Welcome to the Real World (15 page)

L
ana Rosina, Evan was sure, had grown more beautiful since he last saw her. Her glossy black hair tumbled down her back in lazy waves, her red bee-stung mouth pouted more prominently than ever. And her voluptuous curves tightly bound into her costumea scarlet leather corsetwere, without a doubt, a sight to behold.

Evan's leading lady had arrived lateher plane held up for hours by a security scare in Los Angeles if you believed her account of the incident. Lana might be opera's most exciting female star, but she was also the most tempestuous.

The dress rehearsal had gone ahead with Lana's understudy assuming the main role, as
La Diva Assoluta
had taken straight to her bed with crippling jet lag and a sore throat. Evan wondered just how much of it was designed so that she could avoid him until opening night. She had refused to take his calls, her PA insisting that she wasn't allowed to speak even one word, on doctor's orders, of course. And Lana knew Evan too wellshe knew that he wouldn't dare visit her for fear of the sore throat being a real infection rather than an imagined one.

Was this her way of trying to put him under pressure, at a disadvantage? It was a typical Lana trick. They'd been in this situation before where she'd hidden herself away until opening night, refusing to calm the very real fears that the performance might well have to go ahead without her. It made everyone else in the company, particularly the conductor and the chorus, hysterical with nerves, but miraculously Lana always seemed to make a full recovery just in the nick of time. He'd got past the point of feeling hysterical about anything that Lana did. Evan now looked on all of her off-stage performances with much the same attitude as a tolerant parent would view an indulged child. She demanded attention wherever she went and, invariably, got it.

And here she was. Standing in his dressing room, looking the very picture of rude health, sore throat apparently banished until the next time it was needed.
La Diva'
s understudy would be disappointed once more.

Lana turned to Becks, who was currently applying Evan's make-up. 'Can you leave us for a moment?'

Evan stood up, stifling a sigh as Becks left the room, giving him a sympathetic look as she did so. Becks was only too aware that it didn't do to cross Lana so near to a performance. She was highly strung at the best of times, and two hours before curtain up she was as wired as a stallion before a race and twice as likely to kick out at the nearest object. Clearly Becks had no intention of being that object.

When they were alone, Lana touched Evan's sleeve, eyelashes lowered in an attempt to be coquettish. It was a look that Lana couldn't sustain for long. She was too fiery, too feisty and soon, with little provocation, there would be the usual fireworks.

'It's been a long time,' she said, stepping into Evan's embrace.

He kissed her on both cheeks, then Lana turned her head and found his mouth. Her lips were soft and searching against his. There was a stirring of old feelings. Had he loved her once? It was hard to tell. Their liaisons had always been brief, passionate and increasingly antagonistic. Was there ever any way that they could have sustained a normal relationship? Whatever that was. It wasn't something he wanted to explore right now. Evan held her away from him and asked: 'Ready for tonight's performance?'

She flounced her hair. 'Of course.'

This production of
La Traviata
was a reprisal of one they had performed together a few seasons ago in Paristo sellout houses and rave reviews. The same French directors they had worked with then had flown over to stage the show again. Due to Lana's commitments the main preparations and rehearsals for the production had been weeks ago, before she'd jetted off to fulfil other commitments. Rehearsing together in the run-up to the opening night would have been infinitely preferableit was a witness to Lana's status that she could get away with the liberties she frequently liked to takebut they were both so familiar with the roles that they could perform them in a deep sleep if necessary.

This production was using a contemporary setting, in which the idea of
La Traviata
the fallen womanrepresented the modern obsession with celebrity. The irony wasn't lost on Evan. Here was a woman, a singer hailed as an icon of the age, a celebrity adored by celebrities, playing a woman, Violetta Valery, who abandons her hedonistic lifestyle to find true love. Would the real Lana ever do that? he wondered. It was unlikely. She loved to grace the covers of magazines, took unmitigated joy in her photograph being splashed across the gossip columns, flirted with the paparazzi who dogged her every move as much as she professed to loathe them. In the past she'd been on the front cover of American
Vogue
and pictures of her dressed from head to toe in black leather as a gangster's moll had appeared all over billboards in New York to promote a series of concerts she'd been giving in the city. No one would ever call Lana Rosina a shrinking Violetta.

How would she feel, Evan asked himself, when she grew older and the public, in turn, grew bored with her as they inevitably would, replacing her with a younger, fresher model? It was bound to happen, it was simply a matter of when. Lana wasn't immune to the fickleness of fame, and neither was he. She had a hit album at the top of the classic charts, which was the fastest-selling album since opera singer Maria Callas's phenomenal success. But however much she achieved, it was never enough for Lana. She'd been sorely stung by the critics saying that she'd sold out by 'putting on leather trousers and belting out her top ten arias.' His leading lady had never learned how to handle the occasional criticism she receivedit was something they all found hard. Evan knew that it was one of Lana's biggest insecuritiesthat she would be nothing when her extraordinary voice started to fade. As it was, they had both been lucky to stay at the top of their chosen tree for so long.

