by Will Davis
Let’s hear you then, she said when I finally ran out of things to say. So I began the song I’d prepared. I had to stop and start again three times because my voice was so shaky from nerves that I couldn’t hit the right note. But finally I found it. I didn’t get beyond the first verse before she stopped me. I almost started crying then, but I told myself that maybe she’d already heard enough to know I had something. That maybe with just a few bars I’d already guaranteed my place in the show.
Then she dismissed me. She said I was too old, and not suitable for the band. Goodbye, she said, and looked away. It was like my throat had been cut. I stood there, speechless, just staring at her. One side of that fat mouth was tilted up – that half smile I’ve come to know so well. It was the worst moment I have ever had to live through. The moment that makes me go cold and start sweating whenever I think of it, which is all the time because I can’t get it out of my head, not even when I’m asleep.
It wasn’t rage I felt as I left the room. Just an overwhelming numbness, as if nothing mattered anymore. Outside I stood like a zombie while I was ticked off the list and then told to move along. I watched as the next girl went into the room, her face shiny with hope and excitement. I looked about at all those other girls with their families and friends, some of them singing, some of them laughing, some of them crying, and I realised I’d never be like them again. That because of her it was over. The future that stretched out ahead of me was bleak and endless, and I knew I couldn’t face it.
I went home. When I got there I stood in front of pictures on the mantelpiece – of my father and me when I was a little girl. Of me in my graduation gown, fresh-faced and triumphant. And of Andrew and me a few years later, he looking sheepish for the camera and me flushed and laughing. That last one was taken just a few days before he called things off. It seemed a lifetime ago. But I didn’t care anyway. I only knew I was tired of having them around, so I picked them up, took them out to the front of the house, and dumped them next to the bins. Then I went upstairs and ran a hot bath. While I was waiting I lit some candles and turned off all the lights. I took my shaver out of the cabinet and sat down with it in the steaming water. Trembling, I prised the blade out of the plastic. As I did it slipped and bit into my thumb. Droplets appeared in the water, floating red clouds that faded into pink and then dissolved altogether. But it wasn’t the pain that made me hesitate, it was the knowledge of what they would think when they found me and examined the reasons. Of what they would say when they saw the empty house, the empty rooms – my empty life. I knew I’d leave behind nothing, not so much as a murmur for the world to remember me by. That I’d be forgotten in a heartbeat, fading from people’s minds as fast as those droplets of blood had merged with the bathwater.
I couldn’t do it so I threw the razor aside and shut my eyes. And I saw her face again, the face I’ve come to know better than my own. I saw her lips move as she dismissed me and then that awful half smile.
When I finally opened them again the candles had gone out, and it felt as though a century had passed. The water was cold and I was shivering, but it didn’t matter because it had come to me what I was supposed to do. I didn’t know how I would do it then, only that I’d find a way. Because I had to. Because there was nothing left for me to lose.
‘When I first got into the house I was worried that maybe there’d been some mistake. I couldn’t believe they were actually going to give me the chance to be a member of Purrfect. I’ll never forget what this competition has done for me. It’s given me the confidence to finally be myself!’
I’m sitting on my bed surrounded by snotty tissues because of the horrible cold I came down with on Sunday, watching TV and trying not to let myself be crushed by these overpowering feelings of dejection. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so completely and utterly wretched in my whole life. Not even when I found out Daddy was dead.
I was supposed to find Jack. That was the plan. I had this stupid vision of me tracking him down wherever he was and of what his face would look like when he saw me again after all these weeks apart. I wouldn’t even have to say anything, I thought: he’d just suddenly have this revelation about how much he’d missed me and needed me, like I was the piece that had been missing all this time in order to make his life complete. Then he’d take me in his arms and whisper my name and stroke my hair like he couldn’t believe I was really there, and I’d tell him how I’d quit the show to find him and he’d be so moved by my sacrifice he’d kiss me more deeply than ever before. Then we’d go to his room and undress, like genuine couples who aren’t ashamed of what they are, not merely snatching a stolen hour every other afternoon while parked at the common, but taking the time to properly touch and feel one another’s bodies, to rediscover our love. And then, ever so gently, he’d put it in me and make love to me and I’d know from the way he groaned that we would never ever be apart again.
But driving home with Rita and Mimi that vision quickly faded. At first I felt almost sick with relief that I wasn’t ever going to have to go onstage again. I had my mission to find Jack and it felt like I was a brave young girl in one of those films about finding true love against impossible odds – maybe starring Anne Hathaway or Kirsten Dunst. But as we drove through London and the real world seeped back in through the darkened windows of Rita’s 406, my excitement soon got replaced by feelings of anxiety. In the driver’s seat Rita was already on her hands free, laying into somebody at work while she cut people up on the road, and beside her I could hear Mimi sighing into her own phone, telling her best friend Amy how lame I was because I’d just quit the programme. And gradually in the course of a simple journey back to Kensington all that confidence and determination just bled right out of me. In its place all that was left was the old, insignificant, weak Ella who’d been there hiding away all along, and try as I might I couldn’t seem to recapture any of that resolve I’d felt when I walked out the door of that house. I desperately wanted to ask Rita to turn the car around and drive me back, except that I knew there was no point because it was too late. I was never going to be a Purrfect girl. And when I got home and tried Jack’s number, and there was the message saying it wasn’t recognised, that was when I knew I was never going to be with Jack either.
