by Will Davis
I never smacked her round! I go, almost dying from the effort of not screaming. This is bollocks! Wend’s me best fucking mate!
She’s a right little missy, goes Mum darkly, setting Baby down on the floor. She holds up two crossed fingers. Shea and Wend is like that! They been going round together just like you used to. But don’t you worry – I saw them at the Co-op the other day and I had a right go at her in front of everyone! Should of known, I said to her. Like mother like daughter! A family of bitches, that’s what you Sturges are!
She starts to get carried away.
Shhh! I snap at her. I look down at Baby trying to toddle towards me feet and try to let go of the anger. There’s nothing you can do, I tell meself. But it don’t work. I go over to the far wall and give it a kick, hard as I can. Fucking hurts me toes, but even that makes me feel a little better. How could she do it? We been friends since we was tots – we’re practically fucking sisters. I guess it shows you just what an ugly thing jealousy is. Turns people into fucking monsters. Probably I ought to be feeling sorry for her, since after all, here I am in this house with the opportunity of a lifetime and she’s stuck there back in some estate going round saying nasty shit cos that’s all she’s got to do. It’s pathetic. I turn back to Mum, who’s looking at me all scared, like she’s worried I’m gonna start trashing the place.
Is that all?
Mum shrugs and squats down next to Baby, like she suddenly wants to play with him. Phew! Think he really might need a change you know, she says, all casual.
What else!
Davy, goes Mum quietly. He’s with Wend now. I seen them going round together, all over each other like they’re a pair of school kids or something.
I feel weird, choked up, like I got someone’s hands around me throat. I’m both hot and cold too, as if I’m gonna explode or melt or maybe even do both at the same time. The world looks funny, and for a second I wonder if I’m about to do an Ella and black out like she did on the day of the video shoot.
He wouldn’t! I yell suddenly, surprising Mum, Baby and even meself. I don’t even give a shit about the stupid camera on the other side of the door anymore. He fucking wouldn’t! Not after everything! He wouldn’t fucking dare!
I could of gone on shouting like a maniac till I was blue, but then Baby starts to cry and that brings me back to me senses. Mum picks him up and starts rocking him back and forwards, going Shhhh! and making faces at him and shooting me these worried looks. I hold out me arms and she puts Baby into them, and I look down at his big old eyes and feel all the anger slowly leave me. Fuck Wend. Fuck Davy. Let them fuck each other if that’s what they want to do.
You okay? says Mum, all jittery and tapping her foot up and down. You want me to go and find you an aspirin or something?
I’m okay, I go, trying me best to make meself believe it, I’m all right. I’m going places. I don’t need them. I don’t need no one.
That’s the spirit! Mum grins. She glances back at the door. Here – what do you say to a quick fag?
Sometimes I just stare at her. I can’t help it. She’s so hideously ugly in everything she says and does. So much so that she’s almost beautiful. Beautiful like a cobra is – the sort of hideous beauty you only find in a creature so naturally ruthless it takes your breath away. I can marvel at the way she manipulates everyone around her. It’s like it’s instinctive for her and she can’t help herself. I watch that big round face as it sizes up those girls onstage, those great bulging eyes, that fat lipstick-stained mouth, those great holes for nostrils and those rolls of flab under her chin, and it’s like I’m hypnotised. She’s a monster that sees others only as products with which she can add to her own success, or else as obstacles to it that must be snuffed out as quickly as possible. I wonder if she even still has emotions. Is there sadness there, buried deep down under all that fat and bitterness where no one can ever get at it? I can’t believe she was always this way. Not to begin with. Once she must have been one of those girls too, perhaps not pretty or talented but full of dreams and hope just like everyone else. Just like me. Time’s been cruel to her though, cruel as only time can be, and in such a way as can never be undone. Only finished. That’s what I believe.
Sometimes I feel like we’re the same person, like the inside of her is the same as the inside of me. Like behind that empty round face with its cold dead eyes the soul inside is exactly like my own. After all, in the whole wide world I’m probably the only one who actually understands her, and that must give us a connection. I think that somewhere deep down she knows I’m coming for her. I think that maybe she even welcomes it.
