‘Look at those girls …’ Cherie said.
Two young women who Andy vaguely recognised because he had escorted them to their rooms were now French kissing on the table where the buffet food had been laid out.
‘Been done before,’ Richard said wearily.
‘Not like you to complain.’ Cherie threw a withering look at her husband. Richard matched her look. Andy couldn’t believe he was standing between the two most talked about people in TV and seemed to be witnessing first-hand what everyone assumed – that they didn’t like one another very much.
‘Anything interesting popped up?’
‘Not really,’ Cherie said, pushing her chair away from the monitors. ‘Just the usual. A thirty-five-year-old guy from Kent has been sent home for stealing.’
‘What did he steal?’
‘A paperweight.’
‘No!’ Andy exclaimed. Everyone turned around and stared at him. ‘Sorry, it just seems like madness that anyone would get through to Boot Camp and then jeopardise their chances by stealing something.’
‘Especially a bloody paperweight,’ Richard said with a wry laugh.
‘It’s the same every year. Some one caught stealing, someone with drugs, someone caught shagging in the toilets …’ Cherie’s withering gaze settled on Richard; he pretended not to notice.
‘There’s that bloody girl!’ Jason said, then clapped his hands to his mouth.
Andy looked at the screen. Catherine was standing with her roommate Kim, both looking awkward, both holding their glasses of lukewarm wine to their chests.
Richard turned to him. ‘I thought we’d cleared things up on the day. She can sing. You can get off her case until we see how she fares over the next couple of days.’
‘Sorry,’ Jason said quietly.
Andy watched Catherine; suddenly Jesse hove into view. He whispered something to Catherine, then she nodded and laughed and he kissed her on the cheek before walking off again. Kim shoved an elbow in Catherine’s ribs and Catherine shook her head. Brill, Andy thought, Mr Smooth performing his smooth operations and he couldn’t even tell him that he’d seen him because Richard Forster had sworn him to secrecy about the hidden cameras.
‘So, Andy, you’re probably wondering what you’re doing here?’ Richard looked at him.
‘Erm, kind of.’ He had to admit it had crossed his mind.
‘We just want to know who you think is going to cause problems and who the public will like. We’re here year in year out and we get inured to the whole process. We need someone with fresh eyes.’
Andy nodded, while secretly not quite believing he was somehow being invited into the inner sanctum of the country’s favourite TV show. Suddenly Star came into view. She was wearing next to nothing. The best way to describe the outfit Andy thought, was a bikini with a piece of fishing net stuck to the knickers. She walked across the room as if she was the main event that everyone had been waiting for. She helped herself to a glass of free plonk and looked around with withering disdain. Everyone else in the room had come to a standstill and were now staring at this bikini-clad creature – she simply stared back. No mean feat staring down a crowd of hundreds. Then she did something that Andy wasn’t expecting and neither was Cherie, Will, Jason or Richard. She turned to where the hidden camera watching the room was secreted, blew them a kiss and winked.
‘How does she know it’s there?’ ‘Who the bloody hell is she?’ ‘Quick, get Lionel and Carrie on, get them to distract everyone’s attention.’ Richard, Will and Cherie spoke over one another.
‘That’s Star,’ Andy said. ‘I was going to point out that she was probably going to be a nightmare but you can see that for yourselves, I suppose.’
‘She’s got bottle, I’ll give her that,’ Richard said.
‘Make sure that’s all you give her,’ Cherie hissed, before turning to Will and saying, ‘Carrie and Lionel are ready, go with them now!’
Catherine awoke with a start and checked the room. Everyone else was asleep. As she lay in bed, easing herself into wakefulness, she tried to work out what had woken her so suddenly. Maybe it was the quiet. The manor house was miles from anywhere and was surrounded by acres of manicured grounds. More likely, though, it was the enormity of the day ahead that had woken Catherine; today was their big day. Each bedroom had been assigned a mentor for the day and Catherine’s bedroom had been given Carrie Ward. They would all have to sing two different numbers, one of their choice and one that was pre-selected for them, before lunch. At 1 p.m. they were to be taken into a room and half of the hopefuls would be sent home. The same thing would take place again in the afternoon so that by the end of day one ninety-six contestants would go through to day two. Day two took the same format until, at the end of the day, there would be twenty-four hopefuls in the four different categories. Catherine was in the under-twenty-five category but only by the skin of her teeth; there were some boys and girls there who didn’t look old enough to have a Saturday job. Catherine lay awake, thinking about the intensity of the process.
