Happy birthday, Robbie

Today, one of my best friends and favourite drinking buddies, Robbie Dagher, turns twenty and in honour of that, here are twenty of his best moments. They are heavily, heavily  censored.

Robbie actually played Cameron in the first ever theatre adaptation of Popular (there he is below on stage with Lucy Williams, Claire Handley, Catherine McAteer and Emma Taylor as Catherine, Kerry, Meredith and Imogen.)

1. Bacon. 

2. "Dude." 
The moment a text, WhatsApp, Facebook message or Twitter starts with that word, shit is about to go down.

3. WhatsApp: "Robbie Dagher was last seen at 10:24 p.m."
"Robbie Dagher is probably ..."

4. Your sense of direction is so unbelievably bad that you once got lost on the way to my house, after being there about 1800 times. The only thing you know your way to anywhere in Belfast is from the Subway's at Commons Brae to the Belvoir Studio. And yet, somehow, drunk off your ass, you still managed to stumble one night from the Odyssey to find the McDonald's at Connswater. Your stomach is yo' satnav.

5. The time we'd scheduled a 7-hour, 2-man rehearsal for Popular but were both so hungover we lay down in the green room for a six and a half hour nap.

6. "Gareth, fuck, I think I've pulled literally everyone in this room."

7. "It could be worse."

8. The time Claire tried to persuade us that she could handle lad banter. "See, I think you see me in all my pink beret splendour and think, Oh, she's just a delightful girly-girl. She's such a girl that she could never handle one of our lad chats. But you're wrong, guys, I seriously could. Like seriously, just talk normally, like you would if I wasn't here and I promise I'll be able to handle it." 
10 seconds later. "No, I'm sorry, this is vile. I definitely can't handle this. I'm going to get a drink. Don't ever do this to me again."

9. "You two would  make an adorable gay couple."
"I know, but we'd just be at the ride all the time."
"How lovely."

10. Complimenting you on your beaut new Ted Baker belt before realising you'd stolen it from my room four months earlier.

11. "Gareth, I am never going to wear Jack Wills." "Gareth, as if I'd be caught dead in a pair of chinos."
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! #win

12. The night we had no plans and suggested going for a quiet pint. Then woke-up £150 poorer each the next morning, after going through every cocktail bar, pub and club in Belfast. 

13. You, me, Claire and Lauren up in PBT playing the hard hitting drinking game of "What are each other's best features?" And indulging in a 7-hour mutual compliment binge. "You kind of get worshipped, you know. You can make people worship you." "You're almost too much banter, you know?" "I think people are intimidated by how good-looking you are, to be honest." "You're almost so amazing that people are afraid to love you." "You have amazing hair." "Your arms are like a total feast, babes." "You tell a story better than anyone I've ever met, ever." "But you actually are too sexy for your shirt, though."

14. "I mean, I think everyone lives in fear of being out with Robbie in case anyone upset you, Gareth. Because he'd end up in jail for GBH... Or murder." Cheers, lad.

15. "I'm a huge Anisa fan. I think she may be my new favourite Dagher."
"Eh, what?"
"Oh, yeah!"

16. "Never have I ever." 

17. "Dude, d'you fancy a cry?"

18. "Remember you said you'd get me to wear Jack Wills again and like it? Well, you definitely did."

19. First time we ever properly met was in a pub. After four hours of drinking, you mentioned your girlfriend had been waiting somewhere around the general city centre for you. 
Me: "What? You should invite her here!"
You: "Eh... yeah. Actually. I don't even really know what she's been doing all this time, to be honest." #caring

20. "I don't know how you ended up getting so drunk last night, Robbie."
"You dared me to down a ten glass!"
"I regret nothing." 

IDAHO

For the International Day against Homophobia, this short story is based on the events that take place in Gareth Russell's novel, Popular. To read more, Popular can be ordered from HERE. 

For those of you who have read the book, this extract takes place somewhere around chapter 4, Pray for us sinners.

*

Kerry Davison stared languidly at her own reflection in the bathroom mirrors of the Royal North of Ireland Yacht Club in Cultra and sighed. "Imogen, what do you call those people who hate gay people?"

"Povos."

Kerry paused for a minute, considering her friend's answer. "No, no... that's not it."

"It is. Look at Eastenders. Chryed didn't have a very easy time of it there, did they?"

"Who's Chryed?"

