“Damon Van Schwartz gave me a signed cast photo!” she squeals.
“Did he?” I say, only partly envious and mostly thrilled for her.
“And he introduced us to all the other actors in the blue room.”
“Green room,” Charlie corrects her, as he joins us from his gold-plated front row throne.
I look at Charlie Chamberlain and shake my head. Correcting an eleven-year-old child? Is there no end to his reign of terror?
“You want to call it a blue room, you call it a blue room, Sadie. Don’t listen to this charlatan,” I say.
Roxy raises her eyebrows and nods at Charlie.
“So, I guess we’re in competition then?” she says to him.
I frown at Roxy, not understanding what she means until I look back at them and Charlie Chamberlain averts his eyes. Of course: they’re on Vivian’s team. Sadie’s ponytail swings back and forth as her head swivels between me and Charlie. I wonder if her brother ever told her why Roxy and I suddenly stopped hanging at her house. After blanking me for over a week he actually called me a few times, but I didn’t answer. One of his garbled apologies was cut off by Sadie’s squeaky voice, and my heart cracked at that little soundbite from our old friendship, but I was too far gone to break completely.
Charlie shrugs and takes Sadie’s hand, a defensive move if ever I saw one.
“Charlie? Sadie? Ready?”
We all look round as Vivian appears from the side of the stage with a porcelain cup and saucer in her hand. She puts them on the table then settles onto a (backwards) chair next to a slight, mousey-haired boy. I turn to Charlie Chamberlain who glancesat me, blood rushing to his cheeks.
“She asked us earlier,” offers Sadie, wringing her hands together, her eyes taking on Disney Princess roundness.
Roxy puts her arm round Sadie, not taking her eyes off Charlie Chamberlain.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s cool.” Roxy smiles at Sadie, whose shoulders relax in relief. Roxy leaves her side and walks past Charlie Chamberlain, the smile sliding from her face as she leans into him. “Just so you know, Charlie,notcool. You know what this means to Eliza. Not cool at all.”
“Why not?” he replies, trying a nonchalant shrug which just comes off juddery and confrontational. “She should have asked me if she wanted me.”
Roxy frowns at him.
“Wantedus,” he says. “Wantedusto be in her team. Vivian asked first.”
Blood rushes to my face as I watch the Disney villain taking selfies on stage, and before my brain can register what’s happening, I’ve stomped up the steps to her table.
“Why are you even here, Vivian? Why did you enter the competition? You’re not even a fan but you’re getting the best of everything because you’re here with Pride of Britain back there.” I put my hands on the table, like Billy Big Balls in some Canary Wharf board meeting. “Go compete for you own dream prize at the Bitch Cheerleaders From Hell convention.”
“Um,” says mousey boy, swallowing and leaning backa little. “This is way too intense for me, Vivian.”
“Oh, you signed up for intense when you joined her team, whoever you are, random cult member.”
I hear someone clear their throat and I look round. Roxy is mouthing something, looking from me to the small boy on Vivian’s team but I can’t lipread because of the rage.
“What?” I hiss at her. “What are you saying?”
Roxy shakes her head, then Charlie Chamberlain pipes up.
“Roxy’s trying to subtly tell you that he’s not a random cult member, he’s the guy whose helmet you barfed into the other night.”
I gape at the small boy, wondering how drunk someone would have to be to think this person looks evenremotelylike Kit Connor. Then I realise I don’t need to wonder, becauseI wasthat drunk.
“Toby?” I say, then look at Roxy. “That’sToby?”
“Yes, babe. That’s your Kit Connor.”
“Er, my name is actually Toby. I’m here with my mum.”
