by Will Davis
I stare at her. Can’t help meself. She’s the last person I’d of expected to come out with this sort of thing.
Everybody’s special, she carries on. Everybody’s worthwhile and you shouldn’t need a camera or an audience to tell you that.
She stops and looks at me like she’s waiting for me to start crying all over again. I give her a smile, since I am grateful for the hug and all that. But I ain’t that far gone. I mean, sure we’re all special and supposed to be equal and so on, but everybody knows life don’t work that way in reality. Everyone knows life is all about competition in the end, don’t they? I sort of want to ask her what she’s even doing working in TV or PR if she’s really so dead against it all, but before I can get the words out her face suddenly changes into this big frown. I look up and see she’s looking at that photo of Purrfect, and when I look back she’s gone and changed back to being miserable again.
I don’t have time for this, she goes, like she suddenly don’t know what she was thinking, wasting them precious minutes of her life being nice to me. I’ve got to get on!
With this she takes off down the corridor like she’s just been whipped with a wet towel. I pull meself up and go the other way, till I reach the loo. I lock the door behind me and then stand in front of the mirror. Then I start to do something a shrink at the hospital once told me to do when I was depressed after Baby was born. What with Gav having left me and me not having no job or nothing I was feeling pretty low in them days. This shrink said the thing to do was to find a mirror and repeat to meself that I was not a waste of space. That just cos me baby’s father ain’t bothered to stick around don’t mean we both didn’t have a chance of being happy ever. Course it sounded like bollocks, but it turned out that she was dead right, that shrink, cos whenever I did it I always felt amazing afterwards. But I’d sort of forgotten about doing it until now.
You ain’t a bad person, I say loudly, feeling a bit of a tit but better all the same cos it’s true, and there’s nothing like saying out loud something you know deep down about yourself but thought you’d forgot.
I say it again, just to make sure, and then I have a look at me face, which is all red and swollen up from the crying. Me mascara’s run to buggery. I cup me hands and splash on some cold water. Right. Time to find Ella and say sorry before she goes and tops herself.
I go out the loo and through the hall looking for her. She ain’t in the kitchen – there’s Riana and Louise in there, holding their song sheets and staring daggers at each other. I ask them if they’ve seen Ella but they both just shrug and carry on looking all murderous. It’s pretty funny, since Riana’s big enough that she could probably just step on Louise if she wanted to.
I’m just about to go up the stairs, since I figure the most likely place I’ll find her is the bedroom, when there’s this noise like somebody’s screaming their head off.
I go around behind the stairs and over to the furthest door, which is supposed to be forbidden to us at all times cos that’s where the panel do their decision making and compare their notes on us and shit like that. But it’s where the screaming came from and I can’t just stand here when someone’s obviously being killed or raped or whatever in there. I pick up the fire extinguisher off the wall so I’ve got a weapon just in case and then without stopping I kick the door open and barge right on in.
Emma’s crouched in the corner with her mouth open, letting out little sobbing sounds. Her hair, which is usually so perfect, has all fallen in front of her eyes like she’s been doing a spot of head banging, and she’s staring out in front of her with the sort of look people get on soaps when they’ve just walked in on their sister doing their boyfriend.
Emma? I go, half thinking this is a test and she’s gonna snap out of it any second and tell me I’ve lost marks for entering into the forbidden room.
Joni, she goes in this weak voice, I need you to go and get someone quickly . . .
She trails off and I turn around, trying to see what’s got her acting like something’s coming to get her. Nothing looks out of order to me, not that I know how it’s supposed to look, but it’s a smart room with lots of nice comfy-looking chairs with proper leather on them and a big shiny wooden table that no way come from IKEA. Then I notice there’s this little streak of red coming out from one of the folders on it. I reach out and open it up.
Don’t! goes Emma, but it’s too late, I’ve done it.
