Star Struck

by Anne-marie O'connor

  Catherine looked over at Kim and winked. She felt nervous for her new friend as she walked up onto the stage. And then she realised that she didn’t have a clue whether Kim could sing or not. What if she opened her mouth and was tone deaf? Catherine sat for a moment clutching her stomach, hoping that Kim was good. She didn’t have to wait or worry for too long – as soon as Kim began to sing ‘Somebody Else’s Guy’ by Jocelyn Brown, it became clear that she wasn’t just good, she was great. Her voice sounded like it should belong to a soul diva, not someone who was five foot nothing from Bradford. Richard Forster, who had been sitting slumped in his chair, suddenly sat up and looked around at the seated hopefuls to gather their reaction. Everyone was fixated on the tiny northerner with the huge voice. Kim finished the last bar and everyone cheered. Catherine got to her feet clapping, she was so proud of her new friend. She looked around to see the only person not clapping was Star, sitting with a scowl on her face. Catherine shook her head, the girl was proving impossible to like.

  ‘If you keep that up, you’ll be heading for the final,’ Carrie said.

  ‘Brilliant. Thank you …’ Lionel looked at his notes. ‘Kim. I must remember that name.’

  ‘You’ve just blown the cobwebs off this competition,’ Cherie said with a smile.

  ‘Well done, Kim, can’t wait to see what more you’ve got,’ Richard said looking genuinely pleased.

  Kim clutched her hands to her chest and ran excitedly from the stage. ‘Oh my God!’ she whispered as she sat down next to Catherine, ‘I can’t believe their comments.’

  ‘I can’t believe your voice!’ Catherine said honestly, ‘you were amazing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Kim said shyly. Everyone was looking at her. She sunk down in her chair. Catherine thought that she was really going to have to pull something out of the bag with her performance now. Her friend was great, she didn’t want to look like the loser sidekick.

  The next few girls called to the stage were all good, but no one impressed the judges like Kim had.

  ‘Star Prichard,’ Will shouted.

  ‘It’s just Star, I don’t use my surname.’ Star said, flouncing up to the stage, as much as a person could flounce wearing a squeaky leather catsuit.

  ‘I think you need oiling,’ Cherie said cuttingly in her baby-sweet voice.

  ‘You don’t use your surname?’ Carrie asked.

  ‘No. Do any of the great singers? Madonna, Prince …’ Star scrunched her face up, evidently trying to think of another superstar known by just one name. ‘Kylie.’

  ‘Minogue,’ Cherie offered helpfully.

  ‘Yes, but she’s just Kylie, really.’

  ‘What are you going to sing for us today, darling?’ Richard asked, obviously trying to hurry things along.

  ‘“Nessun Dorma”,’ Star said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Kim said, sinking down in her chair.

  ‘Right …’ Richard said. ‘It’s an interesting choice for a pop competition, but off you go.’

  Catherine held her breath. Star was such an exhibitionist that she was sure that this would be an over-the-top, disastrous performance. But what Star did next surprised everyone in the room. She might have been dressed like Britney on acid but she sang like Catherine Jenkins; her voice was beautiful and pure. It was sweet and gentle through the verses, rising to an almighty emotional crescendo. Everyone in the room jumped to their feet and applauded as Star took a bow. Catherine was standing with her mouth open. Star was unpredictable, that much she had to give her. The judges’ comments reflected the audience’s exuberant reaction.

  Richard Forster rounded up the comments. ‘I’d like to see more versatility from you, I need to hear that operatic voice lend itself to other genres of music. But I have to say, that was an outstanding performance.’

  Star beamed, delighted with herself. She then looked at the crowd and arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Did she just give an entire room a dirty look?’ Kim whispered.

  ‘Catherine Reilly,’ Will shouted.

  Crap, Catherine thought, how am I going to follow that?

  ‘Good luck,’ Kim nudged her.

  Catherine stood up, feeling sick and dizzy. She hoped that her nerves didn’t get the better of her. She couldn’t afford to let that happen. Her roommates had all given great performances on the first go. Catherine walked towards the stage. I’m going to do this for Dad, she thought. He’s ill and he could do with some good news. She so desperately wanted him to be proud of her and to know that she was good and was doing this for a reason. She stood on the stage and looked out at the four-hundred-strong audience.

  ‘The family didn’t follow you this time?’ Richard asked.

