Happy birthday, Kerry!

Kerry Davison (standing) played by Claire Handley in the 2012 theatre version of Popular. She's with Gareth Russell as Cameron Matthews, Emma Taylor as Imogen Dawson and Lucy Williams as Catherine O'Rourke.

Today is the birthday of the fabulous Kerry Rogan, who was one of the real-life inspirations for Popular's princess of pink, Kerry Davison. In honour of this glorious day, I've decided to post a special sneak-peak preview of Popular's sequel. This is also in prep for some good news and an announcement about the book's title, which will be announced on Facebook very soon!

This scene is from chapter 2 of the sequel and it takes place on the group's holiday to Mexico! It's one of my favourite scenes of Kerry!

***

In a luxurious Mexican resort twenty miles south of San José del Cabo, the great love of Blake Hartman’s life stepped out into the balmy evening air arm-in-arm with Blake’s number one enemy. Standing at exactly six feet in height, trim and tall, with dark hair and blue eyes, Cameron Matthews was dressed in a blue Hugo Boss shirt and white linen trousers. Next to him, with her arm looped through his, Meredith Harper cut a dramatically elegant figure in a Missoni cocktail dress with Mont Blanc diamond studs glistening in her ears and a silver bracelet jangling lightly on her wrist. Her long, gorgeous brunette tresses were swept up for the evening into a cross between a messy bun and a faux bob, with its trail ends bouncing along in perfect synchronicity to the click-clack of her Louboutins as they walked across the marble. She looked like a movie star and an 18^th-century aristocrat rolled into one. Trailing miserably behind them, in a pretty Therapy dress, was Blake’s ex-girlfriend, Catherine O’Rourke, looking like she would rather be anywhere on Earth than attending this dinner on the restaurant veranda in one of the most expensive and exclusive resorts in Mexico.

Weaving their way through the other diners, Cameron, Meredith and Catherine approached a circular table set for five at the far end of the veranda. Already sitting down were two striking blondes – Imogen Dawson and Kerry Davison. Kerry’s perpetually perfect curls dangled around her head and she tossed them back as she picked up her second margarita of the evening. Opposite her, Imogen was busy stubbing out a cigarette and hooting with laughter at whatever point Kerry was making. From the table next to them, Cameron could see two young men out for dinner with their parents, trying to steal covert glances at Imogen when they thought no-one was looking.     

‘Oh,’ she said, as the other three sat down. ‘I didn’t think you’d be able to make it, Catherine.’

‘I’m feeling a bit better,’ Catherine said, with a watery smile.

‘That’s good,’ Imogen replied, without much conviction. ‘Has anyone else had the chicken?’

‘Yes, I had it last night,’ Meredith answered. ‘It was quite nice. Too much cheese though.’

‘I love cheese,’ whispered Kerry, tenderly. ‘Love it.’

‘Cameron, you need to order a drink. It’s catch-up time,’ Imogen ordered.

‘How many have you had?’ Cameron asked.

‘Three,’ said Imogen, raising her margarita glass to him and winking.

‘I’ll go order us some from the bar then,’ he said with a smile.

‘Just order a round of five,’ suggested Imogen, eliciting a panicked grimace from Kerry, who now practically stuck her face into her enormous cocktail glass to try and finish it off before Cameron returned with another.

‘This place is so beau, Meredith. Isn’t it, Kerry?’

Kerry nodded at Imogen’s prompt, but didn’t remove her mouth from the rim of her glass. 

‘Isn’t it?’ sighed Meredith. ‘… Such a good idea.'

‘Our holidays are the best,’ agreed Imogen. ‘Everyone in school was so jealous. Hilarious. We’ll need to go somewhere equally fabulous next year, though. Once you start this kind of thing, you can’t stop.’

‘Paris!’ squealed Kerry, hiccupping slightly at removing herself from the margarita and trying to speak at the same time. ‘J’adore.’

‘Well, we can do Paris for a weekend in Christmas,’ Meredith reasoned. ‘Who on earth would want to go there in the summer?’

‘I would,’ said Kerry. ‘I said, j’adore.’

‘Paris is hideous in the heat, Kerry,’ Meredith replied, condescendingly. ‘That’s why all the actual Parisians leave it in August.’

