After Iris: the Diaries of Bluebell Gadsby (13 page)

Zoran wouldn’t say anything later when I asked him, but I’m not stupid. I’ve seen
Juno
and read
Dear Nobody
and sat through about a hundred cringe-worthy sex education classes at school. I can guess why she is scared and feels sick all the time.

Flora is going to have a baby.

I still can’t believe it.

I don’t think Joss knows yet. Today I waited on purpose to go to school with them and he didn’t seem to treat her any differently from usual. Same arm slung around her shoulder. Same nuzzling. An old lady tutted because they were kissing in the street and Joss just laughed and flipped her off
behind
her back, which didn’t strike me as very prospective parent behaviour. I suppose that now we will be linked by ties of blood, which is quite romantic in a hopeless sort of way. To be honest I have no idea how Flora managed it. CFS start the whole sex education thing when you’re practically still in
primary school
. What we don’t know about contraception probably doesn’t exist. And of course, I can totally see why teenagers shouldn’t have babies. All that dropping out of school and ruined prospects and getting fat and benefit queues. But still – a
baby
! That’s just . . . huge. It’s
momentous.

A baby could change
everything.

I could help look after it. I could take it to the park and to Home Sweet Home to meet Pretty. If it’s a girl, and I hope it is, we could call her Poppy or Lily or – no, not Iris. But a flower name, anyway, and a real one, not something stupid like Bluebell.

A baby right now would be
perfect
.

I shouldn’t have said anything, I know. But when Dodi said ‘All right then, spill the beans’ at lunchtime, I couldn’t help it.

‘What beans?’ I asked.

‘You’ve been completely distracted all morning.’

I didn’t
really
tell. I said I’d had some big news but it was secret, and then I told them it was family news, and then the boys lost interest but Dodi kept on asking questions until she guessed and said ‘Oh my God, Flora’s pregnant’
and the boys were all
no way
and actually it was nice to have people looking at me like I had something interesting to say for once. They are sworn to secrecy, of course
. As my
friends.
I think I can trust them. I hope so.

I still can’t believe it.

Tonight was the opening night of Flora’s play.

We all went, like we said we would. We arrived at the theatre super early. Flora doesn’t like to be interrupted before a show, but I saw Zoran slip backstage and I went after him with the camera. I wanted to film the show, and also people getting ready for it, if they let me. I love that – the craziness of everyone running around half-dressed, actors with their hair plastered down ready for their wigs, the pots of thick make-up, stagehands in black tearing around carrying things. It seems completely improbable, half an hour before a show that it will ever actually happen.

Flora hadn’t even started on her make-up. She was leaning against a wall, looking quite alarming, waving a dagger in front of her while she listened to Zoran.

‘This is not the end of the world,’ Zoran was
saying
. ‘Smile! Try to enjoy it! We’ll figure out what to say later.’

I crept up and stood by Zoran, but Flora didn’t even look at me. She heaved herself off the wall and said she had better get on with things then, even though she would rather walk barefoot on broken glass through a raging blizzard.

‘I know what’s going on,’ I blurted. I couldn’t help myself. She looked so sad.

‘You do?’ Flora looked terrified.

‘I think it’s
brilliant
,’ I announced, which was only partly true.
Huge
and
momentous
are not the same as
brilliant
, and even though I truly was excited, I’m still not sure a baby is a good idea when you’re at school. ‘I’m really, really happy,’ I added, because Flora was looking at me like she just couldn’t believe her ears.

‘You little cow,’ she hissed.  She snatched the camera out of my hands. ‘I should smash this,’ she snarled. ‘I should break this on your head!’

‘That’s enough!’ shouted Zoran.

Flora glared at me. I tried to glare back. She turned to Zoran.

‘I feel sick,’ she said.

‘Give Blue the camera and go.’

Flora went. ‘What was all that about?’ asked
Zoran
.

‘The baby,’ I mumbled. I couldn’t even look at him when I said that but pretended to check my camera for Flora damage instead.

‘What baby?’

‘You know,’ I mumbled. I held the camera up to my face. ‘Flora’s.’

In the viewfinder, Zoran turned white as a sheet.

