Star Struck

by Jenny McLachlan

  ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow?’ I say.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a bit?’ asks Hoshi. ‘We could watch Princess Mononoke.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ I start to walk down the road. ‘I need to get home.’

  ‘See you at band call!’ calls Jake, then he says in a quieter voice to Hoshi. ‘I can come to yours. We could practise the balcony scene. We keep getting it wrong.’

  I don’t hear Hoshi’s reply. I just walk away, heading for the underpass, and soon I’m crunching through the dead leaves on the track that leads to the farm.

  Just as I’m walking past the field, a shape looms out of the darkness. I stop walking. ‘Hello, Tonto,’ I say. He stares at me, just out of reach. I put my hand out to him and this time he lowers his head and sniffs. He takes a step closer, then another. ‘Do you remember me?’ I ask.

  With one more step he’s reached the fence and he’s towering over me. Automatically I find myself standing taller. Mum drummed it into me that I had to ‘stand like a queen’ whenever I was around the horses, ‘shoulders back, chest out’. I put my cheek against his warm face and he leans in to me and breathes into my hair. Behind him, I can see our house. There’s a light on in the kitchen. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say, but I don’t move. Instead I wrap my arms round his neck and just hold on until he shakes me away.

  It’s Mum I find in the kitchen, reading the paper, her hand round a mug of coffee. She doesn’t look up. ‘Hello, love,’ she says.

  My shoulders relax and I’m so relieved I shut my eyes for a second. ‘Hi, Mum,’ I say, then I walk through the dark living room to my bedroom.

  Oy is still lying on the sock on my pillow, only now he’s dry and his eyes have sunk into his head. His bright orange stripes have faded. I sit on my bed and hold him on my lap, surrounded by mess. I don’t even bother turning the tank light on. The lump that’s been in my throat since Saturday gets bigger until I start to worry that I can’t breathe. I take deep breaths and wonder if I’m having a panic attack. Evie’s always having them. I thought she was faking them, but now I’m not so sure.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Mum’s standing in the doorway holding her coffee. Ozzie peeks round her legs. ‘Why are you making those noises?’

  ‘Can’t breathe,’ I say, then I hold up the sock. ‘Oy’s dead.’

  Mum sighs. ‘They’re always dying, Pearl. You know that. When you spend money on those fish you’re flushing it down the toilet. Literally.’ She comes further into the room and sits on the end of the bed. ‘He was your favourite, wasn’t he?’ I nod. ‘I remember when Jon bought him for you and told you to call him Oyster.’

  ‘So I’d never forget how precious pearls are,’ I say numbly.

  ‘That’s right.’ Mum puts her hand on my back for a moment then takes it away. She waves a finger at Oy. ‘Shall I get rid of it for you?’

  I shake my head and watch as Ozzie goes to my bubbling fish tank and puts her nose against the glass. Her eyes flick left and then right as she watches the fish. I put my shoulders back, sit up a bit taller. ‘Alfie killed him,’ I say.

  Mum laughs. ‘Of course he did.’ She gets up quickly and a splash of coffee lands on her dirty jodhpurs.

  ‘But, Mum –’

  ‘Not now, Pearl.’ She rubs at the stain with her sleeve. ‘I don’t want to hear another word. When was the last time you asked how my day went? If I had a good time in Brighton?’ I turn away from her and look out of the window. Everything inside me feels heavy. ‘We used to go riding together!’ She says this like she’s amazed it ever happened. She takes the sock off my lap and walks out of my room, shouting, ‘Ozzie!’ over her shoulder. Ozzie’s ears stand up, then she bounces after her.

  I lie down on my side. Mum’s right. Fish do die all the time and Oy was probably eight. That’s old for a clown fish in captivity. In the ocean he might have lived up to fifty years.

  My tank is still alive with beautiful fish, but there was only one Oy.

  I feel like I’m stuck to the bed, stuck to this house. A month ago, dreams of being Juliet and performing with Jake lifted me up and away from here. What have I got now? I’m all on my own and, for all I know, Jake is round at Hoshi’s, up in her room, practising their lines.

  I get out my phone. Good night, good night … I text. Then I stare at the screen. Almost immediately Hoshi replies: Parting is such sweet sorrow! Attai.

  It’s funny how a few words can make you feel so much better.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The show and Christmas arrive at the same time.

