Singing into your hairbrush in front of the mirror and singing in front of an audience are two very different things, and the pressure is about to get a whole lot worse.
‘Sasha and some of the rest of us have vocal coaching with Camille,’ Marley says, looking across at her. ‘Um … cool, I guess, but why Camille? How come?’
‘Because I’m a trained vocal coach,’ she explains patiently. ‘I used to sing professionally.’
Happi opens her eyes wide. ‘Hang on,’ she says. ‘You … you’re Camille Akinsulire, aren’t you? I thought I knew your face! You used to sing with Ked back in the day, and you did backing vocals for Bowie and George Michael and Paul Weller. I mean, loads of famous people! I’ve seen you on YouTube!’
‘YouTube?’ Marley echoes. ‘You’re that Camille? Wow! I read about you in Ked’s biography!’
Camille just shrugs.
‘Never jump to conclusions in this business,’ Ked advises. ‘Or in this life, come to that. Treat everyone with respect. Camille met Mike – he was one of my roadies – on one of our tours a few decades back. I stopped touring, they settled down and had kids, and when I bought this place I asked if they’d help me run it. Camille’s definitely not just a pretty face – or even just a kitchen goddess. She’s the best backing singer I’ve ever met, and a much sought-after vocal coach in the profession.’
‘OK,’ Marley agrees, chastened. ‘Arghhh … me and my big mouth! Sorry, Camille. I’m an idiot!’
‘He really is,’ Lee confirms. ‘You kind of get used to it, after a while …’
Camille laughs and the tension ebbs away.
‘Anyway, a singer can benefit hugely from learning good breathing and vocal techniques,’ Ked says. ‘It helps to protect the vocal cords. Camille can help you with harmonies too.’
I relax. So the vocal coaching is not because I’m awful … it’s because singers need to look after their voices.
‘I’ll be asking a few friends in throughout the week,’ Ked continues. ‘Experts in their field – people whose opinions I trust. I’ll be helping you with new song ideas, and you’ll be working with top sound engineers to record those songs. I’ve asked along a make-up artist and stylist to pull together an image for the band, and OK Film, a young film crew whose work I love, will be creating a promo video for you. On Wednesday a good friend of mine with lots of contacts in radio and TV will be having dinner with us, and I thought I’d ask you to do a short live set afterwards – I want to see what kind of an impression you make on her.’
‘Lola Rockett!’ Lexie says, reading her schedule. ‘No way! She’s my favourite radio DJ!’
‘We always watch her New Year TV show,’ Lexie’s stepdad Jon chips in.
‘You and half the people in the UK,’ Ked says with a smile. ‘If she likes the Lost & Found – well, I don’t have to tell you what that could mean. She has a reputation for spotting tomorrow’s talent, so let’s hope you make a good impression!’
‘We will,’ Marley vows. ‘I may be an idiot, but I care about the Lost & Found more than I care about anything. These kids are brilliant … really talented and awash with star quality.’
Ked rakes a hand through his grey-blond hair and smiles.
‘Let’s just say you’re a band with potential,’ he says. ‘I don’t see that very often these days, and I think we can make something of it, but only if you’re willing to work. You talk a good story, Marley, but I’m looking for more than words here. Talent? Well, that’s ten a penny – you can find it all around you. Brilliance? I’m not seeing it yet. Star quality? Who knows? It’s way too soon to say.’
Marley looks shell-shocked, as if Ked has just smashed his dreams to pieces, and I shiver in spite of the wood burner, aware of how much is at stake over the coming days. Everyone is looking serious now, shaken by Ked’s appraisal. Do we have what it takes?
Do I?
‘Don’t look so scared,’ Ked says, laughing. ‘I’m not asking for perfection – that doesn’t exist – but this week we’ll do things differently. You don’t need a keyboardist, for starters – you have so many rich layers of sound already, and Sasha should be focusing on her strength – vocals.’
I blink, pleased at the compliment. Ditching the keyboards means one less thing to worry about, which has to be good.
‘Right,’ he finishes. ‘I need you to give your absolute best. I’m looking for hard graft and the ability to take criticism and learn from it without falling apart. I’m giving you a chance here, a big chance – but you have to want it, and you have to work for it. Don’t let me down!’
