Accidental Superstar

by Marianne Levy

  ‘So, has anyone else said anything about the video?’

  She didn’t even look away from the TV screen. ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know. A customer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. OK.’

  A very annoying woman with too many teeth pranced around on the screen trying to sell us some washing powder. Amanda even seemed to be listening. Take it from me, it’s a sad day when non-biological capsules are more interesting than your own sister.

  ‘Wanna come upstairs, play some bass?’

  ‘Maybe later.’

  I should have left her to it. Why didn’t I leave her to it? Instead I said:

  ‘So, Adrian took me to meet a record label today.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  At least now she was looking at me.

  ‘And it was brilliant, Mands. It was this huge building in actual Covent Garden, and they had pictures of all their acts up, even yukky Karamel, and the guy, Tony, he was so nice and basically he offered me a record deal there on the spot and I said yes! And I’m going to record the single next weekend! How cool is that?’

  ‘No WAY, that is AMAZING!’ she said, and now she wasn’t curled up any more, she was on her knees on top of the cushions, then tumbling on to the floor, then up on her feet. ‘AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING!’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘So Mum came round? Katie, we’ve got to get you into the shop for a gig, you could sign stuff –’

  ‘Mum didn’t come round. Mum doesn’t know.’

  Well, that threw a damper on things, I can tell you.

  ‘Then why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because it’s exciting.’ Because you are my sister.

  ‘You know what Mum said. We both heard her.’

  ‘Yeah, but . . .’

  ‘So why were you and Adrian sneaking off into London anyway? In fact –’ she held up her hands – ‘don’t tell me. I don’t want to know any more. I don’t want to be a part of your . . . thing.’

  Then, I got it. ‘Oh. You’re jealous.’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘You are,’ I said. ‘You’re jealous because it’s my song and I’m going to be a proper musician.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less.’

  ‘And because I spent the day with Adrian, not you.’

  ‘You have no idea, do you?’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to have intruded on your love-in, but don’t worry. You can have him back once the single’s finished.’

  The light seemed to dim, or maybe it was just because the ad break was over. ‘You know they disagree. And you made him take your side and now what’s going to happen? We have a home again.’

  ‘A rubbish home.’

  ‘A permanent home,’ said Amanda. ‘I thought you wanted that? And you’re putting it on the line . . . for what?’

  ‘I’m not putting anything on the line. Stop being so melodramatic.’

  ‘But when Mum finds out –’

  A thought gripped my neck with icy claws. ‘You . . . you won’t tell her, will you? If you tell her now it’ll all be over before it’s even started. You only get one chance, Mands, that’s what I’ve realized, and if I don’t take it . . .’

  ‘This is a bad idea,’ said Amanda. I waited. And waited. ‘Fine. You win. I won’t tell her, all right? But when this comes out – and it will – I am not getting involved.’

  ‘I didn’t need to tell you. I just thought you might be pleased.’

  Her eyes were back on the television. And then I thought of the other thing I’d come in to say. Which I probably should have got through first.

  ‘Um, Mands. Can I borrow your phone? Sorry, I know it’s not . . . only, I haven’t checked my views on Just Me since yesterday, and as my new phone isn’t –’

  ‘Get stuffed.’

  ‘OK!’

  So I went upstairs and cleaned my teeth, which felt a bit pointless so late in the day, but they were feeling horribly furry. Then I lay down across my bed to try to get my mind around everything.

  I had a record deal.

  I was going to record a single.

  And Mum was going to be fine with it.

  The very second I got around to telling her.

  That Belt

  That belt

  That belt

  That turquoise belt

  Six ninety-nine

  And it could have been mine

  With sparkly stones and bits of felt

  Would’ve matched my leotard

  Popped against my hot pink sweater

  Here’s the thing, that belt rocked hard

  It would’ve made my whole life better

  That belt

  That belt

  That turquoise belt

  Six ninety-nine

  And it could have been mine

  With sparkly stones and bits of felt

  Can only blame myself, it’s true

  As when I went to pay for it

  I had to stand in a great long queue

  Got distracted, bought a bracelet

  That belt

  That belt

  That turquoise belt

  Six ninety-nine

  And it could have been mine

  With sparkly stones and bits of felt

  Would’ve made a whole new me

  Could’ve been a fashion riot

  But sadly it will never be

  Because I simply didn’t buy it.

