Nothing But Trouble

by Matt Cain

  She tottered into the kitchen and filled the kettle to make herself a cup of tea. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a letter Harvey had given her the day before propped up on the worktop. She remembered him suggesting she read it before the concert, saying something about it putting her in the right frame of mind for her performance. She opened it and began reading.

  It was from a fan who, like her, had seen her life blighted by the drug abuse of a single parent. She told Lola that she’d been an inspiration to her through some desperate times and explained that seeing Lola go on to enjoy such success had encouraged her to keep fighting. As she read, Lola could feel tears welling in her eyes. It was a moving story and evidence of just the kind of impact she’d wanted to make when she’d decided to share her own story with her fans. But as well as validating and emboldening her it also made her feel under pressure. The writer had called her a ‘strong, emotionally balanced woman’. Lola remembered how badly she wanted to be one but couldn’t help thinking about her attraction to Jake – and wondering if she was failing dismally.

  She decided to shelve all thoughts about Jake and concentrate instead on the reasons why she’d agreed to perform at today’s gig. It was being held to raise money for rehab centres and support groups for people whose lives had been devastated by drugs. It was a cause obviously close to Lola’s heart and one about which she cared passionately. And from a selfish point of view, she’d always found that doing good for others helped take her mind off her own dramas and worries.

  She took a sip of her tea and remembered that there was one worry she couldn’t put off tackling any longer. It was something she’d been meaning to deal with since the night of her album launch, when she’d shot her mouth off about her mum’s murky past and told Freddy and the whole country how it had sent her careering into a life of drug abuse. She knew that she owed her mum an apology – even if the booze had loosened her tongue. But the two of them hadn’t spoken for months and their relationship had been strained since Lola had hit her teens. This was going to be a difficult call to make.

  She reached for the phone and dialled the number.

  *

  ‘Lola?’ asked Karen Grant. ‘Is that you?’

  She was somewhere in rural Berkshire, lying on her bed in the Abbey rehab centre, more commonly known by its nickname the Abyss. Her room reminded her of the chintzy hotel in Brighton where she’d often stayed with her parents as a child, with its tasselled pelmets, pretty prints of English country scenes, a horrific ceramic Pierrot she’d had to hide because it gave her nightmares, and so many scatter cushions in contrasting floral patterns that if she looked at them for too long they induced chronic nausea. But she wasn’t complaining; it was much nicer than some of the dumps she’d stayed in when Lola was little – and a world apart from the shambolically run treatment centres she’d had to visit as an outpatient, where she’d often met other addicts or even dealers who’d entice her away to get high. Of course the money to pay for this new residential treatment was being deducted from the rather generous allowance Lola gave her, although it had been her manager Harvey who she’d called to arrange it. And she was glad she had; she’d been here for ten days now and it was the longest she’d been clean for years. Although evidently her daughter knew nothing about it.

  ‘Yeah, course it’s me,’ piped Lola. Karen was sure she could detect a note of annoyance in her voice even though it was only the beginning of the conversation. ‘Who else do you think it is?’

  Well, that’s a good start. Why’s she bothered calling if she’s not in the mood to speak to me? Mind you, Karen could hardly blame her. No doubt every time Lola spoke to her she thought back to what a lousy, neglectful mother she’d been and how she’d ruined her childhood. She wondered if this would ever change.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she managed with a little sigh. ‘How’s it going? You seem to be in the papers a lot at the moment.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s all great, thanks. The album’s doing really well and I just shot a video for my new single.’

  As Lola spoke, Karen could feel her insides twisting into a familiar knot of resentment and anger. Whenever she listened to her daughter or looked into her eyes, she couldn’t help being transported back to that night in Spain – and being confronted by the image of the man who’d got her pregnant. And not just his image but his touch, his smell . . . It was a memory she never wanted to revisit, one she just wanted to annihilate forever. But that wasn’t particularly easy when she’d been saddled with a constant physical reminder for the last twenty-five years. And just when she thought she was breaking free, just when she thought her daughter was stepping away from her life, she’d only gone and resurfaced in every paper and on every TV screen Karen happened to stumble across. It was as if she was deliberately taunting her.

