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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Edwardian Script ITC font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word installs this font automatically.

Editor's Note: Jenny Walker has graciously allowed me to represent her original story No Half Measures on BigCloset. Originally published on BigCloset Classic, this story segment was not migrated over to BigCloset TopShelf. This story segment first appeared on BigCloset Classic on Wednesday, October 15, 2003 - 12:27 am. Due to the original story presentation format being unsuitable and unwieldy for most portable devices (each part being over 1 meg in length), the story is now being broken up into single chapters for easier reading. The original Movements will be indicated on their respective chapters. The first chapter of each Movement will retain the original comments and read hits so as to preserve them for the author.

Sephrena Lynn Miller

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Chapter 27
 
 
I met Kate for a run the next morning and we chatted about what each of us had been doing as we jogged around the park. My mind was not really on the conversation. I kept thinking back to what Jools had said the previous night. I had protested that she must have been wrong.

She had just shrugged and said that she was calling it as she had seen it. She presented the facts: I was dancing with Paul and we were really going for it with the kissing, Paul was an extremely handsome man that I obviously was attracted to, and Jon did not look at all happy with what was going on. She told me to add it up and see what I thought it meant. She had a point, but I still could not get it all worked out in my mind. I mentioned Tanya, Jon’s girlfriend, as a defence but Jools just said that was irrelevant.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Kate asked.

“Uhh sorry, I was miles away,” I apologised.

“What’s got you so preoccupied?”

I shrugged, “Oh you know, work, the new single and all.”

She laughed, “Must be hard work being a superstar.”

I stuck my tongue out at her, “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. But I guess I can’t really complain.”

Kate smiled, “You know my friends can hardly believe who my jogging partner is.”

“Pfah! I’m no different from anybody else. It’s just that what I happen to be good at is viewed in a totally different way from most other things. It’s blown out of all proportion.”

“So you don’t like all the fame and recognition?”

“I have to say I haven’t really experienced much of it yet. I’ll let you know when I do. Now come on, less talk and more running.” I sprinted off and she followed in close pursuit.

It was true. My life had not been particularly affected by so-called fame yet. However I knew it would only be a matter of time. I had been aware of receiving second glances from people on the street or in shops, but nothing much more than that. I was quite glad as the thought of being unable to go out without drawing undue attention to myself was not overly appealing. I reckoned that I should enjoy relative anonymity while it lasted.
 

*          *          *
 
Simon was delighted that the video shoot was complete and Herby had assured him that the editing and mastering would be finished by the end of the week. The single was going to the radio stations immediately and then going on sale the next Monday. True to his word, Herby had the video ready for viewing on Friday morning. The band, Jools and I met with Simon and Herby in one of the Sony conference rooms to watch it. Herby waxed lyrical about it and whilst he seemed to be complimenting me, somehow he managed to reflect the glory onto the director who had brought the spectacle that we were about to witness into reality.

However, to be fair to him, he was due a lot of credit. I was very impressed by what I saw. It was really quite strange as it felt like I was watching a video representation of the events that had taken place the previous December in Plymouth. There was a stark contrast between the drab dance hall and the glamour of the ballroom in the latter scenes. With the cutting and editing that Herby had done, the dancing looked even smoother and more glamorous than it actually had been.

As for the kissing scene? I was shocked by the apparent reality and passion of it. I felt myself redden. Jools leant over and whispered in my ear, “See? That is what it looked like to him and the rest of us.” I knew what she was talking about, but chose to ignore it. Herby got the applause that he was due and the feedback from everyone was certainly very positive.
 
 
On Monday, there started another wearying round of touring the radio stations and giving endless interviews. I revisited a few stations that we had called in with when ‘No Half Measures’ was released. This time, the attitude of the D.J.’s seemed a little different. It was as if I was given more credibility. I was no longer the debutant with no past record. With my first single hitting the Top Ten, the new record was already gaining more prominence on the play lists. The cover of the single, which I had already spotted in the shops, used one of the other photos that Rod had taken in the first shoot. It was one of me in a long flowing black dress staring past the camera into the distance.

I felt a little more comfortable with the images and the videos that were accompanying this single. I think part of it was also that I hoped it would not be as repellent to my father if he ever happened to see any of it. Some annoying part of my brain reminded me of the kissing scene with Paul. I sighed as I realised that this new video was unlikely to win my father over. I had been trying not to think about Dad and Claire but in the quiet moments in the back of the limousine that ferried me between interviews, I had too much time to reflect on things. Several weeks had now passed and neither of them had got in touch with me. Part of me was resigned to this isolation, yet if I let myself think about it too much, I had to quell the emotions that would rise up within me.
 
 
One of the more challenging interviews took place on the Thursday morning. It was my first appearance on TV. It was a popular morning chat show which I was quite familiar with, but rarely had watched. After much deliberation, I had chosen to wear a simple, floral-print, sleeveless sundress. I arrived at the studio early in the morning to meet the hosts, David and Carol. They were polite and welcoming and this helped to put me at ease. After a trip to the makeup department, I waited in the wings for my cue. I felt like I was going to be sick. In a sense I would rather have walked out and performed my song live. I could do that. I knew what a live performance involved. To be interviewed on live television? That was different.