The commercials are almost over so I reach for the remote to turn up the volume. Rita’s banned us from watching The Purrfect Search, but of course me and Mimi still do, though not together since she’s not spoken to me since I quit, and doesn’t even say hello when we pass each other in school. Nor does anyone else, actually. I had this secret hope that maybe I’d suddenly be really popular when I got back to class, and that everyone would surround me asking to know what it was like. But it’s the complete opposite. People even seem to go out of their way to avoid me. The only recognition I’ve had from anyone about being on the programme was from Miss Simmons, our gym teacher, who told me not to expect any special treatment just because I’d been on TV when I asked her if I could skip Lacrosse because of my cold.
The screen goes bright pink and is filled with flying silver stars, which gradually come together to form the words The Purrfect Search. A snatch of ‘Or Die Trying’ plays over the top and I get a familiar feeling in my stomach, like my insides are tying themselves up into multiple knots. It’s how I felt on Saturday, lying in this exact same position on my bed watching the others onstage as they competed in front of Tess, Joe and Emma. I couldn’t believe that just the week before I’d been performing in front of them myself. It seemed like a hundred years ago. And I couldn’t believe that I’d actually given it all up. They didn’t even bother with showing me telling the judges I was leaving or saying goodbye to anyone. All they had was a brief bit at the start where Emma explained that due to personal issues and ill health I’d been taken out of the running, followed by a few quick interviews with the other girls on how they felt about it. Of course they all said what a terrible shame it was because I was such a nice person and that they already really missed me, which was
nice but probably untrue. Except for Joni maybe.
‘Welcome to The Purrfect Search!’ says Stina excitedly, materialising in front of the title wearing one of those bright checked boob tubes that were on all the catwalks three months ago. ‘In tonight’s one-off special we’re going to really get to know Joni, Louise and Riana. Things are so tense now, because as you know this is the last week before we discover who is the next Purrfect girl!’
The screen changes to a clip of Riana making a wrong move in front of Patty, over which Stina’s voice continues: ‘Coming up – Riana struggles to convince Patty she’s got what it takes!’ Patty closes her eyes, puts her face in her hands and groans. This is followed by a cutaway of her being interviewed, telling the camera: ‘I have never in my life worked with someone who so wilfully refuses to listen.’ Then there’s a clip of Louise performing her dance routine and slipping over. ‘Louise takes a tumble!’ exclaims Stina’s voice as if she can’t believe such a thing is humanly possible. There’s a shot of Edgar being interviewed, saying ‘She is the strongest contestant . . . if only she can learn to be more natural with her voice, I truly believe that she has the potential to win.’ Finally there’s a shot of Joni dabbing her eyes in front of a massive group of photographers. I pull myself up, surprised. ‘And the big secret about Joni finally gets out!’ Big secret?
The programme continues. I watch impatiently, waiting for Louise to take her silly tumble and for Riana to finish messing up her routine so I can find out what’s going on with Joni. Instead of the girls this episode seems to be devoted to interviews with the judges and teachers, all saying what they think about each one’s chances of winning. They seem to agree that Louise is the best singer, Riana the best performer and Joni the strongest character. Finally there’s a repeat of that quick shot of Joni sobbing in front of the press, and then a shot of her looking weak and ashen-faced as she sits in front of Emma, Joe and Tess who are all arguing. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ says Joe to Tess. ‘Joni is a . . .’ says Emma and then Stina pops up smiling and almost bursting out of her top to assure viewers that we’ll find out right after the break. I almost throw the remote at her.
Just then there’s the sound of heels down the corridor. I quickly hit the mute button as Rita does her usual pointless tap at the door before opening it and coming right on in.
‘Ella? I need you to take Mimi to her music lesson tomorrow after school,’ she says without so much as a hello, even though it’s the first time I’ve actually seen her today since she had to leave early this morning to deal with a crisis at Fascinate! and has had her door shut all afternoon.
‘Okay,’ I say.
For some reason Rita decides I’m being difficult and lets out a long sigh as if I’d just flat-out refused. With no Jack around to take care of us, I’ve suddenly become the one who’s expected to do everything, and if I forget it just doesn’t get done. We wouldn’t have had clean shirts for school today if I hadn’t suddenly remembered to wash them last night and put them on the radiator to dry.
‘I don’t like her travelling across town on her own,’ Rita says sourly, like she’s sick of explaining this to me. ‘At her age the city is a dangerous place to be.’
I nod, but apparently this still isn’t good enough. Obviously what Rita really wants is someone to take her bad day out on.
‘Look at me, when I talk to you, can’t you?’ she snaps.
