The Show Must Go On (Bryant Rockwell Book 2) Read online

  Walking home with Jude and Ray, she watched them chatting and laughing, pondering on Ray’s transfer notes which she’d managed a sneaky peek at, last week. The head wrote a letter saying the paralysis had been induced by some sort of trauma, and mentioned the possibility of a full recovery. She hadn’t managed to find anything out about the accident yet. Ray was reticent – as in the “blood from a stone” variety – about certain areas.

  Like all the swimming trophies in his front room he’d tried to pass off as his brother’s. When, according to his old PE teacher, he could have swum for the country – maybe even at the Olympics. Still, she’d find some way of bringing up the subject, a bit tricky because there always seemed to be loads of other people about. Maybe on the way home on a night when Jude went to a skating session straight after school. Or at a rehearsal; if they all got in.

  “Earth to Liv. Come in, Olivia, your time is up.”

  She jumped at his tease; they were outside his house. “What? Miles away; thinking about the show. Wouldn’t it be great if we all got parts?”

  “Yeah, we could all meet to practice the lines. Sounds good.”

  Jude grinned. “But right now I have to finish this biology homework with Ray because he’s got half the readings and I’ve got the other half.”

  “I’m good, ta. Carla and I both took down all the results.”

  “Stop here, anyway. We can catch a later bus.”

  “No, I’d better go. I promised Mum I’d help Davey with his Lego castle. He’s had it since his birthday and hasn’t built it, yet.”

  “Ok, see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, bye.”

  She left them with a wave. It wasn’t strictly true about her brother; she said she would help, but it didn’t have to be tonight. There were two reasons: firstly, she could see they wanted to be alone together and secondly, it would give her a chance to get an extra walk in. A major part of her effort to lose weight involved walking every chance she could, instead of catching the bus.

  Reaching the row of shops at the end of her road, she went into the newsagents. Scanning through two slimming magazines, she couldn’t choose between them, but with the bus fare and lunch money she’d saved this week, she had enough for both. Luckily, a young girl served her; Mr Singh would be bound to make some sort of comment about her mother being on a diet and then mention it to her when she came in to pay the papers.

  So far, she reckoned she’d gotten away with it. Mum read the healthy eating leaflets from the school and seemed keen to buy low-fat/sugar-free versions of everything, saying they’d all benefit from losing a few pounds.

  It worked out well because Liv took in crispbreads, salad, fruit and yoghurt, saving the lunch money her mum gave to get something hot at school. At this rate, she’d have enough to buy a few new outfits when all her old clothes got too big.

  In your dreams, Tranter. The way Mum bought them all a size too small to begin with, they might just about fit without bulging. No wonder she spent all her free time in baggy tee-shirts and jogging bottoms.

  As she approached her house, the door opened, revealing a less-than-happy older sister. “Where have you been? Davey’s been asking for you and Mel rang from Portsmouth.”

  “Hi, Vicky. Nice to see you too.”

  “Davey’s driving me mad with this castle thing and I have an assignment.”

  “I’m here now, so you can leave him to me.”

  “Vicky shouted at me. I’m gonna tell Mum.” Davey’s lip combined sulky pout and little-kid wobble as only an eight-year-old could achieve.

  “No you’re not, you’re going to show me how clever you are with this Lego and take no notice of her. She talks a bit loudly sometimes, especially around pests who don’t know when to give it a rest.”

  He giggled. “Who’re you calling a no-rest pest?”

  “Is this not a true description? Davey no-rest pest; trips off the tongue.”

  “Thanks Liv, ’preciate it.” Vicky gave her a brief hug as she grabbed a packet of crisps to take upstairs.

  “You owe me one.”

  “Sure, anytime.”

  As if. Vicky was, after all, a big sister, and when did they ever keep their promises? And how come she could get away with scoffing crisps and biscuits all day long and still be fashionably skinny?

  “C’mon Livvy, let’s go.” Davey pulled her sleeve impatiently, trying to drag her out of the kitchen.

