by Mel Sparke
“Joe Gladwin? Ah, Mr Gladwin – I’m Mr Antonio and I’ll be your examiner for today. Could you follow me, please?”
Joe nodded at the grey-haired man, gulped and rose out of the chair with a final fart.
I’m sure I’ll laugh about this later, Joe told himself, feeling more tense than he had done for a long, long time.
Anna noisily clattered dirty plates on to her tray, but Ollie didn’t seem to get the hint.
“Aw, that’s too bad. Well, what about Dylan? Hasn’t he ever done sound engineering for bands? Yeah? Great – sure I’ll wait.”
Anna stared hard at the back of Ollie’s head, willing him to realise that he was trying her patience that little bit too much. But all Ollie did was scrabble about in his jeans’ pocket for more change to feed the wall phone.
The café door tinkled open and a couple of middle-aged women came in, loaded down with shopping bags.
“Be with you in a sec!” Anna called over to them in an unnecessarily loud voice, hoping to catch Ollie’s attention and prick his conscience.
It didn’t work.
“Yeah, Dylan? Did Steve explain what I’m after? Yeah – that’s right. It’s short notice, I know, but Matt can’t do this competition tomorrow. I mean, it’s going to be great, it really is. And you know Andy? Our bass player? Yeah, the skinny one with black hair. His cousin’s going to drive us there; we’ve hired a minibus and everything. You would? Wow! That’s brilliant! But you normally work Saturdays, don’t you? Won’t your boss… Will he? Well, you’re lucky! I practically had to beg…”
Ollie’s voice trailed off as he realised what he’d said and he turned round cautiously to see if Anna was within listening range. Which, of course, she was.
Anna gave him a withering look, clattered the remaining debris of the table on to her tray and stomped off to the kitchen, furious at Ollie’s disregard for her and his work. Since ten o’clock that morning, he’d spent half his time glued to the phone instead of serving or cooking, finalising arrangements for the next day’s big event. It was driving Anna round the bend.
“Oh, hello, Dorothy,” she managed to smile, coming through into the kitchen and finding the two older women who worked there standing with their coats on, furtively gossiping.
“Hello, dear,” said Dorothy, slipping out of her camel-hair coat as she got ready to start her shift, while Irene did the opposite and pulled her raincoat on.
“You two look suspicious,” Anna joked, noting their awkward silence at her approach.
“Anna, could Dorothy and I have a quick word?”
“Well, there’s customers just arrived,” said Anna, pointing her thumb over her shoulder back out in the direction of the front café, “and I’d better see to them since Ollie’s as good as useless this morning…”
“Anna – that’s what we want to talk about.”
Anna stopped mid-rant, seeing Irene’s determined expression.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes flicking from one woman to the other.
“Anna, we both know there’s this atmosphere between you and Ollie at the moment,” Dorothy, the plumper of the two women, began.
“And we’re not here to say who’s right and who’s wrong,” chipped in Irene.
“But Irene and I really aren’t happy working in these conditions. Especially since Irene feels partly to blame.”
“What with me going off to my brother’s golden wedding and causing that row between you…”
“Irene!” exclaimed Anna, “Please don’t think like that! It wasn’t your fault! Please don’t think for a second—”
“Anna, dear,” interrupted Dorothy, holding her hand up. “Whatever the ins and outs, we just wanted to tell you that we’ve both decided something.”
“What? What are you talking about?” asked Anna, her heart pounding with anticipation.
The ladies exchanged looks before Dorothy spoke again.
“Anna, we’re both terribly fond of you and Ollie. But this can’t go on. We won’t be saying anything about it to Nick, but if you and Ollie don’t get this sorted out…”
Dorothy paused, sending Anna’s heart racing.
“If you two don’t get this sorted out,” Irene leapt in, “then I’m afraid we’ll have to hand our notice in.”
Anna felt her blood run cold.
When Nick had gone away, he’d been furious enough at the fact that his battered, worthless old radio had vanished off the premises. How angry was he going to be once he found out that his two oldest, most loyal members of staff had vanished too?