On the TV it always seemed as if the contestants were at Boot Camp for weeks, being painstakingly whittled down. The truth was it was far quicker and harsher than that. It really was the embodiment of Andy Warhol’s idea that everyone had fifteen minutes of fame. Catherine really hoped she could earn her place in the competition and hang around and at least make it to half an hour.
Someone stirred behind Catherine, she looked around to see who was up; it was Star. Catherine shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She didn’t want to have to suffer the full blast of a one-to-one with Star this early in the morning. The night before Star had made an absolute show of herself – as far as Catherine was concerned – but Star didn’t care, it seemed that all she was interested in was being noticed. She had entered the room dressed like a stripper and then had proceeded to writhe around in the middle of the floor, pointing at a potted plant and saying to the others, ‘I know they’re watching, they’re always watching,’ like some paranoid maniac.
‘You still don’t believe me about the cameras, do you?’ Star asked. Catherine kept her eyes jammed shut, hoping she was talking to someone else. ‘They were watching us last night. That’s how it works, they want people who are going to make great TV and I’m going to make great TV. I know because a friend of my old voice coach told me.’ Star said assuredly.
Catherine quickly opened one eye to see if she was talking to someone else. ‘See, I knew you were awake.’
‘Oh, hi!’ Catherine said, embarking on a particularly bad fake yawn.
‘You don’t have to pretend to have just woken up.’
Bloody hell, Catherine thought, what was wrong with this girl? Didn’t she understand social constructs? I pretend to have woken up, you pretend to not have noticed that I was awake and ignoring you – everyone’s happy. Star evidently hadn’t grown up in a house like Catherine’s where everything was swept under the carpet and nobody talked about anything, ever. Other than Jo, of course. ‘I haven’t,’ Catherine lied, ‘I always yawn for ages in the morning.’
‘Right,’ Star said, clearly not believing a word. She jumped out of bed and quickly threw on a silver spandex all in one that was a cross between a futuristic leotard and Kylie’s hot pants. Catherine looked at her. ‘What?’ Star asked.
‘Are you wearing that to breakfast?’
Star looked at Catherine as if she had just found her on the sole of her shoe. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she paused, ‘I’m going for a run.’
Of course, thought Catherine. Silly me.
Andy was standing with Will, waiting for the three hundred and eighty-four hopefuls to flood into the main hall and be divided up into their prospective groups. The previous day’s events were still very much fresh in his mind. He had a list of people that he now knew would be going home even if they came into the room and sang like Whitney Houston. Last night Richard Forster told Andy that he was taking no chances this year, because this would be the biggest show eve
r. Whoever made it down to the final twelve had to cope with live finals in New York up against the best twelve singers that the US had to offer and he wasn’t going to leave it to chance and a good rendition of ‘Rehab’.
Jesse came sprinting over. Andy hadn’t seen him that morning; Jesse had been up with the lark, going for a long run in the grounds. Andy hadn’t bothered to join him. He didn’t want to look like Crazy Legs Crane going for a run with Usain Bolt. ‘Wait while I tell you, she was only out running this morning in the skimpiest outfit ever. You could hang coats on her …’
‘Who?’ Andy interjected. One thing he was learning quickly about his new friend was that he was a fan of imparting far too much information.
‘Star. She is well fit.’
Andy looked at him. Life wasn’t fair. People like Jesse thought every woman in the world was ‘well fit’ and it seemed that every woman in the world thought that he was ‘well fit’ in return.
‘She’s also well mad,’ Andy commented.
