The It Girl (8 page)

Dad tried again. “I think it's going to be great!” he squeaked.

Helena nodded enthusiastically, looking at Marianne. “Of course it will!”

“It's madness,” Marianne hissed at her.

This prompted a long silence once again. I was building up the courage to say something along the lines of congratulations just to lighten the atmosphere when Dog thought this would be an excellent opportunity to return from his solo venture and show off the fruits of his exploits.

Dog trotted into the living room carrying a live pigeon. Its wings flapped about his snout as he proudly presented it to Marianne.

When she looked up to see a Labrador with a pigeon in its mouth, Marianne screamed at the top of her lungs. Helena yelped and flung herself back against the sofa. Dad, in his infinite wisdom, leaped to his feet and commanded Dog to drop his offering.

Dog, for the first time in his life, actually did as he was told and dropped the gift. The pigeon immediately took flight, feathers spraying everywhere, and directed itself toward Marianne's head. She continued to scream and went to escape its line of flight, flinging herself off the sofa and onto the floor.

Helena lay flat on the sofa as the pigeon hysterically flew around the room, completely disorientated, attempting to escape the loud noise and commotion while Dad ran around, trying to chase it out of the door. In fact he was no help whatsoever and most likely made everything worse as the pigeon was now being chased by a madman flailing his arms wildly about the place. The pigeon went to the bathroom mid-flight, our sofas taking the brunt of the splatter. Marianne screamed in horror as her leather jacket became victim to a large dollop of white bird poo.

Dog further added to the commotion by joining Dad in running around the living room, barking the pigeon down. The excitement then got to be too much for Dog, and he began chasing his tail instead, still barking elatedly.

I dived behind the sofa at first, then crawled hastily toward the door, rolling clumsily into the hallway before shutting myself in the closet. It was just like a scene from
Die Hard,
except instead of Bruce Willis there was me, and instead of bullets there was pigeon poop.

Helena's voice rose above the shouts of my father before suddenly it went quiet. I pressed my ear to the door. The pigeon must have changed its position. There was movement in the hallway, around the vicinity of my closet.

WHAT IF THE PIGEON WAS OUTSIDE THE CLOSET?

I strained my ears for the sound of coos. Instead there was a rap on the door and an urgent voice said, “Anna?”

It was Helena. I concluded she was looking for help.

“Here, take this as a weapon!” I yelled dramatically, opening the door slightly and hurling the nozzle of a vacuum out into the hallway, slamming the door shut again.

“The pigeon is gone.”

I clambered out. Dad shut Dog in the kitchen, and Helena
took a deep breath and announced that it might be best for her to go home.

Marianne was nowhere to be seen, but our front door was wide open, so I assumed she had stormed out soon after the pigeon had escaped.

Helena whispered something to my dad, said good-bye to me with a soft smile, and left.

•  •  •

“That is”—Danny searched for something positive to comment when I had finished relating the events to them—“quite an evening.”

“And then did you talk to your dad when the others had left?” Jess asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“No, I went straight to bed. I told him I didn't want to speak to him.”

“Did you talk to him this morning?” Danny asked, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

“No. Think I'm still in shock.”

“Wow,” Jess exhaled. “I wasn't expecting this.”

“Me neither.”

“Does this mean you're going to be famous? Like Marianne is?” Jess asked, her forehead creasing.

“No!” I exclaimed, my throat tightening.

“But you might get some attention,” Danny reasoned, giving my knee an awkward pat. “We'll look after you though.”

“Course.” Jess nodded. “Maybe the best way to think of it is just, your dad is getting married. To someone who happens to act. And she's quite well known for acting. And her daughter is well known for going to parties. And they get photographed a lot.” Jess looked like she'd confused herself with what she was saying and fell silent.

We sat there for a minute or so without speaking until the bell rang. Danny stood up and reached his hand out to help me up. “You know what I think?” he asked as he pulled me onto my feet. “I think this could be really cool.”

“Huh?”

“Honestly, Anna, I don't think this is as bad as it seems. You've said before that you would have liked a sibling.”

“Duh,” I snorted. “But not a FAMOUS one who wears leather jackets. I always pictured myself with a sister who knows all the lines to all the same films so we could act out the best parts, and then one day we would create our own comic strip about two sisters who save London from destruction. You know, someone to eat Nutella out of the jar with while watching movies.” I shrugged. “Normal sibling stuff.”

Jess and Danny glanced at each other.

“You know what I mean,” I sighed. “This is disastrous. Marianne and I could not be worse opposites. She probably hasn't even seen
Lord of the Rings
, let alone rehearsed the Mount Doom bit.”

“Well, before you decide that this is the worst thing ever, let's just wait and see what happens. When are you seeing them next?” Danny asked.

“We're having dinner at Helena's this evening.” I swallowed nervously. “That should be fun.”

“Don't worry about a thing,” Jess said, trying to sound jovial but failing badly. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”

I don't know why everyone continues to lie to me in this fashion.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Hello darling!

I know we spoke on the phone earlier today, which was lovely, but I just wanted to check that you're all right? You sounded a bit strained.

Are you still worried about setting that silly girl on fire? You're such a worrier. You get that from your father you know.

I never worried so much at your age. I remember when I was twelve I joined an interpretive dance crew. That's the sort of thing that would be perfect for you!

Love Mom xxxx

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Mom

Everything is fine. Really.

Interpretive dance? I'll pass, thank you. I'm already a big enough loser as it is. Interpretive dance would be a social death sentence.

Also you should know that I mentioned this to Dad and he said you've never joined an interpretive dance crew in your life. He says that you probably mean the time you toured Britain as a Morris dancer.

I hope that both of you know how much trauma is being embedded into my teenage years and thanks to my parents I'll no doubt end up in therapy until I'm in my late eighties.

