Fanmail (19 page)

He held up the guitar. It was the Ovation I’d noticed him playing a century ago at the Zed. ‘Shall I play you my song? Actually, your song?’

‘Yes, please,’ I said, surprised at how tiny my voice was. Must be all that heart in my throat stopping it getting out.

So he sang those gorgeous words to me to some gorgeous melody he picked out and backed up all at once on his guitar, and I tried to listen without feeling like an idiot. (Actually it’s quite hard to stand there and be sung to, not knowing what to do with your limbs and your face and your ridiculous jumping heart, but I’m willing to work on it).

And when he’d finished and I thought I might actually CRY myself, I clapped like a Divvy and blew kisses at him. If he’d had a Fred Perry shirt on, I might have ripped the collar off. (He didn’t. He was wearing an ordinary t-shirt and jeans, and couldn’t have looked more fantastic if he’d tried).

‘So what do you think?’ said Jason as he unfolded himself from the bean bag, and somehow I knew he didn’t just mean “do you like the song” but “do you agree” and “
do you CRY too” and other stuff that seemed too wonderful to even contemplate.

I put my head on one side. ‘Hmm.
I’m not sure. I think you’re wrong.’

That stopped him in his tracks across the shed, I can tell you. ‘Wrong?’

‘Yeah. Love is not a chemical reaction.’ I walked towards him, slowly, hardly daring to inch forward. ‘It’s a feeling. Of knowing you’re safe. Of … coming home. Being surer than you’ve ever been that this person is never going to let you down; never going to leave you alone again.’

‘Well, that sounds very wise,’ said Jason Devaney.

‘Someone pretty clever told me that,’ I said.

And then he kissed me, so I couldn’t say any more.

It was only later, after all the kissing, that I looked again at his guitar. It reminded me of something.

‘So what about this solo career?’ I said. ‘Won’t you get recognised?’

He laughed. ‘I’m just going to write the songs and let other people record them,’ he said. ‘The real Jason Devaney – or Jason David as I will now be called – is going to college to be a horticulturalist.’

‘And one day own a chain of nurseries.’

‘While you’re doing your science degree.’

Actually I’d been thinking about that. ‘Well, depending on my results tomorrow, I’m thinking I now know much more about people
and feelings and so on, so I might do psychology instead.’

My once famous boyfriend grinned. ‘Whatever you do, it will be great. The world’s your oyster.’

He moved close again, and over his shoulder I realised what it was about the Ovation.

It reminded me of a lute.

‘Jason, would you do me a favour?

‘Anything,’ he said, which is nice.

I nodded towards the guitar. ‘Show Me Tomorrow?’

Then he smiled, and my insides nuclear-reacted. ‘I will,’ he said.

Jason Devaney

My Shed

Bottom of my Garden

My House

Dear Jason,

May I call you Jason? Jazzy? Jase? Oh muscly one? Lord of the Bicep?

I’m not sure you’ll remember me. I’m the rudest girl you never met in Jersey, who made no impression on you whatsoever until I devised a plan to rip your head off and clone you. Mwah hah hah.
Now you’re in my shed some of the time, when you’re not in college disguising yourself and studying how to set up nurseries. I am thinking of writing to Stephen Scowl and holding you for ransom.

Maybe not. Stupid Other Jazzy would probably give the game away. Maybe I’ll just hold you for … fun!

Anyway, just wanted to say that I’m a BIG, big fan, and not just because of my height and hair wings (which do seem to be calming down now that my hair’s grown longer). You write really nice music and strum that old Ovation of yours rather perfectly, and you can also sing. Also you look quite nice. In addition, you smell of slugs, which is my favourite perfume (oh hang on, that’s for women, I think). Cologne. No, pheromone (see, can still be sciency when I want!). Oh, and really really thank you for all the kissing. Much appreciated.

Please do let me know next time you’ll be playing at The Shed, and I’ll be in the front row. Okay, the only row. Okay, on the beanbag.

I CRY and the other feeling one too

Cat x

Aka Catherine Melissa Andrews xxxx

Aka Melissa Mayhem xxxxxxxx

Aka your actual friend and not just on FB. Not ever on FB. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

AKA your actual girlfriend.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ps See you in a minute.

THE END

In a world where expectations run so high

When I’m walking when I’m always told to fly

I could use
someone a lot like you

T
he clearest eyes, and a point of view

And a willingness to hold the string real tight

S
how me tomorrow

Where the grass is green and I

Know just what you mean and try

To be exactly who I am

And show you tomorrow

As the songs become the poor friend of the face

When the feelings matter much less than the place

When I’m staring out at seas of smiles

But can’t see an honest tear for miles

And I know how swiftly I could be replaced

Show me tomorrow

Where the grass is green and I

Know just what you mean and try

To be exactly who I am

And show you tomorrow

Don’t believe in all they’re telling you

Feel my heart beat

Touch my clay feet

Quarry deep and find the real man

And show me tomorrow

Where our grass is green and I

Know just what you mean and try

To stay true to who I am and

Show you tomorrow

Repeat to fade ….

Enjoy this book?

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for more about Fanmail, Mia and the bo
oks in the YA collection.

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And look out for the next in the collection, coming soon:

PINEAPPLE