Drama Queen (6 page)

‘Re-ally?'

‘More with the wind behind.'

‘Don't you need special tyres?'

‘Umm, and the shock absorbers, they're nothing like a normal bike …'

‘I love cycling …' I heard Clare say. (As far as I could remember, her pink and silver Raleigh hadn't been out of the shed since we left junior school.)

Cedric left us with the suggestion that we all meet up for a cycle ride sometime. I agreed enthusiastically, not mentioning the fact that I didn't have a bike. Which would mean, of course, the two of them would have to go without me.

I lay in bed that night feeling a nice cosy glow of satisfaction. It was so easy getting people together. Clare and Cedric were clearly made for each other. Everything confirmed my theory – it was just a matter of balancing their equation. I imagined sorting out people's lives on a global scale. Starting with Mum and Dad of course, and then working outwards. If everyone could be matched to someone, the world would be a much happier place.

The news is always full of human misery, isn't it? But if everyone was happily paired off with their perfect partner they wouldn't want to go round fighting wars and bombing people, would they? I imagined
the headlines in my new improved world:

Twenty million, nine hundred thousand and
ninety-nine Britons arrive home safely

Seventy thousand Boeing 747s land without incident

No one murdered in the East End

Eleven thousand healthy babies delivered

Forty-seven countries at peace

It was about a week later, while I was raking through my schoolbag in the vain search for a stray ink cartridge, that I came across the purple envelope again. Oops! I had totally forgotten to drop it in the post.

I turned it over. There was my message: ‘Not known at No. 12.' Well there was no way the post could return it as there was no sender's address on the back. And ten days later it was hardly going to arrive ‘on the day', was it? So there really wasn't much point in re-posting it.

I was about to throw it in my waste bin when I thought better of it. Sometimes greetings cards from people, like grandparents for instance, have cheques in them. In which case it would be wrong to just chuck it out. And maybe there might even be an address inside. So I tore open the envelope.

‘
To someone special …
‘ it said on the front of
the card. I opened it and read the following:

Dearest darling Jane

In life as in art
You've stolen my heart
The moment you're free
Will you marry me?

Henry

My heart did a double somersault.
Marry me
! O-m-G, what had I done? Or rather, what
hadn't
I done, forgetting to re-post it like that? Poor Henry, whoever he was. Nightmare! What could I do now? I picked up the envelope again. It was definitely addressed to Flat 12, Rosemount Mansions. Our flat.

I went hot and cold. I felt really guilty. This Henry person might be suicidal on not hearing back from Jane. Imagine them meeting up and her not saying anything, as if she were purposely ignoring the letter. And him feeling totally rejected. (Like I did that time I thought I'd established eye-contact with that really cool guy in Virgin Megastore and then found he was eyeing up the girl behind me.)

And what about this Jane person? She must have had an inkling that Henry was about to ‘pop the question'. So she's been waiting helplessly, hopelessly. Maybe she was about to do something drastic. It was just like that awful bit at the end of
Romeo and Juliet
, when you know that if only that letter had got to Romeo in time, it wouldn't have ended that way. And it was so frustrating.

I stared at the envelope. There was no easy way out of this one. In the circumstances, I could hardly drop the letter back in the postbox and hope for the best.

Who was Jane? I tried to picture her. She was blonde, I decided. She had straight blonde hair and pale skin – blue eyes of course. A slim willowy sort of perfect cross between Gwyneth Paltrow and Meg Ryan. But where was she? And how could I find her?

There must be a way. If this were a criminal investigation, I'd be giving the evidence forensic tests. I sniffed the envelope. It smelt of the banana that had been beside it in my schoolbag. I turned the card over and looked at the back. ‘Hallmark' it said, unhelpfully. It was a pretty popular brand of card. Hardly worth questioning all the stationers in the
district, like they do about guns, checking who they might have sold it to.

But maybe Jane
was
somewhere in the building. I needed to double check the mailboxes. I went down in the lift to take another look. This confirmed that there was no box marked ‘Seymour'. There wasn't even anyone with the initial ‘J'.

