‘Well,’ he said after a moment, and Evie could sense the tinge of sadness breaking through the charm, ‘I was just hoping that I might see you soon, that’s all, but it’s enough to know you’re well.’
‘I am.’ Evie glanced at Vincent, who was still pretending to read.
‘Good. Don’t ever be a stranger, Evie. It gets tiresome around here without you.’
‘I won’t. I’ll visit soon. Oh, and Jim, could you do me a favour? Keep an eye on Eddie for me.’
‘Always do. Speak soon.’
As Evie put the phone down, she couldn’t explain the feeling of unease that made her skin prickle all over. Maybe it was a strange kind of homesickness after having spent months away from the place she’d been kept captive, or maybe it was knowing that the man she’d just spoken to might one day be her husband out of family obligation. She turned to Vincent.
‘I need a better job. We both do.’
‘We’ve done as much as we can.’
And they had. As soon as the new year had begun, they’d bought paper and envelopes and Evie had sneakily scanned her artwork at the newspaper offices and printed off copies of her best drawings. Together they’d written letters to publishers and animation studios. Vincent had filled out applications to every music school he could think of, and Evie helped him fill in the boxes he usually left blank. Someone had to reply with something.
‘It’s been months,’ Evie said. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Schools won’t be taking on new students until September.’
‘But it’s already July and when September rolls around, I’ll only have two months left before my mother puts her foot down and this has to end.’ Evie rushed the end of her sentence, feeling a lump build in her throat.
‘Hey now.’ Vincent put his book down and held out his arms to her, and she let him pull her on to his lap. ‘Even though you’ve made your mother sound like a pterodactyl ready to kill at a moment’s notice, I’m not scared of her. If you want to marry someone you love, then you’ll just need to tell her she can stick her arranged marriage where the sun very clearly doesn’t shine!’
Evie liked the sound of his words but she knew it wasn’t that easy and she didn’t have the heart or the energy to fight it. Instead she nodded and nuzzled into his shoulder, pretending he was right. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked, taking a deep breath and deciding to plough on with a positive outlook on what could be a very grim situation.
‘Yes please.’ Vincent kissed the top of her head and she hopped off his lap and wandered into the kitchen.
‘Can you hear that?’ Vincent’s ears had pricked up at a noise intruding through the open balcony windows. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on why he knew it.
‘Are you hearing voices again?’ Evie teased from the kitchen.
‘They’re a constant,’ Vincent called back. ‘This is different.’ He went to the balcony and spotted a man staggering along in the centre of the road. He was dressed in ripped grey jeans and a long baggy top that was hanging off one shoulder. Slung on his back by its strap like a rucksack was a guitar, and he had a beer in either hand. A car came up behind him and beeped, but he only sang louder, and suddenly Vincent knew why that slightly out-of-tune drone had sounded so familiar.
‘Sonny!’ he shouted. The shaggy blond-haired man stopped singing and whipped around to find out who was calling his name. ‘Up here, Sonny!’ Vincent would have laughed if he hadn’t had to take care of a drunk Sonny before, but he knew just how unpleasant it could be and he certainly wasn’t up for it tonight. Not with Evie around.
‘HEEEYYYYY!’ Sonny yelled, finally spotting Vincent.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Vincent whisper-shouted back. ‘This is a nice area and you’re making the property prices decrease just by passing through!’
‘RUDE! You are RUDE!’ Sonny flung his arm out to point at Vincent but lost his grip on one of the beer bottles, which slid from his hand and smashed on the concrete. ‘Awwww, no!’ He dropped to his knees in front of it, and Vincent thought for a moment he might start lapping the beer up like a cat.
‘Go home, Sonny.’
‘I … er … I have a gig.’
‘Very funny. You never have gigs.’
‘No. I’m abso … absolutely … deadly serious.’ Sonny waved a hand in front of his face in a downwards motion and his expression turned very stern. He held it for a second and then burst out laughing.
‘Then why are you here?’ Vincent looked back into the flat. Evie was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, her eyebrows raised and a slightly confused smile playing on her lips.
