by Will Davis
Remember, we’re on an incredibly tight schedule tonight so no faffing, please. And also please, please, please, no more accidents. Watch where you step, and take extra care if you’re wearing heels!
We troop in and she starts to close the door on us. Just then Rebecca lets out this scream like she’s just been fingered. I almost do as well, cos at first it looks like someone’s smeared blood all the way across the mirror. This glistening wet trail of gore has been shaped into words that say:
gEt OuT wHiLe YoU sTiLl CaN
Then I see that it’s lipstick, some of that new shiny crimson colour from Starzy, and that the leftover Starzy lippy has been squished onto the surface of the mirror at the end of the writing to hang there in a neat 3D full stop. But what’s really shocking’s not the words. It’s all the torn-up bits of material all over the room. They were obviously once our costumes, seeing as the rail by the far wall’s got nothing but hangers with shreds on them. Looks like Edward Scissorhands has been having a fit in here – ragged triangles of gold, pink, white and silver lie across every square inch.
Oh fuck, mutters Michelle, pushing her way in and seeing what the fuss is about. She taps the mic of her headset and starts talking in a low urgent-sounding voice. I need security in the second-floor dressing-room area immediately, I catch her saying. She turns back to us. Right everybody – out we go!
We stand around in the corridor waiting for security. Oh my God, Rebecca keeps saying, over and over till I want to turn and yell at her to shut up. Louise is quiet and her little face is all screwed up in a frown. Meanwhile Joni’s all excited and wonders out loud if we’re being stalked by a psycho.
In between bursts of whispering into her headset Michelle decides we can’t possibly go back till after the police have arrived. They might want to dust for fingerprints, she explains. A few seconds later this whole platoon of security guards appear. After some words with Michelle half of them cram into the room and the other half race off up the corridor, I guess in case maybe the psycho’s still hanging round looking for more innocent costumes to party with. Michelle okays something to her headset and turns to us.
Right. New plan. Follow me.
She leads us back up the corridor where we came and down some stairs to a bunch of green doors and tells us to each pick one. Behind each one are little cupboards, each containing a mirror, a chair and a shelf, just enough room to squeeze a human being into. Michelle tells us these are the reserves, normally used for back-up dancers.
Look on the bright side, she suggests. At least now you get your own rooms.
She smiles kind of cruelly, and it’s probably the first time I’ve seen her look amused about something. Then there’s the sound of static and someone talking to her through the headset and she says Yes, yes, impatiently, looks at us and goes serious again. Security are just round the corner, so you’re all completely safe, okay? So just hang tight until I return, she says.
But what about our costumes? cries Rebecca after her. They’ve been completely ruined! We don’t have anything to go onstage in!
I’ll sort something out, snaps Michelle, and marches off up the corridor again. We stand there facing each other for a minute. It’s the first time in as long as I can remember we’ve all been together without a camera or anyone from the show there too. Last night they even set up a camera in the dorm to record us at night – for our protection they said, but really it was obviously just so they could catch any secret bitching or juicy after-dark cat-fights. Course we got no say, seeing as we all signed away our dignity right back at the beginning of all this.
Alrighty, says Joni, first one to make the best of a bad deal. See you girls out in the ring, eh? Check it.
She goes into one of the dressing rooms, shutting the door behind her. Snorting like she can’t believe how unprofessional all this is Rebecca goes into hers too, which leaves just me and Louise. We stare at each other. Louise’s eyes are narrowed, as if she thinks I’m going to jump her or something. But I can’t be dealing with her hang-ups right now, so I just give her a curt little nod and go into my own cupboard, shutting the door firmly behind me.
Inside I stand in front of the mirror and take a slow lungful of air. A cold tingle runs through my body, right from the tips of my toes up to the back of my neck. There’s something about that lipstick warning on the mirror that chills me. It’s the style of it – that mix of the capitals and small letters. Loads of times Eddy’s proudly shown me photos on her mobile of the little messages she’s scrawled on the walls and floors of department stores and cosmetic surgery clinics targeted by SCUM for being regressive or anti-feminist or whatever. They’re always written exactly the same.
