Sasha's Secret

by Cathy Cassidy

  ‘What did I say, Sasha?’ Marley crows. ‘I knew you hadn’t lost your spark – I knew you could do it! I told the others it was just a blip!’

  He beams at me, elated, but I can feel the smile sliding from my face. A blip? Romy and Lexie look embarrassed, awkward. They’ve been discussing me behind my back, discussing whether I’d lost my spark … Everyone but me. My skin floods with heat and shame.

  Marley barges on, oblivious. ‘These new songs … I’m telling you, they’re red hot!’ he declares. ‘I can feel it … this is our breakthrough moment! We’re so, so close!’

  Suddenly they’re all staring at me, frowning, and I know there’s been another black-hole moment. I take a step backwards, confused.

  ‘… hear me? Sasha?’

  ‘Sasha? What’s wrong? Are you OK?’

  ‘This is what happened the other night, right?’

  ‘It’s happened a few times, actually. She just blanks out …’

  Shame swamps me, snapping my new-found confidence clean in two.

  I don’t belong. The Lost & Found is a beautiful, crazy jigsaw of people – everybody brings their own skill and passion to the mix. Even Matt, wandering around in the background with his camera and his sarcastic smile, somehow fits in here.

  I don’t. No matter how hard I try, I never will.

  20

  Watch Me Disappear

  Jake takes my hand and leads me out into the dusk.

  ‘You’ve all worked hard,’ I can hear Ked saying inside. ‘Let’s call it a day for now, OK? Take a break.’

  Cool air washes over me, and I can smell distant woodsmoke as I follow Jake across the grass. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Apple picking,’ he says, as if it were obvious. ‘We had a plan, right?’

  ‘But it’s almost dark!’

  ‘Got a torch on my phone,’ Jake says.

  ‘We don’t have anything to put them in!’

  ‘Are you looking for trouble?’ he asks. ‘I have it all worked out. You’ll see. Where’s your sense of adventure?’

  I almost laugh. ‘Back in the studio, in tatters, along with my self-esteem and my short-lived career as a singer,’ I say. ‘You must really like apple crumble, huh?’

  ‘I really, really like it,’ he confirms. ‘And I really, really like you, Sasha. So this is, like, my ideal date – not that it is a date or anything, because I probably don’t have the guts to ask …’

  ‘I think you just did!’ I counter.

  He laughs. ‘Did you say yes?’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I say.

  Jake halts beside a red wheelbarrow leaning against the perimeter wall. He lets go of my hand and I feel bereft suddenly, following as he steers the barrow towards the apple trees. ‘Loads of fruit, see?’ he says, shining his torch app into the branches.

  He reaches up and starts to pick, and after a moment I join him. There is something very calming and satisfying about picking apples in the dark, the sharp smell of them, the smooth weight of them as I gently tug them loose.

  ‘Your career isn’t in tatters,’ Jake says quietly. ‘People are just worried about you, that’s all.’

  ‘You think Marley wants a lead singer who blanks out every few minutes?’ I reply. ‘I don’t think so, Jake. And Marley cares way more about the band than he does about me. If I can’t sing, if he can’t rely on me … I’m out.’

  Jake sighs. ‘You’re jumping way ahead,’ he argues. ‘You know what I think – you need to see a doctor, get this checked. It could be something simple, a virus or something …’

  ‘I looked it up on the internet,’ I say. ‘Zone-out moments. It’s something that can happen with stress and depression, apparently. Lucky me!’

  Jake pushes the wheelbarrow along to the next tree and we start picking again. ‘I don’t think you’re doing this to yourself,’ he says. ‘And I don’t think you should diagnose yourself using the internet, either. That’s what we’ve got doctors for.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to the doctor,’ I say in a small voice. ‘I’m scared. What if it’s something bad? Something awful? What if it’s not a medical thing at all?’

  Jake blinks at me in the twilight. ‘What else could it be?’

  I try for a grin. ‘I might be a time traveller, checking in from the past or the future,’ I tell him. ‘Or an alien from another dimension. Maybe I’m being pulled back there by forces beyond my control …’

  He takes a moment to suss that I’m joking, but when he does he throws his head back and laughs, raking a hand through his hair. ‘What are you doing hanging out with me, then?’ he asks.

