She gave me a bit of a look, then went off round the back. A second later and we were listening to Rihanna.
‘So,’ said Dominic Preston, smiling at me over the menu, clearly not having noticed my mini meltdown, or, if he had, being too polite to mention it. ‘So.’
‘So!’ I said, thinking, be normal. ‘What’s your favourite food, then? Mine’s roast beef. But they only do that on a Sunday. So I suppose I’ll have a burger.’
‘Two burgers,’ said Dominic, to the woman behind the bar, and I have to say, I got a little tingle at the thought that I was on a date with someone who liked burgers as much as me, i.e. a lot.
There was a long silence. Long enough for me to clock that the stereo had stopped playing ‘We Found Love’ by Rihanna and started playing ‘Umbrella’, also by Rihanna. Long enough to count how many other people were there, which was twelve, not including waiters, and thirteen including them. Long enough to notice that time was slowing down and that the second hand on the clock above the bar was actually creaking around and I still didn’t know what I was going to say and I really ought to say something.
Message from Katie’s mouth to Katie’s brain: Hey there. Any possible conversation topics you might want to throw me here?
Katie’s brain: Diarrhoea?
Katie’s mouth: OK, that’s great, thanks brain, thanks very much.
‘Umbrella’ ended and ‘Red’ by Taylor Swift started up, and maybe it was just getting a bit of much-needed Tay fierceness into my ears, but I finally had the courage to stop pretending this was all fine, and say:
‘Sorry, this is weird. We don’t know each other at all. I shouldn’t have . . . this is a bad idea. Shall I go? I’ll just go. Maybe, bring my burger to school tomorrow; I’ll have it cold for lunch.’
‘Katie!’ His hand was on mine. ‘Don’t . . . I know it’s weird. And yeah, we don’t know each other. But I’ve liked you for, well, forever.’
‘Have you?’
He looked down at the table, and I thought how very gorgeous he was, those long eyelashes brushing his cheeks, the way his chin . . . was.
‘Yeah. You must have noticed.’
‘Not really. But, um, yay.’
We grinned, and everything seemed a bit better.
‘So. What’s it like being famous, then?’
‘Oh –’ I scrunched my serviette – ‘I’m not doing that any more. My contract’s cancelled. It’s all over.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. But I wasn’t really down with the whole celebrity thing, anyway. Let’s talk about other stuff. Where do you live? Have you always been in Harltree?’
‘But you’re still going to get loads of money from that song you did, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t know. So, we used to live on the other side of Harltree, and then after my parents split up, we came to the bit by the fields in this crazy falling-down house. I hated it for ages, but now I think I maybe don’t hate it quite as much as I did. Although I do still hate it. You?’
‘I’m not very interesting,’ said Dominic.
‘Of course you are!’
‘Not as interesting as you. Who’s the most famous person you’ve ever met?’
The answer was obviously Kurt, but I wasn’t going to say that, obviously. ‘I chatted to Crystal Skye for a bit at a thing, but it wasn’t really that exciting.’
Our burgers arrived, which was good, because I really like burgers. He didn’t seem particularly keen on his. After about three minutes of frenzied eating on my side of the table and a bit of poking around on his, I said:
‘Not hungry?’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Because this is really good,’ I said, managing to squirt burger juice down my front. ‘Go on. Have a bit.’
‘I’m . . . I’m sort of . . . a vegetarian,’ said Dominic.
‘Oh. You could go to the salad bar, if you want, I think it comes free with any main course.’
‘Are you going?’
I laughed so loudly that an old man at the bar gave me a look. ‘I’m not really a salad person.’
‘Then I’m fine,’ said Dominic.
‘Why did you order a burger?’
‘Because you did.’
‘Er, OK.’
Was that an odd thing to do? This is the problem with first dates. You don’t have anything to compare them to.
Maybe it wasn’t odd. Maybe it was nice. After all, he was smiling at me, and saying:
‘You’re really cool, Katie.’
‘Am I? I mean, thank you. So, anyway, what sort of music do you like?’
He put his chin into his cupped hand and smiled. ‘Your music.’