‘Yeah, but them well mad girls are always good in the sack,’ Jesse said with a knowing wink. ‘Anyway, she’ll be out of here tonight, she’s too harsh with the others for them to keep her in. You know what they like – loads of people hugging and kissing each other and being best mates.’
No, she won’t, Andy thought. She’s on the list. In fact Star was top of the list to stay. Richard had put a few other names on as they had sat secretly observing the contestants the previous night. But this morning he would decide who was going through.
‘Here come the girls …’ Jesse began to sing.
Andy looked up to see Kim, Catherine, Marissa, Heidi and Jill heading towards them. They were all dressed in similar outfits of jeans, flat pumps, long T-shirts and scarves. Andy didn’t really understand the new trend for girls wearing scarves in the middle of summer. But then again, Andy didn’t understand much about girls full stop. The girls filed past them and smiled in turn at Jesse. Catherine bowed her head, gave Jesse an awkward smile and then looked up at Andy and said, ‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
‘How’s it going?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, good. You?’
‘Fine. Nervous about this though.’
‘’Course. I bet you are.’ Andy stood frozen, wanting to say something funny or cool, but coming up with nothing witty he said, ‘Best of British.’
‘Thanks.’ Catherine half smiled and walked off. Was that a half smile of friendship or a half smile of sympathy? Andy wondered.
Jesse helped him quickly arrive at a conclusion. ‘Best of British? What are you? A spitfire pilot?’ He laughed, putting his arm around Andy as if he really needed some guidance.
‘Did that sound bad?’
‘You like her, don’t you?’ Jesse said, peering at Andy, an impish smile flickering on his lips.
‘No,’ Andy said, feeling his face burn. Andy hated the fact that he blushed. He had always blushed, it had been an affliction from childhood that he had never quite grown out of. Never mind the eyes being the window to the soul, in his case it was his cheeks. If you wanted to know if he liked someone or was embarrassed or if he was uncomfortable in a situation, all you had to do was look at his face and then you had your answer.
‘Yeah, you do,’ Jesse said, nodding his head like a wise old sage.
‘No, I don’t!’ Andy shouted.
‘Easy. Bloody hell You’ll burst a vessel, mate. So what if you do?’ Jesse said with a shrug. ‘She’s nice.’
Great, Andy thought. Jesse likes Catherine, too.
Evidently, Jesse sensed Andy’s obvious unease. ‘Go for it, if you like her, say something to her. She might be out of here by tonight.’
‘But … I thought you liked her.’ As soon as he said it Andy knew that he sounded like a child in a playground.
Jesse squeezed Andy’s shoulder. ‘Sort it out, Andy. I like everyone. Doesn’t mean I’m going to piss on another man’s rhubarb.’
Andy smiled gratefully.
‘Anyway,’ Jesse gestured in the direction of Star, who had just rounded the corner wearing a pink leather catsuit, ‘I’ve got madder fish to fry.’
Catherine nervously went over both songs she would sing that day in her head all morning, unlike Star who, once she had returned from her early morning run had proceeded to curl in a ball inside of a sleeping bag and then frantically wriggle her way out. When Kim asked what the hell she thought she was doing, Star snottily explained that every morning she ‘re-birthed’ herself. Catherine had hidden in the toilets until her fit of giggles subsided.
As they gathered in the hall and Star joined them, tugging at her ill-advised leather catsuit, Kim dug an elbow in Catherine’s ribs. ‘What the bloody hell is she wearing?’
‘It’s interesting,’ Catherine admitted.
‘Interesting is right. It’s riding up at the back and the front.’
Kim was right. Star’s catsuit was cutting into her in the most unflattering way.
‘Camel hoof alert,’ Marissa leaned forward and whispered to Kim and Catherine. Kim sniggered. Catherine shifted uncomfortably. Star was a div, there was no doubt about it, but she didn’t want to start ganging up on the girl.
‘I should tell her,’ Catherine said, making a move towards Star.
Kim caught her shoulder. ‘She’ll bite your head off, you know what she’s like.’
Catherine shrugged, ‘Yeah but …’ She relented, Kim was probably right.
