“You sure?”
“No. Of course not. It’s Hazel’s version of the truth. It’s every word what we want to be true. Did you know that Claire is helping over 500 youngsters this year to play the guitar with free music lessons?”
“Is she?” Paige squealed.
“Well if you don't know, how do you think the readers will. You have to hand it to your sister, she's far smarter and devious than you will ever be.”
With a mischievous laugh he slipped from the dining table as Paige took aim, and a croissant narrowly missed his right ear.
“No retaliation,” Paige cried and held her hands up. “Unarmed. And pregnant. Six months pregnant no less. The paper says so, so it must be true!”
But that didn’t stop Jack; French bakery produce were acceptable weaponry against mischievous pregnant women and their cleaner entered the room just as a croissant shed dozens of pastry flakes when it hit the wall behind her.
“Sorry Deirdre,” Paige said. “My boyfriend is being a bit of an arse.”
Chapter LXVI
Lucinda
It had taken Lucinda almost a week to get in contact with the elusive figure; his agent refused to talk and when Lucinda did circumvent the talent agency management and find a direct number for the celebrity, he refused to answer his phone.
The revelation of who she was, and the mysterious reasons for why she wanted to meet with him were compelling; unbeknown to her nephew and his girlfriend, Lucinda slipped away to meet with their nemesis in the late evening.
It was Lucinda’s idea but one that Hazel had lubricated. She had provided the information from her contacts in the industry and Lucinda jumped at the opportunity. The nefarious scheme was an excitement that she couldn't pass up.
They both agreed to meet in a location where they would not arouse attention or suspicion; the mezzanine floor on a failing gastropub was ideal for them both.
He came dressed to fit in with the local area; hooded sweatshirt with an obscene message daubed across the front in a graffiti-style logo and tracksuit bottoms that slid downwards as he walked. The trainers were as brightly coloured as Willa Wonka's sugary delights.
“Oh my God, Noel's House Party is coming back!” Lucinda squealed.
“If you’re drunk …” Peter Moran started, glancing at the two empty wine bottles on the table.
“I'm not!”
She sipped her glass of wine as he apologised. “Sorry, thought they were all yours.”
“They are. But me, drunk on two-and-a-half bottles of booze. Damn you, you know how to insult an alcoholic, don't you! The trick is the mixed nuts.”
“You said you had some information for me. Something important.”
“Ahh yes. Let's get straight to the point about this grubby business shall we?”
“Indeed.”
The flamboyant woman inhaled dramatically, puffing her chest and sweeping her hands in an arc as she gestured towards him. “I know you've got something planned later this year. Rumours are, a certain cable network want to give you your own show.” Peter sniffed. “And I know how hard it was to get the EuroSong gig. Too much baggage, right?”
Peter stiffened underneath his teenage disguise.
“Of course I'm right. I'm always right. So, obviously you think that this is another case of you on your road to redemption. Let's face it, you're career has been flatter than one of Paige's pancakes since the aforementioned young lady appeared on your horizon. And that's got to be a kick in the mixed nuts?”
Her speech slurred as she spoke; Peter bit his lip. “Get to the point.”
“Don't hurry an old lady,” she snapped, gulping a huge mouthful of wine from her glass. “Now, you've got a big break haven't you? As big as you can hope for under the circumstances. You're a judge on EuroSong and finally you can do some television work without sodding Paige homing into view, and what happens? The little witch only goes and enters the competition. What are the odds on that?”
“I didn't know she was going to enter,” Peter snapped. “I'd never have agreed if I had known and when I did we tried to back out. We are looking to get out of the deal.”
“I wouldn't. The thing is, Ben is a sweet little moron. I’ve met him and he’s a drug-addled prick without an original thought. So he'll just follow the crowd. Such a delightful smile for someone yet so empty-headed. So if you vote for Paige then Ben probably will and that's two-thirds of the panel.” Her eyes met his. “And now you are thinking, what's in it for me?”
“I'm not doing the show any more. And if she was any good I would have voted for her anyway. I'm a professional.”
“Professionals don't meet in shitty pubs dressed like Kevin the Teenager,” Lucinda replied with an acidic tone. “And professionals get paid. Money. When was the last time you had a paid gig, eh?”
Peter swallowed hard. “I think this is a waste of my time.”
“I'm laying a few things on the table. Paige is a very rich young lady. She has strong feelings on social justice and believes you got away with something you should never have got away with. She has the desire and the resources to go after you. Again. Have you got the resources to fight it?”
“This is blackmail.”
“Blackmail is such an ugly word. But I am being straight with you. She has mentioned four or five times that she would like to resume her activities in delivering justice. Funding court cases for abused and homeless women. For abortion clinics and so on. You of all people know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of her wrath.” Lucinda sighed as she drained her glass and then refilled it. “And I think it's a noble cause but she has a great talent in singing and making music and I'd prefer to see her busy in Europe representing this country.”
Peter said nothing but gulped as he adjusted his tracksuit top, glancing around the pub furtively.
Lucinda continued. “And I am sure, if you think about it, you would much rather Paige was running around Europe singing and being occupied with EuroSong than getting anywhere near a British courtroom. Wouldn't you?”