CHAPTER 20
WHAT A PERFORMANCE!
“Ta-NAAaaaaa! Here I am! Ready for action!”
Cat stood in the doorway of the End, arms flung wide, one knee artfully bent inward in the pose of a true performer.
Anna felt the smile freeze on her face. It was worse than she’d expected.
Cat – the professional actress that she was – had obviously decided that looking the part meant you were half-way to doing a good job. Therefore, she’d turned up at ten to nine this Saturday morning in full waitress costume. But like a waitress out of an ancient Carry On movie…
Her hair was perfectly scraped up into a high French roll, but it looked less like an efficient work style and more like the sort of thing Patsy out of Absolutely Fabulous would go for. A skin-tight white T-shirt stretched itself across her ample bosom, the whiteness of it failing miserably to hide the luminous pink of the bra she’d bizarrely chosen to wear today. Below that was a bum-skimming black velvet skirt, worn with sheer black tights.
“And look!” squealed Cat, pointing her foot. “I treated myself to these yesterday, so I’d look really smart!”
Anna nodded as she checked out the black leather wedge shoes. With their pretty ankle straps, they were undoubtedly lovely shoes, but where Cat had got the idea that brand new, four-inch high wedges were what a waitress wore was beyond her. Anna’s uniform had always consisted of a simple T-shirt, jeans and the comfiest of trainers, along with her basic white apron.
“But I’ve got your boyfriend to thank for getting me here on time this morning,” trilled Cat, beaming at a sleepy-looking Matt standing beside her. “If he hadn’t surprised me and come by to pick me up, I’d have been horribly late. You’ve got no idea how long it takes to do this hairstyle!”
“Thanks, Matt,” smiled Anna, who had been very surprised to see the rusty old mustard Lada draw up in front of the café a couple of minutes before. “Anyway, do you want to grab an apron, Cat? They’re just hanging up on a hook in the kitchen.”
“Oh, yes! I remember seeing them there!” giggled Cat, wobbling off behind the counter.
“Thanks,” Anna repeated, giving Matt a grateful peck on the lips. “What made you decide to do that?”
“Aww, well,” shrugged Matt, his dark hair uncombed and sticking up at a stupid angle at this (for him) ungodly hour on a Saturday morning. “I couldn’t sleep last night – kept thinking off all the hassle you were having.”
Anna nodded. When he’d come round for an hour the night before, she’d told him about Irene and Dorothy’s ultimatum and also her frustration at being unable to do anything about it. It had gone on to be the most frantically busy Friday they’d ever had and she’d never had a second to talk to Ollie. Then he’d scarpered off to a final band rehearsal the instant the café shut for the night, having rushed through his kitchen-tidying duties as Anna settled up the bills with the last of the customers.
“So I just thought that the one thing I could do to help was make sure madam got here on time…” grinned Matt, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.
“Smart move. You’re a nice guy, aren’t you?” smiled Anna, reaching over to give him a hug.
“Yes. I am,” yawned Matt, squeezing her sleepily. “And don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“I won’t,” she whispered, sinking into his arms and wishing she could stay there instead of having to deal with another day at t
he End and whatever grief that might give her. Especially with Cat lending a hand…
“How does this one look? Is it cute?”
Anna smiled at Cat as she bounded through the doorway and didn’t have the energy, or the inclination, to explain to her that the purpose of an apron wasn’t to look cute.
“So, what’s going to be my job today? Should I be in charge of cakes maybe?” said Cat, her glossy, pastel-pink lipstick twinkling as she spoke. “Or maybe I could just do writing things down that customers want. I could do that easily. My primary school teacher always said I was a beautiful writer. And speller. Or what about if I make all the milkshakes? I’ve always wanted to do them. How do you work milkshakes, Anna? Is there a button on this or something?”
Cat squinted at the coffee machine, searching in vain for a button that said ‘milkshakes’.
“Good luck,” whispered Matt, bending over to kiss Anna goodbye.
