by Emma Grey
That’s secret #1.
Secret #2?
Recording her song.
Doing this without anyone finding out isn’t going to be easy. For their own sakes, they need to go ‘underground’ before Unrequited’s management gets wind of it and either stamps it out — or worse — runs with it, without Kat. Apparently it’s a risk for Angus, too, but one he’s willing to take. He’s contracted to the band, and not supposed to work with any other artists without permission.
She slips out of her dress and puts on an old T-shirt, sits on the Paris-themed doona cover she’s had since her thirteenth birthday and absently plaits her hair. Can she really trust Angus? Someone she only met tonight. Someone who’s already lied to her once. Someone she’s read articles about in the world’s media, portraying him in the lead role of various scandals, mostly concerning girls — one as recently as this week! He’s been labelled the ‘playboy’ of the band and she knows she has to be careful, especially because he appears to have a thing for her . . .
Whaaat kind of crazy is that? Now that she’s home, back to reality, in the familiar security of the bedroom she’s had since she was five, which is badly in need of a makeover, she can finally allow herself to fully process what happened tonight. She can relive the moment when they first got there and Angus identified her as Elle. HER.
It’s like: ‘Oh, hello Kat, I’m a famous pop star and I’ve just realised it’s YOU I’m infatuated with, in front of my entire social media following of over twenty million fans, and that’s just on Twitter . . .’
So. She hadn’t been imagining things at the concert a week ago. He really had picked her out of the audience and noticed her. MORE than noticed her. Tweeted about having noticed her, and she’d tweeted back. Well, not her. Someone pretending to be her, and doing a fairly good job of it, too. That’s suspicious in itself because, no offence to her sisters, but they’re twelve. If it was really them, they handled this like seventeen-year-olds. In fact, it’s more like something Lucy would write . . .
In any case, the Twitter stuff is the least of her problems right now. Unlike the whole formal Plus One date thing on the eighth of November. A date Angus is saving. For her.
She drags the covers back and gets into bed. Her mind drifts into another of her trademark fantasies as she imagines the school formal scene at one of the larger but not all that spectacular hotels in town. Limo driving up, alighting from it in the heirloom that is her grandmother’s vintage fifties, gold chiffon ballgown which she’s had ready for this occasion for months, followed by her date.
That’s as far as her fantasy usually goes — because there is no date — but tonight it’s different. Her date is one of the world’s top pop stars. Everyone’s idol.
Her heart starts pounding at the attention this would bring, and not in a good way. She’s really not the bragging type, and there’s simply no subtle way to smuggle a pop star into your Year Twelve formal. One tweet and the world would pour in, starting with the paparazzi, then the gatecrashers, followed by screaming fans, and, once things get badly out of hand, the police.
For years to come, everyone would be all ‘Remember the time Kat Hartland turned up at the school formal with Angus from Unrequited? Totally ruined the night. Complete attention seeker! Wonder whatever happened to her . . .’ Because, of course, the fallout wouldn’t be good and she would end up plummeting into obscurity — no song, no Angus . . . wait, where is this going? What about Joel?
OMG. Joel. The way he held her hand in the car. She nearly died! It was so lucky they were on their way to meet ‘Bryce’, because it gave her an excuse to look as nervous as she felt. Yes, it was scary about the song, but not half as nerve-wracking as being with Joel again. And, in a bizarre twist, the person who was giving her butterflies was also the person calming her down and making it perfectly okay to knock on that penthouse suite door. He’s really, really nice. And she’s not even exaggerating.
Kat leans over and switches off her lava lamp. Must. Do. Room. Makeover. What a strange turn her life has taken. She’s gone from complete ‘boy drought’ to raining men in the space of a few days, which, in the scheme of things, what with the HSC, recording her first song and the Legally Blonde rehearsal schedule, is wildly out-of-control timing.
Chapter 31
Angus discovers there are only so many hours that you can lie in bed, watching the ceiling, trying to switch your brain off. He gets up and pulls on a pair of jeans, wanders into his suite’s living room and hits the control to open all the block-out shutters. Then he moves from one panoramic view to another, watching the cabs in the street below, and the way the moonlight dances on the water of the harbour. Wishing she was here.
But she isn’t. Eventually he sits backwards on the piano stool, right where she sat, the cool draught of air conditioning against the bare skin of his chest. Thinking.
That girl.
These last few years of back-to-back concerts with Unrequited have been the best of his life. He thought nothing could be more fun. Nothing could feel more right than being on stage, performing in the band. And now he’s had one taste of what it feels like, writing and performing with Kat, and his mind is blown. This feels right. This is where he’s meant to be. This thing with Kat is special. It’s like he’s suddenly grown up. Like he finally understands for real half the lyrics he’s been taking for granted all these years.
It’s also badly distracting. It has been since he first saw her in the audience. She lodged in his brain then and has been circling on continuous loop ever since. To discover that she’s not just Elle, but the girl co-writing the best music he’s written, ever . . . it’s just too much! There have to be more songs where this one came from. She’s a natural.
