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Accidental Superstar

Page 12

by Marianne Levy


  ‘In town?’

  ‘Just over in Harltree.’

  ‘And are you married?’

  ‘No ring yet, but I’ve got a great girl. Zoe, Katie’s mum. It’s not all this –’ Adrian waved his hand around, as though five fingers could sum up the palace of amazingness that was Top Music – ‘but I’m doing pretty well, given what happened.’

  Tony nodded. Then, a second later, he was thumping Adrian on the back and saying, ‘Good on you, mate. I’m glad it all worked out.’

  We ended up in the biggest room ever. In the middle was an enormous table, with twelve huge chairs all the way around. On each wall was a big black-and-white photo: one of Karamel, one of Crystal Skye . . . And in the middle of the biggest table in the world was quite a small plate of biscuits.

  ‘Take a seat, take a seat,’ said Tony holding out his hand, which I think might have quite recently had a manicure.

  I sat down as near to the biscuits as I possibly could, but even then they were still way out of my reach.

  ‘So, Katie. Here’s my card; let me tell you a bit about us. We’re Top Music, we’ve got some of the UK’s biggest artists . . .’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, turning the card over in my hand. It said Tony Topper, CEO, Top Music. Then a phone number and an email address. In gold.

  ‘We’re doing great things, Katie, and we’ve seen your video. And we love it.’

  So it turns out that dreams do come true. And not just the one where everyone in my form is laughing because Devi Lester has put squeezy mustard in my hair.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Adrian cut in. ‘What do you like about it?’

  Tony looked me in the eye. ‘You’re so real, Katie. It is just you – your bedroom, your talent. We love it. Everything’s so over-produced these days.’

  ‘By you!’ said Adrian.

  Tony held up those well-groomed hands. ‘Guilty as charged! But then, you haven’t heard some of our guys in their raw state.’ He leaned in and I caught a whiff of musky aftershave. ‘Crystal Skye can’t sing at all.’

  I found myself giggling. ‘She can’t?’

  ‘Nope. But you . . . you can sing.’

  ‘Um, thanks.’

  ‘So, tell me. Where do you see yourself going? Creatively, I mean.’

  I took another biscuit. No one had ever asked me where I was going creatively. No one had ever cared.

  ‘Er. Well, I’ve got lots more songs. I’ve been keeping them in a lyric book. Lots of lyric books, actually, because I’ve been writing songs for years and years.’

  ‘Not planning on giving up any time soon, then?’

  ‘No! In fact, I think I’ve got one in my bag somewhere . . . Hold on.’ I had a look through my backpack. There was my English folder, a charger for my old phone, my sunglasses case, several biros, some broken headphones wrapped around my sunglasses and . . . there it was. With half a Mars bar stuck to the front.

  I picked off the Mars bar and placed the book triumphantly on to the glass table.

  ‘May I . . .?’ said Tony. He flipped through it.

  ‘Most of the songs are ready to go,’ I said, shoving my English folder back in again and managing to flip the rest of the bag’s contents on to the floor. ‘There’s Honour Your Waist, which is about body issues and stuff.’ I retrieved a balled-up tissue from behind Tony’s chair, ‘And that one’s called Mobility Scooting on the Pavement, it’s about, well, mobility scooting on the pavement. I’m sorry, I’ve got lip gloss all over your rug.’

  And while I wouldn’t have chosen to pitch my future career while on my hands and knees scrabbling through a heap that included a necklace from River Island and one of Manda’s socks, it did at least feel quite authentically me.

  ‘These look great.’

  ‘So, OK, Honour Your Waist starts with a kind of strumming thing, just a few bars, then drums, one, two, one two three, and then the melody kicks in –’

  ‘You’re like a young Crystal Skye,’ said Tony, closing the book and placing it back down on the table. ‘So much energy. This is just the conversation I had with her, all those years back.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  Tony glanced up at Adrian, and then smiled. ‘Katie, how would you like to join us at Top Music?’

  ‘Hold up.’ Adrian was leaning across, reaching for my book. ‘Don’t you want to hear any of this?’

  ‘No need. I think I’ve heard more than enough. Katie?’

