by Terry Tyler
"He needs telling! Look at him!" shouted Kerry's mother, stabbing her finger in the air in Shane's general direction. "Sneaking away like a thief in the night and abandoning my daughter, after he'd had his fun!"
Shane ignored her and smiled at the audience; he was sure a little redhead in the front row was trying to catch his eye.
Minutes later, Uncle Patrick was allowed back in, grumbling and muttering.
A stage hand brought over the results.
Shane continued to smile.
Kerry's mother folded her arms, her face a picture of anticipated triumph. Kerry just gazed straight ahead, expressionless.
Uncle Patrick, unable to contain himself, issued a few more sinister threats, until being given a final warning by a bald man with shoulders the size of the small building.
The audience fell silent.
The envelope was opened.
Kerry continued to stare straight in front of her as the result card was taken out.
The card that revealed that Shane ... was not the father of little Tiana-Jade.
The audience roared.
Kerry's mother turned on her.
"Well, you stupid little slag!" she shouted. "My one chance to get on Jeremy Kyle and you've made a fool out of us! You was pregnant before you met him, weren't you? I said you was further on than you reckoned, didn't I?" She turned to her host. "Do we still get a session with Graham and the after-care team?"
"It is his!" declared Kerry. "Let us come on again and I'll take a lie detector!"
"You sent me all the way up to *bleep* Spalding and it's not even his kid?" raged Uncle Patrick. "Whose the *bleep* is it, then?"
The moment the star of the show had done his summing up and given his final judgement, Shane stood up, shook his hand, and walked off with a cheery wave to the applauding crowd, hearing Kerry's cries of indignation fade into the distance behind him as he rounded the corner backstage.
He walked down the corridor, hands in pockets, feeling better than he ever had in his life.
One of the 'heavies' reached out to shake his hand as he walked past.
"Are you in a band?" he asked.
"Yes," said Shane, and shook it, firmly. "I'm Jon Bon Jovi, don't you know!" Laughing out loud, he walked out into the warm, early autumn sunshine.
Phew!
He was free!
He was happy; he hadn't wanted to have to move on. He liked playing guitar in Bad Medicine, living in Cecilia's smart, trendy flat - and she was a little darling, too, most of the time.
There were celebrations that night in Spalding. For some reason, though, Cecilia seemed less than exuberant.
"What's up, petal?" Shane said to her. "It's all done. We can get on with our lives, now!"
"It's just the anti-climax," she said. "I can't believe it's really over. And - well, when I was watching you, from backstage, I kept thinking, how could he have slept with someone like that in the first place?"
"Oh, come on, honey, we all make mistakes," he'd said. "It was only twice, honest, and both times I'd had a bit too much to drink." He crossed those imaginary fingers, once more. "Anyway, that was before I met you, wasn't it?"
"Mm," she said, looking unconvinced. "But - well, you were keeping her sweet while you were seeing me, weren't you? You wouldn't ever do anything like that to me, would you?"
"Of course not!" Shane said, hugging her with one arm while accepting another pint from the band's bassist with the other hand. "Listen, pet, I didn't have any choice - I had that gorilla Uncle Patrick on my back, and I didn't want to get my handsome face altered, did I?"
"No - no, I understand that. I wish you'd told me about all that at the time, though."
"I didn't want to worry you. Come on, cheer up - I was only doing what I had to." He smoothed her hair from her forehead and kissed her. "Between you and me, I was really scared! But you knew it was you I wanted, surely?"
"Well, yes - only I do sometimes wonder," she said, looking into his eyes, "if you only got together with me because of the band. And because you had to get away from that Kerry." She looked down. "I'm sorry, Shane, I can't help thinking silly things sometimes."
He hugged Cecilia close to him and kissed her again; as he did so, he couldn't help noticing a rather tidy little piece on the next table. Long black hair, like Melodie's; she was definitely checking him out. "Don't be daft," he whispered into Cecilia's ear. "I love you, don't I? You know that!" The girl on the next table was pretty fit. Whew! Legs up to her armpits! He gave her a surreptitious wink, and she blew him a kiss back. Perhaps he'd see how the land lay later, on the way to the khazi, or something. Then he turned his attention back to Cecilia. "You've got nothing to worry about, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere!" He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. "I promise."
