‘I always thought that dress would be too big on the hips for you, Rosemary.’
‘What do you think?’ asks Mum, cheerfully. ‘Do you think she looks like a beautiful young woman with a huge talent who’s going to knock everyone’s socks off when she gets on that stage tonight.’
‘That’s exactly what she looks like, Rosemary.’
I peer in the mirror. I know one thing, I don’t look like Gracie Flowers. Gracie Flowers wears leggings, dirty ballet pumps and ponytails. The girl in the mirror is squeezed into a fitted black cocktail dress, high black shoes and her hair is swept up in a French pleat.
‘So will you do her make-up, Wendy?’
‘Really, Mrs F, you are the master. You taught me all I know.’
Mum can’t suppress a smile.
‘Well, you start on some smoky eyes and I’ll pop downstairs to see how John’s doing.’
‘Knock knock!’ shouts John from behind the door. ‘Are you ladies decent?’
‘I was just coming down to check on you,’ my mum says, opening the door and beaming.
I don’t beam because standing next to John Senior is his foul offspring, Posh Boy. I scowl at him.
‘Grace,’ John Senior says, walking towards me and taking one of my hands, ‘you look ravishing.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Gracie Flowers, you look hot,’ Posh Boy says.
I silence him with a well-placed middle finger.
‘Grace,’ my mother admonishes.
‘Now, we have a few announcements,’ John Senior says. ‘The first is that I’ve been on the phone all morning and managed to get four tickets for a certain Britain Sings its Heart Out live final tonight.’
‘Oh my God, how much did they set you back?’ Wendy asks.
‘Oh my God is quite right, Wendy. But it’s money thoroughly well spent, I feel. Now, John here can’t go, Rosemary and I will obviously take two of the tickets, but we wondered whether you and your helpful lawyer friend would like to join us, Wendy?’
‘YES!’ Wendy jumps up. ‘YES! YES! Thank you, thank you.’ She throws her arms around John Senior, who looks tickled pink if truth be told.
When Wendy lets him go, he takes my mum’s hand tenderly in his own. ‘There’s something else we wanted to say, which is why I asked John here to join us this morning. I proposed to Rosemary last night and she’s made me the happiest man alive by saying yes.’
‘Ah,’ Wendy cries. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Good work,’ says Posh Boy, shaking his dad by the hand and kissing my mum on the cheek.
I walk out of the room and onto the landing. I can’t get my head around all this. Wendy follows me: ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispers.
‘But my mum’s a fruit loop, she can’t get married!’ I hiss.
‘Don’t speak about your mother like that.’ It’s John Senior, my stepfather-to-be, and he’s telling me off already. He walks onto the landing and closes the door behind him.
‘You hardly know her!’ I protest.
‘Grace, I’ve known her for some months now. From the first time I popped round and met her, I have been spending time here and getting to know her. Yes, she’s delicate. I am aware of that. But I for one have seen huge improvements. Huge. I want to help her. Both our eyes are very open, Grace.’
Part of me wants to fight back, but he’s right. Mum has been much better. When she came to the hospital after my miscarriage, she was the strong one, and even though the loan was disastrous, at least she made an active decision, which is something she hasn’t done for years. I nod at him.
‘Sorry.’
‘No need for apologies. It must be quite a shock.’
‘Yes.’
He comes towards me with his arms open – oh dear, I’m not sure I’m ready for this – and gives me a hug. And surprisingly, because I certainly wasn’t expecting it, I like it. It’s not too bearlike or too chummy. It’s careful and kind and it makes me feel protected.
‘Grace,’ he says as he holds me, and there’s something in the soft way he says my name that reminds me that his first wife, Posh Boy’s mum, was called Grace, too. I hope she’s smiling down on us today.
When we release each other, he opens the door to my old room for me enter. Mum looks up expectantly, and I can see how much she wants my approval, how much it means to her. I grin, and it’s not forced. It’s actually rather easy to smile because I know that this big rich man with the calloused hands will worship my mother, and that’s all I want.
The word champagne is mentioned and we all move downstairs, where Posh Boy sidles up to me.
‘All my life I’ve wanted a brother, and I get you,’ I hiss.
‘I shagged my stepsister.’ He smiles. ‘That is very cool.’
Chapter 80
‘Right, Ruthie Roberts singing “Amazing Grace”, ready to go in two minutes,’ the studio manager shouts.
‘Anton, I whisper. We’re sitting side by side in the wings of the huge stage.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, but do you mind if I hold your hand?’
He shakes his head and smiles as he takes my hand. I squeeze it tightly and close my eyes.
On the morning of my Geography GCSE, the morning my dad died, I was sitting at my desk with the lamp on when Dad knocked on my door.
‘How you feeling, Amazing Grace?’
‘I’m going to fail,’ I wailed because I was a dramatic teenager. He just sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t say anything at first, and neither did I. I was so wrapped up in a world where getting below a C in my geography exam was a national disaster. So we sat in the lamp light, him on the bed, me at the desk, and he opened his mouth and started to sing. He sang me the whole of ‘Amazing Grace’, softly and beautifully.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found,
Was blind, but now I see.
’Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear,
And Grace my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.
At the end I felt so calm. Dad’s voice played in my head as I walked to school that day and it played in my head as I sat in the exam hall and read through the paper. It played in my head when I travelled to the hospital and it played in my head when I didn’t speak for two whole months. I was able to block out the world and listen to him singing me ‘Amazing Grace’.
Then one day I went to a big singing competition in Manchester and Ruth Roberts stood on the stage and was about to sing this song. And I couldn’t let her, or rather I couldn’t let myself hear it. Because then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t hear Dad’s voice in my head any more singing ‘Amazing Grace’. I would hear Ruth Roberts instead. Then I would have lost him. So I screamed and screamed and screamed to block it out. That’s why I haven’t listened to the radio for years, just in case there was the slightest chance I’d hear someone else singing this song. That’s why I once had to run out of a cinema screaming, and it’s why I ran screaming out of the karaoke. It’s why I’ve become so afraid of music.
I’m going to let that go now. I’m going to hear this song and I’m going to sing again, because I know that’s what Dad would want.
Chapter 81
‘Are you ready?’ Anton whispers.
‘Yes, are you?’
‘Yes.’ He smiles. Then he looks at his shaking hand. ‘Well. Ish.’
I take the shaking hand and I hold it in my own.
‘And three, two, one,’ the stage manager mouths energetically.
Over the sound system an upbeat male voice announces, ‘And now … Mr Anton James and Miss Gracie Flowers.’
The stage manager puts a hand in the small of each of our backs to launch us onto the stage. The live theatre audience clap and whistle. We have to walk to our two microphones, which are set a few feet apart in the middle of the stage. I look at the floor as
I walk. Anton gets to his microphone first and we release hands. I still can’t look up. When I get to my mic, I clutch it for support with both hands and hope no one can see my knees shaking beneath my dress. My hands are trembling, too, and it’s making the microphone wobble. I put my hands down and hold them against my sides instead. A panel of six judges sit at a long table towards the front of the stage. Rod Stewart is one of them, and the rest are all music bigwigs. I can’t look at them, so I keep my eyes fixed on the floor.
‘Anton,’ a voice calls from the judges’ table. ‘Very good to have you back.’
‘Thank you for having me back.’
There are quite a few wolf whistles from the audience.
‘And you have a new partner, tonight.’
‘Yes, Gracie Flowers.’
I know I should look up, but I’m too terrified.
‘Hello, Grace.’ A woman’s voice comes from the judges’ table. I keep my head down and raise my eyes towards where her voice is coming from.
‘Hello,’ I say. My timid, terrified voice goes through the microphone and comes out sounding like a small child who’s just wet herself. The audience laugh.
I look back down at my toes. They’re still laughing.
‘Grace Flowers.’ It’s a man talking to me now. I peep up at him and the audience laugh again.
‘Camille and Rosemary Flowers’ daughter?’
‘Er, yes, sir.’
Suddenly there’s a cheer from the audience for my mum and dad. I look up now at the vague shadowy figures in the auditorium who are cheering my mum and dad, and I smile. The buggers laugh at me again.
‘I was hoping I’d hear you sing one day, Grace,’ the man says. I don’t know who he is and I don’t know why he’s saying this.
‘Thank you,’ I mumble into the microphone.
‘So, Anton, what song are you going to sing for us?’
‘We’re going to sing “Mr Bojangles”,’ he answers.
There are a few whoops and yet more wolf whistles.
‘It was Gracie’s father’s favourite song.’
I glance quickly at Anton, who’s smiling at me.
‘When you’re ready?’ the female judge says.
Oh, dear, I have to nod us in. Oh, bloody hell, my knees, my hands, I don’t want to look up. I never used to be like this. I take a deep breath and I nod. It’s my signal for the backing track to begin. It starts, but so quickly. I nodded it, I called it, but when the music starts I miss the note to sing on. I start breathing really quickly. I’ve missed the opening. I look at Anton and he’s wincing at me. I wonder whether to jump to the next verse. I can’t miss the first verse, though. It’s a story, and everyone knows the song.
‘Um, sorry.’ I put my hand up to the music person. ‘I’m sorry. I missed my cue. My fault. I’m so sorry.’
The audience’s mad wolf whistling and laughing has vanished and they’re as quiet as a jury now.
I look at Anton and mouth the word, ‘Sorry.’ That’s it, I’ve blown it.
‘Would you like another try, Grace?’ one of the judges asks.
Even if I have another try, I don’t think I can do it. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I’m shaking. I stare at him. I don’t know what to do?
I close my eyes and look at the floor as I blink back a tear, and then I hear a voice. A faint voice. My father’s voice: ‘Just lay the song at their ears, Amazing Grace.’
Someone has taken hold of my hand. I look towards Anton, but he’s still too far away from me. There’s no one near me. I know this is stupid, but I think my dad is holding my hand.