He reaches over, picks up the sheet music again and glances through it. He remembers how she’d resisted playing with him tonight. Furious and uncertain . . . and gorgeous. If only she’d known how scared he was right then — scared that she might walk away. If she knew that, she’d feel a million times better about her own uncertainty. He’s never felt like this about a girl before.
But none of this is what’s keeping him awake. This first night with Kat has made him see that he’s standing right at the fork in a road. He’s more conflicted than he’s been about anything in his life before. Career-wise, Kat Hartland has the world at her feet and she doesn’t even know it. She’s going to go as far as he has. Probably further. If Angus’s gut instinct is right, this song is just the beginning.
Angus wants to go there with her. Badly.
The more he thinks about that — about performing together and maybe touring together — the more he wants it. But then what would happen to Unrequited? He can’t just ditch them. He doesn’t want to. They’re like his brothers. They’re his family and in so many ways he owes them his success. It’s not like he can just leave . . .
And another thing: there is no way, NONE, that he’d be able to pull off a whole tour with Kat without getting tangled up with her in ways that extend way beyond the piano stool. Sitting beside her tonight while they played, the lines of her leg pressed against his through the fabric of her dress in a way they couldn’t avoid . . . Shifting as she moved with the music. Seriously!
How did he even manage to improvise that other section of the song? Maybe improvising was the only way he could express what he was feeling without slamming the piano lid shut and kissing her right there. In front of Joel.
Who is Joel, anyway? She said he’s a friend but it was obvious to Angus that he was very uncomfortable about the whole meeting. If he’s jealous of Angus, the feeling is mutual. Very.
He swings his legs around and under the piano again, and strikes a few notes on the keyboard. This is getting messy. Angus might be plastered across the tabloids with different girls every week but that doesn’t mean he’s in a relationship with any of them. He never dates someone who’s with someone else, and won’t start now. That is probably a good thing because getting mixed up with Kat romanticall
y could ruin everything for her. She needs to make it on her own. Not as ‘Angus Marsden’s girlfriend’. If they were together, people would assume he got her the gigs, and the recording contracts and the fame and the success. They’d miss the most obvious, obvious part. She can more than stand alone!
Could there be anything more agonising? He’s stuck between doing what he wants to do and what he should do. He likes her so much, he knows he’s going to have to let his good side win, and it’s torture! He wants her!
Angus groans and mucks around with a tune. It all tumbles out and he has to get it down in case he forgets it by morning, and then somehow it is morning and the sun is rising over the distant ocean, past the harbour, glowing gold. He’s been up all night and has a new song to show for it. ‘Set You Free’.
He knows what he has to do. Record the duet with Kat. Help her navigate the early days of the inevitable fame that’s going to follow. And let her go.
Like the true professional that he supposedly is.
Chapter 32
Joel has had his phone in his hand for the last twenty minutes, wondering if it’s too early to call Kat yet. It was late by the time they got home, and he can’t imagine she fell asleep fast. Or at all, if her night was anything like his.
Watching her playing with Angus, he’d felt so many things. Jealous, obviously, but more than that. Impressed. The talent was undeniable — from both of them. They’re definitely onto something with this song and, whether she believes it or not, Kat’s about to catch her break.
Joel suspects she’s blissfully unprepared for what’s about to happen. She’s probably running some kind of wish-fulfilment teen-girl fantasy about showing up at her formal with a pop star and knocking everyone off their feet. But deep down, he knows he’s misjudging her. Maybe she’s not that confident. She looks it, when she sings, but take the piano away and the insecurity is undeniable. How would she ever cope on the red carpet? Would Angus be there, guiding her? Holding her hand? Making it all right? Knowing exactly what to do, and how to handle the media and what to say and not say — something Joel could never help with because it’s all as new to him as it is to her.
Maybe Angus is on the phone with her now, giving her Lesson #1 in stardom. Answering her questions. Making her laugh . . .
Right. That’s it. Time to dial her number. Except the second before he’s about to, his phone rings.
‘Kat?’
‘Joel Isaacson?’ a male voice asks.
‘Yes. Who’s this?’
‘It’s Professor Edward Marsh calling from Royal Prince Alfred Hospital.’
The Professor Marsh? One of Australia’s top heart surgeons? What’s happened? ‘Who’s this about?’
‘It’s about you, Joel. I’m phoning about an opportunity.’
Oh. Okay. Kat’s all right. It’s not Sarah. Pull yourself together, Joel.
‘Right, sorry. I assumed . . .’
‘I’ll make this brief,’ the doctor says. ‘I was given your name by your professor. I’d asked her for the names of her top three students, and yours is first on her list.’
It is?
‘I’m running a special “internship” of sorts. Three bright, young students will spend six months observing all kinds of surgery. You’re only in third year, not far enough through your studies to do anything “hands on”, but this kind of exposure is priceless at this stage in your course. The program is experimental. Your professor strongly recommends you for it.’
This is unbelievable!
The doctor elaborates. ‘It’s a big commitment. Long hours, on top of your current study load. These opportunities don’t come up every day. You should think about it carefully.’