  When I get home from school on Monday, our box of Christmas decorations is sitting on the kitchen table and that evening we all eat pasta together watching a Simpsons Christmas special. Dad’s sent Alfie an early present – a set of golf clubs – so he’s in a good mood and there’s no fighting. Mum smiles and says she’s going to go up into the attic to find the Christmas tree, but then she falls asleep. Alfie and I don’t care enough about a tree to wake her up.

  It’s true what I told Hoshi: Alfie leaves me alone all week. He barely looks at me the couple of times we pass each other at home. School becomes this strange mix of skivy lessons – because it’s the last week of term – and intense rehearsals. We break up on Friday, but we hardly notice because everyone in the cast stays in school late, perfecting the finale.

  Alfie and I avoid each other all weekend and then I’m waking up on Monday morning, slightly amazed that it’s just two days until opening night. We’re doing the technical at the theatre today and I’m so excited that I jump out of bed and rush to get ready. I manage to slip out of the house before anyone else is up.

  The sun’s still rising as I walk past the frost-covered fields and everything glows in the pink light. I can’t help smiling: I’m walking away from home, we’re two days away from opening night and I’m going to the theatre, my favourite place in the world.

  Jake and Hoshi’s profiles are on posters all over town. ‘Romeo and Juliet: the Musical,’ they say. ‘Get ready to fall in love …’ I meet Hoshi standing next to the poster outside WHSmith. When she sees me, she poses for a moment just like her photo, face turned to one side, eyes wide open, a smile playing on her lips. Then she turns and grins. ‘I’m so excited!’ she says.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Everything OK?’ she asks, putting her arm through mine.

  ‘Yes!’ Hoshi’s been asking me this all week. ‘By the way,’ I say, ‘I’m ignoring your hat.’

  She tugs on one of the long grey ears flopping down over her eyes. ‘He’s Totoro. A sort of rabbit spirit. Pretty cool.’

  ‘You’re wearing a rabbit on your head.’

  ‘Exactly!’ she says.

  We walk on past the town Christmas tree and shops covered in sale posters, our breath misting the air and our cheeks turning pink. Soon we get to the theatre. ‘Here we are,’ I say and together we look across the road. The theatre is modern with big windows reflecting the blue sky. ‘ROMEO AND JULIET 16th–18th December’ is written on a banner that hangs across the whole building.

  ‘This feels way too real,’ says Hoshi.

  ‘I like thinking it is real,’ I say, still staring at the banner, ‘and that this is my job and I get to do it every day.’

  ‘I feel sick,’ she mutters.

  ‘Hoshi! This theatre seats seven hundred people. You’ve performed in stadiums.’

  ‘This is different,’ she says. ‘Scarier. I was one of a crowd then.’ Her phone rings in her bag. She glances at the number and sends it to answerphone.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘My agent,’ she says, as we cross the road. ‘She won’t stop ringing me.’

  ‘Why?’ Something about the casual way she says this worries me.

  ‘A new band is forming,’ Hoshi replies, walking ahead of me into the theatre. ‘Would you believe they want me in it?’

  ‘What?’ I stop walking.

  She looks back at me. ‘I’m not doing it.’

  ‘But y
ou could see your mum.’

  ‘Mum’s had me for years. It’s Dad’s turn.’

  ‘You’d be famous again.’

  ‘And have to smile, and giggle, and pretend to be happy all the time? No way! There are too many good things about living here.’ She pulls me after her. ‘Come on.’

  Together we cross the empty foyer. Blue carpet stretches to the shuttered kiosks, where boxes of sweets are arranged in rows.

  I push open double doors and then we’re standing at the back of the auditorium. Rows of empty seats lead to the vast stage, that’s lit with a bright light. The set is up: a graffitied wall covered in ivy and a silhouetted skyline of a city. Juliet’s balcony is there too: a normal railing on a block of flats with a flower box filled with trailing red flowers. Somewhere backstage we can hear voices. ‘It looks like a fairytale,’ I say. ‘If you ignore all the litter.’

  Hoshi nods and starts to walk down the aisle, tilting her head back and turning round to look at the ceiling covered in tiny lights. ‘It’s even got a sky,’ she says.

  My fingers trail over the backs of seats as I walk towards the stage. The carpet is soft under my feet and it’s so quiet. ‘It feels like something is about to happen,’ I say.

