by Will Davis
‘But dear, you’re sooo skinny!’ she says, looking up and down at me fretfully.
‘Mum,’ I say, in this special stern voice which has become the code for letting her know to back off. She immediately bows her head and takes the plate back to the kitchen.
Another breath and then I enter the living room. Inside Dad immediately puts an arm around me and introduces me to Julian, who it turns out is the assistant director on the programme. Julian laughs bitterly at this, as though it is a horrible joke, and when he sees our expressions explains that there are about twenty people just like him and all he gets to do is direct the cutaway crews and set up interviews – like setting up interviews with potential stars is just a dull and boring job to have to do. Talk about a bad attitude, but of course I don’t say anything since I don’t want them to make me look bad. Next to Julian stands another man, his face hidden behind the camera. I’m surprised there are only two of them, since at the auditions there were people recording the sound as well, but then Julian produces special mini-microphones which clip on to your shirt, like the ones they use in Big Brother.
‘Don’t worry,’ he tells me as he fastens mine on, ‘before you know it you’ll have forgotten it’s there, just like the cameras.’
He stands back and asks me to do a twirl for him to make sure the mic doesn’t fall out, and then suggests I sit down with Dad on the sofa so they can film us chatting about the competition. Unfortunately he also wants Mum, so Dad calls for her and right away in she trots, excruciatingly eager to please and trying far too hard. She sits down next to me and looks excitedly from my face to Dad’s to Julian’s. I take her hand, an action which she seems to interpret as a sign that I’ve decided she’s the most wonderful mother in the world, because she instantly starts beaming and chattering away about completely dull things like how her hydrangeas have been doing, totally monopolising the conversation we’re supposed to be having about me. Dad shifts on the sofa, but neither of us can exactly say anything to her, because there’s simply no way of telling someone to shut the hell up and still look like a nice guy. Julian is the one to finally give up on politeness. He interrupts Mum midway through telling us all what a wonderful invention weed killer is to ask Dad about what it’s like to have a performer in the family. Smoothly, like the pro he is, Dad takes over. He says that he knew the moment I was born that I was going to be a star. He tells them that it’s in my blood, sure as the moon goes round the earth. Mum nods her head up and down in agreement and adds that I practise singing and dancing every day. I look down and try to seem demure about it.
‘So, Louise,’ says Julian, ‘what do you do when you’re not practising?’
The question takes me by surprise and for a minute I don’t know what to answer, because the truth is, I’m always practising. I guess a lot of people would think my life was lonely, since I’m not the sort of girl who goes out to lots of parties or who is constantly surrounded by friends. Most of the girls I know at school are complete sluts, only interested in boys and clothes, no interest in actually making something out of their lives. They seem to find the fact that I actually have a dream and go after it impossible to understand. But I don’t care. I’m an achiever, and achievers don’t have time for all that stuff that ordinary people get up to. Performing is what I do. It’s why I’m the best.
‘Louise likes to hang out with friends when she’s not working,’ Dad answers for me. ‘She’s very popular.’
This is a lie of course, but only a tiny white one because when you think about it I really ought to be popular. I mean, what with all the competitions I’ve won and all the merits and awards and achievements I have, people ought to be falling over themselves to be my friend. Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that in practice, because people are selfish and jealous, but you can see that’s what God had in mind. Anyway, it’s not like I don’t have any friends at all. Becky and Tina who I know from drama club are coming over later today for my goodbye dinner, and they’re my friends, even if they are both overweight and also act a bit like they belong in Special Needs, giggling and shouting all the time. This was Dad’s idea, which at first I wasn’t that keen on since they’re hardly the kind of people a glamorous pop star would associate with. But I have to agree with him that it would be good to show me interacting with people my own age.
Julian nods enthusiastically to this and says he’s looking forward to meeting some of them. Then he asks what else I’ve got planned for my last day. Dad leaves this for me to say, since he’s done most of the talking, but before I can get so much as a sound out Mum interrupts.
