So Vanessa’s ad shoot went brilliantly. At least, that’s what she said. Constantly. All day.
‘They’d never met a beginner who was such a professional before,’ she said.
She didn’t even shut up during class, even after Frau O’Hara gave out to her in German (in German class and also in the German language. Though Vanessa didn’t seem to understand any of it, so Frau O’Hara had to say it all again in English). Anyway, apparently Vanessa’s song (which she recorded separately to the filming) sounds amazing and we will all love it. She keeps telling us this. Maybe she thinks that if she says it often enough she can brainwash us. It will not work on me. Anyway, we’ll get to hear it in all its glory in just a few weeks. I am not exactly counting the seconds.
But now to more important matters than Vanessa’s ad. I finally gave in and told Alice and Cass about my drum fears. I think it was because I had another dream about my drums last night. I was trying to study and there was a terrible ominous booming and I looked up and saw Miss Kelly was playing my bass drum in my bedroom! She kept staring at me while banging the drum. It was surprisingly sinister.
I told Cass and Alice about Drummer Sam’s impending return at lunch today. The weather was really lovely and the three of us were sitting out in the playing fields. Cass and Alice were talking about whether we should paint a Hey Dollface logo on the front of the drum kit and the more they talked about it, the worse I felt and FINALLY they noticed that I hadn’t said anything in a while and (as Alice said later) looked like I was going to get sick.
‘Are you all right, Bex?’ asked Alice.
‘Sorry, what?’ I said.
‘Are you actually listening to us?’ asked Cass. ‘We were talking about the very important issue of drum logos.’
‘Sorry,’ I said again. And then I sighed. I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. ‘I’m just worried about something. Something drum-related.’
‘What?’ said Alice.
‘Are you okay?’ said Cass.
I took another deep breath.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘There is a chance – a tiny chance. Or actually maybe a big chance. I don’t actually know. Anyway, there is a chance I might lose my drums. I mean, I might have to give them back to the friend of Tom’s who lent them to me.’
At first, Cass and Alice were quite upset, but once I’d reminded them of the full situation, Alice said what I’d been afraid she would say.
‘But why don’t you just ask Rachel to ask Tom to ask Drummer Sam?’ she said. ‘At least you’d know.’
I explained about the whole ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ thing, but, as I had feared, Alice and Cass weren’t impressed.
‘You really should just ask her,’ said Alice. ‘I do understand why you haven’t, but you have to do it at some stage. I mean, if you don’t have drums, we’ll have to sort something else out for the band.’
‘Yeah,’ said Cass. ‘And the sooner we know, the sooner we can sort something out.’
‘I know, I know,’ I said, and I do. Of course they are right. If my drums (okay, Drummer Sam’s drums) are going to be taken away from me, I need to come up with a contingency plan, but there is a part of me that just doesn’t want to deal with it at all. Which is pathetic, I know, but I can’t help it. Anyway, I have decided that I will ask Rachel about it on Saturday. Which gives me four whole days to pysche myself up.
Maybe it is a sign of my advanced age, or maybe it’s because I’m trying to distract myself from the thought of (possibly) losing my drums, but I keep thinking how long it’s been since big things happened. I just realised that today it’s five months exactly since I kissed someone. And by someone, of course, I mean John Kowalski. I know he turned out to be a terrible person, but he was a very good kisser. In fact, if I’m being perfectly honest, he was a better kisser than Paperboy. I would never have admitted that at the time, but it’s true.
Anyway, it feels like a lot longer than five months. I really do know, in my heart of hearts, that I’ll kiss someone else some day, but right now I feel quite sad. I don’t really know why. I just found myself listening to music that reminded me of back in March and April, when we were doing the musical and me and John got together, and it’s got me feeling weirdly nostalgic for the whole thing. Just thinking of the way he called me ‘Rafferty’ still makes me feel a bit funny. But I must make myself remember how he used to go on about himself all the time, and how he tried to make me write serious things when I wanted to write funny things, and how he let all of us down about the musical. Being a (very) good kisser doesn’t make up for that.
My parents have just come home from their musical rehearsal.
‘How did it go?’ I asked. I was thinking of Dad’s attempts to ‘oomph’ up Henry Higgins.
‘Pretty well,’ said Dad cheerfully. ‘I think we’re really getting somewhere already! The director seems very open to my ideas.’
‘Wow, that’s great,’ I said.
I noticed Mum had rather a strange expression on her face. ‘How about you, Mother dear?’ I asked, like the good daughter I am.
‘Toiling away in the chorus,’ she said, but she seemed pretty cheerful about it.
