The Moonlight Dreamers

by Siobhan Curham

  Sky poured herself a glass of water, her mind racing. What was going on? When she’d got home to find the photographers hovering outside the house she’d assumed it was to do with Savannah and all the recent stories about her, but why was Rose so upset? And why was Savannah so upset with her? She took her glass of water and went out into the hall. She could hear the murmur of Liam and Savannah talking in Savannah’s study. She crept over and pressed her ear to the door.

  “We need to find out the truth,” she heard Liam say.

  “I know the truth,” Savannah snapped. “She’s doing this to get back at me. And now the press are here it will be all over the internet by the end of the day.”

  What would be all over the internet? Sky turned and headed upstairs. Maybe she could find out online? She went into her room and over to the window. A motorbike was pulling up down below. A guy got off and took a camera from his backpack. Great, another one. She looked back up at the tree, its branches bobbing and swaying. She thought of all the people it must have seen over the years it had been there. All the things it must have witnessed. What, she wondered, would it be making of what was going on below it right now? A pack of humans armed with cameras, holding a house hostage.

  She sighed and sat down on her bed and booted up her laptop. As she typed Rose’s name into the search engine she felt a pang of guilt. Wasn’t it sneaky and wrong to spy on Rose like this? But how else was she going to find out what had happened? Rose was hardly going to tell her. She hit ENTER. There at the top of the list was a post entitled: SAVANNAH JUNIOR’S SEXY SELFIE. It had gone up today. Sky’s stomach flipped. She clicked open the link and there was a picture of Rose – topless, with a CENSORED sticker superimposed over her breasts – pouting at the camera. Sky looked away. She should shut the laptop. She should turn it off and wipe what she’d seen from her mind. But she couldn’t. She had too many questions. How had they got that picture? Why had Rose taken it? Had she sent it to them? Sky looked back at the screen and scrolled down.

  It looks like Savannah Ferndale has a new contender to her crown – her own daughter! In a week that Ferndale will definitely want to see the back of – losing her contract with Infinity Cosmetics and #FerndaleFacelift trending on Twitter – her daughter, Rose Levine, has come storming on to the scene in the sensational selfie above. Having avoided the celebrity spotlight thus far, sixteen-year-old Rose, daughter of Ferndale and actor Jason Levine, posted this photo last night on her Instagram account. Showbiz Now says: it’s time to give in gracefully, Savannah, and make way for a younger model.

  Sky glanced at the comments.

  Like mother, like daughter – what a pair of sluts.

  Phwoar, yes please! ;)

  Just what we need, another great role model for our teen girls. Her mother should be ashamed, allowing her to post photos like this online!

  Sky snapped her laptop shut. What had Rose done? And why had she done it? If it had been to get back at Savannah, surely it was going to backfire. Rose didn’t seem to like the limelight – in fact, she seemed to hate it. Why would she do something that would bring this much attention to herself? None of it made sense.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Maali walked into the farm, running through all the reasons why what she was about to do wasn’t crazy or stalkerish, but bold and empowering. She was sick of living in a daydream. She needed something to actually happen. If she wanted to meet her soulmate one day, she had to overcome her fear of talking to boys.

  A gust of icy wind swept through the farmyard, biting right through her clothes into her skin. Why couldn’t it have been sunny, like yesterday? Ash was hardly going to want to stand around talking about pigs while he fought off hypothermia. She walked over to the pig enclosure. There was no sign of anyone, not even the pig. He had to be curled up warm inside his sty. Maali made her way to the stables. Maybe Ash was mucking out the horses. A bearded man came out of the stables, holding a broom.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “I – er – I’m looking for Ash,” Maali said.

  “I think he’s on his break,” the man said, looking at his watch. “Check the café,” he added, nodding towards a converted barn on the other side of the yard.