  ‘Researching human intelligence,’ I say. ‘You’re a case study!’

  ‘How am I doing?’

  ‘Primitive life form,’ I quip. ‘Obsessed with lighting rigs and chocolate limes and after-dark apple picking. Quite kind, though. Likes to share.’

  ‘That’s a blatant hint,’ he says, offering me the packet of chocolate limes. ‘Who exactly is obsessed with these? I think it’s you!’

  I take a sweet, unwrap it and pop it into my mouth, the sharp lime flavour making my tongue curl. ‘You’re not taking me seriously,’ I say. ‘Maybe I’m some kind of girl wizard? Maybe my owl got lost on the way to deliver my invitation to Hogwarts, and I’m stuck in Muggle world trying to get by, and I don’t even know I have special powers?’

  Jake shakes his head, grinning, and pushes the barrow on once more. It’s filling up, but we keep picking.

  ‘What if it is something weird?’ I press. ‘What if I’m being possessed by some sort of evil spirit? What if I’m actually a werewolf or a vampire and don’t really understand that I am? When Halloween comes, I’ll reach my full power and get a whole TV series of my own …’

  ‘I’ll be your number-one fan,’ Jake says. ‘But you need to work on the facial hair and the fangs. You’re not fooling anyone right now.’

  I growl and claw at Jake, but he just laughs.

  I sigh. ‘Honestly, though. What if I’m falling into black holes and somehow crossing into a parallel universe? What if I’m travelling through time? What if there’s another world somewhere and I’m a ghost, spooking people and then vanishing without trace?’

  ‘I think you have a brilliant imagination,’ he says. ‘But I bet you anything there’s a rational explanation for all this. Go to the doctor’s when we get home … promise?’

  A part of me acknowledges that I have to do something about the zone-out moments, that I have to keep the promise. Jake’s not smiling now, and I know that underneath all the joking around he’s worried for me – really worried.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he says. ‘Not that I don’t trust you or anything …’

  ‘You can trust me,’ I say, and suddenly I’m aware that we’re both standing very still, very close, alone under the apple trees as darkness folds in around us. My heart is thumping hard and my cheeks are warm in spite of the cold air.

  ‘You can trust me too,’ he says, and suddenly he leans forward and kisses me, a kiss that tastes of chocolate limes and laughter. It’s not rough or pushy or damp, and there is no hint of tuna pasta. It’s shy and sweet and gentle. This time my heart is racing for all the right reasons.

  ‘Definitely not a werewolf,’ he says softly as we break apart. ‘Possibly an alien, though. That was out of this world …’

  ‘Do all humans have such a cheesy sense of humour, or just you?’ I tease.

  ‘I’m pretty unique,’ he says.

  He takes my hand, and it feels like a lifeline.

  ‘That’s probably enough apples,’ I say, looking down at the barrow, which is almost overflowing. ‘For a lifetime or two …’

  ‘There are quite a few of us,’ Jake points out. ‘And you can never really have too much apple crumble.’

  We kiss again, just to check that the first time wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t, so we sit down on the loaded barrow and check again, just to be sure. Time slides past, and when I look up t
hrough the branches the sky is dark velvet sprinkled with stars.

  ‘We’re probably missing tea,’ Jake says. ‘Sheddie mentioned something about a chip shop run … and then we’re supposed to have a progress meeting. I had some ideas. Shall we head back?’

  ‘Race you,’ I say, but we don’t run. We’re in no hurry. We dawdle back to the house taking turns to push and ride on the barrow. We walk so slowly that all the chips are gone by the time we reach the house. Neither of us cares, not one bit.

  We walk in on a band meeting in the living room, with Ked, Camille and the Lost & Found scattered around the room discussing the new EP and the promo video. I try to pretend nothing’s wrong – let’s face it, I’ve had plenty of practice.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Lexie whispers as Jake and I sit down. ‘When you blanked out earlier on – well, we were worried!’

