by Nina Kaye
I watch with interest as the opening bars of a well-known upbeat Whitney Houston song begin to play. No one generally attempts a Whitney Houston number unless they have some level of vocal competence. I’m not disappointed. The second she starts to sing, it’s clear that Shanice was born for this. Her pitch is flawless, the strength in her voice evident but perfectly controlled, her breathing well measured. She moves seamlessly through the first verse and chorus, making it appear completely effortless.
‘It’s karaoke,’ Sasha excitedly states the obvious as she plonks our drinks down on the table. She shimmies her way round to sit beside me, keen to watch the action as well. ‘Are you going to sing? You have to sing.’
Sasha’s merely verbalising the thought swimming round my mind since the compère called Shanice up. Karaoke is my thing. For me, there’s nothing more energising than a mic in my hand. It makes me feel alive – almost invincible. As I continue to watch Shanice, I feel the familiar uncontrollable urge rising inside me. Sasha’s right. I have to sing.
‘OK, but what shall I sing?’ I ask her. ‘That woman is amazing. Maybe wait a bit before I put my request up.’
‘Rubbish. You’re as good as her. You just sing a different style of music. Ooh, wouldn’t it be cool if you could sing your own song – the one you wrote when you were recovering from your relapse – at karaoke one day?’
‘Ha, yeah. That’s never going to happen. It’s doomed to a life of concealment within my notepad app.’ I suddenly realise something. ‘Shit, Sash, I’ve never sung in public without plenty of drink in me. Not sure how I feel about doing it almost stone-cold, here, in front of all these people.’
I tune back in to Shanice’s singing; half the bar has now merrily joined in. Shanice herself is busting some serious moves as the song comes to its climax.
‘She should be on a stage, not doing karaoke in a city centre bar.’ I swallow thickly, now feeling quite intimidated. ‘What if they’re all like that in here?’
‘You talking yourself out of it? If it’s too scary without a drink for extra courage, don’t do it. No one’s forcing you.’
‘You’re doing that reverse psychology thing again.’
‘And?’ She chews her lip in anticipation.
‘And it worked. As usual.’ I give her a little wink. ‘Back in a sec.’
I get up and make my way across to the karaoke compère, propelled by Sasha’s triumphant hoot from behind me. He nods a greeting, while simultaneously managing the changeover from Whitney Houston to a current chart hit I recognise but can’t name. Shanice hands back the mic, before making her way back through her adoring crowd.
‘Evening, bab,’ he says to me. ‘Not seen you in here before. What you singing?’
I make my request, which is acknowledged with two thumbs up, then return to our table.
‘What did you put up for?’ Sasha asks before my backside has hit the seat.
‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ I reply, and she puts on a pouty face. ‘Might be a while. There’s a lot of people here.’
We sing along to the track that’s playing until it fades out and the karaoke compère’s voice booms through the mic once again.
‘Isaac. Come on up.’
Sasha and I look eagerly around for the next singer but no one seems to have claimed the identity of Isaac.
‘Come on, Isaac,’ he tries again. ‘Don’t be shy. Friendly bunch, we are.’
Finally a man makes his way across the room, earning himself a smatter of applause for what’s perceived to be his bravery. He briefly engages in conversation with the karaoke compère, then walks off again.
‘OK then. Turns out Isaac’s a little worse for wear.’ The compère chuckles through the mic, triggering a collective ‘boo’ from the punters. ‘Change of plan. Let’s have… Alex.’
I blanch. Surely not yet. I haven’t yet warmed up to the idea of singing in almost full sobriety.
‘It’s you,’ Sasha squeals.
‘Hang on. It might not be me.’ This is blind optimism on my part. ‘It could be another Alex – a guy or a woman.’
‘That’s true.’
We sit back and wait for someone else to make their way to the mic, but no one appears.
‘Not again.’ The karaoke compère sounds perplexed. ‘I’ll try once more. Alex – the young lady who just requested the Killers – up you come.’
‘Shit, that is me.’ I feel an instant sense of panic.