  And why should she be so happy when my life’s been wrecked?

  If Karen hadn’t fallen pregnant with Lola, her first love back home in London wouldn’t have dumped her, her parents wouldn’t have turned against her and she wouldn’t have had to drop out of school, where she’d always been one of the brightest girls and had been predicted to go on to A Levels and university. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried not to fall pregnant; she’d taken a morning-after pill so had assumed she wasn’t, even though she’d been so hung-over when she’d taken it that she’d spent most of that morning throwing up. But how was she supposed to know it wasn’t 100 per cent effective? And how was she supposed to spot the signs of pregnancy when she went to a Catholic school where no one talked about sex and lived with parents who were so uptight they wouldn’t even let her watch Grange Hill? By the time she’d found out it had been way too late to do anything about it – and a few months later she’d been lumbered with an ugly dead weight of a baby who didn’t stop screaming, and so much anger at the injustice of the world that it had worked its way into her bones and gnawed away at her insides ever since. She tried shaking such negative thoughts out of her head but however hard she tried, she couldn’t see how her relationship with her daughter would ever be anything other than tense, resentful and a huge effort for both parties.

  ‘Brilliant,’ she forced herself to say. ‘You must be really pleased.’

  ‘Where are you anyway?’ Lola asked suspiciously. ‘It sounds very quiet.’

  ‘Well, since you ask, I’m actually in rehab.’

  ‘Rehab?’ She sounded astonished. ‘What are you doing there? I thought you’d given up on all that.’

  ‘Well, I had. But I thought I’d give it another go, you know. And this time I really think it’s going to be different.’

  She was pretty sure she heard Lola scoff but decided not to respond. A cupboard door opened and there was a rattle of cutlery; it sounded like she was in a kitchen making herself something to eat. She obviously wasn’t remotely interested in what was going on in Karen’s life.

  ‘Really?’ Lola asked, stifling a yawn. ‘Well, I might believe you if I hadn’t heard you say that a thousand times before. I mean, you’ve been saying it since I was about three.’

  Karen felt a prickle of anger. Oh, what’s the point in even trying? ‘Yeah, well this time I mean it, Lola. And it might help if you showed a little support.’

  She could hear her start to munch her way through a bowl of cereal. ‘Course I support you, Mum. I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all. And where did all this come from, anyway?’

  ‘Well, since you mention it, it was seeing you ask me to give up crack on Channel 3 News. I don’t know, when I watched it something just clicked and a little part of me buried somewhere deep down started to fight back.’

  For the first time in the conversation Lola sounded pleased. ‘Oh well, that’s brilliant because I was actually phoning to apologize for that but I guess I don’t need to now.’

  Karen could feel her jaw stiffen. ‘Well, it might still be a good idea, to be honest. I mean, some of your comments were a bit raw.’

  Lola didn’t appreciate the critic
ism. ‘All right, all right! I’m sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Thanks. Apology accepted.’ Oh why’s it so hard for me to be nice to her? She opened her mouth to say something else but nothing came.

  She stood up and moved over to the window. In the clinic’s lovingly tended gardens she spotted a young mother she knew from group therapy out walking with her teenage sons. There seemed to be genuine affection between them, even though she knew the mother’s actions must have put a severe strain on the relationship. She wondered why she always felt such a stiff, unmovable barrier when it came to connecting with her daughter. If only she could jump over it.

  Her new therapist had repeatedly stressed that she needed to let go of the bitterness that had ruled her life for the last twenty-five years if she was ever going to move on. But first she had to stop blaming Lola for everything that had gone wrong in her life and try to start seeing her as an innocent party. It was quite simple and, despite everything, she was sure that she had just enough love to do this – even if it was buried under a heap of rotting resentment. But she was sure it was there somewhere. After all, it was why she hadn’t given up Lola for adoption in the first place, defying the advice of her parents, friends and teachers. It was why, no matter how far she’d sunk during her childhood, she’d always fought to keep her. And it was why, sitting in front of the TV less than two weeks ago, she’d still felt enough of a spark inside her soul to stir her into action – and have one last go at resurrecting her life and building a new relationship with her daughter.