The time came and I walked out onto the set to generous applause from the studio audience. I settled myself on the couch next to the hosts and took great pains to ensure that my dress did not ride up and expose me on national TV. Although I was nervous at first, the questions were gentle and the easygoing manner of David and Carol dissipated a lot of the tension I had been feeling. The time passed quickly and as part of the slot, they showed an excerpt of my new video. They were very complimentary about the new song and wished me all the best. Before I knew it, it was over and I was able to breathe again in the sanctuary of being off stage. Jools was waiting for me and gave me a big hug as she assured me that I had done well. It was not an easy experience, but one that I would probably have to become more comfortable with.
 

*          *          *
 
On Friday morning, I sat in the back of the limo as we headed up the M40 to Oxford where I was to do an afternoon signing session for the new single in a large record store. It was just me and the driver as Simon and Jools claimed to have other things on. I reckoned they just could not be bothered with the hassle. Someone had to go though and that someone was me. I had tried to talk Jon into going with me but he was not very keen and I did not want to push it any further.

The manager of the store was delighted to see me and there was a nice lunch laid on before we headed down to the shop floor. I was quite astounded at the hordes of people queuing. I could barely believe they were there to see me.

“Is there something else happening here today?” I asked the manager.

He laughed, “No, they are all here for you.”

Although quite overawed, I sat down at the assigned table and began to autograph the copies of the new single for the multitudes that passed before me. I tried to keep smiling and share a few words with each person. Quite a few had brought their copy of ‘No Half Measures’ and asked if I would sign it too. I was happy to oblige. As the afternoon wore on, I was beginning to get weary and I have to admit I was glad to see the back of the seemingly endless line approaching.

Eventually the last person stepped forward. He was a rather gawky looking guy who was probably in his late teens. He was of medium height and skinny with lank sandy hair. He looked ill at ease.

“Hi, I’m Cara Malone. What’s your name?”

“Uhh Peter. Peter Crawford,” he stammered.

I smiled, “Well Peter, it looks like you are the last, but certainly not the least. Can I sign something for you?”

“Uhh sure,” he held out his copy of the single. I wrote ‘To Peter, with love from Cara Malone’. He took it with something that almost approached awe. I leant back in my chair and stretched and smiled, “You know, I am really just a normal human being.”

He actually smiled, “Thanks so much.” He turned as if to walk away and then hesitantly turned back. “Umm, Miss Malone, can I ask you something?” He blushed.

I grinned, “Sure but less of the Miss Malone, I can’t be that much older than you.”

“Uhh right. Well I was wondering, it’s just that, well I sort of play piano a bit and I love your new song. But I can’t work out the chord sequence at the very end of the song. It’s been bugging me all week.”

I laughed as I got up and put my jacket on, “Yes. I can imagine. I know what that feels like. The problem is there are no real chords for it. It’s like a series of cadences and mini arpeggios which I just sort of came across.”

I stretched my back and put my pen in my pocket. “It’s hard to explain and I would probably need to show you, but I don’t know where the nearest piano is.” I winked.

He nodded and blurted out, “I’ve one at my house.” He stopped, blushed and then apologised, “I’m sorry, I’m being silly. It was great to meet you and thanks for talking to me.” He turned and walked away, his ears quite evidently red from his blushing.

I stood there thoughtfully for a moment. I am not really sure why I did what I did next. “Peter, wait a moment.” He stopped. I said my good byes to the manager and shop staff and then walked over to where he was standing.

“You live nearby?”

He looked at me wide-eyed, “Uhh yeah.”

I chuckled, “Ever been in a limousine before?”

He half-laughed, half-choked, “Are you winding me up?”

I smiled and looked at him through half-closed eyelashes, “Oh well, if you don’t want me to come and show you how it is played?”

He then went pale and eventually regained control of his tongue, “Too right I do. I don’t believe this.”
 
 
We got into the back of the limo and I explained the little detour to the driver. It did not matter to him. He was getting paid by the hour and he was not paid to offer an opinion on what I was doing. Peter’s house, or rather his parents’ house, was on the outskirts of Oxford and it took just over ten minutes to get there. I tried to get him talking on the way. He was eighteen and had just finished his A-levels. He lived for music and played piano and keyboards. It seemed that he was also a bit of a songwriter but appeared embarrassed to admit this.

As we walked up the path to his house he stopped, “What am I going to tell my Mum?”

I shrugged, “Tell her you have brought a friend round.”

He laughed, “Yeah, but you are a girl.”

Ignoring the slight inaccuracy in his statement I responded, “Well, it can’t be the first time…” I saw the look on his face. It was the first time. I grinned and continued, “Well so be it, come on.”

He opened the door and called out, “Mum, I’m home.”

“In the kitchen dear,” came the response.

He slowly opened the kitchen door, “Uhh Mum, I’ve brought a…friend home.”