  “Tell you what, why don’t you take all the bits into the dining room and sort them out. I want to make a cup of tea for me an’ Vicky.” Her stomach growled; she’d read that tea was an appetite suppressant. She nibbled on a crispbread: The food industry’s incentive to get thin quick and return to eating normally. How could anyone imagine this cardboard wannabee could compare to a thick wedge of fresh bread slathered with golden butter?

  She flicked through a few before-and-after pictures in the first magazine; these women were all grossly overweight and seemed to lose loads of pounds after a few weeks. So why wasn’t she seeing any difference after a few days? Her attention snagged on an article about the values of exercise. It said dieting and gentle walking wasn’t enough; you needed at least three sessions of thirty minutes cardio-vascular activity every week to do any good.

  As she tried to work out a schedule, Liv’s thoughts turned to how she’d ended up with this predicament. Why did she seek comfort in unhealthy food? It wasn’t in the genes; she hadn’t always been a blob. She couldn’t pin it on a particular incident, just a subconscious need to self-sabotage. Some kind of atonement for all the things she hated about herself. If only she could be warm and caring like Kat, or strong and brave like Jude. More dreams. She was nothing but a mean, cowardly snark-machine, taking the mick out of people. Riddled with guilt, she poured the tea.

  Taking Vicky’s tea up, she resolved to work on being a nicer person in an effort to feel better about herself.

  3 Why Was She Such a Blimp?

  Liv twirled her hair as she waited for Mel to answer her phone: A thump, colourful swear word, and an angry “Hi, Liv.”

  “Hi, Mel. How are you?” No point mentioning the dropped phone.

  “Fine thanks, I thought you weren’t gonna call back. I’d just about given up on you.” Her former best friend’s voice had a definite edge.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I had to take care of Davey ’til Mum got in from work and Dad wouldn’t let me ring you ’til I’d finished all my homework ...”

  “Same ol’ Liv. You’re a martyr to that family of yours.”

  “Not really, they both work hard and it’s only fair I should do my bit.” Liv hated the way her voice wavered as she defended her parents’ edicts.

  “So, all this time Vicky was doing what? Counting her admirers?”

  “Doing an assignment. She’s really taking this college thing seriously.”

  “Are you sure about that? Sounds like a good excuse to me.” Mel rarely saw anyone’s good side.

  “No, I took her a cup of tea up and she seemed really stuck into it. I think Vicky’s finally realised being Miss Popular at school isn’t going to get her anywhere in the real world.”

  Mel laughed and her tone softened. “As if. Enough about your family, what’s all this about a new boy in town? He sounds cute on two wheels.”

  “Ha ha, very funny. The thing is, there’s a chance he might not have to stay in a wheelchair forever, and then every girl in the school will be after him.”

  “How come?”

  Liv quickly related her discoveries in his transfer details and the trophies in his dining room, trying to give a detached report. But Mel knew.

  “Sounds like you’ve got it pretty bad. But you say he fancies Jude?”

  “I left them doing biology homework at four o’clock. What do you think?”

  “Hang on a minute, this is Judith Briskell we are talking about? Doing biology homework at four o’clock? With a boy?”

  “The very same. And it’s not just one boy after h
er.”

  “Are you sure there wasn’t a pod in the greenhouse?”

  Liv giggled at the Body-Snatcher reference. They loved that movie.

  “Seriously? Did she divorce her skates? Last time I saw her, she wouldn’t have looked twice at a boy. Now you reckon she’s got them fighting over her.”

  “Not exactly. But Luke does seems to fancy her as well.”

  “I thought he was Kat’s boy-next-door.”

  “Mmm.” Liv strove to give a non-committal sound.

  “And you say Terry nearly asked you out? Let me get this straight; is this the same Terry with the picture of Zac Efron in his locker?”

  “Did you ever see that?”

  “No, but everyone knew about it. I thought he fancied Luke; we all did.”

  “I wouldn’t like to say; not after he fixed my boots when we went ice-skating.” Liv wondered if Mel could sense her blush.

  “You and Timid Terry went ice-skating together? What is going on up there? I’m going to have to come up and sort you all out.” Mel’s dramatic pause broke endurance records. “How does half term sound?”

