Star Struck

by Anne-marie O'connor

  Catherine smiled. ‘Thanks Jo, you’re a trooper.’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘We’ll come and get you when you’re ready.’ Claire said. Catherine looked at her sisters. Could this be support from her family?

  ‘Good luck, Aunty Catherine,’ Rosie said sweetly.

  Even Maria managed a half-generous smile and said, ‘They must have thought you were good for something if they’re asking you back.’

  Catherine got out of the car and looked at her dad, hoping for an iota of encouragement, but he didn’t look at her. Instead he turned his attention to the guy with the clipboard and said, ‘Any chance of using the bog?’

  ‘I’m Andy, by the way,’ the clipboard guy said to Catherine, putting his hand out for her to shake. ‘I’m really sorry about what happened with Jason earlier.’

  Catherine shook his hand. It was one of those moments where she wished he hadn’t put his hand out and she could tell he was thinking the same. They shook hands limply and then both laughed, embarrassed. ‘He’s horrible,’ Catherine said about Jason. She wasn’t going to dwell on the embarrassing handshake.

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘But you still work for him.’

  ‘I haven’t got any choice. Believe me, if I did I’d swap in a heartbeat,’ Andy said.

  ‘Jason P. Longford.’ Catherine mused over the name. ‘What’s the P for?’

  ‘Penis, I think.’ Andy deadpanned. Catherine cracked out laughing.

  ‘It suits him.’

  ‘He’s awful, but I can deal with awful if it means I get to do something good with my life. Star Maker only runs until Christmas, then after that I can hopefully work on another show.’ Andy went on to explain to Catherine a bit about his frantic job. Catherine found herself laughing at his anecdotes.

  They reached the entrance to the hotel again and Andy opened the door. Catherine stepped through, thanking him. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had opened a door for her; mostly people hadn’t realised she was there. Just being back in the waiting room made Catherine nervous again. ‘I’ll have to wait hours, won’t I?’ she said to Andy.

  ‘I don’t think so. I only said the thing about you having a few hours before you went in again for your family’s benefit. I hope you don’t mind. They seem pretty persistent and if they’d have come back in with you I think I might have been sacked.’

  Catherine laughed, mortified by her family. Then, the fact that she had been asked to come back in hit her and she was suddenly overwhelmed. She gripped Andy’s arm.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

  ‘You nearly cut off my blood supply.’

  Catherine shut her eyes and told herself to get her act together. This was a huge opportunity and she wasn’t going to blow it a second time. She could feel that other people in the audition room were looking at her, wondering why she was getting special treatment. She tried to block them out.

  ‘Oh God,’ Andy whispered. Catherine looked up to see Jason P. Longford heading over to them at speed.

  ‘Here she is! Here she is!’ he announced at the top of his lungs as if he and Catherine were long-lost best friends. He put his arm around her, something which made Catherine’s shoulders shoot up to her ears. He squeezed so hard that it made Catherine yelp involuntarily. ‘Coming through. Coming through,’ Jason said clearing a way through the crowds. ‘Lady with a second chance.’ The camera crew followed her, and Catherine looked round for Andy and caught his eye. ‘Good luck,’ he mouthed. Jason forced her through the audition room doors.

  ‘Back again. Déjà vu!’ he said to the judges with such fake cheer that Catherine was sure he was going to snap and kill someone any moment. ‘Voila!’ he said, posturing like a magician’s assistant.

  ‘Thank you, Jason. That’ll be all,’ Richard said. Then he turned and said off-microphone to one of the producers, ‘Can we cut him out of this section if we use this?’ The producer nodded. ‘Good,’ Richard said.

  It seemed that Catherine and Andy weren’t the only ones not to be enamoured by Jason Penis Longford.

  ‘Right,’ Richard said, looking up at Catherine. ‘We’ve had a change of heart. I like you. I think you’ve got something, but I think that you were far too nervous because of your family. Do you think giving you a second chance is the right thing to do?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Catherine said. As she was standing there, having been given that second chance, she suddenly knew that she could do this.