No, this definitely was a bit weird. But, a good kind of weird. Definitely the good kind. ‘Thanks!’ I said. ‘But, other than that?’
‘Oh, you know.’
I’d finished my burger, and was now down to the last few chips. Dominic had barely touched his. Not even the chips. Not even the chips that weren’t touching the burger. He was just watching me, with an intense expression.
Maybe this was chemistry.
‘I don’t!’ I said. Perhaps he was just shy. ‘Look, OK. So, I’m majorly into Joni Mitchell at the moment, and Adele, I know she’s everywhere, but it’s totally justified, she’s this incredible talent, isn’t she? And Feist, and Amy Winehouse, she only made two albums, but they’re so perfect. Have you ever heard any Ella Fitzgerald? The way she sings, it gives me chills. And Billie Holiday, obviously. Lorde’s pretty cool. And Caitlin Rose. And . . .’ I was talking far too much. ‘OK, now you say someone.’
He coughed. ‘I . . . suppose . . . I like . . . the Beatles.’
‘Yes! Me too! Which is your favourite album? Mine’s probably the White Album but I’m majorly into their earlier stuff too.’
‘I like Dark Side of the Moon.’
‘See, that’s not actually a Beatles album,’ I said. ‘It’s by Pink Floyd. But it is really good; I absolutely get why you’d choose it.’
‘Katie, will you go out with me?’
And there it was.
Normal life!
I’d be Dominic Preston’s girlfriend!
We’d go to the disco together, and hang out, and listen to Dark Side of the Moon.
‘Yes! That would be nice.’
We linked hands across the table, and I hoped that he didn’t mind mine being a bit sticky and smelling of meat.
‘And now, when you do concerts and stuff I can come with you!’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Except I’ve given that up. Like I said – um, sorry, what are you doing?’
He had his phone up in the air. ‘Just taking a photo.’
‘Great. Why?’
‘To show everyone. Because you’re my girlfriend.’
‘Because I’m your girlfriend,’ I said, trying not to flinch as he took one, then three, then five photos, some of me, some of me and him, one of me and my empty plate. ‘Cool.’
‘So, we should plan another date. Me and my celebrity girlfriend.’
‘Yes,’ I said, wondering why it was that another date with Dominic Preston wasn’t sounding nearly as exciting as it would have done even half an hour ago. ‘But, look. I’m not this celebrity. I’m just like you, like everyone else at school. That’s OK, isn’t it?’
A new waitress had come to take our plates, and as she did, she gave me a double take. ‘Aren’t you . . . ?’
‘She’s Katie Cox,’ said Dominic. ‘The one who got all those hits on her video. She had a number two single.’
‘Oh wow,’ said the waitress. ‘Will you sign . . . will you sign –’ She looked around for something for me to sign. There wasn’t anything. Even the menus were laminated – ‘My pad! Will you sign my pad?’
‘I don’t want to,’ I said. ‘I mean, I can, but I’m trying not to do that sort of thing. Sorry.’
She took a step back. ‘I see. Think you’re too good for this, do you?’
‘No! It’s just . . .’
‘I’ll get your bill.’ And she stomped off.
I was almost too shocked to cry. Almost. The tears wobbled on my lashes as I said, ‘Sorry, was that . . . ? I only said that I didn’t want to . . .’
‘I suppose that means you won’t sign this, either,’ said Dominic, sliding a CD out of his pocket. It was ‘Just Me’, still in its wrapper.
‘I’d rather not,’ I said.
The bill came smacking down on to the table. I got out a tenner. He didn’t move.
‘Aren’t you . . . this is all I have . . .’
‘But you can afford to pay it,’ he said.
‘I can’t, especially. At least, not tonight.’
Finally, he got his wallet out and put down a ten-pound note too. And then we were going out, past the horrible waitress, watching me like I was made of solidified puke or something, and into the car park.
‘Well, this has been –’
He was looking at me funny.
‘Really great, and everything. And –’
He was leaning in.
‘And I’m so glad we did it, but –’
He was close now, so close, because, oh man, he was about to kiss me. Either that or he was examining my earrings.
