CHAPTER TWO

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

27th of September

X Factor house

Dear God

Do you sleep? Do you have a secretary to stand in while you catch forty winks? Or do you stay awake 24/7, sleeping only on Friday 13th, when people all over the world complain of lousy luck and dire karma? You must have to drink a Hell of a lot of coffee. Me, I have trouble getting to sleep in strange surroundings. Which was why, on my first night in the X Factor house and the first time I'd slept somewhere where I knew nobody, I had such a bout of insomnia that I decided sleep just wasn't going to be an option.

…A new fantastic point of view

No-one to tell us no or where to go

Or say we're only dreaming…

Having realized that dreams of falling and totally amazing minds, where nothing is ever quite as it seems were not going to come to me any time soon, I gave up and hauled myself out of bed. I don't have slippers, so I pinched a pair of Lorane's that was lying, unused by her bed. They had Sylvanians sewn to the toes, and looked incredibly kooky: just my sort of thing.

I crept downstairs stealthily, used to sneaking around in the early morning at home, while Mum was still tucked up in bed. I slunk into the Main Room – and a voice immediately leapt out at me, calm and impeccably polite. 'Ma'am, this is a stick-up. Give me the names of all this year's finalists and no-one will be harmed.'

I jumped, didn't I? But I was still about a foot off the ground when I recognised the voice.

'Bloody Hell, Chris!' I yelled, half-angry, half-laughing. 'You scared the music out of me!'

He spun around on his swivel chair and grinned. 'I thought I was gonna have to wait 'til tomorrow to do that.'

I glanced at the digital clock on one of the TV tables, the tiny numbers glowing in the dark like an electric-blue beacon. 1:15.

'Well technically,' I said softly. 'It's already tomorrow.'

His eyes focused on mine, shining as brightly as the time. 'In that case…'

He got up and kissed me on the cheek. 'Good morning.'

I backed away hastily. 'What –?'

'What?' He shrugged. 'It's the most popular way of saying good morning among friends.'

Friends. That word had never sounded so perfect, the Irish pronunciation only serving to make it sound soft and forgivable. Surely Dennis couldn't complain about me making a friend?

'Right.' I smiled. 'Friends.'

He looked at me anxiously. 'Are you OK? I was worried that that idiot hurt you…'

'I'm fine. Is your head feeling any better?'

He pulled a face. 'I'll survive. I always do.'

I wanted to ask him what he had had to live through before; what obstacles had been thrown in his path before he stumbled on the X Factor – but got sidetracked by the book he had abandoned on his chair. 'You're reading the KLZ autobiography?'

He laughed, caught out. 'It's not for the pictures. I just like reading about people who've made it from nothing…which is pretty much how people view Ireland nowadays. Did you know that the Irish were persecuted nearly as much as the Africans?'

I shook my head. I vaguely remembered a History lesson, years ago, but I couldn't've quoted it from the textbook. 'You'll have to tell me sometime.'

He nodded obligingly, and then glanced at the book. 'You wanna read it with me?'

'By 'read', you mean the text?'

'You can look at the pictures if you want; I'm easy.'

I grinned. 'Thanks.'

Approximately ten minutes later, we were curled up on the couch together, flipping through the pages as fast as Chris could skim them, halting only when we got a particularly good shirtless shot. I had never quite gotten over how fit KLZ were, even now, quite a few years into their reign of the R&B kingdom.

As we browsed, we chatted, barely noticing as the minutes turned into hours, still only about thirty pages into the book. He told me things that I've never forgotten, and things that I didn't absorb, lost in the simple beauty of his voice. I talked until I didn't even know what I was saying; until I caved in and just focused on not mentioning Dennis.

It was probably about 4:00 am when the rest of the Boys and Girls came in, rubbing their eyes.

'Hey, could you keep it down?' yawned Robbie Ened. 'We're not all nocturnal.'

'Oooh, are you reading KLZ?' squealed Lorane. 'I lovethem!'

'Is she wearing your slippers?' enquired Robyn mildly, and Lorane absentmindedly slipped them off my feet and onto hers before settling into the couch and taking hold of a corner of the biography so she could steady it. I swear her eyes glazed over as she lit upon Ian, beautifully naked from the waist up.

'Do you think any girl has ever actually read the book?' Thomas Scythe asked conversationally.

Chris chuckled. 'I doubt it. Too much to absorb from the pictures.'

Robbie squinted short-sightedly at the photo. 'Is it just me, or are they on steroids?'

Thomas leapt up, already pulling a fiver from the pocket of his pyjama trousers. 'Bet you they aren't. They're appearing as guests in Week 4 so we can ask.'

Robbie's eyes lit up mischievously. 'I'll take that bet.'

