The Celeb Next Door Read online

  ‘We can come back another time,’ I say, after I’ve suggested we head home.‘You really can’t do it all in one day. It’s too much.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s total sensory overload,’ he agrees.‘But I’ve had an ace time.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say. And I really mean it. As we walk home, I think how good it will be to have a new guy friend to hang out with for the summer. I can’t wait to introduce him to Sky and Vix.

  Chapter 8

  The Celebrity Dinner Party

  I wake up smiling. Which doesn’t happen very often. Usually, I feel grumpy, but I’ve slept for almost twelve hours and I feel great. School broke up on Friday, the day before Max arrived, so not only is it the first official day of the summer holidays, which means I don’t have to go to school today, tomorrow or for as far ahead as I can imagine, but I also had the best night, last night. Yesterday, soon after we’d come home from the market, Max rang to ask me if I’d like to have dinner at Rufus’s later. I didn’t take too much persuading. In a contest between dinner with a rock star and Mum’s ‘cooking’, there could only ever be one winner. Dad was rather keen on coming too – despite his lack of an invitation – although he claimed it was only because he wanted to show Rufus the sketches he’d been working on for the album cover.‘You’ll have to show him another time,’ I told him, firmly.‘Tonight is just for young people.’

  I thought I was going round for a casual bite to eat, but it turned out to be a proper, grown-up dinner party, like the ones my parents have, except with much cooler guests. A couple of Rufus’s musician friends were there (no one else from Fieldstar, unfortunately), and Isabella had invited one of her Czech friends, another au pair named Ivana, who was almost as beautiful and even taller than her. I couldn’t help wondering if they were manufactured on a production line, like Barbie dolls. Ivana didn’t speak much English, so she and I grinned at each other a lot and waved our hands around.

  I pull the duvet up over my chin and lie still for a few minutes, thinking how I can’t wait to tell Sky and Vix all about it, and how envious they’ll be. I was at Rufus’s until past eleven-thirty, until Mum texted me (for the third time) to say I had to come home and go to bed, even if it was the summer holidays. Spoilsport. Everything about last night was brilliant, including the food. I mean, I didn’t think I liked fish, unless it came coated in batter with a side order of chunky chips, but Isabella’s fish dish was delicious. I would have asked for seconds, if I hadn’t thought I’d look greedy.

  ‘This is divine,’ I said. ‘Er, what is it?’

  ‘Eez sea bass,’ said Isabella. ‘Wiz lemongrass and ginger and crushed po-ta-toes.’

  ‘Isn’t it good?’ said Rufus, licking his lips. ‘It’s amazing that someone from a landlocked country has such a wicked way with our scaly friends, eh?’ He looked proudly at Isabella and put his arm around her.

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ I agreed, although I had no idea what he was talking about. It was only when I got home and googled it, that I learned that the Czech Republic doesn’t have a coast. The whole evening was like that: people discussing things I knew nothing about – politics and obscure bands and places I’d never visited – but including me in the conversation, so I didn’t feel left out. Even Rufus was much friendlier to me than he’d been before. He told me all about what life was like on a Fieldstar tour: sleeping in a cramped, smelly bus and spending such a short time in each place that, after a few days, you can’t work out which country you’re in. He told me how dull it was to make a pop video and go to the Brit Awards, even though it might look glamorous, and what a buzz it was to play live in Hyde Park with thousands of people singing along with you. He said how pleased he was that I was getting on with Max so well, and that I must come for dinner again. He even let Max and me have one small glass of wine each. Of course, I lied and said I drink wine all the time at home, and so my parents wouldn’t mind at all. It tasted foul and made my head swim, but I still drained the whole glass.

  After dinner, we all went into the living room (nobody said anything about the walls I’d painted), and sat chatting over coffee. Rufus’s friend brought out his guitar for an impromptu jamming session and everyone – even Max – joined in, singing Fieldstar songs and old tunes too.

