by Will Davis
I wait for her to get tearful and tell me how beautiful I looked on TV last week, since it would be typical of her not to have even noticed how weak my performance was. But oddly there’s just silence at the other end.
‘Well, I’m not!’ I snap finally, thinking she could at least make an effort. I am her only daughter and after all I haven’t seen her for over a week, which might not seem a very long time but it’s still the longest I’ve ever been away from home. Plus I am potentially about to become a member of one of the biggest bands in history. She could allow herself to get just a little bit excited, if only for my sake.
‘Darling . . .’ says Mum and then there’s a bit of static down the line, followed by the totally disgusting sound of her blowing her nose. ‘Oh Louise . . . it’s so good to hear your voice!’
Here we go, I think. Obviously she was just trying to be strong, thinking that I didn’t want to hear her getting upset, when really I suppose I was rather looking forward to it. It’s sweet of her to actually try and make an effort to stay composed. Mum’s so daft that I sometimes forget that one of her good qualities is that she’s really quite a kind-hearted person.
‘It’s all right, Mum,’ I say, trying to sound daughterly. ‘I’m absolutely fine, you don’t need to worry about me. Is Dad there?’
There’s no answer, just more static and sniffing.
‘Mum?’ I say. I turn and see that one of the cameramen and Riana are standing behind in the doorway to the studio, watching me. Riana’s got her arms folded and her massive mouthful of teeth are hidden behind a smirk. I quickly check my posture and roll my eyes at the camera in a knowing way, smiling as I do it, as if to say, aren’t parents just adorably difficult?
‘Mum, there’s no need to get upset!’
‘It’s Gramps,’ she sniffles. ‘He passed away last night.’
She says something more but I’m so surprised I completely miss it. My shock obviously shows in my face because both Riana and the cameraman react. The cameraman quickly steps forward and brings the camera closer, panning around my face, while behind him Riana loses her smirk and unfolds her arms, putting on a concerned face.
‘But . . .’
I can’t think of what to say. I suppose I ought to start crying, and get really upset, but for some reason I don’t feel particularly sad. Weirdly, I don’t feel anything much at all.
At the other end Mum’s sobbing again. Really deep, gut-wrenching sobs are transmitted into my ear, sending vibrations right through my skull. I hold the phone a fraction of a centimetre away, since I can’t afford to get a headache, not at this stage. Then there’s a scuffling sound and I hear Dad in the background saying ‘I told you not to say anything!’ in an angry voice. A second later he comes on the line.
‘Louise?’
‘Dad!’
The cameraman is filming me dead on now, and I imagine how I will look onscreen, receiving the terrible news that a family member has died while away from home. I let out a sob and then choke it back, as though I am trying with superhuman effort to be strong and not fall apart.
‘Listen, Louise, you mustn’t think about it!’ says Dad. He sounds determined, how he always sounds at competitions right before I’m about to go on. It’s so reassuring to hear his voice that I almost drop the phone.
‘I don’t have much credit,’ I say. ‘They only gave us fifteen minutes . . . Dad, is it true? Is Gramps really gone?’
Now that I’ve said it they won’t need to use a voice-over, but can simply edit the scene so that it begins with me saying that, so the audience will know what’s going on. I let out another sob, and do the stifling thing again. I’ll start crying properly in a minute no doubt, as soon as the news actually sets in. Right now I can’t absorb it though, not with the camera there pointed at me. It may seem cold, but I have to consider how I’m going to come across. I can’t help it. I’m a performer, a star, and this is what we do. It’s not that I’m callous, it’s just how God made me.
‘Is Mum all right?’
‘She’s sad, but he was very old and it was his time,’ Dad tells me. ‘Look Louise, you don’t have the option to dwell on it. So don’t, all right? You’ve got a competition to win.’
‘Dad . . .’ I wail, making myself sound small and lost, as if on the brink of despair. I make a shiver run through my body, as if to show that on top of all this my fever from Saturday is coming back. Riana is still giving me that concerned look, which is obviously just for the sake of the camera, even though for once it’s not even pointed at her, the conniving bee.