“That’s nice dear, who is it?”

“Emm…it’s Cara Malone.”

I heard a chuckle, “Peter Crawford, will you never be done teasing your poor mother. Now away with you.”

He closed the door and shrugged semi-apologetically. He led me to a room that contained an upright piano and Yamaha keyboard. I walked over to the piano and gestured towards it, “May I?”

He nodded, “Sure, go ahead.”

I sat down and tried a few chords. “Shall I just play the whole song the way I wrote it?”

He nodded again and could not quite manage to find any words to accompany the nodding. I grinned and started to play. At the end I ran down the series of notes that brought the song to its gentle finale and turned to face him. He was watching me with rapt attention. “Shall I show you the notes at the end again?” I paused, “Peter?”

He sat up straight with a start, “Uhh yes, sorry. Sure, please.”

I showed him again and got him to try it. He did not quite get it the first time, but the second time, he had it down pat. I was quite impressed and told him so. He blushed again.

“Say, do you want to play it all for me and I’ll sing?”

He looked a little unsure so I grinned, “OK well if you want to sing, I’m happy to play.”

He laughed and relaxed a little, “I guess I’ll play.”

He was good and played it almost exactly as I had. As I finished singing the last chorus, the door to the room opened and a middle-aged lady with an apron on came into the room. She looked more than a little surprised to see me. When Peter finished playing, he turned round and actually quite calmly said, “Oh Mum, meet Cara Malone. Cara, this is my mother.”

I walked over and held out a hand. She looked a little shell-shocked. “Pl-pleased to meet you.” She looked over at Peter, “You were telling me the truth?” He shrugged.

She turned back to me, “This is incredible. You do realise for the last six weeks Peter has hardly talked about anyone except Cara Malone and here you are?”

“Mum!” Peter groaned.

“Sorry dear, I’m just quite taken aback. Err anyway, I’ll leave you in peace now.”

As she left the room, there was an awkward silence. Peter eventually coughed and spoke, “Look I’m sorry. But she’s right. I really love your first two songs and…well…I think you’re really pretty.”

I smiled and had to stifle a giggle, “Thanks Peter. I’m really touched. You know I’m very impressed with your playing. Do you perform at all?”

He grinned, “Well there are a few of us who play in a band. We haven’t done anything much, but it’s a start. I don’t think it will last though. Most of them are going to head off to University next autumn.”

“And you’re not?”

He shrugged, “Mum wants me to. She says I should do a music degree if I’m so keen on music.”

“But you don’t think so?”

He smiled, “No. I don’t want a music degree. I don’t want to be a music teacher or anything, I want to be a songwriter and…well a singer.”

There was so much of what he said that rang true with my own experiences. It was almost uncanny. I realised that I was standing there musing while Peter was watching me. I made myself focus on the present, “Err anyway, so tell me when is your band playing next?”

He half-grimaced, “Well we are supposed to be playing at our end of year formal tomorrow week.”

“You don’t want to?”

He sighed, “Yeah I do. I’m just going to go along for the after dinner bit and do the performance though.”

“Peter, you can’t do that. You have to go to the dinner, the end of school formal only happens once.” As I said the words I felt quite hypocritical, because I remembered that what Peter was planning to do was exactly what I had done myself. I wondered if his real reason was also the same. “Why wouldn’t you go to the whole thing?”

He looked down at the floor and kicked one of the legs of the piano stool, “Well, I don’t have anyone to go with.”

My heart went out to him as I felt his pain. I felt it like an echo of the pain that I had endured myself. A slight, gangly young man who it seemed had loads of talent, but no luck with the members of the opposite sex. Perhaps it was this identification with him, perhaps it was pity, I don’t know, but what I said next almost caught me as much by surprise as it did Peter, “Well…I don’t have anything planned for Saturday week.”

He looked at me with his mouth open, slack jawed, “Uhh…wh-what?”

I smiled coyly, “But of course, you probably wouldn’t want to take me.”

He blinked several times and pushed his hair back from his face, “Are you serious?”

I wondered that myself, but I was. “Yes, I am. Look you might not believe it, but when I was at school I was not the most popular and I didn’t make it to my school formal.”

“But, but…you’re beautiful.”

I smiled, “Let’s say I was a late bloomer.”

He thought for a moment and said, “So are you just taking pity on me?”

I shook my head, “No. I missed out on my school formal; you are going to miss out on yours. Why don’t we make up for those two disappointments?”

He sat and shook his head slowly, “I’m taking Cara Malone to the formal?”

I chuckled, “Not unless you ask her properly you aren’t.”

He smiled and awkwardly asked, “Err Cara, would you like to accompany me to the end of year formal?”

I grinned, “I’d love to.”

He laughed, “You know, I’m going to wake up and find this was all a dream.”

“Well dreamer boy, you need to get two formal tickets and get a dinner suit to make yourself look presentable. And me? I’ve got to find myself a formal dress.”

He was almost in a daze as he walked me to the door, “Cara, listen. I know I’m probably pushing my luck, but…at the formal, would there be any chance of you singing ‘Not Dancing, but Flying’ if I and the band backed you for it?”

