My Life So Far

by Chloe Rayban

  It’s Shug. I hadn’t noticed him in all the panic of trying to attract Mum’s attention. He must’ve come up behind the others.

  Instantly, the autograph books are thrust in his direction.

  ‘I didn’t have a pass. They wouldn’t let me through,’ I shout at him.

  ‘Silly you,’ he says, casually signing an autograph.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Please tell someone I’m me. Mum’s going to be so mad if I miss her premiere.’

  Shug gives me an arrogant grin and moves further down the barrier, signing autographs all the way.

  ‘Shug! You can’t just leave me here.’

  ‘Wanna bet?’

  ‘Oh Shug, honestly. Please!’ I’m hopping up and down with frustration.

  He saunters back grinning: ‘OK. Put your arms round my neck . . .’

  Suddenly I find I’m being lifted bodily over the barrier. Strong arms are round me and that whoozy whizzy feeling has come back again with a vengeance.

  6.00 p.m.

  The film has already started when we get in. That’s why I have to sit at the back of the theatre with Shug, when I should have been sitting at the front with Mum.

  ‘This is nice,’ whispers Shug, sliding down in his seat. ‘Just the two of us. Like a date.’

  ‘As if!’ I whisper back.

  ‘Oh, come on. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be outside.’ People in front are shushing us.

  ‘Will you hush up and watch!’ I hiss at him. Because I really want to concentrate on the film. It’s kind of unique being given the opportunity to watch your very own mother’s life – I don’t want to miss a crucial bit.

  We’ve come in at the place where Mum’s still a kid of around five or six. She’s living with her grandmother, who is my great-grandmother – played by this all-time famous actress who doesn’t look a bit like Gi-Gi. At this point Mum (or Candice, as she’s called) is behaving in a very un-Mumlike fashion, doing classical ballet classes and learning the piano.

  Shug is making ‘omigod’ noises beside me as the miniature Mum is doing all her neat little pirouettes and pliés. I kick him to shut him up.

  The film moves on to the part where Mum is around my age and suddenly it’s Gina – a girl I know from London – acting the part of Mum. I nudge Shug. ‘Isn’t she brilliant?’

  Gina has to play the difficult bits – screaming, rebellion, refusing to go to school – and she does it really well. She’s made up to look a true nightmare of a teenager – raggy things tied in her hair, big holes cut into her tights and a lip ring and everything.

  ‘She certainly has attitude,’ says Shug.

  ‘Don’t overreact – Gina’s not like that really.’

  It isn’t until the bit where Mum becomes a groupie and starts trailing around after Dad’s band that Shug sits up and really starts to take notice.

  ‘Your dad’s not bad,’ he says, as if it’s the most amazing thing ever.

  ‘Naturally,’ I whisper back.

  It’s kind of hard to believe the bits that follow. Mum and Dad are living in a trailer park. Dad’s struggling to write music and Mum’s six months pregnant. She’s doing things undreamed of by Mum, like hanging out washing. And there’s no way she ever peeled a potato – she simply wouldn’t know how to.

  Then all of a sudden we’re cutting to real photos of Mum. She’s coming out of hospital carrying a closely wrapped bundle – that’s me.

  ‘Glad you got rid of those wrinkles,’ whispers Shug.

  After that comes Mum’s amazing rise to fame. I can tell Shug’s dead impressed, by the way he’s stopped fidgeting and gone all quiet. There’s loads of footage taken direct from Mum’s early concerts with the Popsicles. And then they screen the bit we’ve actually witnessed shooting in New York.

  Shug nudges me.

  I nod. My mind goes back to that morning. I remember Shug barring my way and how I had to brush up against him to get by. And the way I caught him looking at me when I turned back. I sit through the rest of the film very much aware of the warmth of his shoulder just inches away from mine.

  10.00 p.m.

  There’s this massive party after the premiere. Predictably, Shug goes off to talk to loads of important people and there’s no way I can get near Mum or Oliver. Even Elwyn is surrounded by a little group of ageing fans.