  ‘It is,’ says Hoshi, and together we go up the curving steps and on to the stage.

  Just like every other show I’ve done, the technical is bad. We forget our entrances, trip over props and bang into each other during the dances, but we know it’s getting there. Chris is our stage manager and he keeps us organised. At the end, he says he’s ‘not panicking … yet’, which I think is a good thing.

  Afterwards, we go back to our dressing rooms. Ours is tucked away at the top of the theatre and although it’s meant for two, all five of us are squeezed in the tiny room. This just makes it more fun. Kat’s brought her iPod speakers and Betty puts up a picture of Leonardo DiCaprio from an old film of Romeo and Juliet ‘for inspiration’. Already, make-up and clothes are everywhere.

  Ms Kapoor sticks her head in the door. ‘Tidy up in here before you go,’ she says, ‘and set your alarms tonight: I don’t want anyone to be late tomorrow. We’re going to need every minute of our dress rehearsal time.’

  ‘Yours,’ says Betty, throwing a hoodie in my direction. I catch it and when I look up Hoshi is staring intently at her phone. Our eyes meet.

  ‘Still not interested,’ she says with a smile. Betty passes her the Totoro hat and she pulls it on.

  ‘Really?’ I say. I try to imagine what it must feel like to turn down a chance like that, how bad it must have been last time to want to stay in this boring town with us.

  ‘Really,’ she says.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The next morning I’m awake before the alarm goes off and then I’m up and getting ready for a whole day at the theatre. Before I leave the house, I raid the fridge, and that’s when I see the note: ‘Gone to see a horse in Dorset. Back late. x Mum’

  My first thought is that she’s forgotten about the show tomorrow – her ticket is still sitting on the mantelpiece – then Alfie walks in and I realise that we’ll be all alone tonight.

  ‘Mum’s getting back late,’ I say quickly.

  He pushes past me and grabs the milk. I go to shut the fridge, but his arm is in the way. He looks at me. ‘Did you tell her I killed that fish?’ he says.

  ‘What?’ My mouth goes dry and I step back. He unscrews the milk and gulps some down, never taking his eyes off me. We both know I told her, but at exactly the same time as I’m thinking, Why shouldn’t I tell her? I find myself saying, ‘She saw me with it. I didn’t say anything about you.’

  ‘Really.’ He slams the fridge door shut and something falls over. ‘I told you not to say anything, Pearl …’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I say, then I pick up my bag and walk straight out of the house. I go through the farm, fighting the urge to turn round and see if he’s watching me out of the kitchen window. I feel like he is, and that’s all it takes to make my heart beat faster.

  As soon as we get to the theatre we run through scenes and dances that went wrong yesterday, then we get ready for the dress rehearsal. We do our hair and make-up, tape our mics in place and have a sound check on the stage. Then it’s back to our dressing room to get into our costumes.

  ‘What do you think?’ asks Kat, rolling up the sleeves on her khaki shirt.

  ‘I think you trod on me,’ says Bea. She’s trying to do the laces up on her boots. ‘How’ve you done that?’ She investigates Kat’s shirt. ‘We’re wearing the same costume, so how come you look like a curvy lady, but I look like a chubby boy!’

  ‘I got Mum to take it in,’ says Kat, checking herself out in the mirror.

  Bea stares down at her baggy shirt. ‘Can she do mine tonight?’

  ‘No way! Standing next to you is making me look even better.’

  Bea shoves Kat, who bangs into Betty, who’s putting on more eyeliner. ‘Damn,’ she says. ‘Now I’ve got a tash.’ Bea rubs at Betty’s lip with the end of her shirt. ‘Did you lick that?’ asks Betty.

  ‘Um … maybe.’ Bea frowns. ‘And I’ve made you look like Hitler.’

  Hoshi and I got changed first and we watch all this from the battered armchair in the corner of the room. Hoshi’s sitting on the arm and I’ve got the seat. Usually I’d be pumped right now, a few minutes away from the dress rehearsal, but I’m hardly thinking about the show. I wish Mum hadn’t gone away. I feel sick whenever I think about going home tonight.

  ‘Nervous?’ says Hoshi.

  I blink and look up at her. I shift my made-up face away from her white dress. ‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘It’s going to be amazing.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it? But you don’t look very excited.’

  ‘Just thinking about something.’

