Jenny Q, Unravelled!

by Pauline McLynn

  c) My mum has gone a bit bonkers, and isn’t showing any signs of improvement. This is getting more and more worrying, but I don’t know how to help. And in the meantime I feel she is becoming less like my mum every day.

  d) My gran IS bonkers – this is a perennial§ problem and not one that we can do anything about really. It just has to be accepted and sighed over.

  e) Everyone I know is broke, including me.

  f) My Bestest Galpal, Dixie, is on the hunt for lurve and bound to get herself (and poss/prob Uggs and me) into a scrape.

  g) Gypsy – nuff said …

  These are not necessarily all as worrisome as each other. Everything is so jumbled in my head right now that I can’t think which to tackle first, which is perhaps a problem in itself. Arg!

  Then last, but by no means least, on the list is the Supremo Everlasting Problemo …

  h) I have a pash for a guy who will never return my affections – it is written in the annals of LIFE that he never can = FACT = true fact.

  Problem h) is where things get outlandish in my head and the overthinking can really get a hold. You see, thinking and overthinking this one, I realize that maybe I love that my lurve for SLB is hopeless.

  Say what, Jen?

  Well, if it weren’t, I’d be SO embarrassed.

  That is to say, if he showed attention to me and I had to be attentive back, I wouldn’t know what to do,

  or where to look,

  or how to look,

  or where to BE,

  or even how to be the shape of me, which I usually am (I’d say) most days.

  I need the romance of him not knowing I am alive, romance-wise, otherwise I’d have to be some sort of fabuloso romantic heroine-type for real, instead of just in my head … it would be too, too difficult.

  It must NEVER be real, unless it is a little bit, a manageable bit. Like, say, him looking wan and thin because he realizes that he lurves me but it is hopeless (how could he EVER be with me?! cos I am way out of his league, even though I am much younger and may grow into a totes nightmare and not the woman of his dreams, which I might be now in this hypothetical situation??), and therefore he must suffer valiantly in silence.

  And without (much) bodily contact.

  Without, for instance, any spit(tle) having to change company in kisses?**

  Oh. My. Actual. I am sitting in a dressing room in the biggest gig venue in Dublin, waiting to see my compadres battle it out on TV and I am in the throes of an imaginary romance and giving it headspace = that is as mad as people talking about Gypsy as if she knows what they’re on about!

  Show Time

  When they get back, the lads are lit up like very bright and sparkling fireworks. The noise in the room is up to ninety million decibels of delight, proof that the rehearsal was good for them. They all beam and look pleased. I find myself laughing and clapping and I didn’t even watch the thing!

  Now to tackle the gluggy/nothing bit between here and show time. Mel is on to it (natch!) and sends in burgers, beans, chips, fish ’n’ chips, crisps, chocolate and cola: everything a teen wants/NEEDS to get into ‘the zone’. And don’t worry: there is hummus and carrots too (which I feast on).*

  There is a lot of spraying out food while chatting because everyone is SO hyped. Weirdly the Dork puts his arm casually around me when I am standing with Dermot, as if simply leaning on a nearby leany-thing – don’t know whether to be insulted or worried. I don’t want to wreck his buzz, so I leave him be. We live in interesting times right now, let’s roll with them!

  Make-up ladies come and dab on concealer where it’s needed† and powder everyone up to be a matt complexion, not shiny, at least for the beginning of the show.‡

  We suddenly become the Place to Be. When I look around, I see Delia has joined us. She says she banished her parents to the audience early because they were fussing and making her crazy and even more nervous than she is making herself.

  Then a tiny face looks around the door and it’s Jess.

  Everyone gets introduced to everyone else and I must say the hubbub is LOUD. There is a lot of mutual admiration going on and that’s v good and, I suppose, a bit ‘phew’, because there’s no room for daggers’ comments here, with the contestants needing all their self-confidence to go out in front of so many people LIVE on TV. Maybe there’ll be sniping in a few weeks’ time when there’s a lot more at stake? And less people to love, of course, with acts going home after each live show. Cripes, I’m getting cynical – Dix says it’s realism,б but I’m not so sure.