  I love Lacey’s house, I really do, although I have to say that I find being there a bit tense. Everything’s so clean and nice and not-broken. She’s got a tank in her kitchen with all these tropical fish floating about in it, like jewellery with fins, and fluffy carpets and a kitchen with drawers that close themselves. And a special tap that has boiling water come out and another one that does lumps of ice. And an ice-cream maker and a white sofa without any stains on it whatsoever. Which I find quite stressful to sit on, but Lacey doesn’t.

  I aspire to being the kind of person who can drink Coke on a white sofa without having a mental breakdown.

  Which gave me the upsetting thought that even though I hated my stupid new falling-down house, maybe it and me were pretty well suited.

  ‘Just relax,’ said Lacey, who is fully aware of my sofa issues, even if she doesn’t support them.

  I gripped my Coke can.

  ‘It’s really not going anywhere,’ said Lacey, seeing the metal start to sink between my fingers.

  ‘But suppose I throw it in the air?’ I whispered. ‘Suppose I just chuck it everywhere?’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  Then Lacey’s mum came in with – oh, man – two bowls of spaghetti bolognaise.

  ‘Er, would you mind if I ate it at the table?’ I said.

  I know Lacey’s mum isn’t quite sure about me, but this seemed to make her happy. Very happy. ‘Maybe you do have some manners, after all! We’re watching Alien later, if you girls would like to join us . . . ?’

  ‘Katie can’t watch Alien,’ said Lacey. ‘It freaks her out. She’ll cry and spill popcorn everywhere.’

  ‘Can’t have that, can we?’ said Lacey’s mum, glancing down at my bolognaise bowl.

  Then she guided me over to a table with a perfect white tablecloth and white cotton-covered chairs.

  ‘And I’ve got you chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce for after.’

  I wondered if it would be weird to ask her to put some newspaper down. Or if I could have mine in the garden.

  Lace put me out of my misery. ‘Can we eat upstairs?’

  We took our bowls up to Lacey’s bedroom, me sitting at her dressing table with my jacket spread out underneath, just in case.

  Lacey ate sitting cross-legged on her white duvet cover and she didn’t spill even a dot of sauce. I know this because she went off to the loo and I checked.

  ‘OK, how weird was shopping with Savannah?’ said Lacey. ‘What is this world that she inhabits?’
/>
  ‘She needs to come with us to Oxfam.’

  Lacey sat up, and if she’d been me she’d have spilled her dinner. ‘You haven’t invited her, have you?’

  ‘No! Of course I haven’t! Can you imagine . . . ?’

  We imagined, and laughed.

  ‘So here’s what I don’t get,’ I said. ‘How does a person be Savannah? Because I got a close-up look at her in the changing room and she is flawless.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s just perfect. All of her. I thought she’d have some monster birthmark or spotty armpits or something but she hasn’t.’

  ‘Spotty armpits?’

  ‘Yeah. From shaving them. Maybe I’m not doing it right.’ I showed Lacey my armpits. ‘See?’

  ‘Yuk!’

  ‘That is not how they look in magazines. Can I see yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’ve shown you mine!’

  ‘Did I ask to see your armpits?’ said Lacey, who, to be fair, had not asked to see my armpits.

  I sighed. ‘Just think if Savannah had done the video. She’d probably have had three times as many hits as me.’

  ‘From perverts,’ said Lacey. ‘How is that thing even still up?’

  ‘Erm.’

  I’d been thinking that I’d quite like to watch it again on her computer and see how the hits were doing but maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

  ‘Perhaps I should be talking to Jaz,’ said Lacey. ‘Maybe I should offer her money or something.’