  Catherine shook her head. He was smiling, right, that was a joke, Catherine thought, not knowing whether to laugh or start singing. She was sure she was doing a very good impression of a startled bunny.

  ‘When you’re ready, Catherine,’ Richard said.

  Catherine closed her eyes and pretended that she was the only person in the room. That she was back at church practising alone with only the pigeons nesting in the roof for company. She had decided to sing the Sinead O’Connor hit ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’. She knew when to sing gently at the beginning, when to punch through the lyrics in the chorus, when to let rip with emotion and when to hold back. She opened her eyes as she finished the verse and chorus that was required of her. Everyone in the room was applauding and cheering, which was a good sign, but Catherine didn’t know if it was good enough for the judges.

  ‘That, Catherine …’ Richard Forster paused for effect, ‘was really, really good.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Totally,’ Carrie agreed.

  ‘Really beautiful.’ Cherie nodded.

  ‘You’re one to watch for me,’ Lionel said, nodding his head in agreement.

  Catherine hurried from the stage and sat down beside Kim. Catherine felt a tap on her shoulder and turned round to see Star looking at her. Catherine – thinking that Star was about to congratulate her on her performance – said, ‘Well done, Star. You were great.’

  ‘Thanks. I know.’ Star didn’t reciprocate the compliment. ‘Looks like the competition’s on with us three, doesn’t it?’

  Kim’s eyes narrowed. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it, then yes, it is.’ She turned around and folded her arms.

  Catherine joined her, feeling terrible. She didn’t like making enemies but it seemed Star wasn’t giving her much choice.

  ‘Right!’ Will shouted to the 384 hopefuls. ‘We’re going to call your name out, you’ll come to the front in groups of twelve and we’ll tell you whether you have made it through to the next round. Those who have, please take a seat again, those who haven’t, go back to your rooms, collect your stuff and we’ll arrange for you to get home.’

  Catherine looked at Kim, alarmed; that was quick. In ten minutes she might be calling Claire and asking her to make the long trip from Manchester. But then again, what did she expect? It was a competition.

  The first twelve people in the firing line went up. Among them was a woman in her sixties who had put in a sterling performance of ‘Penny Arcade’ – a Roy Orbison classic, so she had informed the judges – replete with barmy dancing and arm waving, a teenage girl who had sung ‘Thank You’ by Dido and a young guy who had really impressed the judges with his rendition of ‘Stand By Me’, but Catherine wasn’t sure looked that he looked like a pop star. Catherine really couldn’t tell if they were going through or not. She looked at Kim, who shrugged. She didn’t know either. The line up themselves didn’t have a clue, they were all staring at one another to see if they could spot an obvious failure or stand-out performer in the group.

  ‘Guys, thank you for your time and efforts but unfortunately on this occasion it’s a no.’

  Catherine’s stomach sank for them. The young Dido girl started to cry, a few of the others hung their heads and shuffled off the stage, only the woman in her
sixties seemed unperturbed. ‘I had a lovely time, Richard love, thank you.’

  ‘No problem, sweetheart.’ Richard nodded his special nod that Catherine had noticed he reserved for ladies past the menopause.

  The next group went up. This time Catherine was sure they were all going through, they had been great. ‘We’ll see you all again this afternoon!’ Carrie informed them. They all jumped around, screaming with excitement.

  ‘Guys, there’s three more stages before we get to our final twenty-four, don’t get too excited,’ Richard said. They all piped down and shuffled off the stage.

  Next up was a group that had a really strong line up; each one had performed well. Catherine looked at Kim and said wisely, ‘They’re through.’ Kim nodded her agreement.

  ‘Sorry guys, it’s a no,’ Richard said.

  Catherine shot up in her chair. ‘Bloody hell, I wasn’t expecting that.’

  ‘Bye bye,’ Star said nastily. Kim shot her a look. ‘What? They could all sing but none of them had star quality, did they?’

  ‘I think I might be going home,’ Catherine said, looking at the sorry group as they trundled off the stage. The next group were an odd bunch; some had been fantastic, some had been mediocre. Catherine decided to give up trying to work out which way it would go. Will called the final names for the group. ‘Star Prichard.’ Star stood up and walked towards the stage as if she owned the manor and everyone else there was her servant.

  ‘Guys …’ Richard paused for the camera, ‘we’ll see you this afternoon.’ Everyone except Star jumped for joy. She just walked offstage, totally assured of her right to be in this competition.