Sometimes I almost wonder if it’s hate I feel for her and not love.
‘God’s seen me this far and He’s going to see me all the way to the end. Every last bit of me is focused on the prize now. It’s what I was born to do and it’s what I am going to do. Nothing’s going to stop me now.’
I’m upstairs at the top of the house rehearsing by the window in the relaxation room when I see Dad’s BMW pulling up in the drive below. My heart skips a beat, but because I’m a professional I don’t move until I’ve reached the end of my refrain. Then I hurl myself at the door, not even pausing for the cameraman, who turns his camera too fast and smashes it into the wall. I hear him cursing behind me as I rocket down the stairs. It’s funny how people always resort to profanity whenever something goes wrong.
As I turn the corner at the bottom I run right into that whining Ella, who’s holding a suitcase and dithering in the middle of the landing. I just about manage to throw myself to the side before I collide with her, stumbling against the wall instead and twisting my foot.
‘Sorry, Louise!’ cries Ella.
‘Can’t you watch it?’ I snap, picking myself up and rubbing my ankle. It had better not be sprained, or else she’s going straight to hell. I flex and point it quickly a few times to get the blood going, while Ella puts down her suitcase and hovers about, patting the air around me as if this is going to help.
‘I’m okay,’ I say, mostly to get her off me, though luckily for her it turns out to be true. I wave her away and notice she’s wearing that soft white coat of hers with the big lacy collar – the lucky little minx always has nice clothes. I look over at her suitcase. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Oh,’ says Ella, looking back like she’s only just noticed it herself. ‘It’s my things . . . I’m leaving, you see.’
I’m speechless. Ella gives me a little smile. My first thought is that she’s been ejected from the competition. It wouldn’t be that surprising, since she’s by far the weakest link. She deserved to go on Saturday, no question about it, and it’s only her good fortune that Valerie had that accident and they decided to call it off. Maybe they’ve changed their minds again. But then it occurs to me they wouldn’t just do that, not unless Valerie is back, and I remember the sight of Valerie’s ankle, which was just sick and makes you wonder how God can be so cruel, though obviously He does work in mysterious ways. There’s no way she could be returning.
‘Why?’ I finally manage. Ella looks down.
‘I’ve decided I want to leave,’ she tells me in a voice so quiet I can barely hear her. ‘I didn’t want to cause a fuss, that’s why I didn’t come up to say goodbye.’
I gape at her. You don’t just walk out of a competition like this, even if you are destined to fail. This is the chance of a lifetime, and only a crazy person would leave now that we’re so close – only an idiot, only one of life’s ultimate losers, someone destined to be trodden on for the rest of their life.
Just then a blonde head of hair with caramel streaks appears on the stairs below. It belongs to a woman with lots of make-up who glances coolly at me and then at Ella.
‘Ella?’ she says tersely, like she’s intolerably busy. ‘If we’re leaving we’re leaving. I’m not going to try and argue you out of it, I don’t care what Mimi says. But we have to go now.’
Ella’s mother looks nothing like her. Annoying as
she is, Ella’s reasonably good-looking, I suppose, not that it’s much of a distraction from her incessant snivelling. But this woman’s got a very heavy face, big cheeks, a long chin and lots of frown lines, like she spends a lot of time being frustrated with the world. She’s not good-looking at all really, but she’s definitely stylish. The complete opposite of Ella, since no matter how many designer clothes she wears Ella just doesn’t carry herself well enough to be properly chic. She’s never had that star quality, and they obviously only put her in the competition for entertainment value.
‘I’m just coming,’ says Ella quickly, turning to pick up her suitcase. As she does the cameraman appears on the stairs above with the camera, which obviously hasn’t suffered much damage, pointed at us. I think fast.
‘I can’t believe you’re going!’ I cry, throwing my arms around Ella so that she drops the suitcase again. Over her shoulder I see her mother rolling her eyes impatiently. What a bee – no wonder Ella’s such a wreck. It almost makes me grateful for who God chose to be my mother.
