A Song for Tomorrow

by Alice Peterson

  Touched, I tell them, ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I’d love that.’

  ‘Go on,’ Tom urges me. ‘Tell them your news too.’

  ‘I have an interview with Sony. They loved my demo.’

  There is open-mouthed astonishment around the bed. If their baby weren’t asleep there would probably be a lot more screaming and jumping. I answer another round of questions about how it will work and who is interviewing me.

  ‘Rose Alice thinks you’re going to nail it,’ Jake predicts.

  ‘Seeing new life, it makes you think, doesn’t it,’ I say to Tom, lying in bed that night.

  There’s a silence. ‘Tom?’

  ‘I can’t lose you,’ he whispers.

  ‘Shush. You won’t.’ I thread my fingers into his.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘I can’t imagine a world without you in it.’

  I turn to him. ‘You don’t have to, I promise.’

  When Tom is asleep, quietly I lift off the covers before finding my lyrics book and tiptoeing towards the sofa with my oxygen tank. I turn on the small reading light, the song as clear as daylight in my head. I keep on writing throughout the night, slipping back to bed in the early hours of the morning and wrapping my arms around Tom as sunlight shimmers through the curtains.

  60

  Cross-legged on my bed, a strong black coffee on my bedside table, I sing the song I wrote for Tom in the middle of the night.

  ‘What a lovely tune.’ Rita says, heading down the stairs. ‘I’m sure they’d play that on Magic FM!’

  Dressed in her usual navy tunic and flat shoes, mad red hair and purple-framed specs on the end of her nose, she takes a quick look around my bedroom. ‘I’ve never seen it so messy, not even by your standards.’ She drops her shoulder bag on to my bed, along with her medical briefcase, before picking up a couple of books and other stray items that have somehow found their way on to the floor. ‘Why do you live in such a pigsty?’

  ‘I’ll tidy up later, Rita.’

  ‘And I’ll marry Colin Firth.’

  I gesture to my guitar. ‘I’ve got a really important interview later, with Sony,’ I add imperiously.

  ‘Oh yes, Mary told me,’ she says, not quite as impressed as I’d like her to be. ‘There’s dust everywhere.’ She runs a hand over my chest of drawers, looking at her grey smudged fingers in disgust. ‘The garden brings it in too.’ She walks over to the glass doors and slides them shut.

  ‘Hey, I was enjoying the fresh air.’

  ‘But dust isn’t good for you or for your lungs.’

  ‘They’re fucked already.’

  ‘Alice!’

  ‘It’s true,’ I say as she heads into my bathroom. When she reappears she opens the fridge to get my meds. She’s come here to flush my port.

  I take my T-shirt off.

  ‘So how are you feeling about the interview?’ she asks, preparing my heparin solution.

  ‘Nervous.’

  ‘Just think of this Sony person—’

  ‘Vanessa Pollen. A&R.’

  ‘Whatever. Think of this woman naked, always does the trick.’

  ‘I’ll feel better when the interview’s over.’ And they’ve signed me.

  ‘Well, good luck to you, darling. These people in their big glass offices, they’re only human. You don’t need to be scared, not when you’ve overcome so much already.’

  I look up at the sky, for a moment daunted by the sheer presence of the Sony building. Pete is standing by the entrance doors. He waves as I approach, before resting a hand protectively against my back when I reach him. As we are buzzed in, I think to myself, This is it.

  In the lift Pete presses the button for the seventh floor. ‘Ready?’ he asks. Our interview is in five minutes.

  ‘Yes.’ I can hear my heart thudding in my chest.

  This is my last chance.

  These past four years have to amount to something.

  ‘She won’t live long enough to become famous. She’s ill. She’ll be dead soon!’

  Is anyone in their right mind going to sign me?

  Stop. Daisy Sullivan has had enough of my time.

  It’s my music that counts, nothing else now . . .

  ‘You look great,’ Pete says, and I can tell he’s almost as nervous as I am.

  I’m wearing a fitted lace cream top with trousers. ‘Thanks. So do you.’