Kerry regarded Meredith with sizzling dislike for a moment, before catching sight of Cameron picking-up a tray of five cocktails from the bar and hastily returning to her margarita mission. ‘What about Dubai?’ Imogen suggested. ‘Sexy times.’

‘Imogen, you will not be able to shimmy around dressed like Cleopatra,’ groaned Meredith. ‘We’ve been over this. No matter how hard you try to ignore it, the UAE has a dress code these days and you’re the kind of girl who’ll end up in prison because of it.’

‘Jihad would not be fun, would it?’

‘No, Imogen. It wouldn’t.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Cameron, passing the drinks to his friends, including an especially pleased-looking Kerry, who triumphantly placed her empty glass in the centre of the table.

‘We’re thinking about where to go next year,’ Meredith informed him. ‘Maybe Paris during the Christmas holidays ...’

‘That was my idea,’ smiled Kerry.

‘... but, we’ve no idea about next summer.’

‘What about a cruise?’ asked Cameron.

‘Oh, fun!’ gasped Imogen. ‘I’ve heard they’re literally the most wonderfully tacky things in the history of humanity. We have to do it!’

‘Well, not all of them are,’ said Meredith. ‘It depends where you go and who you go with.’

A pale and panicked Kerry’s fist slammed down on the table. ‘No!’

‘No, what?’ asked Cameron.

‘No cruise,’ she answered. ‘Me no likey boats.’

‘They’re not boats, they’re ships,’ he said pedantically.

‘I don’t care!’ Kerry snapped. ‘If you take me on one of those, I will go into our cabin, curl up in the bed and cry until we see land again.’

‘Why do you hate boats so much?’ Imogen asked, between sips.

‘Have you forgotten what happened to the Titanic?’

‘I don’t really think we’ll be going anywhere near icebergs for our summer holiday,’ Meredith said. ‘And that was a long time ago. Didn’t someone tell me that the Titanic was the last boat to sink because of an iceberg?’

‘Well, it wasn’t!’ hissed Kerry. ‘Whoever told you that was lying. Weren’t they, Cameron?’

‘Maybe they just made a mistake.’

‘They were liars,’ Kerry muttered darkly ‘One sank very recently.’

'Did it actually?’ Meredith asked.

‘Yes,’ Cameron reluctantly admitted. ‘But it was in the Arctic on an iceberg-viewing expedition, so it was basically asking for it, and it took something like seven hours to sink and there were two other boats nearby, so everybody got off in time and everybody lived.’

‘See? You’ve got nothing to worry about,’ breezed Imogen. ‘I vote for cruise.’

‘Nothing to worry about?’ screeched a scandalised Kerry. ‘OK. Fine! These other boats who rescued the people, did they just happen to be in the area?’

‘I think so,’ said Cameron.

‘And why did they pick these people up off the other boat? Out of the goodness of their hearts or because they legally had to? What if our boat hits an iceberg and we’re stuck next to some bastarding heartless captain who doesn’t want any more passengers?’

‘Then I’m pretty sure he’d be tried for homicide or contributory negligence or something,’ shrugged Cameron.

‘They’d send him to Davey Jones’s locker!’ Imogen interjected loudly, having now polished off her fourth margarita.

Ignoring her, Kerry pressed on relentlessly: ‘Right, I understand that this is the first one to hit an iceberg and actually sink since, like, 1912, and I also understand that it took seven hours to sink, but that’s just luck! How long did it take the Titanic to sink?’

‘About two and a half hours, I think,’ said Cameron.

‘Oh my God,’ groaned Imogen. ‘The movie was longer than the actual thing.’

‘I hate that movie,’ interjected Meredith. ‘Stupid, ungrateful heifer.’

‘I know!’ Imogen nodded. ‘You could definitely have fitted two people onto that big bit of wood at the end.’

‘Oh, yeah, that. Plus leaving the fiancé was super unbelievable,’ sighed Meredith.  

‘And how cold was the water where this boat sank in only seven hours, Cameron? As cold as a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body?’

‘Kerry, I don’t know. It was in the Arctic. I assume it was very cold, yes.’

‘And what if there are big bad-assed fishes?’ she said dangerously, digging her nails into his arms.

‘Well, you’d either be in a lifeboat or in a rescue ship,’ Cameron said, trying to pull his flesh away from her talons. ‘I doubt you’d know what fish were near you.’

