by Anita Notaro
‘Toni – all set?’
I nodded, unable to open my mouth, and then in I went again, and stood in front of the same Formica table and looked at the same health and safety advert. The executive producer was a small, chubby man who extended a warm, sweaty hand to me and introduced himself as Martin.
‘Now, Antonia, I’ve been hearing great things about you from Karen and Sandy. Shall we see what you can do?’ And he smiled at me in a way which made me nervous. I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
He looked at me expectantly. ‘In your own time, Antonia.’
‘Sure,’ I said, clearing my throat noisily, then murmuring the opening bars of the song, controlling the sound tightly, just as Eithne had taught me to do, then letting the notes swell as the song took flight.
I was just getting into my stride, when Martin put both hands up. ‘Thanks, Antonia, thanks. I’ve heard enough.’
‘Oh.’ I felt like bursting into tears. He hadn’t even listened to the whole song, and already he was dismissing me. ‘I can sing better,’ I began. ‘It’s just nerves …’
He leaned back in his chair and laughed out loud. ‘I’m saying I’ve heard enough because you’re through, Antonia.’ And he stood and offered his hand, a broad grin on his face.
For a moment, I didn’t react, just stood there, until I remembered my manners, extending my hand and gripping his as firmly as I could. ‘I can’t believe it,’ I whispered. ‘Thanks, Martin … that’s all I can say.’
He smiled and scratched his head. ‘You don’t need to say anything else, just repeat that performance at the heats – OK?’
‘OK,’ I said and, before he could change his mind, I bolted through the door, closing it firmly behind me and standing there for a moment, trying to quieten my breathing, hearing my heart thumping in my chest. I’m through. I’m through, I kept saying to myself. I couldn’t wait to tell Amanda. I opened my eyes, blinking, and looked around for any sign of her, but she was nowhere to be seen. My heart sank a little – I really hope she gets through, I thought. Then, in a daze, I walked slowly along the corridor, under the watchful gaze of all the performers sitting waiting to be called, and out the door into the car park. I climbed into my car, turned the key in the ignition, pulled out of the car park, and headed towards home, and all I could think was, I’m through to the heats of That’s Talent! Me. Miss Mouse.
11
‘COLETTE SAYS THAT styling someone for That’s Talent! is an opportunity she can’t afford to miss,’ Mary said, chattering away as I looked out the car window. ‘It’ll get her name around as well, so it’s good for everyone. And she says she has some really cool things to show you.’
‘That’s good,’ I said, non-committally, watching the mountains flash past as we dashed along the motorway into Dublin. Mary was relishing styling me for the heats of That’s Talent! I didn’t like to argue with her because she was so enthusiastic, but sometimes it was a bit overwhelming. Sometimes, I felt I just wanted to get back into my comfy tracksuit bottoms and sit in front of the TV, but that would be going backwards, I knew, and anyway, the cat was well and truly out of the bag now, just two days after the auditions. I’d told Mary first, who’d nearly hugged me to death, and then she’d rung her mother, who was head of Glenvara County Guild, who’d rung Bridget, who was also in the Guild, who’d rung everyone in the choir, and before I could take a breath, all of Glenvara was queuing at my door, or ringing my phone to congratulate me. I’d been mortified and chuffed at the same time. I hadn’t even managed to call Eithne first to tell her that all her hard work had paid off, but I needn’t have worried – she was as pleased as punch and not a bit put out.
‘All that matters is that my star pupil has triumphed,’ she’d said to me, when I’d called around to her. ‘I’ll be able to put it on all my business cards now – “Eithne Fitzsimons, singing teacher to the stars”.’ She’d smiled. I felt that I had a kind of family around me, all supporting me – maybe it was Mum, I thought, looking down on me, making sure that I was OK. Either way, I felt somehow more confident, walking taller to O’Dwyer’s to fetch my morning paper, smiling and waving as another person yelled, ‘Can’t wait for Saturday night, Antonia!’, when once I would have cringed and run away.
But being styled professionally was another matter. I dressed boringly, I knew, but I felt safe that way. I knew that I needed to change, but the prospect seemed daunting, somehow.