‘She’s probably done it on purpose, I mean Britney Spears is always being photographed with her bits out, a tight catsuit’s probably really conservative nowadays and we just haven’t been reading enough Heat magazine.’
Catherine laughed. Kim was right, she was judging Star by her own standards.
The room had filled up with all of the contestants from the previous evening. There were a few sore heads and a number of shifty looks being exchanged between different boys and girls. The two girls who had put on the lesbian floor show the previous evening were standing as far apart as it was possible to stand with their eyes cast to the floor.
Will the producer took to the stage. ‘Right, everyone. This is where things get serious. Firstly, can I just point out that this isn’t a youth club and that the requests for the morning after pill that we’ve had from a few of you isn’t something we can sort out. That’s something you’ll have to arrange yourselves when you leave. The latest you’ll be here is tomorrow night so it’s up to you to make that decision yourselves.’
Catherine took a deep breath. There was something so flippant and harsh about what Will had just said that it jolted her. She suddenly realised that they weren’t there for a cosy few days; this was business and anyone who thought otherwise was kidding themselves.
‘Right. Let me introduce you to your judges.’
Carrie Ward came out from behind the screen. Everyone cheered. ‘Oh I love her,’ Kim said. Catherine agreed. Everyone loved Carrie Ward. This was her first year in the UK working on Star Maker: Transatlantic. She had previously been one of the judges on the US Star Maker show but now the two were being brought together she had been brought over to work with the British contestants. She was always kind to her contestants in the US show, but always seemed to know what she was doing, gave them good song choices and stood by them.
‘I hope we get her.’ Catherine smiled at Kim’s assumption; Kim blushed and corrected herself. ‘You know, if we get through. What am I on about? I’ll probably be packing my bag in two hours.’
‘Hi, everyone,’ Carrie said in her lilting Deep South accent. ‘I’m really pleased to be here with you guys and it was so nice to meet so many of you last night. Good luck with the auditions and my advice is just to go for it.’
Lionel Peters stepped out onto the stage. Everyone cheered again but not quite as enthusiastically as they had done for Carrie. ‘So, I’m not as popular then, I see?’ Lionel said with a smile. ‘Fine, I don’t mind. Right, I want to hear good, tight auditions from everyone. No one is bor
n entitled to success and fame, you have to work for it.’
There was more applause, then Cherie Forster stepped out onto the stage. Suddenly the crowd erupted, this was beginning to feel real now: the Forsters were here.
‘Hello, everyone,’ Cherie said in her sweet girly voice that could turn in an instant into a bitchy growl. ‘I just want you all to do you best, I can’t ask for any more. And relax and enjoy your performances.’
Cherie stood alongside Carrie and Lionel. The atmosphere in the room had reached fever pitch as everyone excitedly waited for Richard Forster to make an appearance. He stepped onto the stage and there was cheering, screaming and floor stomping. A couple of guys at the side of Catherine began whooping and shouting, ‘Whoops, there he is, Whoops, there he is.’ Catherine cringed slightly. She didn’t like huge public displays of emotion, which was why she could never bring herself to enjoy going to a football match when her dad tried to drag her to see Manchester United whenever he was well enough and had managed to get tickets. Grown men shouting put Catherine on edge for some reason. She realised she should get used to all this, and fast, if she was going to stick around in this competition; there would be far more whooping and hollering to come.
‘Right, guys!’ Richard shouted over the crowd. ‘You’ve made it this far, just give it your best shot. First up are the under-twenty-five girls. Could you all come forward, please?’
Catherine felt suddenly sick. This was it. The people from the other categories filed into the chairs that had been arranged facing the stage and one by one each girl was called to the stage. Catherine could feel sweat pricking her brow. She needed to get her nerves under control; she had quite a wait as they were going up alphabetically. The first few girls shook with performance anxiety and crashed out of their songs as a result. They were given a second chance but Catherine felt that they had blown it. As each girl was called they seemed to grow in confidence, if not in talent. Catherine began to think that being near the end of the alphabet wasn’t such a bad thing.
‘Kim Nevin,’ Will shouted.
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