I tell Ella that I’ll miss her and that she’s really talented and I know she’s going to make it one day, which is a massive lie but one I think God will forgive me for, especially since she starts crying and telling me what a wonderful time she’s had. Then her mum emits a sound like a growl in the back of her throat and Ella pulls free. With a last pat of my shoulder she wipes away her tears, picks her suitcase up again, and then follows her mum down the stairs. I wait for a minute, letting the camera see me struggling to control my mixed emotions at her leaving and also to give her time to get to the bottom floor, since I don’t want to catch up with her again. Then I slowly nod like it was obviously meant to be and start to make my own way down.
Dad is waiting in the hall with his arms wide open. I throw myself into his hug and feel a great surge of relief flooding through me at the warmth of his body against mine. It feels like a century since I climbed into that limo and watched him and Mum and those idiots Tina and Becky wave me off. I’ve got so much to tell him I don’t even know where to begin.
‘We talked about it and decided your mother wouldn’t come,’ says Dad, gently stroking my hair. ‘She’s still very upset about Gramps. She’d only cause a scene and you can’t afford to lose your focus. But she sends all her love – and cookies, of course.’
He lets go of me and reaches down to his bag to take out a tin, which he gives to me. Inside are a dozen chocolaty, fatty skin-nightmares with little messages saying Good Luck! in icing sugar on top of each one. Dad and I grin at each other knowingly. Suddenly I feel a pang of regret that Mum hasn’t come, and even though I know I’ll pay for it later, I open the tin, pluck one of the cookies up and start to nibble on the end of it. I notice Dad’s grin gets even bigger, since he always likes it when I eat. Then he loses his grin and squints at something past my shoulder on the stairs. I remember the camera.
‘So where can a doting father get a nice cup of tea in this joint?’
I take him into the kitchen, where Rebecca was rehearsing earlier. Fortunately she’s not here anymore since her family, which is absolutely huge, arrived half an hour ago. I saw her from upstairs meeting them in the driveway. They all piled out of the car one after another, like it was generating them or something, each family member screaming as if they were in the presence of the ultimate diva the second they got out and saw her. I’m glad Dad and I don’t need to make such exhibitions of ourselves. He sits down next to the radiator while I put the kettle on. The cameraman films from the opposite corner, presumably so he can get us both in.
‘My little girl really has grown up,’ says Dad fondly. ‘That duet you did on Saturday was stellar, sweetheart. You completely killed it.’
I turn and see he is grinning again, full of pride. He starts to list all the little details he noticed that made it so good. Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest girl in the whole world to have such a caring, clued-up dad. The kettle clicks and I pour out hot water over two teabags.
‘But what the hell happened the week before? Honey, this is your big chance and you can’t afford to pull a stunt like that! And so unlike you – why, I could hardly believe that was my girl up there onstage!’
A sudden spasm of hatred explodes inside me. It is so unexpected that I spill the hot water all over the sideboard and almost drop the kettle. I grab a J-cloth and start mopping it up. The feeling dissolves as quickly as it appeared, leaving me only to worry where it came from. Dad’s only ever been on my side, behind me one hundred per cent. He’s the last person in the world I should ever feel angry with. I suppose it’s the stress. I really must try not to let it get to me.
‘I mean, that wasn’t the Louise I know and love,’ Dad is saying. ‘I don’t know who that person was. All our hard work and effort . . . I really thought you were going to let me down.’
‘Me too,’ I tell him. ‘I wasn’t well and I shouldn’t have gone out. But it’s not going to happen again.’
‘That’s my girl. My future superstar.’
I smile and take our tea over. Dad raises his mug and clinks it against mine. The cameraman comes closer and takes a seat at the other side of the table, putting his elbows on it so he has a base to rest his camera. As he fiddles with a toggle on the side I catch a glimpse of his face. He’s probably around the same age as Dad, only balder and with lots of blackheads and frown lines – most men Dad’s age don’t understand about the importance of cleansing and moisturising. But it’s funny, because you really forget that there are actual people behind these contraptions. When you do see them it’s quite a shock.