Ked has turned the mood of the room around, pulled us all together, whipped up a tide of determination and solidarity.
‘We won’t!’ my band mates insist, and although I smile and move my lips, I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud. It’s a promise I’m not sure I can keep.
Hope you got there safely! I expect they’ve kept you busy, but if you do get a minute, give us a call so I know all is well! Thinking of you living the high life while we’re eating microwave ready-meals in front of Bake Off! Mum & Dad x
Sorry! Only just seen this – I’m sharing a room and Romy’s asleep now. I’ll call tomorrow. All is well. There’s so much planned I think going back to school will be a holiday after this! Sash x
So excited for you. Was hoping you’d check in before I fell asleep! Your dad’s gone up now – he has an early start. Wish I could be there with you. Talk to Mandy if there’s anything at all worrying you, and promise you’ll keep us in the loop! Mum x
Promise! This place is amazing! Gold taps in the en-suite and an actual swimming pool! Better try to sleep now. Big day tomorrow! Love you! Sash x
Love you more – Mum x
12
The Picnic
I can’t sleep, tossing and turning, my mind running on endless loops of what might go wrong. I finally fall asleep just before dawn, but the faint aroma of warm croissants and coffee pull me to consciousness as the morning light begins to filter through the curtains. I yawn and stretch, determined to grab another hour of sleep, then almost jump out of my skin as I see Matt peering round the bedroom door, his quiff all rumpled and fluffy, grinning at me.
I sit up in a panic, pulling the duvet round me.
‘What are you doing?’ I hiss. ‘You’re not allowed in here!’
‘Huh? Who? What?’ Romy grumbles from the other side of the room, rubbing her eyes. She blinks at Matt and then dives back under the covers. ‘Noooo … go away!’
‘I come in peace,’ Matt says. ‘Honest! Just wondered if you wanted to come for a breakfast picnic.’
‘We don’t!’ growls Romy’s muffled voice, but I think Matt’s invitation is aimed at me and, even though I’m still tired and wary, it makes me smile.
‘Give me five minutes,’ I tell him. ‘Ten, maybe. I’ll meet you in the kitchen … now go! You’re not even supposed to be on this floor – Mandy and Jon will go mad if they find you!’
Matt just laughs and backs out, the door closing softly behind him.
I jump up and sprint to the en-suite bathroom and take the fastest shower of my life before pulling on black skinny jeans and a cute T-shirt. I blast my hair with the hairdryer (more groaning from Romy) and carefully do my face, applying some low-key eyeshadow and a couple of flicks of liner.
‘You’ll freeze,’ Romy comments, huddled in her duvet. ‘A picnic at the end of October?’
‘Why not?’ I dig out a fluffy jumper from the suitcase, pulling it on and checking in the mirror. The deep blue picks out the colour of my eyes and Romy grins and gives me the thumbs up.
I’m downstairs in fifteen minutes, which is a record for me, but Matt laughs and points at his watch.
‘What kept you?’ he asks. ‘I’ve been up since six. Had a swim and fancied some company for breakfast … you could have just come down in your pyjamas!’
‘In someone else’s house? Not a chance!’
‘You were worth waiting
for,’ he says. ‘C’mon, let’s grab some food!’
A plump middle-aged woman, who’s much closer to my idea of a housekeeper than Camille, is setting out a breakfast spread of pastries, cheese, fruit and yoghurt. On a side counter the fancy coffee machine is bubbling away and there are four different sorts of fruit juice to choose from.
‘Mrs B?’ Matt says, putting on the charm. ‘We’ve heard so much about you! Fresh croissants … and are those warm pain au chocolat? Can we take a few bits and pieces outside for a breakfast picnic? This place is amazing and we don’t want to miss a single thing.’
‘Of course!’
Mrs B ends up packing us a picnic basket of pastries, fruit and cheese, with a carton of fresh orange juice and two checked napkins.
‘Ready?’ Matt grins. ‘Follow me!’
We head out through the back door, Matt leading the way towards a copse of trees to one side of the house. We crunch our way through fallen leaves, gold and russet and burnt orange, and stop at a clearing where ivy and wild honeysuckle twines upward into the trees. It’s so pretty it takes my breath away.
