‘You know they’re not organic, yeah?’
‘No, but you’ve got to admit they’re pretty moreish.’
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the first part of the show flies by. We have a good old giggle spotting Mum and Dad in the studio audience, and Kyle and Emily make silly faces every time they realise they’re on camera. And I can’t help wetting myself when the worst acts from the first auditions (the beat-boxers in their chicken outfits, the guy from Liverpool who sounds like a sick cat, that albino nurse who thinks she’s Madonna) sing ‘Wannabe’ and Justin puts on a pair of fluffy earmuffs.
Archie the dog might be dead cute, but I feel like throwing-up when they show Twilight sticking her tongue down Matthew’s throat in slow-motion. And Sue goes all quiet when Elizabeth McQueen starts singing ‘Three Times a Lady’ and she realises that Matthew’s up next.
‘You don’t have to do this you know,’ I say. ‘We could do a runner if you like.’
‘No, I’ve got to. It’s what Matthew wants. I’ve made his life difficult enough as it is.’
‘But . . .’
Even though the judges are dead snotty about her, the studio audience loves Elizabeth McQueen as much as Twilight who was as disgustingly gorgeous and talented as ever. The trouble is it’s really hard to hate her when she tells Willow that the doctors are considering switching off her mum’s life support machine.
Right now, I don’t even want to look at Matthew, but I can’t help noticing how nervous he is when the lights go up and he’s sitting in the model of a spaceship with his guitar.
Halfway through ‘The Final Countdown’ a girl in black leggings and a headset arrives in hospitality. ‘OK, guys, we’re almost ready for you. When Willow starts the interview, that’s your cue.’
Sue Layton looks almost as pale as Twilight. ‘This is it, then,’ she says, squeezing my hand. ‘I thought he might have . . .’
‘Yeah,’ I say, squeezing her back. ‘I know he’s your son, Sue, but this is well out of order.’
The audience and the camera cuts to Kyle and Emily pointing at their I’m a FaMattic T-shirts and doing a victory dance.
The judges’ comments are nearly as good as for Twilight.
Jesamène: World class singing, world class hair.
Brenda: Tonight’s the night the boy became a man.
Justin: I think we’ve found ourselves a major new recording artist.
Willow leads Matthew to the side of the stage. ‘Wow, what incredible comments. So come on, Matt, we’ve heard from Elizabeth and Twilight – tell us why you should win The Tingle Factor.’
‘OK, guys,’ says the girl in the headset. ‘This is it – you’re on!’
Matthew stares down the barrel of the camera and licks his lips.
‘Wait a minute,’ I say. ‘I just want to hear this.’
‘I think he’s a bit overwhelmed, don’t you?’ says Willow. ‘Don’t worry, take your time, gorgeous. You’re among friends here.’
‘We love you, Matt,’ squeaks a voice in the audience.
Matthew sticks a strand of hair in his mouth and starts sucking.
‘See what I mean?’ says Willow. ‘Now come on, Matt, tell us all why you should win The Tingle Factor.’
‘I shouldn’t,’ says Matthew.
‘There’s modesty for you,’ says Willow, her eyes darting all over the place. ‘Now come on, Matt. Isn’t there someone you want to introduce to us?’
‘OK, guys,’ says the girl with the headset. ‘I think you’d better get out there.’
‘No,’ says Matthew at exactly the same time as I do. ‘I don’t want to introduce anyone. I don’t even want to be here. In fact, I never really wanted to be part of this soulless concoction of anti-talent in the first place.’
Willow Strawberry bares her sparkling teeth. ‘That’s what we love about you, Matt. You’re such a —’
‘They told me to say it was the best day of my life,’ says Matthew. ‘But it isn’t, it sucks. All I ever wanted was to play my own music. All they ever wanted was a freak show.
‘Well, they can stuff it, because I quit.
‘Sorry, Mum. I should never have asked you to do this. You probably won’t believe it right now, but I’m . . . I’m really proud of you. Maybe one day I’ll be better at showing it. I love you, Mum.
‘And you’re right, Bex, I’m an idiot.’
I hand Sue a paper napkin and we dab our eyes together. Matthew grabs his guitar and runs off the stage.
Matthew
Nikki Hardbody is waiting for me in the corridor, arms folded, her permanent smile having temporarily disappeared. ‘Congratulations – that was the most comprehensive professional suicide I’ve ever witnessed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It felt like the right thing to do.’
‘Oh well.’ Nikki shrugs. ‘No harm done.’
She doesn’t sound half as furious as I thought she would be. ‘I don’t understand I —’
‘You didn’t really think we went out live, did you? There’s a thirty-second delay. I had a feeling you’d go all Mother Teresa on me, so I went straight to the commercials. Did you know they cost ten grand a second? The Conservatoire psychologist is just explaining your “crippling self-esteem issues” to the studio audience, and when we go back on air we’ll just say you’ve been voted out. Twilight will win it by a country mile after Ugly Betty sings that horrendous folk song – which is what I’ve been praying for all along.’
‘You said you were rooting for both of us.’