No, he was tilting his head, and I could feel his breath, in fact, I could even smell it. This was definitely pre-kiss territory. I was about to experience my very first kiss. And –
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure I’m . . . that we’re . . . I’m sorry.’
He took a step back, and half closed his eyes. Eyes that somehow didn’t seem nearly as gorgeous as they had. ‘Is it because you only fancy celebrities now?’
‘No! Just—’
‘That waitress was right, back there. I’m not good enough for you. None of this is good enough for you.’
‘No! That’s not what . . . no!’
‘Get lost, Katie Cox.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
But . . .
But but but but but . . .
But . . .
My mouth formed the word, over and over again, only before I could finish, he’d gone.
Even if he’d stayed, I don’t know what I would have said.
He’d looked at me, the waitress had looked at me, and what had they seen? Not me, or at least, not the real me.
They’d seen a version of Katie Cox, the girl who sang and played and grinned into her webcam. They hadn’t seen the me who wanted to disappear.
My hand went for my phone.
Manda didn’t pick up.
Mum didn’t pick up.
Adrian didn’t pick up.
Dad didn’t even have his switched on.
Lacey, she screened me. I could tell because it rang five times. Just long enough for her to see who it was and hit ignore. So cruel. She could at least have let it go to voicemail naturally.
I didn’t even stop to think about the last person I’d dialled until I heard her voice saying:
‘What?’
‘Um, hi, Jaz.’
‘Go away.’
‘OK!’ I put the phone down.
It began to drizzle.
I redialled.
‘What?’
‘Jaz, I—’
‘I told you to go away.’
‘All right.’ I hung up again.
The rain was really coming down now.
‘WHAT?’
‘Jaz, can we do this face to face? I’m worried water’s going to get into my phone and it’s not insured.’
Jaz, it turned out, lived two roads across from me, which was a forty-five-minute walk from the Harvester, minimum. And I was wearing my red sandals – sandals that completely broke my usual shoe rule, which is that all footwear needs to be good for at least an hour’s standing slash walking.
And all for Dominic Preston, who clearly hadn’t noticed them.
In fact, I thought, as I made my way towards the underpass, I don’t think he’d noticed actual me at all.
So Dominic Preston was now officially off the radar. But that was all right. That still left loads of other people who liked the real, normal me.
People like . . .
People like . . .
People like the people on the internet. Who thought I was stupid and manky and ugly and wrong. People who wanted me wiped off the face of the earth. On my phone and in my laptop and serving at the Harvester and in my class and going on a date and I’d never be safe, never get to be just me ever again.
A sob tore at my throat.
In my head, Mum’s voice: ‘Calm down, Katie. Calm down.’
I’d been too ambitious, that was all. Obviously it would take longer than a couple of days to undo everything that had happened. The new normal Katie would come. I was just going to have to work a bit harder, that was all. Harder on . . . what, exactly?
What would normal Katie Cox do?
Watch TV, do a bit of messaging; tidying my room was pretty much a full-time job. I could do that. And let my thoughts flit away. There was really no need to capture them in my lyric book any more. It wouldn’t help.
The music, though. Just talking about the White Album back there had made my ears thirst for ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’.
And Billy Joel! How would I live without Billy Joel? Or Jimi Hendrix? Or Dolly Parton or Amy Winehouse or Miles Davis? If there was ever a walk that needed the soundtrack of Kind of Blue, it was this one.
It was only now that I began to wonder. I could just about live without music for a day, even two. But those voices, the voices of my deepest feelings, the voices – even though I’d never meet them – of my friends . . . I’d have to live without them forever.
When I’d pictured Jaz’s house, it was pretty much exactly like the castle in Dracula. High on a hill, with turrets and bats, and in the centre of a red, red room, a coffin, and in that coffin, Jaz.
Not a semi-detached with a porch and a stained-glass front door, opened by smiling, plumpish woman with dyed blonde hair who said:
‘Jasmine’s in her bedroom, upstairs, second door on the right.’