“I’ll need it…” Anna whispered back…
All the participating bands had soundchecked, running through their sets before the audience and judges came in, and were nervously trying to relax back stage before the main event started at 5pm.
Not that back stage was all that comfy to relax in. The Titanic turned out to be the city’s ‘newest nightclub’, transformed recently from being what everyone in the area knew to be the dodgiest nightclub in the district. And while The Titanic seemed to have had plenty of money spent on it out front – with glittering chrome and corny shipshape motifs splashed around – behind the scenes, the decor was as seedy as it must have been back in the days when it was still the grotty old Mardi Gras Club.
“What a dump!” muttered Andy, spreading an old copy of the NME on the floor of the corridor before he dared sit down on the dusty, cigarette-strewn floor.
“Never mind that – the good news is that the rest of the bands are all crap!” Billy whispered jubilantly to the others.
“yeah.” said Dylan, the guy from Central Sounds, Winstead’s music store, who’d filled in as sound engineer in Matt’s absence. “You guys are about three thousand light years better than any of the other amateurs here!”
“Brilliant!” beamed Ollie, a feeling of happiness flooding into his soul for the first time in weeks. “This is it, lads! We are on our way to a record contract!”
“But,” said Joe, stopping to blow his nose hard. “There’s something funny going on.”
Ollie’s spirits sank. Trust Joe to be the prophet of doom…
“What?” asked Billy, wide-eyed.
“I was just speaking to Chris,” said Joe, referring to Andy’s cousin who’d driven them to the finals. “He said that that last band—”
“Who? The guys in the orange dungarees?” snorted Ollie, remembering the pathetic vocals and even more pathetic dance routines of the wannabe boy band.
“Yeah – them,” nodded Joe. “Well, apparently Chris saw their lead singer looking very pally with that bloke who’s the main judge.”
“Who is that bloke who’s judging anyway?” asked Andy. “He looks like a real sad case with his designer shades and his eighties rock-star mullet…”
“Yeah and when’s someone going to get round to telling us which record company’s going to offer the deal?” Billy chipped in.
“I suppose they’ll announce it once the competition starts properly,” shrugged Ollie. “But come on, lads – don’t get all bogged down in bitching about the other bands and stuff. Let’s be positive and concentrate on what we’re here to do. ‘Cause this is the start of our future – the four of us are going places!”
But maybe not together, thought Joe bleakly as Ollie slapped him warmly on the back.
“Er, I don’t mean to complain,” said the woman at the table by the door. “But this isn’t what I ordered…”
Anna sighed inwardly and smiled her most understanding smile at the customer.
“Sorry about that – what did you order?”
“Um, a bagel with cream cheese and salmon.”
“Right…” said Anna patiently, studying the plate that contained what looked like a bagel with cream cheese and salmon. “And what’s wrong with it?”
“It’s just that it’s not cream cheese,” the woman said apologetically. “It’s yoghurt.”
“Yoghurt?” squeaked Anna, trying not to look too surprised.
“Yes,” said the woman, lifting the top of the bitten-into bagel and pointing to something vaguely yellowy. “Pineapple yoghurt, I think…”
Anna glanced over to the table by the jukebox, where four lads sat transfixed as Cat took their order, her tongue stuck out in concentration and her hips unconsciously wiggling to the Blur track playing in the background.
“Sorry about that,” Anna apologised, whisking the plate away. “I’ll get that changed for you straightaway.”
She couldn’t help noticing the time on the woman’s watch as she passed up her plate: it felt like six o’clock at night, but it was still only half-past ten in the morning.
It was going to be a long day.
“The Loud are bound to win.”
“Really?” said Kerry, breathlessly pulling off her coat and trying to relax now that she’d found Sonja standing in the packed audience. Kerry had rushed straight from the chemist shop where she worked on Saturdays to Winstead station, and had managed to catch a train that got her to the city in time to watch The Loud’s performance. “But what have I missed? What have some of the other bands been like?”