  Mel comes back and tells everyone to get set because the show airs in thirty minutes. There is a hush as that sinks in, then an explosion of activity as guitars are tuned and voices warmed up and visits to the loo are made. All of the guys’ phones are beeping with GOOD LUCK texts and they talk to their families and loved ones. Then we walk the corridor to the backstage area, a journey that seems v v lengthened, like we’re walking through a quicksand of pre-show nerves.

  Standing in the wings, I wish all the guys the best of luck and we all swap hugs. Best of all for me is that Stevie Lee seems to hang on a little longer than he needs to. And I’m nearly sure he’s shaking a little.

  ‘Mad, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘It’s like Ireland’s very own Gladiator Games. We’re being sent out to entertain the masses.’

  ‘Well, yeah, except you’re not going to die,’ I say.

  He laughs a little. ‘No, hopefully not even in a showbiz way! WE are the ones about to do the slaying.’

  ‘That’s the attitude. Now get out there and kill.’

  He beams and holds my eye a tad longer than is truly comfortable. Then he says, ‘Jen,’ and sort of shakes his head and that’s confusing – I don’t know if it’s in a good or bad way. It’s ambiguous§ and that’s unsettling. Time to scuttle sideways and away,** methinks.

  I slip into the audience to a small cordoned-off area at the side of the stage reserved for family and friends. I am so nervous for the guys I can hardly swallow or breathe.

  Then the lights in the auditorium dim and a deep voice asks us to switch off our mobile phones. Everyone pretends to but secretly just turns them to vibrate or silent. The familiar Teen Factor X theme tune begins to play and the audience starts to scream with anticipation. It is the loudest sound I have ever heard or have ever been part of, and I think I might burst with excitement. The show starts and we all go a bit wild.

  Performing

  K.

  So …

  I have NEVER been so totally ENVELOPED in a sound like this! We are all MAD for Teen Factor X. This is all flashing lights, music and us, SCREAMING our approval for the show and all who appear on it. WE WANT OUR FAVOURITES! I see banners and posters all over the venue – a lot for Ten Guitars.*

  Margo, Our Fabliss Presenter, is TRANSFORMED from the early-morning (cantankerous) wreck I saw in the tracksuit.† Now she shimmers down the steps of the set positively sparkling in a short, royal-blue dress bedecked with sequins. This is no mean feat with the height of the killer heels she is wearing. She is smiling some v white teeth that look like the posting bit of a postbox filled with perfect whiteness. I bet she even smells fantastical! We could not love her more – we scream and wail our appreciation.

  We all know how it goes. We scream. They deliver our heroes. We scream again. Lots. First, there’ll be an intro on the screens around us – on TV at home it’ll just be a ‘package’ delivered to the domestic screen.‡ It’s v v slick and I am wobbly about the Guitars’ piece, though I know they are great. They are at the mercy of the people who want to send the message – it is the show’s version of the group
that is going to be transmitted. I still think it’ll be great.

  Margo tells us how marvellous everything in Teen Factor X land is and that it’s time to welcome our judges. A big door opens at the back of the set and out they come, light streaming from behind the three of them. Some fireworks go off down front. We scream v v much and v v loudly.

  These people are LEGENDS. We adore them. They are critical, nice, mean, funny and deadly.б Danny Faller was the lead singer in a boy band called Bulls and they had a huge hit with ‘We Don’t Take No Bullshizz’. Now he manages bands. Nicki Richie is a kind of professionally fabliss woman who does a bit of everything – acting, singing, presenting – and she is so good looking it’s ridic.§ Last and by NO means least is Tate Goodwin, impresario, the hardest man to please in showbiz. He looks like he’s had some hair added since we last saw him. They wave and go to sit at their huge desk.