And then Joss’s friends stumbled in. Their names are CJ, Sharky and Spudz, and they were waving beer cans and shouting. Julian, who is married to Craig, the
Players
’ director, ran in after them and said they had to leave, but the one called CJ burped in his face and said, ‘Make me.’ Zoran looked dazed and said he’d rather like to find Joss himself, and then Joss turned up looking gorgeous in stagehand black and said, ‘Lads!’ like them being there was the best thing that could ever have happened in his life and they were all,
We came to see your panto and your new girl
, and CJ burped again and they all hugged and punched each other. And then Flora turned up and cried ‘No, you promised!’, and the boys were all
so this is the lay-deee
and
man that hair is bad
and Joss had to run after Flora who stormed off, and Julian said we had to go and find our seats
now
.

‘What on earth do you mean, Flora’s baby?’ said Zoran as we walked back to our seats. ‘And for God’s sake put that camera away.’

‘I heard her telling you.’ I put the camera down. It’s more difficult than it looks to film while walking through a crowded room.

‘
What?
When? Wait, here are your parents. Tell me when we’re sitting down.’

We spent the next few minutes squeezing over people’s knees to get to our seats, then squeezing back again because we got the wrong row, then annoying everyone behind us by changing where we were all sitting so that Jas and Twig could see over the people in front. Zoran and I sat at the end of the row. Joss’s friends sat a few rows behind us.

‘Well?’ said Zoran.

Several seats down from us, the parents and Grandma were poring over the programme, looking puzzled.

‘In her room. Last Thursday. She was crying.’

‘Ah,’ said Zoran.

‘I don’t understand!’ said Dad.

The lights went out.

‘What’s he talking about?’ I asked Zoran.

‘Shhh!’ said an old lady sitting behind us.

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

‘And what do you mean,
ah
?’

‘You’ll find that out too.’

‘Will you be
quiet
!’ hissed the old lady. ‘My granddaughter is about to sing.’

The Clarendon Players Christmas Extravaganza follows pretty much the same pattern every year. The curtain went up. A choir of primary-school children dressed as peasants rejoiced that it was Snow White’s birthday. The Wicked Queen strode on, followed by a girl in a red coat carrying a knife who was meant to be Little Red Riding Hood being the Huntsman. A singing mirror was wheeled onstage, pushed by the Three Little Pigs. Twig, Jas and all other members of the audience under the age of eleven watched with rapt attention.

Zoran looked bemused.

Three rows behind us, Joss’s friends started to snore. The old lady behind us hissed at them to be quiet. One of them burped at her.

And then Snow White herself burst on the scene.

I could see why Flora liked her. Snow White is a complete drip normally, but not this one. Craig had set the whole performance in the 1920s, and this Snow White didn’t spend her time mooning about with birds and squirrels and baby deer. This Snow White tried on make-up and clothes as she got ready for her party, she minced around in the Wicked Queen’s stilettos and made everyone laugh. She lit up the stage, she really did.

Only she wasn’t Flora.

Flora came on just before the interval, dressed as one of the Seven Dwarves.

Mum and Dad just about managed to stay in their seats until the interval, but as soon as the house lights came on again they were up and raring to get backstage.

‘I don’t think that would be such a good idea,’ said Zoran. He stood in front of them. He is so slight and they were so determined I was sure they were going to push him out of the way, but Zoran was wearing his
do as I tell you
look and unbelievably they obeyed.

‘Something’s happened!’ cried Mum. ‘She must be sick!’

‘She is not sick,’ said Zoran.

‘There must be some mistake,’ shouted Dad. ‘I’m quite sure I remember Flora saying she was playing Snow White.’

‘There is no mistake,’ sighed Zoran.

Flora was fired because she kept missing rehearsals. Zoran explained that Craig was going to bar her from the show completely, but then one of the Seven Dwarves broke her foot, so he made her do that instead. And he didn’t fire Joss because Joss never actually missed any of his run-throughs.

Zoran looked straight ahead as he said all this, like he couldn’t quite meet Mum and Dad’s eye. We all watched with interest as Dad, who is so good with words, struggled to find anything to say at all.

‘But you must have noticed!’ cried Mum.

