This Beats Perfect

by Rebecca Denton

  It was just over a week until her audition and she was feeling close to ready. It was finally time to share her track with her dad, because despite its incredible online reception, the only musical opinion that REALLY mattered in her life was her dad’s.

  ‘Hey, Superman!’ Amelie grinned as she arrived at her dad’s studio half an hour later.

  Mike stood in the reception area, hunched over the coffee machine in light denim jeans and a faded Stone Roses lemon graphic T-shirt. The stereo was blasting ‘There’s No Other Way’ by Blur so loudly that she had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention.

  ‘Amelie!’ He jumped, aimed the remote at the stereo and turned it off. ‘Shoes off,’ he said, looking at her muddy Chucks.

  ‘Did I just walk into the nineties?’

  ‘I’m just doing some research for the meeting.’

  ‘Maxx from The Keep likes nineties Britpop?’

  He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Have things died down?’

  ‘Oh my god, like, totally,’ Amelie said with awe. ‘You were amazing!’

  An ‘exclusive interview’ with Charlie by Dan Wootton had appeared in the Sun newspaper a couple of days after Mike’s phone call with Geoff. Charlie talked about missing home and being on tour and how he was ‘not looking for love right now, and happy’. The headline read ‘Keeping Single’. The fandom swiftly moved on to the next drama – naked balcony photos of Lee – and the end of term had meant Amelie could escape any lingering limelight at school.

  Charlie even reached out and apologised to Amelie with a series of direct messages. They appeared, on face value, to be a sincere attempt to make amends and be friendly.

  TO AMELIE: Hey You. How’s London? Sorry bout the shit with the press & fandom. <3 C x

  TO CHARLIE: No worries, have fun on tour!

  Then, a few days later:

  TO AMELIE: How’s stuff? What’s happening? Europe is sooo hot <3 CXXXXX

  TO CHARLIE: Not much. Weather here hot too.

  And again, a couple of days ago:

  TO AMELIE: What is your favourite record of all time? Not including any of mine ;-) BTW Stage collapsed in Prague :-/ XXX

  TO CHARLIE: Oh dear. Couldn’t choose a record.

  It was best not to mention the messages to her father, so Amelie played it safe. ‘The photographer’s long gone and Iggy Azalea had a Twitter spat with Kylie Jenner just after the interview came out and so Amelie Ayres was forgotten in a click,’ she said, snapping her finger.

  ‘Yesterday’s news,’ her dad sighed. ‘I’m glad it’s over.’

  He had that look he got when he was busy. Distracted, clipped smile, inattentive. ‘I really need to crack on here.’

  ‘I know, but the whole thing … Dad, it gave me some confidence, I think.’

  ‘I’m glad something good came of it.’ He smiled warmly.

  ‘I mean how much worse can it get than everyone at school thinking you like a boyband?’ They both laughed as Amelie sat her guitar down and put her hands in her back pockets.

  ‘Well, I wanted to thank you,’ she said, smiling shyly. ‘And I wondered …’

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘Could I play you my audition song?’

  Her dad put his coffee down and ran his hands from his hair across his face shaking his head and smiling with surprise.

  ‘Oh god, of course you can. As long as it’s single length and not some twelve-minute epic B-side?’ he added quickly, looking at his watch.

  ‘It won’t take long, I promise,’ Amelie said, clicking open the latches on her case.

  ‘You need a new guitar. And new strings,’ he remarked as she dug around for a moment and pulled out a USB stick.

  ‘I thought you were going to play it for me?’

  ‘Yeah, I recorded it.’ She grinned, finding the track and hitting play.

  Amelie couldn’t sit and she couldn’t stand and so she paced back and forth the nine or so steps of the reception area, staring at the deep blue carpet and trying not to look at her dad. The guitar introduction came in, a melancholy minor chord, picked gently over a deep, almost drowning beat.

  ‘Can you have the backing track at the audition?’

  ‘No. Shhhhh,’ she said.

  ‘How did you get that sound?’ he asked.

  ‘A woodblock, a brick and a tea towel,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Shhh.’

  ‘It’s good.’

  ‘SHHHHHHHH!’

  Her vocal came in and Amelie drew in a deep breath. This was it. She looked nervously to her dad and then back to the floor, and then to her dad. She chewed on her nail and she waited. The first note was bright, optimistic, wavering high above the deep beat before it fell into a minor key, mirroring the aching sadness of the guitar. As the track moved into the chorus, a rolling, roaring bluesy beat picked up …

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ came a thick southern accent.