‘Oh, I love it when you do that song. Go, quick. Before you miss your turn.’
I hesitate a moment longer, then autopilot kicks in, overriding my instinct to sink into my seat and pull an Isaac. I get up and cross the room. As I do, the karaoke compère spots me and expresses his relief publicly.
‘So great you can join us, Alex. Give her a show of appreciation, everyone.’
The bar erupts into raucous applause, making me want to walk straight past the makeshift stage and out the main door. Of course, I don’t. Because as much as I’ve been called too soon and I haven’t had enough to drink to settle my rather overexcitable nerves, I still really want to sing. It’s been so long. Back in Glasgow, karaoke was a regular thing. Dom was never a fan, but I didn’t need him to be. A private karaoke room was a staple activity on a work night out or for a leaving do, and there were regular trips with Sasha to our old local. A few G&Ts and they’d have to pry the mic out of my hands.
I’m just feet away from the mic handover when my thigh unexpectedly and violently collides with the corner of a table I’m passing. A white hot, shooting pain surges through my leg, causing me to yelp out loud, clutching my injured limb. There’s a collective ‘oooh’ from the punters around me as they feel my pain – both physically and psychologically. Face burning, leg throbbing, I plaster on a brave face and continue on towards the mic.
‘You all right, bab?’ The karaoke compère looks genuinely concerned. ‘That was quite a knock.’
‘I’m OK.’ I force a smile.
‘Still want to sing?’
‘Don’t think this lot can be let down a second time.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ He gives me an encouraging nod and speaks into the mic. ‘All right, everyone. Think Alex needs some extra support after that bash. Might have had one too many as well, but at least she’s made it up here.’
The bar erupts into yet more cheers, with some cat calls of ‘go Alex’ as the karaoke compère hands me the mic.
‘Off you go, bab. Sing the pain away.’
Thanking him, I turn towards the blue screen as the title of the song appears in stark white letters. I can feel myself trembling slightly, my breathing laboured, as I wait for the on-screen lyrics to count me in. What a difference it makes to have the reassuring hug of a couple of gin and tonics. It almost makes me wish I’d breached my two-drink limit in preparation.
‘Amazing song choice,’ someone shouts from across the bar, which eases my nerves ever so slightly.
I flash a grateful smile in the direction of the voice as the room falls silent in anticipation. The light, emotive intro plays and I start to sing the opening lines. There’s very little by way of instrumental accompaniment, which always make me think I’m off tune at first. But as the track builds to its full volume and tempo, and the punters in the bar clap to the beat encouragingly, I begin to relax. I power my way through the first verse and chorus, feeling less exposed, the music and emotion consuming me like a tidal wave.
I dare a glance around the room and find myself spurred on by approving grins and whoops. This fuels me to take it up a level, which seems to please my audience even more, and I become so lost in the song, it’s almost over before I’ve had a chance to really experience it. The whole bar sings with me as I reach the song’s climax, in an explosion of power and intensity. Then as I complete the soulful lyrics, the music fades out and I’m left standing, alone and exposed, once again. But not for long. The bar erupts into a swarm of cheers, of applause and foot-stamping. My audience is clear
ly happy with my performance – which is an enormous relief.
I give an awkward bow, thrust the mic back into the karaoke compère’s hand and rush back to my seat, eyes to the ground, nodding thanks to the positive comments being directed at me as I go. I reach our table and slide into my seat, my face hot and flustered from all the attention.
‘That was incredible.’ Sasha grabs me into a vice-like hug. ‘You totally nailed it. See, you don’t need alcohol. You’re a complete natural.’
‘Am I?’ I screw up my face. ‘Pretty sure I was visibly shaking at the start.’
‘Didn’t look like that at all. You seemed so confident. No one will have picked up on it. How’s your leg though? I really felt for you there.’
‘My leg?’ I’m momentarily confused. ‘Oh, my thigh. It’s… gosh, I’d almost forgotten about that. It’s still throbbing, but you know, I didn’t feel any pain at all while I was singing. Don’t know if it was the adrenaline, or just that I was so into the song. Must be a natural painkiller.’