‘Did you oomph up your role as a flower seller?’ I said.
‘What?’ said Mum.
‘Dad said he was going to oomph up Henry Higgins!’ I said.
‘Ah,’ said Mum. ‘Well, he certainly did that.’
She says she didn’t need to do much to her flower-selling role as it already involves quite a lot of prancing around and strolling sassily.
‘It’s got lots of oomph already,’ she said.
Anyway, they both seem pretty happy about the show, which is good. At least it meant they forgot to ask me pointless, boring questions about how much studying I’d done (the answer is of course none, because my exams are not for nearly nine months, but I did do all my homework nice and early).
We have booked our studio time in the Knitting Factory! The registration site went live today and Veronica sent us all links. They won’t start having workshops for a month or so, but the studios are going to be available the week after next, and Hey Dollface will be rocking out there on Saturday week for two hours. I can’t wait. It’ll be like being back in the summer camp again, except slightly colder because it’s the end of September, not July. They are also going to open up those art studios in the Knitting Factory complex, so maybe Sam and Lucy, and Ellie from school, and people will come along too.
It still doesn’t take away my drum worries, though. I really will have to ask Rachel on Saturday, I can’t take this stress for much longer.
I have drums! I mean, I can keep the drums! Oh, I feel so relieved. It’s like a big drum-shaped weight has been taken off my shoulders. We had just sat down to dinner (sausage casserole, one of my favourites) and Rachel said, ‘Oh yeah, Bex, I meant to tell you. I heard from Tom’s friend Sam today.’
My stomach sank to the floor. I couldn’t say anything.
‘You remember Sam, right?’ said Rachel. ‘The original owner of your drums?’
‘Yeah, of course I do,’ I said. ‘How is he? Does he, um, like America?’
I think I sounded completely normal, but really I was just thinking, ‘This is it. He wants his drums back.’
‘He’s grand,’ said Rachel. ‘He loves it there. But he’s not coming back. I mean, I presume he will eventually. But his mum’s been offered a permanent job and it looks like they’re all staying in New York. He’s talking about going to college in America too and everything. He wants to go to Yale.’
‘Oh,’ I said. I took a deep breath. ‘So does he want me to send his drums over there? I don’t really know how we’d do that. I mean, it would cost a fortune.’
‘What?’ said Rachel. ‘No, of course he doesn’t! He told me to tell you that you could keep them for as long as you liked. And … didn’t he lend you some other musical things as well?’
‘An amp,’ I said. ‘And some mikes.’
‘Well, you can keep all of it,’ said Rachel. ‘He says he’s producing most of his music on his laptop now, anyway.’
I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s brilliant. Tell him thanks very much from me!’
‘Oh dear, does that mean we have to put up with you banging away on that small drum forever?’ said Mum, but she didn’t look too annoyed really.
‘Yes,’ I said happily.
‘Maybe I should tell him to demand them back after all,’ said Rachel.
As soon as dinner was finished, I rang Alice and told her the news. This was such important news it had to be told in person rather than in text or IM.
‘The band is saved!’ I cried.
‘Well, it wasn’t really in danger,’ said Alice sensibly. ‘We could have used the drums in the Knitting Factory. But it’s very cool.’
‘I feel so relieved,’ I said. There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and I have a feeling Alice was thinking that I could have avoided the last week of stress if I’d just asked Rachel to get in touch with Sam in the first place. But she didn’t say anything about it, because she really is a good and noble friend who never says ‘I told you so’. I am not sure I would have been able to resist if that were me. In fact, I feel quite embarrassed by the whole thing myself.
But anyway! Drums forever! I am so happy, even though I now have to write a very boring fake e-mail for German homework about booking a place in a youth hostel.
I have found out why Mrs Harrington has been so quiet lately. She is writing a book! Apparently, she has been writing for hours every night and is too tired in our classes to do anything but actually teach us, which is fine by me. God knows how much time she wasted last year going on about my mother’s books. Usually I am all for teachers wasting time talking about other things besides the subject we’re meant to be studying, but not when they’re raving about my mother. Though of course Mrs Harrington hasn’t forgotten about Mum, because she is her great inspiration!
It all came out at the end of class today. I was walking out of Room 7 and looking forward to eating my ham and salad sandwich when Mrs Harrington said, ‘How’s your mammy’s writing coming along, Rebecca?’
Sadly, I couldn’t ignore her, so I said, ‘Oh, fine.’ And then I thought of something that might cheer Mrs Harrington up. ‘She’s finished writing the book with Patricia Alexandra Harrington in it!’