  ‘She’s unbelievable,’ Kim said, shaking her head.

  ‘Catherine Reilly,’ Will announced. Catherine stood shakily and walked to the front of the hall. She watched the others in her group and seeing other people who had impressed the judges head up to the front didn’t make her feel any better. Good singers were already packing their bags to go home. ‘And Kim Nevin,’ Will said finally. Kim had been great so maybe they’d done enough to get through. If not, they’d be going home together.

  Richard looked at them all with the poker face that Catherine had seen him use so many times on TV. ‘I’m sorry, guys …’ Catherine’s stomach hit her feet, ‘… you’re going to have to do it all again this afternoon.’

  It took Catherine a moment to realise this meant they were through. Kim ran over and hugged her. ‘One hundred and ninety-two down, one hundred and ninety-one to go.’ Catherine did a quick calculation in her head; she was about to correct Kim and say ‘One hundred and ninety to go.’ Leaving – in her wildest dreams – her and Kim in the final. But she stopped herself short. Maybe Kim did mean one hundred and ninety-one to go and Catherine – although they were getting along really well – was still just another competitor?

  ‘What am I on about?’ Kim said suddenly. ‘One hundred and ninety to go. Me and you get to the final and you win, that’d do me just fine.’

  Catherine beamed at her new friend. ‘Don’t be daft; I’d like you to win.’

  She genuinely meant it. Wherever she went out of the competition didn’t really matter to her as she never thought she’d even get this far. Catherine was relieved to have met someone like Kim, someone who knew what friendship was and wasn’t going to let the silly business of competition get in the way of what was really important in life.

  Chapter 6

  ‘I CAN GET it for you if you want,’ Jo volunteered kindly as her dad sat watching the telly in a sulk. He hadn’t spoken for over an hour, other than to tell her how ill he was.

  ‘Get what?’ Mick asked, evidently pleased that his moaning seemed to be working and Jo was about to do something for him.

  ‘Your violin.’

  Mick narrowed his eyes at his daughter. ‘You’re a piece of work you, Joanna.’

  ‘Takes one to know one …’

  ‘I don’t know where we got you from sometimes, I really don’t.’ Jo knew what was coming next. ‘And then I remember where I got you from …’

  Your mother, Jo mouthed as her father said simultaneously, ‘Your mother.’

  ‘That’s right, Dad, that where I came from: Mum,’ Jo said wearily.

  She bent down and inspected her toes. She was using the few spare hours before she went to bed to paint her nails and give herself a mini-facial. She had carefully checked the instructions on the packet of the face pack, unlike last time. A few months ago she had stolen one of Maria’s free passes to the gym and decided that she was going to make like a lady-who-lunches and wear a face pack in the sauna. Unfortunately, the face pack she had purchased was a self-heating one; which coupled with the heat from the sauna was a lethal combination. Jo had fled the sauna clutching her face and screaming – like the melting witch in The Wizard of Oz – and had dived into the pool, scattering a group of pensioners who had been minding their own business, enjoying an aqua-aerobics class.

  ‘Speaking of Mum …’ Jo said, she knew it was like picking a scab but she couldn’t help herself, ‘have you heard anything from her?’

  ‘Me? Why would I hear from her?’ Mick asked, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘I’m just asking.’

  ‘Well, don’t be daft.’ Mick tutted and stared at the TV.

  ‘I’m not being daft. I’ve not heard from her either.’

  Mick looked out of the corner of his eye at his daughter and then resumed watching the TV. Jo couldn’t work out what that look was about. Was he trying to work out if she was secretly seeing Karen and wasn’t telling him? That certainly wasn’t the case. The last time Jo had seen her mum was a year ago, in a dodgy coffee shop in Urmston called the Acropolis. The name always amused Jo; there wasn’t anything remotely Greek about either the Acropolis coffee shop or Urmston. She thought they could at least try to spice things up once in a while by serving Ouzo or smashing a few plates, but they just served bad cheese butties and weak tea. Jo had insisted on the venue, she knew it would annoy her mum – who thought she was way above Urmston these days – and that was the way Jo liked it, because Karen liked to call the shots, not the other way round.