‘She won’t make you look a fool, Antonia, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ Mary was saying kindly as we drove along.
‘I know,’ I said. Not that I did know. I could end up looking a complete fright. But I supposed I just had to trust in Mary and Colette.
‘Listen, what song are you singing on the show?’
‘Well, I did “Bridge Over Troubled Water” for the auditions, but maybe that’s too old-fashioned for the heats,’ I mused. ‘Eithne and I have to sit down and have a think about it.’
‘Isn’t that by those two old guys, Garfield or something?’ Mary asked.
I laughed. ‘Simon and Garfunkel. It’s a classic, Mary.’
‘You could sing anything, Antonia, and make it sound good. What do the TV company make of it?’
‘Oh, they really like it,’ I said, thinking of Karen, the lovely production assistant at Celtic, and Martin, who’d been so enthusiastic. It felt right, somehow, to sing the song again – it suited me.
‘Colette has a few hair and make-up ideas for you as well,’ Mary’s voice interrupted my thoughts. ‘She’s got a friend at the store who does it for fashion shows.’
‘Great!’ I tried to sound enthusiastic and to focus on Sister Monica’s advice: ‘One foot in front of the other, Antonia.’ Because if I thought about everything, it was just too overwhelming for words … the competition, the clothes … my date with Niall. No. That was something I definitely couldn’t deal with right now.
‘Thanks for seeing me, Colette. I’m not very good at shopping,’ I said apologetically to her, when she greeted me with a warm smile and a firm handshake. I’d been afraid that she’d be intimidating, too fashionable, but she wasn’t, she was just … cool, with a quirky edge, a cap of black hair cropped tightly around her pixie face, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief – she looked fun, Colette.
‘I like your shoes,’ I said, nodding at her suede mules. They were a rich burgundy with a platform and an outsize gold buckle on them. They should have looked like something out of a Shakespeare play, but instead they were modern and totally fresh. I looked at my own sensible ballet flats and skinny blue jeans – the product of a quick shopping trip to Arklow with Mary, so that I wouldn’t look like a nun when I met Colette.
‘Thanks. And don’t worry – I should be thanking you for giving me the chance to style you for That’s Talent! – you’ve no idea what it’ll do for my profile!’ Colette laughed. ‘Now, let’s have a little wander around – no pressure. We’ll just pick a few things that you think look nice, and take it from there, shall we?’
An hour later, I was sitting in a large dressing room, on a comfy velvet sofa, surrounded by expensive outfits – mortifyingly expensive. I’d tried to explain this to Colette. ‘Eight hundred euro,’ I’d said, examining the label on one of them. ‘Colette, this is out of my price range …’
‘Don’t worry. If you see something you like, I can just contact the designer and let them know that you’ll be wearing their creation on the country’s biggest talent show, and, sure, they’ll be only delighted to let you “borrow” it.’ She grinned. She had a broad country accent and such a down-to-earth manner that I felt immediately at ease. ‘And anyway,’ she added, ‘you have a fabulous figure – any designer would be delighted to see you wear their stuff. Now, this one, I think, don’t you, girls?’ She picked up a short silver-grey dress. ‘The body is silk, but the sleeves are soft leather … perfect … or the silver silk-chiffon? Both would look perfect for auditions. And as you have such great legs, Antonia, you can really g
et away with showing a fair bit of them. What do you think, Mary?’
Mary nodded her head knowledgeably. ‘Got to be the silk-chiffon. Those metallic sequins are just fab. And Colette’s right, Antonia, you should be showing those legs off!’
‘Not now, I won’t.’ I laughed, thinking of my milk-bottle legs, so white they were almost blue.
‘Nothing a bit of fake tan won’t sort out,’ said Colette, guessing my thoughts. ‘Now, try it on,’ she held out the exquisite silver dress. The sequins weren’t shiny, but a dull metallic silver which rustled and shone when it moved. I was terrified to put it on, afraid I’d put a big rip in it with an elbow.
‘It looks very short,’ I said doubtfully.
Colette just nodded her head, and insisted, ‘Go on, put it on.’ And she helped me pull it over my head, tugging it gently over my hips. Then she stood back, a look of concentration on her face. ‘Good … good … just hang on a sec,’ and she bolted out of the dressing-room door.