There’s a pigeon laying there, just a normal one, and at first I reckon it must of just flown in somehow and bashed its head on a wall and died, and that Emma’s overdoing it like a right twat. But then I realise that this bird ain’t got no head. It’s been cut off, and pretty neatly by the look of things. And what’s more there’s a little piece of paper folded next to one of its feet with TESS written on it. Even though I know I shouldn’t, cos it’s obviously nothing to do with me, and I oughta just go get someone like Emma wants me to, I reach down and pick it up. I’m a right nosy parker and always will be, just like Mum. The paper’s got a message written on it. In this weird writing it says:
If YoU dOn’T sToP yOu’Ll WiNd Up
AnOtHeR DeAd BiRd.
Shit, I go, totally forgetting about not swearing in front of the judges.
‘It’s shocking, just shocking. I can’t believe somebody could be capable of something so awful. It’s just so cruel and evil . . . I’m just going to keep on doing what I do and not let it get to me. I can’t, not now that I know I’ve got the public behind me.’
We sit in a semi-circle, just like we usually do when the judges have got something in store for us, only this time it’s different because everyone’s silent and sneaking secret glances at each other while the first policeman takes Joni out into the corridor with Joe to interview them about what happened. The other two policemen stand side by side at the door with awkward smiles, obviously trying to set everyone at ease but instead managing to do the complete opposite. Everyone looks nervous and mistrustful, apart from Ella who’s sitting with her head between her legs, and the atmosphere is charged with tension. It’s a really damaging atmosphere to be exposed to when you’re working as hard as I am; my nerves are already frazzled from trying to create something that sounds vaguely like a song with that egotistical slut Riana. Honestly – as well as being fake and a stripper the loud-mouthed bee has no training whatsoever, and the concept of harmonising or getting something down lick for lick is completely foreign to her. Every single time we practise she starts making it up, or breaking away halfway through the refrain to sing extra ‘Ahs’ and ‘Babys’ and ‘Oohs’ – like she’s the star and I’m just her backing singer! All that advice Billy gave us about toning it down because we’ve got such strong voices (which I’m sure he only said about both of us to be diplomatic) she insists on ignoring. And whenever I ask her to please stick to the script she replies that this is the way she always sings – as if the fact that she’s always been clueless about singing is some kind of justification. I’m ready to strangle the stupid effing bee. The only good thing about it all is that it’s so obvious she’ll never make it into Purrfect I really don’t have to worry about her anymore. She’s unprofessional, and in the end there’s no way they’re going to want someone like that for the band.
I shoot Riana a quick sideways look. She’s got her arms folded over that massive bust and is biting her lip. It makes a nice change to see her actually perturbed by something at long last.
‘Won’t be long now, everyone,’ says one of the policemen cheerfully, startling everyone. It’s the one with the ginger hair and the face that looks like he’s been hit by a meteor shower. I don’t get pimples, but that doesn’t mean I want to go near someone who does, and I wish people like that would do something about their skin if they’re going to take jobs that involve dealing with the public. No one knows if he means before they figure out who did it or before they let us get back to working on our songs. It’s ridiculous to think it might have been one of us, though I wouldn’t put it
past that Valerie. She gets a crazy look in her eyes sometimes when she’s onstage, and it wouldn’t surprise me that much if she turned out to be a terrorist. But it’s not very likely really, since we’ve all got alibis because we’ve been working in our pairs all day, and even if we hadn’t it’s not as though any of us would have had time to go outside and catch and murder a pigeon. If it’s someone connected to the programme it must be one of the crew. If you ask me they should replace the lot of them, just to be on the safe side.