"Christian and Syed," Imogen answered, incredulously. "The openly working-class gay love story?"

Kerry nodded. "Oh... Oh, yes. But there's definitely a word for it. A real word."

Meredith swept into the bathroom and took her place at the sink next to Imogen. 

"Meredith, what's the real word for people who hate gay people?" Kerry asked, earning her a filthy look from Imogen.

"Baptists."

"That's sectarian," Kerry snapped.

"Homophobes," answered Meredith, applying a light sheen of gloss to her lips. "The correct word is homophobes."

Kerry nodded triumphantly. "Yes! That's the one. Homophobes. Why?"

"Because -phobic means fear of and homo is the first syllable of homosexual."

"No, but, I mean, why?" asked Kerry, silently congratulating herself on having curls that looked as if little angels had knitted them from liquid beams of pure sunshine. "Why?"

"Bitches be crazy," explained Imogen, in a very serious voice. "It's like when people were racist. Anti-banter times."

"We were never allowed to be homophobic," Kerry announced piously, carefully pronouncing her new favourite word, homophobic. "Never. Il Padre would have been livid if we had been so prejudiced. I do have a gay uncle in Toronto after all."

"Do you?" asked Meredith, in surprise.

Kerry placed her hand on her chest in faux mortification. "You're right, that is very politically incorrect of me. I have an uncle, who happens to be gay."

"I think homophobia's disgusting," said Imogen. "And fucking stupid. I mean, imagine what it does to you when you hear that kind of thing? Imagine what it's like to grow up and never be able to have all the kissing and flirting and boyfriend banter we have. Well, not you, Meredith. You'd miss out on your whole teenage years and, frankly, I cannot think of anything more horrific, given how sensationally delightful my own have been." She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulders and gazed into the mirror. "People are just so fucking stupid."

*

Years later, if you had asked Cameron Matthews what had caused the horrendous, gut-wrenching mess of his first year of knowing Blake Hartman, he would have sworn up and down on a stack of Bibles that the reason had been that Blake's father was a pastor. As far as Cameron was concerned, it was quite clear that the whole root and branch of Blake's problem had lain in the plastic evangelicalism of the Shepherd of Judea Baptist Church in Carryduff. Added to this was the fact that Meredith's loyal Catholicism kept up a steady stream of emotional propaganda insisting that this was living proof that priests should never have children. Imogen had taken the whole thing far too far by launching into a rant that blamed the entirety of Protestantism, arguing that without the Virgin Mary no-one could be happy. Ever. Blake, however, was insistent that initially it had nothing to do with his father's job. It was only once the whole issue of his sexuality moved from his unconscious into his conscious that Blake began to consider what kind of impact it would have on his family. Before that, from as far back as he could remember, there had been a lingering uncertain fear, deep in his gut; there had been a sense of personal unease, as if something did not quite "fit". 

If you had asked Blake in the years before he met Cameron if he had a problem with homosexuality, he would honestly and instinctively have answered, no. No, he did not. But had anyone ever implied or assumed that he himself was gay, Blake would have felt a rising flush of panic as he rushed to correct them. Why he felt this way was anybody's guess. On paper, there was absolutely no reason why he should feel this way. He had come from a loving family in one of the most liberal states in America and he could never, ever remember a time when his father had preached a sermon on homosexuality. Or even mentioned it, at all, come to think of it. With the benefit of hindsight and maturity, Blake would later realise that it was maybe something about his deep need to be respected by his peers; respect was fundamentally important to Blake and it was something he unconsciously assumed he could not have if he was gay. If gay was the punchline of every joke, it was clear to Blake that whilst it was something that could be tolerated, it wasn't something that could be respected. In conclusion, it was banter, far more than the Bible, which had done the real damage to Blake Hartman, long before he even reached the age of seventeen.

On the same Saturday in November as Meredith, Imogen, Cameron and Kerry had been enjoying lunch with Cameron's mother in the Royal North of Ireland Yacht Club, Blake sat idly in the pretty, seaside grounds of Belmont Grammar School, three miles away, with the Mount Olivet football team. Soccer was not exactly Blake's forte and he had been stunned to the point of devastation to realise that lacrosse wasn't really played in British schools. Worse, he would apparently have to wait until after Easter to get involved in track and tennis, which were, by far, his best sports. That left swimming and soccer for the winter semester, since he hadn't played American football back in New Canaan and was therefore extremely reluctant to go anywhere near what looked like the bone-crunching, face-bruising psychosis of rugby. Soccer would have suffice in the meantime and today was a Saturday away game, with the Mount Olivet squad currently winning 2-1. Blake had yet to play.

