Chapter 17

The curtain rose slowly to reveal the Norbridge High school hall packed to capacity. Bright lights shone onto the stage. Suddenly, the audience began to laugh and point. The giggles and shrieks filled the room. Lynda looked down at the front row. Matt Kerr and her parents were there. So were Kenny and Sarah. Danny was taking photographs. Chrissie Stuart was taking notes. Colin was taking money from people. Nothing unusual there, at least. Then she noticed Spike, also in the front row, laughing and pointing with the rest of the audience.

"Spike! What are you doing down there?" she asked. "You're supposed to be up here with me!"

"Oh, didn't Sullivan tell you? It's a one-woman show now," replied Spike, casually. "And Lynda, I must say, you're all woman!"

"Spike, are you mad?" snapped Lynda angrily. "I can't do this without you!"

"I don't think it's me you should be missing the most right now, Lynda," said Spike maddeningly.

"Really? And just what is it I'm missing?" retorted Lynda. "A brain, for ever having become involved in this play in the first place?"

"No. Your clothes," he smirked.

Lynda looked down and realised, with horror, she was completely and utterly naked. Grabbing at the nearest thing to hand, she pulled the curtain down to cover herself. It came crashing down, pinning her to the floor, suffocating her . . .

Gasping for breath, Lynda awoke, with her head still buried beneath her duvet. Panicking, she flung it off and leapt out of bed.

"Lynda? Are you all right?" Lynda's mother tapped at her door before entering the room.

"I'm fine," said Lynda, leaning against her wardrobe, still breathing heavily. "Just a bad dream."

"Don't worry too much about tomorrow night, dear," said Mrs Day soothingly, with a mother's inerring instict of knowing what was troubling her daughter. "You know what they say, 'It'll be alright on the night!'"

"They also say 'whatever can go wrong, will go wrong'," muttered Lynda, climbing back into bed and pulling the duvet up to her waist.

"Don't you want the duvet up a bit further, dear?" asked Mrs Day. "It's a bit chilly . . ."

"No, it's fine!" replied Lynda hastily.

Across town, Spike was also asleep with opening night on his mind. The play had been a great success. Hand-in-hand, he and Lynda were taking their final curtain calls.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" chanted the audience.

"How about it, Thomson?" Lynda asked, with a very fetching cheeky smile on her face. "Want to give the people what they want?"

"Well, I'm never one to disappoint my fans," Spike replied and leaned in, closing his eyes. The kiss was perfect, brilliant, everything a kiss with Lynda should be except her hair kept tickling the top of his lips. He could hear the audience whooping and hollering. He was actually a little surprised she was letting him go on for as long as he had been, but why look a gift horse in the mouth when you could kiss her like this? And she was definitely responding. That hair was really starting to get annoying though. Finally, though reluctant to break the moment, he opened his eyes to brush it away the hair and recoiled in horror when he realised he had actually been snogging the very male, very moustached Mr Sullivan.

"What's the matter, Spike?" Sullivan asked with a wry grin. "What happened to giving the people what they want?"

"Gah!" Spike leapt out of bed, pawing at his face. He could still feel the tickly sensation of Sullivan's moustache which, he realised, was a feather poking out from the end of his duvet. He dashed to the bathroom and washed his face violently, then brushed his teeth for good measure.

Returning to bed, he plucked the offending feather out of the duvet before reversing it so the hole was at the end of the bed.

"I can't even kiss her in my sleep?" he addressed the ceiling. "Give a guy a break!"

Even Sullivan himself was not spared from the dreams plaguing his lead performers.

Lynda was not going on until Spike was beaten to death with a cricket bat. Spike refused to be beaten to death by a cricket bat, though at that point, Sullivan had been willing to give it a go. His other cast members had simply wandered off, citing homework and an exciting night of television. Colin had sold the set to a local kid's television show. Sullivan found himself standing on an empty stage, looking down at an expectant audience. They had paid to be entertained and entertained they would be.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat repeatedly, desperately searching for something, anything, and launched into the first thing that popped into his head.

"Neeeeighbours. Everybody needs good neeeeeighbours. With a little understaaaaaanding, you can find the perfect frieeeeend . . ."

He awoke with a start to find himself in his favourite armchair, with the television still on, currently playing an ancient episode of the Australian soap.

"I really must stop falling asleep in front of the television," he muttered to himself. "Everyone knows it plays with your head!"