  Amelie scrambled to the stereo and switched it off quickly, her heart thumping.

  ‘I hope I haven’t interrupted something?’ Maxx said, staring right at Amelie for a moment, a whisper of a smile appearing before he looked over to her dad.

  ‘No, no. Not at all,’ her dad pulled himself up.

  Maxx looked relaxed in an old charcoal grey T-shirt half tucked into his worn jeans and his hair, liberated from the weight of a tonne of gel and spray, hung forward. He had a brand new hard guitar case in one hand and a leather bag across his body. Behind him, pulled right up to the door, sat an expensive black car with tinted windows – the driver leaning nonchalantly against it.

  Amelie hid her stunned face and tore the USB out of the stereo.

  ‘Maxx. My daughter, Amelie, you guys met?’

  ‘Hey, Amy-Lee.’ Maxx came forward and stared confidently at her, raising his hand to shake hers. ‘Not properly. I really hope I’m not interrupting?’

  ‘It’s Am-elie,’ she said, ignoring his hand as she silently cursed his interruption. ‘It’s French.’

  ‘My mistake,’ Maxx said.

  ‘You’re not interrupting. At all,’ Mike said, shaking Maxx’s outstretched hand. ‘Amelie was just playing me her new track. Come in, come in. Welcome to Church Street Studios.’

  ‘Thanks, but really, you wanna finish? I can go ahead and call my driver back? I’m just off the plane anyway. I can hit the hotel and freshen up and leave y’all to it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Amelie said quickly, she looked apologetically to her father, who shook his head in reassurance. ‘I better head.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. We’ve only got this small break in the schedule, then we gotta fly to … Rome, right, Maxx?’

  ‘Maybe?’ Maxx laughed. ‘I forget, it’s terrible.’

  ‘Amelie, can you email it to me?’ her dad asked.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, though she knew she’d lost her nerve.

  ‘I mean it!’

  ‘Did you enjoy the gig?’ Maxx asked, popping his guitar down next to hers. She’d had it since she was nine, her first adult-sized guitar, and seeing her old soft case sitting next to his shiny new Gibson case – she definitely wanted an upgrade.

  ‘Um, yeah.’ She smiled politely. ‘Dee was amazing.’

  ‘She’s certainly got it,’ Maxx said.

  ‘You want tea? coffee?’ Mike asked Maxx, kissing Amelie on the cheek as she flung her case on her back and tied one of her shoelaces up.

  ‘You know what? That sounds great,’ Maxx said, flopping on the couch and looking over to Amelie. ‘I guess I might see you around then?’

  ‘Sure. Bye,’ Amelie said quickly, pulling the door open, avoiding direct eye contact. ‘Bye, Dad.’

  She hurried outside and fixed her canary yellow bike helmet on her head, nodding to Maxx’s driver. The afternoon was disappearing into evening and she suddenly wanted to get home to the comfort of her bedroom studio. She swung her leg over the back of her bike and kicked the pedal forward and took off towards Broadway Market.

  Boutique beers were being poured as the c
afés were pulling down their shutters, and Hackney on a summer’s Friday evening was beginning to loosen up for a long night ahead. Couples strolled arm in denim-covered arm, and beards and buns sat astride the bench seats at the Cat and Mutton, discussing digital media and coffee beans with earnest. But as she rode, it was flashes of Maxx’s face that distracted her.

  She stopped at the barrier by the canal – her shortcut home – and dismounted, feeling an overwhelming need to walk instead. As she took a few steps, she realised her legs were a bit wobbly. She’d pulled her bike up to a bench seat and sat for a moment to gather herself when her phone rang.

  ‘Amelie.’

  ‘Hey, Maisie. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing much. Um, where are you? You sound like you’ve been for a run.’

  ‘No. I just went to see Dad. I’m on my bike.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Did you play him the track?’

  ‘Almost, we got interrupted.’

  ‘Oh! Bummer,’ Maisie paused. ‘And is there something else, my eternally earnest friend?’

  ‘No. No. It’s fine,’ Amelie said, basking in the surprising warm feeling coursing through her. ‘I am fine, actually. In fact, I feel really rather good. What are you doing?’