A groan went up from his teammates on the bench when a kid from Belmont scored an equalising goal. The kid was good and Mount Olivet's goalkeeper, Andrew Henton-Worley, looked pissed. Looking over at Mount Olivet's coach, Mr Cavan, Blake could see that the feeling was mutual.

"Who's that?" asked a Mount Olivet sub, whose name Blake was struggling to remember.

"Edward Hanna," answered another. "He's Rory Hanna's cousin. He's really good. Like, an amazing player."

The nameless sub nodded. "Yeah. Henton-Worley looks pissed."

A few of the guys laughed; others muttered angry things under their breath implying that Andrew should be pissed. Blake squinted into the Sun, the ultimate rarity in mid-November Belfast. It was unlikely that he'd be called to play now; unless someone got injured. Settling back, he began absent-mindedly tapping out a rhythm with his right foot. Snippets of conversation bounced around him. None of them very interesting; most of them about people he did not know or places he'd never been. There was a small beep from inside his sports bag. Reaching in to extract his phone, a little smile danced across his face when he saw that it was a text from Cameron.

Cameron: How's the match going? Shanter?

Blake: Hey! Yeah, it's going okay, I guess. We're tied. Haven't played yet. What's shanter?

C: "Shit banter." :)

B: Hahahahaha! Lame. How was lunch?

C: Really nice. Mummy and Kerry got caught up in an epic convo about how much they love kittens. What are your plans for the rest of the day? PS - I am not lame. I am awesome. I am anti-shanter.x

B: Kitten convo? Sounds shanterous, Cameron ;) Getting a lift back on the school bus to Malone, then probably going to walk to the Europa and get the bus back to C'duff. PS- You are still lame.

C: Do you want to come up to mine to hang? For anti-shanter purposes, obv. We should be done in like an hour?

B: Where'd my x go?

C: Same place mine went.

B: I didn't send one in the first place.

C: Exactly.x

B: :) Haha. Well played, C-Dog.x

C: Sorry to hear you haven't played yet.x

B:"Hi, my name is Cameron Matthews, and my friend Blake Hartman just accidentally forgot to respond to my very kind invitation to hangout at my house this evening. But rather than repeat the question like a big boy, I'm going to send a pointless text about something else and hope that reminds him." See you at your house at 4? Can't wait. B-Dog in da house (literally) x

C: I hate you. See you at 4 x

B: "Lame - the new fragrance from Cameron Matthews." :) x

Blake bit the bottom of his lip in a smile and tossed the phone back in his bag. The referee's whistle blew and Blake refocused on the game. Edward Hanna had just scored a second goal, bringing the score to 2-3 in Belmont's favour. Mr Cavan looked like he was about to punch a wall.

"Is Edward Hanna Rory's cousin?" asked Titus Pitt, a sixth year popular boy, famous for his epic house parties.

"Gay Rory? Yeah," answered another. A tiny, faint twinge gripped Blake's oesophagus. He widened his feet slightly on the ground and gripped his hands a little harder. He looked more masculine this way.

Titus nodded. "I like Rory. He's good banter." As far as North Down boys went, it was hard to think of a higher form of compliment.

"Yeah," said Titus's friend. "I don't agree with the whole gay thing, but I like Rory. He's a good lad. He's not annoying about the whole thing, either."

Titus agreed. "Yeah, absolutely. Blake?"

Blake looked up and the weight on his chest was back. The weight he knew by instinct, but could not name. Why had they turned to talk to him at this point in the conversation? "Yeah?"

"Mr Cavan says you're amazing at tennis?"

The weight lightened. "I played it back in the States."

"Cool. You should come to our tennis club sometime, if you want to keep it up? The facilities are sweet."

"Oh, thanks, Titus. Yeah, I'll look into it. Thank you."

"You enjoyed tennis, then?" asked Titus's friend. "Back in America?"

"Eh, yeah, I loved it. That's where I met my ex-girlfriend," Blake said. Titus and his friend nodded and asked a few more questions. A soothing balm, like an antacid, spread through Blake's body. They knew he wasn't gay. And Blake pushed any attempt to analyse why he'd just said what he'd said right out of his head. His phone beeped from back inside his bag and he reached to get it, smiling when he saw who the text was from.

