A Moment Like This

by Anita Notaro

  I’d been mortified to receive a round of applause as I’d got on the plane. I’d waved a bit, like the Queen, before diving into my seat and plugging my iPhone in as soon as I could, lying back in the seat and closing my eyes, letting the music carry me away. I hummed along with it in my head, the way I always did, and felt my shoulders drop as I gradually began to relax. I looked at Karen now, leafing through the celebrity pages of a newspaper, and thought that it really had helped that I’d kept the same people around me. Karen was a tiger with the press, and held them at bay, and Colette and Mary made me look and feel a million dollars. I wished they were on the plane with me now, but the TV company had been snooty about them coming along, and said it was too expensive when they had their own stylists on hand.

  ‘Who wants to fly to London on St Stephen’s Day, anyway?’ Colette had insisted when I’d broken the news. ‘It’s a day for watching TV in your pyjamas and eating the leftover turkey.’ But I knew she was trying to be brave – that she and Mary would have loved it all. I was just lucky, I guess, that I’d chosen good people like them to be around me, because I knew that my instincts weren’t perfect, and that I sometimes trusted too easily. But with them that trust had been repaid. They were my family.

  But it was hard on Niall, I was aware of that. It was hardly the right way to keep a relationship going, was it, by jetting off for ten days? And I’d barely seen him since the night of the finals. I desperately wanted to ask him where we stood, now that the show was over. Maybe the intensity would wane, now that all the excitement was past. Maybe he wouldn’t have a reason to take care of me any more? But surely that night by the river hadn’t been just a dream? It had really happened, and I tried to keep the memory close.

  ‘So what’s on the agenda in London?’ I asked Karen.

  ‘Well …’ Karen began, rummaging in her outsize leather bag and pulling a thick folder out, on the front of which was taped a typewritten sheet, with a moment-by-moment breakdown of my trip. ‘We’ll need to go to the studio first for rehearsals, because the London edition of That’s Talent! is really thoroughly rehearsed, I can tell you.’ The London That’s Talent! had invited me along with Damien to their semi-final special, even though I hadn’t actually won the Irish competition, which everyone kept telling me was a huge honour. I wasn’t sure how Damien would feel about it, but I could hardly say no, could I? But all the same, I couldn’t help wondering if I was stealing his thunder. I’d tried to distract myself by practising for the show, with Eithne, a new arrangement of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, which they thought would go down a storm with ‘their demographic’ as Karen put it.

  I gulped as she continued. ‘And then after that we have a meet and greet with selected members of the audience, and then a record company bash, and then there’s a dinner with the Celtic TV executives …’

  As she went on and on, I tuned out, telling myself it’d be better not to think about it too much. Just to let her take control. That was her job, after all. And it all sounded so daunting …

  ‘Oh, crap.’ My thoughts were interrupted by Karen’s swearing as she sat bolt upright in her seat.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. It wasn’t like Karen to swear. She was normally completely unflappable.

  ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head and carefully folded the newspaper she’d been reading.

  ‘Karen, what is it? Another story?’ I’d grown used to them by this stage, and the press had combed through every inch of my past: from my ‘tragic’ early life in the orphanage to my school days, dredging up comments from ‘friends’ that I’d never heard of. ‘Aren’t we supposed to sue?’ I’d asked Karen once, and she’d guffawed.

  ‘God, if we were to sue every time we read a lie about a client, the lawyers’ fees would bankrupt us. No,’ she’d shaken her head. ‘We just have to pick our battles, Toni, and ignore the rest, because it’s all just rubbish, really.’

  Now, though, she was shifting uneasily in her seat, looking cross. ‘Karen, you’ll have to show me sooner or later,’ I said gently.

  Wordlessly, she passed me the newspaper and I opened it. There was nothing much, the usual recession stories and celebrity gossip. ‘It’s on page four.’