‘But what if, in my panic, I’m running around on the deck crying so hard that I accidentally run off the side of the ship and there’s a big m’a-fucka’a of an octopus waiting down there for me? Or! What if someone pushes me?’ she said, shooting daggers across the table accusingly at Meredith and Imogen.

‘Why would an octopus be waiting for you?’ asked a baffled Cameron.

‘Because they are the snakes of the sea,’ Kerry whined, ‘and you know how I feel about snakes. If I even see a snake on TV, I can’t breathe and I feel sick. So what happens if I plummet into the Atlantic, land next to an octopus and have a panic attack? I will definitely drown.’

‘OK!’ said Meredith, loudly. ‘Let’s just forget the idea of a cruise.’

A teary-eyed Kerry nodded and returned to her drink, breaking the silence ten seconds later by muttering: ‘Scary, eight-legged m’a-fucka’as.’

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.

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."

See you soon, princess!

I can remember the day Kerry Rogan and I met for the first time. We were eleven years old and it was our first day of high school. As fate and the future luck of tequila manufacturers everywhere would have it, we were both put into the the same house at school, Rathkeltair, which to be completely honest with you is totes the best house at Down High. Some of them, I'm not saying which ones, have a distinctly Hufflepuff-y vibe to them. No lie. 

Anyhoo, Kerry's surname is Rogan and mine is Russell, which meant that when it came to Miss Hopkins' Geography class, where everyone was seated in alphabetical order, Kerry and I were next to each other. It was magical, it was fate, it was the least productive table in the class. 

At that stage, I was at my physical peak - a podgy eleven year-old, with curtains and a posh accent. (Deffers did not help matters by being the only boy in the year to wear a scarf. But, oh well, everyone's wise with hindsight.) Kerry was a radiant being in blonde curls, with a fringe which we have mutually agreed shall never be discussed ever again and which she soon ditched faster than I ditched full fat Coke. I shifted in my seat to say hello to my new Geography partner, presumably resembling a baby killer whale in motion as I did so. "Are you Laura Bell?" I asked.

"What?" came the response.

"Are you... I think I sat next to you in Miss Patton's Maths class before break? Are you ... You're Laura Bell?"

"No," came the cold response. "I don't know who that is."

Conversation slowly died off. As Kerry turned regally to stare out at the classroom as if vaguely confused/irritated about the precise point of Geography or what role it was going to play in her life, I sat and cursed myself for assuming that in a class sat in alphabetical order I would be sitting next to someone whose surname started with "B." Actually, I probably wasn't that smart to realise why I'd been wrong. Knowing me back then, I was probably thinking about crisps.

Eventually realising that we would either have to talk to each other or face the dreaded prospect of listening to the teacher, Kerry turned back towards me and re-initiated convo. A lifelong friendship was born and, yesterday, she went to Australia for the year. It's the first time since that day in Miss Hopkins' classroom that we won't be with in travelling distance of each other. And, frankly, me no likey.

When you say goodbye to a friend, it's easy to put on rose-tinted glasses and pretend everything was always perfect. (Our friend Sarah's particularly good at this, literally. She once bought a £600 pair of rose-tinted Dior sunglasses because the shop assistant panicked her by telling her they were the only pair anywhere on the island of Ireland and if she didn't buy it now, she'd never be able to own a pair. This is the girl, after all, who, when her student loan arrived, ran up and down the corridors of her college halls squealing, "Free money!") But I digress. Just because Kerry is off on the other side of the world, there's no point in pretending everything between us was always a bed of roses. (The flowers, not the chocolates - I got thin.) For the first two years of our friendship she repeatedly called me "Gavin," because she preferred it to "Gareth." We were banned from group discussions in Geography because we were a) too argumentative and b) too stupid. We were sent out of Miss Gorman's GCSE English Lit class after we both took a game of slapsies just a little bit too far. I initiated the world's longest and most unnecessary fight when I claimed (wrongly) that only sick people were allowed to bathe in the water at Lourdes and when I found out that this wasn't the case, attempted to re-start the fight by claiming that what I meant was only sick people should be allowed to bathe in the water at Lourdes. And she (Kerry, not the Virgin Mary) once lied to me that she had been punched in the face so I would leave Oxford in the middle of the night and come up and see her in Manchester. She greeted me at the train station with a shrug: "Everything's fine. Just got bored." 

