“Love you guys!” she said, sweetly.
“Aiden’s got a crush on Kaitlyn,” said Yuki, as the boys appeared on-screen again. “He’s got it bad.”
“I think we’ve all got a crush on Kaitlyn,” said Jack, from the corner of his mouth. Yuki stood up on the sofa, spilling the cushions, and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Hey, Kaitlyn!” The camera cut to the green room again. “Kaitlyn, WILL YOU GO STEADY WITH AIDEN? HE’S VERY RELIABLE AND HAS HIS OWN CAR—”
“Stop it, you,” said Jack, as the feed returned to the studio, the audience howling with laughter. Jack tugged Yuki back down into his seat and rapped him on the knee. “You’re disrupting things.”
Yuki made a guilty face.
“So, moving on. Moving on. The new album. This’ll be news to all you guys at home, but a little birdie tells me that you, Gabriel West, wrote most of the lyrics on Songs About a Girl … is that right?”
Gabriel nodded slowly, and I felt a little thrill as it dawned on me that, up until now, this had been a secret.
“Oh my God, no way!” said Melissa, clapping her hands.
“With this in mind, Gabe,” continued Jack, “I’m sure we’d all like to know … who’s the girl in the title?”
The audience oohed and wolf-whistled. Gabriel coughed into his fist.
“I couldn’t possibly tell you that, Jack.”
Jack looked at the audience and made his mouth into a little circle.
“He’s coy, isn’t he?”
More cheering spilled down from the crowd, and someone shouted, “We love you, Gabriel!”
Under his breath, Jack said: “Get in line, lady.” Cue raucous laughter.
“But come on, let’s be honest: you’ve been linked to all kinds of famous ladies in the past year. The always glamorous Tammie Austin, for instance. A bona fide movie star.”
“Tammie’s just a friend,” said Gabriel, leaning back into the sofa. “Cross my heart.”
“Fine, but you just came out of that tempestuous relationship with Ella Mackenzie, and we all know Miss Martinez from Hampton Beach is after you … so what’s the deal? Who’s your muse, Gabriel Horatio West?”
“Horatio?” echoed Yuki.
“Where did that come from?” asked Olly.
Jack leaned his elbow on the desk, his chin on his fist. “I’ve no idea, I just made it up. But he looks like he could be a Horatio, don’tcha think? That strong jawline … he’s like a Roman soldier.”
Aiden reached over and stroked Gabriel’s jaw. Gabriel grabbed his hand and gave it a little kiss.
“This wasn’t in the script,” said Olly.
“I know, I know,” said Jack, spinning around on his chair, “I’m getting off topic. But heck, it’s my show.”
Peals of laughter.
“So where were we? Oh yes. Your muuuse.”
He pointed his cards at Gabriel. Gabriel smiled.
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Is that so, Mr. West? A gentleman, no less.”
Jack held his hands in the air.
“But no, come on, this isn’t The Gabriel West Show, children. Let’s chat with you other fellas for a bit. Aiden … Aiden…” He touched a hand to his heart and docked his head to the side. “Our Irish prince.”
Boisterous applause.
“You know over here in Dublin we all think you’re the best one, don’t you?”
Aiden released a little smile.
“Oh lordy,” said Melissa, grabbing the laptop screen. “He is so cute I just wanna roll him in a pancake.”
“Are you happy, Aiden? Do they treat you well, the other lads?”
Aiden stuck out his bottom lip.
“They’re all right.”
“Hey,” said Yuki, sitting forward, “I iron your boxer briefs every morning, bro. Where’s your gratitude?”
“He’s lying,” said Gabriel, with a sly smile. “Aiden doesn’t wear underwear.”
“Is that right?” asked Jack.
“None of us do,” said Olly.
“Crikey…” Jack laughed and fanned himself with a cue card. “I’m losing my train of thought. Ooh, yes: here’s something I’ve been wondering about.” He pointed to each member of the band in turn. “Why aren’t there five of you?”
A strange, icy silence fell over the band. Hurriedly, Aiden broke it.
“Why aren’t there five of you, Jack?”
