‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘And anyway, even if it was, it’s too late. The shop’s finished.’
‘It’s not! I saw how cool you’d made it in there. You’ve done amazing things. I bet if you went back in this week and did a really big push you could get people in, turn it all around . . .’
‘Too late,’ said Amanda, more to herself than to me. ‘Too late.’
You wouldn’t have known anything was wrong with Mum, not unless you knew what to look for. She was like a TV that had been set up very slightly wrong, her eyes too dark and her smile too bright. Her expressions didn’t stay on her face but sort of twitched across it like she couldn’t bear to hold the emotion for more than a second or two. I’d seen her like this before, in those weeks after the divorce. I did not want to see her like that ever again.
And me? I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I’d been given something rare and special and that I’d thrown it away. As if they’d discovered one last dodo in the world at the exact moment I was eating it for dinner.
So I wrote about it. I wrote about everything. Mum, Manda and Adrian. I wrote about how alone I was, at home, on the bus, in art when we had to get into groups and everyone had someone except me.
If living was difficult, the writing was easy. All those words and notes came rushing up to the surface, like the fat goldfish in the school pond, until my lyric book was full and I was writing in Manda’s old address books and on Mum’s bank statements and on the back of the wallpaper that had flaked off in the hall.
‘I want to apologize for trashing your cake,’ I told Savannah. ‘It was an accident. But I’m really sorry. And I know I basically shouldn’t have shouted. It was a disrespectful thing to do.’
‘Babes,’ said Savannah, ‘it’s fine.’
Was she saying she’d forgiven me? ‘Are you saying you forgive me?’ I asked.
‘Meh,’ said Savannah, as though there was a patch of sticky stuff on the table in front of her, and she’d accidentally put her hand into it, and the sticky stuff was me. ‘Katie, you are so not even on my radar right now.’
Lacey wasn’t much better.
‘I’ve, um, look, I know that I’ve sort of been a bad friend,’ I told her, having got the early bus so that I could catch her as she came across the field.
‘Yup,’ said Lacey.
‘Screaming at you was way out of order. I do care what you think.’
‘OK,’ said Lacey.
‘So, look, can we be mates again?’
Lacey stopped to think about it, the wind ruffling her fringe. ‘The thing is, Katie, all we’ve done since you got the bus is fight. And I don’t want that any more. So, yes, we can be not-enemies. But it’s just easier for me if you do your thing and I do mine.’
It was as though some invisible wall had come down between me and the rest of the world. And whatever I said, the words wouldn’t get across. Like words weren’t enough.
‘Yeah, well,’ said Jaz when I told her, in PE, supposedly fielding during rounders. Only, I was so toxic these days that even the ball avoided me. ‘Anyone can say anything. McAllister can fly. I’m the president of China. You have a weird nose.’
‘Do I?’
‘The point being, whatever,’ said Jaz. ‘Why should they care what comes out of your mouth? Why should anyone?’
Sometimes Jaz really bleaks me out.
‘I just wish Lacey would understand,’ I said, watching as, in the far distance, Sofie chopped at the ball and then ran smack into Devi Lester. ‘If she could just hear how I feel, she might get a tiny part of what’s in my head. I’ve been writing all these songs and she’ll never to listen to them.’
‘Why not?’
‘Jaz,’ I said. ‘You were at Savannah’s party. I am not just going to whip my guitar out and start serenading her in the middle of Maths. There is a time and a place for that kind of thing.’
‘Where?’ said Jaz. ‘And when? I want to be there.’
‘Um, that would be never,’ I said. Lacey was standing in the batting queue now, laughing at something Kai was saying, then bending down to tie up her shoelace, all the time being careful never to look at me.
And then I knew.
I had to sing to her.
Because singing is what I do.
Only, there was no way I’d be doing another bedroom concert. And singing at parties, Savannah’s or otherwise, was out of the question.
What I needed, I realized, was somewhere intimate. The kind of place where people would respect the music. Where they would actually hear me.