  I’m feeling really out of it when suddenly someone bounces up to me.

  ‘Gina!’ (It’s the girl who played Mum when she was my age. I met her when they had the auditions for the part way back in London.)

  ‘Hi! I knew you’d be here,’ she says.

  ‘Did they fly you out specially from London?’

  ‘No, I was here already, filming something else.’

  ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘Who was that boy I saw you with?’

  ‘Oh, him. That’s Shug, my stepbrother,’

  ‘Isn’t he in a band?’

  ‘Mm-hmm. And doesn’t he know it!’

  ‘They’re really good.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start.’

  ‘No, but they are.’

  ‘Don’t tell him – he’s got a big enough head already.’

  ‘Hey, won’t you take me over? I’d like to meet him.’

  I pause. What is this strange feeling? There’s no reason on this earth why I wouldn’t want to introduce Gina to Shug.

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  I led Gina over to where Shug was standing with a load of guys who looked as if they were from the press. It took a minute or two to get his attention.

  ‘Shug, this is Gina. Gina, this is Shug.’

  The minute they set eyes on Gina the press guys wanted to take her picture with Shug. I turned to them, putting on my best press smile.

  ‘Can you two get closer? Do you mind standing to one side, honey?’ asked one of the guys.

  ‘Me? Oh yes, sure.’

  I stood aside. I watched as Gina and Shug had photos taken. Loads of them. I didn’t want to be in the photos. No way. But that odd feeling came back again. It was stronger now. Why should I mind if Shug had his picture taken with Gina?

  ‘So, guys, what are we going to do now?’ asked Gina.

  ‘We’re all going out to eat later. Let’s stick together,’ said Shug.

  I looked from one to the other of them, not sure if this invitation included me.

  But Gina said: ‘Yes, let’s.’ Then she put an arm through mine and whispered: ‘I’m going to, as you say here, freshen up. You coming?’

  ‘OK. Sure.’

  I followed Gina to the Ladies Room.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. Why?’

  ‘You were looking as if you were about to chuck or something.’

  ‘It’s hot in there, that’s all.’

  ‘Uh-huh?’ she said, leaning into the mirror and applying more mascara. ‘You know something? Your stepbrother. He’s hot.’

  I shrugged. ‘He’s OK, I guess.’

  ‘OK? He’s more than OK.’

  ‘Well, I’m kind of getting used to him being around.’

  ‘He can be around me as much as he likes.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  I took out my hairbrush and started brushing my hair.

  Gina stared at me in the mirror. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got the hots for him, haven’t you?’

  ‘No I have not!’

  ‘Holly, admit it. You have. Look at you.’

  I was not blushing – truly I wasn’t. I slapped more foundation on my face.

  ‘Would I want to go out with my own stepbrother?’

  ‘You’re not actually related.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t. So there.’

  ‘OK! In that case, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t,’ said Gina.

  ‘None in the world,’ I agreed.

  11.00 p.m.

  We didn’t go to a restaurant. We were driven in a convoy of cars up into the Hollywood Hills. Gina and Shug and I were squeezed into the back of a car. Sh
ug was in between.

  Miles out of town, in the middle of nowhere, our car was met by a masked horseman. He escorted us from the valet parking to a mansion hidden away in the trees. Long tables had been set out in a courtyard, and there was a banquet that looked like a medieval feast – everything on silver platters and lit by flaming torches. As a mark of recognition to Mum and Oliver, there were little blue and white lights everywhere – in all the trees and floating in the pool. There were even little LEDs in the ice buckets which kept switiching from white to blue.

  Mum and Oliver were already seated with Elwyn and a load of people who I’d seen in all the celebrity magazines. Gina was loving it. She kept nudging me and pointing people out, which I wished she wouldn’t do – practically everyone was famous.

  People were seated kind of in pecking order. Like the truly famous people at the top of the table with Mum and Oliver, then the less famous people like the other actors. And then right at the end were Shug and Gina and me.