  “Thank you.” Maali was unsure of what to do. What if Ash was with other members of staff? What would she say then? Surely they’d see through her stupid pig project. Surely Ash would see through it. But she was here, and she couldn’t exactly leave now that the guy had told her where Ash was. Maali walked over to the café and peered in the window. Ash was sitting at a table in the far corner on his own, reading a book. Joy blazed through Maali like a shooting star. He liked reading. She had to go in. If she walked away now she’d always regret it, always be plagued by what-ifs. Just like Juliet would have been over Romeo – if she hadn’t killed herself. Bad example. Maali cleared her throat and walked in. A large woman with a smiley face was wiping down a table. “Hello, love, what can I get you?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m, er, here to see him.” Maali nodded in Ash’s direction.

  “Are you, now?” The woman nodded as if she knew something Maali didn’t. “Ashley, you have a visitor!” she called.

  Ash looked up from his book. As soon as he saw Maali he smiled, and instantly she felt at ease. He looked genuinely pleased to see her. She wasn’t crazy. This was OK.

  “Can I get you a drink?” the woman said. “Or is this a flying visit?”

  “Oh – I don’t know.”

  “Get a hot chocolate!” Ash called over. “They’re awesome.”

  Maali breathed another sigh of relief. He wanted her to stay long enough for a drink.

  “I’ll have another one too, please, Mum.”

  Maali inwardly groaned. This never happened in romantic movies. In romantic movies, when the girl and guy were first getting to know each other, the guy’s mum wasn’t hovering around in the background, holding a dishcloth. She made herself smile and nodded at Ash’s mum, then made her way over to him. “Hello, Ash.”

  His eyes twinkled in the fairy lights strung around the walls of the café. “Hello, Maali. Take a seat.”

  She’d been rehearsing her opening line all day at school, but his mum’s presence had completely thrown her. “So, about pigs…” she stammered.

  Ash laughed. “What, no small talk first?”

  “Sorry, I…”

  Ash pushed his book away and leaned in towards her. He was wearing a hoodie with a faded picture of an eagle on the front and he had a small silver hoop in the top of his left ear. She hadn’t noticed that before. She hadn’t been this close to him before. A strange heat rose up inside Maali, thawing her frozen limbs.

  “Do you want whipped cream and marshmallows on top?” Ash’s mum called across the café.

  “You have to have whipped cream and marshmallows on top,” Ash said. “If you don’t, it’s like getting a burger without a bun or a—”

  “House without a roof?” Maali suggested.

  “Yes!” Ash grinned at her, causing a supernova of joy to explode inside her chest.

  “Yes, please!” Maali called to his mum. She quickly wracked her brains for some small talk. “Do your family own this farm then?”

  Ash shook his head. “No, the council own it. My mum’s worked in the café since I was little, though, so it kind of feels like I’ve grown up here. I just work here part-time while I’m in sixth form.”

  “You’re in sixth form?”

  “Yes, first year. How about you?”

  “Oh. Year Ten. I’m one of the oldest in my year. I’m fifteen already,” she said quickly, then regretted it.

  “Oh. Right. Well, I’m one of the youngest in my year. I’m not seventeen until July.” Ash grinned at her again.

  Even though he was two years above her in school, right now, technically he was only one year older than her. She fought to stop herself grinning and looked down at his book. “You’re reading The Lord of the Rings.”

  Ash nodded. �
�Have you read it?”

  “Yes. I love it.”

  “Me too.” Ash picked up the book and showed her a dog-eared page near the end. “I’ve only got this much left.” He looked around the café as if to make sure no one was listening. “This is going to sound weird, but I’ve started reading it really slowly because I don’t want it to end.”

  “That’s what I do!” Maali exclaimed. “The first time I read Harry Potter, I actually started rationing my pages once I’d gone over two hundred. Well, I tried to, but it was just too good!”

  Ash laughed. “Yep. That’s why I’m glad you’re here. Now I’ve got a little bit longer before the book ends.”

  Maali grinned.

  “That’s not the only reason I’m glad you’re here,” Ash said quickly.