‘Surely I don’t look that bad,’ I joked.
Mary shook her head. ‘You look a million dollars, Antonia. Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought it – sorry, that sounded so rude.’
I leaned over to her and squeezed her arm. ‘It doesn’t, Mary. I haven’t worn anything even remotely fashionable for so long that I honestly don’t know how. I’ve you to thank for this,’ I indicated the silver dress, and the chunky sequins which swished as I moved. ‘And now, I’d better stand up straight or I’ll rip this dress.’
There was a swish of the dressing-room curtain, and Colette reappeared, this time with a pair of shoes in her hand. ‘Nude Loubs should do the trick.’
‘Nude who?’
‘Never mind, just try them on. I guessed you were a size six,’ Colette said, kneeling down to help me slide my foot into the shoe. It was a gorgeous pale pinky beige with just the faintest sheen to it.
‘Oh! Louboutins! I’ve read about them! I’ll never be able to stand in them, though,’ I protested.
‘Oh, yes you will.’ Colette looked up at me and grinned. ‘They’ve this great platform which makes them so much more comfortable, believe me. Now, try walking in them.’
I shuffled forward hesitantly at first, then more confidently. ‘You’re right, I feel just fantastic in these.’
‘And you look it,’ Mary said admiringly.
Colette nodded, ever the professional. ‘That’s it, Antonia. That’s the look. Now, what about your hair? Any ideas who’ll be styling it?’
‘Ehm, me?’ I said.
Mary and Colette both burst out laughing, before Mary patted me on the shoulder. ‘I don’t think so, Antonia, do you? Any ideas, Colette?’
Colette nodded her head eagerly. ‘Oh, yes. And he’s quite cute, by the way.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m not sure, girls, really. I’ve always done it myself …’
‘Which is why you look like an American pageant queen – all tumbling locks and big teeth. I think we need something sharper, lighter. That doesn’t make you look as if you should be wearing knee socks,’ said Colette. Mary nodded eagerly, and I found myself agreeing. What did she mean, ‘pageant queen’? I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not.
‘I’ll book Richard for next Friday morning. I assume the heats are on Saturday?’
‘Ehm, yes, next Saturday are the rehearsals, and then the Saturday after, the real thing. It’s always recorded on Saturday morning for transmission that night.’
‘Right. Well as long as you don’t move your head for the rest of the week, you’ll be fine,’ Mary said.
I punched her on the arm. ‘Very funny. But thanks, Mary, and Colette, I can’t believe that I look so … grown-up.’ I examined myself in the mirror again, unable to believe that this tall, slender woman was actually me. That I had legs and hips and looked actually OK. Miss Mouse. I could hardly believe it. I swallowed and tried to fight back the tears.
‘Sexy, Antonia. You look sexy. Ditch the big hair and you’ll knock them out. Now, group hug,’ Mary ordered, pulling me towards her in a cloud of perfume and hair, and Colette, too. ‘Better?’
I nodded, afraid to say anything in case I burst into tears. ‘Thanks so much, girls. I don’t know what to say.’
‘You can thank us when you win That’s Talent!, OK?’ Colette said.
‘Deal,’ I said, and the girls hugged me again. It felt so good, I realized, to have women friends my own age. I couldn’t believe I’d been missing out on this for all these years. On simple friendship and shopping and … fun. And then, of course, I felt a sharp jab of guilt. I knew I shouldn’t be feeling like this, not now. It was too soon. I’m sorry, Mum, I said to myself. I haven’t forgotten you, you know.
I was more or less silent on the way back in the car, answering Mary’s excited chatter with the odd ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ until eventually she said, ‘You must be exhausted, Antonia.’
I pretended that was the reason. ‘It’s all the excitement, Mary. Honestly, I feel like a small child that’s been to Disneyland.’