Chris rolled his eyes at me. He had told me how close Robbie and Thomas had become in Daniel's LA home, forever gambling on the stupidest things, just so they could do something together. Well, that was his version.

Robyn scratched her dark head sleepily. 'So what are we going to do?'

We all looked at each other. What couldn't we do? We were young, famous, and finalists. The world was practically our medicine ball.

'How about a movie?' suggested Lorane.

'Dibs on choice!' I scrambled over to the cupboards where Michael had told us that the 'props' were stored – and sure enough, was faced with shelves and shelves of DVDs, CDs, PSP games and gadgets. I gawped at the movies. They were arranged in alphabetical order and seemed to go on forever.

'Try eenie-meenie-moe,' called Chris helpfully from the sofa. 'Works for me when I'm deciding which bit of my homework to do first.'

His words brought me back to reality with a sharp thud. I realized how young he was. Did I really want to be one of those women who picked up toyboys twenty years younger than themselves? There really wasn't much difference here. The simple fact was: he was far too young for me.

I shook this away, and willingly heeded his words, tapping a few cases blindly, muttering the old nursery rhyme that my sister and I used to use, long ago, to decide who got to choose the bedtime story Mum read to us.

I alighted on – of all things – Bugsy Malone. I remembered fondly how I had been chosen as Tallulah in some school play years before; how proud I'd been. Call me pathetic, but I loved this movie.

It was as I was taking my seat once more, a firm hold on the flicker, that Triple K and Dylan Lavem shuffled in. I'd wager that no-one was more shocked than me to see that Triple K wore slippers! Black and blue stripy ones, but still. It was amazing just how tamethe boys looked in jammies, the material baggy enough so that even Kevin and Kenneth's fused elbows weren't too disconcerting. It looked like they were simply brushing together.

'Hey boys!' Lorane's greeting was cheery and, unlike the rest of us, seemed to have gotten over the initial fear that Triple K inflicted on you. It wasn't that they looked so bad (in fact, they were really fit), but they had that kind of tortured soul/black gangsta air around them that just made you jumpy. Maybe Lorane's natural aura of generosity and warmth smothered it, like air freshener over spice.

'Hey,' Kris Saley grunted. We had already learned that the twins rarely talked, but for a couple of comments when Michael had given us the grand tour. 'Watcha watching?'

'Bugsy Malone,' Lorane informed him friendlily. 'Here, scootch up Di, sit down everyone!'

Without a word, the twins simultaneously sank into the same spacious armchair, their movements smooth and precise; an unbroken routine. Kris took the space I offered and gave me a tense smile. His muscles twitched a little like he'd forgotten how to express any other emotion but that sulky expression branded on his other handsome features. I grinned at him to remind him that there were other expressions available.

Chris stretched lazily. Can I get anyone a drink?'

'Can you make tea?' asked Robbie.

He pulled a face. 'Nu-uh.'

'No thanks.'

I stared at him. 'You don't know how to make tea?'

He shook his head, flushing.

I sighed and heaved myself up off the sofa. 'Come on kiddo, I'll show you how.'

Kendall Root grinned and made that whipping sound that I can't get the hang of. I glared at him.

Chris watched studiously as went through the process of making the hot drink. Living with a mother who was old enough to have a twenty-one year old daughter, brewing tea had become second nature, despite the fact that I didn't drink it.

We heard Africans With Attitude and the remainder of the Over 25s clattering into the Main Room, the sound immediately increasing by about five notches.

I flinched. 'They'll wake M&M if they don't watch out.'

'M&M?'

'Michael and Molly,' I explained.

He nodded wisely and jumped to it when I asked him to pour out the boiling water. He was scrupulously careful, not spilling a drop, and I found myself staring at his hands. Unlike Dennis's they were smaller and curiously white. In fact…I glanced surreptiously down at my own palms…a lot like mine.

'Diana?'

I snapped to. 'Mmm?'

He gave me a long look, as if he was trying to figure something out. 'Nothing.'

I vented my irritation inwardly. Why did boys have to be so fucking complicated?

'Come on,' I dictated when the tea was finally ready. 'We're missing the movie.'

Sure enough, by the time we got there, Bugsy was sipping a milkshake with Blousey while the fat waitress looked on distastefully. I winced; I'd never like this scene. Too soppy for my taste.

'Excellent,' said Robbie gratefully as Chris handed him the steaming cup. 'I'm parched.'

'If you want, I can throw a bucket of water over your head,' offered Thomas.

Robbie appeared to take him seriously – or maybe that was his just his natural quality of earnestness. 'Nah, I'm good.'

I sat back and let the old-fashioned film wash over me, the minutes ticking by timelessly on the clock. 4:30, 4:45, 5:15…

'Hey, where're the Beach Babes?' exclaimed China Ovam suddenly.