  Just thinking about it now makes me smile. I rub my eyes and look around me. There are Fieldstar posters all over my bedroom walls, including one directly above my bed, one in which Rufus isn’t wearing a top. When I look at it now, I feel slightly embarrassed, dirty even, like I’m perving on a relative. Eughh. There he is, flexing his muscles and pouting in a way I have never seen him pout. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen anybody pout like that in real life. I study my other posters. Rufus does look different in the pictures. He looks blank, vacant, as if he’s not really there. All the hours I’ve spent gazing at these posters, staring into his eyes, trying to work out what he was thinking, and it turns out he wasn’t thinking anything at all. Except, probably, ‘When will this be over so I can go home and play on my Wii?’

  Max is coming over later to hang out and meet Sky and Vix. I really need to do something about my bedroom first. There’s no way I can let Max come in when there are photos of his big brother on every wall. It’s just too weird. I stretch, climb out of bed and put on a T-shirt and trackie bottoms. ‘Right,’ I say aloud. ‘Time to get to work.’ I stand up on tiptoes on my bed and, in one swift move, rip down the picture of Rufus’s torso. Perhaps I’m a little too hasty, because it tears, severing one of his arms from his body. Ouch. Lucky I’m not superstitious, because I’m sure that can’t be a good omen for a drummer. Then, one by one, I peel the Fieldstar posters from my walls. They’ve been up there for about a year now, and the blu-tack leaves marks on the paintwork. I stop to see how I’m doing. The room looks bare, dull, characterless. I’ve had posters up for as long as I can remember, ever since dad painted over the alphabet wallpaper for me. It was a rush job and I can still make out faint traces of letters in the spots where the paint has rubbed away. I can’t leave it like that; I’ll have to find some other posters to replace them.

  There’s no time to go to the market, so I hunt around my room for anything I can use. Tucked under my bed is a rolled-up cardboard tube that I’d forgotten about. Inside it there are several posters. I unfurl them: there’s the cute kitten I used to gaze at from my bed when I was about seven, a Disney film poster for Beauty and the Beast, a picture of Westlife from years ago, that I didn’t have the heart to throw away, and a portrait that I picked up in the market cheap, of a cute guy with dark, curly hair and a beret-type hat. I meant to put it up when I bought it, but there wasn’t room for it before. Now, there is. I paste it up above my bed, where Rufus used to pout, topless. It looks good, like it fits. But the room still looks wrong somehow, not like mine, so I stick the other posters up too. It’s all a bit of a hotch-potch – more like the poster section of IKEA than a room that someone real lives in – but at least you can’t see the marks on the walls any more, or the traces of the alphabet wallpaper.

  Right, I’ve got one hour till my friends arrive. I need to shower and dress and try to eat some breakfast, even though it’s lunchtime already, and I’m still full from last night. Mmm, that chocolate pudding was divine … the way the rich, hot sauce oozed out when I touched it with my spoon. I did ask for seconds of that!

  I am just about ready when the doorbell rings. If I’m lucky, it will be either Sky orVix, or both of them together, so I can fill them in on last night before Max arrives. But it’s him.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, grinning again. He kisses me on the cheek. I can’t help noticing that he’s wearing aftershave – the same scent that Rufus uses. He must have borrowed it. ‘It’s really good to see you again.’

  It’s only been about fourteen hours, but I play along. ‘Why, did you miss me?’

  ‘Course,’ he says. I might be wrong, but I think his neck and ears turn slightly red. ‘Did you have a good time last night?’

  ‘Oh yes, it was b
rilliant. Come in.’ I lead him into the hall. ‘I had so much fun. Rufus and his friends were lovely and, now I’ve spent a bit of time with her, I really like Isabella too. I didn’t think I would at first.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s fab. And she’s good for Rufus. She keeps him out of trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘You know, hanging out with dodgy people, falling out of nightclubs and ending up in the papers. He went through a phase of that. It wasn’t really like him at all. I think the fame went to his head a bit.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember,’ I say. I’m glad Rufus isn’t like that any more; there’s no way my parents would let me hang out with him if they heard those stories.‘Come upstairs. We can wait for the others in my room.’

  Max follows me up the stairs and into my bedroom, perching himself on the edge of my bed. I sit down next to him, not too close, and cross my legs.