‘Why don’t you come visit Gramps at hospital with me?’ she says in her silly bright voice. ‘It’s been ages since you visited and he’d love to see you before you head off!’
I could kill her right then. Much as I love Gramps, he’s neither photogenic nor what you might call reliable. In fact, he’s an effing liability. He’s even worse than she is, since he’s always doing things that are horribly embarrassing like passing wind loudly halfway through a conversation or shouting out totally inappropriate things like how much he’d like to have it off with one of the nurses. But now that Mum’s asked me I’ll look like a heartless little brat if I don’t agree to go with her, and I can’t risk that on camera. I’ll just have to pray that he still hasn’t recovered enough from his stroke to speak.
‘That was the idea!’ I say, trying to sound genuine.
‘Not a long visit, mind,’ says Dad quickly, obviously having the same thought as me. ‘You’ve got a singing lesson with Mr Field this afternoon, don’t forget. And you don’t want to tire Gramps out.’
‘Righty ho,’ trills Mum, completely oblivious that she’s ruined my plans for the second time today. ‘Well, let’s all drink up our tea and get cracking!’
Just as I knew it would be, the visit to see Gramps is a total effing disaster. Not only does he fail to recognise either me or Dad but he shouts out ‘Sod off and die, you Thatcherite scum!’ as soon as he sees Julian. He spends most of the visit cowering behind Mum, who has to reassure him over and over again that we haven’t come to take him to prison for tax evasion. Finally we manage to calm him down and Julian sets up a nice shot of me sitting beside Gramps and holding his hand. Gramps is smiling and for once I’m remembering how sweet he can be, when without warning he leans forward and coughs out a stream of yellowy sick all down the front of my top. And I have to smile and pretend this is darling and amusing, when really I’m thinking to myself why doesn’t God just take him now and be done with it. That’s not heartlessness, by the way. It’s just that I don’t think Gramps has anything more that he needs to do on this earth. He’s fulfilled his destiny, and so God ought to reward him with Heaven. That’s how it should work.
The last thing I wanted to do was go to my singing lesson covered in dried puke, but there’s no time to go home and change so I scrape off what I can in the toilets and act as though it doesn’t bother me. At least Mum’s having a great time. She doesn’t normally have company, since she doesn’t have any friends and Dad and I are both motivated people with better things to do than stand around and talk to her while she does housework. She’s in high spirits by the time we all get to Mr Field’s and even threatens to sit in and watch while Julian and the camera guy do their filming. Fortunately Dad intervenes to remind her that there’s shopping to be done for my last meal, which gets her even more excited since she’s got a special casserole planned. Talk about a desperate housewife.
Mr Field is very serious when he answers the door, and completely ignores Julian and the camera guy apart from a curt hello and a quick scribble of his signature on the release form Julian asks him to sign. He lets them set up in the corner of his studio while he makes me do all the most difficult warm-up exercises. He’s much stricter than usual, not saying a word of encouragement even when I get through a rendition of Dido’s ‘White Flag’ lick perfect, something we’ve been working on for weeks. All he says is ‘Uh huh’ and nothin
g more, which is completely unlike him since he’s usually brimming over with praise. Only at the end, when Julian positions him in front of his keyboard and the framed black-and-white photo of him when he met Shirley Bassey, does he offer some positivity.
‘I’ve been teaching singing for twenty years and Louise is the best student I’ve ever had by a long shot,’ he says, his many chins wobbling with sincerity. ‘If those judges don’t pick her to be in Purrfect then they don’t know anything about what makes a real singer. That’s all I have to say.’
When I hear this I’m so moved I forgive him for making me do ‘The Penny Dropped’ at the audition last week. After it was over he was so incensed by what Joe said about my voice not being suited to a Malone number he was almost ready to march on over and tell him what he thought. I didn’t say anything about it, since I’d got through to the programme and that was what counted, but privately I was so mad. If they hadn’t have picked me I wouldn’t have been responsible for my actions. Even though I was way better than the other girls, for a few horrible seconds when I was called up to stand in front of the panel and receive the decision, I actually thought Tess was going to tell me no. That time three years ago when with two single awful words she ruined my life replayed in my head, sickeningly vivid. It took everything I had to hold it together. But God was watching, and this time He wasn’t going to let me down. Because this time, He’s taking me all the way to the finish line.