“I can't deny sending her away from these wonderful Isles would be a blessing for me. Permanently would be sweet sonorous music to my ears.”
“Isn't the thug quite the little poet,” Lucinda teased with a smirk. “I would say that the exclusion of Paige from these wonderful, beautiful Isles as she makes sweet, delicate music across the Continent to enrich the soul of every European in a seismic cultural competition of stunning fervour would be a most enjoyable preposition for us both.”
“Don't take the piss,” Peter barked. “I get it, what you're saying is that if I don't vote for Paige she'll find another bullshit lawsuit to hit me with.”
“Not bullshit. You called Syrian refugees ‘cockroaches’ in your Daily Herald column last year. And I know Refugee Relief believe that it violated the Race Discrimination Act and want to raise some money to launch a private prosecution.” Lucinda smiled. “They think it would be good publicity to make an example of you. I heard Hazel talking about it as they’ve written to Paige via the talent management company. So far, we’ve not told Paige because we want to keep her mind on the music but if that distraction isn’t there, then it might come out. And you know Paige …”
“Well fuck her and fuck you and …” He got up from the table. “And … and … and I bet this conversation is recorded so you can run off to the papers and say that I was ready to take a bung!”
“Mr Moran,” Lucinda said calmly. “What I am suggesting is that Paige and the Bare Necessities representing Britain is a good thing for us all. We send one of the most popular bands this country has produced for years, who are also pretty popular on the continent. Claire gets a new start with her friends and away from that dreadful little agent of hers and you, sweet potty mouth, gets a whole six months without your nemesis being anywhere near able to chuck lawsuits at you.”
“She started the last one when she was in America,” he retorted. “I want to see the back of Paige more than anyone
...”
“And you, dear Peter, have the means to make it happen. Turn up a week on Saturday, smile and just say that while it pains you to say it, Bare Necessities are the best entry and should be going to Sweden. It will mean so much coming from the person they hate. Your call.”
Lucinda rose from the table and sauntered down the dozen steps to the main bar. Peter watched from between the cracks in the handrails as Lucinda ordered two jugs of strong cocktails and walked up to her waiting drinks partner on the mezzanine level.
“I've got pink stuff and blue stuff,” she added, setting them down on the table. The barmaid followed behind the woman putting two glasses on the table and clearing away the empty wine bottles. “A toast?”
His face broke into a gentle smile as he poured shimmering blue liquid into a highball glass. “I know you and Paige and everyone thinks I did something illegal but I really didn't.” His voice crackled as he took a sip of the sour blue cocktail, screwing up his face as he did. “I was stupid, but she was sixteen and I never deserved what Paige did to me. I lost my career, my family, my home. Everything. Because of her.”
“I met the girl you groomed,” Lucinda said stoically. “Fifteen or sixteen she was still traumatised by what happened.”
“And noone regrets that more than me,” Peter pleaded. “But the Police wouldn't prosecute because there was no evidence. None,” he replied animatedly. “I told them everything and they believed me. And then Paige swans in and nearly ruins me. I know I did something horrendously wrong. But not criminally wrong. I didn’t deserve to lose so much. Be hated so much. All because of Paige.”
“And soon, with your help, she could be vanquished to the seven seas,” Lucinda added in a light voice, but Peter just glared at her.
“For three months?”
“Yeah, but I’ll drink to that,” she cried and downed the neon blue liquid from her glass.
Chapter LXVII
Paige
Paige bristled. She always did when a bespectacled producer coyly suggested that she “may wish to dress while she was waiting.” Paige never cared who saw her naked; she came into this world au naturel and enjoyed being so. Anyway, the issue always resided with the other person.
The young man backed away slowly as she tilted her head and growled at him. “I. Sing. Naked.” She barked, watching him beat a hasty retreat from their changing room. “Do you think that could be our next album name, 'cause I'm always sayin' it! I sing naked. I relax naked. I travel naked. I swim naked. I live naked. Stephen Gough is my hero. Why is this a surprise to everyone?” She slumped back on the chair and allowed their stylist to bring her hair under control.
“They are just checking with you,” Jack suggested. “That before the show and during rehearsals if you wouldn't want a T-Shirt. Is that so wrong?”
“If I needed a T-Shirt do you not think I would have brought one? I mean, we sold T-Shirts at our gigs.”
“Y'know,” Claire muttered. “I've always thought that to be a little bit hypocritical given who we are.”
The stylist tutted at Paige, turning her head to answer her friends. “Please, keep still,” she begged for the umpteenth time that afternoon.
Jack picked up the press release. “You know, we've not really talked about the competition. The three other acts vying for the UK's nomination.”
“Thought there was four.”
“One dropped out,” he casually said.
“OK. Who are they?”
Jack hummed, glancing through the paper. “I've not heard of any of them. A duet from two singers who work the clubs in Lancashire, a band from the Scottish Highlands and a solo artist from Wales.”
Jack squinted, reading through the text. Ahhh, this girl, Ashleigh, cites you as an influence Paige!”
Paige turned her head, squealing as her stylist still had hold of her long, flowing red locks. “Ouch.”