  ‘Or, you could just get behind it,’ I said.

  ‘Huh?’ She nearly dropped her fork. Nearly, but not quite.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Jaz isn’t going to take it down. We know that. And a lot of people are watching it and they seem to like it and I know it’s embarrassing for you but for me . . . it’s kind of brilliant. Like, the best thing that has ever happened to me. And you’re the best friend who has ever happened to me and I’d just really like it if you could be . . . OK.’

  Lacey started to speak, and then stopped.

  ‘And yesterday,’ I went on, thinking it was now or never, or anyway, now or very, very soon and so it probably had to be now, ‘I did something incredible. Me and Adrian, we went to see a record label.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘It’s called Top Music. They do Karamel and Crystal Skye.’

  ‘You hate Karamel. You say they are over-produced and have stupid hair.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not the point.’

  ‘That’s not you, Katie. You’re, like, all individual and bad make-up and split-ends-y.’

  ‘I do not have split ends! Well, I do, but that’s not the point. Which is . . .’ I had to stop for a second to think what the point was. ‘The point is, this is a really big thing for me. And I’d like it if you could be happy.’

  ‘I am happy!’ said Lacey.

  She did not look happy.

  ‘OK then,’ I said.

  We ate for a bit and then my bowl was empty, which was a shame, both because it meant I didn’t have an excuse not to talk, and also because Lacey’s mum is a good cook. One of those good cooks who goes in for small portions.

  ‘The best thing,’ I said quietly, ‘is that he wants me to go into a studio and record Just Me. As a single. I’m going to have a single, Lacey. Me.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious. Well, OK, I have –’ I was thinking of the time I stepped on a sea urchin on holiday, which had been very serious indeed – ‘but . . . yes. I mean it.’

  ‘What was it like? At the label?’

  ‘Bizarre. In an amazing way. Glass everywhere and the receptionist dressed all in black with the most perfect lipstick you’ve ever seen. And security guards on the doors and a lift with a huge mirror in it so you can check you look all right before you get out. And they had really nice biscuits.’

  ‘Did you see anyone famous?’

  ‘Only their pictures. But honestly, it was the most exciting thing. Like, the opposite of Harltree.’ I tried to put into words that feeling I’d had, taking the Tube to Covent Garden, how everything had been so alive. ‘I wish I could always be there. It makes here seem so stuck and hopeless.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Not your bedroom. I mean, this town. This stupid, pointless town.’

  ‘I like it here,’ said Lacey. ‘Anyway, London’s scary.’

  Which is when it came to me, that of course, Lacey did like Harltree. She never complained that our Topshop was too small or that there wasn’t anything to do at the weekend other than sit in the park or pay too much money to see things exploding at the cinema.

  Lacey was contented. She’d probably stay in Harltree forever and marry Devi Lester.

  Huh.

  ‘I’m moving to London the first chance I get,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’ll be soon. Maybe once my single’s out . . .’

  ‘I don’t think it’s legal until you’re sixteen,’ said Lacey.

  ‘Fine. I’ll wait until I’m sixteen and then I’ll get this major pad with a TV that slides out of the end of my bed and a grand piano that sits in the middle of the room and a walk-in wardrobe.’

  ‘It sounds nice,’ said Lacey.

  ‘Will you visit me? We’ll go for ice cream. And rides in my helicopter.’

  ‘You’ll have a helicopter?’

  ‘Yeah! Parked on the roof! And the propellers will be made of gold. Wait, maybe that’s a bit trashy. I’ll have them in platinum, it’s a bit more subtle.’

  Lacey was wearing a thoughtful, complex sort of an expression. It reminded me of something and for a while I couldn’t think what. Then I remembered: it was the face next-door’s cat used to pull, just before it was sick on to our carpet.