  ‘Anyway,’ Lola breezed, interrupting her thoughts, ‘in case you’re interested, I’m performing at that big anti-drugs gig tonight. You know, the thing in Hyde Park?’

  ‘Oh right, great. Well, good luck – it sounds fantastic.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, and Lola?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know . . . you know I’m very . . . proud of you.’

  ‘You what?’ Lola spluttered. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just that. I’ve never said it before but I’m very proud of you and your career – and you speaking out about all the shit that goes with taking drugs. It’s really important you say it, that’s all.’

  She was surprised to feel her tension ebbing away as she said the words. She’d always thought that if she said anything like this it would feel wrong, but somehow it felt right. She could hear Lola lower her bowl onto a table. ‘Urm . . . Yeah . . . Urm . . . Thanks . . . Urm, I’ve got to go now.’ She sounded bewildered. ‘But I hope you enjoy the show, Mum.’

  ‘Oh I will,’ she answered. ‘I’m sure I will.’

  She put the phone down.

  Well, it wasn’t brilliant but at least it’s a start.

  There was a time when this kind of conversation would have sent Karen racing to her dealer in a self-destructive rage. But instead she felt a sense of calm and a warm glow she recognized from the outer limits of her memory as satisfaction. Somehow she’d managed to be nice to Lola and for the first time in years express genuine affection. She couldn’t wait to tell her therapist and talk about what to do next. Because this time she was determined to follow it through.

  *

  Eight hours later Lola was still feeling guilty about the way she’d spoken to her mum. She told me she was in rehab and all I could do was scoff and take the piss.

  She tried to relieve her guilt by reassuring herself her reaction was perfectly natural when her mum had promised she was going to sort out her life on countless occasions in the past. But she couldn’t help thinking that this time something seemed different. For a start her mum had said she was proud of her, expressing affection for the first time in as long as Lola could remember. It had hit her like a body blow and she hadn’t known how to respond. However hard she’d tried, she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to return the affection. And now she felt so unsettled by the experience that all she wanted to do was go out and get completely obliterated on booze. Oh, and fuck the brains out of Jake.

  But for the time being she had to focus on her performance and prepare herself for what was being seen not only as the most important gig of her career so far but also as a taster of what people could expect from her all-important autumn tour. She was standing with her entourage backstage in the artists’ holding area at Hyde Park. All around them there were flight cases, Portakabins pinned with laminates giving directions to the toilets, and monitors showing the live TV broadcast so that people could watch the action on stage. Rising from the grass beneath her and reverberating through her boots, she could feel the pounding bass line of the music currently being performed by American pop sensation and occasional actress Shereen Spicer, who’d chosen the event to premiere her newly dyed red hair. Judging from the roar of applause, the new look was going down well. Lola knew Shereen would be a tough act to follow and she couldn’t believe she was appearing higher up the bill. She felt the boom of the bass mix with a rumble of nerves in her stomach. Just a few more minutes and I’ll be on . . .

  She was finding it particularly hard to relax when everywhere she looked she was confronted by the highest concentration of A-list celebs she’d ever seen. Just a few metres away, rock god Blake Striker was wearing cowboy boots and a leather waistcoat that showed off arms he was pumping up with a set of last-minute press-ups. Premier League footballer Slam Carter was teaching American baseball-player-turned-movie-action-hero Buck Andrews how to play keepyuppy. Oscar-winning actress Lucy Cantrell was swapping make-up tips with achingly fashionable transgender DJ and remixer Candy Lunt. And even the sour-faced Home Secretary Lavinia Trout had turned up in her trademark maxi dress and Pixie boots and was rehearsing a speech about the government’s commitment to drug rehabilitation to a crowd of nodding advisors. Flitting between them all was the event host and organizer Ace Bounder, who seemed so pleased with himself he looked in need of urgent medical attention. Lola watched as he shamelessly stroked the backside of Lucky Star presenter Ruby Marlow, who she was sure somebody had once told her was a cokehead. She watched as Ruby giggled at Ace in flirtatious annoyance.

