This Beats Perfect

by Rebecca Denton

  ‘WE ARE ENGLISH!’ said Maisie pointing at herself and Amelie, as if she had a hearing impairment.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said in perfect English. ‘My name is Michel. We were wondering if we could buy you a drink?’

  ‘No! And, wow, look at the time!’ Amelie said, looking at her empty wrist. ‘What do you know? We have to go.’

  The two boys looked a little stunned as Amelie threw on a sundress and pulled her bag up over her shoulder. Maisie pulled on her shorts and apologised to the boys as best she could, ’I’m so sorry. We’re tired. Long day.’

  ‘Can I have your number?’ Michel was not going to give up easily.

  ‘Um …’ Maisie nervously slipped her shoes on, looking up to Amelie for help.

  ‘No. Sorry, she has a boyfriend,’ Amelie said, and grabbed her friend by the arm. ‘He’s a boxer. Or something.’

  As they walked back along the river, Maisie was silent and Amelie felt dirty and angry at herself. They made their way back up onto the boulevard and to her mum’s apartment to get changed for dinner.

  ‘What was that about, Amelie?’ Maisie finally asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were quite mean to those guys.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘Um, yes you do. It’s not like you to be so nasty. Sarcastic, yes. Mean, no.’

  Amelie brushed her hair and pulled it back into a tight ponytail. ‘Sorry.’ She sat on the edge of her sofa bed while Maisie pulled on an effortlessly chic and equally expensive dress before pulling out her make-up purse.

  ‘What’s going on? Has something happened with your mum? The studio?’ she asked. ‘It’s not still Max?’

  Amelie threw herself back on the bed and felt the tears welling in her eyes. ‘No.’

  ‘Why don’t you get in touch with him?’ Maisie asked. ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘I don’t care about Max.’

  ‘Okay, okay, okay,’ continued Maisie, now on an uncharacteristic roll. ‘Well what is it? Are you sure it isn’t the festival?’

  ‘I’m happy for Tara, she was really good. She deserves the place. It wasn’t my year.’

  ‘Okay, so why don’t you aim to get the place next year? You said yourself playing that night live gave you confidence. Max—’

  ‘Urgh! I don’t care what he said. He’s gutless, and a liar. He didn’t even leave the band. Dad says he hasn’t been in touch since the recording, and he’s heard nothing about a release.’

  Maisie turned around, her face perfectly and almost miraculously made in under two minutes. ‘Well, you need to get over him.’

  ‘Wow!’ Amelie said. ‘You should REALLY do this for a living.’

  ‘Amelie, don’t change the subject.’

  ‘I know, I know, I know.’

  ‘I know. I know. I know,’ Maisie mimicked, starting to lose her temper. She picked up her handbag. ‘I’m getting a bit tired of the woe-is-me stuff, Amelie. Life is not that hard, you know. You’re a seventeen-year-old with your own place in London for the summer! There’s got to be a way to see that as a good thing! And if you don’t want to be alone, surely you can stay with your dad, or you can come to Paris … oh, and you had a kiss with a really, really, really famous person and you fell for him but he lives overseas. And I know it’s a bit Pretty Woman but at least you got a shit-hot guitar out of it, right? And so what if you didn’t get a place at Music in the Bloody Park? Try again. It’s hard to be around you at the moment. You’re wallowing in your own self-pity. It’s like you’re enjoying it.’

  Amelie was floored. She had never heard Maisie speak like that – she was angry but it only served to make Amelie more defiant. She was up for a fight.

  She stood up slowly. ‘Well,’ she met Maisie’s eyes. Her friend was shaking, and Amelie knew that she could unnerve her further. Maisie was deeply sensitive and it wasn’t hard to upset her. ‘Thank you for that. You don’t have to be here, you know.’

  Maisie put her hand on the counter next to her and Amelie watched with satisfaction as the perfectly applied foundation could not hide the rising red flush in her cheeks. ‘I want to be here. I’m sorry to snap, I just … I want my friend back.’

  ‘I’m sorry I disappoint you.’ Amelie knew how to outmanoeuvre her.

  ‘You don’t … don’t …’ Maisie stammered, and Amelie could hear the faint breaking of her voice. ‘Amelie, please.’