Months ago, in a moment of madness, I told Mrs Harrington (whose full name is Patricia Alexandra Harrington) that my mother was going to name a character after her. Of course, then I had to make sure my mother actually did it, which was much easier said than done. But she did it, in the end, so it all worked out, but it was very stressful at the time. Still, all’s well that ends well. And Mrs Harrington looked delighted when I mentioned it.
‘Oh, I can’t wait to read it!’ she said. ‘Me, in a Rosie Carberry book!’
‘Well, just your name,’ I reminded her. ‘I mean, Patricia Alexandra is the villain.’
‘That makes it even more fun,’ said Mrs Harrington happily. ‘I can’t believe my name has inspired your mammy.’ Then she looked at me pointedly. ‘And actually, she’s inspired me!’
‘How?’ I said nervously. Was Mrs Harrington going to start dressing like my mother in a scary stalker way or something? I wouldn’t totally put it past her, given her behaviour in the past.
‘I’m writing a book!’ said Mrs Harrington.
What is it about my English teachers and writing books? The reason we got Mrs Harrington as an English teacher in the first place was because our original teacher went off to write one! Though she actually had a book deal, which is how she could afford to leave her job. It turns out Mrs Harrington is writing one just for fun and it’s all down to, well, you can guess.
‘Your mammy made me realise the power of stories,’ she said, which is a bit worrying considering she’s an English teacher. I would have hoped she’d been aware of the power of stories before she started reading my mother’s books. ‘And now I want to follow her brilliant example.’
So I presume Mrs Harrington’s book is all about a cosy little village with a bakery and a smiling granny and some Irish-dancing kids in it. That more or less sums up most of my mother’s books. Then Mrs Harrington told me that she’s been working on it for three hours every night, which is pretty impressive. I have never spent so much time on my homework, even though it’s Junior Cert year.
Anyway, I told my mother about it this evening and, to my surprise, she was absolutely delighted.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ she said. ‘Tell her I wish her the best of luck.’
I will pass this message on to Mrs Harrington. Maybe she really will become a best-selling author. In fact, maybe she’ll become more popular than my mother. Bet Mum wouldn’t be so pleased then.
Before I went to bed, I asked Mum how she would feel if Mrs Harrington became more successful than her by copying her and she just laughed. She has never taken my interest in her career seriously. I don’t know why I bother, especially as she reminded me today that the sequel to her teen book about Ruthie O’Reilly will be out in a few months.
‘I know the last one took you by surprise,’ she said. ‘So I thought I’d give you lots of warning.’
The new book is called Ruthie’s Rules for Life (what a ridiculous title), and Mum swears that she will make it very clear this time that Ruthie has nothing in common with me or Rachel. And she has promised that she has not ‘borrowed’ any more real-life incidents from our lives. I was hoping she might just not do any interviews at all, but she says that she can’t afford to turn down any publicity requests. Anyway, it can’t possibly be as bad as the last time. At least I know she’s not going to let any newspapers print pictures of me as a kid dancing about in ludicrous pink shorts. I still feel a bit sick when I remember that.
Oh my God. Something awful has happened. Not to me, and no one has died or been hit by a car or anything, but it’s quite awful and I’m kind of surprised at how upset I am. And I still can’t totally believe it’s true.
Tom broke up with Rachel.
I know! Saint Tom the Perfect Boyfriend! It’s shocking. I genuinely thought they would stay together forever and get married or something. Well, maybe not get married – as someone, possibly my mother in one of her rare moments of wisdom, pointed out when Paperboy went off to Canada, most people do not stay with their first boyfriend or girlfriend for the rest of their lives. But I really couldn’t imagine them breaking up. I mean, they’ve been together for nearly two years! I was barely thirteen when they got together and now I’m practically grown up. I just can’t believe it. But it’s definitely true.
I don’t know exactly how or why it happened, or anything like that, because I haven’t actually seen Rachel yet. I was in Cass’s house this afternoon and stayed there for dinner, so it was quite late when I got home – her mum gave me a lift. As soon as I came in the door, I just sensed something was wrong. I called ‘Hello?’ and no one answered, but Mum and Dad were in the kitchen talking quite seriously when I walked in.
‘Oh, hi love,’ said Mum, in a distracted sort of way. ‘I thought I heard someone come in.’
‘Is everything okay?’ I asked, because she didn’t look upset enough for, you know, a sudden death, but she did look a bit stressed. ‘Where’s Rachel?’
‘She’s in her room,’ said Dad. ‘But she’s quite upset.’