  ‘Ummm … waiting for you at my house! You’re staying over, remember?’

  ‘Oh SHIT! I’m on my way.’

  CHAPTER 14

  Rudderless

  ‘Okay, I’m coming out!’ Ella burst out of the changing room wearing a black Dior slip dress with hot pink sky-high Louis Vuitton stiletto heels.

  ‘Oh my god, Ella,’ Maisie said with her jaw on the floor. ‘Wow!’

  Amelie’s cheeks flushed instantly. ‘Oh my god, Mum.’ She covered her eyes in embarrassment.

  ‘Oh don’t be a prude, Amelie! It’s beautiful.’ She spun around in a circle. ‘Don’t you just wish!?’ she said, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Madam, can I ’elp with sizes?’ said the sales assistant, who was hovering.

  ‘Oh no, it fits perfectly,’ Ella sang out. ‘Amelie, why don’t you try it on? For me.’

  ‘Oooh, yes, Amelie, you must!’ Maisie collapsed into the plush changing room sofa, the sales assistant wincing as a teal and silver silk organza full-length gown was crushed under her.

  ‘It’s okay, you can sit. I can steam it,’ she stammered.

  ‘I don’t want to try it on,’ Amelie sighed. ‘Please.’

  ‘Oh, I despair, Amelie, I really do.’ Ella crossed her arms. ‘You realise you’re a young woman now, and there’s nothing wrong with embracing your burgeoning sexuality.’

  ‘Oh. My. GOD!’ Amelie sunk as deeply as she could into the sofa. ‘No more, Ella. Please. No more.’

  ‘Can I get you anything else, ladies?’ The assistant stood patiently by while Ella began to undress with the door wide open.

  ‘No, I’m going to think about the dress,’ she said, unzipping the back and sliding it off her shoulders. She winked at Maisie and added. ‘Yes, I’m going to have a glass of champagne with my beautiful daughters and think about it.’

  ‘No problem, madam. I’ll put in on hold for you. Can I ’ave your name?’

  ‘Honey Wilson,’ Ella said, stifling a giggle, as the assistant began to pick up the scattered clothes with the smallest suggestion of an eye roll.

  Maisie sniggered. Amelie wanted to die. Her mother found everything hilarious. This was the dynamic of their threesome.

  As they sauntered out of Liberty and onto Carnaby Street, Amelie longed to be back home in the safety of her bedroom studio – practising her track, recording, tweaking, playing it back. All she could think about was the audition tomorrow, but on her mother and Maisie’s insistence that she got out of the house before she turned into a character from Twilight, she was dragged to central London for a girls’ day out. This basically consisted of Maisie and Ella being as girly as humanly possible, while she moped about and complained.

  ‘Is that enough shopping?’ Amelie asked meekly, nodding across at The Diner and dreaming of a hotdog smothered in onions and cheese. ‘I mean … shall we get some lunch?’

  ‘We only went to Liberty! There’s still Topshop, COS, Selfridges, Harvey Nicks, Zara, Coast, COS, M&S for knickers, Boots because I love toiletries – ooh and I love a peek into Bang Bang,’ as her mum rattled off the list it felt like a prison sentence, and worse was to come, ‘but first, I have a surprise for you both!’

  ‘Oooh, Ella, what!?’ Maisie’s eyes widened with excitement.

  ‘Let’s just pop down this way …’ Ella said ominously, as they ducked down a side street heading further into central Soho. The streets were brimming with tourists shopping, wailing buskers, charity muggers and pretty PR girls handing out free trials of this and that.

  ‘Free class at Psycle!’ a fit one shouted.

  ‘Two for one cocktails!’ a fun one shouted.

  ‘Second-hand mother!’ Amelie muttered. The feeling of dread growing within her was fully realised as Ella waved them towards Nails, Nails, Nails OK!!!

  ‘Manicures!’ Ella giggled, turning to both girls. ‘For your upcoming birthday, Maisie, and for you for the audition, Amelie, and for me, because, well, I have a, well, a date of sorts.’

  She pushed open the door, and a small blonde woman who was round as a barrel with teeny tiny legs came wobbling across the floor, her boobs heaving as she stretched out her arms in greeting.

  ‘Ella! Amelie! You must be Maisie!’ She air kissed her mother. ‘What can I get you to drink? I have liquorice tea, grapefruit juice, a lovely cava? Or we have instant coffee. Not my fault. His.’ She waved to the other beauty therapist, who looked like a blonde Jack Sparrow.

