Page 16 of Star Struck

‘Skye, you have to come!’ Felix was almost on his knees. ‘What was the point in coming all the way out here if you’re going to spend the whole convention hiding in your fucking room?’

I pulled another pillow in front of me. ‘All those people, Fe. They’ve all seen me dribbling and vomiting and all gakky and disgusting and most of them have seen us being chucked out of the diner. Why, in God’s name, would you think I’d want to be seen again by any of them, in any state? I can only imagine what might happen next; my knickers fall to my knees, perhaps? My boobs roll out of my top and settle on the table just as the waiters bring in a bowl of melons?’

‘You are over-reacting, darling.’

‘Believe me, refusing to go to this dinner is under-reacting on a scale you can’t imagine.’

‘But wouldn’t you like Gethryn to see you all done up properly? Give him a chance to check you out when you’ve got your make-up on and you’re dressed up? After all,’ Felix lowered his voice, ‘he did wink at you earlier on. And that was when you were totally scuzzy. See what he thinks of the delicious Skye Threppel when she’s got up like a Scissor Sisters concert.’

‘Not helping.’ But I had to admit my morning run-in with Gethryn had given a new edge to the possibility of going out in public. ‘Besides, look at my hair. I can’t appear in public with hair like this, they’ll think Sasquatch is making a guest appearance.’ To illustrate my point I raked my hands over my scalp and they jammed half-way through, making my hair jut at odd angles.

‘Oh, that is easily sorted.’ He dragged his phone from his pocket and tapped in a quick text. The answer beeped back almost immediately. ‘Wait there.’ And he leapt up and ran out of the door.

I stared at myself in the mirror across the room. A lengthy shower and sleep had removed the evidence of my morning’s activities, leaving me looking at the real me. All frizzy hair and skinny shoulders, in a vest top that made my chest look like two poached eggs on a plank. And scars. I lifted my fringe and traced the scar downwards, through my eyebrow, round my eye socket where it had thankfully not affected my sight, and down to the top of my cheekbone, where it split into two before fading out in a little radius of tiny lines, like a sunburst. I’d seen out 2008 as a whole, unblemished actress and only hours later my entire life had revolved around an unknown degree of brain damage and scars. Passing time had seen this one blur and whiten, from an evil incision-red, marked with the dashes of staples, to a pale pink, stammering over half-healed sections which continually peeled away in patches of renewed redness. It was healing. Cleanly and without infection. And this made me lucky.

Part of me could appreciate the irony. I was lucky not to be dead. Of course I was. But not being dead meant living with scars which marked me so resolutely, so absolutely, that it had stopped my career as dead as I wasn’t. Casting directors didn’t want a girl with a huge brand down one side of her face. I was too noticeable. Maybe, in a few years . . .

Yeah. Maybe.

‘Fingers!’ Felix barked as he walked back in, and I untwisted my hands, stopped picking. ‘I got you some hair gunk. What’cha think?’ With a flourish, he pulled out a bottle I didn’t recognise and passed it to me. ‘Some kind of Yank stuff. Reckon it makes your hair smooth. Want to try?’

Despite myself I found I was tipping hair-smoother into my palm. Curious. ‘Where did you get this from?’ Stroked a tiny amount through a few strands and was amazed. ‘It actually works.’

‘Lissa.’

‘Oh. Okay. Are you sure she gave it to you? Only I know that you sometimes have a very loose interpretation of “borrowing” things.’

He shrugged. ‘I asked if I could have it and she said yes. She didn’t mention returning it, all right? Anyway, come on, I want to get you out of here and downstairs asap, sweetie.’

‘And she’s all right about my having it?’ Felix said nothing. ‘So that would be, why?’

He avoided meeting my eye. ‘Lissa and I, we got talking, she’s very . . . amusing.’

I pulled back to look at him, all buffed up and wearing black. ‘Right. I know. That kind of amusing.’

‘Come on, Skye, you’ve seen her, would you turn it down? I mean, really?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s up to you. But do you really want Jack looking over your shoulder all the time?’ I finished rubbing serum-covered fingers through my hair and let it lie, unaccustomedly slick, on my shoulders; dabbed mascara at my eyes and applied my usual cover-up make-up, adding an extra layer for luck and Gethryn-potential.

‘Nah, they’re long over. And even then it was just a thing, she says. Between you and me, I think there was some serious shit going on with this show. You know the online chat, come on, give.’

I shrugged, stared at my reflection and wondered what people would see if I ventured downstairs. A scarred girl trying too hard? ‘First series ran into trouble and nearly got cancelled, but there was an online campaign to keep it going and it got picked up again. They do that sometimes over here, if there’s enough advertising revenue coming in.’ I shook my head and my hair amazed me by following the movement. Usually it flared out and surrounded my face, leaving me peeping out like the aftermath of a cartoon explosion.

‘And talking of picking things up . . .’ Felix handed me my smart white top. ‘You and Jack, eh? Mind you, I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating oysters.’

‘We’ve yet to find anyone you’d throw out of bed; you’re not exactly discriminating, are you? And it’s not like that. He’s nice. He’s kind. But that’s all.’

‘Holding out for the big guy are you?’ Felix was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

‘Hardly! And anyway . . .’ I dropped my hand away from my face, ‘I can’t do it. I mean, who am I trying to kid, dressing up like this and doing my hair and everything? I’m a failed actress with a stonking great scar, not the kind of person you want me to be. This whole thing . . . it’s not that I’m not grateful, Fe, and it’s fantastic that I’m here and I’ve met new people . . . well, one new person, and all that, but . . . a dinner? With people standing around talking?’ All my insides took a little step sideways. ‘I’ll stay up here.’ Useless, useless Skye.

‘But you can’t. You can’t spend the whole convention up here!’ As though he’d scared himself, Fe stopped, ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. ‘Just . . . look. You came to get a chance to meet Gethryn Tudor-Morgan, right?’

I scrunched up my face, but didn’t reply.

‘All right. And down there, it’s not like it’s a top-hat-and-tails do. It’s a buffet, meet-the-stars kind of thing. You’re looking gorgeous — believe it, sweetie — and you’ve already broken the ice, so to speak, downstairs earlier. Come on, you want Gethryn to see you in a good light, don’t you?’

My fingers went again to my scar. ‘I’d actually prefer him to see me in total darkness.’

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