I do think it’s completely disgusting what’s happened. When they first got us in here and told us about it I could hardly believe it, but everyone was acting so serious there was no way it could have been a joke or another trial in the competition. The policeman was very mysterious at first, just wanting to know if any of us had seen anything but refusing to tell us what he was hoping that might be. Then Joni butted in and told us what she’d found, and then he couldn’t shut her up about it. I hope they don’t forget to punish her for going in the panel’s room, which we were told right from the first day is forbidden to us – under any circumstances. If you ask me it’s gross and I’d rather not have known, thank you very much, but of course Joni had to go into graphic detail about how the stupid bird’s head had been sliced off and the blood was oozing out of it, which right away made Ella go green and say she felt sick. That little drama queen is getting too much attention, if you ask me. I mean, it’s totally awful and creepy what’s happened, but it’s just a dead bird. My money is on her to go this week, although right now I’d rather it was that slutty Riana. But probably they won’t get rid of her till near the end because she’s black and they won’t want to upset any minorities who might be watching the show.
Tess lets out a long sigh. She sits in front of us all with her arms folded, staring at us one after another with a weird smirk, like in a way she thinks this is all rather funny. She’s the only one who isn’t in the slightest bit ruffled by the whole thing, despite the fact that from what Joni said she’s the one the note and bird were for. Apparently poor Emma freaked out big time when she saw it and her husband’s taken her home. It’s just typical that the nicest person would find it. It’s just a shame she didn’t realise it was meant for Tess and not her.
I glance at Tess and get a little shock because she’s looking right at me with those horrible bug eyes of hers. I quickly look away. It reminds me of one of those detentions where the teacher detains the whole class just because one idiot has done something wrong, and refuses to let them go until the idiot owns up. Tess looked really sour on Saturday when the audience voted for me to have the free pass, and even went ahead and said she wasn’t sure I deserved it because it was obviously just a sympathy vote, which is the worst kind of vote to have. It would serve the ugly fat-faced bee right if she does get her head hacked off by a psycho if you ask me, and I can’t help but think there’s maybe something a little bit divine going on here, and that maybe, just maybe, this is God’s way of warning her she’s got the wrong attitude. It would have been better if He’d chosen a dove rather than a dirty old pigeon, but I suppose they’re not as easy to get hold of.
Oh, hurry the eff up, I think, seeing as Joni and the first policeman have been gone for well over twenty minutes now. How long does it take to answer a few stupid questions? No doubt she’s giving him all the gory details bit by bit and loving every second of it. Meanwhile, some of us need to get back to work on our songs. It has to be perfect this time, especially after Saturday. I’m not letting that happen again no matter what. I’ve been making sure I eat at least a whole bowl of muesli every morning, even if it does make me feel heavy and bloated an hour later. But there are people out there rooting for me, Saturday proved it, and I mustn’t let them down. One way or another I need to get back to what I do best and in the process somehow find a way to put that silicon-enhanced hooker in her place.
Just as I think I’m about to die from waiting the door opens and Joe and the first policeman enter, with Joni trailing behind. She’s got this silly grin on her face – not that she has any other sort of smile. You can tell that Joe just loves all this, too, from the way he’s holding his head up as if he thinks he’s playing the starring role in a major exciting drama.
‘Right,’ says the policeman. ‘Thank you everyone for your patience. We’re done here now and I don’t think there’s any further cause for concern.’
He goes on to say that as far as they can tell it was probably someone who slipped in from outside and that if any of us see or hear anything suspicious in future we’re to contact the police immediately. In the meantime they’re going to ask around the neighbourhood to see if anyone saw anything, and Joe assures us he’s going to be talking to the television station about getting in some proper security. At this Riana sits up like she’s going to raise her hand and object, but then she seems to think better of it. I really should have reported her that time I caught her outside, but I wasn’t thinking straight, and of course I can’t do it now because they’ll want to know why I waited for so long. The policeman smiles at us and nods to the other two. There’s an audible sound as we collectively let out a sigh of relief and start to stand up. But before anyone can so much as move Joe clears his throat.
‘Okay, girls,’ he says loudly. (I notice that one of the cameramen has appeared at the door and has started filming so I quickly adjust my posture. You have to be constantly aware of these things, and not let your guard down. Once I’m famous I’ll probably have paparazzi following my every step so it’s good practice for me.)