  ‘That’s . . . sorry . . . I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Um, maybe a biscuit would help?’ He passed me the plate and I ate three, to calm my nerves. ‘So, what does that mean? Like, if I go with you. Not that it’s an “if”. I mean “when”. When I do, what happens?’

  ‘You go into the studio and lay down Just Me. We start thinking about a tour, shore up your fan base as soon as possible, an album . . . and then, if it all goes well, you, Katie Cox, are a superstar!’

  A tour. An album.

  ‘When can we start?’ I said.

  ‘We’ll have to think about all this,’ said Adrian. ‘Won’t we, Katie?’ Then, to Tony, ‘This is all going faster than we’d thought. Decisions like these can’t be made in a rush. We’ll go home, talk it through –’ he threw me a panicked glance – ‘really think about what’s right. And Katie’s not going on tour in term-time. That’s non-negotiable.’

  ‘What? We can totally negotiate!’

  Tony spread his hands on the glass table. They were even more perfect than Savannah’s, and she gets her nails done every Saturday morning in town. ‘There’s no hurry. You take all the time you need.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, casting a triumphant look in Adrian’s direction.

  ‘Although I would say that we shouldn’t delay too long. I had a look at your analytics and your hits are still going up, but not at the same rate they were even a day ago. You can’t afford to lose momentum on this. And of course we need to strike before the backlash.’

  ‘Backlash?’

  ‘It’s inevitable. There’ll be haters, trolls, maybe someone will send you a teddy bear cut in half or something, nothing to worry about. The important thing is to have a new story ready, regain control of the conversation . . .’

  Adrian was tilting his head in a way that meant, ‘Let’s talk about this outside.’ I pretended not to notice. And when that became impossible because it started to look like he was going to break his neck, I pretended I didn’t get it. There was just no way I was going to leave the room. I mean, there are times you can go off into the corner to have a quiet chat about stuff, but while someone is offering you the chance of a lifetime is really not one of them.

  ‘Do you mind if I just borrow Katie for a minute?’ said Adrian.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ said Tony.

  Adrian didn’t ask if I minded, he just yanked me out the door, Tony politely pretending he hadn’t noticed that I was being pulled along by the back of my jacket.

  Only, because the office had a glass wall, even once we were outside we were still basically standing next to him.

  ‘Round here,’ said Adrian, heading back towards the lifts. We went and stood next to an indoor palm tree, which wasn’t the most private place in the world, but hey.

  ‘I’m not sure about this,’ said Adrian.

  ‘I KNOW,’ I said. ‘Next time you want to talk to me, can you please not semi-kidnap me first?’

  ‘I mean, with him. In there.’

  I didn’t have Adrian down as a complete idiot, just a partial one. Even so, I decided I would have to spell it out. ‘He is offering to record Just Me. He wants me to make an album. How is that not right?’

  ‘It’s too fast. It’s wrong. We should be having a longer conversation, this is . . . It’s not . . .’

  ‘So you think that me being offered a record deal is wrong?’

  Adrian leaned against the palm tree, which wobbled. ‘No. Yes! I think this deal is
wrong. We should’ve approached a few other places, waited . . . don’t look at me like that. This is only because I care about you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that we leave it for now, go home, talk it over and go from there.’

  ‘But you heard what Tony just said, there’s no time for that! He wants to make me a superstar but if we don’t start now then it’s over!’ My voice cracked. ‘Before it’s even started.’

  ‘You have the rest of your life to write music,’ said Adrian.

  ‘What, like you?’

  Which even I knew was harsh.

  I suppose that’s why he didn’t reply, but just looked down at his feet as I turned around and went back into the office, where Tony was waiting for me.

  He smiled like everything was fine. Which it was, I told myself. Just because Adrian’s having a freak-out, it doesn’t mean anything.

  ‘One thing,’ said Adrian. ‘Just, let me ask. What’s the catch, yeah?’

  ‘There isn’t one,’ said Tony.

  ‘Course there’s a catch, you old dog,’ said Adrian. ‘I know you, Tony.’