  Amelie leaned over, picked up her handbag and said as coolly as she could, ‘Do you want to come to dinner? I’m going to go.’

  And with that, a single tear fell down Maisie’s cheek. ‘Amelie, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Amelie said stubbornly, trying to ignore her friend’s pain.

  ‘Amelie,’ Maisie pleaded with her.

  ‘Let’s just go,’ Amelie said. ‘Come on.’

  They walked in silence along the boulevard and down the cobbled side street to her mother’s restaurant. The market shops were still open, with big baskets of vegetables, flowers and other assorted produce outside. The evening sun was almost gone and huge fairy lights hung across the street. A small band was playing on the corner to a crowd of locals sitting on the steps of an old church.

  It was romantic, and beautiful, and Amelie felt herself softening ever so slightly.

  They arrived late, just as the dinner service was in full swing. Unusually for a French restaurant there was a large open kitchen at the back, and Amelie could see her mother working hard under the heat lamps, wiping her brow as she piped something delicious onto something equally delicious.

  The maître d’ marched over in a bit of a tizz. She mumbled under her breath in French and sat them at the worst and most pokey table at the back of the restaurant, but Amelie didn’t mind.

  ‘We have food coming,’ she said in a thick accent. ‘Because you were late, um, cannot order. We just bring?’

  ‘No problem,’ Amelie replied, knowing that they would get whatever was easy, fast, and available at that moment, as the restaurant was rammed.

  Before they had a chance to take their bags off, two glasses of mineral water and a small carafe of red wine arrived at the table. As they sat down, two French onion soups appeared straight from the grill, with bubbling cheese croutons drowning in the thick, beefy onion bowl.

  Amelie poured the wine. They had yet to speak a word to each other since the flat, although Amelie was starting to feel desperately bad for her friend, who was looking utterly dejected and miserable opposite her. It took almost every ounce of her will to find the words, ‘Sorry, Maisie.’

  Her friend breathed out. ‘No, I am.’

  ‘No, I am.’

  ‘No, really, Amelie. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No. You really don’t have to be.’ It was deadlock, and both the girls laughed. ‘It’s not your fault,’ Amelie continued. ‘Everything you said was right. I am wallowing in my own self-pity.’

  Maisie cringed. ‘I’m awful.’

  ‘Look, I’ll come to the festival with you and I’ll be happy about it,’ Amelie promised her friend. ‘And I’ll try to let go of Max. You’re right – I’m not over it.’

  ‘Okay, I understand,’ Maisie said with half a smile.

  ‘We just really connected and now he’s gone and it’s like nothing ever happened, but nothing is the same and it seems really unfair,’ Amelie said. ‘And I want my mum to come home. It’s usually me and her versus the world. I miss her.’

  ‘I just want you to be happy again. At least Amelie-happy, which is mostly grumpy,’ Maisie joked.

  ‘This summer didn’t go the way I had hoped. At all,’ Amelie said. ‘I’ve lived in eighteen houses since I was two. That’s more than one a year. I’ve owned thirteen different school uniforms. I’ve had to stand up at the back of class and introduce myself a dozen times to a room full of strangers who were already friends with each other. I’ve been the posh kid, the poor kid, the foreigner, the Londoner and almost always alone. Victoria Park is th
e longest I’ve been in one place! Three years. I’ve had one consistent thing in my life, and that’s Mum. I go home after the studio and I’m lonely.’

  ‘Well, as much as I ADORE Ella, she’s all over the place. There’s always something new. Job. Man. She’s always changing her mind,’ Maisie said. ‘I’ve never met anyone who could benefit from a mindfulness course more than your mum.’

  They both laughed as Amelie continued, ‘And Dad. My whole life I’ve wanted him to be proud of me. When I get on stage it’s sometimes all I think about. What he will think.’

  ‘Oh my god, that’s so much pressure on yourself.’ Maisie grabbed her friend’s hand. ‘No wonder you …’

  ‘… Get stage fright?’ Amelie said grimly. ‘Yeah, I guess. But I think he’s starting to see what I can do. Oh, Maisie, if you could see me in the studio … it’s amazing. I’m totally at home. And the open mic night … when I sang and played. I dunno. I feel like I was just starting to get there. Things were starting to happen. I wish I had that spot at the park. I just know how good I could be now.’

