He walks off.
I slump back in my chair.
What do I do?
At that moment, Michael scores a goal. Dad does his usual roar, and Mum’s cheering too, and suddenly I feel like I’ve spent my whole life sitting in this goddam chair, watching. Waiting.
That’s when I know I have to go.
But how can I, when I made a promise to Aaron?
Then a little voice starts to whisper. Does he need to know? If I text him and say it’s gone to extra time, invent a post-match meal, maybe some food poisoning, I could go to the audition, come back, and he wouldn’t be any the wiser. I could bring it up later on, when everything’s died down a bit, sort of ease him into the idea. There’s ages before the national final. And if we don’t get through, or The Greenwoods’ manager hates my songs, then none of it will matter anyway. It just means I get a chance. A tiny one, but a chance. To get my songs out there. And I definitely will tell Aaron as soon as the time’s right.
So, it’s not like lying lying. Is it?
I stop feeling guilty a few junctions down the motorway and this is for a couple of reasons: (1) everyone is so over-the-top excited it’s hard not to be too; (2) me and Cal are having to go over everything in the car to make sure we can bring it all together, given we only rehearsed ‘Give’ for the first time the other day; and (3) it’s really hard to get changed in a moving car when two boys are trying not to look, and your sort-of new best friend is killing herself laughing while ‘accidentally’ letting the blanket she was holding up to the window slip just as you’re pulling a dress over your head.
Oh, and (4) said new sort-of best friend has apparently been getting it on with none other than … Cal.
This news is imparted by Rachael about half an hour into the journey, along with way more info than I ever needed to know about Cal’s willy size. Cal is beetroot-coloured and horribly pleased all at the same time. It’s a little bit gorgeous, actually.
I can’t lie, it also makes things five times easier for when I tell Aaron about all this. Because I’m totally going to tell him, just as soon as today is out of the way. Once he realises Cal’s got a girlfriend now, he’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.
‘I wish you guys had told me before,’ I say to Rachael, but she just grins and stares at Cal like a lovelorn puppy.
Nothing about today is going like I expected.
We finally arrive. My make-up is on: bonus points to Rachael for somehow managing to help me with my eyeliner in a moving car. That girl is a genius. And thanks to Cal’s brother, Sean, we’re on time, too.
I send a fast text to Mum to let her know where I am. We say bye to Rachael and Sean, sign in, and are taken down a long corridor and into a room which is serving as the holding area. The same guy from last time’s here, but this time we’re instructed to follow ‘the boss’, a black woman called Deena who looks impossibly sophisticated. It’s this more than anything that tells me the stakes have gone up. Not only will the judges be there, but other scouts and industry people too. She sees me fiddling with my dress and says in a posh accent, ‘You look fabulous.’
Inside the holding room, there’s a group of about ten people milling about. I spot the two girls from the first audition in another set of matching outfits. They still seem supremely confident. In fact, everyone here looks really professional and stylish.
‘Right.’ Deena looks at a list. ‘You two are fourth.’ She walks off.
The first act leave the room and a few short minutes later they’re back, smiling. Guess it must’ve gone well. I tap my hands on my knees, remembering how they called us into a room to tell us the results of the first audition. This time, we’ll find out on stage, in front of an audience. The next act come back in, looking shell-shocked and white.
‘Oh no,’ I whisper to Cal.
‘That won’t be us,’ he says, and I seriously hope not because my stomach is churning so badly I think I might be in danger of puking.
‘It really won’t. I mean, we’re—’
‘I want to see her! Move.’
The shout floats through the closed doors to the reception area.
I freeze.
Cal looks at me. ‘Is that …?’
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper. I know that voice. ‘It’s Aaron.’
‘How the hell did he know you were here?’ Cal says.
I’m already moving. I can hear more shouting outside. What if he does something – gets into a fight? Cal grabs hold of my arm. ‘Talk to him after.’
But I shake him off.
I’m trembling, aware of how quiet the holding room has gone. But I can’t stop.