Joel can’t quite believe it. Professor Marsh is right. The number of top-flight hospitals and surgeons in Australia is so limited compared to somewhere like America. These opportunities never come up for anyone below registrar level here. This is beyond anything he’d been aiming for at this stage in his degree. He feels privileged to have even been asked.
‘I’ll be frank, Joel. This is not something that I’d encourage you to take on if you can’t focus on it over the next six months. It’s demanding. It’s complicated. It carries a lot of responsibility. Imagine adding another thirty or forty hours a week to your full-time study load. That’s what it’s going to be like. I need someone reliable and dedicated.’
He’s reliable. He’s dedicated.
‘You’ll pretty much have to give up your social life for half a year if you agree to take part. If you’re in a relationship, I’d advise you to discuss it with your partner. There’ll be little time for anything else.’
Joel’s brain lurches. Is he in a relationship? Technically, no. But in all the crucial ways that would distract him from this internship? Yes. He’d envisaged every spare minute outside study to be absorbed in helping Kat get through the next few months of upheaval. Not telling her what to do, but being there beside her if she wanted him to be. And she seems to want that. So far.
She’s seventeen. With no agent. She’s recording a song with one of the most famous singers in the world. It’s not a situation he can imagine being in himself but surely anyone in her position is going to need someone onside. Apparently her mum won’t be . . . so if Joel’s not around, and she’s sworn to secrecy before the song is recorded, and she can’t ask her friends, then who’s left to be there with her? Angus. Well-known ladies’ man who’s pictured with a different woman every week in every tabloid in the Western world. It’s hardly a comforting thought.
‘Joel? Is there any reason why taking this opportunity now wouldn’t be in the best interests of both of us?’
He has to do this. Has to! It’s the kind of thing he’s wanted to do for years. And isn’t his career just as important as Kat’s? They’re not even together! It’s only been a week since they first laid eyes on each other. Could he really throw away a chance like this, on a chance with her?
He can’t believe how sorely he’s tempted to say, ‘Yes, there’s a reason . . .’
‘Joel, are you there?’
‘Professor Marsh, I’m honoured. When do you need an answer?’
‘Within twenty-four hours. I’ll have my assistant send through all the information by email and, if you agree, we can get started on the paperwork and clearances as early as next week. How does that sound?’
Joel rubs his forehead. ‘It sounds great.’
Just great.
Chapter 33
Kat is dialling Joel’s number but it’s engaged, and then a call flashes on her screen from ‘Bryce’. She actually falls off her bed. Seriously. She’s sprawled across a pile of clothes on the floor as she answers the phone and has to clamber up and compose herself while attempting to sound like it’s not at all disconcerting that Angus is on the line.
‘Angus, hello!’
‘Glad you answered,’ he says. ‘I was worried I might have turned you off last night.’
Turned her off? No. Not exactly the words she would use to describe his impact. ‘Of course not!’
‘Good. We have work to do.’
Yes. Work. Recording a hit song together. In secret.
‘And I’m not in town much longer, so it’s kind of urgent. I’m worried this might be bad timing for you in terms of your final exams.’
School. Ahem. Yes.
She’d given her education virtually no thought at all since the Unrequited concert, which is bad because she’s already doing the early entry subject at uni and really wants to follow through with a great university entrance score. That’s going to require a great HSC performance, which involves lots of studying and LOTS of focus. She can’t let this random singing opportunity destroy Plan A, even though as soon as that thought runs through her mind, she realises that Plan A is in fact now Plan B, and she wonders what her mum’s going to make of that.
‘I’d like to see you again, Kat. Today, if possible. We’ve got a lot to talk about and arrange. And we need to nail this song
. Are you free?’
Am I free? Let me just think about that for a second Angus Marsden from Unrequited, who wants to record music with me . . .
‘YES, I’m free! I mean, I’m actually not free. It’s Tuesday, so I’ve got double maths this morning and a chemistry lab test, then lunch, but a free period straight after, then double PE . . .’
‘Skip PE,’ he cuts in. ‘See me at lunch? I’ve got sound check at four.’
Right. Of course. Sound check. Wait. Skip PE?
Kat has never once, not in all of her twelve-and-three-quarter years of formal education, skipped a class. Not to sneak off to the shops with friends. Not to binge-watch DVDs and scoff ice cream straight out of the tub while her mum’s at work. Certainly not to visit a pop star in his hotel suite, because he has sound check at four, right before yet another sold-out gig and can’t see her outside school hours, like a normal person.
‘C’mon, Kat. Don’t tell me you’ve never done that before?’
He doesn’t know the half of what she hasn’t done.
‘Of course I have! Gosh, Angus, what do you take me for?’
He laughs. ‘A girl who’s scared she’s going to get her first detention. Am I right?’
He might be . . .
‘Look, it’s okay, Kat. I get it. I really don’t want to lead you astray, but we’ve got a song to work on and a really tight schedule. I’m leaving the country soon. I’ll order sushi?’
‘How do you know I like sushi?’
‘Your impostor posted it on Twitter . . .’