  We are edging closer to the first act and I know it’s the Guitars. They must be bricking it backstage right now! Then Margo announces it’s time for the games to begin properly and the screen is full of the lads doing their ‘thang’. And then suddenly I, too, am on screen – EEP! And EEK too! Gary is saying, ‘This is the lovely Jenny Q, who looks after our correspondence.’ The rest of the room cheers – I don’t remember that.

  Dixie texts: ur on TV!!

  Uggs: foxy jen

  I am numb. I don’t know how I feel about it or how I looked or anything. A hand touches my elbow and when I look I see it’s Delia’s mum and she gives me a thumbs up.

  I don’t have to spend time analysing it all because it’s time for the guys to do their number. They have chosen ‘The Boys Are Back in Town’ by Thin Lizzy. The first chords strike up and a light picks out Dermot, Stevie Lee and the Dork singing. The crowd goes mental. With each line of the song more of the band join in and then they all start to walk to the front of the stage for the chorus. It is magical, no doubt about it. They perform v** well.

  I get lots of texts including Dixie: wow! Gaz lukin v cute 2

  True, he did well and looked OK, I guess, if you like that sort of thing, and (clearly) my Bestie does.

  Dixie: luv da wristbands = kerching!

  Dix is a businesswoman, can’t help herself.

  The judges are full of praise – natch! They are not without some quibbles too.

  ‘You’re not all great singers, but that almost doesn’t matter,’ Nicki says. ‘The performance is great and exciting to watch.’

  The crowd screams delight.

  Tate Goodwin gives his verdict: ‘You may not all be brilliant musicians, but seeing you all together is some weird kind of genius. It works for me.’

  More screaming of approval.

  Danny adds, ‘You guys are all about spectacle and entertainment and I love that.’

  There’s screaming at a decibel that may not have been recorded until now. Banners are waved. I actually find it moving and can feel tears well up in my eyes. It’s like how I feel when I watch sport on TV, especially people running, for some reason: when they do well, I want to cry with happiness.††

  And suddenly the lads are off and there is a rare silence, and in that I find my nose tickling v much and I can’t control it and then I give a whopper of a sneeze – so much so that it rings out throughout the venue and Margo says, ‘Bless you,’ from the stage. There is a big laugh. I am SO thankful to be in the darkness of the audience, though the fact that I am so close to the stage must have meant I was caught on the mikes.

  Texts are immediate – Dixie: dat was u!

  And Uggs: heard u there!

  And Dad: JEN!

  WHAT?!

  I absolutely cannot help myself – how do they know? I have to know how they know! I text and ask.

  Dixie: u do a lil whif b4

  Uggs: lil sound b4 da sneze

  Dad: s’how u blow!

  Jeepers, you think you know yourself and THEN …

  Laffs

  We are on to a magician from Waterford now. Sudden, and random or what? This is the world of the show, though, and everything is for the delight of the audience, both here in the performance centre and on the TV.

  The cheers and noise from the fans never lets up. This audience is ravenous for its favourites.

  Jess sings a brillo song about how much fun it would be for her guy to spend the day with her, like feed ducks, fly kites, eat ice cream, get scratched by cats when you try to pet them, blow up balloons and let them go. I can make up new words to old songs and Mum and I sing these new ditties to one another to make us smile. But I could never write a song of my own. At least I don’t think so. I love her song and her voice, which is big and strong, even though she is teenchy small. Where does that huge sound come from? She is a belter. The judges are well impressed too.

