Читать книгу Happy Girl Lucky - Holly Smale, Холли Смейл - Страница 8

You didn’t recognise me, right?

It’s OK, you’re not supposed to. I’m not quite sixteen, which means I’m not allowed any of the fame or money or acting jobs or awards or parties or swanky restaurants or designer clothes and shoes, etc. for another four months: it’s a Family Rule.

And that means I have time to practise.

When I’m finally unleashed on my adoring, impatient public, I’ll be so talented and glamorous that my world-renowned siblings will collapse with jealousy. They’ll beg me to explain my wondrous movie-star ways so they can copy me exactly.

I’ll be the heroine you’ve all been waiting for – the kind that gets the lead in every romance without even auditioning – and every boy who co-stars will fall madly in love with me before the end of the first read-through.

In the meantime, I’ve just had a jumper put over my head.

‘Can I come out now, please?’ I think I’m being led by the hand through the giant electronic metal gate – I can hear the beeps. ‘My nose tickles.’

‘Stop snotting on my Burberry cashmere.’ Mercy pokes my waist. ‘Have you ever considered gluing a layer of fluff straight on to your face, Poodle? Then we wouldn’t have to do this every single time.’

Effie gently takes my covering off and the world reappears: a cute little cottage with a muted grey-green front door, pretty flowers, neat hedges, tiny trees and an enormous six-metre-high steel fence shutting everyone else out.

‘You won’t have to do it much longer,’ I remind them as we crunch up the soggy gravel path. ‘In just over a third of a year, I’ll be so famous you’ll be able to sell my snot on eBay for millions and then some creepy boy, who’s totally obsessed, will buy it and grow a mini snot version of me in a test tube to keep forever.’

Mercy checks her jumper in horror before stuffing it into her Fendi handbag and Faith laughs.

‘I’d get one of those,’ she smiles, kissing my forehead. ‘To put in my pocket for when you’re not around, Po.’

‘Exactly how much is this ridiculous Privilodge of Mum’s anyway?’ Max asks as Effie punches yet another complicated passcode into a metal box embedded in the stone wall. ‘Twenty grand a month? Thirty? It’s insane.’

The cottage door swings silently open.

‘We shouldn’t use that word here,’ Effie objects as we’re beckoned down a shiny corridor.

‘Mum’s not,’ I say quickly. ‘She’s just really tired.’

‘Sure. Because it must be so hard doing nothing all day for twelve weeks solid. I’m sure our mother is absolutely exhausted, sitting in a steam room, getting facials and drinking green tea. She must be worn out, poor thing.’

I’m glad Mercy understands. Obviously, Mum wouldn’t be here if she didn’t need to be; she’d be at home with us, or on a film set, or maybe on an extended holiday in the Maldives like last summer.

‘Selfie!’ Max demands loudly as we cluster outside a familiar door, holding his phone in the air. ‘I’ll post GONE TO SEE THE MAD WOMAN IN THE ATTIC LOLZ hashtag sadface.’

Effie shakes her head at him, then clears her throat.

‘Mum?’ she says softly, knocking on the door. ‘Can you handle some visitors?’

There’s a very long silence.

A few rumbling sounds of furniture moving and bags unzipping; the snap of a mirror compact shutting. Then a weak voice says: ‘Oh yes, I think so. Please do come in, my darlings.’

We push into an enormous suite.

Everything is shiny monotone, as if we’re in an old black-and-white movie. Even the huge vases of flowers on every available surface are white and silver.

Mum’s lying on a chaise longue positioned artfully in a flattering ray of sunshine. She’s wearing loose white silk pyjamas and is fully made-up. Her platinum-blonde hair is perfectly smooth, her eyes are closed and one hand is held delicately against her forehead. I’m deeply impressed. My mother really knows how to command a scene.

‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me,’ Mercy sighs flatly.