“Trust me, kid, the world ain’t ready.” More cheers. “But seriously. Boy bands do normally have five members, no?”
“Hanson didn’t,” said Olly. “Or Boyz II Men.”
“Or the Jonas Brothers,” added Aiden.
“What about the Beatles?” said Yuki, clicking his fingers. “They were the original boy band.”
Jack thought about this and clacked his cards against the table.
“Touché, Mr. Harrison. Touché.”
“Plus,” said Olly, “one guy always leaves, right? And then you’re left with four anyway, like Take That. Or Boyzone.”
“That’s the beginning of the end, man,” said Yuki. “Once the first guy quits, you’re all toast.”
Jack smoothed down his tie.
“But … but … my point is, it so easily could have been five, couldn’t it? There was—and forgive me if I’m scratching old wounds here—an obvious fifth member…?”
The boys exchanged uneasy glances.
“I don’t want to stir any bad blood, chaps, but … Jake Woodrow?”
“Ohmygosh I can’t believe he brought up Jake!” blurted Melissa, sitting up straight on my bed. “That is so awkward…!”
I thought back to the previous afternoon, outside the venue in Brighton, and the reporters questioning Olly. He’s still pretty cut up … what d’you say about that?
“Can we get a picture of Jake on-screen, please?”
A photograph of a good-looking teenage boy, around sixteen years old, with cornrows and a diamond stud earring appeared in the bottom corner of the screen. He was onstage on Make or Break, standing next to Olly, holding a microphone.
“For those of you who don’t watch Make or Break … all three of you”—laughter and whooping—“Jake Woodrow was, well, how do I put this? The Pete Best of Fire&Lights.”
“Wasn’t he a footballer?” said Aiden. Yuki thwacked him on the back of the head.
“That’s George Best, you twit.”
“Fine, fine. For anyone under thirty-five,” explained Jack, “Pete Best was the original drummer in the Beatles, but he got booted out for Ringo Starr. Controversial, of course, and speaking of which…” He leaned his elbows on the desk. “What happened there? Olly?”
Olly didn’t reply right away. He gathered himself and glanced briefly up at the audience.
“There’s no big secret, Jack. You all saw it on TV. The band was the four of us—me, Yuki, Aiden, and Jake—but when the show went into the finals, Barry just didn’t think it was working.”
“A chemistry thing, right?”
Olly made an indeterminate sound. Gabriel stared at the floor.
“Yeah … yeah, I guess. A chemistry thing. Gabe was doing really well in the solo category, and Barry had been watching him for years, from his previous auditions … and he just saw a match.”
Jack leaned back in his chair.
“But if I’d been Barry King, I dunno, maybe I’d have kept poor ol’ Jake in the lineup. Seems a bit cruel, no?”
“Barry knows what he’s doing,” said Yuki. “You might s—”
“Don’t say it,” hissed Aiden, clamping his hand over Yuki’s mouth. Yuki pulled it off and yelled over Aiden’s fingers.
“YOU MIGHT SAY HE’S THE KING.”
Jack sniggered at this and gave Yuki a mini round of applause.
“So in other words,” he continued, “you’ve got a one-in-one-out policy, have you? Sorta like a nightclub?”
He winked at the audience, and they rewarded him with laughter.
Olly tried
hard to smile.
“Nah, I’m putting you on. I’m awful. Now listen…” Jack swung side to side on his chair, moving papers around his desk. “Do we have the audience questions here? Somewhere?” He touched a finger to his ear and listened. “Oh, right … yep. I’m being told, yes, here we go … Honestly,” he said, through his teeth, “someone should fire the host…” Whooping from the crowd. “Got ’em.”
He picked up a stray cue card and squinted at it.
“We’re going to finish up here with a couple of fan questions, plucked from our lovely studio audience. And the first one, here, is from … oh, I can’t read this. Emily? Looks like Emily. Emily wants to know: ‘What does the band name mean?’”
The boys looked at each other blankly.
“Most band names don’t mean anything, do they?” pondered Aiden.
“Some do,” replied Olly.