A Hartman Family Thanksgiving

Blake Hartman's first proper experience of November in Belfast hadn't exactly filled him with confidence for December. In contrast to the cold but bright fall days he was used to in Connecticut, Belfast seemed to count a November day as a good one if it happened to be dry. Or rather, if it didn't rain. There had probably been so much rain the day before that the ground and the leaves were still wet. And it was always overcast. No wonder everyone here hated Fall/Autumn.

Today, however, Blake's usual sense of homesickness was far, far worse. It was Thanksgiving and he was three thousand miles away from his mom, his grandparents, his cousins and his friends. It hadn't been helped by the dozens of cards he, his dad and his brother had received from home, with their friends photographed as a family to send out holiday good cheer. 

His dad was at home right now organising a big Thanksgiving dinner for them, but it would be the first without their mother's cooking, the first without friends calling over, the first time they didn't sit down after a long day of watching the parade and playing tennis outside. It was the first Thanksgiving away from America and Blake hated it.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Captain America."

The Dictatorship of the Bathroom (Part 3 in "Halloween")

On Halloween night, Mariella Thompson, dressed head to toe in shimmering ancient Egyptian-themed costume and jewellery, poured another drink for her friends, Natasha Jenkins and Lavinia Barrington, who had come to her Halloween house party as "shady bitch hunters," which seemed to involve skin-tight black leather trousers, black leather jackets and various accessories which were apparently their tools in prosecuting the war against shady biatches and their shady ways. Inebriated and spiteful, at one point earlier in the evening Natasha had shimmied drunkenly over to Gemma March and said, "Watch out, Gemma. Tonight, we can hunt you!"

So far, the party was going well and Mariella was distinctly relieved that no-one had vomited. At her last party, Tangela had made the whole thing v. irritating by going projectile directly in the face of Mariella's elder brother, Hugo, who had understandably failed to see the funny side of being coated in lime vodka-scented throw-up. Adjusting her serpent-topped crown and glancing swiftly round the room, Mariella spotted no-one who seemed to be on a one-way ticket to Vom City. 


In the Thompson family's large den, the drinks were flowing as freely as the gossip and the two shady bitch hunters, Natasha and Lavinia, were perched on a comfy blue ottoman, when Mariella sat down to join them. They were part of a larger group which included three members of the upper sixth popular clique, Sarah-Jane, Olivia-Grace and Louise, a few members of the First XV rugby squad and two members of the fifth year group - Imogen Dawson, currently snuggling up to her boyfriend, outside centre Stewart (dressed atrociously, Mariella thought, as some sort of demented version of d'Artagnan, Jack Sparrow or a 17th century hobo) and Cameron Matthews. Holding court with his rowdy banter was Peter Sullivan, a six-foot fifth year rugby player who, at some point in their lives, most girls in senior school seemed to have had a reluctant rite-of-passage crush on. Conversation had turned to Nicola Porter, a once-pretty fifth year who had since tried to transform herself into an easy-going sex symbol and had thus earned for herself the undying hatred of every popular girl at Mount Olivet. Mariella, who considered Nicola to be a boy-crazy desperado with bad hair and fat thighs, had banned her from ever coming within a five mile radius of one of her parties after Nicola had shamelessly flirted with Mariella's then-boyfriend, Richard Murland, at the Helen's Bay Country Club Young Members' annual mixer back in July.

The All Hallows Friendship Quest (Part 2 in "Halloween")

Here is part II in this blog's 3-part Halloween story, following some of the characters from Popular as they celebrate All Hallows. For part I, Fireworks, click here.

The rain had gone and the wind calmed down by the following afternoon when Cameron stepped off the 8B Metro bus in the city centre. Saying a silent prayer that no-one from school would see him using the peasant wagon, he checked the road twice and ran quickly across it. Turning left, he very nearly collided with one of his best friends as she emerged from Rio and Brazil BT9 with a shopping bag slung over her left arm.

"Kerry!" 

"Heysies," she smiled. "Where are you going?"

"I'm meeting a friend for coffee in town. I'm actually already kind of late. What are you doing?"

"Were we supposed to have coffee today?"

"No. It's with ... someone else."

A dark look crossed over Kerry's face. "Oh."

"It's one of the guys," Cameron explained quickly. "It isn't Imogen or Meredith. Or Catherine - obviously."