  ‘Thanks, Frankie. Thank you so much.’

  ‘It’s no problem, darling. Anything for you.’

  The girls were ushered over to the back of the salon, where they were sat at the black perspex nail bar on candy floss vintage stools and ordered to dunk their fingers into a bath of warm water.

  Amelie loitered back a little.

  ‘Take a seat, love! Your first manicure!’ Ella beamed.

  Amelie looked down at her calloused fingers and broken nails. She instinctively started to chew on her thumbnail. ‘Mum, I’m sorry. I can’t really have a manicure.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Maisie turned, smiling. ‘She needs to keep her fingers rough for playing her guitar.’

  ‘What? Oh, come on love, you’ll love it! We can keep the colour nice and subtle.’

  ‘No, Mum, really. I can’t. It’s not me being difficult …’ She squirmed as Frankie slipped three glasses of cava onto the nail bar next to them. ‘I’m so grateful, but I really can’t. I need to keep them hard.’ She held up her calloused fingers to show her mum, who curled her nose up at the sight of them.

  ‘Oh, this is such a shame. Gosh. Can’t you just get a little file and a colour then?’ her mother pleaded. ‘A pedi? What about those feet? They haven’t seen the light of day since you were eleven!’

  ‘We have musicians come in here all the time,’ Frankie said matter-of-factly. ‘George can give you a guitarist manicure … GEORGE! We do it all the time. ALL THE TIME,’ she said, as though Amelie was hearing impaired.

  Amelie shrugged at her mother’s pleading eyes and caved. ‘Um, okay. I guess so. Thank you.’

  Maisie shot her a look. ‘You could get your feet done instead,’ she whispered as Amelie dunked her fingers into the warm water.

  ‘It’s okay. Really.’ She tried not to furrow her brow as George appeared with a small plastic tumbler filled with horrifying-looking silver torture equipment.

  As the three sat having their nails done, Amelie tried her best not to bring the mood down. Her mum chatted away to Frankie, who turned out to be an old friend from school and who had been around when her parents had met.

  ‘Oh, but your father was so charming!’ Frankie said. ‘So charming and so cool. We were all terribly jealous of Ella when she snagged him.’

  Amelie r
ecoiled at the image of her mother literally snagging her father. Like some barbaric metal hook snags a dead pig.

  ‘What were they like together?’ Maisie asked innocently, whilst holding two identical looking hot pinks up. ‘Left or right?’

  ‘RIGHT!’ Frankie and her mother replied in unison.

  ‘They were cute. Ella was very smitten,’ Frankie grinned. ‘But it wasn’t to be. Short and very sweet, it was.’

  ‘But he gave me you!’ Ella said with a smile. ‘My baby girl.’

  ‘If only he’d given a bit more than that,’ Frankie muttered.

  ‘What?’ Amelie’s ears pricked.

  ‘Oh, nothing, love,’ Frankie said, focusing her attention on applying a thin clear base coat to Ella. ‘You know what men are like.’

  ‘Amelie has a big audition tomorrow! Don’t you, love?’ her mum said quickly. ‘She’s been practising like mad. Totally dedicated to her music! Incredible determination, I’m very proud of her. As you know, I can’t stick to one thing, me. Always looking for the next thing.’

  She and Frankie shared a laugh as the cava began to loosen them up a little.

  ‘Which reminds me,’ Frankie said conspiratorially. ‘Back to Paris, eh?’

  Amelie looked down at her hands as George furiously filed the edges of her non-existent nails. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to clear what she thought she had heard.

  There was a silence from the end of the bar. She didn’t need to look across to know that Frankie had spoken out of turn, and her mother was probably giving her the look.

  ‘Eh?’ Maisie raised her eyebrows and squeaked. ‘Paris? What? Who’s going to Paris?’

  Amelie wanted to pull her hands out from under the fluorescent drying contraption, she felt trapped, but the conversation was running away from her like a steam train.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything just yet.’ Ella beamed across at both the girls. ‘But yes, I have been offered a job opportunity for the summer in Paris. I don’t have the job yet, but I have a final meeting tomorrow to finalise everything. Hence the nails. I’m going to nip over on the train. Maybe look for accommodation while I’m there.’ She said it as if everything should be perfectly clear now.