  “No kidding? If you’re winding me up, I’ll be really ...”

  “Straight up. Mum says if your mum will put up with me and as long as I get all my homework done ...”

  “No probs, bring it with you. This is too much.” Liv could barely contain her excitement at having her BFF back. “I’ll go and ask her now.”

  “Hang on, I haven’t finished yet. I still have a couple of questions and I haven’t told you a thing about my school, yet.”

  “Sorry. You know how carried away I get when there’s a project on.”

  She listened with half an ear as Mel rattled on about walking on the beach with Lucy and Karl and how cool the nightlife was at Gunwharf Quay.

  The minute she put the phone down, Liv ran to ask Mum about half term. Flushed with success – if you didn’t count the raft of conditions her mum imposed – she went upstairs to work on her secret.

  One magazine described how to calculate the body mass index aka BMI, an important measure of fatness. The scales came in at a wretched nine stone twelve; she couldn’t decide if this sounded worse than sixty-three kilograms. Getting her height was trickier; it involved an atlas. As she drew the line, above the place Dad recorded their heights as they were growing up, she thought what Mel had said about her having it bad for Ray. Yeah, if only he’d look at her the way he’d ogled Jude in her skating dress, she’d die for him.

  But it was not to be. Not while she resembled an overgrown strawberry sundae, bursting at the seams and dripping over the sides. A little over five foot two; all of 1.57 metres. Following to the instructions, she divided the weight by the height squared, punching the numbers into her calculator: 25.6. According to the magazine, the acceptable range for a woman was twenty to twenty-four, making her only a little bit over. So why was she such a blimp? Another magazine had an article warning about the effect of age on BMI, with a chart by age. This put her just below the 90th percentile. Ugh. That explained the blimpiness. She was nearly in the top ten percent of fatties for her age.

  “What’s this? I thought you’d finished your homework.”

  She jumped at the sound of her dad’s voice, cringing as he came over to see what she was doing. “We learnt about body mass indexes and I thought I’d work mine out.”

  “That’s indices, not indexes. Jolly good. Nice to see you’re still doing a hundred and ten percent, but you should give it up for tonight, it’s late.”

  “Let’s hear it for tonight, folks. Everybody in the house say ‘yeah’. Woot, woot.” Liv stood, clapping her hands, hoping to distract his gaze from her desk where the slimming magazine lay open in full view.

  “What? Oh, I get it. Give it up. As in a round of applause. And you needn’t look so surprised; your mother’s always got Steve Wright on radio two.”

  “Ahh no, the “R” word.” She held up two fingers crossed in a hex.

  “Cheeky monkey. Right, I’ll leave you to it then. Goodnight.”

  “I’m not going to bed yet.”

  “No but I am. Early dart in the morning. See you tomorrow night.”

  “Night, night.” She raised her cheek for the quick kiss, but as he bent down, he glanced over at the desk.

  “What’s that?”

  Oh, no. The game’s up! She took a deep breath, considering her reply, only to watch in relief as he stacked the mug she’d brought up earlier on a plate.

  “Your mother’s always telling you about leaving stuff up here, that’s why we have to buy twenty of everything.”

  “Oh, Dad. It’s only been here a few hours. Look, it’s still wet at the bottom. It would be dry as a bone if it had been there any longer.”

  “Ok, just teasing. Take them down tonight. And don’t stop up too late.”

  “No, Dad. Goodnight.”

  4 Meet the Cast

  The next morning dragged by. Liv was on tenterhooks about who would get the main roles in the show. When the gang met at break, she couldn’t wait to find out if Miss Maines had dropped any hints in the drama lesson.

  Kat shook her head. “Nope, she was keeping her cards closer to her chest than a very close thing.”

  “With a degree of closeness from Oxford University.” They all joined in with the routine from the cult TV show, Blackadder.

  Jude seemed unconcerned by the results. “Anyone going to watch the auditions this lunchtime?”

  Kat shook her head. “No I’m supposed to be helping with the Art display for open evening. I suppose Lenny’s roped you into the maths one, Liv?”