“I wanted to call the band Yuki & the Hotrods,” said Yuki, leaning back into the sofa, “but Barry was all, ‘You’re not the lead singer, dude. Get over it.’”
Jack patted him on the shoulder.
“It’s tough not being loved, eh, kid?”
Yuki shook his head, sadly, and an almighty, “Awww” emanated from the back of the studio, peppered with laughter and applause. Then, underneath the noise, so quiet it was barely audible, Gabriel said:
“I’m the fire, he’s the light.”
But the audience missed it.
“You don’t ever worry that people might mistake y’all for an emergency service, perhaps? Or a fireworks shop?”
Yuki pointed directly into the camera and raised one eyebrow.
“Kids, Fire&Lights do not endorse the sale of fireworks to minors.”
“Oooookay, very good, Mr. Harrison, very good.” Jack ran his finger down the cue card. “We have time for one more question, and this one comes from, let me see, someone who calls themselves ‘Oggy.’ What kind of a name is Oggy?” Sniggers from the crowd. “Oggy would like to know … ‘Who will have the most successful solo career?’”
The audience oohed gleefully, and Jack covered his mouth with his hand. Olly shuffled in his seat.
“Con … tro … VERsial,” said Jack, leaning back in his chair. “Oggy, I don’t think we’re letting you back in the studio, you little scamp.”
“Who said we’re ever splitting up?” said Yuki, lifting his arm and dropping it around Aiden’s neck.
“Yeah, what if we wanna grow old together?” added Aiden.
“We’re not thinking about that sort of thing yet,” said Olly, diplomatically. “Maybe get the album out first, eh?”
Jack cast aside his cards and drummed his hands on the table.
Gabriel stayed silent.
“Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. You’re performing for us later, aren’t you, with Kaitlyn?” They all nodded, and the crowd stamped and hollered. “Thanks for chatting with us; you’ve been a riot. Ladies and gentlemen, Fire … & … Lights!”
Jack stood up, crossed over to the sofa, and shook the hands of each band member in turn, ruffling Aiden’s hair as he passed. The house band crashed back into their instrumental version of “Dance with You.”
“SO much fun,” said Melissa, as the video faded away. “Oh, the banter. Mind you, I can’t believe he asked them about Jake.”
I remembered how, the previous day, when the topic of Jake came up, the focus had all been on Olly. Just like on the show.
“Were Olly and Jake … close?” I said.
Melissa sipped her tea.
“Oh yeah. Really close. It was kinda sad when they got split apart. But hey-ho, in Jake’s place, the Lord hath delivered GABRIEL WEST.”
She clutched a hand to her heart.
“Speaking of which, I can’t believe he wrote the lyrics on the new album! Beauty and brains. Yes please.”
“Actually, about that…” I closed my laptop and slid it out of the way. “If I show you something, Mel, will you promise to keep it a secret?”
On the train home from Brighton, I had made a decision: I had to tell Melissa about Gabriel’s lyrics. Even if I felt stupid doing it, I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. And if there was one person in the world I didn’t mind feeling stupid in front of, it was Melissa.
“Well, duh,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Always.”
I reached under the bed for Mum’s book.
“Hey, isn’t that…?”
“My mum’s notebook.”
I passed it to Melissa, and she ran a finger down the spine.
“I haven’t seen this in years. That’s cute that you still have it.”
I lifted the cover and opened it to a page in the middle, the one with the lyrics from “Dance with You” scattered across it. The corner was well thumbed, the page faintly yellowed.
“What am I looking at here?” asked Melissa. I pointed at the first verse, near the top of the page, and her face opened like a parachute.
“Whoa. Whoa.” She looked up. “Wait … did you just write this?”
“No, Melissa … my mum did.” I swallowed, and tucked my hair behind my ears. “Fifteen years ago.”
Melissa exhaled very slowly.
“That is so weird.” She chewed the end of her pencil. “What a weird coincidence.”
My shoulders dropped. A coincidence.
“Unless…”
Melissa turned the page and ran her finger down it. Then she flipped another page, scanning the words, and soon she was zipping through the book furiously, her eyes flitting from side to side.