  ‘Off you go then,’ Richard Forster said, giving her the nod to start.

  Catherine began to sing. She could feel the pitch of her voice, low and strong to begin with, dipping breathily in the verse and soaring sweetly in the chorus. She knew every word and note inside out, she had sung this song a thousand times, and in her imagination had performed it on countless occasions. It felt like her own song; her own words. This time around, singing this song as it should be sung was as natural to Catherine as breathing. She finished the last chorus and realised she had been allowed to sing the song all the way through. She looked at the judges, feeling as if she had just emerged from a trance. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest. Now was the moment of truth.

  Carrie Ward spoke first. ‘That was just beautiful.’ Catherine could see that she had tears in her eyes. She hoped that was a good thing.

  Next up was Cherie Forster. ‘Well, all I can say is I’m glad we brought you back and I disagree wholeheartedly with what Richard said earlier. A voice like yours would be a breath of fresh air in America.’ She threw her husband a look. He didn’t respond.

  Lionel was nodding next to her. ‘I have to agree. I’ll eat my previous words; that was a brilliant performance.’

  Catherine eyes were darting between the judges, she was trying to take in what they were saying but it just didn’t seem to compute. Her gaze landed on Richard Forster.

  ‘So, Catherine …’ he paused for what seemed like an eternity. ‘Your first audition was a little shaky but we decided to bring you back because we thought that you might have something.’ He paused again. Catherine’s legs were shaking, barely holding her up. ‘And I have to say that I think you have, I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about you.’ He paused again, the suspense was killing Catherine. ‘And that performance was one of the best auditions I’ve ever seen. You were sensational.’ Catherine clapped her hands to her mouth. ‘So here’s the moment of truth … Carrie?’

  ‘Again. One hundred per cent, yes.’

  ‘Lionel?’

  ‘It’s a yes from me.’

  ‘Cherie?’

  ‘If I get you in my category, we’ve won. Yes! Yes! Yes!’

  ‘Catherine?’ Richard paused again. Catherine thought she was going to collapse with anticipation. ‘You’re through to Boot Camp.’

  Catherine jumped in the air, ‘Thank you so much!’ she said. She was about to run over to the judges but then collected herself and ran out of the audition room. Jason tried to get hold of her for an interview but she ran straight towards the first friendly face she saw: Andy. ‘I’m through!’ she squealed and threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He hugged her back. Then suddenly the moment had gone and as excited as she was, Catherine realised she was hugging a virtual stranger. ‘Sorry,’ she said, embarrassed, pulling away. But Andy didn’t seem to mind. In fact he was beaming and it seemed that he was just about to say something when Jason got his Vulcan-like grip on Catherine’s arm and pulled her into camera shot.

  ‘Get over here, you’d better get used to this if you’re going to be famous,’ he hissed.

  She wasn’t going to be famous, she thought. Not her – was she? But even as she tried to make her way through the other hopefuls who were now surrounding her, waiting to hear her good luck story, Catherine had the disconcerting feeling that things might never be the same again.

  Chapter 2

  ‘WELL, WELL. SATURDAY evening mass; we�
��ll make a good Catholic of you yet.’ Father McGary smiled at Catherine.

  She had been sitting at the back of church throughout the service having left the house for some fresh air and headed to the only place where – up until today – she had felt welcome to sing. Father McGary was a portly man with a big shock of greying ginger hair and thick Deidre Barlow glasses. Catherine often wondered how he’d ended up with a pair of glasses that were so obviously meant for a female face but she’d never asked him. Anyway, they kind of suited him.

  ‘I just needed a bit of time out of the house,’ Catherine explained. ‘I’ve had a bit of a mad day.’

  ‘You and me both. The church roof has pigeons lofting in it and I’ve been up a ladder with a sweeping brush trying to get at them for the best part of the afternoon,’ Father McGary said. ‘What have you been up to? Is your father demanding to be pushed in his bed from Land’s End to John O’Groats?’