I grinned, “Sure, but don’t tell Sony as I’m sure it would contravene the terms of my contract.”

As the limousine drove off, I could see him still standing at the door watching us head into the distance. I chuckled to myself and although I had surprised myself at the turn of events, I felt as if I was doing something good. I had a few other ideas up my sleeve as well.
 

*          *          *
 
Sunday evening found Jools and I huddled around the radio listening to the Chart Show. It seemed interminable as the countdown crawled ever lower. I was really on edge when the D.J. did the rundown from twenty to ten as that was where I hoped and expected to find ‘Not Dancing, but Flying’. I was disappointed. There was no mention of it. However the despondency soon turned to delight as I heard him announce a new entry for Cara Malone at number eight. A new entry in the Top Ten? I felt dizzy and quite overcome with emotion. Jools and I jumped up and down hugging each other like silly schoolgirls.

“I can’t believe this. A new entry straight into the Top Ten,” I gasped breathlessly.

“Believe it!” Jools grinned triumphantly, “You know I don’t think you believe in yourself half enough. Certainly not half as much as those of us do who know you well.”

I waved a hand at her, “I can’t let myself start to think I am more than I really am.”

Jools winked, “Oh but girl, you are SO much more than you appear to be.”

I laughed and was about to launch a tickle attack upon her when I was interrupted by the phone ringing. I grabbed for it and inside I was hoping against hope that it might actually be Claire. It was not. It was Simon who was making sure he did not get lost in the phone queue this time. He was elated and had high hopes that we would get an invite for a live performance on Top of the Pops the following Friday night.

I did not want to believe this. Simon however seemed very confident. On Monday afternoon, he was proved to be correct as he phoned to say that the producer of Top of the Pops had just been on the phone and requested a live performance. He assumed I was going to answer in the affirmative. I strung him out a little and he was getting a little flustered. I put him out of his misery and assured him that of course I wanted to do it. What child growing up with their dreams of being a rock or pop star does not imagine what it would be like to perform on Top of the Pops?
 

*          *          *
 
The next few days were a whirlwind of more radio interviews and signing sessions in a number of other record stores. By the time Friday morning came I was quite exhausted, but the anticipation of performing on live TV that evening lifted me. We met up with the rest of the band in the BBC Television Centre just after nine a.m. The guys were fairly pumped as well. Kevin looked like a bundle of nervous energy and by just watching him I could feel my own heart rate increasing. Jon looked fairly laid-back, but I knew he was relishing the occasion as in the past we had both shared dreams of such a moment. Brian was his usual phlegmatic self and Noel was as obnoxious as ever.

The producer introduced himself to us and the other artists who would be performing in the studio. The first thing that he had to ascertain was whether we wanted to play live or mime to the song. There was only one answer to that question in my mind. It had to be live. I was a bit of a musical snob on this issue. If it was supposedly a live performance, then it had to be live for real. The producer was accepting of this, but tried to talk us round to the benefits of miming. It would make his job easier and that of his sound crew. When he realised that I was quite adamant, he gave in gracefully.

We watched some of the other artists practising. They had gone for the mime option. They ran through their songs a few times and to their credit, it was quite hard to tell they were miming. When our turn came, we had to do a full sound check. It was like three sound checks really. One to make sure our fold back was satisfactory, another for the sound in the studio itself and finally and probably most importantly to make sure the sound for the broadcast was suitable. After a lot of technical jiggery-pokery which began to bore me, we were ready to try a run through. We played through the song a few times and it went pretty smoothly. All concerned seemed happy enough and before long, it was time for a late lunch. Nobody seemed to have much of an appetite.

I had had strong words with each of the guys on the phone over the past few days regarding wardrobe choices. I had told them in no uncertain terms that they had to put some thought and effort into what they were going to wear and what image they were seeking to project. I had such little faith in their ability in this area that I had eventually insisted that they all go down to Sony the previous day and spend some time in the wardrobe department there. When they came out from the changing rooms it seemed to have paid off. They were not wearing anything flashy, but they looked clean, smart and certainly presentable. Jon was wearing an outfit very similar to one that Paul had worn in the video: black silk shirt and white cotton trousers. It did look very good on him, but the similarity was not lost on me.

“Haven’t I seen an outfit like this before?” I asked with a wink.

He looked uncomfortable, “Yeah well, the girl at Sony insisted that I had to wear this.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, “She said something about maintaining continuity of images or the like.”

I smiled, “It looks great.”

He relaxed a little, “Thanks.” He paused and grinned, “And you are a knockout — as usual.”

I waved a hand at him and allowed myself a little smile, “Thanks.”

I had agonised over what to wear. I suppose that I had bought into the notion of ‘continuity of images’ or whatever else you want to call it. I had thought that I should wear something in keeping with the song and the video. A ball gown would have been over the top so I finally settled for a sleeveless short red dress that fairly clung to my figure. High-heeled matching pumps and sheer black stockings completed the simple outfit. It created the effect I desired: attractive, yet classy and even sexy.