She lowered the book into her lap.
“What?” I said. Melissa’s face was barely moving.
“Gabriel’s songs … they’re on almost every page.”
17
I wasn’t supposed to be in Dad’s study.
The dark, cluttered room was served by only one window, and even that was half obscured behind a tottering pile of files and folders, slips of paper poking out the sides. Dad was extremely private about his workspace. I’d always suspected this was because he kept secret memories of Mum in there, and though I was curious to find out, even as a child I somehow knew the room was out of bounds. In all the years we’d lived in the house, I’d barely set foot in the place.
Until now.
“Here, let me show you. You’re not going to believe this…”
Ten minutes earlier, Melissa and I had sat huddled together on the edge of my bed, studying the pages of Mum’s notebook. Melissa’s foot was tapping with excitement.
“Here,” she said, her finger pressed into the page. A silent charge passed through me. She was pointing to one of my favorite lines.
“She lives her life in pictures … she keeps secrets in her heart,” she read. “That’s from ‘Hollywood Movie Star.’ Their last single.”
She flicked on a few pages.
“And there, look. These are weirdly similar to ‘Have You Seen My Girl…’”
When you see my girl
You will know that you’ve found her
When you look in those big brown eyes
When you see my girl
Wait until she smiles
And she’ll bring you right back to life
“This is too much, Charlie. This is huge.”
My heart was thudding. I closed the notebook.
“What does it mean?”
“I … don’t know,” said Melissa, rubbing her eyes. “It makes no sense. Maybe…”
She glanced at the clock.
“Dammit, I have to go. Tennis with Mum.” She grabbed both my hands. “You’re going back again, aren’t you? To see the band?”
“I don’t know. They have a video shoot in London next weekend, but—”
“You have to go, Charlie. You have to figure this out.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“I’ll message you later,” she said, sliding off the bed and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “This…” She was standing in the open doorway. “This is
… huge.”
She raced from the room, flew down the stairs, and pulled the front door shut behind her. For several minutes I sat on my bed alone, staring at the wall, quietly stunned.
Melissa might have been overexcited, she might have been blinded by fandom, but I knew she was right. I had to go back.
Downstairs, I scanned the drawers, cupboards, and filing cabinets in Dad’s study, trying to decide where to start. There must be clues in this room, I thought, memories, keepsakes from the past, some fragment from my mother’s life that would explain all this.
I opened the top drawer of Dad’s desk and sifted through the papers inside. Finding only spreadsheets, pay slips, and office paperwork, I moved on to the next drawer down. The story was the same with each new drawer I tried, until I reached the bottom, when my hand brushed against a stack of old, crusty papers tied together with string. I pulled the papers out, spread them on the desk, and picked one at random. It was an academic certificate, worn at the edges, gold leaf peeling off the border.
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON
DEPARTMENT OF MATHEMATICS
Outstanding Undergraduate Student of the Year, 1994
Ralph Charles Bloom
And that wasn’t the only one. There was a whole stack of certificates, academic awards, and university press clippings: “UCL Graduate Delivers Hallmark Speech at Mathematics Conference,” “Ralph Bloom Published in Leading Academic Journal,” “Gifted PhD Student Begins Groundbreaking Research Program.”
They were all about my father … but this wasn’t the Ralph Bloom I knew. It was the person he used to be. Before my mother died.
I pushed on, sifting through the certificates and newspaper cuttings, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. Was I wasting my time? Was there any trace of my mother in this room? But then, hidden amid the stack, I found an unsealed envelope, addressed in Dad’s handwriting to a motel in North America. There was a letter inside.
I slid it out, and began to read.
Katherine
We can’t go on like this anymore. I’ve hardly heard from you in weeks, just a few late-night phone calls, and barely a single e-mail. No letters. I’m only trying this address because when I called the number you gave me, they said this was the last place you stayed. I have no idea if this will ever reach you.
I want to know you’re OK. I want to know you’re safe, and that you’re coming home, because we need you here. Charlie needs a mother. I can’t do this on my own.
Songs About a Girl Page 13