  Catherine laughed. Over the past few years, as Catherine had come to the church to practise her singing, she and the priest had built up a good rapport and she had slowly begun to confide in him about her role within her family. She knew that Father McGary felt that she took too much on with her father but he never pushed the issue, he just made the odd wry comment that made her think.

  ‘No, I went to the Star Maker auditions,’ Catherine said, wincing slightly as she delivered the news. She was half expecting Father McGary to either not know what she was talking about or to be disgusted with her. Would he think that it was shows like that that were adding to the moral bankruptcy of the nation and that she’d need to go to confession and repent immediately?

  ‘I nearly went myself!’ Father McGary exclaimed excitedly, smacking Catherine on the arm. ‘I had the form filled out and everything. I thought, they’ve never had a priest on before. I’ll be the first one.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘What were you going to sing?’

  ‘“When Doves Cry” by Prince.’

  Catherine almost laughed again but when she realised that Father McGary was serious she swallowed it.

  ‘I didn’t know you could sing, Father.’

  ‘I can’t, I haven’t a note in my head, but it looks like a nice day out, and like I said, I’d have been the first priest. I’d have got myself and the parish noticed and that way more people might come to mass. More people might put money in the collection and I might get the roof fixed and not find myself up to my elbows in pigeon poo on a regular basis.’ Father McGary’s warped logic somehow made perfect sense to Catherine. ‘So, tell me, how did you get on? Did you get to meet that Forster fella?’

  Catherine told Father McGary all about her day and the fact that she was now through to the Boot Camp stage of the competition. He sat listening to the story, taking it all in with glee. ‘I’m delighted for you!’ he said, ruffling Catherine’s hair as if she were a toddler. Something about the priest’s unconditional support touched Catherine and tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘Eh, no crying now. What are the tears for?’

  Catherine shrugged, she wasn’t entirely sure. She thought a moment. ‘I’m just worried I suppose …’

  ‘Worried about what?’

  ‘My dad. How he’ll cope while I’m away.’

  ‘Your father will be fine. Always has been, always will be.’

  ‘But he’s poorly,’ Catherine said and then immediately felt guilty. Should she even be saying this? After all, her father had sworn her to secrecy. But she had kept the secret for long enough and it was beginning to feel like carrying a ton weight around.

  ‘He’s always poorly, isn’t he? He’s had everything under the sun for as long as I’ve known him.’ Mick had lived in Father McGary’s parish since he was a boy and he was something of a notorious character around the area. Her father only attended church for ‘hatches, matches and dispatches’ as he liked to call christenings, weddings and funerals, but Father McGary knew all about Mick; everyone, it seemed, knew all about Mick.

  ‘He’s got cancer,’ Catherine said, her voice barely audible.

  Father McGary blessed himself. ‘Oh Catherine, I’m so sorry. When did you find this out?’

  ‘He told me months ago.’

  ‘Well, I see lots of people who have cancer and pull through.’

  Catherine leant forward and began to cry. She didn’t want the priest to see her like this; she didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

  ‘What type of cancer is it?’ Father McGary asked gently.

  Catherine lifted her head up and looked at him. She knew that this was going to sound like a ridiculous answer but it was the truth. ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘He never said when he came home from the hospital?’

  ‘No, he just told me that he has cancer and that he can feel it inside of him all of the time and whenever he goes to the hospital he comes home and it’s bad news. They don’t seem to be able to treat it, whatever it is.’

  ‘And has there been any word from your mother about this?’ the priest probed gently.

  ‘No. I doubt Dad would want her to know.’

  Father McGary looked as if he was about to say something but then thought better of it. ‘What have your sisters said?’ he asked instead.

  Catherine knew again that this was going to sound ridiculous once she said it out loud. ‘Dad’s asked me not to tell them.’

  Father McGary took this in and nodded his head even though his body language made him look as if he should be shaking it in disgust. ‘And has he given any reason for this?’

  ‘Not really. We don’t really talk about stuff. He just trusts me …’ Catherine trailed off, thinking that she was sounding a lot like a wet lettuce.