Somewhere a little bit romantic. A little bit special.
Somewhere like that little wooden platform in Vox Vinyl, all strung with fairy lights.
Only, it was closing on Thursday.
And Thursday was today.
‘Jaz, I have to do a gig.’
She laughed. ‘You really don’t know when to stop, do you?’
Maybe not. ‘Listen, I know it’s mad and I’ll look like a dick. I just think that maybe this is my last chance to, well, not make everything OK, but slightly less awful.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘What?!’
‘I know! There’s no time, but the shop’s going to be closed tomorrow. Adrian will go away. It’s my last chance.’
I thought through what I’d have to do. Get Mum and Adrian and Mands and Lacey into the room together and keep them there long enough to get through just a few songs, songs like Sorry and Autocorrect and Song for a Broken Phone. And Cake Boyfriend, which, while not strictly relevant, had turned out to be really catchy.
‘You want to arrange a gig for tonight?’ said Jaz. ‘In the shop of a guy who has decided he doesn’t want anything to do with you any more? And you’re going to invite your mum, who’s split up with him and doesn’t want to see him, and your sister, who doesn’t want to see you?’
‘And Lacey,’ I said, watching her swing her bat, and miss. ‘Who hates me.’
‘You’ll never manage it,’ said Jaz.
‘Oh. Great. Thanks for the pep talk.’
‘. . . without me.’
After all the surprising things that had happened, this was perhaps the most surprising. A million people watching my song, I could get my head around. But Jaz wanting to help?
It just goes to show that life is a journey which takes you to some very unexpected places.
‘You’re really saying that you can get Mum and Adrian and Amanda and Lacey into the shop to hear me sing?’
‘If you give me their numbers.’
Which, under any normal circumstances, would have been complete madness.
Only, I was starting to think that maybe something had changed. I’d gone so far down, there wasn’t really anywhere left to sink to, but there was Jaz, still at my side.
I handed her my phone. ‘Here.’
‘Am I allowed to lie?’ said Jaz.
‘No! Well, maybe. Only a little bit.’ I had one more think. ‘Just . . . don’t say anyone’s dead.’
‘You are no fun,’ said Jaz.
After that, I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t drink, either, for a bit, only then my throat got really dry and I found I could.
Mainly, though, I couldn’t practise.
Knowing I was about to play to all the people I loved most in the entire world froze my fingers and made my voice go froggy. After three attempts at Sorry I gave up, and opened my laptop and put in my name.
And the video was gone. It really was over. One minute, a million hits. The next, nothing.
I tested out the feeling, like you do with your tongue after you lose a tooth. And . . . it was all right. Honestly, it was. A bit painful, yes. But liveable-with. Unlike some other stuff.
I noticed the clock in the corner of the screen. I’d told Jaz to have everyone there for seven o’clock. Which was in less than an hour.
No time to brush my hair or put some make-up on or for any of the things I’d been plannin
g to do. Well, the people who’d be watching had all seen me without my eyeliner. They’d seen me wearing a cake. They wouldn’t care.
If they even came.
I slung my guitar on to my back.
6.25 p.m. If I was going to leave, it would have to be now.
‘You can do this, Katie,’ I said.
Even though I really wasn’t sure I could.
The first person I saw was Adrian, unlocking the shop door with this look of complete terror on his face. His hands must have been shaking because he dropped his keys. Twice.
Then Mands came racing around the corner like she was in the sea and someone had shouted ‘Shark!’
‘Are you OK?’ she panted. ‘Adrian, ARE YOU OK?’
‘I don’t know, I’m not in yet.’ Adrian rattled at the door. ‘Come on!’ Then he was inside and turning frantic circles. ‘Where is it?’
‘What?’
‘The fire. There’s a fire in the shop. The shop is on fire.’
‘No it isn’t,’ said Amanda. ‘But look, I need to get you to a hospital, all right?’
‘Not even any smoke,’ said Adrian.
‘Just come with me and everything will be all right,’ said Amanda.
