by Will Davis
‘Ella, please!’
‘Jack, what’s going on? Who is she?’
My vision starts to blur and their voices suddenly begin to sound faint. It occurs to me that all that time sitting on Jack’s front doorstep waiting for him may really have damaged me. But I don’t mind. Even if I die now, it’ll be a good way to go, because at least I’ll have been reunited with Jack.
I’m only dimly aware of being helped inside the flat, being led into a tiny living room with peeling wallpaper and no furniture apart from a single moth-eaten settee. Despite how shabby it is it’s deliciously warm in here and when I sink down on the cushions it’s like heaven. The woman doesn’t come in, and I hear Jack saying something to her at the door and her huffily saying ‘Fine!’ in this voice that makes it totally clear it’s anything but. She sounds so much like Rita that in my haze I almost think she is Rita. Then Jack comes back in and kneels down in front of me. Slowly the feeling returns to my limbs and fingers, and my vision starts to become clear again. I look into the most beautiful blue eyes in the world and it’s like I’ve finally come home.
‘Oh my God,’ Jack keeps repeating. ‘How can this be happening?’
It’s obvious he’s not saying it to me. Groggily I sit up.
‘Jack.’
My voice is all over the place, but at least I can speak again.
‘Jack, I came to find you . . . Has she gone, that woman?’
‘She’s waiting for me at a pub round the corner,’ says Jack. He sounds stressed out. I suppose he’s still getting over the surprise. It’s obviously knocked him for six.
‘Jesus Christ, Ella! I mean . . . what the hell do you think you’re doing showing up here? And how did you get my address?’
‘I went to your old gym,’ I explain. ‘They’ve got it on their system. I had to distract the receptionist there by setting off a fire alarm – it was crazy! But I did it! Jack – I left the contest. I left it for you!’
I can’t help smiling as I tell him. Jack stares at me, his beautiful violet eyes the size of planets. He mouths the word ‘Jesus’ but no sound comes out.
‘Does Rita know where you are?’ he says suddenly. ‘Oh God, she’ll be going mad with worry!’
I start giggling. The idea of Rita even noticing that I’m not there is pretty funny. The idea of her going mad with worry doesn’t even register.
‘She won’t care!’
Jack suddenly leaps up and starts pacing around the room. Since it’s only tiny he can only take about three steps before he has to turn and go the other way. It’s quite disconcerting and I wish he’d stop doing it. I notice there’s more than a trace of stubble on his chin, which is funny because he’s always been so meticulous about shaving.
‘Are you growing a beard?’
He doesn’t reply, just continues pacing, frown lines creasing his forehead and growing deeper and deeper with every step. It’s clearly up to me to take charge of the situation, to show him how much I’ve grown up and learned in the time we’ve been apart.
‘Jack,’ I say gently. ‘It doesn’t matter. Jack, don’t you see?’
I smile at him. Abruptly Jack stops and faces me.
‘There’s nothing to stop us being together now.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about!’ he screams at me. ‘What the fuck is the matter with you? I mean . . . are you completely and utterly out of your fucking mind? You spoilt worthless little idiot!’
It’s like he’s just punched me in the face. All I can do is gape at him. Jack bites down on his lip so hard that it turns white, and drops his head, staring hard at the carpet. His shoulders rise and fall heavily, like he’s having difficulty breathing.
‘Listen, Ella,’ he says in a very tight, controlled voice. ‘I’m going to put you in a taxi to take you back to the station. Trains go to London all the time. Do you have money?’
‘No!’ I scream at the top of my lungs. Over the past few weeks I’ve built up quite a bit of lung power with all those classes of Edgar’s. I use his technique of focusing on one single note – the O sound – in order to really achieve some volume. The result is spectacular and surprises even me. Jack takes a step back, his face transforming with horror. He raises both hands and waves them at me desperately. I stop screaming and take another deep breath.
‘Ella . . . don’t scream like that again, okay?’