‘Experience has taught me that it never hurts to have a fallback position,’ says Nikki, smiling again. ‘Now get out of here before I call security. And take the Addams family with you. Oh and Matt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t start shooting your mouth about this, or we might have to dig out that contract you signed. I’d hate to see your poor mother end up on the street.’ She blows a kiss and wiggles her fingers at me. ‘Ciao.’
But there’s one person I have to see before I go. Twilight’s dressing room isn’t locked any more. I haven’t got time to mess about, so I knock and walk straight in.
‘What are you doing here?’ says Twilight, adjusting her black stocking tops.
‘I quit the show.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ she says, ‘but what do you want?’
I squeeze the neck of my guitar and try to explain. ‘Just because I’ve left the show, doesn’t mean that we have to stop seeing each other.’
Twilight slips in her fangs.
‘Surrey isn’t the end of the world, you know. And it doesn’t have to be the end of us.’
‘Us?’ says Twilight, with a shrill laugh. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I know you wanted to wait, but now we don’t have to.’
‘Let’s get this straight, shall we?’ says Twilight. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in spotty teenagers. There is no us, and there never will be.’
‘But we . . . kissed. Why would you —?’
‘Nikki said it was a sure-fire vote grabber,’ says Twilight, baring her fangs at me in the mirror. ‘Come to think of it, if I’d known what I know now, I needn’t have bothered. And just for the record, Matt, you’re a terrible kisser.’
Suddenly Twilight’s face is a mask of horror.
‘There you are, Victoria,’ booms a voice I seem to recognise from somewhere. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
‘Mummy,’ says Twilight. ‘I thought you were in still in Spain.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ says the lady in the purple cardigan.
‘Wait a minute,’ I say. ‘You’re her mum? I thought you were in a coma.’
‘Never had a day’s sickness in my life,’ barks the woman in purple. ‘Now, young lady, I think you’d better explain yourself.’
‘How did you know where I was?’ says Twilight.
‘Cousin Hildegard called to say she’d accidentally caught a glimpse of you when she turned on for t
he news. And thank heavens she did. I would never have recognised you in that obscene get-up. So I phoned your headmistress, and after expressing her delight that I’d recovered the power of speech, she told me everything. How dare you forge my signature like that?’
Twilight doesn’t cry as gracefully in real life as she does on the telly. ‘You don’t understand, Mummy. This is what I want to do with my life.’
‘Don’t make me laugh, Victoria,’ says her mum. ‘A girl like you wouldn’t last five minutes in the cut-throat world of entertainment. Besides which, you have all the talent of a lump of wood.’
‘That is so not true,’ says the person standing in the doorway. ‘She’s well talented.’
And I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see her.
‘Dad’s called a couple of taxis,’ says Bex. ‘Come on, Matthew. Let’s get out of here.’
Matthew
I learnt a lot from my time on The Tingle Factor. I learnt that oxymorons are figures of speech and not illiterate gravy granules; that you should beware television producers bearing oversized birthday cakes, and that singing vampires are not necessarily all they’re cracked up to be.
I learnt something else too, something that deep down I think I already knew: Mum’s illness was never anything to be ashamed of. We had a really good talk about it, and she’s so much more positive now she doesn’t feel like my ‘guilty little secret’.
And I don’t hate Dad any more. Things will never go back to the way they were, but last week we all went out for a pizza together, and he’s even doing some idents for my YouTube video.
That’s right – I haven’t ruled out being famous one day. I just don’t plan on selling my soul to the likes of Nikki Hardbody. So I’m only doing my own songs now, and Curtis says that if I ever go all ‘showbiz’ on him, he’ll dig out the recording of yours truly prancing around a telly studio in a doggie outfit.
Actually there’s one more thing – something rather surprising. You see, when Twilight dumped me, it should have been the worst moment of my life. But riding home in the taxi, I suddenly realised that I wasn’t particularly bothered. And the reason was sitting right next to me. Never mind The Tingle Factor; we’re talking about the The Bex Factor here.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. She’s kind, she’s loyal, she’s not afraid to tell me what I don’t want to hear. And perhaps more importantly, I fancy her like mad – which is why, whenever we run into each other at school, I grin like a maniac and totally fail to ask her the billion dollar question.
Come to think of it, why would she go out with me anyway? Curtis said that after ‘two seconds on a crap reality show’, I turned into a ‘megalomaniacal monster’. But I can change, can’t I?
‘Oi, Emily,’ I shout. ‘There’s someone at the door. Hurry up and get it, will you?’
And my heart starts beating in hemi-demi-semiquavers when I lean out my bedroom window and realise who it is.
Bex
I haven’t been here since the night of The Tingle Factor final, and it felt a bit weird when I got the message inviting me. But it seems like nothing’s changed until I reach the front door and see Sue Layton’s coffin propped up on some bricks, like one of Kyle’s cars. They’ve planted some flowers and turned it into a miniature garden with a little pond and everything.
And I can’t help smiling when I spot the painting I did of Matthew in his yellow hoodie. I’ve seen him a few times at school, but I think he must be embarrassed or something, because all he does is look dead strange and run away. When he first came back, they wouldn’t leave him alone. It took everyone about two days to forget he was ‘the boy off the telly’, and whenever I see him now, he’s hanging out with that weird kid who wears make-up.