So thanks for that.

Love, me xxx

I did think about adding a “PS Just so you know, Dad is engaged to Helena Montaine. Yeah, that really famous actress. Funny, isn't it!” in my e-mail, but then I thought I'd
let Dad deal with that one. I'm sure Mom will be happy for him and everything, but putting her only daughter in that position without even warning Mom he is dating a public figure?

Yeah, Dad can face her wrath.

I had more pressing matters anyway. Here's a question I never thought I'd ask myself: What do I wear to go to dinner at a movie star's house?

“Anna,” my dad was yelling across the landing, “we're going to be late! Just pick anything. Wear something casual. You want me to come help?”

I shut my door. Loudly.

After a lot of deliberating, I finally settled on black jeans and a pretty blouse that Mom had once bought for me in France in a bid to make me look more stylish. I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed. Why couldn't I look more like Marianne? Seriously, how come she always looks so good? Her hair is so thick and soft.

As I stared grumpily at my appearance, I could hear Dad getting frustrated outside my door, pacing around the landing and muttering to Dog about female time management.

“Lovely,” Dad said hurriedly, hardly looking when I emerged. “Into the car. Now. It's rude to keep people waiting.”

I ignored him in the car all the way there just to make sure he knows that I'm not going to make this whole process easy for him. Even if Danny was right and everything might turn out okay
and
Marianne could be the sister I've never had, there are more normal parent ways of introducing such a thing into your life, and I'm not going to let Dad get away with it just yet.

We turned into a gravel driveway, and a beautiful house loomed before us. I suddenly felt VERY nervous. Helena flung open the door and stood in the frame with her arms open and a huge smile on her face. “Welcome!” she cried as we shut the car doors and made our way over to her. “Anna, I'm so happy you're here.”

She was wearing a very floaty orange dress with billowing sleeves so that when she stretched her arms out it looked kind of like she had wings. Like a bat or something. But a nice orange one.

She pulled me into a tight hug before embracing my dad with a big kiss on the lips. BLEUGH.

Why do adults think this is acceptable in front of their children?

Helena ushered us into the marble hall. It was huge and spacious, completely modern and exactly the sort of place you'd expect a movie star to live. Around the walls were framed
posters of classic films, none of which featured Helena and several of which were signed by the stars or directors. There were two large potted plants on either side of the staircase that looked like mini palm trees, and the staircase itself had glass steps and white banisters.

It was the exact house I would envision for an actress like Helena Montaine. I gulped.

As Helena was fussing around, offering us drinks, Marianne came out from one of the side doors. She was wearing high-waisted jeans with a checkered shirt tucked in so her waist looked tiny and, even though she was in her house, she was still wearing big black heels and all these bracelets.

Oh God. Who looks like that when they're slobbing around their house?! Apparently It Girls do.

This was not a good start to the evening. I could never maintain a look like that around Dog. His hairs go everywhere, and he once ate a bracelet Mom brought me from Tanzania when I left it by accident on the coffee table.

“Hello,” she said with a curt nod at both of us.

“Hi there, Marianne,” my dad sang, trying too hard again.

“Hello,” I replied, giving an awkward wave.

To be honest, there was no need for the awkward wave. I'm not sure why I made such a bizarre gesture. It certainly didn't
lighten the atmosphere. Though it was better than “Howdy, partner,” I guess.

Helena insisted on giving us a tour of the house after instructing a very reluctant-looking Marianne to prepare the drinks. She showed us the five bedrooms—two used, two spare, and one for when Helena was feeling “pensive” and wanted a different space. She let me poke around the huge en-suite bathrooms and the walk-in closets, admiring Marianne's extensive handbag and sunglasses collections.

“What's in there?” I asked, pointing at a door on the downstairs floor, once we had seen the kitchen, study, and living room.

“Oh, that's the screening room.” Helena smiled.

“You have a screening room?” I asked, amazed.

“Duh.” She grinned and pointed at herself. “Movie star.”

“Anna
loves
films; don't you, Anna?” my dad said over-enthusiastically, clearly hoping this would change everything. “You can come over here and watch them on the big screen. Wouldn't that be
great
?”

I ignored him.

After the tour and some small talk about how school was going for me, and Dad's new yawn idea for a book he was working on, Helena invited us into the dining room for dinner. “I hope you're hungry,”
she said, excitedly leading us in.

Boy, had she made an effort. I've never seen so much sushi. The table was covered in large dishes and plates of fish and every kind of sushi you could think of: different combinations of maki and temaki rolls, edamame, spring rolls, teriyaki. We were about to consume the entire cast of
The Little Mermaid
.

Then I noticed the place settings. There were no knives and forks, just chopsticks. Let me tell you something about those of us in life who have very little coordination: chopsticks are EVIL.

“This is amazing, Helena,” my dad said, beaming at her as he took his place. He looked at me expectantly.

“Yes,” I said, trying to disguise my fear. “Amazing.”

I tried to ignore what sounded suspiciously like a snort from where Marianne was sitting. Helena shot a glare across the table at her daughter.

These are the reasons why one should never eat sushi at a film star's house:

1. Chopsticks are HARD WORK. I felt exhausted about five minutes in from the trauma that came with each mouthful as I attempted to pick things up, dropped them, stabbed them, made
a mess, and then ended up using my fingers while spraying rice all over their shiny floor.

2. Every time you do drop a piece of sushi, while trying to carefully carry it to your plate from the platter using the dreaded chopsticks, your father will no doubt laugh too loudly and too nervously at you. If there are any It Girls that happen to be in the room, for example, Marianne Montaine, they will not laugh along with your deranged father but instead look at you gravely, as though they are slightly repulsed at you becoming one of their family but are too polite to show it.