‘Sweetheart,’ says Dad. ‘Your grandfather loved you and somewhere up above he’s looking down and rooting for you. You’ve got to make him proud. You’ve got to use this to make you stronger!’
‘Okay,’ I say in a tiny voice.
‘Louise, you’re a star. Use what happened to Gramps as ammunition. Let it fuel your performances! That’s all I can say, darling. You and I both know I’m right. There’ll be time for you to grieve later!’
He says some more things, about how I’m a fighter and this is what I was born to do and never to forget that, but for some reason his words don’t have their usual effect. Maybe it’s because I’m listening to them down a phone when I really need him to be here with me so I can absorb the positive vibes he always gives off. Instead a strange feeling is settling over me, like I’ve got this huge burden that weighs as much as the whole world. It’s a bit like that feeling I got when Jemma, this total drop-out from school with short punky hair that makes her look like a boy, did a presentation in RS class on why God didn’t exist, and actually made me wonder for a few minutes if maybe she had a point. I remember this terrible emptiness as I considered it, because the idea of a universe without God was so horrific. It was as though all the goodness and beauty of the world had just been sucked out of it and replaced with nothing but endless, awful meaninglessness. Fortunately I remembered that faith is what God requires, and that people who don’t believe in Him lack that and therefore can’t feel His presence, which is why they’re always so bitter and unhappy.
‘Dad, I’m going to run out of time!’
‘Well, Louise, I’ve only got one piece of advice for you about Saturday night,’ he says. I wait. ‘Kill it, darling. You know you can.’
We say goodbye and I press the button to end the call. Then I stand there stupidly, holding the phone like I don’t know what to do now. I’m not performing anymore: I’m really at a loss. I should be crying, I know that, so that it doesn’t look as if I’m just a mean heartless bee who cares more about winning some competition than she does about her own family. But the tears just aren’t coming, which is doubly weird because usually I find it so easy to cry. It ought to be especially easy with Gramps dead, but for some reason I just can’t. I try to pray to God, but that terrible empty feeling is all over me, and I have the odd sense that He can’t hear me right now. Almost as if He isn’t listening, even though I know He must be because He always is. Something’s blocking Him, some kind of negative energy getting in the way of me feeling Him.
‘Louise?’ says Riana, the stupid two-faced self-serving bitch. ‘Are you all right, honey?’
Is it because I’m in shock? I wonder. People don’t cry when they’re in shock, do they? I look at the camera and make another shiver run through my body. I wonder if people watching at home will know about shock and how it works.
Riana reaches out and touches my shoulder. Her big hand with its stupid long pink nails turns me towards her, and suddenly I want nothing more than for her to hug me. Even though I’ve spent the whole day hating her, I’m so grateful as I feel those strong arms wrapping around my body and pulling me in towards her that another shiver runs through me without my having to create it. I put my arms around her too, pressing myself into those silly big boobs, and, instead of worrying about them bursting or what God will think of me for hugging a stripper, I bury my face in her shoulder where the camera can’t see it, close my eyes and feel mor
e shivers running through me, until my body is shaking in a way that feels like it’s never going to stop.
I should have killed the pigeon first. That would have made it easier. Instead like an idiot I held it against the table while it was still alive. It was horrible the way it thrashed around, as if it knew what was coming. For a minute I didn’t think I was going to be able to do it after all, and I thought about letting it go and finding some other way. For a minute I almost showed mercy.
But then I thought of her. She’s never showed mercy once in her whole life. And I remembered that because of her I’m empty inside, dead, no longer capable of sympathy, not even for a harmless bird.
I brought the knife down hard as I could and cut off its head. There was a splash of red against the grey feathers and that was all. It didn’t bleed nearly as much as I thought it would. Its wings continued to flap for several seconds though – that was grisly. But then, just like that, the body went limp. I held it in my hands for a while, feeling the warmth of it and watching until the blood stopped dripping from the hole in its neck. There was something very moving about it. Life suddenly seemed so fragile it almost made me want to cry.