  ‘Katie took me shopping.’ He gestures to the pale blue shirt that shows off his tan. ‘She also made me shave this morning.’

  I smile. ‘By the way, I’ve written a new song.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The other night.’

  ‘Any good?’

  I don’t have time to answer. The lift doors open and Vanessa’s assistant is already waiting outside. She shakes our hands before leading us down some steps and into an open plan space with pale coffee-coloured carpets, glass desks and walls plastered with framed albums and silver and gold CDs. Trophies adorn shelves, music plays in the background. We are shown into a room which is dominated by black leather chairs and a high-tech music player and sound system. Thankfully the assistant tells us Vanessa is running a few minutes late, which gives me time to sit down to recover my breath. It also gives Pete time to read my latest song. He looks up at me. ‘You wrote this in the night?’ he says, just as Vanessa strides into the room. Rushed, Pete hands my lyrics book back to me before we both stand up.

  Shake her hand firmly and look her in the eye with a confident smile.

  ‘Good to see you again,’ Pete says to Vanessa, kissing her on the cheek. She’s roughly my height, with dead-straight blonde hair worn in a stylish fringed bob, and she’s wearing a white tailored shirt that shows off her slim waist. She sits down on one of the armchairs opposite ours, slips off her heels with a relieved sigh. ‘Been on my feet all day, don’t know why us women put ourselves through such misery.’

  I notice her glancing at my flat shoes and then at my hands, hands that I won’t hide anymore.

  ‘Well, Alice, Pete’s told me a lot about you.’

  ‘I hope all good.’ Oh, why did I say that? Keep cool . . .

  ‘Glowing. He says you’re one of the most driven artists he’s ever worked with.’

  ‘It’s been my dream, ever since I was a little girl, to sing.’

  ‘Well, as you know, I loved your demo.’

  Never mind the demo, are you going to sign me?

  ‘I know it’s taken some time,’ she continues. ‘I understand you have cystic fibrosis.’

  I nod. ‘But I don’t let it stop me. If anything, it drives me on. I think it’s helped me get to where I am.’ I am driven by my curfew.

  ‘I love the strength and huskiness in your voice; you’re probably bored of this comparison but your sound reminds me of Bjork.’

  ‘Compare away,’ Pete and I say at the same time, before we laugh nervously.

  ‘It’s distinct, and that’s what I’m looking for. You have a haunting voice.’

  That’s all great but are you going to sign me?

  ‘What I love about you, Alice, is you have an entire body of work now and you have a consistent theme in your music. A lot of artists come in here not knowing who they are or who they’re performing to.’

  I glance at Pete, grateful that he’d drilled this into me right from the start.

  ‘With your music I get this strong feeling that you wrote your songs looking in on your life, almost as an observer. I felt as if you were watching yourself and others around you.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Sort of . . . Sounds good, so I’ll agree. I just write what I feel . . .

  ‘What I loved about Alice from day one,’ Pete joins in, ‘were her lyrics.’

  Vanessa nods. ‘They’re deeply personal and intimate. It’s as if you’re giving me access to your diary. There’s an undercurrent of pain, loss, joy and love, but your melodies are soft and uplifting, catchy, making you easy to liste
n to.’

  There’s still a ‘but’.

  ‘I want people to feel emotion when they hear my songs,’ I say before she can utter the B-word. ‘I want them to be moved in some way, and to do that I think you have to dig deep, reveal your heart and soul.’

  Am I doing enough to impress her? Why do I feel as if something is missing?

  ‘I have to be honest,’ Vanessa says. ‘I’m concerned about your health. I understand you’re on a list for a transplant?’

  I knew it. ‘All I can say is I live for the moment. I’m feeling well. I want to achieve, just like anyone else. I believe I offer an original sound, something special, and I will work so hard to prove to you I can be a success.’

  Vanessa looks over at Pete. Uncertainty still clouds her face. ‘There are a lot more songs I want to write and perform,’ I say to her. ‘There is so much more in me, if you’ll give me the chance.’