"That's good," she said, snuggling up to him. "I've been a bit worried. I had to ask, you see. I had to make sure how you felt about me." She took a deep breath. "I didn't want to say anything until that Kerry's DNA results were through. But I had to know for sure that you're serious about me, because - well, the thing is, Shane, I think I'm - pregnant."
In May, 2009, Shane Cowley became the father of a baby girl called Chloe. To his amazement, and despite all his misgivings and expectations that his life would be over, from the moment she was born, Shane was in love. He looked at the little wrinkled up face of his daughter, and suddenly the whole world made sense. Now, he understood everything. Most of all, he understood how Dave felt about Harley.
Perhaps, now, he could get in touch with Dave again.
***
As predicted by A&R man Glenn Hunter, Melodie Joy was not the winner of Raw Talent. She came third but, as also predicted by him, she was the real star of the show.
A year after the final, its winner, Danny Coldham, and runner up, female vocal harmony group Athena, had all but disappeared back into obscurity. Despite Raw Talent's mission to discover new and worthy talent, the media decided it was Melodie Joy the public should want, and thus it was she who was regularly to be seen in the tackier end of the popular press, on the arm of this boy band member, of that ex-soap actor. She was a hot favourite to appear on several reality TV shows, and was often featured on the 'best and worst dressed' pages of the celebrity gossip magazines, usually on the page with the big red crosses on. Melodie didn't care; it was she who'd been invited to the film premiere, not the person who rated her outfit a huge no-no.
Glenn Hunter's recording company signed her, as promised; her first single and video came out in February, 2009. Melodie didn't like the singing part of her new career so much, but it was okay, she told her mother, because they did all those twiddly bits with the recording to make her sound great, just like she'd told Ariel they would. She loved the video shoot, though. All that writhing around in sexy gear with totally hot guys - what was not to like? So it took three days to make a four minute video; it was hardly work, was it? Not like wrapping up bunches of flowers for eight bloody hours a day, wearing an overall and flat shoes!
She argued with the record company's publicists. She wanted more exposure, she said. She wanted to make it in America.
"You haven't made it here, yet," they reasoned with her. "Your single isn't doing as well as we'd hoped, you know."
"Oh, I don't want to make it as a singer," she said, "that's too much hard work. I just want to make it as a celebrity!"
"Doing what?" they asked her.
She looked at them as if they were stupid. "Doing what celebrities do, of course! Just giving it large in all the right places, walking through airports with dark glasses on, all that caper! Why, do you think I can't do it?"
"Oh, I'm sure you can," said Glenn Hunter, as he walked into the room. "I'm sure you'll get exactly what you want, eventually."
Back in Fennington St Mary, local radio DJ Brendan Shanks was busy photoshopping the pictures he'd taken of her on Christmas Eve, 2007, when she was sprawled on his bed, appallingly drunk, legs akimbo and naked apart
from her stiletto heeled boots, just as he'd instructed. Whew! What a body!
Even better than the photos, though, he'd saved two rather nice little videos he'd taken on his phone, one while she gave him a blow job, and the other while she did all sorts of X rated things with her phallic shaped body spray.
He'd been playing for time, waiting to see how big she was going to get, before he made his move.
Properly edited together, they were going to make him a fortune!
***
Ritchie had been nearly as down in the dumps as Dave, for ages, after Shane and Boz left, and after Thor had bitten the dust. He looked at their MySpace page, now and again; the fans were all still there, and, as he could see by the amount of 'plays' that were shown, people still listened to their music. Well, one or two people every now and then, anyway.
Sometimes Ritchie looked through the photos, and felt sad. However much he'd taken the piss out of Dave, Thor had been pretty good. Dave needed the piss taken out of him, though, really, didn't he? He was a good bloke and he didn't mind having him as a lodger, but he didn't half talk some shit.
