Chapter 30 ~ Family Rules – Part IX
July 28, 2010
“Who nicked my fags?” Chris raged into the cafeteria.
Seventeen heads swivelled to face him, unused to such an outburst. If it had been Martin or Joel, I doubt anyone would have done more than glance; their tantrums as regular and indispensable as breathing. To them at least. But Chris rarely raised his voice above a level more suitable for pleasant conversation, mostly only getting louder when the script absolutely demanded it.
So, we sat and stared. Jamie to my left, my minder to the right, Sanderson opposite. And Joel? Joel didn’t eat with us by then. Not since Jamie’s assertion and reclamation of control. Joel was otherwise engaged unless he was filming, when the old, vituperative Joel would once again stalk the sets, throwing tantrums and criticism with vicious disdain.
“Chris?” Jamie asked, breaking the tableau out of its freeze. Others went back to whatever discussion or mouthful they’d been chewing over.
Chris walked over to our table and sat down on the bench next to Sanderson.
“I went back to my dressing room and someone’s been in there,” he explained, nonplussed, anger only sub-dermal. “My bag’s been turned out and all my stuff’s on the bed.”
Jamie breathed in quickly, a classic intake of breath.
“Was anything stolen?” she asked, near incredulous.
“I just said, didn’t I?” Chris fired back. “Someone nicked my ciggies.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” Jamie continued, “but I meant anything important.”
“Huh?”
“Like money or something.”
“No,” Chris shook his head, “but that isn’t the point. Someone’s been in there and been through my gear and turned it over. The only thing that’s missing is a pack of cigarettes as far as I can tell. What sort of bastard would do that?”
He turned his head slightly, looked at Sanderson out the corner of his eye. Remained silent just long enough for the older man to pick up on the energy.
“What?” Sanderson said.
“You got any cigarettes on you?” Chris asked, suspicion coiled in his words.
“I…” Sanderson replied, “er… No, actually, I don’t. Maybe Jamie… er…Jamie?”
He looked across the table at the star of the show and shrugged.
“Chris?” Jamie asked and waited until the younger man looked at her. “What are you doing?”
Chris looked at her for a long time. And then shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said, voice resigned to defeat, “it just pisses me off, that’s all. It’s not the fags. Christ! It’s only a couple of quid. It’s the principle of the thing, you know. I would have…”
I reached up and put the cigarette pack on the table, quietly, hoping that no-one would notice.
Some hope.
“Kenny?” Sanderson blurted out, deciding to out me in the most obvious way.
“Huh?” Chris looked up, looked across the table at me.
“Huh?” Jamie turned her head to look at me.
Chris stared at the cigarette pack.
Jamie stared at the cigarette pack.
I tasted cigarettes, burnt in my mouth and making the back of my throat ache.
Then Chris went ballistic.
