‘C-c-can…’
Giggle.
‘Can I get…’
Giggle.
‘… a picture?’
Giggle.
Oscar looked up from his phone to see the teenage girl in her modified school uniform. Shirt ends tied together in Britney Spears fashion at the front, her skirt rolled up at the waistband so it sat high above her knees and her black heels which surely weren’tschool regulation. Her face was shiny and so red Olive wondered if she might burst with one untimely jolt of the train. Olive had never seen Oscar interact with a fan before and given his reluctance at being recognised, she worried this girl was about to be sorely disappointed.
‘Of course you can!’ Oscar’s face burst into friendliness, like someone increasing the brightness level on a phonescreen.
‘Ohmigod!’ the girl squeaked, alerting a few other passengers to their interaction. Oscar stood and held onto the rail above his head and snaked his other arm around her shoulders, and Olive watched as the youngster melted into him like butter. The train juddered around a corner and when Oscar held onto her a little tighter to stop her from falling, her smile became a little wider.Then the girl thrust her phone at Olive.
‘Oh… um… sure!’ Olive took the phone that had been primed for a photo. She stood on shaky legs, her own face now hot, her hairline sweaty as she tried to take a picture but each one came out blurry as her hands shook. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.’ Olive handed the phone back to the girl, but Oscar took it and expertly swivelled it aroundin his fingers, flipped the camera and snapped two selfies.
‘There we go!’ he said, flopping back down on his seat as he handed the phone back to the girl.
‘Thank you! Oh my goodness! Thank you! My mates are gonna be well jel!’ The girl wobbled up the carriage on her heels and unashamedly squealed with her friend, instantly checking the photos.
‘Are they always like that?’Olive asked, delicately nodding at the young girls behind her who were still excitedly giggling.
‘No. Only sometimes.’ Oscar’s face still hadn’t returned to normal. There was something mechanical about his eyes and his smile.
‘How do you cope with it? I could never deal with that day in and day out.’ Olive brought her rucksack up from the floor, placed it on her lap and hugged it.
‘You just get used to it, I suppose,’ he shrugged, not being able to resist running his fingers along her shoulder.
‘That’s kind of sad,’ Olive said, glancing up. He was slowly melting back into the Oscar she knew and not the switched on, Display Oscar.
‘How so?’
‘You’re used to people treating you as though they know you better than they do. It’s like they think youowe them something because, in a way… they’ve made you famous by watching you on the telly and buying tickets to the show you’re in.’
‘I guess. I’d never really thought about it like that.’
‘Just as long as you realise you don’t owe them anything, it’s fine.’ She smiled at him, but he was looking at his hand, twisting a silver ring around his middle finger with his thumb.
‘Don’t I?’
‘Why would you?’ She swivelled towards him a little.
‘Well, like you said, they’ve made me famous… haven’t they?’ He gestured to the teenage girls who now seemed to represent his entire fanbase.
‘Not at all. Did a group of fans get together and decide to give you the job inLove Lanewhen you were a kid?’ she laughed.
‘No… but —’
‘No – that’s all thereis to it!’ She raised her voice and was a little shocked at the passion in it. ‘If not one single ticket is sold to a single performance ofWhen The Curtain Falls… you still get paid, right?’
‘Right,’ Oscar nodded, still not looking at her, deep lines wrinkling his forehead.
‘Because your wages don’t rely on how many people come to watch you. Your wages rely on you turning up anddoing the job.’ Olive noticed more and more people on the train honing in on their conversation.
‘But doesn’t me getting the job rely on how many tickets I can sell based on how many fans I have?’