Mary laughed. ‘Well, enjoy it, Antonia, you deserve it. And you looked fabulous, you really did.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, for what felt like the hundredth time. Because I didn’t want to tell Mary how I really felt. Confused. It seemed wrong, somehow, to be going out and enjoying myself so soon after Mum … it was as if I was neglecting her somehow. Oh, I know I wasn’t needed any more. That she was no longer there for me to care for, but still, it felt wrong, to be trying on expensive outfits. But of course I couldn’t tell Mary that. It would be so ungrateful after everything she’d done for me. I turned to her and put on my biggest, brightest smile. ‘Tell you what? Why don’t I order us a takeaway? I don’t feel like cooking after all this.’
Mary smiled politely. ‘Thanks, Antonia, but I’ll have to pass. Dave’s taking me up to Dublin to see Grease at the Grand Canal Theatre. He booked the tickets ages ago.’
‘Oh, sure, that’s great. You lucky thing.’ I tried to sound enthusiastic, but I couldn’t help it. Just for a moment, I felt jealous. That Mary had this normal life, with a boyfriend whom she’d known for ever. Apart from a couple of boys in school, I’d never really had a proper boyfriend – I’d hardly been kissed. Oh, God, every time I thought I was coming out of my shell a bit, I was reminded of how useless I was at all this. At life.
‘We’ll do it another time,’ Mary said kindly.
‘Oh, sure,’ I said, and gave her my brightest smile. ‘As you know, I’m a bit tired after all the shopping, anyway. And I need to listen to the song and practise a bit.’ And when she pulled up outside the house, I managed to thank her and hug her again, and then I walked in the door of my house and clicked on the light. I was alone again.
12
OF COURSE, THE gang in choir practice were dying to know every detail of the auditions, gathering around me at break-time during rehearsals and firing questions at me.
‘Did you see anyone famous?’ Bridget wanted to know. ‘I always liked that Aaron fellow that presents it.’ Her eyes lit up with a mischievous grin. ‘He’s hot.’
‘He’s too young for you,’ Betty blurted, her arms folded across her chest, her mouth set in a tight line. Betty disapproved of Bridget, but she never really explained why. ‘She’s a flibbertigibbet,’ was all she would say on the subject. Bridget, on the other hand, thought that Betty was frosty, uptight, didn’t know how to let her hair down. They were always finding some excuse to bicker, and I often had to keep the peace between the two of them.
‘I just wanted to know …’ Bridget murmured now, looking like a sulky child.
‘No, Aaron wasn’t there. It was just a huge queue of people and a day-long wait for the auditions.’ I smiled. ‘I thought I’d die of boredom. It really wasn’t that glamorous, believe me.’
‘But imagine just being there, singing your heart out and hearing that magic yes. It must have been amazing.’ Bridget was getting carried away now, and Betty tutted and rolled her eyes to heaven.
Billy interjected, ‘I’m sure Antonia did us proud. I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall there.’ He grinned. He was trying to soothe Bridget’s ruffled feathers, I knew, and I tried to smile back, but I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I know that they meant well, that they just wanted the best for me, but the attention was overwhelming, and I hadn’t even got to the heats yet. God knows what they’d be like then.
Thankfully, Eithne came to my rescue. ‘For goodness’ sake, everyone, give Antonia some room. She can hardly breathe with the way you’re all pressing in on her.’ She flapped her arms in the air in a shooing motion. ‘Now, no offence intended, but this is choir practice, not That’s Talent!, and we have a job to do. Back to the practice room, everyone, please,’ she said, briskly clapping her hands and winking at me as she did so, to soften her words. But I didn’t mind. I could have cried with relief.
The rest of the practice was spent going over a tricky new hymn for the Holy Communion Mass. The harmonies were so complicated that it took all of our concentration to master them. Never had I been so glad of the distraction, I thought, trying to drown out Mrs Ferguson, who was singing completely out of tune beside me. Now, hopefully everything can get back to normal, I thought. And then I remembered my date with Niall, and my heart started to flutter all over again.
‘Wow, you look—’ Niall did a double take on the doorstep in front of me. He stood there for a moment, in hiking boots, thick socks and a woollen fleece, as if he were ready for a hike up Mount Everest.
‘I know. I just had it cut yesterday. For the show.’ I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. My hair was about six inches shorter and had been styled into soft layers, the golden colour now with warm honey tones through it. It wasn’t that radical a change and yet I felt completely different. More grown-up, somehow. Less girlish.