Yes, I admitted to myself that I wanted to be desirable and sexy. I was not sure whether this was an expression of some insecurity on my part. Did I have to be seen to be attractive to validate who I was? I hoped I was not that shallow, but I had to admit that although I had been living as a woman for the past six months, I still was not completely at ease with my new persona. Was I driving myself into femininity to help overcome any residual uncertainty? Save it for the psychologist I told my inner self as I tried to focus on the present.

The TOTP bandwagon had a great makeup team. It was amusing to watch the guys having to endure a makeup session to prevent them from looking like ghosts under the studio lights. I have to confess that I was rather merciless in teasing them. Particularly Jon.

I stood behind his chair as he was worked on, “Now Jon, perhaps you will have a better appreciation of the time and effort we girls put in for our appearance.”

The look he gave me was priceless and I had to laugh. In the uneasiness of the guys, I felt an echo of my initial uneasiness with such things. It was amazing how quickly you could adapt to something. When they were done, it was my turn. A far longer turn than they had had. My hair was styled and draped over my right shoulder. It was a new look and I loved it. It looked shiny and glossy. My makeup was even more pronounced than usual, but not overdone. The girls explained that although less is usually more, for the TV studio more is actually less. Perhaps you can work that out; I think I understood them.
 
 
The show started at seven thirty and we were sitting in a dressing room getting more and more nervous. We were scheduled to go on at seven fifty-one. Brian sat pensively in a corner looking like he was chewing a hole in his lip and Jon was leaning against a wall with his eyes closed. Kevin was pacing up and down clicking his fingers incessantly. It was quite distracting, but most of us managed to ignore it. Except Noel.

“Oh for God’s sake man, would you quit it?” he exclaimed.

Kevin looked hurt, “Sorry man, I’m just a bit wired you know.”

“You’re always wired and you’re making me edgy.”

“Look sorry…”

“Just stop, OK?”

I sighed but did not say anything. I was feeling pretty wired too. Your mind has a sadistic way of imagining everything that could go wrong: tripping in your high-heels, forgetting your words, delivering a flat performance. I shook my head and tried to clear my mind, but it was practically impossible. I was actually thankful when one of the studio assistants called us out at seven forty-six. We made our way onto the stage that had been prepared for us. The show was broadcasting a video of another song at present and the studio audience were all watching it on a large screen. We got into position in semi-darkness and stood there waiting for our cue.

“And now with her second single entering the charts at number eight, this is Cara Malone with ‘Not Dancing, but Flying’…”

There was a swell of cheering from the crowd, the stage lights blazed and Noel began the piano introduction. I smiled as I started to sing. I tried to pour my emotions that had been building up all day into the performance. I took the microphone from its stand when it came to the last chorus and as the guys dropped the volume, I held it to my upraised face, my eyes half-closed, “And whenever I will think or dream of you, we’re not dancing…but flying.”

The crowd cheered and whistled and I lowered my head, opened my eyes and smiled. What a rush! The show moved on to the final countdown and then played the number one single. We filed back to our dressing room on a high. Everything had gone as planned and we felt we had delivered a good performance. Jools was delighted and assured us that, from where she had been standing, it came across great.
 
 
After the show, we got our makeup cleaned off, and changed into our regular clothes. In a funny way it was almost a relief to get back into a simple top and pair of jeans. I realised that my attitudes had changed almost imperceptibly. Yes I still loved getting dressed up and wearing sexy clothes. I felt a little embarrassed to be admitting this to myself, but I knew it was true. However, I did also enjoy being able to slip into something casual and comfortable and especially shoes with a lower heel! I had mentioned this to Jools before and she had laughed and told me it was a sign that I was becoming even more of a real woman. I supposed she was right. I realised with some relief that I did not now feel that I had to dress ultra-feminine all the time.

Jools, the guys and I all headed to a bar afterwards to wind down and chat. Laura met us there and assured us that she had dutifully recorded the show as instructed and she complimented us on a great performance. The relief amongst us was almost palpable and I enjoyed a few glasses of white wine. The conversation was light and the humour was flowing. Noel was sitting beside me and I noticed that he was knocking back quite a few vodkas. I looked over at him and raised an eyebrow at him. He noticed and smiled.

“Hey don’t worry, I’m just chilling out. After the tension of the day, it’s the least we deserve no?”

I shrugged and forced a smiled, “Yeah I guess.”

It was a little disconcerting however. I knew he had once had a problem with alcohol and recently it seemed that he was beginning to drink again. Who was I to question it though? Perhaps he had things under control. It was hardly my place to tell him what to do.
 

*          *          *
 
“I still don’t understand why on earth you are doing this?” Jools said as I concentrated on my reflection in the mirror while I put my lipstick on.

“I didn’t think you would,” I said without thinking carefully.

“Hey! That’s a bit patronising don’t you think?” she said sounding a bit hurt.

I turned to face her, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well, indulge me then. What would possess you to go to a school formal with some geeky guy you don’t know.”