But I didn’t cry – because of her. She’s the one who should cry. I took the bird and I left it on her table with my message – a message I know she has paid no attention to. It’s like asking a snake never to strike. But I had to give it to her, this last chance to change, in order to prove to myself once and for all she is beyond redemption.
I won’t hesitate when it’s her who’s struggling in place of the bird. I’ll bring the knife down without a second thought, cutting her out of her life just like she cut me out of mine.
‘These girls are great, they’ve become like family to me and I love them like sisters. But at the end of the day they’re the competition and I can’t forget that.’
The crowd before us looks like it goes on for ever. You can’t see anybody’s face cos of all the light shining in our eyes and their applause sounds out like a percussion grenade. I swear that each time you hear it, it sounds louder and louder. It’s an awesome feeling, a trillion times better than the leering grunts of appreciation you get at the club. And each time I hear it I think how I don’t want to leave. How I just want to stay here on stage listening to that applause for the rest of my life.
Thank you so much, girls! I’ll see you back here in ten to find out who’s through and who’s going home!
I catch Louise’s eye as Stina waves us offstage. Her face is glowing and she looks really happy. She smiles back at me and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her smile in a way that looks halfway towards something genuine. She does look good tonight too, in her tight black dress with her hair long and straight down her back. She’s got beautiful hair – a sort of reddish brown with these streaks of dark yellow, kind of like maple syrup. Her lips look good too now that she’s got some lippy on them, fuller and kissable. Not that I’d do her, mind. She’s still way too thin, like one of those lollipop women that everyone wanted to look like back when I was a teen.
Remember, everybody – we’ve lost the audience vote this week. It’s all in the hands of our panel. They’ve got to decide who’s got the Purrfect potential and who’s just another desperate dreamer!
We step into the wings and witch Michelle gives us this curt nod and then gestures for us to go back to the changing room. But once we’re in the corridor this giggle explodes out my throat and I clutch Louise and pull her against the wall. For once she doesn’t resist me, or act like I’m trying to molest her. Instead she starts giggling too.
We were awesome! I tell her. Even that old troll liked us!
A funny expression passes over Louise’s face, like she’s experiencing two different feelings at the same time. But she’s obviously caught up by it all, still on a high from all that love and adoration from the crowd.
Course, I know it’s not real adoration and love you’re getting out there. It’s just as fake and misplaced as the emotions of those men at the club that start crying and saying they’re in love the second you’ve finished wiggling your tits in their faces. Sad truth about human beings is that they need stuff like that. Whether it’s a god, a queen, a prime minister or a pop star, it doesn’t matter. They just have to have something to believe in, to distract them from how boring and shit their lives are. People really want to believe that not just anyone could get up onstage and give a performance – that you have to be special, like there has to be some magical shift in the universe and the planets properly aligned or something in order for a true star to be born. It’s kind of ironic, because when you think about it, what they’re really watching and cheering for is some bunch of competitive bitches who all just want to feel special. Girls so hungry for love and adoration they’ll do whatever it takes to get it, even if it means dancing around onstage singing silly songs and being made puppets for some stupid TV show. It’s one of those vicious circles, and I can kind of see why Eddy’s so cynical about it. But whatever Eddy says, the high it gives you has got to be better than anything else in the world. Even blow. And I’ll tell you something else – it’s a fuck of a lot more satisfying than wiggling your tits in some crevicey old face too.
It was a good performance, goes Louise quietly when we’ve stopped giggling and are gasping for air side by side against the wall. She’s looking at me when she says it but it’s like she’s really talking to herself. We killed it.
Same old Louise, I think. You can tell how badly she wants to win by the way she doesn’t seem to be able to relax – ever. It was pretty fucking hellish working on this duet, since she just wanted to sing it like a couple of robots and kept on saying I was doing it wrong – like a bit of expressing yourself can ever be wrong! Then her grandpa went and died, which you might have thought would have made her a bit less up her own arse, but oh no, if anything the opposite. Made it even more of a strain cos she kept looking away and sobbing whenever I tried to sing it my way. But I don’t back down without a fight, and after a lot of patience I managed to find a compromise. And it paid off because we totally nailed it up there. Or killed it, as Louise says.
