by Terry Tyler
With that, she pranced out of the room and away into darkening afternoon.
"I don't believe it!" said Melodie. "She's like one of those loony tunes you see on those 'Best and Worst of American Idol' programmes. I'd have given anything to have been in the room!"
"Ah, don't worry," said Ariel, wiping her eyes, "I'm sure one of the runners will sneak it out, and it'll be on YouTube by next week." It was then that she noticed the beater with which Glynis had drummed her bodhrán, lying forlornly on her abandoned seat. "Look," she said, "I think I'll keep this as a souvenir."
"You know what?" said Melodie, "I reckon she's a lesbian. There's something about the way she says 'cunt' with such great relish, isn't there?"
"Maybe," said Ariel, and laughed. "Ah, well, don't feel sorry for her. I'm sure it'll give her plenty of material for her next Sassy Monologue!"
Melodie giggled. "Shall we go to the next Creative Workshop evening and take the piss?"
Ariel laughed so loudly that people turned round to look at them; for a moment, she felt she was back in the old days, when they were tearing around London together. Back before Melodie decided to be a celebrity.
Then she felt guilty for laughing; completely batso Glynis Tooke might be, but she was only a person seeking recognition, like all of them.
On the other hand, she'd called them both 'colourless little girls', the cheeky cow.
By half past six, and about fifteen cigarettes later for Ariel, there were only about a hundred people left in the holding room for over twenty-fives. They were tired yet fidgety; no-one was singing, anymore.
The girl with the pink hair strode through the door leading to the corridor where the auditions had taken place.
"Hey guys!" she called out, and smiled around the room. "Well, I'm pleased to announce that I've got the results! I'll be calling out thirty names from this list - they'll be the ones who will audition, tomorrow, in front of Ed Campion, the producer of Raw Talent. With Ed will be Glenn Hunter, who you've already seen, and Shelley Mayes, one of the organisers of Serendipity, the festival where the lucky winner will appear in the summer."
Ariel found herself clutching Melodie's hand.
"The thirty we choose will need to be back here at nine tomorrow, as part of the final eighty; thirty will be chosen from the under-twenty-fives, too, and twenty bands. Don't forget, the cameras will be on you for real, tomorrow!" continued Pink Hair. "For those of you who don't make it through - well, we hope you've enjoyed this experience, and will gain something from it. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you, on behalf of the producers, for taking part in the procedure, and we wish you all luck in the future."
"Oh, get on with it!" whispered Ariel.
Pink Hair coughed. "Okay, here goes. I repeat, the thirty names I will now read out, in no particular order, are the ones we want to see back here tomorrow." She looked at her sheet of paper and began to read the names out, so slowly, looking up as she said each one. "Pansy Fenwick ... Steve Sandler ... Will Corrigan ... Ariel Swan ... "
Ariel looked at Melodie and burst into tears.
All around them people were whooping and crying and hugging each other.
"Can we keep the noise down?" said Pink Hair, smiling. "I know it's exciting, but we don't want anyone to miss their name being called!"
Ariel looked at Melodie; her face was impassive, her eyes not leaving Pink Hair. Ariel clutched her hand as the names were read out.
Ten to go ... eight ...
Melodie was clutching her hand back, squeezing it so hard it hurt, and Ariel saw that she had begun to cry, too.
Five to go ... just three left ...
"Danny Coldham ... Laila Grace ... and, last but not least, Melodie Joy Valentine!"
They looked at each other, laughed, burst into tears all over again, and hugged.
"I didn't realise it meant this much to me!" said Ariel, wiping her eyes. "I've been telling myself, yeah, I'll give it a try, it'll be a laugh - I've only just realised how gutted I would have been if I hadn't got through."
"Oh, not me," said Melodie, looking around the room; some were laughing and crying, like they were, while some were just crying. "I knew exactly how much I wanted it!"
Ariel stood up. "Shall we go and see the boys?"
Melodie laughed. "Yeah - hey, I'd forgotten all about them!"