For a second it’s like my brain’s flipped into overdrive. I shut my eyes and open them again, trying to will myself to stop it. But you can only will yourself to stop doing something if you got willpower, and I don’t. Stead I find myself thinking back to last week when I caught sight of Eddy in the audience. It wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me, it was definitely her. Of course I thought she was there for me. But what if, just maybe . . .
God, who I wouldn’t fuck for a line right now.
I take myself in hand and give myself a good shake. Eddy’s capable of some pretty cunning stunts, but she’s no mastermind, able to break into the studio of a major network. She’s not got the know-how. And even if she did, she just wouldn’t. She knows how much this means to me. That’s why she was there last week. Cos she loves me and cos secretly on the inside she wants me to win and show these other bitches who’s best.
So quit being all Nancy Drew, I say out loud to my reflection. Focus on the bigger picture, girl. You got a show to ace.
Soon as the words are out my mouth the door behind me opens and this angular shape slides into the remaining space in the room, shutting the door quickly behind itself.
Riana?
Louise is pale and her eyes are huge. There’s a look on her face I recognise, that I seen on the telly watching her doing her performances, and also when we did our duet together, and sometimes in class when Edgar gets her to sing a solo as an example to the rest of us of how it’s s’posed to be done. This look of total determination.
What’s up? I say.
She doesn’t reply, just stares at me. Two hazel orbs with big dots of black inside them, unmoving and unblinking. You’d think she was a soldier about to leap off the boat and head into enemy ground. She takes another step into the tiny dressing room, so she’s right up close. I can hear her breath, which is short and noisy, like she’s extremely nervous or excited. It must have been the scene in the dressing room that’s got her all worked up. I grin to try to set her at ease, but Louise doesn’t react. Stead, still staring at me like she’s daring me to resist her, she reaches out and without warning sticks her hand on my right tit.
Look, Louise, I don’t think . . . I start to say, but then I stop. Cos it feels good. I’ve missed being touched so badly, and it’s not like there’s anywhere you can go to have a good old wank in that house, what with cameras or girls popping out from round every corner. I reach out and put my own hand on Louise’s chest. I feel the little swelling that’s all she’s got – those tiny buds of tits which are probably still growing. Then, without thinking about just what I’m doing here, I take my other hand and put it on her waist. The hand touching my own tit suddenly starts to move round, exploring, gently at first and then firmer and almost rough. I feel my nipples going erect. The whole time Louise keeps looking at me with those big funny determined eyes, like the snake in that Disney film hypnotising its prey. Suddenly I’m so turned on it’s like I’ve been infected by a sex virus.
I reach down, grab the sides of my top, yank the thing off and chuck it on the floor. Louise immediately puts her hand back on my tit, squeezing and kneading it even harder under my bra. Breathless I take her other hand and guide it down to between my legs, pressing it against my clit. For a fraction of a sec there’s shock on the face before me, those two
determined eyes opening a little wider as it occurs to them just what they’re touching. But then Louise swallows and pushes out her lips in her Victoria Beckham pout. This jolt of excitement runs through my body as I feel her take over, fingers taking on a life of their own, frigging me harder and deeper. She’s clumsy and hasn’t got a clue, but I’m so on the edge I feel myself getting wet anyway. I start to gasp, I can’t help it.
The doorknob turns with a squeak. We just have time to leap apart before Michelle sticks her head in.
Good news, girls. Come heaven or hell the show’s going ahead. And Shelly’s team has just arrived too. They’ll be down in just a minute, as soon as they’ve sorted out who’s doing who.
She peers down at my top on the floor and then eyes us both suspiciously. I glance round at Louise and see she now has the kind of expression you might see on someone that’s just been caught in the middle of committing an axe murder. Luckily she’s facing away from the door so Michelle can’t see.
Louise was just helping me fix my bra, I explain, reaching up to fiddle with it. Stupid catch at the back just kept digging into my spine . . . think it’s okay now, Louise. Thanks.