"I'm sure it isn't," she shrugged. Her eyes darted away and Cameron was seized with a terrible memory.

"It really isn't. Do not follow me to see if I'm lying."

"Fine! But I'll be calling them. I will be calling them, Cammy. Callingsorama."

"Fine. But I swear, we wouldn't make plans without you."

Kerry's face brightened into a pretty smile. "So, how excited are you for Mariella's bash ce soir?"

"So excited," he replied dutifully. "It'll be amazing."

"It will. I heard your ghost costume is super-hot? I'm going as an angel. I got new lipgloss for it. I was going to go as a mermaid, but I can't move in the outfit. Like, not even a little bit."

"You'll look amazing as an angel, Kerry. Good call. Listen, I'm running seriously late - can I call you later?"

"No problema," she smiled. "See you later. Enjoy having coffee with boring people!"

As Kerry sailed off down the street in search of her mother, Cameron dashed across the pedestrian crossing towards the city hall. A large gathering of indies, emos, goths and faux-Satanists were congregated on the black and gold benches nearby; one pubescent couple in matching hells' angels boots were making-out vigorously and Cameron repressed the urge to vomit. A group of girls looked at him with undisguised loathing as he passed by, although he had no idea if he had ever before seen or met them in his entire life. Blake was standing up ahead of him, on the cobbles near the main gates, looking at his phone. Cameron debated whether he should speed-up to show contrition for being fifteen minutes late or to slow down to appear non-chalant and cool. Unfortunately, he was still grappling with this decision and walking in a bizarre half-run, half-skip, when Blake turned to look at him. 

"Hey!"

His smile belongs in a Colgate commercial, Cameron thought enviously. "Hey. Sorry I'm late."

Blake extended his arms to hug him, but Cameron had already fallen in to step beside him and had to turn awkwardly for the embrace. Americans are huggers, idiot!

As they broke from the hug, Blake looked at him with a glint of amusement in his eyes, as if he knew the hug had been awkward, but they weren't quite close enough yet for him to tease Cameron about it. 

"So, where are we going?" Cameron asked.

"I thought we'd go grab a milkshake or something... What?"

"You're so American."

Blake smiled again. "Thank you."

They were about to cross the road when Blake put his hand out in front of Cameron to stop him proceeding. When the black taxi that had been approaching passed by, they crossed over and began walking down Donegall Place.

"How are your classes going?" Cameron asked politely.

A little, rare smirk tugged on Blake's lips. "Do you care?"

"I mean, I’d definitely pretend to," teased Cameron.

Blake turned to look Cameron in the eye as they walked. After a few seconds, he smiled and looked down. "Class is good. The curriculum a big change from the one I had in America, but if I work hard, I should be fine. I think."

"And how are the guys in your form class? Still circus-worthy?"

"You said that, not me."

"Whatever."

"They’re okay," Blake said neutrally. "But I think I’m kind of ready to start making some real friends now."

"Oh! Is that what this is? A mission?"

"Would that annoy you?"

Cameron shrugged and smiled. "I dunno. You are a Baptist. That's a bit gross. You might give me a W.W.J.D. bracelet and then, it'd all be over."

Blake ignored the jibe. "Do people usually have to make an effort to become your friend?"

"Yes. But they usually fail," Cameron joked.

"Which means you think I have a good chance of succeeding?"

Cameron paused for a moment and regarded Blake quizzically. "You’re far more confident than you seem at first, Blake."

"And you're far less."

"Shut up. By the way, Blake, quick question, since you've organised everything for today so well and are so familiar with Belfast - have you any idea where we're going?"

*

"Kerry!" Imogen's greeting contained a faint tone of confusion as she swung open her front door and found Kerry on her doorstep, Rio and Brazil bag still swinging from her arm. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," she smiled, stepping in. '"Just checking you were here. I saw Cameron in town and thought... Anyway, how are preparations for tonight going?"

"Really well. I very nearly wobbled and changed my costume."

"To what?"

"Sookie Stackhouse. But I changed my mind, because she has a stupid name and, frankly, she's a whore."

Kerry had  no idea who this Stackhouse creature was, which meant it must be something to do with either Harry Potter or vampires. "Cameron's having coffee with someone who's not us today."

Imogen shrugged and sashayed into her kitchen. "Must be Mark."