Back in my room I stood and stared out of the window searching for inspiration. The telephone directory was the most obvious first step. Maybe I could find a J. Seymour with a similar address to ours.

I located our directory lurking among a pile of magazines and turned to the ‘S' section. Selkirk, Selwyn,
Seymour
. There were an awful lot of them, Seymour is a pretty common name. There were quite a number of J. Seymours too but none of them had an address that was anything like ours.

The moment you're free
, the card said. Maybe she was married, or she might be living with someone else. In which case she could still be somewhere in our building and it was merely a case of someone having got the wrong flat number. Clearly, I would have to start my research from square one.

I decided to drop in on Cedric. He said he'd lived at Rosemount all his life, so he should know of
‘J. Seymour' if anyone did. I made my way downstairs and rang on his doorbell. After a moment's pause I heard the sound of footsteps from inside. The spyglass went dark and I could tell someone was peering through.

‘Hi!' I tried.

But the door didn't open right away. Odd. I waited another minute or so and then rang the bell again, harder this time. There was a sort of scuffle the other side, then Cedric swung the door open with a flourish.

‘Hi!' he said. He'd obviously just gelled his hair. The tidal wave was sticking up vertically as if he'd had an electric shock. The strength of his aftershave nearly knocked me flat.

‘Come on in,' he said.

I stepped inside.

‘What's up?' asked Cedric.

‘I just wondered. I mean, you've lived here for ever. Have you ever heard of anyone called Jane or Seymour living in the building?'

‘Seymour … don't think so. Like a cup of coffee? Tea? Why do you ask?'

‘It's just that a letter arrived for her. Misdirected to our address.'

He shook his head. ‘Coke. Lemonade?'

I followed him into the kitchen. ‘No, really, thanks.'

He opened the fridge door. ‘Orange juice?'

‘Well, maybe …'

Kicking the fridge door closed with his heel cowboy-fashion, he flipped open the orange juice with his thumb, grinning at me in an over-confident manner. ‘Jane
who
did you say…?'

‘Seymour. Maybe it was someone who stayed with the Hills when they lived in our flat?'

‘Can't ever remember anyone staying. They were really quiet. Kept themselves to themselves.'

‘In another flat then?'

‘Not that I can remember. There's a girl in number six. She's new. Don't know her name.'

‘What's she like?'

‘Dunno. She's got a baby.'

‘Is she married?' I asked.

‘Haven't seen a bloke around.'

(My mind was racing. Maybe Jane and Henry had got separated. Yes … They'd broken up and Henry had left the country, or been swept away at sea, or lost his memory. Any of those standard things they use to get rid of fathers in soap operas. And Jane had been left struggling to survive alone …)

Cedric had located two glasses and was leaning up against the fridge. He gave me a sideways look: ‘What are you doing later?' he asked.

I was suddenly struck by the awful thought that he might think my story of the lost letter was an excuse to see him. Oh no, surely not. I mean Cedric was fine for a
friend
. I don't want to be arrogant, but standing there in his hideous shiny shellsuit bottoms, he was no match for me, even on my very worst bad hair day.

Cedric + hssb < Jessica + vwbhd
Pl-ease!

‘Clare said she might drop by,' I improvised. (I could always call her.)

‘When?' he asked.

‘‘Bout six, I think.'

He glanced at his watch. Not a good move when holding a carton of orange juice. When we'd finished sponging juice off ourselves, he suddenly blurted out, ‘I was thinking of going to see
Terminal Crime
. It's on at the MGM.'

‘Really?' (
Terminal Crime
was a really gory suspense movie. I'd been trying to avoid it actually.)

‘Maybe you'd like to come along?'

(
You?
This was obviously meant to be ‘
You
' plural,
i.e. me
and
Clare. Too shy to ask Clare on her own, I guess.) So, in spite of the fact that
Terminal Crime
was the last thing I wanted to see, I said, ‘Why not. What time?'

‘8.40.'