‘About what?’ I said, starting to feel nervous. All sorts of things immediately sprang into my mind (though not the actual truth, as it turned out – the thought that Tom might have dumped her didn’t even occur to me). What if Rachel had a terrible illness or something? But I knew surely if she did, my parents would look more worried themselves.
Mum and Dad looked at each other.
‘It’s Tom,’ said Mum. ‘He’s, well, he’s broken up with her.’
‘Tom?’ I said, and I must have kind of shrieked it because Mum immediately went, ‘Sssh! Not so loud.’
‘But why? How?’ I said. I felt stunned, and I still do, really. Tom and Rachel were (and even writing ‘were’ there looks weird. Like their relationship is now officially in the past) so … solid. One of those things that never change, like Miss Kelly going on about natural disasters in geography class, only more boring and less scary. I just took them being together for granted. I never actually thought about it much, apart from when Rachel was annoying me (like last week) or when I was feeling bitter after Paperboy went to Canada. Rachel going out with Tom was always just … there. A fixed thing in my world. And now it isn’t.
‘I don’t know any details,’ said Mum. ‘I just know she was meeting him this afternoon and she came back in a bit of a state.’
‘But what did she say?’ I said.
‘Not much, Bex,’ said Dad. ‘And we really didn’t want to push her. So don’t go up to her. She’ll talk to us when she’s ready.’
‘But why?’ I said again. An awful thought struck me. ‘Is there someone else?’
But they really didn’t know anything more. And there wasn’t anything I could do. I went upstairs and I was going to knock on the door, but I could hear her crying and it made me feel all weird and awful. I’m used to Rachel being, well, sorted, especially in comparison to me. In fact, sometimes it’s kind of annoying, when she’s being all wise and sensible. But her being really upset is much worse. I feel terrible for her. I’m almost taking it personally, in a strange way – like, how dare Tom do this to her? Who does he think he is?
Oh God, I can’t just ignore her, even if she wants me to. I’m going to go and knock on her door and see what happens.
Well, not much happened. I could hear Rachel sniffling in there when I knocked on the door, and then the sniffling noises stopped and she said ‘Go away!’ in a choked-up voice.
‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’ I know it was a stupid thing to say because clearly someone who has shut herself up in her room and is still crying is not okay, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
‘No!’ cried Rachel. ‘And I don’t want to talk to anyone.’
‘Oh,’ I said. I wasn’t exactly surprised. ‘Okay. Well, um … I’m sorry. About … whatever happened.’
I paused for a second in case she changed her mind and decided she wanted to see me, but she didn’t say anything. A second later, she put some sad-sounding music on, so I gave up and came back here. I want to go downstairs and watch telly – there’s a good film on tonight – but I feel a bit guilty enjoying myself with my big sister sobbing away upstairs. There’s not really anything I can do, though, is there? I feel really rotten. Stupid Tom. So much for him being the perfect boyfriend. I think I might hate him now.
Is it really wrong that I feel a bit relieved that the whole drum situation was sorted out before this happened? If Tom had broken up with Rachel before then, it would still all be hanging over me. Not that my drumming is as important as Rachel being broken-hearted. But still.
Oh, it is wrong to feel relieved about any aspect of this. I feel bad for even writing that earlier. Poor Rachel. I can still hear her crying. I hate Tom. I actually do hate him. If he turned up at the house right now, I would hit him, even though that is against all my principles. Well, I wouldn’t actually hit him, but I would really want to. How dare he make her feel like this? Horrible smug goon with his stupid perfect presents.
It’s half twelve in the afternoon and there’s been no sign of Rachel. I don’t think she’s even been out to go to the loo, which is a bit worrying. At least, I haven’t heard her. Mum says she’ll be fine and not to hassle her and that Rachel will come out of her room in her own time, but I heard her sneak upstairs earlier and try to persuade Rachel to come out and have some breakfast. It didn’t work though.
Surely hunger will drive her out eventually. When the first really embarrassing picture of me was in the paper last year I refused to come out of my room for ages too. Mum ended up leaving scrambled eggs outside my door in the morning, but that could only keep me going for so long so I eventually ended up having to go downstairs and scavenge for food (actually, I think I just made more scrambled eggs. They’re the only things I can cook properly).
Rachel is definitely awake, though, because I heard her talking on the phone earlier. I couldn’t hear what she was saying (not that I was eavesdropping or anything), but she sounded upset. I tried knocking on the door again after she got off the phone, but she just yelled at me to go away.
‘Come on, Rach,’ I said. ‘You can talk to me about it. If you want.’