Ariel smiled. "God, I hope it's good news. Shane and Boz - they'll be okay if they haven't got in, but Dave - "
"Yeah, and Ritchie," Melodie said. "He'll be moaning about it all the way home if they haven't, so I hope for all their sakes that they have."
They headed for the door - and bumped straight into the four members of Thor, who were grinning all over their faces.
"You too?" said Shane, grabbed both girls and hugged them. "How much do we rock? Eh?"
His phone bleeped his pocket; he took it out, pressed a couple of buttons, frowned, and put it back.
"Nothing important!" he said, cheerily. "Now - let's party!"
"Not too much," Ritchie said. "Tomorrow's the big one, remember?"
"Yes, I don't want to have a hangover face," said Melodie. "There's a good chance that anything we do tomorrow, not just the auditions, will actually be televised."
"I've got to agree with Mel and Ritch," Ariel said. "Come on, let's just go and eat somewhere, shall we? We can have some beer and wine, but let's not go too mad, eh?"
"There's a good place a couple of stops on the tube from here," said a voice behind them.
The tall, square jawed guy with the shaved head that Ariel recognised as Will Corrigan, whose name had been called out just before hers, stood there.
"Yeah?" she said, and smiled at him. "Where's that?"
He smiled back at her. "It's called The Lorelei. The food's basic but pretty good - well, it's pretty basic all round, really, but the best thing is that it's not licensed; you can take your own drink."
"Why aye, it sounds like the very thing, man!" said Boz, and slapped him on the back. "Are you joining us?"
"Thanks, that'd be good; oh, and Laila, too?" He gestured towards Laila Grace, who'd received her good news just before Melodie.
"The more the merrier!" said Ariel, and smiled at both of them. When she looked round, though, Dave and Shane were both staring, decidedly unsmilingly, at Will, and Melodie was positively glaring at Laila, a rather fluffy looking blonde with a Marilyn Monroe figure.
"Off we go, then!" said Boz, cheerfully oblivious of all the competitive undercurrents.
"I'm switching me phone off," said Shane, with a frown, ten minutes later, as it bleeped to indicate a text message for the third time since they'd begun the walk through the dark night towards the tube station.
"Christmas Eve Kerry again?" said Dave, putting an arm around Ariel.
"What? Oh - yeah. Yeah. It's getting a bit much." He glanced at Ariel. "She texts me about ten times a day."
"Stop sleeping with her, then," said Ariel.
"Yeah, you're right," said Shane. He looked ahead of him. "Hey, what's he playing at?"
Boz was walking in front of them with Melodie; he was making her laugh, and every time he did so he slung a casual arm around her shoulder.
Shane whistled. "Hey, Boz! What do you call a drummer with no girlfriend? Eh? Homeless!"
"He's just talking to her," said Ariel. "You know, talking to a woman, not just feeding her a line in the hope that she'll get her knickers off."
"You don't know men," said Shane. "That's all we ever do, if we're honest about it."
"Speak for yourself," said Dave. He turned to look at Ariel. "I don't think much to that Will bloke. I reckon he's after you."
"Do you?"
"You're right, he's a smarmy git, that one," said Shane. "You can always tell that type, can't you? Probably hasn't decided between you and Melodie yet. Or that blonde. Laila."
Ariel laughed, disentangled herself from Dave, and skipped in front of them, her bright hair blowing in the night wind. "You two! I thought
you were Vikings, not petulant little adolescents, scared that the other boys in the class might have bigger dicks than you! Listen to yourselves!" She reached up and tweaked both of their noses, then laughed, and danced off down to the front of the group to link arms with Laila.
"Do you reckon all women are secretly lesbians?" said Shane, a tad eagerly.
"Dunno," said Dave. He just hated it whenever anyone took Ariel's attention away from him, whoever they were. He'd seen the way Ariel had looked at that Will character - and it scared the hell out of him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Raw Talent ~ Day Two
Janice Brown smiled as she pushed her trolley around Morrisons that Tuesday morning, thanking the heavy snowfall of the night before for the unexpectedly delightful evening she and Harley had spent with Max - and Sam the border collie, and the stew with dumplings.