I don’t have the energy to, anyway. Tears are coursing down my cheeks. I can feel them sliding off my chin and practically hear them as they splatter like a miniature waterfall on to the lacy collar of the Fornarina coat. Jack smiles at me. But it’s the sort of smile you get from someone who’s terrified of you.
‘It’s okay,’ he says, suddenly super nice. ‘Ella, it’s okay. We’ll work it out. I’m sorry. I was hasty before. It was the shock of seeing you. But I really appreciate you coming all this way. I really, really do. No one’s ever done that for me before.’
‘Really?’ I say. My voice is small, hopeful and desperate. Desperate because I know he’s lying. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me. My heart hurts so much from the realisation it’s like I’ve been stabbed there. It actually feels like it’s been cut open and is bleeding, just like in that Leona Lewis song.
Jack’s smile quivers, like he’s having trouble maintaining it.
‘Just wait here while I go and . . . call Freda and cancel our plans tonight, huh? Then we’ll have the whole evening together, just you and me. How does that sound?’
I nod, unable to speak, this time not because of the cold but because of my heart. Still smiling manically, Jack goes out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. After a few seconds I stagger over and put my ear against it. In the next room I hear him talking on the phone in a hasty, urgent voice. He’s not talking to Freda.
‘Mimi! It’s Jack . . . never mind all that. Never mind! Look, I need you to put Rita on. It’s about Ella and it’s important . . . Then you’ll just have to interrupt her, won’t you?!’
He doesn’t want me and he’s never going to. Never.
I realise that I have to get out of here – right away, before he comes back. I go to the front door and fumble idiotically with the latch. I can still hear the low murmur of him talking in the next room, and suddenly I can’t bear the sound of his voice. Suddenly I don’t want anything more to do with him. I don’t know where I’m going to go and I don’t even care. I just need to get out of here, away from this terrible, awful, impossible pain. With a little cry I fling the door open. An icy breeze welcomes me to the outside world, and I’m actually glad that it’s freezing because maybe it’ll numb that shuddering agony in my heart, which right now feels like it’s going to be there for the rest of my life.
I pull my coat tightly around me and hurry out into the cold.
It’s still early when I get up, but I just can’t sleep anymore. After all this waiting and waiting and waiting, the day has finally come. This is it. This is really it.
In the bathroom I run a shower with very hot water, as hot as I can stand. Each droplet seems to sizzle as it hits my skin. It feels like I’m being cleaned on the inside as well as on the outside – like I’m being made pure for the task ahead. Only when the water starts to run cold do I throw a towel around my glowing pink body and head back into the bedroom.
Outside over the city a red sun has burst through the grey cloud, and it paints the room with orange light, making the gun on the chest of drawers sparkle like a metal jewel. I pick it up and balance it in my palm. It’s old, this weapon – an antique, in fact. It was a souvenir of my granddad’s from the war, and it’s so large and heavy it feels as if it would do more damage if you threw it. But it still works. On my day off I drove out to the country, to an abandoned farm where I used to go for walks when I was a teenager, when things got too much at home or when school had been particularly crushing. Carefully I loaded it, following instructions I found on the Internet. My hands were shaking from excitement as I took aim at a tree and
fired. It sounded like the world had split open, and for a few seconds I wasn’t sure what had happened. But when I inspected the tree there was a tiny hole where the bullet had embedded itself deep in the trunk.
I bring the gun to my lips and kiss it, tasting the cold metal with my tongue and imagining suddenly what she will feel when the bullet embeds itself in her. Perhaps it’s stupid but I don’t think it will hurt. I don’t want it to, either. I want it to be quick and painless. I want her to pass out of this life easily, because the honest truth is that I don’t hate her anymore. She can’t help being what she is. It’s the only thing she knows how to be.
The alarm by my bed starts to beep, startling me out of my thoughts. Ever so gently I set the gun back down and go over and switch it off. I put on the outfit I laid out last night and then carefully comb my hair before pulling it back tight from my scalp, enjoying the pain as follicle after follicle is stretched taut. Then I put on my make-up – or my disguise, as I like to think of it.
