Diamonds Are a Teen's Best Friend (10 page)

‘I’d better make all those drinks sparkling mineral water, though. I’ve got a film set to be on in six weeks. Can’t completely let myself go.’ She jumps up so she’s next to Marc. ‘Okay, see you, Nessa! I won’t forget: no PM, have a good time. No PM, have a good time.’

‘Um, great. That’s great. Bye Holly,’ I say. Holly waves at me. ‘Bye Marc.’ No reaction here. ‘Bye Edwina.’ This, at least, makes him turn around. Holly laughs and Marc gives me a quick glance.

‘No PM? What’s PM? Have a good time? And who’s Edwina?’ I hear him say as he and Holly make their way across the deck towards the stairs.

Again, it comes to me in the middle of the night. With the ship’s engine going full steam ahead next to my left eardrum, I sit up straight in bed, just like last time. (Why it always happens in the middle of the night, I’ll probably never know.)

This time, the Marilynism practically winds me.

How could I not have seen it sooner? How could I not have picked up the clues? The signs were all there, clear as day. Bigger signs even than the Hollywood one that Holly lives under.

No wonder Nessa’s Lessons in Love felt so wrong and didn’t work out. It wasn’t the answer.

The answer was always there. I just didn’t realise it.

But now I’ve found it: it’s Ted. Ted is the answer.

Like I said, how could I not have seen it sooner? After all, it’s too
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
to be true. I’m Lorelei and Holly is Dorothy, and Ted … Ted is the private detective. The guy who ran around taking the photos of the girls on the cruise ship. Ugh, what’s his name again? Starts with an M or something. Hang on … Malone. That’s it! Ernie Malone.

Oh, this is too much. Too much! First, Holly knowing the line from the movie when we were boarding the boat, the two of us being on a cruise ship together, her meeting up with me on the sun lounges, her need to find a decent guy, and now Ted.

I’ve been going down the wrong track trying to get Holly to meet every man on board. The right man’s been under my nose (and her house’s front hedge) all the time. And isn’t that typical? Isn’t that how it happens in all the great romances? In novels and movies and, oh, everything? It’s always the guy who’s been there all along that the heroine ends up with. Always! Holly’s words from this afternoon come back to me now …
A really nice guy, a sweetie, you can’t tell me he’s not cute, I’d have invited him out for dinner …
Oh, it really is too good to be true. Holly likes him! Holly likes Ted!

Oh. Wait. Hang on.

I remember something else then. Not Holly’s words, but Marc’s. From the other night at dinner.
What she needs is a guy who isn’t in the industry at all. A guy who isn’t even interested in it. But she never meets anyone who isn’t in the industry. If she’s got any hope of having a lasting relationship, she needs to meet different kinds of men. All sorts of men.

Ted. Ted’s in the industry, I realise.

Oh.

I lie back down, stare at the ceiling and think about this for a minute. The other night, I’d totally agreed with Marc. And, even now, something’s telling me – my gut, I think – that maybe I still think he’s right. It’d be good for Holly to have someone who wouldn’t want to use her and her contacts. Yes, it would be good … but maybe it just won’t happen that way. After all, Ted has to be right for Holly, he has to be! There are too many Marilynisms for it to be wrong. It’s just like
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
. It’s meant to be.

I quieten Marc’s words, still reverberating in my head. I stop listening to my gut. Yes. It’s meant to be. I have to make it happen. That’s why I’m here. When Holly said all
that stuff about me this afternoon, about being myself, she meant it. And there’s no doubting it in my mind – we met for a reason and this is it.

Right. It’s going to take a lot of work, but I’m going to have to make it happen, or it might not happen at all.

Holly’s future happiness depends upon it.

When I wake up, my dad’s gone. There’s a note on his bed saying he’s got a few people to interview and he’ll be back later (and that I should behave myself). I ring Holly to find out how her dates went last night, but she’s left a message saying she’s gone out on her dawn dolphin trip. So, with nothing else to do, I take a quick shower and head upstairs, pick up a croissant and a banana, skim the papers and then head on over to aqua aerobics.

Holly and I have done it twice already and, both times, we were the youngest in the pool by about thirty years (that’s including Holly), not to mention the only people not wearing those funny flowery bathing caps. You know the ones? They look like rubber bath mats that sit on your
head. Anyway, we liked it because we could pretend we were exercising and doing something good for ourselves and still gasbag at the same time.

Halfway through the class, I’m doing a ‘mule kick’ (don’t ask) and as I bend upright again, I glance up at the deck above us. I then stop mule kicking, or any kind of kicking, immediately. Because there, walking past on the deck above is Holly and my dad. Talking and laughing again. Just like the other day. I wonder what they’re talking about. Oh, god, I hope it’s not the study. I’d forgotten all about that, to tell the truth. Come to think of it, what am I doing mule kicking around a pool? I’ve got things to do – I’ve got to get Holly off Dad’s study and I’ve got to come up with some kind of a plan that will see Holly and Ted completely and utterly and foolishly in love by the end of this trip. Hey! Maybe I’ll be able to swing it so the second problem cancels out the first one.

I glance up again and watch the two of them for a bit longer. Well, at least she’s faring better by toning down the Nessa’s Lessons in Love thing. Because, up there, Holly’s not being anybody but herself. Like she is with me. There’s no flirting, no Miss Clumsy, no ‘Ooohhh I can’t play
badminton because I’m just a silly girl’. Not that she’d do that with my dad. After all, he’s hardly PM material, is he? But it’s nice to see Holly look herself again. At ease and happy and
really
having a good time.