Matt hands me a croissant, and the minute I bite into it he raises his camera and captures a few frames of me with flakes of warm pastry on my chin.
‘Cute pictures,’ he says, scanning the screen.
I blink. Does that mean he thinks I’m cute? Or just ridiculous, with flakes of croissant round my mouth? I can’t tell.
‘It’s cool here, huh?’ Matt says, sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. ‘And great for spotting wildlife too. Can you see what I see? What species of tree d’you think they are?’
He takes my arm and steers me round until I’m looking past the woodland and out towards the grass beyond. My eyes widen as I see Sheddie leading the yoga class he mentioned last night. Ked, Camille, Mandy, Jon and – unexpectedly – Marley, are all balanced on one leg, arms above their head in prayer position. They look comical, Ked especially, as he’s wearing baggy Indian yoga pants and a headband instead of his trademark skinny jeans and black fedora.
I know they’re doing the Tree Pose because Mum used to go to yoga classes and she practised it in the living room sometimes, while watching EastEnders.
Matt starts fiddling with his camera, attaching some kind of zoom lens. I watch as he raises his camera, training it on the yoga class. This is exactly what Ked warned him about last night, surely?
‘Umm … Matt … I don’t think …’
‘Shhh,’ he whispers. ‘They can’t see us and it’s too good to miss!’
But Ked must have superhuman hearing, because at that moment, just as the rest of the group move smoothly out of the Tree Pose and into the Downward Dog, he looks across and frowns in our direction.
‘Matt?’ he calls. ‘What are you doing?’
Matt steps out of the trees so that Ked and the yoga group can see him clearly.
‘I’m having a breakfast picnic with Sasha,’ he says brightly. ‘We noticed the yoga class, and then I spotted a fox skulking across the grass behind you. I didn’t think – I just wanted to capture the moment!’
Ked looks around, but of course there is no fox. There never was a fox – I’m pretty sure of that.
‘He’s gone,’ Matt says with a shrug. ‘No worries. I’ll get a shot if it’s the last thing I do. I love wildlife! Sorry if I put you off your stride … I wasn’t focused on you guys. I’ve got the zoom lens on – I was looking way past you!’
‘OK,’ Ked says. ‘Perhaps look for your fox picture once the class is over?’
‘No problem, Mr Wilder,’ Matt says. ‘Whatever you say!’ He waves and steps back into the trees, sinks down again on the tree trunk and bites into an apple.
‘Was there a fox?’ I ask, bemused.
‘As if!’ Matt says, taking off the zoom lens and packing it away.
My eyes widen. ‘You didn’t … take pictures of Ked? What about our promise to respect his privacy?’
Matt rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not like I’m going to do anything with them,’ he says. ‘It was just funny, that’s all. What’s the harm?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just that Ked said …’
‘Ked’s paranoid,’ Matt scoffs. ‘He thinks everything’s about him, but actually he’s yesterday’s news, just an old bloke in baggy trousers standing on one leg. Don’t worry, Sasha. It was a laugh!’
I bite my lip.
‘Will you delete the pictures?’ I ask. ‘Please?’
Matt laughs. ‘Seriously? You’re worse than he is! OK, fine – I’ll delete them.’ He looks down at the camera, swipes and clicks and looks up again, grinning. ‘Happy now? C’mon. Lighten up! I didn’t come here to take pictures of a wrinkly old has-been. I wanted to do some portrait shots of the beautiful lead singer of an up-and-coming teen band …’
‘Oh!’
And then I realize what he’s saying, and my cheeks flare pink, my breath catching in my throat as if I’ve just unwrapped the loveliest surprise present ever. Matt Brennan thinks I’m beautiful. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me – and the scariest too.
I am out of my depth with this boy. He’s too slick, too cool – way, way too confident for me. He’s cute and chatty and flirty, but I’m starting to see a streak of something less appealing behind it. I’m not sure I know the real Matt Brennan, not yet.
But … he’s so good-looking, and he makes my heart beat harder than one of Dylan’s drum solos.
