Dancing Daze (5 page)

“I agree, it’s appalling. Look, I’m sure your poor-me pater’s just mouthing off again. Even he isn’t going to abandon a tiny baby like that. I just don’t understand. He seemed so happy at the christening, so proud to be a dad again.”

“Pauline’s gotten worse, he says. He hates living in the same house as her.”

Clover sighs. “Being in the same room as that woman gives me the heebie-jeebies. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live with her. OK, I admit it does make me feel a teeny-weeny bit sorry for him. And why she’d want to live in Ireland when she can work on her leathery tan in Portugal I just don’t know. . . . Beanie, where are you? I can hear splashing water. You’re not about to throw yourself off a cliff or anything, are you?”

I give a short laugh. “Course not. I’m outside Dundrum Shopping Centre. Dad dumped me here. He’s playing golf. I’m his beard.”

“Beard?”

“You know, his cover. He told Shelly he was taking me shopping.”

“Not helping my Hades-low opinion of him, Beanie. I have to work today, or else I’d come and hang out with you. That’s why I’m ringing you, in fact. Guess who I’m interviewing tomorrow morning before her flight back to Budapest?”

“Claire Starr?”

“Bull’s-eye, Bean Machine. The
Goss
was offered a last-minute spot, and Saffy asked me to cover it.”

“Can I come too? And Mills?”

“Sorry, no can do, babes. Claire’s unlikely to open up and dish her dirt if her own sister’s listening in. Saffy said, and I quote, ‘Find out if she is that Hungarian Romeo’s girlfriend or do not darken the doors of the
Goss
again, Clover.’” Saffy is Clover’s editor at the
Goss
magazine, and she sounds pretty scary.

“Péter,” I say. “Romeo’s name is Péter. And Mills thinks they’re together, but I’m not so sure. Watch the
Late Late Show
clip on the Internet and see what you think. Claire seemed a little stressed during the interview, especially toward the end. She seems to have something on her mind. She might like to talk to you about it. Off the record, I mean.”

“Coola boola. Thanks, Beanie Baby. Nothing like a bit of insider info. I’ll defo check out that clip. And if there is something bothering her, as you suspect, and she’d like to talk, then I’d be happy to listen. You are sweet, Beanie, always looking out for people. Look, must dash, research to run, dancers to dally with, you know how it is, but I’ll catch you later, OK? And chin up. Art is just sounding off. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. He’s crazy-golf about Gracie, you know that. And underneath it all, he does love you, hon, remember that. And I love you, babes, muchos much. Kiss, kiss.” And with that she’s gone.

I hope Clover’s right that Dad was just sounding off. Clover’s such a good listener. Maybe Claire will open up to her. They knew each other in school, so that might help. Talking about Claire has reminded me that I still haven’t deleted her diary from my memory stick. I feel a dart of guilt. I’ll do it as soon as I get home. I’ll try to forget about it now and ring Mills. Maybe she can cheer me up or even join me at Dundrum. Besides, I’m dying to tell her the
Goss
goss.

Mills answers immediately, but she sounds a little disappointed to hear my voice. “Oh, hi, Amy. Sorry, I was hoping you were Bailey.”

Charming!
I try not to sound miffed as I say, “No, only me. Guess who Clover’s interviewing tomorrow?”

“Claire, I know. Claire told me earlier. I think she’s a bit nervous about talking to Clover, to be honest.”

“Afraid of what my darling aunt might squeeze out of her?”

Mills giggles. “Exactly! Oh, there’s another call coming through. It’s Bailey. I’ll ring you back, Ames, OK?” And the phone goes dead.

So I sit on the edge of the pool, waiting. Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, and I’m starting to get fed up, not to mention cold. I try Mills’s phone again, but it goes straight to messages. A few minutes later I try once more, and finally she answers. “Sorry, Ames, I got distracted. Bailey’s so funny sometimes and—”

I cut her off. “Look, Mills, I’m at Dundrum Shopping Centre. Dad’s abandoned me here while he goes off to play golf. Can you get the bus and join me? Seth’s working with his mum this weekend, and I’m so lonely I could die. Woe is me.” I’m only half joking. I really am feeling rather Billy-no-mates right now.