  Maali stared at him, her heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

  Ash looked embarrassed. “Well, that sounded a bit rude. I am pleased to see you again.” He laughed. “You’re not just a Lord of the Rings lengthener.”

  Maali giggled. She wasn’t just a Lord of the Rings lengthener. It was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.

  “So, what is it you want to know about pigs, then?”

  “Oh – I – I’ve got some questions.” Maali fumbled in her bag for the questions she’d hastily scribbled down in her French class.

  “What subject’s it for?” Ash asked.

  “English.”

  “English?” He laughed. “What are you studying, Pig Lit?”

  “No.” Maali’s cheeks began to burn. Could he tell she was lying? “I’m writing a story for Creative Writing – about a pig farmer.” Why, oh why, had she chosen pigs? Who wrote stories about pig farmers? Horses would have been way more believable.

  “A story about a pig farmer?” Ash echoed, his eyebrows furrowing.

  “Yes, I – I didn’t choose it. We were given a title.”

  “And yours was ‘The Pig Farmer’?”

  “Uh, no, it was – uh, ‘Bringing Home the Bacon’. It made me think of a pig farmer.”

  Ash tilted his head to one side. “A pig farmer who brings home a pig?”

  Panic sent words stumbling from Maali’s mouth. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I haven’t really worked out the plot yet. I thought I’d find out some more about pigs first and see if that inspired me.”

  Ash nodded, bemused.

  “Here you go.” Ash’s mum plonked down two enormous hot chocolates covered in swirls of whipped cream, dotted with marshmallows and dusted with powdered chocolate.

  “Thank you.” Maali grabbed her cup, grateful for the distraction.

  “Cheers, Mum,” Ash said, raising his cup.

  “You’re welcome,” his mum replied, picking up an empty cup from the table. “So, what are you pair up to?”

  Maali kept her eyes glued to her drink.

  “We’re having an important meeting about pigs,” Ash said.

  “Pigs?” Her eyebrows shot up.

  Maali’s cheeks began to burn. This would never, ever happen in the movies.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Back when Rose’s parents were “civilians” and they still did normal things like talk to each other, they loved to reminisce about the day she was born. Her dad had become obsessed with the machine attached to Savannah’s stomach, monitoring her contractions. Apparently the graph would register a few seconds before the contraction hit and her dad would say helpful things like, “ooh, there’s a big one coming” or “this one’s off the scale”.

  Rose was reminded of this now as she lay on her bed listening to the sounds coming from downstairs. Every time she heard Savannah yell or a door slam she knew that another website had got hold of the photo and some new piece of crap had hit the fan. Rose had deleted the Instagram picture as soon as she’d gotten over her shock, but it was too late by then. People had already taken screenshots of it and the story was going viral.

  She heard the sound of a plate clattering in the kitchen and opened her laptop and refreshed her Twitter feed. Another tabloid was running the story, this time with the headline ALL HAIL THE NEW FERNDALE. Then she saw something that made her blood freeze. Her name was in the box on the left of the screen. She was trending: one place below Madonna, who’d apparently had some kind of costume malfunction onstage, and two places above #FerndaleFacelift.

  Rose clicked on her name and her feed filled with comments and pictures. She scrolled through them numbly. This was too big, too surreal. It was as if her brain didn’t have the gigabytes needed to process what had happened. Maybe it hadn’t happened. She felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe she was still asleep. She pinched her arm. No, she was still there, on the bed, watching as the whole world talked about a topless photo of her. Rose pinched her arm harder. She wanted to make it bruise. She wanted to hurt herself so badly that the pain would block out the enormity of what had happened. The notification “23 new results” popped up at the top of her feed. Twenty-three more complete strangers feeding on the story like vultures on a corpse. Unable to stop herself, she refreshed the feed.