  ‘Right,’ I flicked to that page and gasped. ‘IS THIS THE NATION’S SWEETHEART’S NEW LOVE?’ The headline was huge, accompanied by a photo of Niall in his scrubs, looking harassed. It looked odd, as if they’d caught him leaving the hospital after a shift. ‘He’ll be mortified,’ I managed, scanning the paragraphs, my mouth opening in horror as I did so. It wasn’t that the story was nasty, exactly, just full of insinuation. It described how ‘the handsome doctor who’s been Toni Trent’s rock over the past few weeks has a bit of a past’. And helpfully supplied grainy photos of Niall as a child with people I didn’t recognize. I’d seen photos of his parents and foster siblings, so I knew it wasn’t them. It must be his first family. Poor Niall.

  And there were quotes from a wizened-looking elderly woman who said she was his granny, about how wonderful his natural parents were, and how he’d been wrenched away from them. ‘It nearly broke their hearts,’ she moaned. I felt my pulse race. From what he’d told me, they had never tried to get in touch with him, or made any effort once he’d been placed in care, so I knew that this would hurt.

  ‘Dave Byrne. That little shit,’ Karen was saying, two spots of red on her cheeks. Then she managed to compose herself. ‘It’s all just rubbish, Toni.’ I felt her hand on my arm, saw the look of concern in her face. ‘You have to put it out of your mind.’

  I looked at her sharply. ‘That’s fine, Karen, when it’s about me. I don’t care what they say then. But Niall’s done nothing except be a friend and a support, and this is what he gets. I don’t know how I’ll explain it to him.’

  ‘You don’t have to, because he’ll know it wasn’t you. You didn’t write this crap. Dave Byrne did, having wormed his way into your confidence. Wait till I get hold of him. It’ll be the last story he covers, if I have my way.’

  I thought of Dave Byrne, smiling at me in his leather jacket, and I felt the colour rush to my cheeks. Oh, God, what had I said to him? I didn’t remember ever having mentioned Niall, but I couldn’t be sure. I racked my brains, trying to think what I’d said to him over the past few weeks. He’d taken to calling me every so often, for a ‘friendly chat’ or to check some detail, and it had all seemed fairly harmless. I was sure I hadn’t told him anything really private.

  ‘I gave him my number,’ I blurted.

  ‘Oh, Toni,’ Karen said, looking at me reproachfully. ‘Didn’t I warn you to let me deal with the press? What on earth got into you?’

  Tears sprang into my eyes. ‘I thought it was all harmless. And he was so friendly.’

  Karen’s mouth was set in a grim line. ‘That’s the way these people work, Toni. They sneak into your life, pretending to be a mate, but really, they’re just gathering information for their nasty little stories.’ She ran a hand through her blonde curls, and then attempted a weak smile. ‘Look, don’t blame yourself. You were just naïve. I’m sorry you had to learn the hard way, that’s all.’ And she patted my hand.

  I shook my head. ‘I do blame myself, Karen. If Niall wasn’t going out with me, none of this would have happened. I need to speak to him.’ I need to ask him if he spoke to anyone, I thought, because I know I didn’t say anything. I know. But then, Niall was the last person to talk to the media, I was certain.

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ Karen was firm. ‘But you’ll have to wait until we land at Heathrow, and until then you can do nothing, so just put it out of your mind and concentrate on our plans.’

  She was being harsh, but she was right, I supposed. And then she added more gently, ‘I’ll get Colman to ring them and tell them no more exclusives if they continue to print this kind of crap. And then I’ll break Dave Byrne’s legs.’ She smiled. Colman was Celtic’s lawyer, a small man in an expensive suit who was as tough as old boots. He had successfully threatened to sue over
two particularly nasty articles about my childhood, and the papers had backed off. I knew that I could rely on him.

  I nodded mutely. ‘I’m sure it wouldn’t stop Dave Byrne, but thanks,’ I said, wondering why just wanting to sing could lead to this. But how on earth had the paper got hold of the story?

  And then suddenly the penny dropped. The texts, the story. It all came together. Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? It was so obvious. The look on her face that last time we’d met. Amanda.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I said out loud.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think I know who’s behind the story.’

  She looked at me sharply. ‘You do?’

