Behaving Like Adults (60 page)

‘How was he?' mouthed my mother, fanning her face with the programme. She'd had her hair ‘done' for the theatre. It was almost as high as Rachel's hat. My father clutched a bag of Maltesers and beamed at the thought of his own daughter, friend to the stars.

‘Fine,' I mouthed back. ‘Not nervous at all.'

Which was more than I could say for me. The play was excellent, apparently, I registered none of it. I was too busy staring at the back of Nick's head. He turned to whisper to Rachel once or twice, and I could sense tension. What did
he
have to be tense about? He sauntered over in the interval, to say hello and look handsome, and barely made eye contact with me. I found myself shaking with terror and lust. But this was
good
, I told myself. By the time most people proposed, desire had slowed to a trickle. Not so long ago, I felt as if my sex drive had been hacked out by the root. And now, I wanted Nick so badly my insides were oozing.

‘Nick's looking, er, relaxed,' I ventured to Lavinia.

‘Do you think?' she replied, in her crisp manner. ‘I'm so glad.
I
thought he seemed preoccupied.'

Wrong answer. I turned to Claw, who was sitting on my left. ‘Nice of Nick to come over, wasn't it?'

She swigged her Coke. ‘It would have been rude of him
not
to. I don't think he wanted to though, I think Rachel made him. I watched him speaking to Mum and Dad, and he looked as if he had a porcupine in his pants.'

I fell back in my seat, grateful that the lights dimmed at that moment so she couldn't see my expression. Maybe it
wasn't
a love letter. I had made a serious effort
not
to doubt Nick, or myself. But I had an innate prejudice against people who didn't doubt themselves. People who don't doubt themselves tend to be mediocre. Then again, people who don't doubt themselves also tend to get annoyingly far in life. If the possibility of failure doesn't cross your mind, you don't fear it. And it's mostly fear that stops us from fulfilling our dreams.

As the final curtain fell, I sprang from my seat, muttering ‘toilet' as I barged past Claw and Camille. It wasn't a lie, terror is as effective as prunes. I checked my face in the mirror. There was no colour to it. I applied another coat of lipstick and sighed – it's amazing what lipstick does to the most unpromising of faces. I straightened my skirt. I wasn't exactly wearing ‘safe' clothes. Teetering heels, when I was tall enough without them. And the red Grace Kelly dress. I told myself I didn't care. People
should
dress up to go to the theatre. It's about getting the most out of life. I always
think of Claw, biting into a peach on a dreary February day and exclaiming, ‘Oh, it's like being in Spain!' The same afternoon, she'd booked a trip to Barcelona. I loved that.

Peggy was waiting for me at the end of row V. She was a slow walker. I wondered how old she really was and if she enjoyed her job. I wouldn't want
my
grandmother to be working at the age of what, seventy? Happily, she was dead so it wasn't an issue. I wanted to gabble, ‘Guess what, I'm going to propose on stage to my ex-boyfriend!' but I had a hunch Peggy would be unimpressed. Nige had sworn she was ‘an utter dear' but I suspected actors said that of the foulest of people. I'm not suggesting that Peggy was anything but sweet, yet she certainly appeared to be taking her time. I was sure there was a quicker route to the stage, we seemed to be going via Peru.

‘There you go,' she said suddenly and vanished. I started. The stage – surprisingly small when you were
on
it – was deserted. It looked dirty. The cast must have taken their bows and adjourned to their dressing rooms. It was spookily quiet. I felt like a girl in a Scooby Doo cartoon, standing in an abandoned warehouse and the man from the fairground preparing to spring. I tiptoed to centre stage, as Nige had instructed. My legs were hot and heavy. I could have peeked through the curtain to check if family and friends and Mr Right Now Please I'm Tired of Messing About were all present and correct, but there was a good chance I'd faint at the sight of them, so I didn't.

I smoothed my hair. Any moment now, Nige would raise the curtain. Christ, what if he'd forgotten? I cleared my throat, and a grey silent creature with huge ears and an alien-like funnel instead of a nose wafted into view from stage right.

‘Arrgh!' I gasped, clutching my heart. As well I might. It was Nick. Or rather, I
hoped
it was Nick, making a surprise appearance as Mr Elephant. I was mute with shock. For half a second.

‘Nick? Is that you? What, what are
you
doing here?'