There’s a long pause. “I’m really sorry, Amy, but I’m going to the cinema in Dun Laoghaire with Bailey. They’re showing a Red Hot Chili Dogs concert, and he’s mad keen to go.”

“Chili
Peppers,
” I correct. “And you don’t even like them, Mills. Please? Who’s more important, your bestest, bestest friend in the whole wide world, or your boyf? You can go to the cinema later.”

“I have tryouts later.”

“Tryouts?”

There’s an awkward silence, but eventually she says, “I wasn’t going to tell you unless I got on the squad, but the All Saints are looking for new members, and I thought I might give it a go. It looks fun, and you must admit, their uniforms are supercute.”

The All Saints are the cheerleaders for our school’s rugby team. We’ve always thought they were lamer than lame, but clearly that was, in fact, just me, not
we.
And their outfits are cute only if you think blue-and-white skater skirts that fan out when you move to show matching knickers with “All Saints” written across the bum in furry blue letters are cute. Which they most certainly are not!

“You’re not serious? Mills, come on, you’re hardly cheerleader material. And I mean that as a compliment. You know the All Saints have a secret tub under the changing rooms full of fake tan, and they make you swim through it every day, right? Then they throw you in an old dentist’s chair, strap you down, and give you a lobotomy with a hockey stick.”

“Amy, that’s unfair. You don’t have to be orange, or thick, for that matter. Nora-May Yang’s on the squad, and she’s really smart and cool. Don’t be like this.” (Nora-May’s American and she started at Saint John’s only a few weeks ago. She had to move from Boston to Dublin because of her mum’s job. And Mills is right, she is nice.)

“Like what?”

“All snarky and mean. I’m really nervous about the tryouts. Can’t you just wish me luck. Please?”

“Oh
merde,
then,” I say.

“Amy!”

I give a laugh. “It’s what all the ballet dancers say to each other before going onstage. It’s like saying ‘Break a leg.’ So,
merde.
” I put on my best D4 quasi-American accent. “But, like, be careful, babes. Cheerleading is, like, prime D4 territory. Stay away from, like, Annabelle Hamilton and her, like, cronies. They are, like, so not to be trusted. Like, stick with Nora-May, OK?”

“I will. And I really am sorry I can’t join you today, Ames. Honest.”

After she hangs up, I try Seth on the off chance that he’s around, even though I know he’s helping Polly this weekend.

“Hey, Amy,” he says, sounding pleased to hear from me, unlike Mills.

“You busy?” I ask.

“Just helping Polly get her stuff together for the birthday party later, and then we’re going to catch some sort of photo exhibition in town. Everything OK?”

“Not really. Dad’s dumped me in Dundrum while he’s off playing golf.”

He pauses for a beat. “I can blow off Polly if you like and come and meet you.”

“No, don’t do that. She’d be disappointed. But thanks for offering.”

“What about Mills? I’m sure she’d be up for some Dundrum action. It’s her second home.”

“She’s meeting Bailey and then she’s trying out for the All Saints.”

“That figures. I forgot to tell you about Bailey. The rugby coach spotted Boy Wonder playing British bulldogs during lunch last week and was so impressed that he asked him to join the team.”

“Are we talking about the same Bailey Otis? The Bailey Otis whose fringe is so long he wouldn’t be able to see a rugby ball, let alone run with one?”

“Sadly, I speak the truth. Turns out Bailey’s a bit of a rugby head. Never misses a game on Sky Sports. It’s his guilty secret. He’s pretty good at playing it too, fast and slippery, ideal for the wing, apparently. Who would have thought, eh? Skinny bloke like him.” He sighs. “Our boy has been tackled by the dark side.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” I say.

“No intention of it, believe me. I’m no fan of cuts and bruises, or any sort of physical exertion, for that matter.” He lowers his voice. “Although I can think of one notable exception, Amy Green. Working out the old lip muscles.”

“Seth!”