  ‘What?’ In the corner of the room, the speaker comes on and we can hear the orchestra tuning up.

  ‘Nothing.’ I put my little finger through one of the tiny holes in Hoshi’s skirt. I’m wearing black sparkly nail varnish and I’ve filed my nails so that they’re curving points.

  Hoshi touches the end of one of them. ‘Like a witch,’ she says.

  Across the room, Kat has managed to get the seat in front of the mirror and is doing her lipstick, her mouth wide open. She sees me looking at her and winks.

  ‘Hoshi,’ I say. ‘Can I stay at your place tonight?’

  ‘I said you can stay whenever you like.’

  ‘But I’ve not got any of my stuff.’

  ‘So get it after the rehearsal.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  The door opens and Ms Kapoor sticks her head in. ‘All ready, girls?’ Her eyes flick over each of us in turn. ‘Kat, less boobs please.’ Kat pulls a face and does up a button on her shirt. ‘One more … and another one. Perfect. Ready to go in five minutes?’

  We nod, suddenly quiet, and she moves on to the next dressing room.

  I heave myself out of the squishy armchair and feel a bit of the mic wire come unstuck. ‘Can you sort me out, Hoshi?’ She rips off a piece of flesh-coloured tape with her teeth and smooths the wire back into place.

  ‘Put on loads,’ I say. ‘I don’t like it wriggling around.’

  ‘I could come back to your place with you,’ she says. Her fingers are cold on my back.

  A voice comes through the speaker. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your five minute call.’ I know it’s Chris, but I can hardly recognise his voice.

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘We’ll just go in and I’ll grab my stuff … Thanks.’

  ‘No worries.’

  I pull my T-shirt down and take one last look in the mirror. I look tall and dangerous with my heavy eye make-up, pale lips and wild tangled hair. Next to me, Hoshi is a moth, her white dress swirling with every move she makes. I use one of my sharp nails to move a speck of mascara off my cheek. Now my face is smooth and blank.

  ‘Hana no youni kirei,’ says Hoshi.

  I frown. ‘I know that,’ I say. I think back to when sh
e used those words, weeks ago, on the bus. ‘Are you saying I look like a carp’s butt?’

  She laughs. ‘That’s not what it really means. I said, “You’re as beautiful as a flower.”’

  I smile. ‘You punked me.’

  ‘I’ve punked you loads,’ she says.

  ‘C’mon, you two,’ says Kat from the door. ‘Show time!’

  *

  The best thing that can be said about the dress rehearsal is that we get through it. Afterwards, we get changed, then sit in the auditorium waiting for Ms Kapoor’s notes.

  We’re in the second row, our feet up on the seats in front, passing a bag of Butterkist between us. Ms Kapoor silences us all with a grim look. ‘Let’s start where it began to go wrong,’ she says, ‘in the opening scene. Evie, people don’t generally giggle when they’re fighting, and no improvised karate please …’

  It takes half an hour for her to go through the whole play. The only comment directed at me is that I’ve lost my sparkle. Miss says, ‘Find it before tomorrow evening, Pearl.’

  She pauses and folds the sheet of paper she’s holding. ‘We’ll finish with a general note about lines,’ she says. ‘Chris gave eight prompts. That was eight prompts too many. Hoshi and Jake, you may have the most lines, but that’s not an excuse.’ Next to me, Hoshi sinks lower in her seat. ‘Get the balcony scene sorted.’

  Kat quietly tuts Hoshi, who’s hiding behind her hands. Then Ms Kapoor breaks into a huge smile. ‘But except for that, it was wonderful! Get a good night’s sleep and be back here by six tomorrow.’

  Kat jumps up and starts climbing over our knees. ‘Sorry,’ she says as her bag hits Bea’s face. ‘Leo’s Skyping me in ten minutes. I’ve got to get home.’ She pauses as she goes past me to squeeze my cheek. ‘So excited! He’s coming to watch the show on Saturday.’

  She walks up the aisle. ‘Kat,’ I call after her.

  She turns. ‘I know: tell him to bring some Lakrisal.’

  ‘They’re Swedish sweets,’ I tell Hoshi. ‘I’m addicted to them and Leo is my supplier. Try one.’ I search in my bag until I find the foil-covered packet. She takes one of the grey sweets. ‘It’s salty licorice.’