“Will you stay still!” She demanded, as Paige snatched the paper from Jack's hands and read it aloud. The girl had cited Paige as her musical idol and was “excited at singing on the same stage as The Bare Necessities.”
“If she's not naked then I'm not talking to her,” Paige threatened. “So much as a sock, and she’s dead to me!”
Hazel barked at her younger sister. “Please Paige, let's not have a bollocks in the blender situation here.”
“That sounds like an Andre-ism,” Claire replied. “I heard them enough.”
Hazel blushed. “Maybe.”
“We could always try to avoid putting the piranha in the goldfish bowl. Or steaming manure in a stockade.”
“Ewwww!” Paige squealed. “Are they real Andre-isms. So poetic.”
“Yes,” Claire admitted. “They're from him.”
“Well anyway, let's not have a flat tyre on a getaway car. Copyright Hazel Nicholls. It's rehearsal time.”
The band performed in the dress rehearsal with confidence: they had been on stage many times in the past and their ease at the large stage was clear.
Jack didn't think the Scottish band were too much of a threat: their music was too slow and forgettable. The club singers weren't much better as while their song was good, they couldn't sing it.
Ashleigh was the biggest threat. Like Paige, she possessed a wonderful voice and like Paige she had stage presence. Her song was emotional, telling the story about a lost boyfriend and her bare feet on stage was reminiscent of Sandy Shaw.
She was good. Everyone said so.
Jack was more than a little nervous as they waited backstage with the other acts. They all looked nervous, and the could hear the audience from the other side of the thin partition.
He had barely eaten any dinner and he forced a smile in the “Green Room” as they were interviewed by the cheery and artificially sweetened presenters at the start of the show. The bubbly duo made asinine comments and asked mind-numbingly dull questions. It was part of their drive to create “excitement.”
Jack tolerated their banality and the two presenters wisely decided not to talk to Paige when they cut to the Green Room between performances, akin to EuroSong.
Just as Jack had predicted, the first two acts were massacred by the judges before the Bare Necessities walked confidently from the Green Room and into the wide audience-filled arena. The crowd cheered, Paige smiled and clapped her hands, encouraging the adulation.
She stood majestic, naked on stage with her legs slightly apart and gripping the microphone in her right hand, as the stage fell into darkness and Claire adjusted her guitar.
The first note was Paige's cue; she closed her eyes, and started singing Claire's song. They had spent every day of the last four weeks practising and refining Reborn, but this performance was a world away from their recording studios. The hair on the back of Paige's neck stood on end, and she delivered a breathtaking performance dripping with emotional energy and intensity.
She saw the sight of her friend in intensive care, and the expressions on her family as they saw her lying in the hospital bed. She felt all the heartache and emotion and it came through in her voice as she hit every note with perfection.
The standing ovation was not rehearsed, either from the judges or the audience. Paige smiled, and gave a gentle bow, before losing her good humour as she made eye contact with Peter Moran.
Lucinda had not told them that she had spoken to the ex-celebrity; that was her secret with Hazel. And Paige detected a menacing look as his eyes bore into the singers. His body devoid of warmth and what was left was a soul that wanted revenge. At any cost.
They waited for the applause to die down for the judges to be able to speak; suddenly Sweden seemed a far, far place away.
Chapter LXVIII
Jack
The sickly presenter whooped in faux-excitement, gesturing to the crowd and then to the “celebrity judges.” Sammy Marshall, the comedian, spoke first, not concealing his ogling of the two young ladies.
“I was bare-ly able to contain my excitement,” he simpered, waiting f
or the crowd to groan. “When I found out you were here and that song was epic. You're not the bum deal!”
Jack forced a smile, thanking the comedian with the merest nod of the head.
Peter cleared his throat. “We all know that Paige and I have some history,” he said tersely. “And I can't deny that I wanted to vote for someone else. I didn’t want to like your song and I certainly don't want you representing this great nation in front of the World.”
A few boos came from the audience. Jack cleared his throat; Peter looked directly at Paige.
“But I don't think I'll get my wish, because you were pretty good. The song is good, the backing is fantastic and the vocals were smoother than a silk drawer of a lingerie shop.” He raised his hands in surrender. “As much as it pains me, Bare Necessities look good for me.”
Jack blinked as the crowd clapped respectfully. Ben mumbled something incoherently, before they scooped nines from all three judges.
Ashleigh fell short in the voting; her nerves showed as she sang live, and the programme went off air for the viewers to vote for their favourite.
The Bare Necessities retired to their changing room; Hazel congratulated them and they waited for the results show in an hour's time.
There was a knock at the door; Jack opened it and Peter stood, framed in the doorway with a discordant expression.
“Paige,” he called, striding into their room. “Think you’re smarter than me?.” He gulped, as he held out a CD to the naked woman. She didn't take it.
“What is it?”
“A CD.”
“Yes, I can fucking see that, you moron!”
“Proof you sent that woman to blackmail me, but I recorded it. If you try and set me up again, I've got it on tape that you guys tried to blackmail me and I refused.”
“What woman?” Paige looked at Claire, Jack and then Hazel. “What the fuck have you been smoking?”
“Your aunt.”
Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities) Page 28