As the snow swirled down more and more thickly, Max had drawn the heavy velvet curtains in his warm living room and suggested they stay the night; he could put up the camp bed in the spare room for Harley, he said, next to her single bed, so that he wouldn't feel scared if he woke up in the night and couldn't remember where he was.
"Is that okay?" he asked, when he put the idea to her. "I've got spare toothbrushes! Only I really don't fancy driving in this; it's not that I don't trust myself, but the roads aren't very well lit out here, and it might take forever if we get stuck."
"No, that's fine," she said, stretching. "God, no, the last thing I'd expect you to do is set out on a night like this. Honestly, it's so lovely and snuggly in here I could just stay here forever. Harley! How do you fancy a sleepover, eh?"
"Yes please!" said Harley. "Can I have Sam on the bed with me?"
Max had laughed. "Well, I don't mind if your mother doesn't. There's nothing Sam likes more than sleeping on people's beds!"
Once Harley was tucked up in bed Janice had relaxed. She curled up on the big squashy sofa, revelling in the soft comfort of the cushions, breathing in the pine smell of the logs burning in the grate, and decided that, yes, she'd allow herself a few glasses of red wine as Tuesday was her day off that week, and Max swore that it didn't bother him at all if she was drinking when he wasn't.
They talked long into the night.
What was it about him that made her feel able to open up in a way she so rarely did, even to Carolyn or her mother?
She told him all the stuff she never got to tell him at work, where the conversation revolved around whether or not the bacon had been delivered, and who had forgotten to put salt in the dishwasher. She told him how she and Linda had coped with her grandmother's increasingly debilitating illness, everything about Dave, Critical Mass, Thor - and Ariel. Max really listened - as did she when he told her how his drink problem had been one of the causes of his divorce, how he'd lost his job as head chef in a Cambridge hotel, stopped being in denial and sought help.
"Is this it, now, then?" she'd asked. "D'you think you'll ever be able to drink again?"
"I think I might," he said. "Oh, I know so many alcoholics think that; everyone says that you kid yourself, you know, that the first drink is just the first step on that downward path back to the abyss, but I don't know if I'm a text book case. I think I drank because I was unhappy. Lydia had two affairs, blaming me for never being at home; she didn't want children even though I did, wouldn't even consider it. Work was totally stressing me out, too, and I was always worrying about what Lydia was doing when I wasn't there. I'm happier, now. Calmer. I don't need an escape. I was never a particularly obnoxious drunk, I don't think; I was just always pissed, which can get pretty tedious for the people you live with. So, to answer your question, I don't know. I'll have to give it some thought."
She'd woken up with a slight hangover but a smile on her face, lying snug and happy under one of those amazing duvets that felt lighter than air but still deliciously warm. She'd carried on smiling and wishing her headache would go away while she watched Harley playing with Sam, and then Max called them downstairs and threw together a very early breakfast of pancakes, so that he could drop them both off and still open the café on time. Now Harley was at school and she had the day to herself. Perhaps she would relax in a nice bath, put a colour on her hair.
It was only when she got home from shopping that she saw she'd received a text from Dave, the night before, to say that he'd got through the first round of the talent competition.
He'd sent it at half past ten; she pictured Ariel snoozing in bed, next to him. Nice of him to remember, seeing as he probably had far more exciting things to do, she supposed.
Seeing his name there, on her phone, made her stomach lurch as it always did; but not quite so much as it used to.
***
Melodie had been up since six, blow drying her hair, straightening it, applying mousse, rumpling it up, straightening it again, painting her face, trying out facial expressions and poses in front of the mirror.
"This is it," she kept saying. "This is my moment. I'm going to be on telly."
"Probably," said Ariel. "There are eighty acts, don't forget. They won't show all of us."
"Oh, they'll show me," Melodie said.
Ariel smiled. "Yes, I imagine they probably will! Have you made up your mind what you're going to sing today?"