  Everyone seemed to be talking at once and there was loads of toasting the newly-weds. Great gales of laughter kept coming from their end of the table. If you wanted to hear what anyone was saying, you had to sit really close. If Gina sat any closer to Shug, she’d be on his lap.

  I sat toying with my food. It was kind of late to eat.

  Shug kept glancing across at me. I could tell he and Gina were talking about me by the way she was laughing. I bet he was telling her about all the dumb things I’ve done. Like how I loused up Mum’s wedding and nearly missed the premiere.

  When we’d finished our main course, Gina leaned over the table to me.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine. Why?’

  ‘Nothing. You want to do something tomorrow? I’ve got the day off.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Shug wants to meet up at a diner on Sunset Strip.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Are you sure you want me too?’

  ‘Of course!’

  After that someone put on a smoochy number from one of Mum’s early albums. Mum and Oliver got up and started slow-dancing. With that, everyone got to their feet clapping. Then Mum started dragging people on to the dance floor.

  Gina leapt up right away and grabbed Shug by the arm. ‘Come on,’ she called over to me. ‘Let’s dance.’

  She flounced off ahead to the floor. I didn’t get up – she was just being nice. It was Shug she wanted to dance with.

  Shug came round to my side. ‘Don’t you want to dance?’

  I shrugged. ‘Why don’t you dance with Gina?’

  ‘We can all dance together, can’t we?’

  ‘Not if it’s a slow dance.’

  I could see Gina waving and beckoning to us.

  ‘Go on, dance with Gina,’ I said, hoping maybe he wouldn’t.

  ‘OK,’ said Shug. ‘I’ll do that.’

  I watched as he threaded his way on to the dance floor and started dancing with Gina.

  Why was I feeling like this? Shug could go out with Gina if he wanted to. Why not? He was only my stepbrother, after all.

  Tuesday 15th July, 8.00 a.m.

  Elwyn Jones’s residence

  I wake up to hear footsteps going back and forth in my room. I peep over the covers and find there’s a maid in my room taking everything out of my closet and packing it in my suitcase.

  ‘Hello. What’s going on?’

  ‘Oh, sorry to wake you, Miss Hollywood. But your mother’s said to pack all your things.’

  ‘Pack? Why?’

  ‘I’m told you’re leaving today.’

  ‘Leaving?’

  We can’t be leaving. I’m meant to be meeting up with Shug and Gina.

  ‘By the midday flight. But don’t you worry about a thing. Would you like your breakfast served in your room?’

  I’m wide awake now. What’s Mum up to? I reach for the phone. Mum and Oliver’s number’s engaged. Elwyn’s given them an even bigger suite in the main house now they’re married. I fling on my robe and stumble through the garden.

  30 seconds later, inside Elwyn’s house

  The main house is filled to bursting with Elwyn’s priceless collection of Chinese antiquities. Between two life-size porcelain horses I find Mum seated on a couch made to look like a reclining dragon. She’s on the phone. She waves at me to sit down and wait. This call is clearly important.

  ‘But I know there are two free. I saw them with my own eyes. Between Fred Astaire and Charlie Chaplin. You go take a look for yourself.’

  ‘. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ’

  ‘What do you mean, further downtown? No way!’

  ‘. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ’

  ‘What if I make a bigger donation?’

  ‘. . . . . . . . . . . . ’

  ‘Yeah, you do that. Look into it.’

  Mum puts the phone down with a frown.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘The Walk of Fame, babes. Now we’re married, Oliver and I want our plaques side by side. And for some reason these City Council people are being really difficult about it.’

  ‘Maybe they want to see how long it lasts.’ Vix’s voice comes from behind a lacquer cabinet.

  Mum’s eyes narrow. ‘Vix, this is important. I want you to get down there straight away and sort it out. Now, babes, what was it you wanted?’

  ‘There’s someone in my room packing my things. Nobody told me we were leaving.’

  ‘Oliver got a call this morning. He’s had to fly back to Rome. And I just had this brilliant idea. Why not go after him? It would be a really good trip for you too, babes – educational. You know, the Colosseum – all those ruins and stuff.’