  Please. I will do anything to prove myself.

  Yet I still feel her hesitation.

  ‘Can we play you one more song,’ Pete suggests, clearly sensing the same ‘but’. ‘A song you haven’t heard.’

  ‘Right now?’ Vanessa looks surprised.

  ‘Right now.’ Pete looks at me for reassurance. ‘Alice will sing it to you, live.’

  I haven’t rehearsed properly. I’m not ready to perform it, especially not in front of Vanessa. What is he thinking? Does he want this to go wrong? ‘Do you have a guitar?’ I ask her.

  ‘One of the guys will. Hang on.’

  ‘Pete!’ I whisper, when she leaves the room. ‘You haven’t even heard it.’

  ‘I trust you, so trust me, OK.’

  ‘I don’t know how it sounds.’

  ‘Make it sound amazing.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘Just do it, Alice. This is our last chance.’

  I play the song in my head. I want to sing it without looking at the words. ‘Pete,’ I can’t help saying again, ‘are you sure—’

  ‘Shush, she’s coming.’

  ‘It’s called “Inside of You”,’ I tell Vanessa when she hands me the guitar. I play a few notes to warm up, desperately trying to disguise my nerves.

  Vanessa sits down. ‘“Inside of You”. What’s it about?’

  ‘Reincarnation.’ She thinks I’m mad.

  Pete shifts in his seat too.

  Vanessa waits for more.

  I think of Tom, see his face and it gives me courage. This is his song, do it justice. ‘You’re living your life through someone you love. You’re not physically there, but you’re present, if that makes sense.’

  ‘When you’re ready,’ Vanessa says without comment, Pete shifting in his seat again.

  ‘I like to watch you from above

  it’s not an ordinary love

  I like to feel you

  so close to me

  bet I’m nearer

  than you’ll ever see

  and I’m sitting up against the wall

  trying to find my way

  I’ll play it safe in case I fall

  from yesterday

  you’re letting me live

  inside of you

  you’re letting me live

  as someone new

  I wanted to be forever young

  you and me now I’m

  forever free

  I wanted to learn

  from our memories

  you’re never cold

  though you’re not here

  to hold

  and I’m sitting

  up against the sky

  trying to find my way

  nothing to do

  but to wonder

  why it’s not yesterday

  you’re letting me live

  inside of you

  you’re letting me live

  as someone new

  believe in me

  ’cos I believe it

  somewhere there is an angel

  watching over your life

  sometimes there is a silence

  somewhere a face in the light

  know this place

  is where I am

  know this face is of me

  know I’m watching over you

  do you feel it too?

  you’re letting me live

  inside of you

  you’re letting me live

  as someone new

  It’s only when I stop playing that I notice I have an audience standing by the door. Slowly one of them claps, before they all follow, including Vanessa and Pete, who has tears in his eyes.

  Vanessa walks over to me. ‘That was beautiful.’

  So will you sign me? I feel as if I am inches away from the finishing line, and yet it still feels so far, so unreachable. ‘Alice, this industry is all about instinct and every single instinct in me is not saying, it’s yelling to give you a chance, to give you a break.’ She shakes my head. ‘Welcome on board.’

  Pete and I enter the lift too stunned to say a word, too scared Vanessa or her assistant will come after us saying it was all a joke. Yet no one comes. I am wondering if it could be a dream, but my feet are firmly on the ground, they are walking out of the building, a little way down the street, towards Pete’s car. But we can’t wait until we reach his car. We are screaming, shouting, jumping up and down with joy. ‘We’ll be in touch about the contract,’ Vanessa had said to us. I don’t know how long we hug each other, me thanking Pete over and over again for believing in me.

  Pete drops me off at home. I’m in a daze; the news still hasn’t sunk in.

  There is only one person I have to tell first.

  ‘Mum!’ I shout the moment I open the front door.

  I walk through the kitchen, which looks spotless and clean apart from Mum’s half-finished still life laid out on the table with her tubes of oil paints. Mum had said she was going to paint this afternoon, anything to distract her. She can’t be out. She can’t have nipped to the shops or anything. She promised she’d be waiting . . .