‘Well, y’see, I’ve always wanted to play a proper concert, and now that I am, I’m a bit … nervous. Eight beers’ worth of nervous. If we’re being … y’know … honest ’n’ stuff.’ Sonny took a swig from his remaining beer. ‘Nine if you count this one. But not ten …’ He gestured to the puddle of beer and broken glass in front of him.
‘Right. Better get going then!’ Vincent pointed down the street, like he was telling a dog to go home after it had followed him to school.
‘Yup. OK. On my way!’ Sonny got up off the concrete and almost fell over immediately. ‘Bye, Vinny!’
‘Goodbye, Sonny.’ Vincent turned back into the flat. Evie still looked a little confused, but mostly amused. She’d not seen Vincent anywhere close to angry before.
‘Vincent!’ Sonny called out.
‘WHAT NOW?’ Vincent yelled properly this time. Evie jumped, and he instantly mouthed Sorry to her, but her eyebrows had furrowed and her lips had melded into a single thin line.
‘Vinny, I don’t know where I’m going.’ Sonny sounded helpless.
Vincent rubbed his temples. ‘How do you not know where the gig is?’ he said wearily, turning back to the balcony.
‘I know where it is!’ Sonny had been looking up at the balcony for too long, and now he stumbled backwards. ‘I just don’t know how …’ He made two fingers on his empty hand walk like a pair of legs in the air in front of him, and then he shrugged.
‘You don’t know how to get there?’ Vincent asked, and Sonny nodded, pouted and then giggled. ‘Well, it’s your own fault for getting so inordinately pissed.’
‘I know,’ Sonny said matter-of-factly.
‘I think it’s probably best if you skip the gig and go home.’
Vincent was about to head back inside when Sonny said, ‘But they’re paying me for it!’
‘A paid gig, Sonny? How’ve you managed that?’
‘It’s a school. A prom. The actual band they had was better.’
‘What happened to the actual band?’
‘They pulled out. So they pulled me in! Yaaayyy!’ Sonny cheered, gagged and then vomited over the broken beer bottle.
Evie came out on to the balcony and looked down. Sonny was trying to hold back his hair, but his long T-shirt was dangling in the stream of sick coming from his mouth.
‘We’ve got to help him,’ she said, looking up at Vincent. ‘A paid gig means he can afford his rent, and that means neither of you gets evicted. Let’s try to sober him up on the way, then we’ll keep an eye on him at the school, pretend we’re his entourage or something, and get him home safely again.’ Evie ran back into the flat and was already pulling on her boots before Vincent had said a word. ‘Well?’ she asked, shrugging on her coat.
Vincent could see she was looking at this whole endeavour like a quest or an adventure and Evie wasn’t the sort of person to leave a friend – or a friend of a friend – in need, let alone standing in a puddle of his own vomit in the middle of the street. He looked down at Sonny once more and huffed.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘But I still hate him.’
Sonny hadn’t been too far off track when he’d been looking for the venue of the gig so Evie and Vincent hadn’t had to drag him that far. The school was in a nice part of town, only fifteen minutes’ walk from Evie’s flat. Sonny had been sick again
in a bin on the way, but they’d stopped to get him coffee, and he’d started to make a little bit more sense by the time they reached the school gates. The only problem was that he smelt very strongly of booze and vomit. Vincent had brought along one of his own T-shirts to replace the one Sonny had been sick on, but he wouldn’t let Sonny put it on until he was sure it was safe. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it would mean that the smell wouldn’t knock out the kids at the front.
‘He’ll have to do. It’s his own fault.’ Vincent stood back, his face contorting at the odour. Evie brushed down a swaying Sonny and pulled strands of his hair back behind his ears.
‘Stop being so mean. He’s just nervous, that’s all.’
‘You’re way out of your league with this one, Vinny. She’s marvellous!’ Sonny winked at Evie, and she smiled with her lips tightly shut, trying not to breathe in sweet Sonny’s stench.
They went in through the front gates and were directed by a bemused receptionist to the headmaster’s office. Mr Glass was a very skittish man, who was constantly wringing his hands and smoothing down what was left of his greying hair. When he saw Sonny, he almost keeled over.