‘It’s your time to shine, my girl,’ he whispers. ‘Sing your song. Lay it at their ears.’
‘Yes, please,’ I say.
I look out at the crowd.
‘Yes, please, may I try again.’
The audience whoop and I smile with them, then I stand for a moment before I nod to the music man. This time I come in at the right moment. I don’t know whether I’m in Rome, in the garden of my childhood home, at a singing competition in Milton Keynes or at the London Palladium. I don’t know whether I’m singing with Dad or with Anton. All I know is that I’m singing. I, Gracie Flowers, am singing.
At the end, when the audience is screaming, I feel the hand I’ve been clutching throughout the song release me. I gasp and look about me, but my eyes meet Anton’s and he takes my hand. I smile at him and we bow together.
Chapter 82
I’m sitting backstage with my head on Anton’s shoulder and we’re listening to the other acts over the tannoy. I feel so light, as though I might float out of my seat at any moment and have to be pulled back down to earth.
‘How you doing?’ Anton whispers.
‘I feel on top of the world. I think someone must have slipped something in the water.’
‘We might win, you know.’
‘Oh,’ I hadn’t even thought of winning. I’d forgotten it was a competition. I was too busy thinking about how completely right I feel. ‘I’m not really bothered about that.’
‘The money might come in handy.’
‘Do you win money?’
‘A hundred thousand. Gracie Flowers, don’t you watch the telly?’
‘I’ve never seen Britain Sings.’
‘The show could have been made for you.’
‘I will now, though.’
‘And you get a recording contract to make an album.’
‘No?’
‘Yep. Would you like that?’
‘Would I like to record an album with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, although not rubbish pop where we’d have to be on the cover in our pants.’
‘No.’ He laughs. ‘I, er … oh, God, Grace.’
He starts fiddling with his bottom on the seat.
‘What’s the matter? Have you got piles?’
‘No.’ He laughs. ‘This is just something I put down on paper. Read it. I’m an old fool.’
I take the folded-up piece of paper he’s holding.
‘You’re my favourite old fool,’ I tell him, but he just looks down at his lap uncomfortably.
I open the paper.
Grace, I don’t know where to start. I can’t say it in words. I’ve tried, but I lose the ability to form coherent sentences around you. I couldn’t even do it in a song.
Oh, Grace, I’ve been dazzled by you since the moment you first walked into the pub that lunchtime. Dazzled by this tiny young woman with long blonde hair who was buying a house over the road from me. I suppose what dazzled me was your spirit. A kind spirit, a fighting spirit, a smiling spirit. I don’t know to explain it and my words are falling short. I tried John Denver’s words and I even messed those up. But really, you’ll find everything I want to say to you in the words of ‘Annie’s Song’.
Grace, I may well be the same age as George Clooney (thirteen months younger actually!), but I am still a lot older than you and I’m at a different point in my life. You’re at the beginning, while I’m in the middle. And when we had a moment that night, I froze. I remembered your father. I respected him, Grace, and I wanted to do the right thing by you, for you and by your dad. I didn’t want to take what I shouldn’t. I’ve given it a lot of thought, though, and no matter how much I think about it, I am always led back to a fact that’s bigger than all the questions and doubts, the fact that I am completely in love with you, Grace. When I sing songs, when I play songs, they are all for you.
Now, I just want you to know this: that I am over the road, thinking of you and wanting above all else for you to be happy.
Yours, an old fool and an admirer.
Anton xx
‘I’m going to keep this forever,’ I whisper, and I look into his eyes and smile. ‘I’ll keep it in a little box under our bed.’
‘Grace.’
Talk about interruption of the decade. It’s Ruth Rogers. Wow! She’s smiling at me. She certainly wasn’t doing that the last time we met.
‘Hello, Ruth.’
‘Hello, Gracie. I loved your song. I used to be so jealous of your voice, but it was nice to hear it again. I’d missed it.’
‘Thank you. And I’m pleased I heard you sing “Amazing Grace” again. It was beautiful.’
I look at her for a second, wondering whether to apologise for that incident ten years ago, but the frantic Britain Sings its Heart Out floor manager takes the decision out of my hands by storming into the room and shouting, ‘All acts in line: they’re ready to announce the winner!’
Ruth rushes back to her place and I stand up beside Anton, who steadies me as I fall off my high heels. I take his hand and everything, every little thing feels right in the world.
Chapter 83
In other parts of London, people aren’t quite as relaxed as Gracie Flowers.
‘Oh, Len, I can’t bear it!’ Joan says, lying next to her brother in his hospital bed at St Mary’s Hospital.
It’s an hour past the end of visiting time, but the nurses understood when she told them that the pretty blonde girl with the amazing voice is like family to her, so she has to stay until the end. Of course they understand. This is the final of Britain Sings its Heart Out after all. They are all seated in Len’s private room, watching it together.
Len was moved into a private room a few days ago. It’s been paid for by an anonymous donor, although Joan has a feeling it might have something to with a cheque from SJS Construction, which landed on her doormat the very same day.
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