  I got ready for a bit of hair holding, because I know that’s what you’re supposed to do when a friend is sick. Although I have to say, the thought does worry me a bit because I’m really not good around vomit and you’d have to be close to it to hold up the vomiting person’s hair. Suppose it was all so disgusting that instead of being a helpful hair-holder I ended up puking on to her head?

  Then Lace swallowed and said, ‘OK then. When are you recording?’

  ‘Next Saturday.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lacey. ‘That might be a problem, I’ve got netball. Do you think you could make it Sunday, instead?’

  Which made no sense at all.

  ‘Um, why does it matter that you’ve got netball?’ I said.

  ‘Well I can’t exactly be in two places at once, can I?’ said Lacey.

  She went a very bright red as she said it, which meant that it was significant in some way. Only, I couldn’t see how. I mean, it was netball. And Lacey played goal defence, which involved standing around for most of the match and then watching helplessly as someone taller than her got the ball through the hoop. Quite what this had to do with my recording career . . .

  Oh.

  ‘Can you make it Sunday? I can definitely make Sunday. Mum wanted us to go and see Auntie Lou but I’d much rather come up to London. Auntie Lou always makes me play with my cousin Andrew and he’s at this funny stage where he just wants to list types of dinosaur.’

  The wind blew rain against the window. Maybe it had been doing it for a while, but this was the first time I’d noticed.

  ‘Lacey,’ I said, trying to think of a sensitive way to phrase it, ‘you’re not . . . there’s no reason for you to be there.’

  ‘No reason for me to be there?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  Lacey looked around, as though she was trying to drum up a bit of support from her bedroom furniture. ‘That is MY tambourine on the original.’

  ‘What could I do?’ I asked. ‘Say I wouldn’t do it without you?!’

  ‘Yes!’ said Lacey.

  I’d been pretty patient. But really.

  I couldn’t put my one big chance of giving my life some kind of meaning on the line
in order to include someone who didn’t want to be in the original video anyway and had spent the last few days asking me to get it taken down.

  There was just no way.

  It was so obvious that it didn’t even need explaining.

  Except, apparently, to Lacey.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. But this is about being professional. And—’

  ‘You don’t think I’m professional?’

  ‘Not at playing the tambourine, no.’

  ‘Well, you’re not a professional singer,’ said Lacey.

  ‘I’m about to be!’

  ‘You wanted me to get behind you,’ said Lacey. ‘This is me getting behind you.’

  ‘Which is . . . brilliant! And I’m so happy,’ I said, trying to sound so happy. ‘And I’ll involve you, of course I will. I was planning to . . . thank you in the sleeve notes! Yes!’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Great!’ I was pleading, now. ‘So we’re OK, are we?’

  She sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Does that mean we can watch Mean Girls?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m in a Mean Girls sort of a mood,’ said Lacey. ‘I’d like to go downstairs and watch Alien. All right?’

  ‘Um, OK,’ I said, trying not to shiver. ‘Let’s do that.’

  She got up off the bed. And then, at the same moment, we both saw, smack bang in the middle of her carpet, a big splodge of bolognaise sauce.

  So the whole Lacey thing – and yes, I will admit that it had now become a proper actual thing – wasn’t the best. Luckily, I had a million hits behind me, otherwise I might have been seriously upset about it all.

  ‘Look,’ I said to Jaz. ‘It’s gone up again. One million, three hundred and twenty-seven thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight.’

  ‘Yes, but have you seen my video of Nicole drop-kicking a brick?’ said Jaz. ‘She nearly broke her toe but it was so worth it.’

  ‘Has it had a million hits?’ I said.

  ‘No, but we only put it up last night.’ She unlocked her phone and turned away. Conversation over.

  Which left me free to sit back and enjoy the ride.

  I must admit the bus journey was starting to lose its excitement, which is saying something, as it hadn’t ever been exciting in the first place. At least it had been a bit interesting, though, to look out of the window and be carried past places I hadn’t known existed, even if those places were just cul-de-sacs and the odd row of shops with a tatty newsagent or a greasy-looking chip shop.