‘OK,’ I said, putting my head down and heading for the stairs.
‘It’s great to meet you, Katie. Jasmine’s always talking about you. She’s really changed since the two of you’ve been friends, you know. Come out of herself. We’re so glad she found you.’
‘Er, yeah,’ I said.
I’d not been expecting that, either. Nor a beige carpet and a mishmash of framed pictures going up the stairs; baby Jaz, Jaz on a tricycle. Jaz in a bridesmaid’s dress, smiling with gappy teeth.
Luckily, I opened her bedroom door on to what was basically a shrine to Marilyn Manson, and saw Jaz scowling from somewhere in the middle of a black lace hooded dress thing covered in diamanté grim reapers.
Phew.
‘I’ve ruined my life,’ I informed her. ‘And now I’m paying for it, and I deserve it, I know I do, but I don’t think I can bear much more.’
‘You do deserve it,’ said Jaz.
‘Oh, Jaz. I should never have accused you of selling that story. It’s not your style.’
‘No. It’s not.’
‘I mean,’ I said, wanting her to understand, ‘you are quite mad. But—’
‘I don’t lie,’ said Jaz. ‘I don’t lie about what I believe.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘And from now on, I’m not going to, either.’ She didn’t seem convinced. ‘Jaz, please. I’ll give up Lacey and Karamel. But I cannot lose you too. You’re amazing. I wish I could be more like you.’
And, blow me down, but were those tears I saw in her eyes?
‘Enough melodrama.’ She pushed back her hair and I realized I must have been mistaken. Eyes like Jaz’s couldn’t possibly cry. If nothing else, they were surely too blocked up with kohl. ‘Drippy Lacey will come sliming back. And you love Karamel.’
‘I do not love them. I mean, I love their music. Loved it. But . . . Kurt sold me out. He said he’d forgiven me and then he went to the
press.’
Jaz chewed, possibly a piece of gum, possibly just a complicated thought. ‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘Have you at least considered that it was someone else?’
‘No! It was him. Of course it was him.’
‘Then let’s start by doing that. Who else was there? Who saw you? At the concert?’
‘Um. That journalist, Chris.’
‘It’s a good story; he’d have reported it, with his name. So it’s not him.’
‘There were loads of backstage people. It could have been any of them.’
‘They’d have signed stuff saying they wouldn’t talk to the press. It’s not going to be one of them.’
‘It has to be. Because the only other person is Dad, and it’s not him.’
‘Why not?’ asked Jaz.
‘Because Dad wouldn’t do that! He’s not . . . he just wouldn’t. OK?’ I wasn’t convincing her. ‘He’s my dad.’
‘Kurt from Karamel’s dad sold stories about him,’ said Jaz. ‘There’s loads of stuff floating around out there. Some people say that’s what their second album’s all about.’
‘How did you know that?’ I asked. ‘And since when have you been into Karamel?’
‘Couple of weeks,’ said Jaz. ‘But we’re talking about you. And your dad.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘Dad’s had a few . . . issues. But we’re talking about a man who gave Mum two thousand pounds a few days ago. And it’s not like he can exactly afford it.’
Jaz leaned forward. ‘If he can’t afford it, then where did he get two grand? From Pop Trash?’
‘No! From Catriona. His ex-girlfriend. He loaned her some money, we had a talk, he got it back and gave it to Mum.’
Jaz nodded at my phone. ‘Easy enough way to check,’ she said.
‘I trust him,’ I said. ‘I am not phoning Catriona.’
Jaz didn’t reply. And I looked at my phone and pictured Dad’s face, felt his arms around my shoulders, and I knew – one hundred per cent knew – that he hadn’t . . . this was Dad we were talking about . . .
I also knew what Amanda would say.
Exactly what Amanda would say.
And that Amanda was wrong.
‘If you know it wasn’t him, if that’s genuinely what you believe, then fine,’ said Jaz, and she looked as serious as I’ve ever seen her. ‘But if any part of you believes that it might have been him, then . . . You said you were going to tell the truth from now on, Katie. You just told me that.’
Face the Music Page 16