  “She seems to think I’m flavour of the month at the moment. I’m doing it with Carla.” Liv envied Jude’s cool. “Are you doing the Geography one?”

  “Yeah. Me an’ Luke are doing something on foods of the world, but it’s mostly about getting Mum to get some foreign food from Sainsbury’s.”

  “Don’t forget Diana’s Thai delicacies.” Luke eyes positively twinkled.

  “You mean her tie dye leeches.” Jude exploded into laughter and couldn’t talk, so Luke had to explain his perfectly innocent mis-hearing of Diana’s disdainful attempt to show off her sophisticated tastes.

  Kat sighed. “Not a good idea to make her a public laughing stock.”

  “Someone had to stop her rant about the Bugsy auditions.” Luke stopped as Jude nudged him, but the end-of-break bell rang before Liv could ask why.

  At lunch, Lenny offered pizza to Liv and Carla in return for their help sorting out the wall displays. As they cleared the faded symmetry patterns and dog-eared posters from the cork-board, Carla asked Liv if she’d got to the bottom of who’d sent the nasty note in last week’s French class.

  Liv adopted a light tone. “We’re ninety-nine percent sure it was Diana, but she’s not worth wasting any energy. We’re ignoring her.”

  “I’m not surprised after the things she’s been saying about you playing Tallulah, but you should be careful. You could have ended up with concussion when she tripped Becky and the hockey stick smashed your face.”

  What things? Liv was side-tracked by Carla’s concern. “I didn’t know people knew the whole story about the hockey incident.”

  “Becky got so angry, she went round telling everyone.” Carla held the border in place while Liv wielded the staple gun like an expert. With an encouraging smile, she continued. “Most of the class are on your side; they’ve all suffered Lady Di’s vicious comments at one time or another.”

  This hit a chord and Liv’s face wobbled. “Oh dear. Do people say that about me, too? I know I can be a right b… ”

  “Not at all. The difference is, she’s a mean, belittling liar. Your snarks are always witty, never unkind and usually have an element of truth.”

  “That’s comforting.” Liv smiled in relief as they arranged the laminated drawings on the table in an aesthetically pleasing design. “But, as I said, she’s only a small irritation. I have much more important
things to worry about.”

  Carla held the first one against the wall. “Like what?”

  “Like how I can shift some of this weight?” Liv emphasised each point with a staple as she listed her current concerns. “Whether I’ll land a part in Bugsy. How many of us will make it to see Twelfth Night at Stratford? And did Terry really ask me out?”

  “Run that last one by me again.” Carla stopped dead. “You mean Terry Matthews? Of Zac Efron poster fame? We all thought he ...”

  Liv couldn’t bear to hear the word. “Yep, but he’s not.” Carried away with crusading energy, she laid it on a bit thick, telling Carla about how masterful he’d been on the ice, swinging her round and guiding her through the crowds.

  When they finished the middle row, Carla got a chair to reach the top. “I must have this wrong. You’re making him sound quite the athlete.”

  Liv climbed on a second chair, stretching up to put a staple in the top corner. “My thoughts exactly. And not only that, you should have seen him in the audition yesterday. Proper leading-man material. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t get Bugsy.”

  “No, really? So when did he ask you out?”

  “At lunch. Said his brother could get tickets for the theatre in Stratford.”

  “You mean, as in, a date? With Terry? Yeah, sure.”

  Liv was so annoyed by Carla’s blatant sarcasm she went a tad over-the-top in her defence of Terry’s finer points. Like his classic good looks, sensitivity and old-fashioned manners. But who was she trying to convince?

  As Liv reached the drama notice board at the end of lunch, Kat and Terry were hovering behind Miss Maines as she pinned up the list.

  The drama teacher pointed to it with a flourish. “Well done you two. Pretty poor turnout today, that’s why we’ve finished so early. See you tomorrow, promptly at ten past twelve. Can you spread the word, please? I need all of the principal players there.” She bustled off and Liv hung back as Kat swapped a nervous glance with Terry. “I can’t bear to look. You do it.”