Page 13 of Star Struck

Despite the Valium I could feel my skin growing clammy and my hands had moistened as though beads of blood were seeping through the palms. ‘I ought . . .’ My voice sounded croaky and about a hundred years old. I cleared my throat but it didn’t help, just made the air thicken around me so that I had to concentrate on breathing.

‘What is it you’re frightened of, Skye? You look terrified right now, and no-one’s ever found me that scary before — arrogant and self-righteous, yes, scary, no.’ His head tilted to one side. ‘Panic attacks worse when there’re lots of people about, yes? And yet being alone, closed in, scares you, too. Am I getting warm?’

Suddenly uneasy at the intensity with which he was looking at me, I drained my glass in one gulp. ‘I’m not scared. It’s stress related. I get . . . when I’m a bit . . . when things are different, when I don’t know what’s going to happen next, sometimes I get panicky. But it’s not that, I’m just worried that Felix will wonder where I am.’

Jack stood up and refilled my glass. ‘Do you want me to leave the door open? Will that help?’ He was looking at me with an expression that seemed partly compassion and partly curiosity and I hated myself suddenly, which surprised me. Hated this pathetic, helpless Skye with her inabilities and her carefully modified behaviour. He tilted his head to one side, stubbing out his nearly completely smoked cigarette without taking his eyes off me. ‘You might feel better if you know you can run whenever you want. A bit more in control of the situation. And if Felix comes back, you’ll be able to hear him.’

I gave a short, tight nod and he snicked the door off its latch, propping it open with a lone trainer. ‘Thank you.’ I could feel my airways relaxing. ‘It isn’t you, I’m sorry, they think it’s something to do with the accident, the head injury, it’s been over a year-and-a-half and I still can’t . . .’

‘Oh, and there was me feeling special.’ Jack grinned and his face was suddenly attractive. ‘Okay then, let’s talk neutral subjects, shall we? So, what’s so great about Fallen Skies?’

I wanted to sound erudite and literary, as though I analysed the metaphorical allegories of today’s political situation and enjoyed the complex interplay of meta-media. ‘I like all of it,’ was what I found my mouth going ahead with. ‘Really.’

Jack nodded over his glass. ‘Gethryn. Am I right?’

My blush answered for me.

‘Is that why you came? Chance to meet him?’

This time I just shrugged and managed to mutter, ‘I like the storylines too.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ He sounded a bit terse, and I didn’t miss the sidelong glance at the open laptop, now displaying a screensaver picture of random swirls of colour. ‘Glad we’re doing something right.’

‘Sorry, yes, you said you’re one of the writers, didn’t you? Because, what I meant to say was, you know, it’s the scripting, isn’t it, that makes the whole show. And the character arcs, and the way that the Shadow War has implications for all the planets across the galaxy.’

‘Too late, Skye, far too late. But, nice recovery.’ Jack stood up to top up my glass. ‘Don’t worry about fancying Gethryn, you’re not the only one.’

‘I didn’t mean . . .’

But he cut me off by turning away. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

I drained my second glass of wine out of embarrassment. Jack was rummaging through the pockets of a jacket hanging on the back of a chair, triumphantly pulling forth an unopened packet of cigarettes and dragging off the cellophane like an addict. When he finally turned back to me he was blowing smoke like a dragon and the air had turned chilly. ‘Do you want another?’ He gestured towards my glass. ‘Or had you better be going?’

Feeling dismissed I went to stand up, at which point two things happened. Drunkenness fell, breaking over my head like an enormous egg, and I lurched, staggered and grabbed out for any solid object, the nearest of which happened to be Jack. My wavering hand secured a fistful of his T-shirt, pulling him with me as I toppled back onto the bed.

And there was the sound of someone pushing the door open from outside.

‘Oh, bloody hell.’ Jack managed not to suffocate me by propping himself clear of my prone body, which caused the T-shirt to stretch obscenely. ‘This is really not my day.’

And into the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet, walked the skinny girl in the pink jeans. ‘Oh, right,’ she drawled, seeing us in our state of near-collapse on the bed. ‘I know the Nevada call-girls ain’t up to much but, brother, you should ask for your money back.’

‘Hey, Liss.’ Jack walked backwards, dragging his shirt off over his head and leaving me with two handfuls of fabric. ‘This is Skye. I think she’s had a bit too much to drink.’

‘Great. If she throws up on me, I shall so sue her ass.’

‘She’s not well, Lissa. Help me.’

I tried to look up into their faces but everything spun, then jumped, as though milliseconds were being cut out of the morning. ‘Did you . . . spike my drink?’

Lissa gave a hollow little laugh. ‘Lady, look at him. He doesn’t need to spike drinks to get laid.’

‘Shut up.’ Jack walked around the bed, looking down on me, nervously fiddling with a leather necklace around his throat. It hung black and stark against his bare skin. ‘She’s only had two glasses; it’s more than just the alcohol.’ His face unfocused then pirouetted around the top of his body. ‘Shall I get your friend?’

I shook my head, which turned out to be a terrible mistake. The whole room wheeled and split and I felt myself flying through the air, which was an illusion caused by Jack picking me up and thrusting me at light speed in the direction of the toilet, which we managed to reach before Catastrophe came calling at Wotsit-ville.

It took far, far longer than it should have, to bring up two packets of cheesy puffs. Between noisy heaves I could hear Jack on the phone, calling downstairs, and in a few minutes Felix arrived in the bathroom, overheated and with a lipstick mark on the side of his neck.

‘Whoa!’ He looked down on me for a moment as I drooled bile into the toilet bowl. ‘You look crappy, darling.’

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