  Circling around them were journalists from the BBC and reporters from Radio 1 snaffling as many interviews as they could, although thankfully Barbara was keeping them away from Lola until after her performance. She looked around for Freddy, the only journalist she actually wanted to see, but she couldn’t find him anywhere. Instead her eyes alighted on Jake, leaning on a Portakabin chatting to Sharonne. She felt a sudden prick of jealousy. Is he flirting with her? Is he actually flirting with her?

  She told herself she was so nervous she was probably imagining things. After all, during their chat on the set of the video just a few days ago Jake had made it quite clear it was Lola he was interested in. But she couldn’t stop her mind flashing forward to the future and she pictured herself descending into a deep, gloomy abyss of jealousy and paranoia. A man like Jake would always get attention from women, and previous experience had taught her she wasn’t well-equipped to handle it. Do I really want to go there? She stamped her feet and reminded herself there was no turning back now. At least not unless Freddy shows his face.

  Just then she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. ‘How you feeling, Lola?’ She turned and saw it was Gloria.

  ‘Oh I’m shitting it, to be honest, darlin’. Have you seen how many people are out there?’ From the other side of the stage they could feel the low growl of the one-hundred-thousand-strong live audience, occasionally erupting into colossal applause. Lola was gripped by an icy fear. She daren’t imagine how many millions more would be watching live on TV. ‘What if I fuck it up?’

  Gloria put both hands on her shoulders. ‘You won’t fuck it up, Lola. You’re a brilliant singer and a brilliant performer. All you have to do is go out there and be half as good as you’ve been in rehearsals and you’ll blow everyone away.’

  Lola took a deep breath and could feel herself calming down. Thank God for Gloria! ‘Oh thanks, darlin’. Thanks a lot.’

  Gloria nodded forcefully and releas
ed her. She suggested they perform some vocal exercises to try and focus their energies. Lola jumped at the chance.

  ‘Scrumpity scrumpity scrump.’

  ‘Scrumpity scrumpity scrump.’

  ‘Scrumpity scrumpity scrump.’

  They were silenced by another wave of applause and stepped back to watch Shereen Spicer and her band tear down the rickety stairs beside them in a flurry of hollering and high fives. Lola felt a stab of fear; she knew the pressure was on. The press always wanted to stir up rivalries between female singers, so if Shereen had been good, she had to be even better.

  ‘Good luck, honey!’ called out Shereen, a tattooed tit peaking out from behind her bra strap.

  ‘Yeah, thanks darlin’,’ squeaked Lola.

  As Shereen skipped away, Lola clenched and released her fists to try and relieve some of her tension. She turned back to Gloria but saw that she’d disappeared. She looked around for Harvey and instantly spotted him. Always at and on my side . . .

  Just as she was beckoning him over she spotted something behind him that made her blink in disbelief. Stepping out of a Portakabin was Hollywood megastar Billy Spencer, who strode through the parting sea of celebs and started scaling the stairs to the stage. Lola had never been so close to such a huge international celebrity before and she gave an involuntary shudder. It seemed like only a few months ago that she’d picked herself up from yet another record company rejection by gorging on a weekend of Billy Spencer films on DVD. Of course it must have been years ago really, and at the time she’d had no idea Billy would one day come out as gay, not that it would have made any difference to her youthful fantasies. But here he was now standing just a few metres away from her, presumably taking to the stage to introduce her to millions of people. It suddenly dawned on her just how successful she’d become. She turned to a monitor and was transfixed by a shot of Billy looking out onto an ocean-like audience. It was as if she could suddenly feel the whole world opening up before her.