On the whole, Ritchie was feeling happier these days, though. He'd started going to a regular jamming session in a backstreet pub called The Cricketers (near the cricket ground, oddly enough), and he'd met up with some other musicians. Paul and Kev - and Howie, who was a fucking shit hot guitarist, even better than Shane had been. Young fella, not a rocker, though he played like one. Even though he looked like he ought to be in a boy band.
Ritchie looked forward to the jam sessions; they'd become the highlight of his week. He was getting pretty matey with Howie. It was good, talking music with him. Made Ritchie feel happy. Just lately he'd started inviting him back to the flat, and if Dave was there (without that drippy new bird of his, the ersatz Ariel), they talked about the possibility of forming another band, one day.
Ritchie didn't really know if Howie was up for it, though. He had a busy social life, Ritchie knew, though he wasn't sure what it involved. Clubs and stuff, probably, at his age. Ah, well, he'd just have to work on him. Meanwhile, he just liked having him around. Enjoyed his company. Well, there was nothing wrong with that, was there?
***
Harley bounced up onto the bed, and pulled the bedclothes down to Janice's waist.
"Mummy! Max says you've got to get up!"
She stirred, smiling as she woke. "Would you open the curtains, sweetheart?"
Harley did so, and the sun streamed in. He climbed back on to the bed, lifted up the lacy vest Janice was wearing, and patted her stomach.
"I can't see the baby yet!"
Janice smiled, and stroked the slight bump. "That's because he's only very little. Or she. We don't know yet. We'll find out soon if you're having a brother or sister!"
"Can I chose its name?"
"He or she, not it. And we'll all choose the name together."
Harley frowned. "Will its other name be Stark?"
Janice ruffled his hair. "He or she, not it, H, how many more times? Yes, the new baby's surname will be Stark. The same as Max."
"And you, by tomorrow."
She put her arms around Harley and hugged him tight. "Yes, and me, later today, actually!"
Harley looked up at her. "But not me."
She stroked his hair away from his forehead. "No, not you. Because Dave is your daddy, not Max. People usually have their daddy's surname, you see. Come on, we've told you all about this."
"Yes."
"Why, do you want to be called Harley Stark?"
Harley giggled. "No. It's silly!"
She laughed. "Yes, it is a bit, isn't it?"
"Harley Bentley-Brown is a much better name."
"You're right, it is."
Harley pulled himself away from her. "Will Daddy and Isabel be at the wedding?"
"No," she said, and got out of bed. "I did ask them, but Daddy said that Isabel might think it was a bit peculiar."
"Why?"
"Oh, I'll explain when you're a bit older. It's a grown up thing."
"It's a grown up thing!" he sang, and did a little dance; then he laughed, ran out of the room, and clattered down the stairs; she could hear Sam barking, waiting to be taken out.
Janice stood there for a moment; she'd had a weird feeling just then, when Harley did that little dance, and then she realised why; he'd moved exactly the same as Dave did, when he was on stage. Oh dear, don't say Harley was going to be rock star, too! She laughed, and went over to look out of the window.
The sun shone, the sky was a cloudless blue, and the merest breeze rustled the leaves of the apple trees in the garden. Perfect. She wondered if she might actually be dreaming; no-one could be this happy, could they? How could life really be this good, without suddenly sending you some enormous banana skin, making you slide on your arse, just to let you know that, hey, you were right! It was all a joke, sucker! No, you don't deserve happiness!
She mustn't think like that; to do so was crazy.
Today she was marrying Max Stark, the loveliest man in the world, in Marsham village church, and next year she would give birth to their child. At the end of the summer the Sunrise café would close; Max was opening a restaurant, in partnership with a friend of his. They'd looked at several sites and eventually agreed on one in Norwich; they were looking at houses in west Norfolk, too. Max had agreed with her that they couldn't move too far away from Fennington, because they couldn't take Harley too far away from Dave. As it was, Harley now spent every other weekend with Dave, round at his girlfriend's flat. Janice liked Isabel well enough and Harley seemed to get on with her; she wasn't sure how Dave felt about her, though.