Louise stares at me, gobsmacked. I give her a wink.
Good, she manages to say finally, about half an hour too late, I’ll go and wait for Shelly in my dressing room, then.
She takes a step towards the door, staggering a bit and grabbing at the wall to keep her balance. Michelle stands to one side to let her go past, but then, stead of leaving, Louise suddenly turns back round to look at me. Her face has changed again. This time it’s panicked, desperate, torn in two. Suddenly I’m aware of so much soul being bared in that pointy little face it almost breaks my heart.
Good luck, Riana, she says quietly.
‘It ain’t me fault . . . I had to do it! And it ain’t like I was hurting no one! All this [BLEEP] what’s been written, it ain’t like that! I just wanted the best for me little boy, that’s all. I thought if they knew I was a mum they’d never have me in Purrfect . . . It ain’t like I wanted to lie about it!’
The picture of Rebecca being voted off is one of those fucking horror snaps you usually get right after a massive night out, of you looking rough as vag with your face, tits and everything else all going south and only your eyebrows going upwards. Her mascara’s run too, never mind what Shelly and that lot swore to us about it being cry, sweat and blood proof, and her lippy’s all smudged from Stina practically trying to tongue her when the judges all said her name. It ain’t a photograph you’d want to be remembered for, that’s for sure.
But Rebecca’s photo ain’t the problem. That ain’t what’s making me blood run hot as I sit here on the loo trying to pull it together so I can have a piss. Rebecca’s gone, out of the competition, history. It’s me what’s got to worry, cos I’m the one what’s been made to look like a total heartless shit by all the papers.
‘Selfish single mother abandons baby to pursue own dreams in Purrfect’ goes the beginning of the article in the Daily Mail. Can’t bear to read the rest of it. Just one glance tells me it’s all about what a fucking irresponsible slag I am, letting me own ambitions stop me from being a good mum. Piece in the Telegraph ain’t no better, calling me ‘crazed with fantasies of grandeur’, whatever the fuck that’s s’posed to mean. Who the fuck writes this guff? But it’s the one in the Star that’s the worst. It’s got a picture of me onstage last night, waving at the audience right after I’d done me song and they was clapping me, smiling and looking all pleased with meself. Over the top is written in big thick letters: Purrfect bitch!
Shit. Me thigh muscles are starting to seize up. I’m that furious I can’t even piss. Furious and worried. Cos this is bad. This is really, really, really fucking bad.
It’s Wend who done it. Who else could it of been? After what Mum told me about her I tried to think there must have been some mistake, like that Mum’d got her wires crossed. She’s dappy enough, and it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened neither. Tried to tell meself I’d better give Wend the benefit of the doubt. Or at least the chance to tell her version of what’d happened and how the papers got wind of that thing with Shea, before I tore her eyes out. Even let meself imagine that maybe her and Davy was just Mum jumping to conclusions like she always does, and that maybe they was just being friendly or out buying me a present together or something. After all, we’re best mates, me and Wend, and we’ve grown up together too. That oughta count for something. But from the papers this morning there’s no doubting anymore that this girl I thought I knew is really one mean twisted bitter cunt. In one of the articles there’s a quote from her, telling the world how I never took no care of Baby and how I’m such a bad parent I couldn’t even be bothered to give him a proper name. There’s another one where Wend is saying she’s always been more like a real mum to him cos of all the times she’s took care of him. Makes me want to choke on me own puke. She’d better move to fucking China cos I’m gonna hunt her down and fucking eat her.
I breathe and finally it starts to come out, a tiny trickle all tinkly as it splatters against the bowl. Been bursting ever since I got out of bed. Saw the papers by the door on me way to the lav and couldn’t resist a quick squiz. Big fucking mistake. I manage to get out hardly anything at all before me bladder seizes up again.
There’s only one thing to do. I gotta go find the judges and explain me own side of things. Maybe they’ll kick me out and maybe they won’t. But I gotta try.