I remember when I first came before her after getting the job. I was terrified she would recognise me, and had applied so many layers of foundation and blusher it felt like I was wearing a second skin. I needn’t have worried though. The faces of those hundreds and hundreds of girls whose dreams she’s destroyed are all the same to her. All those moments that changed all those lives have had no effect on her own. She looked through me as if I didn’t even exist. Yet strangely I’ve come to need this face. It’s my warpaint, and without it I’d feel open and exposed. It seems to me that all women have two faces – the one they’re born with and the one they create. You can’t help wondering which is the truest.
When I’m done I put away the make-up case and pick up my handbag. I take it over to the chest of drawers and put the gun inside. Then I clip it shut and check the mirror one last time. Soon, I whisper to the sad, thin woman before me. It feels as if my whole life has been leading up to this day. I can’t afford to fail.
‘I’m on the blimmin’ edge. I mean, it’s all about tonight, ain’t it? Everything we’ve been working for. All that struggle and all that blimmin’ heartache. It all comes down to this one single night. So yeah – just totally blimmin’ nervous!!!’
I breathe in like never before, like me lungs are the size of airships, then release the last note. I been trying to hit this bitch all week in the studio, and every time Edgar sighs and goes No that ain’t right. Finally he said to just forget it and go low cos the way it could go wrong didn’t bear even thinking about. But I swore to meself I’d do it. Even if it fucking kills me. After last week I gotta turn this competition around, cos otherwise I ain’t got no chance whatsoever, not against old mega boobs with her plastic stuck-on smile or that horsey little bone bag with her perfect fucking pitch.
It nearly does kill me. The air comes rushing out through me mouth at a million miles a second, almost making me gag as me throat contracts into a little tiny hole. It’s like someone’s reached out and clamped a fist round me windpipe. But I hit it. I hit it and then some. This sound, right on key, like something that could of come out of the gob of an angel or out of Barbra Streisand even, fills the whole auditorium. It’s rich and pure and loud and all them things a voice is s’posed to be. Somewhere out there I know Edgar is eating his fucking words.
– looove me!
Them’s the last words. I hold them for what seems like an eternity and then it’s over. The lights fade down on me and I slump forward, like I’m so exhausted I’m ready to drop dead. I ain’t never sung like that before. I don’t care what them judges say. They can swivel cos that was as good as it gets.
Here comes the applause. It’s funny cos the first time you hear them clapping for you it’s like the sky itself has gone and opened up and it’s raining down fire like in one of them biblical scenes the religious crazies are always going on about. But a few times and you get used to it, and then you start measuring inside your head how long it goes on for and thinking Is it as loud as what thingummy got? Well, I’m glad to say that tonight it sure as fucking hell feels like it. Practically does me ears in.
The biggest whoops and cheers are coming from the back of course, where Mum and her mates are. They’ve got up on their seats and are jumping up and down like they’re all having fits or something. They’ve gone and got these T-shirts made up too that have a black and white photo of me face printed on them, which is a bit weird – y’know, seeing your mug jiggling around on all these forty-something women’s tits. This usher is standing next to them trying to make them all get down, but she’s got Fat Carol in the way who’s four times the size of her so I don’t much fancy her chances.
I sneak a look over at the judges. Emma, Joe and Tess are all clapping. Even Tess. She clapped for Louise and Riana when they did their bits too, so maybe for just this one night she’s dislodged the broomstick. Or else maybe we was all just plain good. Maybe it’s a bit of both, who knows? I reckon she must be relieved that it’s nearly over, since those letters and stunts almost made her fucking lose it last week. Every time she came in to watch us practise and give us her advice she bit your head off, going on about how we was never gonna be as good as Purrfect and how they never had any of the problems we got. But now there she is nodding up and down and looking almost pleased, probably about as close to it as she’s able to get, a bit like she’s just been proven right about something.
