Read Online Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding - Free Book Online

fuckbrain,” I heard her mutter under her breath.
    Oliver and Corinna were tense. The last of the clips from the four nominations was running. Kevin Garside, a folk singer with a skinhead cut, was performing miners’ protest songs. They were his own compositions performed to his own tambourine accompaniment. He was being watched by a group of Guatemalan peasants in a hut, wearing expressions of polite embarrassment.
    The red light came on from the camera opposite Oliver. Onstage, Ian McKellen was opening the envelope. The screen was divided in quarters. In one of them was Oliver with a relaxed smile, and Corinna still biting her lip.
    â€œAnd the winner of Best Arts Program is Sof—”
    On the screen I saw Corinna breaking into a smile, and just beginning to rise from her seat.
    â€œâ€”Sofama Kuwayo for The Dispossessed, a Lament. ”
    Oliver’s smile stayed till the light behind the camera clicked off.
    Onstage, Sofama Kuwayo had taken his award and was finishing his speech: “. . . in your Audis, your Mercs, your BMWs, spare a thought for those, many of them younger than your own kids, without homes to go to. It’s their words, their experience, the poetry of their lives which created that program. This award is for them.”
    â€œWell, you made a prat of yourself there, Corinna, didn’t you?” said Oliver.
    About half an hour later we were making our way to Pizza on the Piazza in a little group made up of a studiedly modest Bill Bonham, Corinna and someone called Rats, who was apparently the bass player in the group EX Gap, a still-tearful Vicky Spankie, minus Rani, a comedian called Hughie Harrington-Ellis, and lastly Oliver, with his arm around me.
    â€œOy, Hughie,” a group of boys yelled from a traffic island, “absobloodylootely.” This was one of Hughie’s many catch phrases. “Absobloodylutely,” went the boys. Hughie gave them a gritted-teeth smile and a wave.
    â€œThis must happen to you all the time,” I said.
    â€œOh, no,” said Hughie dryly. “First time it’s ever happened to me.”
    In the restaurant everyone turned to stare. All the tables were full, but the management somehow managed to move some kids and make them split up and share on three other tables. Within minutes we were all sitting together at their table with the waiters flapping around us.
    â€œOh, God, this is so embarrassing. It must happen to you all the time. You don’t mind, mate, do you?” said a young boy, shoving a bit of paper under Hughie’s nose.
    â€œOf course I don’t,” said Hughie, adding under his breath, “you little tit.”
    Vicky was signing a photograph, which she just happened to have in her handbag, for the waiter.
    A girl came up to Bill Bonham. “I’m sorry, would you mind? This must happen to you all the time.”
    I was praying for someone to come and ask Oliver, because I could feel him descending into gloom again. Then, thank God, another pair of girls appeared and asked Oliver to sign their menu. “Sorry, you’ll have to get used to this,” said Oliver smiling smugly.
    There was a commotion at the door and Terence Twinkle burst in. “Hi, everyone,” he shouted across to our table. “God, it’s a nightmare out there. Why can’t anyone leave me alone?” He was wearing a floor-length white mink coat.

CHAPTER
Six
    I t was twelve-thirty when we turned the jeep into the gates of the compound. Malcolm’s Land Cruiser was already there, plastered in stickers. A small procession was making its way towards the latrine unit. The procession was headed by Betty, dressed in pink, who was gesturing and laughing beneficently as if hosting a royal visit. Our team had all changed into their best clothes—ludicrously garish pantomime outfits: dresses, shirts and harem pants with brightly colored spots and stripes, run up by the tailors in the camp.