‘Umph,’ I say, as one of the little old ladies hits my back.

‘Come on, Nessa!’ the instructor yells out. ‘Olive’s putting you to shame and she’s eighty-three next week. You can kick harder than that, girlfriend. Let’s step it up!’

Over the next day or so, I try to forget Marc’s words (it’s not hard, as he’s still completely ignoring me), and I spend a lot of time tipping Ted the personal paparazzo off as to where Holly will be and when, in the hope that their eyes will meet across a crowded deck and they’ll fall instantly in love. (I wish it was that easy.) He turns up at breakfast (surprisingly, even when Holly slums it with me, rather than going to the swanky restaurant); he turns up at aqua aerobics (nice board shorts, Ted!); and he even turns up a few minutes before Holly’s appointment with the pilates instructor, which looks kind of weird (oops).

It’s the second day of Operation Tipping Off Ted, and Holly and I are heading up for our usual round of afternoon cocktails/mocktails when we notice someone sitting in our spot. My spot, actually. ‘Hey!’ Holly says, turning to me and looking almost as affronted as I feel. But then we see who it is.

Marc. Uh oh, my gut says to my brain.

‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the three stooges,’ he says.

‘Three?’ Holly says, taking a look behind us.

‘You’re a bit late. But Ted was early. It’s funny how Ted’s always early these days, isn’t it? Anyway, he had to leave.’ Marc gives me a look. A very
definite
look.

Oops.

He jumps up off his (
my
) chair now and takes my arm, leading me away. ‘I’ve just got to have a little chat with Nessa,’ he says to Holly.

‘Um, sure. If you say so. Want me to order you guys something?’

‘No, we’re fine,’ Marc says, still leading me away. ‘Aren’t we, Nessa?’

I don’t know
, my brain says. As for my gut, it’s too busy doing cartwheels to reply.

We keep walking till we get to the railing on the opposite side of the boat.
I hope he’s not going to throw us overboard
, my brain says to my gut.
I wish I hadn’t eaten that second fajita at lunch
, my gut replies.

Marc stops and faces me, looking me straight in the eye. ‘Are you tipping off Ted?’

Oh, god. Get to the point, why don’t you? And, now, I don’t know where to look. I try the deck. Then the ocean. ‘What? What are you talking about?’ I finally manage to say.

Marc slaps the railing. ‘I knew it! I knew it! How could you do that, Nessa?’

‘Knew what? Do what?’ I look at him now.

‘Oh, come on. You know what I’m talking about. Ted’s been turning up all over the place for the last couple of days. It’s weird. But then I realised what was even weirder was it’s only been happening at places
you
know Holly’s going to be at.’

I look out at the ocean again. ‘Why would I do that? Why would I tell Ted where Holly’s going to be all the time?’

There’s a pause. A long pause.

‘Oh, I don’t know, Nessa. Maybe for
money
?’

What? It takes me a few moments to register what
Marc’s just said. But when I do, I snap to attention. And then I do look at Marc. Right at him. My eyes bore into his. ‘I am
not
taking any money from Ted. I’m not that kind of person.’ I take a step forward, closer towards him. Then another one. I try to catch my breath. ‘Got it? I wouldn’t do that to Holly.
Ever
.’ My cheeks and my ears feel hot. Too hot, as if they’re about to burn off. And, as the words exit my mouth, I feel strangely detached. I don’t ever remember being this angry before. Not in all my life. No-one’s ever accused me of betraying a friend like Marc’s accusing me of. For money. It’s just wrong. I could never do it. And my dad … he’s always brought me up to believe that money isn’t everything. It isn’t. I know it isn’t. And that’s why I’d never do what Marc’s just accused me of doing. I can’t believe he’s just said this to me. I take another step forward, about to lay into him again when he speaks.

‘I …’ Marc starts, then stops, as I think we both suddenly realise how close together we’re standing. Our noses are practically touching and I can smell him – salty and warm as if he’s just been for a dip in the pool.

My heart stops beating, pauses for a second, then begins racing crazily.

Oh my god
, my brain says.
His head. It’s tilting. He’s going to … he’s going to kiss you
.

Ugh, I wish I hadn’t had that second fajita
, my stomach replies.

And then, in that moment that feels like several, it’s my stomach I listen to. Quickly, awkwardly, I take two steps back. ‘I … I can’t believe you said that about me.’ I look out across the ocean again, crossing my arms. And I can’t. I can’t believe anyone would think that about me, let alone Marc. What’s gone wrong between us? Just a few days ago, we were getting along so well. Even if I didn’t remain friends with Holly after the trip I thought that Marc and I definitely would, and now … oh, no. I think I’m going to cry.

Marc must see this. ‘I’m sorry, Nessa. I didn’t think you’d do something like that, but there’s something going on. I know that much. Can you tell me what it is?’

There’s another long pause. And then, still not looking at him, I shake my head.

When I finally look back over again, Marc’s gone.

That night, trying to sort everything out in my head, I write a super-long email to Alexa telling her everything that’s gone on. I tell her about the Marilynisms. I tell her about Nessa’s Lessons in Love. I tell her about Holly and Antonio and Ted, and Dad’s study and Marc and how a week of cruising around the ocean is turning out to be far, far more stressful than it really should be. After I press send, I avoid Holly and Dad as best I can for a full twenty-four hours, telling them I’m not feeling a hundred per cent, and hole up in the cabin. And then I wait, checking my emails several times a day. Right now, I need the kind of comforting words only a best friend can give.