‘Gemma, please don’t …’ Cal says.
I pull open the door.
Aaron’s being held by a security guard. He’s shouting and struggling, but when he sees me, he goes still.
I walk up to him in slow motion, while my brain flashes through what to say like a magician with a deck of cards. But no aces turn up. I’ve lied and somehow he knows and there’s nothing to say.
I try anyway. ‘Aaron, I’m sorry. It was a last-minute decision and I was going to tell you just as soon—’
‘You’re on in five.’ Deena’s appeared next to me. She looks at Aaron, then back at me questioningly. I realise I haven’t taken a breath for a good long time. I do now, in a short gasp. Aaron seems past the point of anger because instead of yelling any more, he just looks at me, and that look’s enough to let me know I’ve shattered his heart.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.
‘I don’t even know who you are,’ he says, and for the most terrible moment I think he’s going to cry again right in front of everyone.
‘Gemma.’
It’s Cal. The next moment, Aaron’s wrenched himself free of the security guard and lunged towards us. I don’t even know where his fist is heading – Cal or me – I don’t think Aaron knows at this stage, but Cal drags me backwards out of harm’s way and keeps on pulling, tugging at my arm while the security guards bundle out a screaming Aaron.
Cal pulls me through the door to the holding room and it shuts behind us. I turn, to see the other contestants staring at us. I’m sobbing, hard, but then Deena comes in and says, ‘Right, uhh, you two are supposed to be on next. Do you think you’ll be OK? I’m not supposed to change the schedule around …’ She flicks through her paperwork, bites her lip.
‘Just give her a second,’ Cal says.
A minute, maybe two, go past. I’m still crying. Cal sits me in the corner, gets tissues and a bottle of water. Then he kneels in front of me and begins to talk. ‘Listen, Gemma, I know this didn’t go to plan …’
I let out a laugh despite myself, but it turns into a sob.
‘I think we should do it. This is who you are, not whatever it is he’s trying to make you into.’
‘He’ll think I’ve betrayed him.’
‘Well, you haven’t, for one, but anyway I’m pretty sure it’s too late for that,’ Cal says. ‘So you’ve got nothing to lose, have you? But maybe something to gain.’
‘People are going to think—’
‘No one’s going to think anything bad. Well, not about you. But who cares? Screw what anyone thinks. Get up and show them who you are.’
Suddenly I know he’s right. I have to sing my songs.
I take a massive breath and reach inside, to a place under the layers of fright and sleep deprivation and worry, searching for Confident Gemma, the me I’ve always been sure of. She’s still there. Maybe a little heartbroken, but there nonetheless. And so I wipe my face, and push my shoulders back, and I look at Cal. ‘All right, let’s do it,’ I say.
Cal breaks into a relieved smile and gives me a quick, gentle hug.
Deena comes over. ‘I’m sorry but I think it’s now or never,’ she says. ‘Can you manage?’
Cal grabs my hand and doesn’t let go, all the way down a corridor, and then we’re waiting in the wings of an actual stage, much bigger than the last little room w
e went to. When I peek out, I can see the judges, and then a fair few rows of other people. Some look like family and friends – I can see Rachael and Sean – others must be the industry people, scouts.
I start to shake, clutching Cal’s guitar. Cal puts one arm around my shoulders.
Then it’s time to walk on. There’s lights set up, microphones. Two chairs. The faces in front of us are suddenly a blur. I see a woman to the left of the judging table I recognise. The Greenwoods’ manager. OhGodohGodohGod.
‘Hi. Welcome back! I remember “Sea Dreams” – very fresh. We’re looking forward to seeing what else you have for us today.’ It’s Niles. His smile is still warm.
There’s silence, then Cal says, ‘Yes. Gemma’s written two new songs but we’re going to start with “Sea Dreams”.’ He gives me an encouraging nod. I curl my fingers over my fretboard.