  It was one thing to say all this while hiding behind a fake palm tree. It was another to say it to the man’s actual face. And after he’d been so incredibly nice and basically offered me my dream on a plate. As well as a plate of really excellent biscuits. I felt like one of those old-fashioned kettles. You know, the ones that shriek.

  Tony leaned back in his chair. ‘You ever think about the old days, Adrian?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Adrian. ‘I mean, yeah, a bit. A fair bit. Yeah.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Tony. ‘We were something, weren’t we?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Adrian. ‘We were.’

  ‘I meant to say: I loved your work on Katie’s video. Are you sure you’ve not been putting in a few sneaky performances over the years?’

  ‘Ha!’ said Adrian, looking away, ‘I might’ve done the odd folk night down the pub. But –’

  ‘Because your technique – it’s old school. You’re proper, Ade. You could show those Karamel boys a thing or two.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Adrian was grinning, even while trying not to. ‘I suppose I could give them a lesson.’

  ‘I was more thinking about a bit of session work on the album. Their new single has a retro vibe I think you’d really enjoy. We could make a thing of it. Feature you in the next video. Maybe not a bad idea to give the mums a reason to fork out for their little darlings, too. Fancy building a whole new fan base?’

  ‘I’m in a very steady relationship,’ said Adrian, but I could see he was pretty flattered.

  ‘Well,’ said Tony. ‘Just something to think about. Maybe while you’re thinking about Katie.’

  ‘Ach, I don’t know,’ said Adrian.

  I must have sighed or made a bit of a noise, because something inside of him seemed to collapse, and he said, ‘It’s your call, Katie.’

  Tony held out his hand. ‘So, do we have a deal?’

  I had this very, very strange feeling.

  That if I said yes, I could stop being the girl who had a half-eaten Mars bar shoved into her bag. Who had lumpy skin and a messy room and a brick for a phone; who had to save up if she wanted to buy new strings for her guitar. The girl with big thighs; who’d never been further than Plymouth. I was about to burst free from her, leave her behind like an old skin.

  Which should have been a happy thought. So I don’t know why I shivered.

  Actually, yes I do. It’s because I was afraid. Afraid that this wasn’t really me. The me that Savannah had sneered at, the me that got told off by McAllister, who missed her dad and was fighting with her best friend . . . the true me . . . she’d vanish. The me who wrote silly songs about the way she was actually feeling, she was going to disappear. And yes, she wasn’t that cool, or exciting, but she was real.

  And I didn’t know if I was ready to leave her behind.

  Then I thought, Don’t be so stupid. They’re going to make you a star. This is your dream. It’s everybody’s dream.

  Who even was the real Katie, anyway? Just some girl with chipped nail polish and a songbook full of scribbles.

  And so I shook his hand and said, ‘Yes.’

  And then Adrian and me were back out in the street, both of us with hot red cheeks, half panting like we’d run a race.

  ‘Is this really happening?’ I said. ‘I’m recording a single NEXT WEEKEND. In a studio. A proper recording studio. I cannot believe this is happening to me!’

  Adrian smiled, and shook his head.

  I couldn’t seem to stop talking. ‘I can’t believe . . . we were just playing in my bedroom . . . messing around . . . and now . . .’

  ‘I know!’

  I was spinning, whirling about, bouncing off the cobbles like my feet were springs.

  The sun’s rays had gone golden and slanty, and Covent Garden was full of amazing-looking people, ramming the pavements outside every pub or hurtling towards the tube, and some guy with dreads was playing the saxophone and I just didn’t want to go home. Not yet.

  ‘I was thinking we could go for a bit of a walk around?’ I said. ‘Since we’re here.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Adrian.

  Maybe he had a bit of that sunshine inside of him, too.

  It would explain why he let me go into H&M, which had way better stuff than the one on the high street. This was just as well, as I had real trouble deciding between a turquoise belt and a bracelet. When I eventually came back from the till with the bracelet – which was the wrong decision, and something I still regret – I found him all worked up.

  ‘There’s a place just round the corner that sells Fenders. Have we got time . . . ?’