  ‘So what do you have planned for me today?’ he says, looking around him. He’s obviously taking in the strange decor, but he doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Not sure. I thought we’d wait till the others get here and see what they want to do.’

  ‘OK. Whatever it is, I hope it’s as fun as yesterday.’

  ‘It will be, I promise. Sky and Vix are my oldest, bestest mates. They can’t wait to meet you.’

  ‘Sure,’ he says, although he doesn’t sound as keen to meet them as I’d expect. ‘It’ll be nice.’

  Vix and Sky arrive together; they’ve probably met up on the street outside. Max waits in my room, while I go downstairs to open the door. We’re all dying to have a good gossip, but sound carries through my house, and I don’t want Max to hear us talking about him. ‘He’s here already – upstairs,’ I whisper. ‘Tell you later.’

  He’s standing waiting for us by the bedroom door when we come in. ‘Hi,’ he says, politely, holding out his hand. Vix shakes it and says,‘Nice to meet you.’ Sky nods and leans over to give him a peck on the cheek.

  ‘So …’ I say. There’s an awkward silence. Everyone is looking at my bedroom walls and I just know someone is going to say something.

  ‘Interesting new posters,’says Sky, smirking.‘I didn’t know you were into Westlife again.’

  ‘Well, I fancied a change,’ I say, making a face at Sky, who must have guessed why I’ve taken down my Fieldstar pictures. When I’m sure Max can’t see, I mouth ‘Shush’ at her.

  ‘Yeah, but since when have you been into Che Guevara?’ asks Vix, staring at the new poster above my bed.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The guy on your wall up there.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right. Shayne what? I picked that up in the market ages ago. How do you know him? Is he an actor?’

  Vix giggles. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were an old commie,’ says Sky.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Che Guevara was a Cuban Marxist revolutionary,’ says Vix. ‘In the Fifties. Didn’t you know?’

  I turn beetroot. ‘I think I’ve heard of him, but I didn’t realise what he looked like,’ I say quietly. ‘I just thought he was a cute guy. I wondered why there were so many pictures of him in Camden Market. Whoops.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie,’ saysVix. She laughs at me, but not unkindly. ‘I suppose he was.’

  ‘Rosie’s not really into politics or history, are you, Rosie?’ says Sky, teasing.

  ‘She knows about a lot of other things though,’ says Max, sweetly sticking up for me.‘She gave me the best guided tour of Camden yesterday.’

  ‘Course she did,’ says Vix.‘She’s great, really, is our Rosie.’

  ‘Hey, everyone, I am here, you know!’ I say. ‘So what do you all want to do today?’ I change the subject, before anyone can say anything about the Disney poster, or the cute kitten. I’ve had enough humiliation for one day.

  ‘How about a picnic in Primrose Hill?’ suggests Vix. ‘It’s such a lovely day.’

  ‘Genius idea! Why doesn’t everyone go home, grab some food and drinks and we can meet at the end of the road in, say, twenty minutes?’

  Chapter 9

  A-Listers and Beansprouts

  Primrose Hill is as close as you can get to a village in London. It’s the posh area, right next to Camden Town, about a twenty-minute walk from my house. Primrose Hill is picture-perfect, with old-fashioned street lamps and red telephone boxes outside huge, Victorian houses – the way London looks in movies. It’s full of expensive boutiques, restaurants and delicatessens, and yummy mummies pushing prams or driving their children to private schools in four-by-fours. This is where the really famous, really rich people live, the people who find Camden Town too seedy, or too noisy. It’s not unusual to see a Hollywood star here, taking his children for a walk, or buying an organic loaf at the bakery.

  The hill itself backs on to Regent’s Park and is a steep climb, which really gets your legs. But it’s worth it. If you walk up one of the paths to the top you can see almost the whole of London spreading out before you, panoramically: the BT Tower, the Millennium Wheel, even as far as the Dome and the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf. I love going there with my friends on Sundays and summer holiday afternoons, to hang out and listen to our iPods.