Mr Elephant reached to his neck and removed his head.

Small comfort that underneath, Nick looked as horrified to see me as I looked to see him. His mouth fell open. ‘Me? What are
you
doing here? You're supposed to be sitting in your seat!'

My complexion turned as hot and as red as my dress. ‘No I'm not! God, now you've ruined everything!' I was furious. What a bodge. ‘Oh, what's the point!'

I glared at him, and he glared back. It didn't help that anger made him beautiful, despite the furry grey body and tail. His jaw was tight which emphasised the sharp line of his cheekbones. He raked a hand through his hair.

‘You,' he said, holding Mr Elephant's head underneath one arm in the style of an Elizabethan ghost, ‘are the most infuriating woman. You don't ever bloody do what you're
meant
to!'

‘Meant to?' I shrieked. ‘What, so you're saying that women are
meant
to stay in their seats?' (Admittedly, I was interpreting freely, but I sensed an undertone insulting to the sisterhood.) ‘You . . . you TWIT! And you're too thin for an elephant!'

As I yelled ‘twit', I whapped him round the arm with my dinky pink evening bag. (Actually a child's bag from a toy shop, faux velvet boasting an embroidered princess on its side with real blonde wool hair, for the distinctly
non
-royal sum of £12.99.) The curtain rose during the attack, and everyone started laughing. Nick and I slowly turned.
Everyone
. Not just Rach and Claw and Camille and Mum and Dad and Lavinia and Michael. The entire audience. Not one person – and there were hundreds of them – had left their seat. They must have been huddled in silence for the last ten minutes, gulping back their giggles.

‘Christ!' I squeaked. I waved at the sea of faces, uncertain what else to do. There was a smatter of clapping. I laughed. Then I frowned. Nick grabbed my hand. The clapping got louder.

‘No,' he said. ‘
You're
the twit.'

‘KISS HER!' roared a voice. It took a moment for the refined theatre audience to mutate into a football crowd. ‘KISS HER, KISS HER, KISS HER!' they shouted.

Nick raised an eyebrow.

‘You don't have to,' I said, sulkily.

He gave my arm a little shake. ‘I came up here to propose to you, Holly.'

‘What! Me too.'

A smile lit his face.

‘But Rachel said—'

‘But Nige said—'

Nick tugged me a little nearer. The audience cheered.

‘Nige and Rach,' I whispered. ‘This is
their
idea of a joke. I'm going to kill them.'

Nick tilted his head. ‘Won't you kiss me first?'

I wrinkled my nose. Nodded towards the full house. ‘What about
them?
It's embarrassing.'

Nick grinned. ‘Presumably, when we were both being needlessly led around backstage in circles,
someone
– Rach, I'll bet – promised them a laugh if they hung around and kept quiet. So' – he shot me a coy look from under his girl's eyelashes – ‘the least they deserve is a small kiss.'

I blushed. He placed Mr Elephant's head on the stage floor beside us. I pulled him closer, breathed in the scent of him. The tension, uncertainty and fear dissolved, it was like bathing in a waterfall after a long arduous trek through desert. Oh Nick. If there was nothing more to life than this, it would be enough. I stroked Mr Elephant's furry behind and wondered how I ever thought I could do without either of them. We spend so much of our existence striving for a better tomorrow that we fail to notice the best time of our lives is
now
– the only moment you can enjoy for sure. I hugged my happiness to me. I touched his hair. He traced my waist to my hip, and the world shone like sunlight on water.

We were the perfect match.

I cupped my hand to my mouth. And I said, ‘I love you
Nick, so much. I don't even
want
to be engaged a third time, I'm useless at it. I just want to be with you.'

He nodded. Spoke into my ear, ‘I love you. Not, I love you too. “Too” is too much of an
extra
for how much I love you.'

We kissed. The small kiss grew into a big kiss. And even though we walked off the stage to continue our kissing in private (neither of us were entirely comfortable about using tongues in front of our parents), we got a standing ovation.

Nick twined his fingers with mine, a promise of forever. ‘See, Hol,' he said. ‘Even the most cynical and sophisticated audience can't resist a happy ending.'

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Epub ISBN: 9781446494486

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Published by Arrow Books in 2003

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Copyright © Anna Maxted 2003

Anna Maxted has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

First published in the United Kingdom in 2003 by William Heinemann

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