I look out into the crowd. Everything’s too bright. All I can think about are the lights, and the people watching, and what if I mess this all up? What if it’s all been for nothing? Hurting Aaron.
Aaron. Just his name makes my heart twist so hard I’m breathless.
‘It’s OK, just focus on the music,’ Cal whispers.
I feel my fingers start to move automatically, strumming the chords, pulling the music from somewhere.
Cal holds my eyes. I can feel him, willing me on.
But I’m remembering. Long nights looking out of my window and seeing the sun glinting on the sea. The stories in the music, weaving around me. All the hours teaching myself to write music, to play. To sing. Listening to my heroes singing of love lost and found. The way it transforms people. How I thought I’d found my very own story and it was even better than a country song. I think about Aaron, about what we’ve had. How badly I’ve let him down.
My cue comes. I open my mouth, fill my lungs with air.
And nothing comes out.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Aaron
I take off as soon as the security guard loosens his grip; I’m not about to get arrested. Been there once. Never again. They chase after me half-heartedly for a few paces, then give up, the fat bastards that they are.
My head is like a radio tuned to the highest frequency, ears ringing with it. I run faster, get to my car and take the road back at ninety. Then I push it to a ton. I’m in the outside lane, the central reservation a blur of steel, and it occurs to me how remarkably easy it would be to tweak the steering wheel to the right.
Then she’d be sorry.
But I don’t. I drive all the way to our beach. To the cave she once showed me. I stand in its mouth, listening to the sea pulse against the shoreline, then walk in, to the very back where it’s dark and still. Where there’s space for the howling in my head to take over.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gemma
Cal: ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
Rachael: ‘He was being a complete arsehole.’
Sean: ‘Dude’s got issues. You see the way he went at the security guard? Thought he was going to take his head off.’
Cal again: ‘It’s not as bad as you think. Maybe we could … well, there’s always next year. If they run it. I mean, they probably will, right?’
They carry on half the way home, before everyone lapses into silence. I just sit there, unable to speak. Everything feels numb. I’ve lost them both: Aaron, the competition. And it’s all my fault.
Every so often I try Aaron again, but none of my calls or texts are getting through.
When we draw up near my front door, I look at Cal and say, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Hey, don’t worry about me. I was just along for the ride. You’re the one who writes the songs. And I promise there’ll be another chance. You’re too good for there not to be,’ Cal says.
‘Yeah,’ adds Rachael. ‘It’ll all sort itself out.’
But I don’t think I’ll ever sing a country song again.
I nod and tell them goodbye.
I’m so exhausted, I just want to crawl into bed, yet part of me is scanning everywhere, as though Aaron will appear through the front gate, or at least text me, tell me where he is. That he’s OK.
I nearly turn around to go straight back out. Maybe he’s at his flat. But the front door swings open, and both Mum and Dad are standing on the doorstep, looking grim in the face.
What now? I don’t think I can handle faking my way through some football-related disaster. But then Dad says, ‘Who’s Aaron?’
‘What?’ I say, and sidle past them, into the hallway. Dad bangs the front door and positions himself at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed.
‘You heard,’ he says.
‘Where have you been?’ Mum asks, her voice softer, timid. Dad shoots her a look.
‘At the audition. I did text.’ It hurts even to say the word ‘audition’.
‘You still haven’t told us who Aaron is,’ Dad says.
‘He’s …’ I pause because the most ridiculous thing is, I don’t even know. ‘Who said … ?’
‘I bumped into Esi,’ Mum says. ‘She’s worried about you. Cal is, too.’
‘Well, it’s none of her business, or yours,’ I snap. It comes out of nowhere, or perhaps it doesn’t. Maybe it’s all the stress of the last few hours finally making its way out, but I’m really angry, in a way something cornered is: ready to fight my way out.
I don’t have time for this. I need to find Aaron.
A new, horrible thought comes to me as I remember something he said once, one night after we’d slept together. ‘After Cherine left me for that guy, I thought I’d do something stupid to myself …’
What if he has?