  ‘I’m fine!’ I say brightly. ‘It’s just something that happens sometimes when I’m tired. It’s not a problem.’

  Lexie frowns, unconvinced, but she can see I don’t want to talk about this and she doesn’t challenge me. Nor does anyone else.

  It’s been decided that the two new songs will form our EP and that ‘Watch Me Disappear’ will be our debut single.

  ‘All your energy has to go into this song,’ Ked tells us. ‘I have a good feeling about this, but it has to be perfect. Make sure you know it inside out – but we can’t lose the rawness, either, the energy. Every single one of you needs to give your best!’

  Marley, Dylan, Lee and Bex shoot furtive glances in my direction, and the others seem to be trying too hard not to look at me. Ked might have a good feeling, but my band mates clearly don’t.

  Anxiety curls in my belly. I loved singing the new songs earlier, sure, but I don’t know if I can recapture that passion, not when I keep messing up, blanking out. Not when I know that the smallest imperfection matters. Not when I know I don’t belong here.

  My friends are trading ideas for the video Ked wants us to shoot, ideas about masks and face paint, about autumn leaves and trees and wild open landscapes, with the band wearing overcoats and scarves. The atmosphere is electric, but I feel I’m viewing it from behind glass.

  The wood-burning stove is stacked with logs and belting out a lot of heat. The room feels stifling suddenly, and I lean back against Jake, feeling hot and bothered and disconnected.

  I’ve tried so hard for so long to be what the Lost & Found want me to be, need me to be, but tonight I somehow can’t do it any more. It’s like someone has pulled the plug and cut off the power supply.

  I’m flatlining, failing.

  ‘You OK, Sash?’ Jake whispers, frowning. He moves a little nearer, slides an arm round my waist. If anyone thinks it strange that we’re sitting so close, they don’t say so, and I’m grateful for that. It should feel safe, it should feel cool – but I’m drifting now, lost.

  ‘What d’you think, Sasha?’ Romy asks at one point, and I realize someone’s asked me a question and I’ve missed it completely.

  ‘Sorry … think I’m too tired to be any use here,’ I say. ‘It’s been a long day … a cool day … but I’ve got a headache and I think I’ll have an early night. I want to be OK for tomorrow!’

  ‘Want a paracetamol?’ Camille asks. ‘Take the edge off the pain?’

  ‘It always helps my migraines,’ Mandy chips in, concerned. ‘A dab of lavender on your pillow can help too. I might have some in my bag, if you think …’

  ‘No, no, I just need to sleep,’ I promise. ‘I’ll be fine, honest!’

  I get up to leave, Jake following, and I see Romy’s eyebrows shoot up, notice Lexie whispering something to Sami and Happi. They seem to have sussed me and Jake, but it’s no big deal – the chat starts up again as we go into the kitchen, because everyone is wired and fizzing with ideas, everyone except me.

  I try not to care too much.

  ‘Hot chocolate is the best cure,’ Jake says, rummaging in the cupboard above the kettle and extracting a couple of mugs.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For tired girls who like to time travel, howl at the moon and drift through other solar systems as a hobby,’ he says. ‘I think I saw some squirty cream in the fridge …’

  ‘How about girls who just feel out of their depth and a little bit scared?’ I ask.

  ‘Them too,’ Jake says. ‘And also boys who have a crush on a girl who thinks she’s a time-travelling, ghostly werewolf. It’s good for them too.’

  ‘Who is this boy?’ I tease. ‘Do I know him?’

  ‘Might do …’

  ‘And hot chocolate is really the only cure?’

  Jake grins. ‘There is one other thing …’

  He leans close and kisses the end of my nose, and suddenly I’m filled with such a tangle of happiness and sadness that my eyes brim with tears.

  ‘Let’s just stick with the hot chocolate for now,’ he says. ‘You need to sleep. I’m going to go back to the others. I have an idea to suggest to those stylist people. Tomorrow’s going to be awesome … see you at eight for yoga?’

  ‘You bet!’

  ‘I’ll go, then,’ Jake says. ‘We don’t want to start a rumour …’

  ‘Might be too late for that!’ I grin, and I cradle my hot chocolate and head into the darkened hall.