  I nodded. ‘I think so—’

  I was about to tell her when she interrupted me. ‘The thing is, it’s not important, Toni. Believe me, there will be tonnes of people out there who will want to get at you, because you’re so talented and successful, and this is one of the ways they can do so, by selling some half-assed story about you to the tabloids. But you have to rise above it, really you do, and focus on what’s important: the singing.’

  But what about Amanda? I thought. Shouldn’t I confront her, say something to her? I couldn’t say anything to Karen, of course, or she’d think I was completely paranoid, so instead I just swallowed and nodded. ‘You’re right. OK.’ I tried to relax, but I kept fidgeting, waiting for the flight to be over so that I could call Niall. I just needed to talk to him, to check that he was OK. He was the only person I could tell about Amanda – the only one I could trust with the information.

  As soon as we landed, I dialled his number, but his phone was switched to voicemail. I didn’t want to, but I had to leave a message in the end. ‘Niall … not sure if you’ve read the papers, but if you have, I’m sorry. It wasn’t me who told them that, honestly. I need to talk to you, so, ehm, will you call me back?’

  I pressed ‘disconnect’ and sighed, while Karen pretended not to listen, her back turned to me at the baggage carousel. Then she patted me on the back. ‘C’mon, Wembley awaits.’

  ‘Wembley Arena – you know, I can’t believe I’ll be singing there,’ I said.

  ‘Wembley Stadium,’ Karen corrected me, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

  I looked at her, my mouth open. ‘I can’t sing there. It’s huge.’

  ‘Yes it is, and yes you can. This is the biggest show in the country, and you are in it, by special request, so get used to it.’ She smiled, softening her tone when she saw the look on my face. ‘And of course, you’ll be fabulous.’

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ I said out loud when I got to the rehearsal studio, a vast warehouse in west London.

  ‘I know.’ Karen nodded. ‘It makes the Irish production look as if it’s been done in a matchbox, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It sure does,’ I breathed, taking in the orchestra, the swarms of technicians beavering around in the vast, open space.

  ‘Hi, you must be Toni.’ A friendly looking guy came towards us, a large pair of earphones around his neck. ‘Mac, the floor manager,’ he said, extending a hand.

  ‘This place is huge,’ I managed.

  Mac took one look at my terrified expression and smiled reassuringly. ‘It is, but remember, it’s only a rehearsal, and you’re among friends, so try to relax, OK?’ He smiled. ‘Now, you have a runner assigned to you. She’ll show you to your dressing room, and you can leave your stuff there. She is at your disposal for the day, so ask her for anything you need, OK?’

  I swallowed, thinking of the tiny, cramped dressing rooms in Dublin, stuffed with hordes of performers, make-up artists and hangers-on. This was in another league. I had my very own runner. ‘Thanks,’ I said nervously, allowing myself to be led away by a lovely young girl who introduced herself as Sharon. She was tall and willowy and looked more like a pop star than a runner.

  ‘How was the flight?’ she asked as we walked down another of those endless corridors.

  ‘Great, short,’ I said, thinking suddenly of the tabloid story and wondering when I could try Niall again. I began to panic at the thought of it, looking at my mobile as if it would answer me back. Maybe I should ring Amanda, confront her? But no, what if it wasn’t her? I’d have lost a friend for ever, then, even if I hadn’t spoken to her since that coffee after the semis. Surely she wouldn’t do this to me? But then I thought of the expression on her face when we’d been doing the photocall in St Stephen’s Green. How weary she’d sounded, how cynical. Maybe that’s how you feel if you chase a dream for years and it never comes true. She’d wanted it so badly, I thought. More than I did, and yet I was the one singing at Wembley, not her.

  My heart fluttered with anxiety as I worried about what to do. I had no idea what I’d say to Amanda. After all, how do you broach a subject like that? ‘Have you been sending me nasty texts? Have you been selling my story to the tabloids?’ It sounded so paranoid, I thought, when you put it that way. No, I’d wait, I decided, until after I’d spoken to Niall. He’d know what was best.

