by Jemma Forte
‘What I’m trying to say is that I’m kind of into Hayley and that I hope you’re all right with that. Not just because you’re her sister but because I also count you as a good mate.’
As I stare at his earnest face, my heart contracts with real affection for my friend Jason. He’s solid as a rock, and if Hayley could only fall for him too I honestly don’t think she’d ever find anyone better. I’m pleased for him, worried and anxious too because it all feels far too soon, but hey, Hayley was never going to be single for long it seemed, so I’m mainly pleased.
My reply to his rant is a big hug.
‘Love you,’ I say, as he squeezes me back. ‘Hayley’s a bloody lucky girl but, be careful. She’s been through a lot of shit with Gary and while I’m sure she thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread, well, you know how she can be.’
Jason nods ruefully. ‘I do, and believe me I’m not rushing anything. I haven’t really said anything to her about how I feel. If anything she’s the one who’s been making noises about wanting to take things further.’
Blimey, I hadn’t realised quite how much had been going on between them while I’ve been busy worrying about my own crappy, non-existent love life.
At seven-thirty that night, as the familiar Sing for Britain music booms around our living room I survey the bunch of weirdos I’m gathered with. Mum and Martin are snuggled up on the sofa sporting matching slankets. In case you aren’t sure what a slanket is – and I promise it doesn’t reflect badly on you if you don’t – it’s a blanket with sleeves. Slankets are made out of polyester, are exceedingly static and despite the fact it’s a relatively mild, if a little damp, September day Mum and Martin have deemed it chilly enough to get theirs out of the cupboard where they’ve been festering over the summer. Hers is bright pink, his is lime green and in them they look as though they’re part of some strange cult. They look bloody ridiculous.
Andy’s perched on the arm of the sofa like a big fat parrot, looking far less worried than everyone else about what might be about to appear on prime time TV. He’s bunked off work tonight for this big event and is currently plowing his way through a value pack of crisps, which are supposed to be for everyone.
Of course essentially we are all sitting in what has become Andy’s bedroom, so in among us all, strewn around and about are his clothes, his toiletries, his stuff. Even Mum looked vaguely irritated when she had to move a pile of his dirty laundry before sitting down. I can’t even say he’s overstayed his welcome because, as far as I was concerned, he wasn’t welcome in the first place. Anyway, moving on …
Jason is sat on the royal blue leather pouffe and Hayley is sat at his feet, her head leaning on his knee from time to time. It’s very odd seeing them together, and not just for me, there have been a few raised eyebrows around the room. Then again, she is still married to Gary, and they did only split up a few weeks ago, so it’s not surprising it feels a bit weird to see her with another.
To be fair to Hayley though, she’s being remarkably nice to Jason. She seems to have softened somehow and is being more civil to us all, which is something that’s also taking a bit of getting used to, and when they look at each other it’s all quite tender and sweet. I still maintain it’s a shame she’s not going to have any time on her own to work out who the hell she is but if she has to be attached, I’d far rather she was attached to someone nice.
Looking at the two of them makes me feel sad that Matthew’s not around.
My dad’s been given the most comfortable armchair to sit in. He’s got his Graseby syringe driver with him, which enables him to self-medicate as and when he needs a bit of pain relief. Obviously it’s not a brilliant sign that he has it with him, and I know he’s been suffering from quite a few aches and pains lately. Pete’s hovering, silent as ever and no doubt desperate to escape to his room.
Just then I’m pulled sharply from my reverie when there’s an almighty scream from Mum, followed by lots of yelling
‘Oh my god,’ shouts Martin. ‘Did you all see that?’
‘No, what?’ I say.
‘Hayley was in a “Coming up next” trailer.’
‘Was she?’ I gasp, gutted I missed it.
Now Hayley’s got her head buried practically into Jason’s crotch. ‘Oh my god I can’t watch,’ she shrieks. ‘I can’t bear it.’
Dad gives me a broad wink and makes a comedy face suggesting that we’re in for a right old night of it. As he does, from nowhere, completely and utterly randomly, I’m engulfed once more by the hugest urge to be with Matthew … again. It’s all I can do to prevent myself from ringing him and begging him to forget everything that’s happened and come round. These floods of regret keep rearing their ugly head during the most inappropriate moments. I have to sort it out because I seem to be spending most of my waking hours staring pathetically at my phone half-hoping he might send me a text.