The night before Kerry left for Australia, we sat by the fire as she did her tan and nails (essential travel prep - much more important than the suitcase, which had yet to be packed), and watched Gone with the Wind. And I got to thinking (SATC ref - necessary) about the decade or so of friendship we've had. Kerry, my love, we are both shrieking banshees of human beings, at times utterly and entirely ridiculous/delightful; we are incapable of sticking to the vaguest concept of a budget and we live lives centred around naps, shopping and drinking. I haven't a clue what I'm going to do without you this year. I do, however, know that you're going to have an amazing time in Australia with Emma. And, think of it this way, Ken, we're finally doing the one thing I shrieked, screamed and hissed we were never going to do: growing up.

Lol jk - see you in Geog, principessa!

Playing the Princess of Pink

Claire Handley, currently studying Drama and French at Queen's University, Belfast, talks about playing one of the lead characters of "Popular" in this autumn's production - the radiant Miss Kerry Davison.


1. Claire, you're playing Kerry Davison in the first ever theatre production of Popular. Tell us a little bit about her.



Kerry Davison is the 15-year old princess of the popular clique. Her passions include pink, loveliness and attention on her. Kerry's best friends are Imogen Dawson and Cameron Matthews, also technically Meredith Harper, but Kerry and Meredith are prone to clashing, as Kerry does not always appreciate Meredith's tyrannical control of the group. Despite her outwardly fluffy demeanor, Kerry is also fiercely independent and most definitely not a subservient follower. Put it this way; if Kerry decides that she would like to wear a full pink ballgown complete with matching tiara to a casual house party, she will. Not pointing any fingers or anything, but I would like to point out that my own requests for a ballgown in the stage adaption of Popular fell on deaf ears.


2. You've spoken passionately in rehearsals about being a big fan of Kerry's. What about her makes you like this delightful being so much?

The thing I adore about Kerry, is the character's deceptiveness. At first, anyone might assume Kerry's just your typical one-dimensional airhead. In fact, Kerry is a really strong character, and she's definitely not someone to be messed with. Playing Kerry has been weird because I've only just got to a stage where I'm happy with her on stage, she's like totally complex and stuff. Apart from that, Kerry is just, like the funnest person ever and keeps me laughing constantly. 

3. Popular is set in a Belfast grammar school and you are a former student of Sullivan. How close to real life do you think the book and play are?

Oh God. Popular is worrying close to life for me. When I was in school, and friends will stand by this statement, I literally spent my time gossiping and doing make-up. Classes were an irritating and unnecessary inconconvenience and in classes which I did not care for, I would play hangman or paint my nails without shame. (Biology and geography, FYI, bleuugh). As for the whole BT9 thing, in Sullivan it was definitely more BT18/19 but that whole 'everybody-knows-everything-about-everyone' thing was exactly the same. In conclusion, book and play are very close to real life, both were delightful.

4. If you could bitch slap one character in 'Popular', who would it be and why?

Oh God. It would definitely have to be Coral Andrews. She's the worst kind of person - like that girl who manipulates everyone around her, but does it with such a sugary sweetness that people don't even know she's totally screwing them over. That, coupled with the 'i'm-sooooooo-super-alternative' thing, a performance put on solely to remind the world that she is different, and therefore better than everyone else - and definitely she makes a very worthy slapee. Although technically I am opposed to violence (mainly due to my lack of upper body strength) I would love to slap someone properly one day. Watching Emma, who's playing Imogen Dawson slap Matthew who's playing Michael, the other day in rehearsals made me really wish for a slap moment for Kerry, so maybe we can sort that for Kerry and Coral at one point? Just an idea... 

5. What has been your favourite bit of the rehearsal process so far?

I would definitely have to say, cheesy as it is, getting to know all the lovely Popular peeps! The banter in rehearsals is amazing, and every day we go in there is at least one instance when I laugh so hard it hurts. If you're coming to see the play, I guarantee you will get this same pain.

6. One reason why people should come and see 'Popular' next week:

If you don't know how to pronounce the word 'beau' (and no, it's not like 'bow') you need to be at the Belvoir.

To reserve tickets to see Claire rocking a beret next week in Belfast, contact popularbelfast@yahoo.com

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. :)