‘Just sit back against that tree – perfect,’ he’s saying. ‘Your hair looks amazing against the ivy and the honeysuckle. Pretend I’m not here. Look over to the left … relax … that’s great! You look so dreamy and a little bit sad. You’re not sad, are you, Sash?’
‘No!’ I tell him. ‘Of course not!’
‘Good! OK. Look up at the branches … tilt your head to one side … awesome!’
Matt leans forward and moves a few strands of hair away from my face, at the same time tugging a strand of ivy down across my shoulder. I know I should laugh or say something witty, something cool, but I can’t move, can’t speak. I close my eyes and wish I could disappear, even though I know it doesn’t work that way, that I can’t choose the moments when I slip away into nothingness. I wish I could because sometimes the real world feels too scary, too real.
The camera clicks away and I stay frozen, barely breathing, feeling like a butterfly, captured and pinned into a frame for all the world to see.
243 likes
SashaSometimes Wishing on a fallen leaf … to work with Ked Wilder on our new EP!
#Lost&Found #DreamsComeTrue #NewEP #ReachForTheStars
MillfordGirl1 Wow … does this mean what I think it means?
Musicismylife Yes! An EP! Finally!
littlejen You’re working with Ked Wilder? For real?
CynicalTeen When will the EP be out? Cute pic btw!
KTCool U r my role model!
MattBFotos Cute
13
Just Breathe
I am a full ten minutes early for my vocal coaching lesson with Camille, and right now I feel anxious, panicky and full of dread. Camille is hugely respected in the business – I didn’t know her name the way Happi did, but I Googled her and she has sung on some iconic hits, old songs I know by heart and love to bits.
Last night Romy, Lexie, Bex, Happi and I sat up watching clips on YouTube, clips that showed a younger Camille belting out backing vocals behind various pop icons. I’m in awe. She is a pop legend in her own right, and suddenly I’m worried that I won’t come up to scratch. A shy, untrained teen with an awkward habit of zoning out at moments of stress … I’m not exactly the ideal pupil.
Camille comes into the music room, dramatic in a turquoise silk tunic and huge silver hoops in her ears. ‘Morning, Sasha! Hope you slept well. So, the band’s lead singer! I’m guessing you’ve dreamed of this your whole life, am I right?’
I squirm. Does singing in the shower count as a lifelong ambition? I don’t think it does, but ho
w can I admit that? It would feel like a huge betrayal of my band mates, and ungrateful too.
‘I … I do like singing,’ I say.
Camille grins. ‘You’re modest,’ she says. ‘That’s cute! Have you had lessons before? D’you know the basics?’
I shake my head, and Camille says that’s fine. She says she’s not actually going to teach me to sing, because I can do that already … just show me ways to use my voice more safely and effectively.
‘Think of it as an insurance policy for your vocal skills,’ she says. ‘The voice is your instrument – you don’t want to strain or damage it. I’m going to show you how to use your breath to make sure the vocal cords are relaxed, because if there’s any tension there, it could cause harm. I have some techniques to help you push up the volume too – safely, of course! It’s all in the breathing. Let’s start off with some warm-ups!’
It’s hard to stay stressed and anxious when you’re humming up five notes and down again, getting higher and higher all the time. Just when I’m getting the hang of it, we switch to a ‘zzz’ sound because Camille says it engages the abs and intercostals, whatever they might be, and then finally to an ‘eee’ sound because Camille says that will ‘open things up’ a bit.
‘Now sing me a song, Sasha,’ Camille instructs. ‘Any song – one of the band’s or an old one you like, doesn’t matter. We’re all warmed up – so show me what you can do! Remember your breathing – no big breaths in the middle of a phrase, no gasping, no rushing. Go!’
I’m singing ‘Over the Rainbow’, a song I’ve loved since I was little. This kind of scrutiny would have had me tied up in knots earlier, but the warm-ups have relaxed me and I trust Camille. I respect her expertise and I’m grateful for her kindness too … That counts for a lot.
‘Ease up, Sasha,’ she says, coming up behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders and gently pressing down. ‘You’re holding a lot of tension here – can you feel it? Keep your upper body relaxed. Just breathe: let the breath go deep into your body like a yoga breath. Good girl! It’s hard work, I know, but it’s worth it.’
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