  A couple of lamps at the foot of the sweeping staircase throw out gentle pools of light, so I don’t bother to put the main light on, just tread softly up the stairs, trying not to spill my drink. On the landing it’s darker, and I’m startled to see a shadow coming towards me from the left, a tall figure that halts abruptly. My heart races in alarm until I realize the shadowy figure is Matt.

  ‘Hello?’ I say warily. ‘Matt? What are you doing, creeping about in the dark? You just about made me jump out of my skin!’

  ‘Could ask you the exact same question,’ he says. ‘And if you don’t put the light on, you can’t complain about the dark, can you?’

  I frown. ‘Look, I’m tired … it’s been a long day and I need an early night. You scared me for a minute, that’s all. What were you doing, anyway? We’re supposed to stay away from Ked’s private rooms, aren’t we?’

  ‘I took a wrong turning,’ Matt says. ‘Easily done in a house this big.’

  ‘I suppose …’

  It’s not a mistake anyone else has made, though. I can’t help noticing the camera hanging round his neck and wonder if Matt’s telling the truth or if he’s been sneaking around Ked’s rooms in search of something that could win him his big break as a journalist.

  I shake my head to push away the thought. Matt is ambitious and determined, sure, but he wouldn’t do that – would he?

  21

  Magic

  I fall asleep at dawn and dream that I’m a space traveller, a time traveller, a ghost, a lone wolf howling at the moon. I’ve missed yoga, and Romy and the others are nowhere to be seen, but thankfully no wolfish fur or pointed teeth are visible as I do my make-up in the bathroom mirror.

  I grab a cereal bar for breakfast – Mrs B is still missing – and head for my vocal coaching session with Camille, but although I try my hardest I can tell she’s looking for something more.

  ‘Let go, Sasha,’ she tells me. ‘Give it everything you’ve got!’

  I’m giving everything I have and then some, but even I know something is missing. Camille is looking for a repeat of yesterday’s moment of magic; she’s looking for miracles and I’m fresh out of those.

  Outside the window I see a little white van draw up on the gravel. Ria and Fitz jump out, unloading crates and boxes and cases to carry into the house, ready to help create our new look. I can’t help wishing I was with them, lugging boxes and wielding a make-up palette, instead of in here singing scales and voice exercises and making Camille sigh.

  ‘Focus, Sasha,’ she says. ‘Concentrate!’

  And then I vanish again.

  I know because the backing track has somehow jumped forward, and my mind is struggling to remember wha
t I’m supposed to be singing, and I’m staring out of the window at the place where the van was parked a few moments ago, but isn’t any longer.

  Camille is looking at me sadly.

  ‘OK, OK,’ she says. ‘We’ll stop there for today. I won’t lie to you, sweetheart, I’m worried. Something’s going on here, and it’s not just daydreaming. Want to tell me about it?’

  I can’t meet her eyes. ‘It just happens,’ I say. ‘I can’t control it. It’s why I’m so scared about being on stage. I’m the lead singer – everyone’s focused on me, and if it happens at a concert … well, that doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘You’re saying this is something you can’t control?’ she checks. ‘That you just – well, freeze – at any time?’

  I nod and the tears I’ve been pushing away blur my vision and roll slowly down my cheeks. ‘I don’t even know it’s happened until afterwards … and everyone just assumes I’m being dozy or awkward or downright rude. It’s horrible!’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Camille says, handing me a tissue. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on, but I guarantee there’ll be a logical explanation for it. I’ll have a word with Ked, see what he thinks. Whatever happens, you mustn’t let this get to you!’

  ‘Don’t tell him,’ I plead. ‘He’ll be so angry … Marley too!’

  ‘Of course they won’t,’ she says. ‘Look, I’d like to get you checked by a doctor, make sure there’s nothing going on we should be worried about. This has to be sorted, Sasha. I can’t imagine the worry you’re carrying, trying to keep this secret and pretend you’re OK, but it’s time to be brave now, find out what’s wrong and get it treated. You’re an amazing girl, but you can’t front a rising indie pop band with something like this going on. I think you know that.’

  I nod, silent, choked.