell Mum you saw me, OK?’
‘But I must, if she asks,’ says Sit. (His blessed vow of truthfulness again!)
I narrow my eyes. ‘Look, Sit. If you tell Mum anything, I’ll tell her about the pictures you have of her plastered all over your suite, right!’ And with that I push the ‘doors close’ button and Sit’s amazed face disappears from view.
Sit may be her spiritual adviser, but he’s also a fan. If Mum gets the slightest whiff of the fact that his devotion is greater for her than for Buddha, he’d be out of here faster than he can say ‘plawn clacker’.
Rupert is late as usual, so I have to hang around Reception reading the leaflets for various random tourist attractions. If one more member of the Royal Trocadero staff comes up and asks me if they can help me, I’ll belt them one.
At last, I see the figure of Rupert in the street outside, fast approaching the circular doors. I dash out to meet him.
‘Oh, sorry. Traffic was at a standstill,’ he apologises.
But I don’t care that he’s late. He’s here now. And it’s raining. He has an umbrella up which means we have to stand really close.
‘Er, Holly,’ he says, eyeing me curiously. OK, so I know now. I’ve overdressed. I look a freak. No, worse, I look like a total dog. ‘Haven’t you got a mac or something? Are you going to be warm enough?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, wrapping the poncho firmly round me. ‘Let’s go.’
But Rupert doesn’t lead me to the taxi rank. He’s heading across the street to the underground station.
Now this may sound really weird to you, but you haven’t led the kind of life I have. For me, going down into an actual underground station packed with strangers is really scary. The steps down to it are kind of slippery and greasy and people are pushing past me. I can feel panic rising in my throat. But I stay really close to Rupert, which calms me down some.
Down at the bottom, Rupert stops by a machine thingy and gets us two tickets. Then he pushes a way through to a gate, with kind of barriers in it to stop you going through. Rupert steps aside politely to let me go first. I’m causing a logjam of people while I’m wondering how to get through.
‘Go on,’ he says.
‘What am I meant to do?’
‘Holly. Don’t tell me you’ve never been on the underground?’
‘No. I’ve always wondered what it was like.’
‘You put your ticket in that slot.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ says Rupert when we are on the escalator going down. ‘You mean to say you’ve never been on public transport?’
‘Well, maybe, when I was a little kid. Too early to remember. Before Mum was famous.’
We have to wait on a crowded platform. This is really freaking me out. A good half of the people look like potential kidnappers. But when we get into our carriage I feel better. The people on this train look more like families on outings.
All the way to the Globe, Rupert keeps up a non-stop commentary about Shakespeare, who you’d be surprised to know was way less famous than Mum in his lifetime. He was even quite poor when he died. But something tells me he had somewhat more lasting power than Mum. I mean, could you imagine anyone quoting Kandhi lyrics, like three centuries on?
4.30 p.m., SAME BLISSFUL AFTERNOON
It had stopped raining when we emerged from the Globe. The sun had even come out. So we walked along the Thames for a while. For once I wasn’t doing anything grand or smart. I was just taking an ordinary walk along with loads of ordinary people. Nobody was staring. Nobody was shouting. Nobody was trying to take photos. Nobody was interested in me. Heaven couldn’t possibly be nicer.
We mingled with the tourists who stopped in little clumps around the street performers. There was a guy who pretended to be a statue and stood so still I really thought he was, till Rupert gave me a coin to drop in his hat and he bowed. There was another who was selling whistles that made a sound like a bird. But Rupert said he’d had one once and he could never get it to work. And a man dressed as a clown who made animals out of balloons. And there were loads of stalls selling old books.
By six o’clock I was ravenous and so was Rupert and he suggested having a burger before he dropped me back at the hotel.
So you see. It was like a real grown-up date. Theatre and dinner.
I was just about to take the first big juicy bite of my Big Mac when my mobile started ringing.
I could hear it in my bag.
‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ asked Rupert.
‘I s’pose I better,’ I said, reluctantly raking it out.
‘Hi, Hollywood. Where are you?’ It was Mum.
‘Errm, I’m just having a bite to eat, actually.’
‘I went down to your suite and you weren’t there. I was really worried.’
‘It’s OK. I’m with Rupert.’
‘With Rupert? Why aren’t you in the hotel?’
‘We’ve been having an essential educational outing. But it got kind of late. So we thought we’d have a bite to eat.’
‘A bite. To eat? What kind of bite? Where?’ A note of distrust had crept into Mum’s voice.
‘We’re really close.’
‘Where exactly?’
‘At Piccadilly Circus.’
‘Where exactly?’
Reverend Mother had said never, ever to lie.
‘In McDonald’s.’
‘Stay where you are. I’m sending Sid and Abdul to pick you up straight away. And I want Rupert to come back to the hotel too. Do you hear?’
‘But Mum –’
She rang off.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Rupert.
‘It’s Mum. She’s being paranoid.’
‘Didn’t she know you were going out this afternoon?’
I shook my head. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry any more.
6.30 p.m., the Penthouse Suite
We caused quite a stir leaving McDonald’s. I guess not many people are escorted out by two seven-foot bouncers (who happened to get themselves a quick order of two Big Macs and double fries while they were about it).
When we arrived back at the Hotel, Sid said he had to take us straight up to Mum’s suite.
Mum was standing at the far end, looking furious.
Rupert started. ‘Look, I’m sorry Mrs Winterman –’
‘Will you stop calling me Mrs Winterman. The name’s Kandhi.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Win—I mean, Kandhi. But seeing as Holly has such a talent for acting –’
‘Talent?’ interrupted Mum.
‘Well, yes, she was doing this piece from The Taming of the Shrew that really impressed me.’ Rupert was doing his best to get round Mum but her ton
e didn’t change.
‘The Taming of what?’
‘The Shrew. It’s by Shakespeare.’
‘I don’t care if it’s by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Hollywood had no right to be out of the hotel.’
‘But Mum, they caught that guy. There isn’t even a threat any more.’
‘You’re my daughter, Hollywood – you’re always under threat.’
‘But Mrs W—I mean, Kandhi, I thought if I took her to the Globe … I mean, I assumed that Holly had cleared this outing with you.’
‘Mum, you see. It was an educational trip –’
‘Educational? McDonald’s?’ snapped Mum.
‘Well, that was after the educational bit,’ I said.
‘So? Why didn’t you clear it with your mother, Holly?’ asked Rupert.
Suddenly, I felt about two foot high. Rupert was treating me like a little kid. This was SO NOT fair.
‘Because I knew if I asked Mum, she wouldn’t let me go,’ I said miserably.
‘She’s right. I wouldn’t. I can’t believe this has happened. I take her out of a school that’s way in the depths of the country, in order to keep her under better security, and then I find her at loose God knows where in London. Anything could have happened.’
‘But it didn’t, did it?’ I retorted.
‘Hollywood, I hope you realise what you are putting me through.’
Putting her through! I saw RED at that point.
‘NO! I hope you realise what you are putting me through. I deserve a life as well, you know.’
‘A life! Look what I do for you! You are SO ungrateful. Any other girl …!’
‘Yeah, any other girl. Any other girl would maybe like being chained up and dressed up and trained to sing and dance and perform like some circus animal!’
Mum’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hollywood, go to your room. I’ll talk to you later.’
Even Blacker Friday: 14th March
Suite 6002