I should go home.
Maybe start looking for a Gucci flash sale or something.
Then a voice made me look up. A sweet, tender voice. Singing a familiar tune.
Quite like guitar girl
And I do have a tattoo
Kurt was strumming on his guitar.
Quite like guitar girl
Thinking she should get one too
Then he stopped. ‘Mine’s not Chinese, FYI.’ He rolled up a sleeve to reveal golden skin and something complicated going on just above his elbow. ‘It’s Celtic. I had it done on tour. In Latvia, of all places.’
‘Cool.’
‘Not really. My mum went berserk. Technically, I think I’m still grounded.’
I found myself smiling. Just a bit. ‘OK, I’ll update it.’ I lifted the guitar across and into my arms.
The tattooed Celtic symbol
On skin that’s nicely tanned
‘Better?’
‘Better,’ said Kurt. ‘Anything else you want to change?’
We were very close as I sang.
Quite like the boy band
Their upbeat melodies
Quite like the boy band
Kinda pop-py kinda cheese
It’s cool they love their grannies
And their devoted fans
I quite like the boy band
‘Only quite?’ said Kurt.
‘More than quite,’ I said, looking away.
I like the boy band
It’s a different way to be
I like the boy band
Their vibe is so happy
And if there’s a chance they’ll take it
Then I’ll offer them my hand
Yes, I like the boy band.
I finished and he took my hand from the strings and held it in his.
It was an amazing moment.
Which I ruined, by blurting out:
‘Look. I’ve said my thing. I should let you get on. With singing to all of Wembley.’
‘Ed’s just come off stage. We’ve still got time,’ said Kurt. Then, seeing my confusion, ‘Ed Sheeran. He’s really nice.’
‘Oh good,’ I said. ‘I’d hate it if he wasn’t.’
We both looked at the wall, and at my name, crossed out.
And . . . it’s hard to explain how I could feel so sure of it, but I knew, I just knew, that we’d both had the same thought.
‘You should—’
‘I can’t—’
It was so big and so terrible that I couldn’t even begin to put it into words.
‘Kurt, I can’t.’
‘Katie, you can.’
‘But . . . I’m giving up music.’
He didn’t say anything.
‘Everyone hates me.’
He still didn’t say anything. The messages from Tony’s computer screen scrolled invisibly between us. So much hate. Out there. So close. And all of it for me.
‘Kurt, it’s not . . . I can’t.’
His eyes were so gentle, this luscious, delicious brown. Like chocolate mousse. Only then, they frosted over. Like chocolate mousse that’s been stuck right at the back of the fridge.
‘All right. I thought you were truly sorry. But . . .’
‘I am!’
‘Then show me.’
‘You want me to sing.’
‘I do.’
‘You want me to sing “Can’t Stand the Boy Band”? To all of Wembley?’
‘I do. I’ll even lend you my guitar.’
‘Wow. Wait. No. Maybe. I mean, I could sing “Cake Boyfriend”. Or “Spaghetti Hoops” – no, not that – but I could definitely do “Leftover Chinese Takeaway Blues”. It’s got a real swing to it . . .’
Even as I said it, I knew. If I was going to get up there, I had to sing ‘Can’t Stand the Boy Band’. Anything else would be a massive cop-out.
‘I can’t do it.’
At which point, Jaz came bursting through the door and went:
‘Ha ha ha, you’re Kurt from Karamel, ha ha ha.’
‘Jaz!’
She was followed by Savannah and Kolin, whose face was covered in Savanna’s lipgloss, and Kristian, and Adrian, and Lacey, who twiddled her hair and said, ‘Hi I love your music sorry just ignore me.’
‘Please,’ said Jaz, as my BF stared at the floor. ‘Hold it together.’
‘This is Kurt from Karamel!’ wailed Lacey.
‘And you’re Lacey from Harltree.’ She looked up, and I was just thinking that maybe this was the moment when they might actually become friends, when Jaz followed it up with, ‘Lacey Daniels, you are slightly less pathetic than you think you are.’
Lace made a face.
Jaz made a face.
Kurt was laughing.
And I thought, this will do, actually. Just, everyone together, they don’t have to be the besties or anything. They can take the mick out of each other, if they have to. Just . . .
Oh. My. God.
OH MY GOD.
‘I know how to do this,’ I said. ‘I’m going to do it. I’m going to sing.’
‘There we go,’ said Kurt.
‘Why?’ said Kolin, who was still looking at Savannah.
‘You are going to get minced,’ said Lacey.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
So there I was, standing in the wings, ready to do my first major concert. I mean, seriously major, with masses of people watching and goodness knows how many more online.
Even though I’d practised and practised, I was shaking so badly I could barely hold my guitar. My hands were dripping sweat, and there was a fair chance that when I opened my mouth I’d barf all over the stage.
It was no use telling myself that everyone gets nervous. Because this was no ordinary concert.
I was about to sing live to twelve and a half thousand people.
And each and every one of them wanted to kill me.