So I’m just a little bit relieved when it’s Emily who answers the door.
‘Hi, Bex,’ she says, grabbing me round the waist and refusing to let go. ‘Crystal’s pregnant again – I think it’s twins. Come and have a look.’
‘Later, yeah. I just need to see . . .’
And that’s when I spot Matthew, standing at the top of the stairs. ‘Hi,’ I say, feeling kind of glad I wore this dress and not the jeans I put on first or the skirt I tried afterwards.
‘Hi,’ he says, doing that thing with his hair. ‘Would you like to come up for a minute? There’s something I want to ask you.’
‘OK then,’ I say, wondering why Emily’s gone all giggly.
Matthew’s bedroom is right at the top of the house. ‘Where’s Sue?’ I say, as he leads me up a second flight of stairs.
‘Who?’
‘You know, Sue, your mum.’
‘Oh right,’ says Matthew, opening the door with the Star Wars poster on the front. ‘She’s in the kitchen preparing ratatouille. Dad’s coming for dinner tonight.’
I check out the clothes on the floor, the old-fashioned record player, the pile of NMEs by the Xbox and the radio playing softly on the bedside table. ‘That’s great,’ I say. ‘Are they getting back together again?’
‘This isn’t a fairy story, Bex. But at least they’re talking to each other.’
‘Cool room,’ I say. ‘My dad does loft conversions.’
He sits on the edge of his unmade bed looking dead uncomfortable. ‘Oh . . . right. That’s . . .’
‘So come on, Matthew,’ I say, picking up three socks, an empty packet of Fun Gums and The Definitive Bob Dylan Songbook and stacking them on the bookcase. ‘What is it you wanted to ask me?’
He gulps in a mouthful of air. ‘Did you know that Curtis and I are writing some new songs?’
‘Oh . . . good,’ I say, pleased that he’s getting back into music, but not sure why he’s telling me. ‘That’s really —’
‘Hey, Bex,’ he says, grinning like a madman. ‘Did you hear about the insomniac, agnostic dyslexic who lay awake at night wondering if there was a dog?’
‘That’s what you wanted to ask me?’
He jumps up from the bed, and starts hopping from foot to foot like a really bad street dancer. ‘No, it’s just . . . The thing is . . . The thing is . . . I really like you, Bex. And I was thinking . . . Maybe we could . . . Maybe we could go out some time.’
What do I say? I look into his eyes for, like, a decade of double geography lessons, knowing deep down that there’s only one sensible answer. Three weeks ago I was his imaginary girlfriend. It looks like that’s the most I’ll ever be.
‘No, no, I don’t think so, Matthew – not just now anyway.’
‘I don’t get it,’ he says, looking all hurt. ‘Why did you come round, if you didn’t want to see me?’
‘Your mum invited me. People said such nice things about my wheelchair designs that she thought we might be able to go into business together. We’re going to do a SWOT analysis.’
‘Oh . . . right.’
‘And anyway,’ I say, getting to the important part. ‘What about poor Twilight? I thought you were going out with her.’
‘She said she wasn’t interested in spotty teenagers.’
‘That’s not what it looked like when she kissed you.’
‘She told me she only did it to get more votes. And she said . . .’ He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to say it. ‘She said I was a terrible kisser.’
Who cares about sensible? Suddenly it seems like the right thing to do. I’m not going to lie to you – it’s dead awkward to start with. Matthew almost jumps over the moon when I slip my arms around his neck and pull him towards me. And we bang teeth and noses until he stops apologising and presses his lips against mine. The next bit’s private, yeah? But there’s one thing I will tell you: Twilight was wrong. OK, so maybe it helps when you’re doing it with the right person, but take it from me: Matthew is a really good kisser.
If you listen carefully to the radio, you might just be able to make out the intro of the fastest selling download of all time. Because it turned out everyone loved Elizabeth McQueen’s version of ‘An Eriskay Love Lilt’, and even if
Twilight hadn’t got all flustered and forgotten the words to ‘Tainted Love’ I’m sure Elizabeth would have won anyway. And I’ll tell you another thing – when she starts singing, I have a feeling that it’s not all over. In fact, if you ask me, it’s only just begun.
Also available by Simon Packham
Sam Tennant has been brutally murdered in an online computer game. What’s worse, it looks like his killers are out to get him in real life too. ‘The Emperor’ and ‘Ollyg78’ say they know him from school, and soon turn his classmates against him with their vindictive website.
With his father away, his mother preoccupied with a particularly difficult work case, and his dying granddad absorbed in some dark, wartime secrets of his own, Sam’s only support comes from terminally shy Abby and Stephen the class nerd.
As the threats become more sinister, Sam faces a desperate struggle to identify his persecutors before things really get deadly.
‘A great book for children and practically required reading for parents.’ The Bookbag
‘Packham gets across brilliantly feelings of isolation and fear . . . The action unfolds quickly, lucidly and logically – a cracking good read.’ Birmingham Post
The Bex Factor Page 15