  Sharon showed me to a huge dressing room with a TV and its own bathroom. There was also a tray with fruit, water, a flask of coffee and lots of little treats to eat. It felt more like a luxury hotel suite than a dressing room. I couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Right, I’ll leave you for a few moments to get comfortable, and then I’ll be back with Karen, if I can track her down.’ Sharon smiled. Then the door closed behind her and I was alone.

  I tried Niall again, but there was no signal, so I gave up and just sat there for a few moments, unable to believe I was going to be rehearsing for a show at Wembley Stadium, of all places. No matter how often I thought about it, it seemed like a dream.

  Then there was a knock on the door and Damien burst into the room, full of energy and high spirits as usual. Honestly, he was like a puppy sometimes.

  ‘Toni!’ He ran over to me and pulled me into a bear hug. ‘Can you bloody believe it? You and me. Here. About to do Wembley! How bloody fantastic is that?’ And he started dancing me around the room, singing, ‘We are famous, we are famous,’ over and over again.

  Laughing, I had to beg him to stop. ‘Calm down or you’ll burn out before tonight.’

  But he shook his head. ‘No way, baby. I am here as winner of That’s Talent! Ireland, and boy, am I going to make the best of it. You don’t know how long this’ll last, Toni,’ he said. ‘This time next week, you could be back in the middle of nowhere, and I could be packing supermarket shelves again. So we owe it to ourselves to enjoy it.’ And he looked at me with that cute grin of his, his head cocked to one side.

  All of a sudden I felt better. Damien always cheered me up with his buoyancy, his zest for life. ‘You’re right,’ I said, managing a smile. His good humour was infectious.

  ‘Great, so you’ll come with me to the after-party tonight? After all, we are a couple …’ he said mischievously.

  ‘You mean … a date?’

  I opened my mouth to tell him that Niall was on his way, but he interrupted. ‘I know you’ve got that doctor fellah in Dublin, so don’t worry. We’ll just have a bit of fun … and I’ll be the perfect gentleman … promise.’ That cheeky grin again.

  I laughed and said, ‘OK. If you promise to behave.’

  ‘Me? When have I ever misbehaved?’ He pretended to be offended. ‘Now, c’mon, let’s check this place out.’

  ‘I have to practise—’ I began.

  ‘Sure, sure, I know.’ He looked crestfallen, then his expression brightened. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we see if we can knock out a duet while we’re waiting?’

  ‘A duet?’

  ‘Sure, both of us singing together, you know?’

  ‘I know what a duet is, Damien.’ I smiled.

  ‘Well, great, let’s give it a shot. I’ll go get my guitar,’ he said, and bounded off out the door. God, he’d tired me out already, I thought, as I watched his retreating back.

  In the end, I was glad of the duet, because we whiled away a couple of hours picking ou
t a melody while we waited for rehearsals to begin. It was fun, working with Damien. Our voices meshed well together, and I found that I could actually contribute something to the process of creating the tune and lyrics.

  He was pleasantly surprised. ‘And there was I, thinking that you were just a great cover singer. You can make songs, too. I’m impressed.’

  I blushed. ‘Thanks, Damien. I’d actually like to write more of my own stuff and this … well, it was fun. Thanks.’

  To my embarrassment, he leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. He smelled of peppermints and aftershave. ‘It was fun, wasn’t it? We’re more alike than you think, Toni.’

  I didn’t know what to say, so I did my usual, staring at my knees and blushing, wishing that I had something to say, something exciting and witty. Thankfully, I was saved by Karen and Sharon, who both appeared at the same time.

  ‘Wow, that was fantastic,’ Karen said. ‘I heard it from outside the room. Maybe we could get you on together.’

  I wasn’t sure if she was joking, but Damien, of course, was enthusiastic. ‘Brilliant, Karen. It’s not ready yet, but there’s something there, definitely. Will keep you posted.’ He grinned his boyish grin and I wondered why I didn’t have that confidence, to tell Karen that I wasn’t quite ready yet. Instead, I just jumped to attention, obedient girl that I was.