  Before they had fully finished their soup, it was whisked off the table as abruptly as it had arrived, to be replaced without a word by a plate of steak frites for Amelie and coq au vin for Maisie.

  ‘Wow. However did they guess?’ Amelie managed a grin and looked up to try to catch her mother’s eye, who was stressed and sweaty – buckling under the weight of dozens of dessert orders. Amelie felt a huge surge of empathy for her.

  As they finished their meal and enjoyed their rather mean allowance of wine, Amelie watched her mother working behind the stove and felt the smallest twinge of excitement in her belly. She looked at Maisie and then back to her mother, who managed a small wave and smile towards the girls before Monsieur Lamont lambasted her for not paying attention. Her mum pulled a slightly embarrassed, silly face, which Monsieur Lamont of course caught her doing, causing him to throw his hands in the air shouting and slam the stainless steel bench next to her. He stopped short of heaving a twelve-inch knife across the kitchen.

  Amelie winced and looked at her friend, and back at her mother again. And then she put her fork down.

  ‘Maisie, how long until they choose the wildcard place?’ she said with excitement.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The wildcard spot. For Music in the Park.’

  ‘They announced Tara weeks ago.’

  ‘No, the YouTube/Google unsigned one. The one where you enter by video?’

  ‘But that’s not for schools. That’s open to everyone. EVERYONE, Amelie.’

  ‘Well, I’ll just have to be extra good then, won’t I?’

  Maisie’s eyes brightened as she pulled out her phone and did a quick search. ‘They choose it in two days.’ She paused. ‘But, Amelie, that spot is for the main stage.’

  ‘I know. And I’m going to get it.’

  Maisie’s eyes brightened and she clasped her hands together with joy. ‘Oh, at last! Let’s bloody do this!’

  ‘Does that fancy camera of yours do video?’

  ‘It sure does, and it’s at the apartment.’

  ‘Well, we’d better get back then.’

  Amelie had twenty-four hours to send Maisie home with a video. The rules were pretty simple. It had to be one song, live and a single take, and you had to accompany it with a short bio, a headshot, and an example of your other work.

  She took a deep breath and opened the guitar case, where she saw the card from Max still tucked under the strings. She fingered the edges and ran her thumb under the flap as Maisie walked out of the bathroom with a hairbrush and her make-up bag. Amelie flicked the luscious white envelope open, inside was a note on perfect, thick white card. He had his own stationery.

  Thanks for everything. You’re a star. Stay in touch. xM

  He’d underlined where his email address and phone number were printed along the bottom of the card.

  ‘All right, headshot first? May as well – the overhead lighting in here is nice and bright.’ Amelie stuffed the envelope into her jacket and picked the guitar out of its beautiful, velvet-lined case.

  It was exquisite. She ran her fingers down the strings and let out a small gasp.

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Is it good? Looks pricey …’ Maisie said, flicking the lights on and clearing space against the roughly painted wall for Amelie to stand.

  ‘Oh, it’s pricey all right.’

  ‘Well, he can afford it, don’t think about it.’

  Maisie held up the hairbrush and tugged Amelie’s hair out of the severe ponytail.

  ‘Nothing too OTT, Maisie.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about a thing.’

  As Maisie worked, Amelie tuned the guitar as best she could by ear. She warmed her fingers and the strings up by playing though the song, then retuning, then resting her fingers, then playing again.

  Maisie ran her finger across a red lipstick then across Amelie’s lips.

  ‘It’s subtle,’ Maisie assured her, handing her a pale grey loose T-shirt, which she then tied around the waist with the black curtain tie-back to create a loose cinch. Maisie used some kitchen foil to create two identical silver cuffs – which looked exactly like two cuffs fashioned from kitchen foil. ‘Trust me,’ Maisie smiled, forcing them around Amelie’s wrists.

  Maisie pinned the neck of the T-shirt high up under Amelie’s hairline using a couple of hair grips, and, with Amelie’s hair falling straight and centre-parted, it gave a smart, extremely high-fashion look that Amelie was simply bewildered by.