"He is very tall," Kerry mused. "And not fun. Imogen, I'm not kidding, wait to you see my angel wings for tonight. I truly look like Jesus's beffers."

Fireworks (Part 1 in "Halloween")

Mariella Thompson was a girl who very seldom felt stress about anything, but this year she had fought long and hard for the privilege of throwing one of the most important non-birthday related social events of the school year: the Halloween house party. As one of the most popular girls in sixth year, Mariella had cunningly torpedoed any rival party ideas as far back as July, when she had "casually" suggested to Anastasia, her group's uncontested queen bee, that she should throw this year's Halloween blow-out fiesta. And once Anastasia had given her permission with a graceful shrug, Mariella had worked hard to make sure no-one in the senior school popular groups organised a rival party. To ensure she remained unchallenged, she had traded a new year's pre-drinks with Olivia-Grace Wallace, pleaded with Lavinia Barrington, negotiated with Meredith Harper and flat-out bullied Tangela Henton-Worley, Sarah-Jane Rogan and Celeste Fitzpatrick. Now, with only one day left until Halloween, Mariella was gazing at her own reflection in the first-floor girls' bathroom and silently praying that she would successfully throw the party of the year. After all, the social committee elections were coming up next term and now definitely wasn't the time to be dropping the ball when it came to party planning.

Halloween is a difficult time in any socialite's calendar and throwing a party for it is, without doubt, a double-edged sword. Unlike birthdays, new year's or Christmas, Halloween has no set rules to monitor your guests' behaviour and, as a result, a Halloween party can end up being magical, irritating, tacky, fantastic or just plain embarrassing. It's a v. useful time for girls to figure out who the closeted whores in their extended social circles are. Anyone who puts the word "sexy" in their costume title is almost certainly just looking for an excuse to turn up in public dressed as Whoregasma, Queen of the Tramps. At the other extreme from the chlamydia parade are the people who go to frustratingly minimal effort with their costumes. For the last couple of years, it has become very difficult to avoid seeing someone on Halloween who's just lazily dunked themselves face-first into a vat of talcum powder, put on a leather jacket and called themselves a vampire. That's fine if you're trying to go as one of the hotties from True Blood, but if it's Twilight or Vampire Diaries-inspired, it becomes a good deal less sexier. (Seriously, Edward? She has the personality of a cactus and you want to live with her forever?!) Mariella, who had actually embraced the vampire craze to go to last year's (awful) Halloween party at Louise Mahaffy's as Lorena Krasiki, had spent twelve weeks planning what to go to her own party as, eventually settling on Cleopatra, which she felt was glamorous and, with the right amount of bling, might just avoid being tacky. 

Sweeping out of the girls' bathroom and ignoring a friendly wave from Cristyn "clingy" Evans, Mariella nearly collided with Imogen Dawson and Cameron Matthews. "Hey, you two!" she beamed. "Looking forward to tomorrow night and stuff?"

"Yeah, so much," smiled Cameron. "How're preparations going?"

"Super-stressful, but nothing I can't handle. What are you guys going as?"

"A Tudor ghost," Cameron answered.

"It's so erotic," Imogen said, enthusiastically. "He's got these leather trousers and one of those pirate shirts. It's all very Jonathan Rhys Meyer, circa season 1." 

"Beau!" gasped Mariella. "I totes love it. What about the rest of you?"

"Well, I was going to come as Evita," Imogen said, "but I'm not allowed to, apparently, in case I bitch-slap everyone at the party until they agree to listen to me singing Don't cry for me, Argentina. Again. Then I considered Kimora - obvi. But finally, I've decided to go as Venus. Which I think is appropriate. Kerry's going as a mermaid and Meredith's going as Jackie O. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm going as Cleopatra. Natch. Anastasia's going as Kate Moss and Natasha, Lavinia and Tangela are all going as shady bitch hunters. You know, to hunt down shady bitches and their shady ways."

"So cool," nodded Imogen. "Okay, well, we'll see you later."

Mariella smiled, hugged them both and swept off down the corridors, in her never-ending quest for fresh gossip. As she walked away, Imogen turned towards Cameron and arched her eyebrow: "I really hope this thing isn't a train-wreck, like her sweet sixteenth."

