Plan B

Chapter Thirty-nine

It was at least five before they finally left the department store.  Isaac stretched and yawned.

“Well, that’s that sorted,” he said happily.  “It was actually quite fun.”

Brookie shot him a disparaging look.  “I’m getting you a Barbie for your next birthday.”

“Admit it.”  Isaac grinned at him.  “You enjoyed it too.  Hey, Frankie, where are you going, girl?”

Brookie turned to see Fran wandering away from them down the street.  She glanced back.

“The car’s this way,” Brookie said, pointing behind him.  “And you shouldn’t be wandering about on your own.  It’s dangerous.  What if somebody recognises you?”

Fran preened her auburn wig and smirked.  “Would you like to come bra shopping with me, then?  I need a decent bra if I’m going to wear a nice dress.”

Both boys went scarlet.

“I’ll pass,” Isaac muttered.  “I need to get back to Aaron, anyway.  He’ll kill me if he finds out I’ve been shopping without him.”

Brookie lobbed his wallet at Fran.  “Don’t spend too much.  Just get what you need.  I’ll be waiting at the car.”

Surprised, Fran caught the wallet.  “Thanks.”  She started to rifle through it.  “Can I get myself some makeup as well?  If I’m going to doll myself up, I might as well do it properly.”  She suddenly snorted.  “Brookie, your driving license photo is atrocious.  I thought you were widely recognised as the most photogenic male in the country.”

“I am photogenic!” Brookie protested.

“Modesty abounds!” Isaac said loudly.  “Well, toodles, guys.  See you on Sunday, Brook.  Will Frankie be coming too?”

Fran stopped snickering at Brookie’s photo and looked up.  “Coming to what?”

“Probably,” Brookie told Isaac before mouthing “later” at Fran.  “See ya, mate.”

They went their separate ways.

For a venue that wasn’t in London, the concert hall was a lot fuller than Fran had expected.  There were already people standing at the back when they arrived, and there were journalists everywhere.  Brookie somehow managed to avoid them all until they reached the VIP section, when a young man with a camera popped up, grinning brightly, and asked for an interview.

“After,” Brookie told him distractedly, looking for their seats.  He and Fran both flinched as the camera flash flared brightly.

“Just one question, then,” the man said.  “Who is this charming young lady on your arm?”

Fran looked at him as though he’d turned into a cobra and tugged on Brookie’s arm to get away.  She and Brookie hadn’t even decided on a fake name to give if people started asking who she was.  They were saved by the lights going down.

“Sorry.”  Brookie smiled tightly.  “We need to get to our seats.  My friend’s playing and I don’t want to embarrass him by making a disturbance.”

“Of course.”  The journalist looked hugely disappointed.

“We’ve just ruined a major scoop for him,” Brookie muttered as he led Fran to the third row from the front and they sat next to somebody Fran recognised from a popular TV series.  “Enjoy the limelight of lemons.”

Fran snorted loudly and the woman beside her turned to shush her irately.

As classical music went, it was pretty enjoyable, even though everything was from the baroque era as the concert was in celebration of Bach’s musical genius.  Fran recognised snippets of the violin concerto that Rico played because she’d seen him practising, but seeing and hearing him play the piece in full was absolutely mind-blowing.  The sound he coaxed from his instrument was phenomenal, and there were several moments that Fran was convinced had to be pre-recorded, or at least played by more than one violin, because they just seemed too complicated and fast to be produced on only one solo instrument.  Her favourite, though, was the concerto with four pianos.  Rico had somehow managed to land one of the piano parts as well as his earlier solo.  The concert could quite easily have been an hour longer and she wouldn’t have minded.