“Absolutely rubbish. But none of them have been as bad as this lot!” Sonja moaned to Kerry.
And Sonja was right – the five lads up on stage just now were plain embarrassing, bouncing around in a so-called dance routine completely out of time with each other, and miming badly to a pathetic love song.
“And somebody shoot the stylist!” Sonja moaned. “I mean, orange dungarees, for goodness’ sake!”
“Son! Shut up!” Kerry pleaded. “The woman next to you could be their mum!”
“Poor woman then,” sniggered Sonja. “Anyway, I’m allowed to have an opinion, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but sometimes… sometimes you just come out with stuff and don’t care if you hurt anybody,” Kerry whispered, finally deciding it was time to stop being upset by the Anna/Ollie situation and try to do something about it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sonja, I think you’ve been really mean about Anna. And I think you should say sorry to Matt for slagging off his girlfriend.”
“Hold on, whose side are you on? What about Ollie?” protested Sonja, while someone tutted loudly behind them.
“I’m sick of sides, Son and I’m sick of us all falling out. And I’m going to tell Ollie the same thing right after this competition’s over,” said Kerry, letting everything out. “it’s like we’ve only got this summer together and then everything’s bound to change, with people going off to college and university in September. It’s too sad to think we might just waste our last few months as a crowd all bickering and fighting!”
“But Anna hasn’t given Ollie one bit of encouragement and she’s supposed to be his friend!”
“Son – are you still annoyed with Anna ‘cause you think she’s got a downer on you and Owen?” Kerry ventured. “Because I don’t think that’s true. But if you do, then you’ve got to talk to her and sort it out, instead of bottling it up and getting angry with her for Ollie’s sake!”
Sonja folded her arms sulkily across her chest and stared off at the stage and Bad Boys Poo.
It made her miserable, being told off like that. But it made her even more miserable, realising that Kerry had a point…
“Is she new? That beautiful girl with the short skirt and big hair? Will she be here all the time?” asked the grizzled old man as Anna tried tactfully to shoo him out of the door.
“Nope. She won’t be working here again, I’m afraid,” Anna shook her head, grateful that this Saturday shift had ground to a halt at last.
Dorothy, busy wiping up the now empty tables, shot Anna a look.
We both wear shoes that aren’t going to cripple us, Anna felt like saying.
“Did you see that old man?” said Cat, peering out of the window. “He tried to pinch my bum!”
“Really?” Anna replied, remembering watching Cat as she’d tried to take his order. Maybe the fact that she’d been merrily wrestling her pink bra into a more comfortable position while he’d been making up his mind had given him the wrong idea…
“Uhhhhh… I can’t believe how tired I am,” Cat yawned. “Still. I’ll get home in time to veg out in front of the Brookside omnibus. Can I get my wages now? Or do I have to wait till Nick’s back?”
It was on the tip of Anna’s tongue to say that they still had an hour’s worth of cleaning, tidying and setting up for tomorrow to do before they could knock off for the day. But one glance at Dorothy, who was vehemently shaking her head, put paid to that.
“You get off home, Cat,” Anna assured her. “Me and Dorothy will lock up. And pop in tomorrow afternoon at closing time for your money, if that’s all right.”
“No problem,” yawned Cat, her Absolutely Fabulous hairdo lurching precariously to one side. “See you tomorrow. It was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Yep!” laughed Anna, holding the front door open as Cat clambered into her shoes again.
Fun, thought Anna, in a red-hot-needles-poked-in-your-eyeballs kind of way…
Ollie and the lads from The Loud were sprawled on the floor of The Titanic’s tatty back-stage corridor, too despondent to care how grubby it was.
In a room off the corridor, they could hear the whooping and hollering of the Dungaree Brothers and their mates, celebrating their less than well-deserved win.
“Hey,” said Dylan, coming along to join them and slithering down the greasy wall to their level. “Guess what? I was just talking to one of the other sound engineers and he said that the lead drongo in the boy band is – wait for this – only the nephew of that main judge, Kenny Whatsisface!”