*

The rain was pounding down on Belfast that night, as Cameron Matthews sat staring out of his bedroom window. Gingerly opening the door to his balcony, Cameron stepped out and was hit in the face by a blast of cold, cruel wind. Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, he stepped forward and inhaled. From here, he could see leaves being ripped off the trees that lined either side of the road in Malone Park and the hedges that lined his family's garden were bending slightly with the force of the gale. The middle three fingers of Cameron's right hand rubbed slowly in a small circle on the navy-blue cashmere sleeve of his left arm. This was nice, he thought; pleasantly dramatic and weirdly soothing. He felt some of his own thoughts and feelings drain out of him, as if they were getting swept away with the weather. For a brief moment in his overly-cerebral life, Cameron Matthews had managed to stop thinking. He was brought crashing back to reality by the vibrations of his phone in his back pocket. Reaching in, lifting it out and staring at the screen, he saw the caller ID, Blake Hartman (school), and a sudden bolt of pleasurable panic shot through him. Moving quickly across the balcony and back into his room, he clicked answer before he had closed the door behind him, nervous of missing the call.

"Hello?" he asked, in a voice that he knew sounded far too questioning. No-one answered phones with that level of curiosity since the invention of caller ID.

"Hey, it's me. It's Blake." Another piece of redundant conversation, but whatever. Cameron slammed himself back against his balcony door and locked it.

"Hey."

"Em, yeah, hi." Blake laughed a little on the other end of the phone at the awkwardness of his own sentence. "How are you? Are you ... Is this a bad time?"

"No! No," Cameron said, trying to keep the slight breathlessness caused by the door body-slam out of his voice. "No, now's fine. Good, actually. I'm not doing anything. I stayed in tonight. How are you?"

"I'm good. I stayed in, too. How are you?"

"Fine," Cameron said, slightly more calmly. "You?"

"Yeah, really good," Blake answered. Cameron thought he heard him sit down. Or maybe stand up. Either way, he'd moved. "So, what are you doing tomorrow night?" Blake's voice sounded almost theatrically casual on the other end of the line. 

"For Halloween?"

"Yes for Halloween, dinkus!" Blake laughed. "That is what tomorrow night is, isn't it?"

"Okay, jerk," Cameron smiled. "I was just checking! Ehm... well... I'm supposed to be going to this house party that Mariella Thompson's having. Do you know her? She's one of our friends in the year above. Her little sister Jenny is best friends with my sister. So... yeah. We're going there. I'm going as a ghost. That's stupid, I know. But it's actually a really good outfit. I think. Imogen thinks it is. But a ghost is dumb, right? I dunno. Anyway, yeah, I'm supposed to be going to Mariella's. Why?"

"Oh, okay. Cool."

"Did you ... I mean, did you want to do something?"

If he could have seen him, Cameron was almost certain Blake would be shrugging for the next sentence. "No, it's okay. I mean, yeah, I wanted to see if you wanted to do something. But it was nothing big. It's fine. I should've assumed you had plans. It's really short notice.  It's fine."

If it's fine, then why do I feel so bad for going to Mariella's now? Cameron hated guilt more than Kerry hated work or Imogen hated sobriety. "What was it?"

"What did I want to do?"

"Yeah."

"There's a fireworks display over Belfast Lough and I thought that maybe we could go. Fireworks are cool and Halloween's like a big thing in America. And this is the first... But it's fine. I'll get Jack to go with me. Don't worry about it." 

Oh god, spending Halloween with your 11 year-old brother. Tragic! "Well, you should do something fun. I'd like to do something with ... It'd be cool to hang out, I mean! I could ask Mariella if you could come? I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

Cameron bit his lip and silently groaned at his own stupidity. In the first place, of course Mariella would mind. She'd arranged this guest list with the same care and consideration that most people put into arranging their last will and testaments and, even if she didn't mind, nothing was worse than being the plus-one pity-recipient of a party invite. Mercifully, a soft chuckle came down the phone, "No, that's okay, Cameron. Seriously, don't worry about it."

"I feel bad, though. It's your first Halloween here."

"I told you, it's fine."

"I could go late to Mariella's?"

"It's fine."

"Okay."

There was a pause and then Blake sighed. "But..."

"But what?"

"See, it sort of seems like you owe me."

Cameron smiled. "Oh, really? Don't you think I'm giving you enough by gracing you with my friendship?"

"Oh, it's a friendship now?"

"Well, sort of. More of a community outreach programme, to be honest. To the impoverished. It feels good to give back, you know? Like Brangelina. Only not annoying."

"Shut up."

"So how do I owe you, then?"