‘What . . . Why?’
‘I had a text from Katie saying you’d tried to throw yourself into the river.’
‘I haven’t tried to throw myself into the river.’
Amanda stood back and looked at him. ‘Are you sure? Not even a bit?’
‘I’m sure. Really. I’m not the happiest guy in the world right now but I’m not that bad.’
‘That is the last time I give my phone to Jaz,’ I said.
‘AMANDA!’ Mum’s car screeched on to the pavement and she was out of it before the engine even stopped running. ‘Don’t you even THINK about it.’
‘About what?’
‘It’s been a difficult few days,’ said Mum, ‘and we’re all very tense but I promise, getting a tattoo will not help. Especially not of a dragon. Especially not ON YOUR FACE.’
‘I’m not getting a tattoo,’ said Amanda. ‘Er, Katie, would you mind telling us what’s going on?’
We went into the shop, everyone still a bit shaken, to be honest, and then they looked at me.
‘I’m sorry about . . . all . . . that,’ I said. ‘I just needed to get you here and I knew you wouldn’t want to come.’
Mum and Adrian exchanged a glance, a glance that could have been the complete definition of the word ‘awkward’.
‘Why?’ said Amanda.
This was so embarrassing. ‘Because,’ I said, my cheeks as hot as magma, ‘I sort of have some stuff I’d like to play you.’
‘Really?’ said Mum. ‘You really think that –’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But look. You’re here now. It’ll only take a few minutes. Promise me you’ll stay and listen, just for a bit? And then we can all go home and pretend this never happened, if that’s what you want.’
Mum looked like she was ready to start pretending now, but, good on him, Adrian pulled back the record racks and unfolded a few chairs, while Manda switched on the fairy lights and made everyone some coffee. And said, again and again and again, that there really was no way she’d ever get a tattoo. Which wasn’t entirely true: I knew she actually had a teensy little rose on her back which she’d had done when she went to Ibiza after her GCSEs.
So while that was happening I tuned my guitar, probably taking a bit longer than was strictly necessary, then shuffled my chair into every possible position you can have a chair on a small wooden platform.
At which point Mum and Adrian and Mands were sitting, waiting.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’m ready now.’
Was I ready? Was it about to be Savannah’s party all over again? At least there weren’t any cakes for me to destroy.
I cleared my throat.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And a lot of writing. And I reckon that the best way to show you what I’ve come up with is to sing. This first one’s called Sorry. And I really, really mean it.’
I let the first chord trickle out from beneath my fingertips.
I was wrong. So wrong.
Wrong about my life
Wrong about my song
As I sang, Jaz slipped through the door of the shop and gave me a big thumbs up.
Wrong about you
Wrong about me
All I can say
Is sorry
That first song went by in a complete blur. I don’t know where I looked, or whether anyone was listening. All I know is that I’ve never meant anything more. I didn’t even notice that I’d finished until they started to clap.
‘Um, so that’s the first one. The next one is . . . oh. Hey, Sofie.’
Sofie, Paige and Savannah had come in and were sitting down on the floor. And Dominic Preston, who was managing to be more good-looking than ever.
Aaaaaargh!
I glanced over at Jaz, who just grinned.
‘The next one is . . . ?’ said Mum. Which meant she wasn’t about to leave. At least not for another song, anyway.
I swallowed. ‘The next one’s called Autocorrect,’ I said.
And now, now it was starting to feel like maybe I wasn’t going to crash and burn, even when the door opened again, and Devi Lester came in, and then Finlay, holding up their phones and swaying the screens in time with the beat.
So I sang, I sang to them all. I sang all the stuff that I’d only ever admitted to my lyric book, stuff that I’d have thought would make them laugh and hate me. Which perhaps it would, later, or tomorrow.
But while I kept singing, they kept listening and clapping, and more people came, some year sevens from the bus, my guitar teacher Jill, Cindy from Cindy’s, the weird boy Jaz had brought to the party. Even – oh Lord – even McAllister was there, and the Head, crowding in at the back, both wearing jeans. I don’t know what was more surprising: that they’d turned up, or that they knew how to dress casual.