  @glasshouse: What a tart

  @mummybrown_22: Her mother should be ashamed of herself #SavannahLoser #FerndaleFacelift

  @armylad27: Sexy bitch

  Rose shoved the laptop away. Her body was burning up, but her skin felt clammy and cold. She thought of people looking at that picture of her; other women judging her, creepy guys getting off on her, and she wanted to puke. Then she thought of people she knew seeing the picture and it was even worse. OK, so all of the websites were covering her chest with superimposed CENSORED signs, but it was still blatantly obvious that she was topless. And that stupid pout… Rose crawled under her duvet and dug her nails into her arms. She thought of everyone at school looking at it. She thought of Liam. She burrowed further down into the bed, trying to hide from the thoughts. But she couldn’t escape them – they were spreading like mould. She thought of her dad in America having breakfast with his girlfriend, shaking their heads in disgust as Rose pouted up at them from the New York Times. She dug into her arms, harder.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she hissed. She’d ruined everything. What if Francesca saw the photo? What would she think of her? And the Moonlight Dreamers? She thought of Maali, and her sweet smile finally fading as she saw the picture. And for the first time in what felt like years, Rose cried. Everything was over. No one would want to know her now. No one.

  “Rose?”

  At first she thought she’d imagined Sky’s voice. But then it came again, louder and closer. So close she had to be right next to the bed.

  “Rose?”

  “Go away,” she muttered from under the duvet, frozen rigid by embarrassment and shame.

  She felt something against her legs. Sky had sat down on the bed. Crap!

  “I said, leave me alone.”

  “No.”

  What the hell? Rose pulled the duvet down just enough to peer over it. “What do you want?”

  “I want to help you.”

  Oh, great, this was just what she needed – Sky doing some holier than thou routine.

  Rose held the duvet tightly under her chin. “I don’t need your help.”

  “Oh, really?” Sky stared back at her defiantly. “So you want to have an evening being debriefed by that slimy toad-man Antonio, do you?”

  Rose shifted up slightly, her heart pounding. “Antonio’s coming here?”

  Sky nodded. “They’re planning a mother and daughter interview with Hello magazine for…” she made a pair of air quotes with her fingers … “ ‘damage limitation purposes’.”

  Rose sat upright. “Shit!”

  “Exactly. I’m here to help you escape. So for once in your life could you just get over yourself and stop acting like I’m the enemy?” Sky looked her straight in the eye. “I’m not, you know.”

  Rose gulped. Her guilt multiplied. Why had she been such a bitch to Sky? And why was Sky being so nice? She didn’t deserve this.<
br />
  “Come on, let’s go.” Sky tugged on the duvet. “Your mum’s just asked my dad to give her a guided meditation to help her relax. We can sneak out the back while they’re getting their om on.”

  Rose nodded and threw back the duvet.

  Sky looked at her shoulders and gasped. “What happened to you? How did you get those bruises?”

  “Long story,” Rose muttered, grabbing a jumper from the floor and pulling it over her head. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere those photographers can’t get to you,” Sky replied. “Somewhere sane. Somewhere a million miles from here.”

  Amber opened the front door and walked into the hallway. As soon as she heard the soothing tick-tock of the grandfather clock she wanted to cry. She’d managed to keep it together all day at school, building a force field of Oscar Wilde quotes around herself to keep out the whispers and the pointing and the stares, but now that she was finally home all she wanted to do was collapse in a heap on her bed and never get up again.

  “Amber, honey.” Daniel appeared on the landing. “How was your day?”

  Oh, you know, pretty disastrous – as in nuclear disastrous, Amber felt like saying. Instead she somehow forced herself to smile. “All right,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

  “That’s great,” Daniel said. “Is it OK if we just have a quick chat?”

  Amber wished she could go and hibernate for the rest of the winter and possibly the rest of her life. But she didn’t want Daniel to know there was anything wrong because there was no way she wanted to have to tell him and relive the agony all over again. “OK,” she muttered as she slowly climbed the stairs.

  When she got to the kitchen she was shocked to see Gerald sitting at the table, staring solemnly into space. She’d assumed when Daniel said “we”, he’d meant just the two of them. It was almost unheard of for Gerald to emerge from his studio so close to an exhibition.