  ‘That may be the case, but he can’t burden you with something like this. What has he said about your success today? I’m assuming you’ll have to leave him to go off to the competition, what has he said about that?’

  ‘Oh, he’s been fine really. He’s quite encouraging actually,’ Catherine said, without being able to meet Father McGary’s gaze. She was like some poor battered wife who when confronted about her latest black eye, claimed to have walked into a door.

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  Catherine nodded and stood up. She was sure that Father McGary didn’t believe her, but she didn’t want to tell him how her father had really reacted to the news that she was through to the next stage of the nation’s most watched competition – like a five-year-old in a sulk. ‘Thanks, Father, I just wanted to tell you how I’d got on, you know, with you letting me sing here and everything.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You’d better come back and sing here when you’re rich and famous.’

  ‘I will,’ she nodded.

  Catherine left the church and walked along the road in the direction of her house. She felt a warm glow from the priest’s reaction. It had been nice to tell someone who knew how much this meant to her. Catherine loved music and singing and Father McGary seemed to understand this. Over the time that she had been using the church to practise she had discussed her musical tastes with the priest on numerous occasions. Telling him how she had first become interested in pop music when she was five or six when Claire used to listen to Madonna and New Kids on the Block. As she got older Claire graduated onto bands like REM and Nirvana and Catherine used to listen to her CDs when her sister was out working at her Saturday job at Tesco. As Catherine grew up and her musical taste developed she found herself becoming fascinated by the lyrics as much as by the music. Bands like Radiohead, Doves and Elbow sat alongside singers like Beth Orton, PJ Harvey and Tori Amos in her CD collection. While everyone else at school was listening to the Spice Girls and Take That, Catherine was listening to songs of heartbreak, loss and longing. These songs spoke to her even though she hadn’t experienced anything like this at the time, but somehow she knew how it felt.

  When her mother left home these songs meant more to her than ever. She didn’t need a boyfriend to break her heart, she had a mother who’d done
that for her. Not that Catherine ever said anything to anyone, she was too much of a peacemaker for that; add to this the fact that she felt she had to keep things on an even keel at home for poor Jo who had only been twelve at the time of their mother’s departure. So her own feelings towards her mum were channelled into the songs she wrote herself, she was just too lacking in confidence to ever sing them to anyone. Catherine hoped that this competition might give her the confidence she needed to push herself forward.

  As Catherine neared the end of the street she turned around. She was a couple of hundred yards away from the church now but she could still see the silhouette of Father McGary standing waiting; checking to see that she was OK.

  ‘Here she is, Mariah Carey,’ Mick said, as Catherine came through the door. ‘I got me own tea, thanks.’ Mick was sitting in front of the TV with a plate of beans on toast on his lap.

  ‘How’s me putting the toast in the toaster, popping it, spreading butter on it, warming the beans, putting them on the toast and then putting the plate on your knee, you getting your own tea?’ Jo asked, pulling her hair into a ponytail and smearing lip balm on her lips. ‘I don’t know how you put up with him, it’s like living with Dot Cotton.’

  ‘You have to listen to him too,’ Catherine reminded her.

  ‘Not really. I’m usually out, which is where I’m going now.’

  ‘Out where?’ Mick asked.

  ‘Out out.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere until I know where you’re going.’

  ‘OK.’ Jo grabbed a pen. She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to her father. ‘Here’s the address.’

  Mick looked at it satisfied for a moment until he realised it was a joke address. ‘999 Letsbe Avenue. Very funny, Joanna. Very smart.’

  Jo smiled sweetly. ‘I’m off to tell everyone my sister’s going to be famous. Bye!’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Mick asked, and then demanded, exasperatedly, from Catherine, ‘Where’s she going?’

  ‘Jo, we’re not meant to say anything in case it gets in the papers …’ Catherine said weakly, before letting her sister go. She knew no one would be interested in her – what sort of story did she have that the News of the World would want to splash across the front page: BOOT CAMP GIRL LETS DAD SORT HIS OWN TEA OUT SHOCKER? She didn’t think so.