  Mick might call Jo a piece of work, but Karen was the original article. She had left when Jo was twelve to set up home in Chorlton with Jay, whom she’d been having an affair with for less than two months. Jay always corrected anyone who called him just a plain old artist. ‘Conceptual artist,’ he would say. ‘Piss artist,’ Jo had countered last time she had seen him, eighteen months ago. Her abiding memory of Jay was that he smelt of old booze and cigarettes and was always waiting for a grant from the Arts Council. His last ‘exhibition’ had taken place in his and her mum’s house. It had been entitled Loss and consisted of a turquoise ten-foot synthetic moulding of Jay’s penis. Jo had asked why it was turquoise. Jay had said that it represented the Id. After that Jo didn’t think that there was any point ever speaking to him again.

  Karen had agreed to meet her youngest daughter in the Acropolis in Urmston after Jo had refused to get the bus to Chorlton. Chorlton was full of people like her mum and Jay and Jo hated the place. It was all artists and bohemians and bongo-playing hippies with more money than sense who’d bought their houses for ten pence in 1990 and were now sitting on a small fortune. Jay hadn’t even bothered to buy his house for ten pence; he’d inherited it from his dad. This meant that he and Karen could sit around doing whatever they pleased and not have to worry about working a nine-to-five job, as everything was paid for. This didn’t stop Karen always claiming to have no money or to be always on the lookout for something free, but it did mean that no one really listened anymore when she went into ‘poor me’ mode.

  The meeting had been fraught. Karen told Jo that she wanted to apologise for leaving her when she was young but that Jo needed to understand that Mick had been impossible to live with and that she and Jay had a sexual connection. (Puke, Jo had thought at the time. Who needs to hear that from their mum?) She then said that Jo
couldn’t blame her for wanting her own life; that she had given up years of her life for her kids. Jo had pointed out that that was surely the point of parenthood and you couldn’t just up-sticks because you felt there was more life in Chorlton with a halfwit artist. Karen had called Jo selfish, Jo had called her mother a sad old cow and the owner of the Acropolis had asked them to keep their voices down.

  Jo had run from the coffee shop all the way home and when she had burst through the door in floods of tears Catherine hugged her and stroked her hair and let her shout about how shit their mum was. Catherine had always been there for Jo to let off steam about their mother. She had stepped in to pick up the pieces when Karen left and had become more of a mother to Jo than Karen would ever be. Claire had already moved in with Paul and they were in the process of planning their wedding when Karen announced her departure, which led to Claire cancelling the church and the meringue dress and booking a flight to the Dominican Republic with Paul, where they were married with only a cocktail waiter as a witness. Maria was living with her first boyfriend Kyle and although she couldn’t believe her mum had left home, didn’t want to get to involved, so it was left to Catherine to look after Jo and their dad.

  Mick hadn’t always been a disaster zone. He used to be fun, or at least that was how Jo remembered it. Mick had worked as a fork-lift truck driver at the Kellogg’s factory in Trafford Park. He liked his job and his workmates and used to come home with lots of free cereal and stories about sending new workers to ask for a ‘long stand’. But when Karen left, Mick began to decline. He went on the sick immediately and then never really went back. His sense of humour somehow turned in on himself and where before he would find the fun in things and enjoy taking the piss out of himself and others, he became bitter and sarcastic before – for a while – he stopped communicating altogether. Jo knew that Catherine tried to shelter her from her father’s unsettling depression, but she guessed what was going on.

  Karen would come home from time to time and have Jo over to stay but as the years went by it became strained and Jo didn’t want to share her mum’s new life because she didn’t really try to include her daughters in it. Karen wasn’t like her friends’ mums, Jo came to realise, her natural instinct was to look after herself rather than her kids. It wasn’t that she was Cruella De Vil, it was just that she felt that she had done her bit and thought that they should all be thankful to her for sticking around as long as she had. Jo had once flipped and demanded to know if she had been an accident, it would stand to reason as there was a five-year age gap between her and Catherine. Mick had told Jo sourly that she had been a miracle as far as he was concerned, which led Jo to have doubts as to whether Mick was even her real father. Once Catherine had calmed her down and pointed out that she looked even more like a Reilly than Mick did, Jo had decided that she needed to overcome this Jeremy Kyle moment in her life and put some distance between herself and her mum. She didn’t want to be hurt by Karen anymore. So she had decided that every time she saw her mum she would act indifferent. It made Jo really sad, but she decided it was the only way to deal with someone who could leave a twelve-year-old child in the care of her not much older sister.