  My heart lifts when I see her in the garden. I open the back door. ‘Mum!’

  Immediately she looks up from the flowerbed, a muddy gardening fork in one hand.

  ‘I’ve done it!’ I wave at her frantically, both laughing and crying. ‘I’ve done it! They’re signing me!’

  She drops the fork and soon our arms are wrapped around each other.

  ‘You’ve done it,’ she says tearfully, ‘you’ve done it. I couldn’t be prouder of you.’

  61

  Dad can hardly speak when I tell him the news. The only thing he manages to say coherently is that he wants to take us all out to celebrate. When I call Tom I overhear him broadcast the news to his work colleagues. Cat does the same. ‘They’re all brain dead and not listening,’ she says, ‘but I don’t care. I’m going to tell the whole world.’

  When Jake picks up I hear baby Rose crying in the background.

  ‘They’re signing Alice,’ he says to Lucy, almost in tears himself.

  I call Susie who immediately tells Bond she has a famous friend. Milly is ecstatic, and tells me, ‘I’ve booked Rome this weekend, and it’s all because of you, Alice.’

  When I ring Trisha I have to hold the telephone far away from my ears, in case her screaming deafens me. I thank her for everything she has done for me, for making this possible, for making my dream come true. ‘Sure, we’ve all helped you along the way, Alice, but there’s only one person you should be hugging with pride right now, and that’s you. You have given us all one hell of a display of guts, courage and talent.’

  That night Tom, Cat and I go out for dinner to celebrate not only my deal . . . ‘This is for you, too,’ I say, raising my glass to Tom. The company that bought his online software is making serious money, of which Tom’s firm is taking a percentage. ‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you,’ I say, thinking not only of all the support he’s given me along the way but of the song I sang today, the song he hasn’t yet heard.

  I al
so raise my glass to Cat, for being the best, most loyal friend I could possibly ask for.

  ‘Stop, Alice,’ she says, never that good at receiving compliments.

  ‘Cat?’ I sense something is up, ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve met someone.’

  Tom is subjected to some serious squealing across the table.

  ‘It’s early days,’ she says, but is unable to wipe the smile off her face.

  ‘Who? How? When?’

  ‘His name is Mark. He’s just joined the company, but unlike all the other alpha males he’s quiet, shy. There’s something about him. He’s different.’

  ‘You should have asked him tonight.’

  ‘Yes, addressed the male-female balance,’ Tom says.

  ‘Not ready for double dates yet, but I promise soon. And I’ve got even more news.’

  ‘You’re pregnant.’ Please don’t be pregnant.

  ‘Bloody hell, Alice, no way!’

  Phew.

  ‘I have a plan. I’m going to stop being a monkey at a computer, retrain and set up my own massage therapy business.’

  When finally I park outside my parents’ home we can see dimmed lights and hear music coming from the kitchen. Tom and I creep up to the kitchen window and see Mum and Dad dancing around the table. ‘Dad’s really going for it,’ I whisper to Tom, watching him twirl Mum around in his arms. ‘That’s your song,’ Tom says, humming the tune. They’re dancing to my demo CD of ‘Breathe Tonight’. Tom and I look at one another, mischief in our eyes. ‘Do it,’ I say.

  We crouch down as Tom takes out his mobile. We watch as Mum stops, picks up the telephone. ‘Oh good evening,’ he says, ‘I’m calling from the police station.’

  I overhear Mum repeat, ‘The police station?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Tom coughs, trying not to laugh. ‘I am the local noise abatement officer and I have had a series of complaints about your loud music disturbing the street.’

  I snort.

  ‘If you could come down to the station . . .’

  Tom listens. ‘It’s your daughter’s music, is it?’ he says. ‘She won a recording deal today, did she?’ Pause. ‘Wow, with Sony.’ Another pause. ‘Yes, I can imagine how proud you are.’

  My heart melts.

  ‘You tell her many congratulations, but could she turn it down.’