What did he feel about his own celebrity lifestyle? Having achieved more success than he could ever have imagined, did he still want to keep giving a piece of himself to every face in a crowd? How much longer would he want to be owned by the public who had made him what he was? Why was there such a void in people's lives that they wanted to fill it with crumbs of gossip from the shallow existence of celebrities? It was possible to become a celebrity these days by wearing a revealing dress or sleeping with a married footballer or appearing on one of those dreadful Saturday-night talent shows that were so popular now. Already he was bitterly regretting that he'd let Rupert talk him into appearing on the
Fame Game.
He was dreading it as much as he was dreading tonight's performance with Lana.

'You know that I'm still in love with you,' Lana said.

There was an uncomfortable pause when Evan didn't really know what to say.

'You could tell me that you love me, too,' she prompted.

His role tonight was that of Alfredo Germont, Violetta's lovelorn suitor, who pursues the woman he adores, a woman desired by so many other men, a woman who, despite his best efforts, stays steadfastly beyond his reach. The lyrics were emotionally loaded, the ending tragic.

'I'll be telling you a hundred times tonight,' he promised.

What a shame that
La Diva'
s sore throat hadn't lasted just a little while longer, he thought. There was no doubt that he'd rather be singing words of love to anyone other than Lana.

I
fly through the automatic doors of the hospital and then run all the way to the children's ward. After a dozen different security questions, I'm finally admitted. Getting into a kids' ward these days is like getting into Fort Knox, and I guess it's an indicator of the sad times we live in. I suppose I could have done it James Bond-style and abseiled down the buildingthat might have been easier. As it is, having jogged through the confusing maze of corridors, I'm completely out of puff.

The call from Joe came as Carl and I were still deciding whether or not it was pertinent to celebrate my success in the light of the new development. Carl was trying to be philosophical, but quite frankly, having Evan David sit in judgement on me is all my worst nightmares rolled into one, and nothing my friend could say would convince me otherwise. Still, all thoughts of fame and fortune or what might have been went straight out of my head when Joe rang and told me with shaking voice that Nathan had been admitted to hospital again. Carl paid for a cab to get me here in double-quick time. And now he's helpfully gone to tell Ken the Landlord that I'll be late in for work, yet again. I think Ken must secretly fancy me; otherwise, he'd have fired me long before now.

Nathan used to have this sort of asthma attack regularly. When he was younger, it could happen once, twice, sometimes three times a month, and I guess that we should be used to it by now. But asthma is a tricky illness, as you can so easily get lulled into a false sense of security by itjust when you think you've got it more or less under control, it has a habit of biting you on the bum. Nathan hasn't been in hospital now for ages, so the news comes as a shock. Everyone in the family tries to ignore the fact that today asthma is still one of the biggest killers of children in the UK. Sometimes my nephew doesn't tell us when he's feeling bad, either, because he hates to come into hospital and hates being different from his friends. It's tough for a kid to cope with all this stuff at such a young age and my heart goes out to him.

I see Joe and Nathan at the end of the ward in a bed just next to a six-foot-high Tigger. Nathan is propped up with a pile of pillows, there's an oxygen feed attached to his nose and his lips are slightly blue. Not a good sign. There's a probe on his finger which measures his haemoglobin levels, and a kindly, big-bottomed Jamaican nurse is fussing over him. She gives Nathan's hand a squeeze as she finishes her checks and says, 'You is doin' jus' fine, sugar.'

Joe sags visibly with relief.

Kissing Nathan on the forehead, I say to them both, 'What happened here?'

My nephew is wheezing and struggling to speak. He gives up and lies there looking wan.

My brother shakes his head as I give him a kiss, too. 'I let him go to a friend's birthday party. Sent along all his drugs with specific instructions...'

As Joe always has to do.

'He must have had some food additives or something that triggered it.' He gives Nathan a rueful smile. 'Although he's not fessing up.'

His son tries a weak smile again. Even strong smells can set Nathan off wheezing like a trainand this place stinks of cheap disinfectant. That can't help.

'Maybe he was just overexcited. Anyway, when he asked for his inhaler and aerochamber, the stupid woman was so flustered with two dozen kids around that she couldn't remember where she'd put the bloody thing.' Joe rolls his eyes in disbelief. 'Luckily, she did have the sense to ring for an ambulance when my laddo here started to turn a funny colour. Turns out his puffer had ended up in the bin along with all the paper plates. Don't ask me how. She's mortified.'

'So she should be.' This is what I mean. People just don't treat asthma as a serious condition. Didn't she realise that if Nathan couldn't get his breath, he could have croaked it? That would have been a memorable end to her kid's birthday party.