"Well, you did promise that we'd hang out on the regular and since movie night at your house, we haven't. Which basically means you broke your word, Cameron. Which means that you're a liar and you are not a gentleman. And now you're leaving me stranded in a new country on Halloween."

"Haha. Ouch. What do you want, ass-face?"

"I wanna hang-out!"

"Well, so do I! I'm just... busy."

"Because you're like so popular and stuff?" teased Blake, doing a worryingly good impression of the Malone accent. Cameron sensed this skill was going to be used to haunt him. 

"Well, I don't like to brag, but yes. And anyway, what are you doing celebrating Halloween? Aren't you the pastor's son? Shouldn't you be staying in and praying for all the little pagans?"

"You're so funny, Cameron. So. Funny. Can you meet me tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes."

"That was a quick response. I didn't even tell you what time."

Cameron felt himself start to blush. "Oh. I..."

"I'm teasing you. Remember, it's okay to actually show feelings sometimes."

"You're annoying me."

"Tough. Front of city hall, tomorrow, 2 p.m.?"

Playing Imogen Dawson

Emma Taylor is currently a student at Grovesnor Grammar School in Belfast. An active member of the Belvoir Players, Emma has been in many of the theatre company's productions and her most recent roles on stage in Belvoir have been as Mrs Potts in the musical "Beauty and the Beast" and in the Sam Cree play, "Married Bliss," a comedy set in rural Northern Ireland in the 1960s. This September, Emma will be taking on the role of the party queen of Mount Olivet Grammar School in the company's production of "Popular".

1. Emma, tell us a little bit about your character of Imogen Dawson in "Popular".

Emma: Imogen Dawson is the wild child of the popular clique. She’s confident, sexy and hilariously cruel at times. She’s going into fifth year and she's sixteen years old.  Imogen is a newer recruit to the popular clique, not an original member, but she’s so cemented into the group now that people tend to not guess. She’s dating Stewart Lawrence, who is (almost) the captain of the rugby team, although she takes the risky decision to pursue another romantic interest, the Immaculate Heart of Mary bad boy, Michael Laverty. She says what she thinks and never apologises. In short, she is fabulous. 

2. Imogen's known as being the "party girl" of the popular set. How similar are you to her in terms of personality?

Emma: I would LOVE to say that I was similar to Imogen, but I don’t think I am at all! She is literally the life and soul of the party, whereas I would fill the role of amused observer most times. I’d like to think I’d get along with Imogen in real life, although I would be constantly fearing for my self-esteem and sanity. And liver. She would be the ideal partner for a night out. Although we would, without a doubt, end up in a gutter, having lost our shoes and clutching various empty bottles of alcohol.

Emma (right) with Alexandra Moyna, who plays Natasha in "Popular".

3. You've said before in rehearsal that you absolutely love the character of Imogen. What is it about her that made you warm to her so strongly?

Emma: Imogen says what she thinks. She says things that everyone wishes they had the confidence to say. She is so confident and so assured of her role in the group and of her popularity. I just love the character so much, because she can get away with so much. She also just doesn’t care what people think of her. Imogen hates people pressuring her to do things; anything she does, she does on her own terms. The bitchy comments and penchant for casual violence are also amazing. 

Imogen is so fun to play because she is so far removed from any character I’ve ever played! She’s also so different to myself, which means that in playing her, I can step into someone else’s shoes completely. I also adore English accents in any way, shape or form. So yes. Imogen is utterly amazing. 

4. Favourite line as Imogen?

Emma: Oooh. There are SO many. I have to say I adore the line “I went for a wax and the woman must have been trained by the KGB. If she’d pulled any harder, she’d have ripped off my clitoris.” But then again, I also adore every single line in Imogen and Michael’s break-up. She is on fire in that scene. 

5. Apart from Imogen, who is your favourite character in "Popular"?

Emma: This is a toughie. I’m going to have to go for Kerry or Cameron. Kerry has been a favourite from the moment I read her audition extract. She is utterly hilarious, and Claire [Handley], the actress playing Kerry, just gets the character. Kerry’s comic timing and her beret are just … amazing. But Cameron [played by Robbie Dagher] is a new favourite. He’s just got such a vulnerable side. Characters who can move me to tears always become my favourites.

6. One reason why people should come and see 'Popular' in September: 

Emma: Because it’s going to be utterly beau. No other explanation needed. :)