Left of the judges is Purrfect. The band themselves, here in the flesh to see us and give us their own verdicts on whether or not we should join them. They’re all clapping away and cheering too. Fina is even standing and wailing her head off with everyone else. Right away she becomes me favourite, even though it was always Saffron before. All these feelings are rushing into me head all of a sudden. I’m getting all choked up with the emotion. I can’t believe that was it, that there ain’t nothing more for me to do, that all there is left is to wait and see what they all says. It’s out of me hands. But I gave it me best, I really did, and that’s all a girl can do.
Wow . . . shrieks this scratchy voice over all the applause. It’s Stina, course, coming on to the stage in this tiny little purple scrap of a dress which is even more revealing than the red mini what I’ve got on.
That really was the business, wasn’t it? yells Stina at the audience. Ladies and gentlemen – the character that is Joni!
She sweeps her arm out in this motion towards me, almost slapping me in the face, the silly cow. I give the audience a wave. Fuck it, cos I done it, I think to meself. I let out this big whoop and before Stina can say nothing more I raise me mic.
That was for me little boy! I yell.
There’s more cheering at that, even louder than before, I reckon. It almost sounds like the roof’s being blown off. Over at the back Mum’s so excited it looks like she’s being electrocuted and even Fat Carol’s jumping up and down. The usher’s standing well back now. The only one who’s not still clapping is Tess, who folds her arms like she’s used up quite enough effort already thank you very fucking much, miserable old arse-face.
Okay folks, goes Stina in a low dramatic voice, raising her hands to quieten everyone down. It takes a while, since Mum and her mates are out of control, but eventually they realise they’re the only ones still going and can it. Can I get Riana and Louise back onstage please?
There’s a slow drum roll, real ominous, and the other two come on. They’re holding hands and both smiling their big phony smiles. Riana’s is so fucking massive tonight it could practically be used for a satellite. When they get to me Louise reaches over and takes me hand too. I’m tempted to snatch it back, since there’s no way this little witch would ever do it if it weren’t for us being onstage in front of all these people and cameras, but instead I find meself clasping it real tight. Suddenly I ain’t concentrating on her or Riana no more. I’m concentrating on the judges and on those girls from Purrfect. Cos this is what it all comes down to. This is what it’s all about. This moment, right here, right now. One of them moments that de
fines the course of the rest of your life.
Riana, Louise and Joni, says Stina in that voice like we’re all doomed as fuck, you are the last three girls and in just a moment, one of you will be going home. The remaining two will perform their songs one last time in a knock-out round, before the new Purrfect girl is crowned. It’s time to hear from our judges, Emma, Joe and Tess, and of course from Purrfect themselves. Let’s hear it for Saffron, Kharris, Monique and Fina!
There’s another big burst of applause, only it don’t last very long. Everyone wants to know who’s it gonna be. Me fingers tighten around Louise’s little hand and I feel hers tightening back. Funny how in moments like these all that matters is that you’re human beings together and none of that stuff that’s gone before is important.
Girls, goes Emma, super serious, you all have great potential but the girl I’m voting off tonight hasn’t shown enough of herself over the week for me to really feel that I know who she is. A pop star has to be true. She’s got to be honest about her emotions and let that come across. That’s why tonight I’m choosing Louise to go home.
A big ooh-ing sound comes out of the audience, like half of them is disagreeing. The fingers around mine weaken slightly, then come back even stronger like they’re clinging on for dear life. And even though I know Louise is the kind of person who’d sell her own parents if she thought it’d get her somewhere, I feel sorry for her. But there’s more coming, and I ain’t in the clear yet.
Joe? says Stina.
Joe makes this show of clearing his throat.
I feel that over the past five weeks you’ve all come such a long way, goes the old poof like he’s trying to be all original. You’re all brilliant, all truly fantastic, and all have great potential. However, while I think you each have your own style, for me there are two that particularly stand out and have done right from day one. A Purrfect girl has to be vocally perfect. And because of that . . . I’m sorry, but it’s Riana.