‘Great. Meet you outside.' He let me out of the flat and I made my way upstairs, still wondering uneasily about that sideways look. No, it was Clare he was after, I told myself firmly – I'd been imagining things.

I rang Clare right away. ‘Can you make the 8.40 at the MGM?'

‘To see what?'

‘
Terminal Crime
.'

‘But you said you didn't want to see it.'

‘I know. But guess who's going to be there?'

‘
Cedric?
'

‘Uh huh?'

‘How did you manage that?'

‘He suggested it. I reckon it's so that he can see you.'

‘So why didn't he ask me himself?'

‘I think he would have done if I hadn't dropped by.'

 

Still having a couple of hours to kill, I decided to use my time constructively and check out the girl in number six. It all fitted. I was starting to build up the story in my mind. Jane and Henry must have split up. Maybe he didn't even know about the baby. But someone must've told him. Now, realising that he couldn't live without Jane – and the baby of course – Henry was trying to get back together with her. And I was about to reunite them.

I paused outside the door, feeling the full significance of the occasion … but wondering how best to introduce the subject. I had just raised my hand to ring on the bell when the door was flung open.

This was no perfect Gwyneth Paltrow/Meg Ryan clone. The girl facing me had a wild expression and her hair was all over the place. Her clothes looked as if she'd slept in them.

‘Yes?' she snapped, glaring at me.

She'd put me totally off my stroke. ‘I … umm. I mean, I'm trying to track someone down …'

There was an ear-piercing screech from inside the flat. The girl disappeared from sight and re-emerged carrying a baby. I stared at the baby. Henry was in for a shock here. This baby was of the less attractive kind
– the blotchy, red and runny-nosed variety. If I were Henry, I'd stay well away until it reached a reasonable age.

A sudden noise of water gushing from an overboiling saucepan came from inside the flat. ‘Oh my God. Hold him, can you?' She thrust the baby into my arms. It took one look at me and emitted another painful scream – obviously didn't take kindly to being planted on strangers. More screams followed, telling me in no uncertain terms that the sooner I handed it back the better. I tracked the girl down to a kitchen that looked as if it had been recently vandalised.

‘Sorry …' she said, leaning exhaustedly on the kitchen table. ‘You were saying?'

The baby had taken up a steady howling. ‘I'm from upstairs. Number twelve. I'm trying to track this person down,' I shouted above the noise. ‘A letter came to our flat, wrongly adressed.'

‘What?'

‘You wouldn't be called “Jane”, by any chance?'

‘No, Roz. My name's Roz,' she shouted back.

I thrust the baby back into her arms. ‘Thanks, that's all I wanted to know. I'll let myself out.'

I shut the door thankfully against the volume of screams. Poor thing, I thought. Trying to manage all
on her own. What she needed was a man around. Someone sensitive and caring, like Jekyll perhaps – or even Hyde … They lived in the same building. All they needed was someone to bring them together …

I got ready for the cinema, plotting ways to help them meet up.

As luck would have it, when Clare and I joined the queue, who should be four people ahead of us but
Christine
. I really didn't want to be seen with Cedric. I just prayed she'd get in ahead of us and that we'd be able to smuggle him in under cover of darkness.

Christine was alone and kept looking round behind her. She tossed her perfect hair and gave us just a
half
smile of recognition. She was obviously waiting for someone. Matt probably. Sure enough, after a few minutes he came swinging down the street. Every girl in the queue visibly perked up. He joined Christine with a big public display of affection. All of us ordinary mortals sank back into oblivion.

The film was really popular. The attendant kept on coming out and counting the queue. People were being admitted in batches. We were just about to get inside when Cedric showed up. Or to be more precise, his bus drew up. And Cedric, while trying to
wave, nearly got carried on to the next stop. He jumped off, causing a hooting commotion as he narrowly missed getting run over by the car behind. Great entertainment value for the queue. He should have taken a hat around.

‘Hi!' he said to Clare. (Feigning surprise at seeing her with me.) People behind us were starting to get restive at yet another person joining the queue ahead of them. ‘Maybe I should go to the end,' said Cedric.