We did indeed, Missy, I say, doing a Sharon Osbourne impression. We killed it dead as a dodo and they fucking loved us!
Louise peers at me all suspiciously like she can’t tell if I’m taking the piss. Her face sets me off giggling again. She’s so serious all the time and serious people always make me laugh. Without even thinking about it I lean forward and give her a quick wet kiss on the mouth. Under my lips I feel her freeze, every muscle in her scrawny little body seizing up tight like she’s turned to a block of ice.
Urghhh, get off! she cries, pushing me away with her little toothpick arms.
You love it!
For a second I think she’s going to make this into a big deal and start accusing me of sexually assaulting her, but then she breaks into a grin too. She shakes her head like she can’t believe my nerve and wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand.
Yuck!
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Joni and Ella! Stina’s voice echoes down the corridor. There’s lots of cheering and whooping. Louise’s face changes and she bolts down the corridor and through the door to the changing room. I follow her. The euphoria’s starting to wear off and it’s getting replaced by this throbbing, which sadly can only mean one thing.
Inside the changing room Valerie and Rebecca’re on the sofa against the far wall watching the telly. On the screen Joni is standing in one spotlight doing her solo while Ella stands in another, looking like a small furry animal about to get dissected.
Oh my Lord, says Valerie. Look at her face!
Behind them the camera dude lets out a snigger. Rebecca glances back at him and sniggers too. Louise frowns at the screen and shakes her head.
Those two are never going to make it, she says.
Seeing as everyone’s clearly enjoying themselves I grab the opportunity to nip to the toilet. Quickly and carefully, doing t
his at warp speed like the pro I am getting to be, I take out my stash and slip my little finger into the bag. It’s pathetically small what I’ve got left, even though I’ve been frugal as an old bitch with it this week – which has taken some fucking effort, let me tell you. As I bring it to my nose I lift my leg (best thing about being flexible) and use my heel to push down the lever. While it flushes I do the snort. Straight away I feel better, and I almost have to pinch myself in order to stop myself from just hoovering up the rest. But it’s all I’ve got and I need to save it for emergencies. Next week is going to be hell. There’s no way of me getting hold of more, not now that stupid troll Tess has gone and got herself a stalker and had the house all trussed up so it’s more like a prison than ever, with security guards and everything. Chances of me sneaking out again without getting caught by some burly bastard and put in a body lock are zero times zero. That means I’m going to be cold-turkeying it. And that means headaches, jitters, fever and mood swings like the PMT from hell. The Purrfect Search’s not exactly the kind of environment you want to go teetotal in.
Outside I can hear Ella doing her solo. She sounds weak, like she’s almost not even there. It’s a joke, the poor thing. I don’t make bets, but it’s pretty clear Louise’s right and she’s not going to survive this. Just hope it doesn’t scar her for life.
Jesus Christ, guffaws Valerie as Ella and Joni launch into the second chorus. They’re completely off key! My God!
Do you think you could stop being profane, please? goes Louise.
Fact is I’ve been giving the matter some serious thought and I reckon I got a much better chance of being in Purrfect than anyone else. This is for one totally fucking obvious yet totally fucking unPC reason. Purrfect is a white girl group. Even the one who left – that Lucy – she was white. In this day and age too much whitewashing and you’re limiting your appeal. Don’t believe me? Look at other mega girl bands: Pussycat Dolls, Sugababes, All Saints, Spice Girls. Girls Aloud’re just a fluke. You got to have some kind of diversity going on. It’s like Eddy’s always saying to me – it’s a multicultural world out there. And after all, Tess is a black woman herself – just about. Somewhere in that empty old soul of hers she must feel some kind of a sense of duty towards her sisters.