I hitch up my skirt to inspect my leg and despite the low lighting, I can see a large swollen, purpling area about two thirds of the way up my thigh.
‘Ooh, shit,’ Sasha gasps. ‘That looks sore. Want me to get you some ice?’
‘Nah.’ I pull my skirt back down again. ‘Don’t want to give the people in here an eyeful.’
My eyes scan the room, taking in the lively atmosphere: people making the most of their night, enjoying each other’s company. Men, women, older, younger, a whole range of ethnicities, all packed in together, joined in the sense of community that comes with karaoke. Then to my astonishment, a familiar face jumps out of the crowd, sending my senses into a spin.
It’s Matt. He’s here.
Chapter 18
I fumble to grab Sasha’s hand. ‘Sash, that’s him.’
‘That’s who?’
‘Matt. He’s here. In this bar.’
‘Where?’ She’s immediately alert. ‘Point him out.’
‘I’m not going to point in case he looks over. See the guy with the bright orange top? Matt’s the one talking to him.’
‘In the grey shirt?’
‘Yeah, that’s him.’
‘He’s gorgeous, Lex.’
‘He is a bit, isn’t he?’ I crinkle my nose in appreciation.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Sasha gives me a little nudge. ‘Go and speak to him – before you miss your chance again.’
The nerves from my ‘onstage appearance’ immediately resurface. I want to go and speak to Matt, to get that date that we missed out on. I was so ready to do it earlier. Now, here, in a bar full of uninhibited Friday night revellers while almost totally sober myself, I feel less sure of myself.
‘Right, yeah.’ I pick up my handbag. ‘I’ll just nip to the loo first. Check my make-up.’
‘What? No.’ Sasha looks at me in alarm. ‘You look gorgeous. What if he’s not there when you get back? You need to do it now.’
I glance across at Matt. His companion is clearly in the middle of telling a story and Matt and another bloke are listening intently, laughing along with him. As I watch him, the urge to go and speak to him overwhelms me. I want that kind of banter with him, to have him that interested in what I’ve got to say.
‘OK. Wish me luck.’ I start to get up from my seat.
‘Wait, stop.’ Sasha grabs my arm. ‘Who’s that?’
I slowly sit back down and watch as a stunning blonde, with teeth so white I can see them from here, joins the conversation. She drapes herself across Matt, whispering something in his ear. He laughs, then affectionately puts his arm round her waist. It’s a level of intimacy that makes it clear they haven’t just met. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
‘Well, she’s certainly not one of the staff.’
‘Bugger,’ Sasha huffs on my behalf. ‘I guess he did move on quickly.’
‘Shit happens.’ I shrug, trying for nonchalance, but I actually feel quite flat. ‘How about we call it a night? Not sure I want to watch those two lovebirds fawning over each other. Best not to overdo things as well.’
‘I think that’s a good plan. Just let me run to the ladies’ first. That gin has gone right through me.’
As Sasha heads for the toilets, I try not to look in Matt’s direction, but I’m like a piece of metal trying to evade a magnet. I keep catching myself glancing in his direction, then have to quickly look away. I’m at the point of physically manhandling my chin to keep myself facing the other direction when Matt happens to look over and makes eye contact with me. My first instinct is to look away, but his gaze is so mesmerising I find myself unable to break the connection. Instead I give a little wave, which he returns. Then, to my surprise, he unravels himself from the blonde, excuses himself from the conversation and makes his way across the bar towards me.
‘Hi,’ he greets me as he reaches my table. ‘Nice to see you again. I hope you’re not here on your own?’
‘My friend’s just in the ladies’,’ I reply automatically.
‘I remember you said on the train you liked a bit of karaoke but I didn’t realise you were a pro. You played that one down.’
His eyes search mine. My pulse quickens, and I feel like every coherent thought has fallen out of my head.
‘You saw? I… err… guess I can hold a tune.’