  ‘But I’ve got things planned!’

  ‘Planned? What could you possibly have planned?’

  ‘I was meeting up with some friends and –’

  ‘Babes, you can see friends any time.’

  ‘Not if I’m in Rome and they’re in LA I can’t.’

  But Mum’s lost interest. Vix wants to know the exact location where Mum’s set her heart on having the plaques. I try to interrupt.

  Mum turns to me. ‘Hollywood, this is important. These plaques are going to be there like for eternity . . .’

  Later, Flight AA 945 to Rome

  So I’m flying to Rome with Mum. Vix and Daffyd and June and Thierry and Abdul and Sid and Gervase are flying to New York. I’ve given Sid the Pet-U-Love Vu-Cam with strict instructions to install it at Dad’s the minute he gets there, so I can keep an eye on Brandy and check whether Dad’s walking him. Shug is staying in LA and so is Gina.

  I spend the flight imagining how Shug and Gina are spending their day:

  a) They’re having a burger together in this really cool diner on Sunset. They’re sharing a large-size French fries and their hands kind of touch...

  b) They’ve gone down to Venice Beach and they’re cycling – no, rollerblading together. Gina’s kind of wobbly and Shug has to put his arm round her . . .

  c) They’re at Malibu walking on the beach into the sunset hand-in-hand...

  Gina has kindly said she’ll keep me texted. I can’t wait to hear how they’re getting on.

  9.00 p.m., Rome Airport

  There’s a car waiting at the airport to meet us. No one is expecting Mum to arrive so we don’t have to run the gauntlet of the usual frantic paparazzi. Mum climbs into the front and I’m just settling into the back and checking my mobile to see if Gina’s texted me about her brilliant day with Shug, when I find I have a text from Becky.

  it’s the awards

  tonight

  wish me luck

  you will watch

  won’t you?

  Bx

  I text back immediately

  of course!

  break a string or whatever

  love

  HBWX

  It’s The Young Musician of the Year Awards tonight! I’ve got to get to a TV somehow to watch it.

  10.05 p.m., The Palazzo Albrizzi Hotel, Rome
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  The Palazzo Albrizzi is a really old palace up in the hills overlooking Rome. The entrance hall is all marble and gilt mirrors and tapestries, but I don’t have time to linger over the decor.

  The minute I’m in my suite I zap on the TV. After channel-switching through enough programmes to send the Albrizzi’s motorised satellite dish into pirouettes, I find the channel I’m looking for. Phew! There is the uneasy sound of an orchestra tuning up in the background.

  I fume through flashbacks of two other performers, wondering if I’ve missed Becky’s bit. But no. Now it’s her turn. For a moment I hardly recognise her. She’s wearing a really grown-up black dress and has her hair tied back.

  One of the interviewers says: ‘Tell us something about the violin you’re playing, Becky.’

  Becky looks at the violin lovingly. ‘It’s a really strange story. I’ve always dreamed of owning a Stradivarius, then, out of the blue, this violin was delivered to me anonymously – as a gift.’

  She’s got her Strad! Brilliant! I’m so knocked out I feel like yelling! But who could have sent it? Someone pretty rich. Becky doesn’t know anyone rich apart from us. Mum! It must be from Mum. She didn’t just give a donation, she bought it outright! Oh, that is SO-OO kind of her – and not letting on to anyone either.

  I’m about to grab the phone and thank Mum when I think better of it. No. If Mum wants to be generous and keep it a secret, I think I should respect her wishes. I won’t mention it unless she does.

  Becky’s started playing. It’s a piece I can remember her practising when we were at school together. For a moment this takes me back. I’m standing in the grounds beneath the practice room, wondering how much longer she’s going to be. But it seems like all this practice has paid off. She plays better than I’ve ever heard her. She must be right about the Strad. I wait in an agony of anticipation while the two presenters go into an endless rigmarole summing up the performances of the finalists.

  I have my fingers crossed and my toes crossed and my hands are wet with the suspense. At last the finalists file on to the stage for the verdict of the jury.