‘She went almost every night. She just didn’t necessarily – get there.’

And then all hell broke loose, with this whole torrent of how could this happen and how could you not realise from Mum, and a lot of silence from Dad until she kicked him and he said, ‘We are very disappointed in you Zoran, because she was your responsibility while we were away’. And then Zoran said, ‘With all due respect she is not my daughter and perhaps you have forgotten, with all your travels, just how difficult it is to manage four children especially when one is a wayward teenager’, and Dad said ‘Who are you calling wayward?’, and Mum said ‘Well if you feel like that perhaps we should reconsider our arrangement’, and Zoran said ‘Fine, as soon as you find some other poor mug willing to act as cook, babysitter and surrogate parent I’ll be on my way.’ And then Jas wailed NOOOO! and Mum said ‘For heaven’s sake, Blue, can’t you go and get them some ice cream or something’ but it was too late because the interval was over.

‘She’s not pregnant,’ I said to Zoran as we sat down again. I felt a lot of things right then. Relieved, of course, and stupid, but also sad. Really, really sad.

‘Thank heaven for small mercies, eh?’ Zoran attempted to smile, but I couldn’t smile back.

Without being nasty I have to say that even Flora failed to look good in leather shorts and a pointy hat, but she really did try her best as a dwarf. I’m sure if you didn’t know her, and how much she would mind not playing Snow White, you wouldn’t have noticed how miserable she was. Or probably you would just think she was meant to look like that. And it wasn’t fair that her clothes were far too small, especially for the Charleston.

Oh, the Charleston.

Snow White’s wedding party.

The wicked queen danced, as promised, in a pair of burning slippers (though there was no smell of burning flesh).

Snow White waltzed in her prince’s arms.

Little Red Riding Hood strode about in a wolf’s pelt. The Three Little Pigs were not, after all, roasted for the feast. Hansel and Gretel turned up with a load of gingerbread, their hearts still beating in their breasts.

The Seven Dwarves danced the Charleston.

Nobody should ever dance the Charleston in tight leather shorts. Particularly when they have to end the dance with a forward bend, presenting their bottoms to the audience. Not when there’s a chance of the fabric ripping.

Not when the shorts are so tight you couldn’t even wear your knickers underneath.

‘Well, that was different,’ said Grandma. ‘I must come to London more often. It makes such a change from Devon.’

Mum and Dad went backstage after the show to find Flora and also to apologise to Craig. The rest of us waited in the foyer. It’s amazing how many people from school there were in the audience.

I didn’t see the girl until the end, when almost everyone had come out. I found a photograph of her on Joss’s Facebook page. You can’t mistake her: she has this sharp black bob and green eyes and lots of red lipstick. In the photo she is laughing with another girl who’s all fair and wispy and super-pretty, but Trudi – that’s her name – is the picture of sophistication. When I saw her she was leaning against the wall by the ticket office in a pink leopardskin coat, and all I could think was how drab everyone looked compared to her.

Flora and Joss appeared just as the last of the audience left the theatre.  She was crying. He had his arm around her and was trying not to laugh.

‘I’ll never be able to show my face in public again!’ wailed Flora. ‘My acting career is over!’

Joss started to say
hey, come on, you were fantastic
but then Trudi was peeling herself away from the wall to walk towards them and Flora was saying
who is this
and Joss was looking completely confused.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘We have to talk,’ said Trudi.

‘Right,’ said Joss.

He gave her this look, sort of blank, like he just didn’t know what to do. Flora clung to him, but he said he had to go.

‘I’ll explain later,’ he said. And then he left with Trudi. Flora cried for him to stay, but he didn’t look back.

Outside the camera, there are no limits. There’s you and the person you’re with, and the room you are standing in, and outside the room there is the street, and beyond the street there is the town, and beyond the town the countryside, and then there is the sea, and more land, Africa or Europe or America, and there are more cities and prairies and mountains and cars, and they’re all places and people you don’t know but which exist anyway. Inside the camera, the world is limited to what you can see through the viewfinder. If you don’t like it, you can change it. Or, with the flick of a button, you can switch it off. You just say
goodbye world
.
Time to go.
 Like dying, but not quite so final.