  Then we were in this guitar shop, and when he heard my news the guy behind the counter didn’t mind that we clearly weren’t going to buy anything, and let me play Just Me on this Ovation in the most gorgeous deep orangey-red.

  It somehow sounded orangey-red, too, or maybe that was just the feeling I had inside of me already, leaking out through my fingertips into the strings.

  After that, Adrian played a vintage Schecter, and then a Coronado Semi-Hollow. And then my stomach rumbled so loudly you could hear it even over the 1965 Gibson acoustic.

  ‘Shall we get a sandwich?’ he said. ‘Or a pizza? Let’s get a pizza!’ He checked his wallet. ‘Or maybe a sandwich.’

  They have a Pret a Manger in Covent Garden, and we perched up on those high stools while the world flowed around us. I was like an island, surrounded by a churning sea of people. An island eating a salt beef bagel followed by a chocolate brownie. Followed by another chocolate brownie, because we were celebrating, after all.

  ‘You want this?’ said Adrian, seeing me eyeing up his muffin.

  ‘Are you offering?’

  ‘No! But go on.’

  We munched away in this happy silence for a while, as the couple next to us had a humungous fight in what I think was Japanese.

  ‘Maybe I’ll go to Japan,’ I said. ‘Can you get bagels there?’

  The man next to us stopped arguing and turned and looked at me. ‘Of course we have bagels in Japan,’ he said. Then, ‘Aren’t you that girl from video? Just Me?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘I am!’

  ‘I love that,’ he said. ‘It stay in my head. I got mad beats!’

  ‘Just Me!’ said his girlfriend, who had green-striped hair and was, for some reason, dressed as an old-fashioned maid, with a hat and frilly apron. In Harltree she’d have probably been beaten up, but here no one seemed to even notice. ‘We do photo?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Of course!’

  They each did peace signs with their fingers while I plastered on a huge smile. It was only afterwards that I realized my teeth must have been full of chocolate cake.

  Adrian was checking his watch. ‘Katie . . .’

  ‘Ten more minutes,’ I pleaded.

  ‘We have to go home,’ he said.

  H
e didn’t sound quite like he meant it.

  ‘When you were in your band,’ I said. ‘What was it like?’

  He chewed a crisp, thinking. ‘A pain in the arse, mostly, we argued over everything. And the way it ended, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But . . . I’ve never been closer to anyone than I was with Tony. I still miss that.’

  ‘Not even with Mum?’ I said.

  There was a moment, where he was clearly deciding whether or not to be honest. Then, he took another crisp. ‘When I was in that band, it was us against the world. With Zoe, however close we get, you and your sister will always come first.’

  He dropped me at the end of the road, then went off to the chip shop, leaving me to bounce up the lane on my own. It was the last part of the day, the blue of the sky fading down into a faint purple blush. I used to have some eye shadow that exact shade. The one time I wore it, Lacey asked me whether I’d been punched.

  The memory of it made me laugh, and then I was running, skip-hop-jumping, getting little bits of grit in my shoes and sending a fat bird squawking up out of a bush and twizzling into the trees, as though someone had got halfway through blowing up a balloon, then let go, only with feathers and a beak.

  Everything was so sharp and clear and still. There was no breeze, and the yellow field seemed to be on pause, more like a painting than a place. I could hear every crunch of my shoes on the lane, the blurry drone of traffic from the motorway, and my own fluttering breath, in and out, in and out.

  It’s a secret, I said to myself. No one can know. Not yet. You’ve just been in town with Lacey. So calm down. Look normal. Be normal.

  In fact, I remembered, Mum was on a long shift that day, so there wasn’t any need to sneak around. It was only Amanda at home, and Amanda never noticed anything.

  ‘Hey, Katie.’ She was curled up on the sofa, watching TV.

  ‘Hey, Mands. How was the shop?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Busy?’

  ‘Not especially.’

  I hung around in the doorway, thinking I should go upstairs.

  Amanda hunkered down, as though she was trying to disappear down between the cushions. Which was not a good idea. I’d seen what was in there when I’d helped carry it in for the move. Let’s just say I put those cushions back in place and resolved never to lift them up again.

 

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