‘Sit down, Pete,’ orders Mum suddenly, making me jump. ‘You’re making me nervous loitering like that. I can’t believe this is it. My Hayls is actually going to be on telly tonight!’
Pete does one of the most impressive eye rolls I’ve ever seen but does as he’s told and sits on the floor, next to me.
‘Have some crisps everyone,’ says Mum, looking pointedly at Andy, who feebly offers the bag around. Pete snatches it off him.
‘And then after Sing for Britain I thought we might all have a little Chinese, or maybe a cuzza?’
‘Great idea my precious. Give you a night off cooking,’ says Martin.
Quietly I wonder why he can’t give Mum a night off cooking by cooking himself. Still, I should be used to the fact that in this house there are blue jobs and there are pink jobs and never the twain shall meet. God forbid my mum ever took a bin out or Martin ironed a shirt. It would be far too controversial.
‘I probably won’t have any take-out,’ says Andy dolefully. ‘I’ve decided to go on a diet.’
‘Have you, darlin’?’ says Mum, wide-eyed with concern.
‘Yeah,’ says Andy looking seriously fed up about it. ‘Someone at work was really mean to me the other day.’
‘Why? What happened, son?’ asks Martin gravely, although how he can look serious about anything while wearing a lime green slanket is beyond me. I notice a definite flicker of something imperceptible on Pete’s face when Martin uses the word ‘son’.
‘Well,’ Andy moans. ‘I was clearing plates away from table twelve and there were a couple of beautiful looking little onion rings left on someone’s plate so I just pinched a couple and ate them on my way back to the kitchen. I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and they were totally untouched,’ he adds defensively, having clocked Hayley looking repulsed by his tale of gluttony. ‘Anyway, Paula saw me. She’s the general manager and if truth be told a bit of a bitch. She gave me a right rocketing in front of everyone and called me greedy.’
‘That’s a bit off,’ says Martin. ‘I mean you like your grub all right, but greedy is probably a bit strong, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, that’s what I reckoned mate. Anyway, truth is, I have put on a couple of pounds recently so I’m going to cut back a bit on portions and that.’
‘Well good for you, babes,’ coos Mum. ‘Though don’t go losing all your cuddliness now, will you?’
‘The seafood diet would be a good one for you,’ chips in Dad.
‘Ooh yeah,’ perks up Andy enthusiastically. ‘I love a bit of calamari.’
‘Nah, the one I had in mind was the “see food” diet. See food and you eat it,’ hacks Dad, coughing as he laughs his head off.
‘Oh, good one,’ says Andy, looking deeply offended and scowling in Dad’s direction.
Next to me Pete rolls his eyes. Do eyeballs have muscles in them? If so Pete’s must be very strong. They get such a good workout every day.
‘Oh my god, here we go,’ I say nervously. ‘Turn it up.’
As Martin fiddles with the remote, all eyes return to the telly where Sy Lovejoy’s doing
a link to camera. Just behind him, for all to plainly see, are Mum, Martin, Dad and Gary.
‘So, earlier on we spoke to Hayley who’s thirty-three and from Essex.’
As the screen is filled with Hayley’s stunningly beautiful face Mum lets out a huge yelp.
Jason wolf whistles and Hayley blushes and looks all coy. ‘Oh stop it, you,’ she simpers sweetly, slapping him playfully on the knee.
It’s like she’s been abducted by aliens who have left her body on earth, an empty vessel that they’ve filled up with someone pretending to be her.
‘I’ve wanted to sing since I was little, really,’ Hayley’s saying earnestly on TV. ‘It’s my dream I suppose and my mum has always encouraged me by taking me to auditions. But I’m thirty-three now so this is my last chance, I reckon.’
‘Aeeeeeeh,’ screams Mum.
‘Ow,’ says Pete moving further away from the sofa and rubbing his ear.
‘I guess I’d love to follow in the footsteps of the big divas. I love Christina Aguilera, Mariah, Leona, all the real powerhouses, and I’d love it if this time next year I was living that dream and filling out stadiums like they do.’
