Ziggy
Ziggy
This was shaping up to be the most exciting day of Ziggy’s life so far. Even surpassing the birth of his daughter, which, to be honest, hadn’t actually been exciting at all, just utterly, incomprehensibly terrifying. He still had vivid flashbacks of the delivery room. Jenna, spread-eagled and sweaty, on the bed, calling Ziggy every name under the sun. Then some that hadn’t even been invented yet. Jenna’s mum and his mum fighting about whose child was most to blame. The midwife trying, and failing, to keep the peace, to get them all to focus on the miracle of birth. Then all the blood and gore and…Ziggy shook his head to dislodge the memory, and to focus on today .
They were meeting at the community center at eight a.m., and taking a minibus to the film studios in Bristol, where they’d spend all day rehearsing before the live show that evening. Ziggy had been given the day off lessons, and the headmaster had told the whole school at yesterday’s assembly about the talent show, so they’d all be watching him and Kylie on actual TV.
The side effect of all this was that his previous popularity had been, at least partially, restored. It turned out that the kudos of starring on live TV almost, but not quite, erased the negative credits of being an eighteen-year-old single father.
Ziggy was so keen not to be late that he and Kylie were there ten minutes early, before Lydia had even unlocked the door.
“Morning, Lydia!” he said. “Morning, Maggie! Does this belong to you?” He gestured at the bulging plastic bag sitting on the front steps.
“I wasn’t expecting anything,” said Lydia, leaning over to open the bag. Sitting on the top was a note: To the heroes of Mandel Community Center, from Yarnsy.
“Oh my God! Look at these!” said Lydia, pulling out three gorgeous wool replicas of Maggie, wearing little sweaters saying Vote Maggie . The woolen Maggies were on sticks, so they could be held above the heads of the audience during the show.
“Oh, so cute!” said Ziggy, accidentally letting his practiced teenage cool slip for a moment and waving a woolen Maggie in each hand.
Lydia pulled out a giant bunch of keys from her pocket and unlocked the front door.
As Lydia, Maggie, Ziggy, and Kylie pushed their way into the entrance hall, a door opposite them, which Ziggy had never really noticed before, opened. Out walked Art and Daphne, looking rather sheepish and disheveled. What on earth were they doing in there? Had they been there all night? If they hadn’t both been completely ancient, Ziggy would have assumed they’d been…Ziggy knew only too well what could happen if you spent too long in a cupboard with a member of the opposite sex. Oh God, another image he didn’t want to have to see. Not so soon after breakfast.
“Morning! Sorry, can’t stop to chat,” said Art, pushing past them, pulling Daphne by the hand. “We’re going to my place to shower. See you back here in a jiffy.”
“But…What…? How…?” said Lydia, which perfectly encapsulated Ziggy’s feelings on the matter.
Daphne looked back over her shoulder at them, and winked .
“When they said they were going to shower, do you think they meant…?” Lydia tailed off.
“Separately. I’m sure they meant separately. One at a time,” said Ziggy, firmly.
Within a few minutes a crowd of people had shown up, including several extremely pregnant ladies, and a whole group of people of various ages in karate kit.
“Are these people all coming with us, Lydia?” asked Ziggy. “We’re going to need a much bigger bus.”
“Ha! No. The antenatal class, karate club, and AA group have volunteered to hold a sit-in all day, to stop the council boarding up the hall until Maggie wins the show and saves the day,” said Lydia, who was obviously feeling more optimistic about their chances than Ziggy was.
“Thanks for coming, everyone!” she said, addressing the crowd with aplomb. “Help yourselves to tea and coffee. I’ve brought cakes, and there are some macramé plant-holder kits in the cupboard to stop you all from getting bored. Ziggy, can you make sure the social club and all the performers with their responsible adults get on the bus? Here’s a list, so you can tick them off.” Lydia fished around in her bag and thrust a piece of paper at Ziggy. Ziggy wondered why adults were so often referred to as “responsible,” when the past few months had proved they were often anything but.
Ziggy stood in front of the minibus, next to Kylie in her pushchair, crossing names off Lydia’s list as everyone arrived. Anna. Ruby. William. Janine. Lucky. Zack. Tallulah. Zack’s and Tallulah’s mothers.
“Is everyone here, Ziggy?” said Lydia, jogging toward him looking flustered and sweaty.
“Just Daphne and Art missing,” said Ziggy.
As if he’d manifested them with the power of thought, Daphne and Art walked up the path, looking cleaner than they had earlier, if a little damp. Whenever Ziggy had seen the two of them in the past, it had seemed as if there were static electricity between them, pushing them apart. Whereas now, if he weren’t mistaken, they looked very much together . How on earth had that happened? And was it really a good idea?
“Thank God you’re here,” said Lydia. “Right, get on, get on. We should have left ten minutes ago.”
“I’ve never driven one of these before,” she said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “But how hard can it be?”
She shouted at them all to make sure they had their seat belts on and, after some crunching of the gears, they were, finally, off.