HELL WITH IT ‘… naked. It’s putting me off my ice-cream.’
Actually, truth be told, the sight of Dean proposing to my mother had done that job already, and anyway, the ice-cream had melted in the tense atmosphere.
‘Thanks, Cat,’ he drawled, and then – can hardly think about the vomit-worthiness of it all – he draped the tablecloth very low round his hips and slowly, slowly, winked at me. Winked. At. Me.
At that moment, I should have known there was something even weirder than I even suspected about this, because I have never, NEVER, been winked at by a member of the opposite sex since I passed the age of six and general cuteness, other than by Dad when he was trying to tease me about something and I would take it far too seriously so he’d have to show he was joking. I had certainly never been looked at like that since … well, forever. Winking and looking, from a naked Jazzy D – no, that was just wrong .
All I could imagine at that point, however, was that Big Burly had passed on my letter and he was here to make up for my complete humiliation at being thrown out of a Double Vision concert. Why he’d be PAUSE TO SAY NAKED I really didn’t know, but then he was a famous pop star. Maybe they all went round NAKED and winking and looking all the time, and only put on shirts with collars for concerts. To be fair, if my body rippled with muscles like that (and I was a boy) I’d probably walk round NAKED too. But maybe just in my own house, not other people’s.
Aggie sat up again, her chest visibly heaving up and down as she panted gently, like a heroine in a Jane Austen book. ‘So Jazzy, are you here to see …’
He pointed at me, only just remembering to hold up his tablecloth with the other hand. ‘Cat. Yes. I’m here to see Cat.’
‘You do really know him!’
This was what my mother and Aggie said at the very same time, and I’m not sure which one of them was more surprised. Aggie turned ferociously red and then stuttered, ‘I’m … I’m so ... so … sorry, Cat. I’d begun to think you’d made it all up.’
Mother Dearest, meanwhile, stepped closer to Jazzy D and inspected him. ‘Actually, you do seem familiar. Maybe I did see you at the school.’
Jazzy shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘So … so where have you come from this evening, Mr … Divine?’ said Dean slowly, in a way which suggested he hadn’t just left out a word but a whole sentence eg. AND WHEN WILL YOU BE GOING BACK THERE AND GETTING YOUR NAKEDNESS OUT OF MY DAUGHTER’S FACE?
Jazzy hitched a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Back there, you know.’ He nodded wisely like we’d all completely understood where “back there” was.
Back there. Back where? Back at the studio? They said that on TV all the time. Back in time? Maybe he really did remember the primary school and this was his weird, pop-starry way of saying it. Yes, Cat, I do remember you, from our old school in Jersey, when you were in Mr Favreau’s class and didn’t really speak to anyone but Gemma, and I, Jazzy D, was two years older and in a different class. In spite of all that, yes, you made enough of an impression upon me for me to remember you and to recognise you now, a whole metre taller and with curly wings growing out of the side of your head.
And suddenly, I realised that his appearance in Dean’s house really did say that, even if Jazzy himself was a little short on words and, let’s face it, clothes.
What’s more, I had an even bigger realisation that now that he’d done that, and proven to the world (and Aggie) that I wasn’t a terrible fibber, I had no further use for him in this location.
But he’d be very, very useful somewhere else.
‘Jazzy, do you need a lift home?’ I said. ‘Or back to your hotel? Or your penthouse? Wherever you want to go, we can take you.’
At this, both Dean and Mother Dearest started to protest. ‘I’ve had too much to drink,’ and ‘I’m over the limit’ and ‘He’s not getting into my car’
Actually, truth be told, the sight of Dean proposing to my mother had done that job already, and anyway, the ice-cream had melted in the tense atmosphere.
‘Thanks, Cat,’ he drawled, and then – can hardly think about the vomit-worthiness of it all – he draped the tablecloth very low round his hips and slowly, slowly, winked at me. Winked. At. Me.
At that moment, I should have known there was something even weirder than I even suspected about this, because I have never, NEVER, been winked at by a member of the opposite sex since I passed the age of six and general cuteness, other than by Dad when he was trying to tease me about something and I would take it far too seriously so he’d have to show he was joking. I had certainly never been looked at like that since … well, forever. Winking and looking, from a naked Jazzy D – no, that was just wrong .
All I could imagine at that point, however, was that Big Burly had passed on my letter and he was here to make up for my complete humiliation at being thrown out of a Double Vision concert. Why he’d be PAUSE TO SAY NAKED I really didn’t know, but then he was a famous pop star. Maybe they all went round NAKED and winking and looking all the time, and only put on shirts with collars for concerts. To be fair, if my body rippled with muscles like that (and I was a boy) I’d probably walk round NAKED too. But maybe just in my own house, not other people’s.
Aggie sat up again, her chest visibly heaving up and down as she panted gently, like a heroine in a Jane Austen book. ‘So Jazzy, are you here to see …’
He pointed at me, only just remembering to hold up his tablecloth with the other hand. ‘Cat. Yes. I’m here to see Cat.’
‘You do really know him!’
This was what my mother and Aggie said at the very same time, and I’m not sure which one of them was more surprised. Aggie turned ferociously red and then stuttered, ‘I’m … I’m so ... so … sorry, Cat. I’d begun to think you’d made it all up.’
Mother Dearest, meanwhile, stepped closer to Jazzy D and inspected him. ‘Actually, you do seem familiar. Maybe I did see you at the school.’
Jazzy shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘So … so where have you come from this evening, Mr … Divine?’ said Dean slowly, in a way which suggested he hadn’t just left out a word but a whole sentence eg. AND WHEN WILL YOU BE GOING BACK THERE AND GETTING YOUR NAKEDNESS OUT OF MY DAUGHTER’S FACE?
Jazzy hitched a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Back there, you know.’ He nodded wisely like we’d all completely understood where “back there” was.
Back there. Back where? Back at the studio? They said that on TV all the time. Back in time? Maybe he really did remember the primary school and this was his weird, pop-starry way of saying it. Yes, Cat, I do remember you, from our old school in Jersey, when you were in Mr Favreau’s class and didn’t really speak to anyone but Gemma, and I, Jazzy D, was two years older and in a different class. In spite of all that, yes, you made enough of an impression upon me for me to remember you and to recognise you now, a whole metre taller and with curly wings growing out of the side of your head.
And suddenly, I realised that his appearance in Dean’s house really did say that, even if Jazzy himself was a little short on words and, let’s face it, clothes.
What’s more, I had an even bigger realisation that now that he’d done that, and proven to the world (and Aggie) that I wasn’t a terrible fibber, I had no further use for him in this location.
But he’d be very, very useful somewhere else.
‘Jazzy, do you need a lift home?’ I said. ‘Or back to your hotel? Or your penthouse? Wherever you want to go, we can take you.’
At this, both Dean and Mother Dearest started to protest. ‘I’ve had too much to drink,’ and ‘I’m over the limit’ and ‘He’s not getting into my car’
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