Oh Christ.
I glance to my right at Hayley. She’s got her hands over her ears and her head is now definitely buried in Jason’s crotch, which he doesn’t look too unhappy about come to think of it.
You could hear a pin drop in the room until Dad says, ‘Yeah, well I don’t think that will be happening somehow Hayls. I think you can probably rub “arena tour” off your “to do” list, babe.’
‘Shut up,’ she says, although it’s hard to tell as her head’s still nestled into Jason’s jean-clad groin so her voice is very muffled.
Now we’re back to Sy and my on-screen family.
‘So, you must be Hayley’s mum.’
‘I certainly am,’ grins my mother on screen, looking totally manic.
‘Oh Alison,’ crows Martin in real life, here in the lounge, his head the only thing visible amidst their mountain of polyester. ‘You are so unbelievably photogenic. Like a film star, my darling.’
Mum grins but also elbows him to shut up so she can hear what’s being said.
‘And you’re Hayley’s husband, Gary, is that right?’
‘Yeah,’ says Gary, looking like he’s been hit with a stun gun.
‘Bastard,’ yells Hayley, surfacing from the realms of her boyfriend’s nether regions for a second.
‘Ssssh,’ insists Mum.
‘Well,’ says Sy. ‘She’s certainly a looker, your wife, and I’ve got a feeling head judge Julian will agree. In fact if she’s as good as she says she is, I think he’ll definitely be giving her the thumbs-up.’
‘I’m her husband,’ states Gary robotically, staring straight down the lens.
Such a weirdo.
‘Er right,’ says Sy giving us, the audience at home, an inclusive look as if to say ‘Yep, he’s a bit of a freak isn’t he?’
I agree.
Gary’s appearance has caused an icy, awkward silence to descend upon the living room and I notice that at the mere sight of him, Jason is looking downright livid. Still, seconds later, Gary’s out of shot again and the focus is all back on Hayley.
‘Good luck Hayley,’ Sy’s saying and then Martin is seen patting her on the back. Meanwhile, Mum’s jumping up and down, squealing like a pig and you can just about make out Dad in the background, his head at Mum’s waist level due to the wheelchair.
From behind me on the sofa Mum suddenly pipes up, ‘Ooh Mar, do you think I’m coming across as a bit OTT lovey?’
Pete and I exchange looks.
‘Absolutely not, my princess,’ says Martin firmly. ‘You look like a loving and supportive mother.’
Pete snorts. It’s a snort that sums up more than a thousand words ever could.
It suddenly occurs to me that, so far, there’s been no mention of my dad or his illness yet, even though I know they definitely filmed him and talked about it with Hayley. Then I realise that of course they probably won’t be exploiting that situation, precisely because Hayley was so awful. I guess, a girl who has a sick dad who turns out to be an amazing singer is one thing, but making a feature of a girl who has a sick dad who can’t sing for toffee would amount to nothing less than cruelty. Dad must be thinking along the same lines because just at that moment he says, more to himself than anyone else, ‘Think I might be off the hook.’
‘Now, Hayley,’ Mum pipes up from beneath her fuchsia slanket, ‘Just remember lovely that no matter how this goes, you’ve made it onto prime time telly. No one can take that away from you, my angel.’
Hayley doesn’t dignify this with an answer. I don’t blame her.
Meanwhile, on screen it’s like watching a form of déjà vu unfold. Suddenly there’s Hayley striding into the audition room, looking every inch the Hollywood starlet, or at least the Chigwell starlet. She looks beautiful and confident, like someone whose album you’d want to buy. Only we all know that’s not how the story’s going to end.
‘Blimey Hayley, you look amazing,’ says Jason, the only one of us who hasn’t already been privy to her show-stopping look.
Hayley doesn’t reply and is only looking through her fingers.
On screen we witness in close up the judges’ reactions to her, and then one of the judges, record producer Georgie Arthur, starts speaking. ‘Hello, well I must say sweetheart, you look utterly sensational.’
‘Thanks,’ Hayley’s saying demurely.
‘See, that’s what I meant by your Princess Diana face,’ I shout out, pointing wildly at the screen.