She looked not unlike Ariel Swan. Not as pretty, though.
Janice had been surprised and pleased to find that she wasn't jealous of Isabel at all; if anything, the girl seemed to find her something of a threat. Funny!
She stretched and yawned; there was Max, with his coffee, walking out into the garden. She opened the window, and sniffed the delicious morning air.
"Hey!" she called out.
He looked up, smiling. "Morning, Mrs Stark!"
"Not yet, I'm not! I don't know, is it unlucky, or something, to call me that before we get married?" Something occurred to her. "Oh! We're not supposed to see each other this morning, are we?"
"Bit late for that! It's a load of bunkum anyway; the first time round I did all the 'right' things, and where did that get me?"
She smiled at him. How she loved him. "I'm just going to lie in the bath. Will you bring me some coffee?"
"Sure thing!"
There was plenty of time left for her preparations; the long bath, the fake tan, the body lotion, the careful blow drying of her hair - which was now shoulder length! Carolyn was doing her make-up, because she was good at that sort of thing, and she would wear a calf length, fitted dress in off-white broderie anglaise, with a wide neck and short sleeves.
The wedding would be quiet, with just a few of Max's friends, Lisa, James and Kim from the café (closed today, of course), Janice's mother, Linda, and her boyfriend Graham, Carolyn and her latest plus one, and Max's sister's family, all the way from North Yorkshire. The only other person Janice would have wanted to be there was Evelyn; but she had passed away in her sleep, just four months before. Janice was surprised that she and Linda came to terms with her death more easily than they'd anticipated.
"That may be because you've been saying goodbye to her for a few years, now," the lady at the care home had said, when they went to collect her belongings and make the funeral arrangements. "The woman you loved and grew up with died some time ago, in a way. The carers of Alzheimer's patients often feel like this. You shouldn't feel guilty - I hate to say this, but what you're going through is quite normal!"
All of which made Janice and her mother feel a lot better; though today, for Janice, was slightly tinged with sadness; she wanted Evelyn to witness her new found peace.
Perhaps she was up there, somewhere, she
thought, up there on a cloud, with all her marbles still intact, looking down and feeling happy for her.
Janice smiled, and picked up the picture of herself, Linda, Evelyn and Harley that she kept on her dressing table. Dave had taken the picture, about four years before. She stroked her grandmother's hair through the glass that covered the picture, then looked out of the open window at the sunshine, and wandered into the bathroom to fill the bath with bubbles.
***
Theodore W Perlmutter, president of Pacific Coast Records, had long ago given up the hope of discovering new talent by accident. He'd left that all to the faces around the table in the conference room, years ago. Couldn't be bothered with it, mostly; these days, even if he quite liked an act, it never seemed to be anything new, anything different. By the time the stylists had finished with them any individuality they possessed was removed, anyway. Was there anything new, now? Or was everything just another version of what had gone before?
Mostly, nowadays, he just shuffled into the office once or twice a week to oversee things. The rest of the time he sat outside his house on Malibu beach, watching the waves, or did a bit of fly fishing - or went on these damn cruises that Nancy Jill loved so much.
At least they were usually not too far from home - he quite liked cruising around the Caribbean Islands. This time, though, Nancy Jill had dragged them all the way to Europe, and now here he was, bobbing about in the Aegean Sea, for goodness sake, all because they'd spent their honeymoon on Mykonos, exactly forty years ago.
Theodore W Perlmutter had enjoyed a good dinner, with more wine than his doctor would recommend, and a forbidden but delightfully gooey desert - hey, what the heck? He was on holiday. He sat back, large brandy in place; Nancy Jill was already yawning. With a bit of luck she'd retire to their cabin soon, and then he could enjoy his evening walk on the deck, alone underneath the stars, just him and the sound of the waves lapping away in the darkness. He liked that.