‘That was quite obvious. You have an impressive voice.’
‘Oh… thanks.’
‘How are you? Are you still settling in all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m loving it actually.’ I finally get myself together. ‘My best friend from Glasgow is down this weekend, so we’re making the most of it.’
‘Good stuff.’ He nods in approval, smiling.
There’s a momentary silence between us, during which I mentally kick myself up the arse ten times over for letting the ridiculously attractive blonde have this man.
‘I’m glad I’ve bumped into you,’ says Matt eventually. ‘I actually wanted to apologise.’
‘For what?’
‘I may have been a bit stand-offish last time we spoke. Probably a male pride thing.’ He cringes a little.
He’s apologising to me? After my behaviour? Allowing this man to slip through my fingers has been a far greater mistake than I even realised.
‘Matt, no. No way. I was the one that was off. I was… dealing with some stuff.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything all right now?’
‘It is.’
‘That’s good.’ His gorgeous, melty-dark eyes are searching mine again.
I realise I can’t bear it. If I no longer have a chance with him, I need to get rid of him.
‘Think your girlfriend’s looking for you.’ I tilt my head towards the blonde, who’s looking right at us, her face – naturally – curious.
Matt turns and signals to her that he’ll be right there. ‘That’s my sister. Nosey one, she is.’
His sister? Matt’s words and what I saw don’t seem to match. I glance across at the blonde again. She’s still standing with the two guys Matt was chatting to before, but now she’s teasing the one in the orange T-shirt, arms round his neck – in a very non-sibling way. Which means: Matt may still be single.
‘Your sister?’ I purse my lips in anticipation. ‘Huh.’
‘Baby sister,’ Matt clarifies, as though this is important.
‘Any actual girlfriend here tonight I should know about?’
‘Not a one.’
‘Or back at home? At her apartment? Getting legless with the rest of Broad Street?’
‘No. No. And no.’ He grins, having now cottoned on to my game. ‘There’s no girlfriend or significant other. Period.’
‘Ri-gh-t.’ I digest this rather glorious information. ‘And you don’t hold grudges, it seems.’
‘Life’s too short for that nonsense.’
I bite my lip coyly. ‘Then in that case… how would you like me to show you round Birmingham?’
Matt throws back his head and laughs loudly. ‘That would be great.’
‘Excellent. Err, I might need your number again.’
‘I can’t believe you deleted it. That’s harsh.’
‘I’m sorry, I was—’
‘I’m kidding.’ He gives me a flirty nudge, which sends a tingling sensation right through my body. ‘Got your phone handy?’
I pull out my phone and we exchange numbers.
‘Right then,’ says Matt. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you. Hopefully go better than last time.’
I flush with embarrassment. I can’t blame him for wondering if I’ll actually follow through this time. Even though he’s joking, I feel the need to reassure him. ‘I’ll be in touch after the weekend. I mean it this time.’
He fixes me with his spellbinding gaze once more. ‘I look forward to hearing from you, Alex.’
My stomach responds by melting into a little puddle. Matt walks off and returns to his companions. He says something in response to their questioning looks, then his sister looks across and gives me a friendly smile, which I tentatively return.
‘Oh my goodness, what just happened?’ Sasha suddenly rushes across to me. ‘I’ve been waiting over there because I didn’t want to interrupt and risk ruining things for you.’
I give her a mischievous smile. ‘The basic run-down: that’s his sister, he’s still single and we’re going on a date.’
‘A-ma-zing.’ Sasha bounces on her toes and claps her hands excitedly. ‘Let’s get one more drink and you can tell me everything.’
Chapter 19
By the time Monday rolls round, I’m shattered and almost dragging myself to work. I’ve used Sasha’s visit as an experiment, and now have results, which are that I really need some rest at the weekends. The up-side, though, is that I coped much better than I expected. I can feel reasonably confident about having a life again, as long as I don’t go at it like I do in the office. And that’s fine. I can settle for ‘work hard, play moderately’.