‘My darlings.’ Mum opens her silvery eyes with a flicker and stares at the ceiling. ‘It’s so good of you to come. I’ve missed you all so very much. Right in my bones, in the very essence of – oof.’

I’ve lobbed myself on top of the chaise longue too.

‘Oh, Mum,’ I say, trying to wrap my arms round her. ‘We miss you too! How are you? Have you been for a walk in a field yet? You should, because you’re a Taurus so it would be an excellent health remedy for your pacific constitution.’

‘Would it?’ Mum says, patting me vaguely with three fingertips as I scooch over to give her more space. She struggles to her feet. ‘Goodness.’

Calmly, she smooths out the crumples I’ve made in her silk pyjamas. Then she looks down at me.

‘Hope, darling,’ she says with a tiny frown, ‘you must sit up straighter. You’re going to get a curved spine and that is so difficult to correct at your age.’

I immediately snap to attention. ‘Sorry.’

‘Faith.’ Mum glides over and takes Effie’s beautiful face between her hands. ‘My love, are you using that cream I gave you? Your pores are looking quite large. Don’t forget that those high-definition cameras will magnify each flaw.’

‘Every night, I promise, Mum.’

‘Good girl.’

Now it’s Max’s turn. ‘And how is the Barbican, my dear? I know the ghost doesn’t have any lines, but it’s a solid part. I did try to call in a few favours, but a lot of it is down to your own acting skills, I’m afraid.’

My brother’s left eye twitches. ‘It’s good. I mean, I’m dead before the curtain goes up. That’s the dream, right?’

Mum ignores him and turns to Mercy.

‘Those leather trousers are glorious on you, darling. But have you considered a size fourteen? They look uncomfortable in a twelve.’

A muscle in Mer’s jaw goes ping. ‘They fit perfectly, thanks.’

‘Of course they do.’ Mum smiles wanly. ‘I’m only thinking of you, darling.’

‘Are you? That makes a nice change.’

There’s a silence.

‘Mum,’ Faith says, stepping abruptly forward. ‘You might want to move away from the window. Max brought the paps and they’ve got long lenses.’

Mum’s back straightens immediately.

‘Ah,’ she nods, gliding nearer to the window and opening the curtains wide. ‘Such vultures. Is there no privacy any more? No respect for our personal space? Do these coyotes do nothing but take, take, take while we give, give, give?’

Mercy, Faith and Max glance at each other with lifted eyebrows.

‘Yeah,’ Mercy snaps. ‘Weird, that.’

Mum angles her beautiful high cheekbones towards the light, then stares bleakly into the far distance, silvery eyes shimmering. ‘Did you, perchance, happen to see anyone from the LA Times out there?’

‘Nope,’ Max grins. ‘But I did see the Telegraph. Wait, Grandma reads that, doesn’t she?’

Mum abruptly closes the curtains and steps away.

‘How … is she?’

‘She wants to know why you’re living here instead of at home with your children,’ Mer says, looking at her blood-red nails. ‘It’s a question we’re all quite eager to have answered, when you get a spare moment.’

‘Oh, my darlings,’ Mum says with a soft smile. ‘You are so sweet to worry about me. I will triumph, I promise you that.’ She perches neatly on the chaise longue, legs crossed elegantly at the ankle. ‘Although I’m afraid I’m feeling terribly tired. I have a two o’clock appointment with a very well-respected herbologist, so …’

There’s a silence while Mercy looks pointedly at her watch. It’s not quite ten in the morning yet.

‘Sure,’ Effie says, chewing on her bottom lip. ‘You must be wiped, Mum. We’ll see you next Sunday, yeah?’

Impulsively, I fling myself at Mum again.

‘Neptune is in retrograde,’ I whisper into her neck as she steadies herself on the plumped cushions behind her. ‘Which explains everything. So get lots of fresh air, stay away from the colour red and put this inside your pillowcase.’

Before my mother can respond, I sneak a little pouch of lavender into her hand, kiss her cheek and flit out of the room.

Exiting the scene beautifully.