I shrugged. 'They were asleep when I left.'

'Ditto,' added Lorane.

Thomas's eyes suddenly glinted wickedly. 'Oi.' He turned to Robbie. 'I dare you to check on them.'

Two spots of pink appeared on Robbie's cheeks. 'Nu-uh!'

'Uh-huh!' insisted Thomas. 'Double-dare, can't back out!'

My jaw dropped. I knew that boys were supposed to develop in maturity slower than girls, but this was surely ridiculous? Even Chris looked taken aback.

'Here,' Thomas tossed him a camera from the equipment cupboard. 'Take a picture to prove you did it.'

'What are you, a reporter?' Lorane quipped, looking hard at Robbie to check his reaction. I did so too, and was surprised to see him unexpectedly grin.

'I'll do it.'

'Yeah!' cheered Thomas.

'Good luck,' Frieda Tremaine called out uncertainly as he left the room.

He returned ten minutes later, clutching the prop and looking like he'd seen something worthy of Aphrodite.

'Gimme!' Thomas snatched it. He pressed some buttons, gaze fixed intently on the screen – and then his eyes widened. 'Bloody Hell!'

Although technically disgusted, I was also curious, as any human would be. 'What is it?'

Agreeably, he tossed me the camera. I caught it deftly and then focused on what had shocked him so. There, splayed on a double mattress, were the four 'Beach Babes'… in silk negligees and waterproof make-up.

Upon seeing it, Chris's eyebrows shot all the way up into his hairline. 'Well.' He bravely attempted speech. 'I guess they take the phrase 'always be prepared' seriously.

'You're telling me!' I agreed, staring at the picture. I mean, apart from prostitutes, who even doesthat?

Oh God. I was living in a house with whores.

Time passed gradually and, soon enough, it was just about a reasonable time to be awake.

As soon as the film was over, Bethany Blast stood and, striding over to the window, threw the curtains wide open. I shielded my face with my hand in preparation – and found myself staring through my fingers at a sky the colour of fish skins and enough rain falling from it to flood the Titanic.

I took my hand away cautiously. Where was the brilliant sunshine that I had gotten so used to in Barcelona? Was Ireland really this miserable?

Chris lifted his face to the sky, as if basking in the gloom. He breathed in deeply and then exhaled peacefully. 'Beautiful, isn't it?'

'Yeah,' breathed Robyn, running her fingers through her hair in utter contentment.

Well. That all depended on your definition of 'beautiful'. Weren't there a couple of artists who would spend months painting a puddle and then declare it the masterpiece of the century? Well, for anyone who admired their work, yes, this scene would be beautiful. Unfortunately, I was not one of them.

'You know,' remarked Chris. 'I grew up in this country and it still gets me how wonderful rain can look from a particular perspective.'

'Absolutely,' replied Robyn dreamily. 'I mean…you could find a whole world in that sky.'

'Yeah, if you're looking for a world of fish,' I muttered before I could stop myself.

The two Irish residents turned to me. 'What?'

'Nothing,' I amended. 'I just don't really see what's beautiful about…well, that.'

Robyn looked at me for a minute and then turned away, shrugging. 'Well, then I can't help you.'

Chris seemed more ready to give me the benefit of the doubt, gaping at me with those devastating green eyes. He soon recovered, to my relief, and began to speak. 'I guess it's more about what you willsee than what you're seeing right now.'

I wasn't following him. 'Excuse me?'

'Here.'

He spun me around so that we were both facing the window, his hands on my waist just about where I curved to perch on the sofa. 'Look. What do you see?'

'Rain,' I told him honestly.

'OK. What does rain do?'

I twisted around to stare at him. 'Sorry, I didn't do Geography A-level.'

He smiled fondly (patronizingly?) and started, slowly, to clarify his point. 'Rain means greenery and water for animals to drink. Rain means crops to feed starving families. Rain means…' His eyes suddenly went completely clear, startling me. 'Rain means life.'

I looked into those large, dark eyes, and I saw what he meant. OK, so I still didn't get why he and Robyn loved the rain so much – nor why it was so lovely to look at. But I saw why he had not been raised to believe, like me, that rain equals misery and depression, however much it is needed. I couldn't help wondering, though, what he thought about the Sun. I'd have to ask him sometime. But not now. 'Cause that might break the spell…

'So!' announced Lorane widening her eyes meaningfully at me. 'What's on the itinerary for the next couple of hours?'

There were a few mumbles and moans, and eventually Camilla Clark proposed that we all lie down and get some rest. I agreed, suddenly feeling exhausted. Boy, was I going to regret staying up until 6:00 am when I next awoke.

Still, I snuggled down on the same sofa as Chris – but not too close – and shut my eyes. Because sometimes, shutting your eyes helps.