He just laughs. “Look, Bailey’s not going to change just ’cause he’ll have his face mashed into the mud on a regular basis. He’ll still be Bailey. And Mills will still be Mills, even in a cheerleader’s outfit.” I hear a voice in the background. “Polly’s nagging me, better motor. She says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back, and I’ll see you on Monday.” At that moment I miss him so much it hurts. I kiss the phone softly.

“What was that?” he asks. “Did you just smooch your phone?”

“Absolutely not. ’Cause that would be too sad for words.”

He laughs again. “See ya, Amy.”

“Bye, Seth.” I click off my mobile and stare down at it. Looks like I’m stuck here, alonio, then. I could ring Mum and ask her to come and collect me, but I don’t want to get Dad into trouble. Yes, I’m livid with him, but getting Mum involved isn’t the answer. No, I’ll have to just ride it out. Dad said he’d collect me at one, so there’s only another hour and a half to go.

It’s cold out here, and even though I’m not in the mood for shopping, I can’t stay outside all morning, so I pick my way through the crowds toward the main entrance to the shopping center. As I walk past Music City, I think back to the last time I was here, with Mills, Seth, and Bailey, on a double date. For Mills it was all about Bailey that day too.

I love Mills, but sometimes she drives me crazy. I know Bailey’s important to her, but she’s made me feel second best so many times recently, and it’s starting to sting. Her decision to try out for the All Saints makes perfect sense after what Seth told me about Bailey joining the rugby team. She’s never shown any interest in cheerleading before. She’s clearly joining only because of him.

Lost in thought, I suddenly find myself in the Dundrum food hall. Feeling a desperate need to vent further, I plonk myself down at an empty table in the corner, pull my diary out of my bag, and start to write. My pent-up anger, hurt, and frustration flow onto the page like a dirty black oil slick. I’d forgotten how satisfying purging on paper can be.

“Where are the shopping bags, Amy?” Dad asks as soon as he spots me loitering outside the cinema, where we arranged to meet. He’s twenty minutes late, and I was starting to worry that he’d forgotten all about me. He looks smiley and his eyes are bright. He must have won his round of golf.

I shrug. “Didn’t see anything I liked. Besides, I’m broke.”

He tut-tuts. “Sorry, how stupid of me. I should have given you some spending money. Why don’t I buy you something now? We’re a bit tight on time, so what about that shop over there?” He points across the plaza, and before I get the chance to say anything, he’s striding toward the door, not even waiting to check if I’m following him. Next thing I know, we’re at the bottom of an escalator, surrounded by beautiful clothes, and he’s looking around, a slightly confused expression on his face. “I think I’ve been here before,” he says. “With Shelly.”

“That would be right,” I murmur. “Dad, this is one of the most expensive shops in Ireland. It’s called Harvey Nichols. It sells only designer stuff. We should probably try Penny’s.”

“No, we’re here now. Anyway, if I want to treat my princess, I will.”

I roll my eyes. “Dad, I’m thirteen. You really can’t call me princess anymore.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re walking toward the car. This time I am swinging a shopping bag, a swish Harvey Nicks shopping bag, to be precise. Inside is a fab black-and-white-striped Sonia Rykiel T-shirt with glittery red cherries appliquéd over the right-hand shoulder. Clover will be so jealous. She loves Sonia with a passion. I’ll have to keep a pretty sharp eye on my new tee or it will vamoose into her Bermuda Triangle of a wardrobe.

OK, so I know the top is a bribe, designed to keep my mouth zipped about the sneaky golf session, but I’m not above taking a bribe, especially when it’s as fabarooney as this one.

Driving home on the M50 toward Castleknock, Dad is uncharacteristically quiet. After a few minutes, he turns down his Rolling Stones CD and says, “Amy?” with a serious voice. “That stuff I said to you earlier, about Shelly and Pauline? Don’t say anything to your mum or Clover about it, OK? Especially not your mum. You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It wasn’t appropriate.” He’s clearly afraid of getting an earful from Mum, and I don’t blame him. When it comes to Dad, she’s not exactly one for holding back.