I feel so sorry for Joe. He constantly has to strike a balance, fighting a tendency never to let Nathan out of his sight or entrusting his kid's health to someone who doesn't understand the situation. Or he hangs around at the party and makes Nathan feel like a dork. Whatever he does it isn't right. I flop down in the plastic chair next to my brother. Joe looks pale and drawn. He rubs his hand across his forehead. 'When are we ever going to get this sorted out?' Joe sounds close to tears. 'I don't want Nathan going through life with this hanging round his neck.'

'I'll be all right, Dad,' my brave nephew gasps from his bed.

'Of course you'll be all right,' I say too brightly as I pat his hand. 'You'll both be fine.' And I wish, not for the first time, that I could win a million quid and get them out of their flat and out of the London pollution.

'You look pretty knackered, too,' Joe observes with typical brotherly concern.

'I had my final audition for the
Fame Game
today,' I remind him as a wave of exhaustion washes over me.

'Jeez, sis,' he says. 'I'd completely forgotten.'

'Well, you do have things on your mind other than my feeble quest for stardom.' We both cast an anxious glance at our boy.

'So, tell me. How did it go?'

'Fine,' I answer warily. 'I'm through to the next round, which is the television programme.'

'Wow!' Joe says. 'Hey, Nathan, your auntie's going to be a star!'

My nephew gives me a tired version of thumbs-up. I know that he's very poorly; otherwise, he'd be jumping up and running round the ward in jubilation. I give him the thumbs-up back.

'I still have a long way to go,' I say, 'and it's not all great news. One of the judges is the guy I was working for.'

'Isn't it usually an advantage if you know one of the judges?'

'The guy who I insulted and then left in the lurch...'

'Oh.'

'I wouldn't say that gives me a huge advantage.'

'You should have slept with him,' he mouths so that Nathan shouldn't hear.

The thought has occurred to me. 'What I
shouldn't
have done is told him lies about my unexplained absences. He has no idea that I hold secret ambitions to be a singer. I laughed it off when he told me I had a good voice. How could I tell the great Evan David that I thought I could pass muster with the likes of him?' I want to crawl into a very big hole and never come out again. 'He'll pass out when he sees me on that stage. Or I will.'

'Your life always seems so complicated.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Why don't you just give in and marry Carl?'

'Carl?' I laugh. 'Because he's never asked me.'

'That's only because he knows you'll say no.'

I shake my head. 'Carl wouldn't want to be fettered by a conventional arrangement. He likes being a little bit rock 'n' roll. He might not bite the heads off live bats, but he's still a free spirit.'

'You know that's rubbish, sis. Carl's not free. He never will be. He's hopelessly devoted to you.'

'I'm devoted to him, too,' I insist, 'but in a sisterly way. I couldn't get squishy with Carl. We just don't feel like that about each other.'

'I don't think Carl sees it that way. If you offered him a wedding ring, two tousle-haired kids and a house in the suburbs, he'd give up any ideas of a rock 'n' roll lifestyle like a shot.'

'Can we stop discussing my relationship dilemmas?' I say, and check my watch pointedly. 'When will our misbehaving parents get here?' Perhaps seeing their dear grandchild like this will bring them both to their senses. All else seems to be failing.

Joe looks grim. 'I've tried phoning Mum, but she's not at home and she never has her mobile with herif she does, she never remembers to switch the damn thing on. She's the only person I know who can make a ten-pound credit last for two years.'

'I can't believe it,' I say with an exasperated sigh. 'I'd love to know where she keeps sloping off to.' I'd hate to think that she's blaming the breakdown of their marriage totally on my dad when all the time she's playing hooky with another bloke.

'Dad won't come down at all,' Joe continues, echoing my sigh. 'Selfish git. Says he doesn't like hospitals.'

'A fine comment from a man who's going the quickest way about getting
himself
hospitalised,' I snap. When I get home, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, and not the piece that's nice and fluffy. He's going to get the stroppy piece.

'I'll have to give up that job I'd got lined up for next week,' Joe tells me. 'I can't leave Nathan when he's like this.'

'You must,' I say. 'They'll give Nathan some steroids and he'll be as right as rain by Monday. You wait and see.' We all marvel at Nathan's rate of recovery from these terrible bouts. And we all pray that it continues as he gets older. 'I'll look after him. I promised I would.'

'How can you now that you've got through to the
Fame Game?
You need to concentrate on that, Fern. This could be your big chance.'

'And it could be my biggest disaster,' I remind him. 'The odds are not looking good.'

'Someone has to win. I'd rather it was you.'

'I'll manage. As long as Nathan's fit enough to go back to school during the day, I'll manage just fine.'

'If you're sure,' Joe says reluctantly.

'Of course I'm sure.'

I can't let my brother downI've promised him. Inside me is a deep weariness. Sometimes I feel there are so many balls in the air that I'm trying to juggle and that one day they'll all come crashing down on my head, leaving me thrashing about at thin air. Until then, I'll manage. I always do.