Everything in me goes cold.
‘How long have you been seeing him?’ Dad’s demanding. He starts pacing back and forth, winding up to one of his explosions, and sure enough, when I stare at him and refuse to answer, it comes. ‘Your mother logged on to that parent thing and found out you’ve barely been in college!’
‘I made up the work,’ I shout. But shouting back makes Dad ten times worse.
‘And your job? You jacked that in too?’
‘So what? You said yourself it paid peanuts. And anyway, I wouldn’t have had to do it if you’d given me the same allowance as Michael.’
‘Leave your brother out of it,’ Dad shouts. ‘This is about your behaviour, young lady. It’s disgusting—’
‘Disgusting?’ I hiss. ‘I’ll tell you what’s disgusting. You and your goddam football. And the way you –’ I jab a finger at Mum, who’s actually got her hand clamped to her heart in some parody of a bad actor having a heart attack – ‘go along with it. Neither of you give a shit about me. Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in Michael all the time I’d have talked to you.’ I’m screaming so loudly.
‘That’s completely ridiculous …’ Dad begins, but I shout across him so loud it burns the back of my throat.
‘No it’s not! You don’t love me. You’ve only ever loved Michael!’ Tears run down my face. I see Dad getting ready to shout me down and I can’t bear it. I push past him and run up the stairs, crying so hard I can barely see.
Dad shouts something up the stairs – it might be ‘Get back here!’ – but at the same time a voice comes from just above me, saying, ‘What’s going on?’ and I let out this huge scream that ends in a ‘Fuck you!’ and bring my hand down hard on the banister, just as Michael draws level with me. I don’t even know who I’m shouting at now. Michael does a sort of sideways jump to avoid my fist, which bursts into pain as it connects with the wood, and then through my haze of tears, I see him miss his landing. Only by maybe two millimetres, but it’s enough. The side of his foot keeps going, off the stair, twisting underneath his ankle and we both hear this horrific crunching sound, and then Michael’s tumbling down the stairs, yelling out and scrabbling to hold on to something. Mum screams as Dad lunges forward to catch Michael just before his head hits the wall, and then my brother’s writhing in pain at the foot of the stairs while I
watch, a block of horror.
Michael’s foot – oh God, his foot – is at an angle it was never meant to be, and he’s crying with the pain of it while Mum shrieks, and Dad yells at her, ‘Call an ambulance, you stupid cow.’
I still can’t move. Then, slowly, as I hear Mum ask for the ambulance, I inch my way down the stairs. I crouch next to Michael, who’s quieter now, but almost entirely white, and I whisper, ‘Michael? I’m sorry, I didn’t—’
‘Get away from him. You’ve done enough.’ It’s Dad. He yanks me away so hard I stumble and hit the wall, cracking my elbow and sending another stream of pain down my arm. No one speaks for a second, and then Michael says weakly, ‘It’s OK, Gemma …’
‘No it’s bloody not!’ Dad roars out, and I can’t bear it any more – the way he’s looking at me with pure hatred in his eyes, before he crouches down and cradles Michael’s head in his lap, like he’s never once done to me, and all the time Mum is just watching, and she’s silent, silent, silent.
There’s nothing here for me.
I push past Mum and run out of the front door, and if anyone calls after me, I don’t hear them.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aaron
How long passes in the cave? I don’t know. The stars are out when I emerge. I haven’t cried, haven’t thought, haven’t felt. Just sat and listened to the ringing in my ears until it merged with the waves into the bitterest of songs.
For once, I drive slowly back to the flat. My phone has so many missed calls, voicemails, WhatsApps from Gemma. I listen to all of them, and delete them one by one. Her pleas to give her another chance, to let her explain, are all drowned out by the image of her with him. Her lying to me. The tracker on her phone showing her driving away, out of town, on to the motorway.
I knew as soon as I saw it.
How much like the others she must be, after all.
I Hold Your Heart Page 17