Her words stung me and I had to swallow hard to stop myself from lashing out in response. I composed myself and spoke calmly, “Because I know what it is like to be the geeky guy that no-one would dream of going out with even if they did know him very well.”

She bit her lip and flushed, “Cara, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I mean I’m just so used to you being this beautiful woman that at times I even forget you were ever anything different.”

I sighed, “I know. I’m probably crazy, but I remember how torn up I was that I couldn’t go to my own formal. It was like I was an outcast or something. No-one wanted me.”

“Why didn’t you ask someone?”

I laughed mirthlessly, “Oh I did: Sarah Stevens. She wasn’t the most gorgeous girl in the year, but she was pretty and I had always got on well with her. I really liked her and eventually plucked up the courage to ask her…”

“And?”

I blinked a few times, “She just laughed and thought I was joking.”
 
 
After a few moments silence, Jools tried again, “Well damn it, why didn’t you just go with some other mates and stuff the obnoxious bitches. Go and have a good time?”

I screwed up my face, “It’s fine for girls to do that, but it wasn’t the same for us geeky guys. We would just have provided the in-crowd with another opportunity to poke fun at us.”

Jools walked over, stood behind me and gave my shoulders a squeeze. She spoke softly, “So why are you doing this?”

I shrugged, “It’s the right thing to do. I just don’t want this guy to suffer like I did.”

She smiled, “Well I think he will be the envy of the in-crowd tonight.”

I had on my corset and the black satin dress that Jools and Beth had bought for me to wear to the Christmas dinner dance. I had pinned my hair up on top of my head and I was ready to go. I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled murmuring, “This one’s for you Nick.”
 

*          *          *
 
When the limousine stopped outside Peter’s house, the driver got out and opened the door for me. I walked up to the door and Peter’s mother had it open before I even raised a finger to the doorbell.

“Oh my gracious,” she exclaimed, “You look lovely, my dear. Come in, come in.”

She was fussing and anxious and apologised, “I’m sorry I’m trying to get my Peter ready, he’ll be down in a moment.”

I chuckled, “Makes a change, the girl having to wait for the guy.”

Peter came stumbling down the stairs before long. I was actually impressed. He had got his hair cut short and looked far better for it. I reflected that perhaps my mother had been right all along. Perhaps Nick should have had his hair cut. His suit fit him well enough and whilst he did not look like a well-built athlete by any stretch of the imagination, he filled it out adequately. His eyes widened and he shook his head when he saw me.

Almost breathlessly he said, “I can’t believe this, you look awesome.”

I smiled and returned the compliment, “You’re looking pretty dishy yourself.”

He blushed to the roots of his hair but was spared further embarrassment by his mother appearing again brandishing a camera.

“Have to have a few shots for posterity,” she explained.

Peter awkwardly put his arm around my shoulder and she took half a roll of film. When she was finally satisfied Peter dryly quipped, “At least now we can prove this wasn’t a dream eh?”
 

*          *          *
 
In the limousine I appeared to make polite conversation, but I had an ulterior motive. I asked Peter if he had asked anyone from his year to the formal. With a bit of cajoling I managed to get an answer out of him. There was a girl called Rachel Kendall. It sounded like Sarah Stevens all over again. She had of course rejected him and was going to the formal with one of the First Fifteen rugby players. The guy was a jerk I was reliably informed by Peter and I did not doubt it. When we arrived at the hotel where the formal was being held, Peter held my door open for me as I got out. I slipped my arm through his and he smiled nervously at me as we walked into the function suite.

“How on earth can I explain this? I mean last night you were on Top of the Pops, and you were fantastic by the way, and tonight here you are with me,” he asked in a low voice.

I shrugged and smiled at him, “I’m a friend of yours, you asked me and I was delighted to come. Just be cool.”

He smiled to himself and it was almost as if he seemed to be walking just a little taller after that. We made our way towards our table and I was aware of heads turning and some surreptitious pointing in our direction. There was some shaking of heads and raised eyebrows. I had expected that I would be easier to recognise in such a group. I imagined that most of the young people present would be fairly up to date with the music scene. I just pretended not to notice any of it and I whispered for Peter to do likewise. He just nodded gently and smiled. We took our seats at the allocated table and a tall thin guy with a touch of acne came loping over.

“Hey Petey man, I thought you weren’t coming. So who is this lovely lady — oh — my - God, you’re Cara Malone, I can’t believe this, is this for real?”

He eventually stopped speaking and took a breath and looked incredulously first at Peter and then me. Peter was getting into the role and leant back casually in his seat, “Oh, hi Harry. Harry Thompson, meet Cara Malone.”

I smiled and shook his hand, which was shaking. He looked too bemused to ask anything further and just took his seat at the other side of the table. The table eventually filled up and there were repeated introductions to the other members as they arrived that were variations on a theme of what had happened with Harry.
 