‘And who are you two?’ he barked, wiping sweat away from his stubbly upper lip.
‘We’re his friends,’ Evie said smoothly. ‘We’re here for moral support, but we’re also happy to chaperone the kids if you need us to.’
Vincent looked at her, impressed by how well she thought on her feet.
‘We are down by a few teachers,’ Mr Glass muttered. ‘And without him, all we have is outdated records …’ He looked Sonny up and down once more, and Sonny gave him a weak, apologetic smile. At this point, Sonny was secretly hoping to have the gig taken away from him. He felt too drunk, too sick and too nervous to be able to strum a guitar and sing without his voice wobbling, but he would never turn it down himself out of pride.
Mr Glass let out a long sigh. ‘Fine. You’re on in ten. Half an hour of whatever you’ve got. Oh, and the press are here. We haven’t told them yet that the Dream Catchers have pulled out. They’ve got quite a big following, and The Teller wanted it to be on their front page, but I’m hoping we’ll get a small article at least. We need all the good press we can get for this wretched school!’ He stalked out of his office, slamming the door behind him.
As soon as he was gone, Sonny collapsed into a desk chair, dry-heaving. ‘I can’t … do … this,’ he said between retches.
‘He really can’t,’ Vincent said, shaking his head.
‘He can! You can do this, Sonny.’ Evie knelt by the chair and stroked Sonny’s hair back into place, breathing only through her mouth. ‘We’ll be right there in the audience. Just look at us and play to us. It’s only a few songs. And I know the people from The Teller, so I’ll make sure they only get good pictures and say nice things.’
Sonny looked at Evie with his wide grey eyes. ‘Seriously, Vinny.’ He shook his head. ‘Where did you find her, and can you take me there?’
The ‘Down the Rabbit Hole’ theme seemed to be going down a treat with the kids. The school hall had been decorated with red roses and white rabbits, and several couples were already furiously making out on the dance floor (to what really were extremely outdated records), while sullen singletons sat on the sidelines gorging themselves on cookies labelled ‘Eat Me’. Evie and Vincent left Sonny by the side of the stage and made their way to the back of the hall, where the photographer and journalist from The Teller were standing.
‘Well, hello, Princess. What are you doing here?’ Terry Lark was a squat man who looked older than his thirty-four years.
‘No tiara today?’ asked Harrison Feather, a lanky chap whom Evie had never seen without his beanie hat on his head. He claimed it helped him focus when taking his photos, but that didn’t explain why he never took it off. Evie felt Vincent’s hand tighten around hers.
‘Not today, gentlemen. I’m here for Sonny Shine.’ She was met with blank faces as she leaned against the wall in an attempt to be nonchalant, but slipped a little further down than she’d have liked, making her a good foot shorter than Harrison and awkwardly at Terry’s eyeline. ‘Surely you’ve heard of him? He’s a real rebel. I thought that’s why you were here. He’s certainly front-page news.’ She caught Vincent’s eye and winked. He looked back at her like a rabbit caught in headlights.
‘We were here to report on the Dream Catchers playing at the school that the lead singer used to go to before the band became a big hit,’ Harrison explained. ‘But seeing as they’re not here, we might as well call it a day. C’mon, Terry.’
‘Your loss, boys,’ Evie said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Sonny’s a brilliant musician.’
‘Evie …’ Vincent whispered.
‘Not to mention a bit mischievous,’ she went on. ‘Who knows what he’s got up his sleeve to make tonight special?’
‘Evie.’ Vincent nudged her and pointed to the stage. She hadn’t realised that the outdated records had stopped and a spotlight was shining directly on Sonny. If Vincent had looked like a rabbit caught in headlights a moment ago, there was no way to describe the expression of terror on Sonny’s face as he gazed out into the crowd of judgemental teens.
‘That’s your brilliant musician?’ Terry snorted, while Harrison clicked his camera furiously, capturing every single one of Sonny’s most unflattering angles.