At four o’clock Becky and Tina arrive, looking like a pair of ugly sisters from a pantomime. I’m filmed opening the door and just like I knew they would the second they see the camera they both scream ‘Oh my God!’ in unison and start jumping up and down like psychotic rabbits. Then they jump on me and start trying to propel me upwards with them. I smile and play along, but really I wish they wouldn’t make such idiots of themselves. I don’t want people to think my only friends are mentally challenged.
‘I can’t believe it!’ screams Becky. ‘I’m so excited for you!’
‘I know!’ I say as enthusiastically as I can.
‘Oh my God,’ screams Tina.
It’s not long before I’m completely regretting our decision to have them over. They literally cannot stop effing giggling and screaming. Somehow I manage to manoeuvre them inside and past the cameraman, who follows us up to my bedroom, where they throw themselves on my bed and mess up the duvet and then start bouncing around the room, knocking things over and not even bothering to pick them up.
‘This is so insane!’ screams Becky. ‘You’re going to be on TV!’
She bounces towards the camera and makes a face at it, then outdoes herself with an extraordinarily high-pitched giggle and grabs hold of Tina. Together they start waltzing about the room, followed back and forth by the camera. I try to join in without looking like I’ve lost the plot. Julian looks like he’s wondering why I haven’t just ditched Tina and Becky and been done with it, and I give him a special look to show him it’s something I sometimes wonder myself. If only it were that easy. No one wants to spend their whole life alone. Not even those of us who have a calling. That’s why celebrities are always surrounded by an entourage, no matter where they go. Everyone thinks these people trailing around after them are just toadying sycophants desperate to be close to the limelight, and wonders why the star even tolerates them. But a star needs to have those people, because a star requires lots of love and kindness in order to thrive. In order to do what they have to.
‘So, guys,’ says Julian in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Tell us, does Louise have a boyfriend?’
Tina and Becky burst into another storm of shrillness, like they’re trying to break the world record for idiotic giggling.
‘Louise doesn’t have time for boys!’ Becky just about manages to shriek in between short fast breaths. She throws her arm around my shoulders and I suppress the urge to throw it off me. ‘She’s far too sensible!’
‘Oh?’ says Julian, obviously interested.
I feel myself going red. The truth is I’ve never even been out with a boy. The boys at school don’t look twice at me. It’s effing strange really, because I’m much prettier and slimmer than most of the other girls there. In fact, half those who do have boyfriends are complete dogs, to be honest. I guess it’s because I don’t constantly talk about sex all the time and make lurid jokes at every given opportunity, or wear ridiculously short skirts and low-cut tops. You’d think the girls at school were nymphomaniacs with the way they dress and flirt and what with the sheer dirt that comes out their mouths. It makes you wonder what happened to the good old-fashioned concept of dignity. It’s not like it bothers me though. I mean, I’m not ashamed to be a virgin, especially since all the boys I know are completely immature and pathetic, and only interested in one thing. There’s maybe one person who’s actually worth considering, which is Felix, who’s captain of the football and swimming teams, but he’s been going out for the last year with Nathalie Holden, this absolute slut who comes to school caked in make-up and doesn’t know the answer to even the simplest of questions. I’ve come to the conclusion that God is saving me for someone special. Probably I’ll meet him once I’m in Purrfect.
‘Let’s just say I’m available,’ I say, with a saucy smile.
‘I’m available too!’ screams Tina. ‘I want boys! Where are they! I want them now! NOW!’
She starts looking for them under the bed and in the cupboards, flinging open drawers and rummaging in my pre-packed suitcase, rooting around in the clothes for some imaginary drop-dead gorgeous heart-throb – though knowing Tina any old male of the species would do. Becky shrieks with delight at this game and immediately joins in. I watch them turning my room and suitcase inside out and try to look like I love my wacky friends and their kooky behaviour, whereas actually they make me wonder why every person in my life is such a complete no-hoper. Apart from Dad, that is.