Finally, when the shop was full to bursting, I said:
‘Why did you come?’
A silence. Then someone shouted, ‘Jaz!’ and there was a lot of giggling.
‘Oh no. What terrible awful hideous thing did she say to get you here?’
‘She said that you’d be spilling up your guts live in concert,’ said Sofie. ‘And that we had to tell everyone we knew.’
Ah. Yes, that would do it.
Then, from Jaz, right at the front: ‘Why are you here, Katie?’
All those faces, open and waiting, lit in smudges from the fairy lights and phones.
‘To say . . . to say that I was an idiot. This guy from Top Music, Tony, he told me he would release Just Me as a single. He said I’d be going on tour. That I’d have everything I wanted. Everything I thought I wanted. And I believed him . . . which was stupid. Because I’ve got everything I want here.’ I cleared my throat. ‘There isn’t going to be a single. He lied. But that’s a good thing. I think I just want to keep writing music. That’s all.’ My voice went a bit funny. ‘Do you mind if I take a quick break? Is that OK?’
Everyone said that it was, and so I stopped, and staggered into the stockroom on legs of jelly.
Mum and Adrian followed, as Mands called, ‘Is it all right if I open up the till? People seem to want to buy things.’
And as she said it I heard someone out front saying, ‘I never knew this place existed!’
I sank down on to a box as Mum said,
‘Katie, that song. Autocorrect.’
‘Er.’ My eyes slid away. ‘Sorry. I . . . ’
‘Is that really how you’ve been feeling?’
‘No!’ Then I remembered why I was here. ‘I mean, yes.’
Mum’s face did something quite complicated, and then, completely unexpectedly, she pulled me into a hug.
‘It’s OK,’ I told her shoulder.
‘It isn’t,’ said Mum. ‘But we’ll work on it.’
/> We pulled apart, and I saw her eyes focus in on something behind me.
‘Adrian, have you been sleeping in here?’
‘Just a few nights,’ said Adrian.
‘On this?’ She pointed at the lilo.
‘Yeah,’ said Adrian.
‘I thought you’d be in a hotel.’ As she said it, Mum leaned on the stack that was Adrian’s drum kit. Which fell down, making exactly as much noise as you’d expect.
‘Bit expensive,’ said Adrian quietly.
‘So why didn’t you go and stay with Neil? Or your mum? Someone in the pub must have a spare room.’
He rubbed at his cheek. ‘Wasn’t really thinking straight.’
We might have gone on like this for a while, as Mum hadn’t even got as far as finding out where Adrian was cleaning his teeth, only Jaz came shoving in.
‘It’s gone mad out there.’
‘I know. McAllister? At my private gig? What were you thinking? And, how did you even know her number?’
‘You haven’t noticed?’ said Jaz. Then, to the world at large, ‘She hasn’t noticed!’
‘Noticed what?! Jaz, you are making me crazy!’
In answer, Jaz took my hand and dragged me back into the shop, where Amanda appeared to be selling every record she had.
‘Look,’ she said.
‘What? What am I supposed to be seeing?’
‘Outside,’ said Jaz.
I focused on what was behind the glass. And then . . . then I saw.
People. People pressed up against the window with their phones held high, not just a few, but rows and rows and rows, so that every inch of the glass was filled, like we were in a zombie movie, only scarier. They saw me and began to wave and shout.
‘Who are they?’ I whispered.
‘There’s more of them,’ said Jaz. ‘I just looked down the street. They’re everywhere.’
I darted back into the stockroom and sat down on the floor until the world stopped spinning, only it wouldn’t stop but just went faster and faster.
‘How do they know you’re here?’ said Adrian. ‘I don’t know how news can travel so quickly.’
I knew.
Oh yes, I knew all too well. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.
‘Um, Jaz. The people holding up their phones. Were they . . . putting this online?’
Accidental Superstar Page 21