In fact, it’s less complicated than you’d think, getting on the bill of the Teen Time Awards at Wembley Arena. I mean, it helps if you were on it originally before you got yourself struck off by being dropped from your record label.
Plus, it’s an advantage if you’ve got the lead singer of a monstrously famous boy band to talk to the high-up people and convince them that it’s a good idea. Backed by your amazing manager, Adrian.
Also, Bruno Mars was stuck in America because his flight had been cancelled and the show was going to be way too short.
So, in the space of approximately ten minutes, I’d gone from being a slightly carsick nobody, wearing my sloppiest tracksuit bottoms, with my hair completely everywhere and a breakout so bad that I looked like I was having some kind of allergic reaction, to . . .
Entirely the same person, only holding Kurt’s guitar.
‘She cannot go onstage like that,’ Savannah was saying. ‘It’s like, if you’re going to die, you should at least be a beautiful corpse.’
‘Thanks, Savannah, that’s really helpful.’
‘I . . . I’ve got some concealer. It’s not much. And it’s the wrong shade. But . . .’
The words came from a very unexpected source.
‘Lace . . . are you sure?’
‘You know you can catch spots from sharing make-up, don’t you?’ said Savannah.
‘I know,’ said Lacey.
‘You don’t have to,’ I said.
She leaned in to dot and then smear concealer on to my forehead, and I got a close-up of the inside of her mouth as she said, ‘What you said. In the car. You were a bad friend to me. But, I wasn’t there for you. On your birthday. And . . . you’re going to get pulled apart out there. If this is the last time I see you, I’d rather we said goodbye as friends.’
‘So . . .’ I didn’t know what to say. ‘Am I allowed to wear my charm bracelet, then?’
‘If you like,’ said Lacey.
‘I do like,’ I said, and maybe we’d have hugged, or maybe we wouldn’t, as she still looked a bit wary. I’ve got no way of knowing becau
se just then, a man with a clipboard knocked, in that brisk way that means someone’s going to come in whether you’re sharing an emotional moment or not, and came in.
‘Katie Cox? Tech team. So it’s just you, a mic and an acoustic guitar?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘Nothing for us to project behind you? Everyone else has a video, or lights, or something.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hey, can I have your phone?’ said Jaz.
‘Why?’
‘Can’t tell you now,’ said Jaz. ‘But trust me, OK?’
Just to recap. The first time Jaz had held a phone in my presence, she’d put me on to the internet and simultaneously made and destroyed my entire life. The next time I lent her my phone, she’d nearly given my mother a heart attack. So you can see why I wasn’t ever so keen.
Which I suppose is why she just leaned over and grabbed it out of my hand.
‘Jaz! Jaz, come back. JAZ!’
Clipboard man tapped his clipboard. ‘If you’d like to follow me upstairs, Katie? You’re next.’
Up we went. Up and round and along the bright corridors, in this kind of procession of doom, and then suddenly, we could hear them, the crowd, just ahead. Not the noise I’d heard back at my little concert. Not even the shrieking at the Karamel gig.
This was like . . . the sea. A proper sea, an ocean, a swell of sound that went back and back.
‘Catch her, she’s going down.’
‘No, no, I’m OK, it’s all right,’ I said. ‘It’s not even that many people, really. Is it?’
We’d reached the wings, and I looked out.
And it was huge. Epic. A city of people, of twinkling phones and glowsticks, neatly stacked in blocks that went on and on and on and up and up.
‘Good luck, Katie.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Good luck.’
‘RIP, babes.’ That one was Savannah.
‘Now, the winner of the Teen Time People’s Award. Bit of a controversial one, this award was decided before recent . . . events. But, she’s here now, with her new song. It’s KATIE COX!’
I don’t know if you’ve ever heard twelve and a half thousand people gasp all at the same time.
It’s quite something.
Then, silence.
My legs were carrying me out into the light.
Down, on to the little stool they’d put there.
Fingers, shaking, into place on the guitar, as the first boos began.
A chord.
The wrong chord.
Stop.
Take a breath.
More boos. Louder now.
Then . . .
Quite like the boy band
A wave of jeering.
Their upbeat melodies
Keep going, Katie.
Quite like the boy band
Kinda pop-py kinda cheese
It’s cool they love their grannies
And their devoted fans
I quite like the boy band
And then – they cheered!
Not loudly. And not for long. But they did.
Quite like the boy band
It’s a different way to be
Quite like the boy band
Their vibe is so happy
Another cheer. Big enough to drown out the boos, which were still coming. I felt my voice lift, as though I’d stepped from a boat on to solid ground.
And if there’s a chance they’ll take it
Then I’ll offer them my hand
Yes, I like the boy band
Something was happening. The glowing phones, which had been waving in all different directions . . . they were all waving . . . together.
I went into the instrumental section, which was quite tricky, and so maybe that’s why the crowd noticed before I did . . . and it was only as I heard this infinite screaming roar that I realized . . .
Kurt was next to me.
And he sang:
Quite like guitar girl
And I do have a tattoo
Quite like guitar girl
Thinking she should get one too
Her lyrics make me chuckle
But her bedroom makes me hurl
Yeah, I quite like guitar girl
And something made me glance back, up, behind us . . .