 
I was aware that I was getting more than my fair share of glances from many of the males present and perhaps even more from the females. The latter who found their partners looking were not overly amused. I had decided that I was not intending to be the centre of attention all night and I was content to chat pleasantly with those at the table and answer some of their questions. However eventually I said that I was sure they had heard enough about me and I began to question them about what they were planning to do with their lives after school. Soon enough there was a healthy and relaxed buzz of conversation at the table and I was more than happy to take a back seat role.

I murmured in Peter’s ear, “Table ten, third from the right with the long fair hair.”

“Huh?” he whispered as he looked in that direction and then looked back at me, “How did you know?” It was Rachel Kendall.

I shrugged, “I don’t know. Lucky guess I imagine.” Perhaps it was a lucky guess or perhaps it was just that she looked like the sort of girl I would have been attracted to. She was pretty, yet she did not look like the type of girl who thought too much of herself. Sitting beside her was a hulk of a guy with a crew cut and a large mouth, which he seemed to overuse in both the input and output senses.

“I don’t know what she sees in him,” I whispered.

“Yeah, me too,” he said almost dreamily.
 
 
The meal was good and I had to admit that I really enjoyed it. We were at what was no doubt being called the ‘geek table’. These were the guys that I would have been friendly with, had I still been Nick and been at this school. It all seemed so familiar. The conversation was intelligent yet light hearted. No one here was pretentious or false. At the end of the meal, people began to rise and mingle or head to the bathroom. I noticed Rachel getting up and heading in that direction. I excused myself from the table and headed to the bathroom too.

A few girls were coming out of the door as I passed them on my way in. Their conversation stopped dead and they could not help but stare. I just smiled and made my way in. I timed my run so that I was coming out of the cubicle just as Rachel was touching up her makeup at the mirror. There was no one else in the room. I smiled, “Hi.”

She looked at me as if I was from another planet. She blurted, “You’re Cara Malone.”

I nodded, “Pleased to meet you Rachel.”

If she had looked unsettled before, she now looked positively disturbed, “Y-you know my name?”

I began to touch up my makeup too, “Sure. Peter has told me a lot about you.”

“He has?” she said with growing curiosity.

I nodded and turned to her with a smile, “Oh yes.”

She asked the question which I’m sure was on a lot of lips, “Err, why are you…I mean how do you know Peter?”

“Oh we’re just friends. I was over at his house last week having a bit of a jamming session. He asked me to come tonight. His first choice turned him down apparently so I’m his second choice.”

She nearly choked, “You’re his second choice?” The implication hit her.

I turned back to the mirror, “You know Peter?”

She nodded, “Umm yes. We had a few classes together.”

I blotted my lips, “He’s a great guy.”

She chewed her lip, “Yes he is.”

I smiled at her brightly, “So are you here with your boyfriend?”

She gave a half-chuckle, “Oh no. Kent is…just a…well…acquaintance I guess.”

It was pretty much as I had thought. More concerned about outward appearances, she had chosen to go with the bonehead whom she hardly knew and probably did not like.

“Well, nice to meet you Rachel,” I said turning to go.

“Err, wait a moment.”

I turned and raised an eyebrow, “Yes?”

“Are you and Peter…well…more than friends?”

I smiled, “No. Don’t get me wrong, Peter is a great guy, make no mistake about it. But to be honest, he’s still dead keen on this other girl he wanted to come here tonight with.” I shrugged and smiled ruefully, “Plenty more fish in the sea eh?”

A momentary look of what seemed regret flashed across her face and she nodded thoughtfully as I turned and made my exit. I picked my way through the crowd back to our table. Although a lot of people looked at me, it seemed as if few had the courage to ask if I was who they thought I was.

Peter looked at me unsurely, “Uhh, you OK?”

I smiled, “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Err, just you seemed to take a long time.”

I winked, “Peter, it takes a lot of work for a woman to make herself look good.” If only he knew the truth in my case. However the explanation quieted him, but I was sure he had noticed the ‘coincidence’ of Rachel exiting the ladies’ room shortly after me. There was a local band on stage playing and apparently Peter and his group were going to do a little set while the band took a break later on. Peter awkwardly asked, “Erm, do you…want to dance?”

I grinned, “You bet I do.”

I let him lead me to the dance floor and though he looked nervous, his head was held high. He was not the best dancer in the world, but he was actually better than I had been at his age. After a few fast numbers, the band started to play a slow one and Peter looked a little unsure of himself. I smiled at him and slid closer to him and put my arms around his neck. He smiled and slowly put his hands gently on my waist and we swayed to the music.

“Are you having a good time?” I asked softly.

He laughed, “Oh yes, I can honestly say I’m enjoying myself. You’re a wonderful person, Cara.”

I chuckled and shook my head, “No, Peter. You’re a special person, remember that and believe in yourself.” I paused, “And you know what? I think Rachel might be beginning to realise that too.”

He stiffened a little, “Wh-what did you say?”

I giggled a little, “I just told her I was here as a stand-in, your second choice because the girl you really liked turned you down for some strange reason.”

He groaned, “Tell me you didn’t?” However he could not keep himself from smiling.
 