I look at her, focusing on the big frown line that goes down the centre of her forehead which she’s always complaining about because not even Botox can iron it out. She looks old and ugly, and I suddenly feel this great revulsion towards her. When I asked her where Jack had gone she refused to say. She told me that all she knew was that it was another city, and that even if she did know which one it was she wouldn’t tell me and we were well shot of him. Actually she said more than that – she said that he was nothing but a lazy free-loader with no talent or qualifications, and that he was probably shacked up with some wealthy ex-debutante sucking dry her bank account and fucking the help. It’s just as well that Rita has no heart, because if she did I swear she would have realised about Jack and me from the sound of my heart breaking. Of course she’s wrong, though. She’s never understood Jack like I have.
‘What are you watching anyway?’
Rita peers over at the screen suspiciously. With perfect timing the programme begins again, silver stars on a pink screen spelling out the title. Rita purses her lips.
‘So that’s why you’re so sullen. Well, you can’t blame anyone but yourself, Ella. You’re the one who wanted to quit. I never gave you anything but unconditional support!’
I look at the bed, willing her to go away. Thankfully she gives up and goes out, though she slams the door behind her. I listen to the crisp click of her heels going back up the corridor, and just for a second my heart forms this powerful wish that she would die. Maybe in a freak car accident or even just falling down the stairs and breaking her neck. I know it’s wrong of me, but it’s not as though a single person in the world would miss her, or even as if it’d deprive Mimi of this wonderful mother. Maybe Jack would even seek us out when he heard the news . . .
My attention flicks back to the screen and I realise I’ve missed the scene where the judges were arguing in front of Joni, and Emma was about to reveal something crucial. The screen now shows a cluster of photographers standing around the front of the house. Joni stands at the centre with Emma beside her. She looks small from this angle. I never really noticed that she was so short. Next to Emma she looks almost like a child, which is strange since when I was in the house she seemed so old and wise all the time.
I quickly turn off the mute button so I can hear her. She’s saying that she’s sorry, and that she never meant to hurt anyone and that she’s nothing but proud of what she is. It takes me a good moment to process what she’s talking about, and then when I do I almost fall off the bed, completely dumbstruck. Joni is a mother?
One of the men is asking her why she lied about it and if it’s because she’s ashamed, and I crane my head forward and whack up the volume, even though it’s risking Rita thumping the wall. Joni takes a few seconds to answer, like she’s collecting herself because she’s been made so upset by the question.
‘No,’ says Joni. ‘I am not nor ever will be ashamed of my little boy.’
Her voice is firm and hard, like she’s daring the press to argue with her, but two silver streaks down both cheeks show how she really feels. Even though she’s not wearing a scrap of make-up or even very nice clothes, I think she looks more beautiful than any of those times I’ve seen her onstage performing. I’m almost crying with her.
‘I want to be a member of Purrfect because I love my boy and I want him to have the best life possible – and if that meant seeming like I was selfish to all the papers then it was a risk I had to take!’
I still can’t get over it. Joni’s my age – maybe a year older! The very idea of having a baby makes me feel queasy. To have something come out of you down there – the pain must be unbearable. But Joni’s done it. And it makes sense too. That’s the reason she’s always so confident and together: because she can’t afford not to be. Not when she already has this great responsibility. She’s a risk taker. She’s taken a chance and had a baby, and she was there in the house taking another chance, just like she said. All for his sake.
The screen changes to Stina interviewing Emma about Joni’s chances after the revelation. Emma says that she thinks Joni still has a shot because she’s shown herself to be a strong character and a good singer, and that even though she lied at least she had the guts to confront her lie, and that’s a brave thing to do. After a couple more questions about the other girls and their reaction, Stina turns to the camera and warns it that it had better join her on Saturday for the grand finale – or else. The programme finishes, and ‘Goodbye Forever’, the beautiful hidden ballad you get if you wait thirty seconds at the end of the album Count On It, starts playing as the credits c
ome up.
I switch off the TV and sit there feeling small and stupid, more like an insignificant nobody than ever. Even though there’s no one else here I can feel my face colouring with shame because my own problems, which seemed so impossible just seconds ago, seem like nothing beside what Joni’s been up against. I mean, she’s got another human life to worry about. Even now, with all those reporters hounding her, she’s still trying, still standing there giving it her best. She doesn’t give up, no matter what. Not like me.
It’s enough to make you want to just curl up and lose the will to live. I turn off the light and pull the bedcovers up over my head without bothering to go and clean my teeth or wash or put on any face cream, since after all, now that Jack’s never going to look at me again, what’s the point? Better to just lie here and wait for sleep or preferably death to take me.
But as I lie there, clenching my eyes shut and thinking about how if I were Joni I’d never be in this position, something twigs. It’s like when you suddenly see something that’s been right under your nose the whole time you were looking for it. I almost leap out of bed and start dancing around the room. It’s an idea about how to find Jack and it’s so obvious I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before. I start to chuckle, surprising myself with how manic it sounds. I haven’t given up, Jack, I think. Not yet.