‘I don’t want to talk to anyone in this house,’ she said, and she just put some more loud, sad music on. So I had to give up. I just yelled, ‘Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am’ over the music and left.
It all feels very wrong. Usually I’m the one being all angsty in my room and she’s the one being irritatingly sensible. In theory it should be good to have the tables turned, but it actually just makes me feel sad and weird.
She finally came out of her room. I actually got a shock when I saw her. She looked awful. I don’t mean it in a nasty way. She just looked like she had been really sick. She was very pale and her eyes were all red and sore and her nose was a bit red too. I was in my room when I heard her come out, so I opened my door and peeked out.
‘Hey,’ I said.
She looked at me and sighed.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Are you …’ I began, and then stopped. ‘I know you’re not okay. Sorry. Tom’s a stupid dickhead anyway.’
And I meant it, but I wish I hadn’t said anything about Tom, mean or otherwise, because as soon as she heard his name Rachel’s face sort of crumpled up and she started to cry. I didn’t know what to do because we are not very huggy sort of sisters usually, but I couldn’t bear to just stand there watching her cry so I gave her a hug.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said into her shoulder. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘I wish I could think he was a dickhead,’ she said. ‘But I can’t. I just … I just don’t understand anything. I don’t know why he did it.’
She sat down on the landing and leaned against her bedroom door. I sat down next to her.
‘But what did he say?’ I asked.
She took a deep sort of shuddering breath.
‘He said he was really sorry, but it didn’t feel right anymore,’ she said. ‘And he couldn’t help it.’ She rubbed between her brows with her fingers.
‘Were there, I dunno, any signs?’ I said. ‘Looking back?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really. Not at all. I keep thinking there must have been, but I really thought everything was okay.’ She looked like she was going to start crying again for a moment, but then she swallowed and went on. ‘He just doesn’t want to go out with me anymore.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say. But then I remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours.
‘Would you like some toast?’ I said.
Rachel looked at me in surprise.
‘Um, okay,’ she said.
So I went downstairs and made her some toast. When I went back upstairs, she was lying on her bed staring into space and listening to Neil Young singing about everyone going out and having fun while he was sitting at home having none and being lonesome.
‘Here you go,’ I said, and handed her the toast.
‘Thanks,’ she said. She took a bite out of it. ‘I keep thinking it can’t be true,’ she said. It was almost as if she was talking to herself. ‘I mean, obviously I know it is. True. But I can’t totally believe it deep down. I keep thinking he’s going to change his mind. Do you think he could?’
I’m not really used to Rachel talking to me like this. Usually it’s me who’s having some sort of emotional issue and she’s the one offering her great advice like a wise woman of the world. So it felt very weird.
‘I suppose he could,’ I said. ‘Maybe he was just having some sort of mental crisis and soon he’ll realise it’s all been a terrible mistake.’
Rachel sighed.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But … no, he won’t. He seemed pretty sure. Oh God, I don’t know.’ She looked like she might cry again for a moment. ‘Do you mind leaving me on my own for a while?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Thanks for the toast,’ she said.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Let me know if you need more food.’
And then I left her, still listening to Neil’s wailings. I wish there was something I could do. Maybe Tom really will change his mind? I mean, they seemed so happy together. And I suppose he really was nice, even though he was a bit boring and perfect (though not all that perfect, clearly). And Rachel might sometimes be an annoying big sister, but she’s basically a decent person. Why did he change his mind about her? It’s not like when I realised what a selfish goon John was. How can you suddenly decide you don’t want to go out with someone who is a nice person when you’ve been with them for so long? It doesn’t make any sense.
I rang Alice (on the landline – I actually feel so rattled by the whole thing that text or IM weren’t enough for me) and told her about what happened. She was shocked as well.
‘And Rachel really had no idea?’ she said.
‘She says not,’ I said.
‘Poor Rachel,’ said Alice sadly. ‘Maybe we could do something to cheer her up?’
This would be a great idea, but I can’t think of anything that would make her more cheerful at the moment. Neither could Alice, really. She eventually suggested writing a song for her, but I don’t think that would do the trick. I wrote her one for her birthday and I think she was more amused than touched. But hopefully we’ll manage to think of something better.
At least Rachel isn’t on her own now. Jenny came round earlier. She’s been up in Rachel’s room for ages so I hope she’ll make her feel better. Or if that’s not possible (and I’m afraid it might not be at the moment), at least make her leave her room and have a shower. And eat something. She didn’t come down for dinner; she just had more toast instead. Which means she’s had nothing but toast for twenty-four hours, and even I couldn’t live on that. And I really do love toast.