Sonny had changed into the garment Vincent had thrust at him before he and Evie had left him by the stage, but in their haste to leave the apartment, Vincent had managed to pick up Evie’s purple dress instead of one of his own purple T-shirts. Sonny might have got away with it if he’d just put it on over his jeans, but in his drunken state, he’d thought far too literally. It was a dress, therefore he wore it like a dress. He had removed his jeans as well as his own vomit-stained T-shirt, and was now standing on the stage wearing a dress that stopped midway down his thighs, showing off orange boxers, chunky black leather boots and bare hairy legs. Evie and Vincent were more than open-minded enough to accept Sonny wholeheartedly had he naturally felt more comfortable in women’s clothing, but seeing as this was unintentional (thanks to the amount of alcohol coursing through his bloodstream), they both felt embarrassment flush into their cheeks.
‘That’s my dress …’ Evie whispered out of the side of her mouth.
‘I thought it was one of my T-shirts. I am so sorry.’
‘It’s not me you need to apologise to.’
Sonny was standing at the microphone with his eyes closed, his breathing echoing around the hall through the speakers.
‘Play something, then!’ shouted a burly kid who barely fitted into his borrowed tuxedo.
Sonny’s eyes snapped open and searched the crowd for the boy. He strummed one chord, hard. ‘Happy?’ he snapped.
‘Oh no,’ Vincent groaned, his voice cracking.
Teenagers were awkwardly giggling left, right and centre, and Sonny held his hand up to shield his eyes from the spotlight to better see his heckler.
‘You think this is easy?’ He brought the mic close to his face, so his words were loud and harsh. ‘Coming up here. Putting yourself out there.’
‘You’re putting more of yourself out there than we wanna see!’ shouted the boy. ‘Where’s the dress from anyway, Sluts R Us?’
‘Hey now!’ Evie said, a little louder than she’d bargained for, and a few teenagers at the back of the crowd turned to look at her. Some of the girls even pointed, whispered and laughed, and Evie thanked whoever was watching over her that her high school days were long gone.
‘It is quite low cut …’ muttered Vincent, and Evie bashed him on the arm.
‘Now I know why you liked it so much!’
‘If I wanna wear a dress, I’m gonna wear a dress!’ Sonny swayed away from the mic and belched quietly. ‘Do you know how many beers I had to drink to pluck up enough courage to even get on this stage?’
‘Beers?’ Mr Glass appeared beside Evie and Vincent. His brow had started to drip with
sweat. ‘We need to get him down from there!’ Vincent went to stop the headmaster as he rushed to the side of the stage, but Evie put a hand on his arm and pulled him back.
‘It’s best we don’t get involved. Let him get Sonny and we’ll just go home.’
‘Yeah, best get back to the castle, Princess,’ Harrison quipped, still taking pictures.
‘Maybe Prince Charming here will let you climb his tower.’ Terry leaned back to give a dirty laugh, but it was hardly out of his mouth when Vincent’s fist connected with his nose and the noise that erupted out of Terry’s mouth wasn’t any kind of laugh.
‘Vincent!’ Evie squeaked. Vincent pulled his hand back, which was covered in blood from Terry’s undoubtedly broken nose and Harrison snapped the winning shot. Vincent didn’t know what had come over him but as he looked at Terry’s bloody nose, rightly or wrongly, he certainly wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. All the kids in the hall had flocked towards them at the back when they heard Terry’s yelp and had started to chant, ‘FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!’
Understandably, the incident seemed to have riled Terry. He looked ready to swing for Vincent, but the blood pouring from his nostrils and his watering eyes were preventing him from acting on his urges. Evie saw their chance.
‘Go, go, go!’ She grabbed Vincent’s hand, then turned and yelled, ‘SONNY!’
Sonny didn’t need telling twice. He jumped down from the stage, ran to the heckling boy and hugged him, then skipped after Evie and Vincent.
‘Evie …’ Vincent began.
‘Don’t,’ she snapped.
The three of them were walking back to her flat, even though Evie had wanted Vincent to take Sonny home immediately and stay there with him. She hadn’t looked at either of them since they’d left the school.
Sonny was still wearing her dress. He’d left his jeans and his puke-stained T-shirt behind.