  ‘I was waiting for you to use the toilet brush for a head piece,’ Amelie laughed. ‘You know, you should REALLY—’

  ‘Do this for a living. I know.’ Maisie grinned. ‘Now stand up there on the wall with your guitar. Just hold the neck. That’s it.’

  Amelie smiled as Maisie took several photos of her from all different angles, but soon her smile started to fade.

  ‘Oh god, hurry up,’ Amelie moaned, pushing one side of her hair back from her face.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ Maisie said from behind the camera.

  Amelie shot her friend a grateful half smile, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

  ‘Got it,’ Maisie snapped. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘No. We’ve got a song to record now. Shall we do it here as well? I can probably make the lounge area look cool?’ she said doubtfully. ‘There isn’t enough space to do it against the wall.’

  ‘I was thinking we could do it on that street. The one where Mum works. It was so pretty.’

  ‘It might be too loud.’

  ‘I don’t think so, the band stops playing at ten, and the shops will be closing. There might be a little foot traffic from the restaurant but the song takes three minutes.’

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  The girls sped off to the foot of the church steps, and Amelie positioned herself under Maisie’s orders – Maisie planned to blur out the fairy lights in the background and use the light of a street lamp to keep Amelie in the foreground.

  She took a test shot and showed Amelie.

  ‘It works,’ Amelie smiled broadly. ‘Let’s do this, Maisie.’

  ‘Hang on, your mum.’

  Amelie turned her head, and without a thought waved her mother over. Her mum ambled across, looking wrung out and apologetic. Amelie leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I love you.’

  Her mum was taken aback for a moment. ‘I love you too, darling.’

  ‘You need to move over there, Mum,’ Amelie said, pointing to the step behind Maisie.

  ‘Was it so bad at the restaurant?’ She plonked down and yawned, exhausted. ‘Erghh, it’s really tougher than I imagined. I thought I’d be making cakes and chatting to old French regulars about art. What’s happening? I thought you two went home?’

  ‘We’re filming Amelie. She’s going to try to get the place at Music in the Park.’

  ‘I thought it went to your school friend?’ Ella’s eyes
widened.

  Amelie shook her head. ‘Sshh. Let’s do this quick, before I lose my nerve.’ She looked at Maisie and ran her fingers down the strings.

  CHAPTER 30

  Please Mr Postman

  Amelie waited idly by the computer for news on her video audition – they were due to announce the winner before midday. It had been some time since she’d been online, swearing off social media and any kind of news since Max had left. For days afterwards, she’d found she couldn’t go anywhere online without a reminder of him – even a seemingly safe article on travel in a discarded Metro included a ridiculous special on Memphis, featuring shots of Max and Justin Timberlake with the caption ‘The Home of Rock and Roll’. No Sun Studios. No Graceland. Just boyband singers.

  But now she allowed herself a little look. She opened the The Buzz, but unusually there was nothing there about Max or anyone from The Keep. She turned to the Sun, then TMZ, and apart from some reference to Lee not attending his girlfriend Jessica’s red-carpet event, the news on The Keep was scarce.

  Becoming more brave, she logged onto Twitter. There was nothing new from Charlie in her private messages, and Max’s feed gave nothing away – was he keeping up appearances? Were they all? Or had he bottled it?

  @maxxedout95: Hello Memphis. Hello Summer!

  @maxxedout95: Chillin’ on the porch with Dad & some ice cold lemonade. Listening to toons.

  @maxxedout95: I’m melting.

  She clicked onto her own profile and read her very last tweet – that escalated quickly – and thought about all that had happened since the night of her seventeenth birthday. She had some sense that she had been chewed up and quickly spat out by The Keep machine; one of a string of teenage girls who got a text from Charlie, or kissed one of them during a tour after party. It felt like the aftermath of a huge tornado that had blown through her tiny flat in east London and left her heart scattered all over the city.

  11.42 a.m.

  She turned to The Keep’s Facebook page, where there was just one post since the end of their tour:

  Taking a Summer Break here to visit our folks and rest our bones. See you in the Fall. Love Charlie, Art, Lee, Kyle & Maxx. X