  I text Dixie and Uggs: vote for jess 2, she v nice + v good

  Suddenly it’s time for Delia, which means the show is almost over. It has just sped by and we are all now nearly hoarse with cheering. She comes on looking v miserable, wearing a Christmassy hat, shaped like the Cat in the Hat would wear. When she reaches the front of the stage, she blows a party horn and glumly goes, ‘Ho ho ho,’ and the audience are laughing and eating out of her hand. She tells the story of Christmas in her house and it’s like what happened in every house in the country and it’s so, so funny. The horror of people wearing stupid sweaters, and paper crowns from the crackers and trying not to kill one another because of being cooped up together for so long. The pong of mushy Brussels sprouts and turkey curry off everyone and everything. ‘You see,’ she says, ‘it’s a fine line between loving someone or something and loathing them.’ Then she looks at Danny Faller and says, ‘So, you like a spectacle, Dan? Well, these are spectacles.’ She puts her glasses on. ‘Like I say, it’s such a fine line. Thank you and goodnight.’

  Cue MASSIVE cheering. Margo goes over to her and says, ‘Delia, not one but two acts from Oakdale. What’s in the air out there?’

  ‘Madness, Margo,’ Delia tells her. ‘And rain, lots and lots of rain.’

  Dixie texts: delia thomas now ofishly a ledgebag!

  It’s true, our Delia is a legend.

  There is a fabbo recap of our TFX night on the huge screens around the arena and it’s thrilling to be reminded of all the acts, to see them again,* but also so exhausting to realize all of what has gone before. Then, while there’s a TV ad break, we all get voting on our phones and I presume the nation is doing that too!

  After the break, Nicki sings her latest single and that’s spectac, BUT everyone really just wants more of tonight’s teens. They all come back on to the stage to hear the results. Jess and Delia stand with the Guitars and that looks natural and righteous to me. Hey, these are my peeps, for gorgonzola-sake.

  Margo does the agonizing wait before she announces the acts that have gone through. It’s designed to be torture and it IS! In the silences as we wait there’s the odd shout of ‘we love you’ for various contestants.

  ‘In no particular order,’ Margo says, and then announces that Jess is through. We scream. Then a dance troupe. We scream. Then Delia. We scream. Then some tap-dancing twins. We scream. Why are the Guitars not through yet? A clarinet player makes it to the next round. We scream. The result might not be in any particular order but I bet it’s to wind up the tension. And it’s doing just that! Then, after a hundred thousand showbiz years, Ten Guitars are through and the audience screams and jumps up and down, and so do the guys onstage. I am wrung out, hoarse, feeling hot and clammy but so relieved and happy.

  The play-off for the last place is between the magician and the contortionist. The contortioni
st goes home.

  Then Margo tells us all to tune in next time for more teen battles and I can’t believe it all has to happen again. I’m wrecked after a day of it. I somehow think I might not be cut out for a showbiz life, whether on the road or simply backstage. I don’t think I have the energy for it!

  All around me, everyone looks happy. One show down, and we are into the semi-final!

  Post-Show

  Everyone seems to gather in the Guitars’ room for the post-show celebration. Jess and Delia are getting a lot of attention from the guys and I must admit I feel a lil twinge of something that I presume is jealousy. I understand it, though. All those who performed tonight looked so attractive onstage that it’s natural they want to praise one another now for jobs v v well done. Hell, even Gary O’Brien looked OK up there.

  Ooops, be careful what you wish for, Jennifer Quinn: here he comes now to talk to you.

  ‘Some night, eh?’

  ‘Totes. I can hardly speak for the screaming.’

  ‘Yeah, the sound of it was awesome.’

  I give a few sneezes out of nowhere. I need a tissue fast before I become a liquidy snottynose. Mel appears at my shoulder brandishing one.

  ‘You may have fallen prey to the curse of the studio lurgy,’ she says. ‘Being cooped up here all day means you’re mostly breathing in recycled air and every passing germ has a chance to get at you.’

  Delia says, ‘I’ve always thought Santa Claus must get that too, when he’s in the stores meeting kids – every germ in town gets to breathe into his beardy face so he must be riddled with disease all the time, colds and flu, you know? As well as smelling every foul, childish breath imaginable.’

  ‘Kids stink,’ I agree, following it up with a massive, whooshy double-sneeze.

  The Dork clearly doesn’t want to catch anything, so he moves off to do some backslapping and high-fiving.