At this point there’s a knock on the door and Mum pops her head in and surveys the scene with a fond smile before telling us that dinner is about to be served. Not a second too soon, I think.
The meal is tortuously long. Mum gives everyone massive portions of casserole and irritatingly points out to the camera how little I eat, as though she absolutely despairs of me. I’m so mad I’m tempted to point out that if I ate half the stuff that Mum cooks then the only reality TV show I’d be good for is Can Fat Teens Hunt? Luckily just then there’s a toot from outside and Dad glances out the window and announces that the car has arrived to take me to London. Tina and Becky leap up and start doing their usual jumping on an imaginary trampoline thing. I pretend not to hear Mum’s worried call for dessert and hurry upstairs to re-stuff my suitcase with the clothes my inane ‘friends’ threw about earlier. When I come out Dad’s waiting on the landing, the camera crew nowhere in sight.
‘Okay, Louise,’ he says. ‘This is it. From now on you’re going to be on your own. Don’t forget everything we talked about. Never get overconfident. Never get complacent. If you’re worried or scared, at any time, just remember: failure is not an option.’
It feels like I’m going to war, and suddenly I’m afraid of how I’ll cope without Dad there to prep me and believe in me and hold me up with his positivity. But then I look in his eyes and I see complete and absolute faith shining back. And I realise that this isn’t just about me, it’s about him too. Dad once dreamed of being a star, but his own dream never happened for him. He’s always said he gave it up because he saw better opportunities in what he does now, but I know that’s not the real reason. He tried and he didn’t make it. Now I’m the closest he’ll ever get, and I can’t let him down.
‘Kill it,’ he says, and hands me my suitcase.
‘Feeling quite nervous. So thrilled to be here. It’s so exciting! I mean – how incredible is this? Out of all those girls who auditioned, we’re the ones who got picked. It’s like . . . we’ve been blessed!’
There are six others. We’re all sitting in a half circle at the centre of the room, and everyo
ne is chattering away excitedly as they wait for the judges to come and talk to us. The only one who’s not speaking is me, because I don’t know what to say to anyone here and because there’s something strangely frightening about being trapped in a room with nothing but a bunch of pretty, confident performers. A few seats away from me is Joni, talking loudly to the girl on her left. When I said hello earlier, she just gave me the briefest of smiles and then turned away like she didn’t want to know. It hurt, how she did it, but I’m not going to let it upset me. I can’t, because at either end of the room cameramen are filming: enormous black pupils silently absorbing all the chatter and the darted looks girls are giving out as they size one another up. We were all fitted out with radio mics when we came in and I’m having trouble resisting the urge to play with it. I’m sitting on my hands to keep from fidgeting.
All last week was horrible. Jack made me feel like I was a murderer, the way he acted. He didn’t say anything, but there was a dreadful coldness to his voice whenever he spoke to me, and he completely avoided being in the same room whenever he possibly could. When I got back that day with the news I was through he just nodded really slowly and then left the kitchen, like I’d just told him someone he knew had died. Rita was sitting at the table as usual, sorting through pictures of handbags. I waited for her to start shouting at me for being selfish and spoilt because I went to the call-back without permission. But instead she gave me a weird grin and then screwed up her whole face, making the pounds of foundation she wears crinkle up so much she looked a lot like The Grinch. Then she told me not to worry about Jack, that we’d work on him, in this conspiratorial voice like we were suddenly the best of friends, and that was when I realised with a shock that she wasn’t screwing up her face – she was winking at me! It turned out she knew all this stuff about the competition because Fascinate! are going to be doing an article on it for the next edition. She’s even said she wants me to give her my exclusive story after I get booted out, which is just typical of Rita, it not even occurring to her that maybe, just maybe, I might make it all the way through. But at least she’s okay with me doing it. That’s the main thing. Unlike Jack.