‘I know it’s very scary and challenging, but I want you to look for the value in this experience. Being a celebrity means exposing yourself to some twisted individuals, and you need to be strong and not let it affect you . . .’
On and on he goes, telling us how he wants us all to know that we can come to him and talk to him if we need to ‘express our feelings’ about what’s happened, as if anyone would ever want to confide in him. You’ve got to feel sorry for the idiot really, he’s just so tragic, standing there in his silly sunglasses and fake army vest. He never misses an opportunity to lecture us, and it’s starting to get on my nerves, to be honest. You can tell that he desperately wants to be a personality, like Simon Cowell. I mean, God obviously gave the man some talent, since he is the stylist behind Purrfect, but he’s just never going to be an actual name. Probably his fantasy is that he could be up there onstage like us, but because he’s a he – and also short and not very good-looking – he’s had to settle for being behind the scenes.
Just as he’s launching into a story about the dangers of not expressing your feelings Tess interrupts him. For once I’m glad that she’s such a rude old bee, because otherwise we’d be here till doomsday.
‘Okay, girls, time to get back to work!’
Instantly we all spring to life. Rebecca and Valerie gallop to the door, thick as thieves, while Joni goes over to Ella and starts whispering stuff to her while she listens and nods stupidly. It’s like Dumb and Dumber, watching that pair of nincompoops. Joe looks extremely put out at being interrupted, but it really just serves him right for being so gay and pompous. I turn to Riana, steeling myself not to let her get to me. ‘Are you ready?’ I say coldly, but she’s not even listening. Instead she strides up to Joe with her hands on her hips, really working that ghetto-attitude thing she does, which is such an act it’s hard not to cringe when you watch her.
‘Do we really need security guards?’ I hear her ask. ‘I mean, this weirdo isn’t likely to try it on again, is he?’
‘How do you know it’s a “he”?’ cuts in Tess. She cocks her head to one side and gives Riana a sly look. Riana opens her mouth and then shuts it. Even she can’t help flinching under Tess’s lizard gaze. She shrugs and smiles brightly then steps back over to me.
‘Well, Louise, shall we get back to work then?’ she says, as though I’m the one who’s been holding us up. The camera is on us I see, so I nod, trying not to look like I want her to m
elt. But as we go to leave the room the ginger policeman with all the acne steps up and clears his throat. I make sure to put Riana between myself and his face. Make him arrest her, I pray.
‘Can I have your autograph, miss?’ he says shyly, holding out his pad and a pen. ‘For me and me daughter? We reckon you’re just fab!’
Riana gives the simpering idiot one of her ridiculously proportioned smiles that makes you wonder how God managed to cram so many teeth into one mouth. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if it turned out they were dentures, fake like everything else about her. No one has teeth as white and big as that – apart from Kylie, of course, but she’s an exception.
‘Absolutely,’ she purrs.
Sickened by how stupid human beings can be sometimes I go out into the corridor and then stand there feeling like a fool while behind me Riana asks the spotty ginger idiot to spell his daughter’s name. I hook my thumbs into my holsters and discover a big lump in one pocket, which freaks me out at first, before I remember what it is. I’ve been saving my phone call up for Saturday, for when I get through a proper performance, so I can phone home and listen to Dad being all proud and telling me not to worry about the previous week because it happens to everyone once in their lives, even megastars. But suddenly I find myself thinking, Why wait? Anything could happen on Saturday, and I could really use some good advice right now after all that I’ve been through.
I take out the phone and put in our number. Mum answers right away, no doubt because she’s got nothing better to do than sit around in the kitchen, waiting for me to call. With a small sigh I prepare myself for her to start crying and tell me how much she misses me.
‘Mum? It’s Louise.’
‘Oh, Louise!’ She sounds faraway, like I’ve called her on the moon. I simply must teach her how to project – it’s really not that hard and something she could easily practise while she’s doing the cleaning. ‘I thought you were the church.’