  It’s also the perfect place for a picnic. We’ve all packed ingredients from our kitchens that can be cobbled together into a picnic of sorts: crisps and chocolate, some fruit and leftover pasta salad. Sky’s brought some weird concoction with beansprouts and tofu that her mum found in the health food shop. It stinks.

  ‘Shall I toss it?’ she asks, as we pass a bin on Chalk Farm Road, just before the tube station.

  I look at Sky, who looks atVix, who looks at Max, who looks back at me, and we all nod. ‘Yes please!’ I say. I know some people are starving but, honestly, I’ve seen tramps put Sky’s mum’s food back in the bin.

  Our arms linked together in a chain, we walk up the steep hill that leads to the railway bridge, which marks the entrance to Primrose Hill village. Vix suggests that we go into the grocery store to buy a couple of bottles of Coke and a few extras to supplement our picnic. It’s crazily expensive in there – twice the price of Sainsbury’s – but they always have the tastiest treats, and if everyone puts in a couple of pounds, it’s not so bad.

  We’re standing in the queue to pay when Sky squeals ‘Oh my God!’just as a tall guy wearing sunglasses walks past us along the aisle. She whispers, rather too loudly,‘Isn’t that Adam Grigson again? Quick, Rosie, it’s Celebometer time!’

  ‘Yes, well done Sky! I think it is.’ My pulse speeds up with excitement. ‘What’s he doing this time?’

  Sky peers over the shelves. ‘It looks like he’s buying a newspaper and some cheese. It’s Brie. No, Camembert.’

  ‘Celeb-what?’ says Max, intrigued.

  ‘Celebometer,’ says Vix. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but she sounds a bit condescending. ‘Rosie has invented this celebrity-spotting game. You get points depending on how famous someone is. Oh, and how hot they are.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I say. ‘Honestly.’ Celebrity spotting feels wrong in front of Max. After what he told me, I don’t want him to think I’m shallow and fake, like the people who try to befriend him to meet his brother.

  ‘Oh right, I see,’ says Max, who clearly can’t tell I’m embarrassed. ‘So how many points do you get for Adam Grigson, then? Because I’ve just seen Robert De Niro walk past the shop.’

  ‘Seriously?’ My voice leaps about ten octaves.

  ‘No,’ says Max. ‘Not really.’ He laughs. ‘But you should have seen the look on your face. Classic!’

  I slap him on the arm.‘You’re mean.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’re gullible.’

  We wander into the park and find a shady spot, halfway up the hill, just under a tree. Vix has brought a blanket, which she spreads out on the grass, and we all sit down on it, using our jackets as cushions. Then we pile our food into the middle and tuck in happily, sharing around the crisps and the little cupcakes we bought in the grocery store. A
fter we’ve eaten, we lie down in a circle across the blanket, with our feet virtually touching, and play silly word association games and I-spy. Max swears that he’s spotted a UFO, but it turns out to be just an aeroplane, zigzagging its way through the clouds, on its flight path into Heathrow.

  ‘Will you walk up to the top of the hill with me, Rosie?’ he asks, when the game has fizzled out and nobody can be bothered to start a new one.

  ‘Course,’ I say, clambering up. ‘Will you two be all right for a few minutes?’

  Vix and Sky are still lying down, their eyes closed. ‘Sure,’ murmurs Sky, sleepily. ‘Have fun.’

  Max and I trudge up the hill together. It’s hard to believe that I’ve only known him for a couple of days, because it feels like for ever. And I’m so pleased he’s getting on well with Sky and Vix, and that they seem to like him too. He’s just slotted in, as if he’s always been a member of the gang. Hanging out with him for the rest of the summer won’t be a bind at all. It will be fun.

  ‘What an amazing view,’ he says, at the top, a little out of breath. ‘It’s like looking at a postcard of London.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘That’s probably why they’ve made so many films up here.’ I pause to take in the view myself. ‘If you look down there, to your left, you can see the zoo. See that high bit – that’s the aviary, where the birds live. I’ll have to show you it properly one day. It’s dead expensive to get in the main entrance, but if you walk round the back, along the canal, you can see some of the animals for free.’

  ‘I wish I lived in London,’ says Max. ‘As soon as I’m old enough, I’m going to move here.’