"Mmm. 'The Man with the Child in his Eyes' by Kate Bush." She turned this way and that in the mirror, then held up a smaller mirror to check her back view. "I thought I'd do sweet girly - a song like that will have more impact, 'cause we sing without any backing track again, today, don't we?"
"A cappella."
"Yeah, him as well. Then, tomorrow, I'm going to hit 'em with a more sexy one."
"That's a good idea. Let's just hope we get to see tomorrow, eh?"
"We will!" said Melodie. "Hey, I'm surprised you never tried out for that Popstars show when they chose Girls Aloud. You're easily as pretty as Sarah Harding, and probably just as good a singer, too. Can you dance?"
Her heart was in the right place, but Ariel despaired of her sometimes. Did she really not see the difference between wanting to be in a girly pop band and being a serious singer-songwriter? "Ah, that's not really my bag. Anyway, it wouldn't have occurred to me; that show was on around the time I was living with Frankie and getting ready to go travelling, I think."
"Oh, yeah. Frankie." Then Melodie grinned, showing teeth so white that they were practically luminous. "D'you fancy that Will?"
Ariel blushed. "I've got my hands full with Dave. Why, do you?"
Melodie looked away and smiled a secret little smile. "Not Will, no."
This time, the eighty chosen acts waited all together, in one big room; the solo performers of all ages, and the bands.
The day had been a long, long one.
The individual auditions themselves had taken longer, this time; each act sang a whole song, properly filmed for television, rather than just a two minute extract.
The time was six-thirty in the evening, and still they knew nothing.
Melodie had sung her Kate Bush song.
Ariel had, she hoped, impressed them with 'Don't Wait Up', which she'd written at Christmas.
In the afternoon, when it was the turn of the bands, Thor had performed 'Stampede', which Ritchie still maintained was a poor man's version of Thin Lizzy's 'Jailbreak'.
They sat, with everyone else, and they waited.
The cameras were in the holding room, too; Melodie was constantly aware of them, checking the angle of her chin when she laughed, holding in her already flat stomach when she walked across the room.
"I reckon it's going to be sayonara for us, lads," said Boz. "I don't think that festival woman liked us. She kept wrinkling up her nose."
"That's only one," said Dave. "There were three of them." He felt sick. It was so hard to tell - the judges didn't say anything. It was so frustrating, not like doing a gig, when you could be pretty much assured of how well you'd been received; here, there was little reaction. Though he was sure Glenn Hunter
had been nodding his head to the beat of 'Stampede'.
Dave didn't feel much like a Viking, at that moment.
"What about us? Do you think I'll get through?" Melodie said, flicking her hair back.
"Oh, aye," said Boz, and winked at her. "You two, you'll have no problem."
***
In the audition room, programme producer Ed Campion, festival organiser Shelley Mayes, and A&R man Glenn Hunter examined the Polaroid photos taken of each contestant as they walked into the room, in the process of whittling down the eighty acts they had seen that day, to the forty who would perform again on Wednesday.
"Ariel Swan," said Ed. "I quite like her. Hot contender for the prettiest girl in the world, as well; I just wish she'd look at the camera."
"Love her," said Glenn Hunter. "She's one of those truly creative ones, I think. She's got something, for sure."
"Has she?" said Shelley Mayes, sticking out her bottom lip. "I don't think so. She's like a watered down version of Dido, and she was watered down enough in the first place."
"Will Corrigan?"
"Gorgeous," said Shelley. "Talk about star quality."
"A bit Shayne Ward, isn't he? I'd say he's a definite."
"Yeah, but Shayne Ward sank without trace after the first year. I like this one," said Glenn Hunter, picking up Melodie's photo. "If we're putting through fifteen from the over twenty-fives, she's got my vote."
Shelley Mayes laughed. "Glenn, can you think with your A&R head, not your nether regions? This is a talent show. Talent. It's not The X Factor, we're not seeking pop princesses. I thought we were discovering new artistes."