‘Oh yeah,’ Dad agrees. ‘I see that, it’s that sort of mysterious look, innit? When you kind of look down but up.’
‘Ssssh,’ says Mum behind me, flapping at us. She looks nervous, as well she should.
‘What’s your name?’ asks Carisse, the sexy female vocalist who is currently at number one in the charts.
‘Hayley Baxter.’
‘Well Hayley, I love your outfit. Did you choose it yourself?’
‘Yeah I did,’ Hayley confirms.
I am suddenly flooded with the memory that this was the point in the proceedings where things started getting a bit cringey. Meanwhile, on screen, Julian Hayes is asking my sister who she came with.
My memory serves me correctly for the next thing that happens is we’re all treated to the sound of my Mum screaming backstage, sounding demented, although at this stage everyone in the green room finds the fact she’s such a ‘character’ quite funny.
I wait for Hayley to explain who else she is with but they must have edited it out because next Julian Hayes says, ‘So, down to business, what are you going to sing today?’
‘They cut my mention out,’ says Andy huffily, chubby arms folded, like giant chicken drumsticks.
‘And mine,’ says Martin, far more affably.
More importantly they’ve definitely cut out the bits about Dad. I am so relieved.
Meanwhile, back on the TV, Hayley’s explaining why she chose to do a Leona Lewis song and her second reference to Mum brings forth another almighty shriek, much to Sy Lovejoy’s obvious amusement.
From beneath her slanket Mum’s looking rather apprehensive. She turns and looks to Martin for reassurance, which obviously she gets. ‘You look wonderful darling,’ he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself as well as her. ‘You just look … excited, and look at your gorgeous hair. It’s so bouncy and shiny.’
He is a master of diplomacy.
Mum smiles weakly but doesn’t look convinced. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Dad’s shoulders are shaking as he tries not to laugh.
Back on the telly Georgie Arthur is saying in his Irish lilt, ‘OK, well before your mum gets too over-excited out there I think you’d better take it away.’
‘Good luck,’ says Julian Hayes.
‘Turn it off,’ screams Hayley from behind me suddenly, like she’s only just remembered how bad she was.
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‘Don’t be silly,’ says Jason. ‘This is hilarious, and besides, I want to hear you sing hon.’
‘I said turn it off,’ my embarrassed sister demands, sounding far more like the Hayley we all know and love. Springing to her feet she paces the floor in search of the remote, having transformed back into a banshee.
‘Hayley calm down,’ says Dad.
Meanwhile, on screen she’s getting ready. I feel sick. We all seem to have frozen and are suddenly transfixed by what might or might not be shown.
Just as we did on the day, we all watch as Hayley takes a deep breath, looks down and then starts to sing. Except what comes out of her mouth doesn’t sound much like singing at first.
What it sounds like is a low moan of pain. I glance over at Jason who’s looking puzzled and is staring at the screen wondering whether she’s caught her finger in a zip, or stubbed her toe perhaps. What she is in fact doing is trying to emulate the opening of Bleeding Love in a dramatic way and suddenly she snaps her head up and stares right down the lens.
Here in our lounge, Hayley appears to give up. Stamping her foot like a sulky teenager she stomps out muttering violently, ‘Fucking bastards.’ Then we hear her thunder up the stairs and slam her bedroom door behind her.
Rather than go after her, however – which I’m sure would have been what she was angling for – Jason doesn’t move a muscle. He’s too engrossed by what he’s seeing, too perplexed, for on TV Hayley’s really upping the ante now as she launches into the first verse. This does at least mean we can finally hear what she’s singing, although actually thinking about it, that probably isn’t a good thing.
Martin chuckles. ‘Ah dear, do you remember at this point we wondered whether she was joking, didn’t we Ray?’
Dad nods but mainly looks embarrassed on his daughter’s behalf.
‘I tried to tell her,’ I say to Jason, wishing now I’d done more. She sounds even worse on TV than she did on the day and the audition room looks like the most lonely place on Earth to be. She’s completely and painfully out of tune. Sharp to be precise and, as I predicted, the song, which is possibly the most terrible choice for an acoustic version ever, sounds like a weird dirge.