I don’t know how Jaz had done it.
But there was my face, singing in my bedroom. Then Karamel, sitting in their camper van. Then, the messages, from me to Kurt, from Kurt back to me. And the comments, all of them, the love and the hate, flashing faster and faster and faster . . .
And we sang:
Let’s make a new band
While the music’s feeling right
Let’s start a new band
Singing out into the night
Yes if there’s a chance you’ll take it
Then I’m giving you my hand
You and me, a new band
Kurt was clapping, and I held out the mic, like I’d only ever seen on TV, the charms on my bracelet flashing under spotlights hotter than the sun.
‘Sing with me, Wembley’:
And if there’s a chance you’ll take it
Then I’m giving you my hand
Just tonight; a new band.
They sang in a way I couldn’t just hear, but feel. They sang it over and over and over again.
In the wings, Savannah and Adrian were singing.
And Lacey was singing.
And even, blimey – even Jaz.
When Vernon Kay came bounding on to the stage and said, ‘Give it up for Katie Cox, winner of the Teen Time New Act Award!’ I kind of hardly noticed.
The applause began, and I lifted my arms.
‘Peace and love,’ said Kurt. ‘Peace and love.’
A microphone was shoved into my face. ‘Katie?’
‘Peace and love,’ I said.
And then cracked up, because, I mean, honestly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Afterwards, everything went berserk.
My plan had been to hide in the dressing room, or perhaps get back into the car and go home, but instead we got swept along by the clipboard people into this gigantic room, which pulsed and throbbed with lights and music and was completely packed with people wearing special wristbands and very little else, all drinking champagne like they were dying of thirst or something.
‘Bruno’s going crazy that he missed it. Heads will roll.’
and
‘They didn’t do that at the soundcheck.’
and
‘Are those two an item? There’s definitely something going on there.’
I kind of shuffled in, still horribly aware that I had my tracksuit on and only the very minimum of make-up, and stood in the corner trying not to look at anyone.
Which was quite difficult, as everyone – and I mean everyone – wanted to look at me.
I had pretty much the whole of the iTunes top 100 come up and congratulate me, which was nice although deeply embarrassing, and once Jaz had given me my phone back I got some cool selfies, which was even nicer, but nicest of all was the Appletiser that Lace brought over. In the end, Lacey, Jaz and Adrian had to form a protective circle so that I could drink it.
Which was an OK way of spending the party, pointing and laughing at the various bonkers outfits everyone had turned up in, until Adrian stepped back to say:
‘Katie. It’s Tony.’
At the exact same time, my phone started going.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Important phone call . . . Oh . . .’ It was Dad. I hit reject, then looked up to do the same to my ex-label boss.
He was right in front of me, his teeth glowing in the ultraviolet light. Or maybe there wasn’t any ultraviolet, maybe they were just glowing anyway. Maybe they weren’t even teeth, just two rows of tooth-shaped light bulbs.
‘Look –’ I began, not really knowing where I was going with this, but feeling like I needed to say something.
‘I know.’
>
‘It’s just . . .’ I hid my face in my glass.
‘I’ll say it, shall I? We shouldn’t have dropped you so fast.’
‘I understand why you did.’ Which was true. ‘I’d have done the same, if I were you.’
‘Be that as it may, I was actually coming over to suggest you join another label. There’s a job for your dad whatever you do, of course, but we’re assuming you’ll want to go elsewhere.’
What?
‘Oh. Right.’ My brain finally caught up with the conversation. ‘And actually, you were the one who set up the whole Karamel-rivalry-single-release-on-the-same-day thing. So, you shouldn’t have dropped me so fast!’
‘No,’ he said.
‘I should join another label?!’
‘You should. We’re too easily scared by bad press. We’d never had a situation like that, and we panicked. It was irresponsible and it was unkind. It won’t happen again, but of course you’ll want to go elsewhere. I’m thinking Monumental Beats would be a good place for you; I’ll get you a meeting with Scarlett. Or there’s FRD, Bethany’s a peach . . .’
‘I don’t need another label,’ I said. ‘I’m not doing music any more. I’m going back to being normal.’
‘Katie.’ He stood next to me and we looked out over the room. The woman nearest us was wearing a top open almost to the waist. She lifted her arm to wave, and flashed me. ‘You can’t go back to normal, Katie. You’ve gone too far for that.’
‘I haven’t, it’s only been a few weeks, but it’ll happen.’ I tried not to think about that hideous night at the Harvester. ‘It might be a while, but I will.’
‘Your song. Just now. It’s the number one trending topic worldwide.’
‘Look, Tony, no one says “trending topic”, just like no one says “social media” and . . .’ I digested what he’d just told me. ‘Come again?’
‘Your performance just now is the number one trending topic on the planet.’
‘I don’t . . .’
‘People are saying you’ve brought whole worlds of music together. You’ve become this symbol of reconciliation. Of friendship.’
Face the Music Page 19