‘Louise, is something the matter?’
‘No!’ I exclaim, far too brightly. ‘Why would something be the matter?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Dad. ‘You just looked distracted, that’s all.’
I laugh as if this was ridiculous. But the truth is something is very much the matter. Only I can’t say anything about it. Ever since I heard about Gramps passing away my relationship with God has been oddly stilted. Almost like we’ve been taking a break from each other. I still pray to Him of course, and I know he’s still there watching and listening. I mean, He must be, because He watches and listens to everything, it’s just that it doesn’t seem like He is. In fact, what’s worrying me is that it seems like He isn’t there at all. And this last feeling scares me more than anything else I’ve ever been afraid of in my whole life, because if He isn’t there, then who is? Who’ve I been talking to all my life? Who is out there onstage with me, watching over me and making sure I kill it each time I go out? The idea of standing onstage in front of a crowd of people, all alone, without the presence of something divine looking out for me is unbearable. It’s unthinkable. And yet for some reason I keep finding myself thinking it. It’s that Riana’s fault. She’s done something to me, I know it. Hanging out with her last week was a bad idea because it made me complacent and lazy. I even found myself swearing the other night when I dropped my toothbrush on the floor, taking the Lord’s name in vain, which is something I never do. It’s the worst timing ever for a crisis of faith. If only there was someone I could talk to, a reverend or a fellow believer. But none of the other girls care about God. Dad has never been much into Him either, which is why I’ve never told him just how much I depend on Him. It’s the one thing Dad wouldn’t understand, because he’s always said that a man makes his own luck and that religion is for losers. He has issues with the idea of a higher state of authority, I think.
I realise that Dad’s peering at me questioningly so I shake my head and give him my perkiest smile. Even if I could talk to him about it I wouldn’t, not with the stupid effing camera there. It’d make me look like a moron.
‘I’m just so happy to see you,’ I say.
‘Well, then,’ he replies, grinning back at me and relaxing into his seat. ‘Let’s not waste this time we have together, eh? Let’s do some strategising!’
He asks which song I’m performing this week and I tell him and t
hen we go through it slowly, picking out the high parts and the low parts and figuring out at which bit I should really let the song take over and at which bit I should sink to my knees like I’m overcome with emotion. It’s amazing to have Dad sitting here, giving me all the benefit of his wisdom and advice. In a way it’s hard to believe I’ve managed to survive this long without him. But all the same, a tiny shred of me still sort of regrets that Mum isn’t here too, even if she would have just got in the way. She would have been constantly asking if I was eating enough and getting enough fresh air, and that would have driven me crazy, of course. But maybe because she isn’t here to ask those things, I find myself really wishing she was.
We agree that I will do a slow rotation on the final ‘Ooh baby’, so that I face all directions and make every member of the audience understand I am singing for them and them alone. It’s a brilliant ploy. Dad beams and tells me he can’t wait to see it. Just then Riana enters the kitchen looking like death warmed up and wearing nothing but her bed things, which consists of just panties and white T-shirt. Dad immediately goes stiff and studies the tablecloth. Riana completely ignores us and crosses to the fridge.
‘Why aren’t you dressed?’ I call over as she opens it. She shrugs as if to say, Who cares? and starts rummaging inside. Over the last couple of days she’s been behaving very oddly. Definitely not the way a potential Purrfect girl ought to act. She’s been snapping at everyone, no matter what you say to her, and at meal times she doesn’t talk at all, just stirs her food around and glares at it like it’s her worst enemy. Yesterday morning when Patty said she was singing like a drag queen she actually answered back ‘At least I don’t look like one’, as a result of which Patty stormed out shrieking that it didn’t say anywhere in her contract that she had to put up with that sort of thing, and that was the whole morning gone, us waiting while they persuaded her to come back. She still hates Riana though, and just tells her what to do in a disdainful voice as if she’s the lowest form of scum alive. But Riana doesn’t seem to care. She’s been acting like somebody died, which they obviously did, only it happened to me not her, and if anything I’m the one who should be acting weird.