*          *          *
 
Peter’s band was good. Not quite the finished article, but more like clear raw talent. They played a few numbers with each of them taking a turn at the vocals. Peter had a good voice. It was strong and resonant. He would not have the same problem as I had had. Problem? Did I see it as that? I actually looked on it as a blessing now.

Peter was looking more assured of himself now and he took the microphone, “Ladies, gentlemen, rugby players…,” cheers and jeers, “it is my great pleasure to welcome on stage a very dear friend of mine. I think some of you may recognise her. Please give a warm round of applause for Cara Malone.”

More whistles and cheers ensued as I made my way onto the stage. Peter handed me the microphone and I winked at him. “Thank you. It’s wonderful to be able to share this special night with you. I never made it to my own formal as no one ever asked me.” A big ‘aww’ went up from the crowd. I grinned, “As you get caught up in the romance of tonight you might think that by the end of it you are not dancing, but flying…”

On cue, Peter started the intro and I began to sing. No one danced. They all stood stock still with their eyes fixed on the stage. The band did a good job and Peter had now mastered the piano accompaniment. There was a roar of applause when we finished and I made the band take a bow.
 
 
Afterwards, Peter and I danced some more and his eyes were bright and his face flushed from the adrenaline of live performance. “There’s nothing like it, sure there’s not?” I asked.

He laughed, “Nothing at all. I can’t believe…”

He was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. It was Kent with Rachel standing beside him. She looked uncomfortable.

“Uhh yes?” Peter asked.

Kent spoke with a slurred voice, “Time to share the goodies, Peter.” He looked at me and gave me what he must have thought was his best winning smile, “Wanna dance, honey?”

I felt my stomach turn. If I danced with him it would give Peter the opportunity to dance with Rachel, but I hedged my bets and thought I knew how Kent’s little mind would work.

I refused, “I’m sorry, but I’d rather dance with my date all the same.”

Kent did not take it well, “C’mon babe, what’s a hottie like you doing with this dork?”

I could see Peter bristling and I prayed that he would not do anything stupid like start a physical confrontation. Thankfully Peter was well aware of his own limitations. Rachel was looking disgusted at what Kent had said.

I looked at Kent disdainfully and turned my nose up, “By dork I presume you mean the intelligent and kind gentleman who is accompanying me.” I gave him an acid smile, “I’m afraid there is no comparison, now excuse me.”

He was not happy to leave it at that. The combination of brain-addling alcohol and his fury made him respond the only way he knew how, “You stuck up bitch!” He balled his fist and raised it as if he was about to hit me before he realised what he was doing.

“Kent no!” screamed Rachel. This caught the attention of some of the door staff, or bouncers as they are commonly known. Kent realised that he could not hit me and turned his attention to the next available target: Peter. He pulled back his fist and was about to launch it into Peter’s face when it was grabbed from behind.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” demanded one of Kent’s mates who was even bigger than him.

Before Kent had the chance to respond, the door staff had him in their grasp, “Come along son, let’s get some fresh air.”

Kent made a token protest, but the guys holding him looked like they knew a few dirty tricks that would not have been taught on the rugby pitch. He was taken outside and we knew he would not be allowed back in as he could barely stand up straight.

The guy who had grabbed Kent’s arm introduced himself as Geoffrey. He was the captain of the rugby team, “Look I’m really sorry Ms. Malone, sorry Peter. Kent can be a real arsehole at times. Especially when he’s drunk.”

I smiled, “No problem and thank you, Geoffrey.” He grinned and waved.

That left Peter, Rachel and I standing there. Peter was looking quite relieved. I dreaded to think what would have happened if Kent had been able to carry through his intentions. I had miscalculated. I had attributed too much basic decency to Kent and had not thought he would actually lash out. Rachel looked crestfallen and she turned to Peter, “Peter, I’m really sorry.”

He shrugged and smiled, “Hey you’re not to blame for his behaviour.”

She shook her head, “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry for not accepting your invitation to come. I don’t know what got into me. Kent is a jerk.”

Peter shrugged again but looked as if he had grown a foot taller. I knew that this was my time.

“Peter, Rachel — listen, I’m sorry but I’m exhausted. I’ve had a busy schedule recently and I think I’m going to have to leave now to get back to London.” I feigned a furrowed brow, “I guess since Kent has gone Rachel is going to need a lift home, so tell you what — I’ll tell the limo driver to take you both home whenever you want. Or take you wherever you want.” I winked and they both smiled. “I’ll get a taxi back to London.”

“A taxi?” Peter asked. “That will cost you a fortune.”

I winked again, “I’m not short of a bob or two.”

They both laughed and walked me to the door. Rachel hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Thanks.”

“Make the best of your second chance,” I whispered back and she nodded.

I looked at Peter and he looked back at me. He laughed and opened his arms and I hugged him too. “Cara Malone, you are something else.”

I laughed, “So are you, Peter Crawford. If there’s anything I can ever help you with, give me a ring.”

I walked out and as I turned to look back, I saw Rachel slip her hand inside Peter’s as they waved. I smiled to myself and went to inform the driver of the change of plan.

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