I pull up me jimjams and go to put some clothes on. Louise and Riana are still asleep, both of them snoring away. It’s weird now that there’s just the three of us in here, like we’re the last survivors after the world has ended or something. I s’pose in a way we are, since getting chucked out the contest now would be like the end of the world. It’d be like a fucking apocalypse having got this far.
I throw on me jeans and a T-shirt and head on out of the dorm. Outside on the landing is a camera guy, who’s probably been up since the crack of dawn waiting for one of us to come out. He’s dozing on the armchair by the window and wakes up with a yelp. I walk right on past him while he scurries around getting his camera shit together. One thing I ain’t gonna miss after all this is having me every fucking blink recorded by one of them things.
I go downstairs to the hall and pick up the house phone. The only way to get hold of the judges when they’re not around is to call Michelle and tell her you need to speak to them. The phone’s been rigged so that you can only dial her, or security or 999. Just as I’m about to press the number for her I see someone sitting slumped over in the kitchen and realise it’s none other than the mistress of bitches herself, Tess. I stick the phone back down and go on in.
Tess? I say.
She don’t give no sign of having heard me. She’s obviously fucking furious, so mad she can’t even bring herself to look up. I hover at the door for a second, wondering if I should just call it quits and leave. But that ain’t really an option, not when you’ve made it all this way, so instead I go in and draw up a chair opposite her. I half expect her to start screaming at me but she still don’t move.
Tess?
Finally she looks up. Her eyes are all bloodshot, like she’s been doing pills all night. With what you wouldn’t exactly call model good looks, the overall result ain’t pretty.
Joni, she goes, like she’s just waking up. Where’s everyone else?
Asleep, I go. Listen Tess, you gotta understand my situation. It ain’t easy for me. We ain’t got money or second chances where I come from, we’ve just got our heads. You know what it’s like, cos you grew up on an estate too. You said so . . .
Tess frowns and I stop and wait for it.
What in God’s name are you on about? she says, all slowly.
What the papers are saying. All that nasty stuff.
Joni, Tess says in this ultra-controlled way like she’s having trouble not cracking up, I haven’t got the faintest clue what you’re talking about. But in case yo
u hadn’t noticed, I’ve been on the receiving end of some very serious death threats which are taking up most of my concentration right now.
She looks past me suddenly and lets out this hissing noise.
Get out of here! she snaps.
At first I think she’s talking to me, but then she leaps up and rushes over to the door, slamming it closed on the cameraman. A second later he knocks and says, Excuse me but can I come in, it’s my job? But she don’t open it. Instead the old dragon turns back to me.
There was another message this morning. A letter in the post, addressed to me. It came to my house.
What did it say? I go, trying to sound sympathetic, like Tess getting death threats is awful when really it’s all the old bitch deserves.
I’m not divulging that information, snaps Tess. Now, what I want from you is to get Louise and Riana and meet me in the studio right away. I’ve got something I want to ask you all before the others arrive and turn this into another fucking circus like they have with everything else.
But listen, I go, about the papers—
Now please!
I start to rise, moving sort of slow cos I’m still trying to get me head around what she’s told me. Tess claps her hands loudly in me face.
Move it! she goes.
She glares at me for a bit, before it occurs to her she’s standing in the way of me getting out the kitchen. With this sigh like she’s just sick of the whole world being against her she shifts her blubber back over to the table and I go out, almost bashing tit first into the cameraman who’s still there with the camera pointed right at the door. He follows me upstairs where I’m surprised to find Riana and Louise are now awake and sat on Riana’s bed, chuckling away over the papers. Their arms and legs are touching like they ain’t never been nothing but the best of mates. A bit like what me and Wend used to be like. It’s a dead funny sight though, since Riana looks like she could floss her teeth with Louise if she wanted to. It ain’t half weird the way they seem to get on one day and then hate each other the next, but this time it’s obviously all these bitchy articles about me that’ve buried the hatchet for them. No doubt they reckon I’m over, just like Rebecca and all the others. It just goes to show how one person’s misfortune is another’s stroke of good luck. Cruel, but true.