Face the Music

by Marianne Levy

  That made itself for me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘Katie.’

  Someone was calling me. Amanda! Thank goodness. We were going to have the conversation we should have had last night.

  ‘Mands?’ I croaked.

  ‘Katie.’

  Amanda sounded different. Her voice was younger and higher. More like Lacey’s.

  ‘Katie.’

  My bleary eyes tried to focus through a crust of sleep and yesterday’s make-up. Manda was looking weirdly like Lacey too.

  ‘Katie.’

  Could it be possible that my sister had somehow morphed into my best friend?

  ‘Wake up, KATIE.’

  ‘Aaaaaaaaaaargh . . . Lace?!’

  I sat up to find Lacey at the end of my bed. She was fully dressed, and she was looking rather worried.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I think so. Give me a sec.’ I took a deep breath, and glanced around the room.

  Little specks of dust danced in the sunlight. Clothes on the floor. My guitar in the corner. Amanda’s perfectly made bed. Everything was where it normally would be. Except the person currently standing opposite me.

  ‘Why are you here? It’s Saturday morning. Shouldn’t you be –’ I tried to think what a normal person might do on a Saturday morning – ‘asleep?’

  ‘I got my brother to drive me over.’

  ‘Wuh?’ I know I sounded dense but it was still very early. Not even eleven o’clock.

  Lacey opened a paper bag and thrust something sticky across the bed at me. An apple turnover. I ate a bit, and then the lot, and began to feel slightly more awake.

  ‘Fanks, Lacey.’

  I will say this for my BF. She may be a bit fickle when it comes to her choice of companions, but that girl knows how to brunch.

  ‘No problem. Do you want another one? They were on three-for-two.’

  ‘Split it?’

  ‘OK.’

  We had a quiet chew.

  ‘Where’s your sister?’ said Lacey, looking over at her smooth navy duvet cover. Her drawers were closed, the wardrobe shut. It was as though last night’s Jaz rampage had never happened.

  ‘Gone to work, I suppose,’ I said.

  ‘How can you sleep through someone else getting up right next to you?’

  Lacey, I should say, cannot sleep with even a bit of noise in her bedroom. I know this because when I stay over at hers, I can barely breathe without her complaining. That girl hears everything. Even the tiniest possible fart. Which I’d hardly noticed I’d done until she started to laugh.

  ‘I’m great at not listening,’ I said. ‘It’s my super skill. Just as well, given that we’re having to share.’

  ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘Not very well,’ I admitted. ‘Jaz was kind of winding her up last night. I’m finding that friendship a bit . . . difficult.’

  ‘Then why did you invite her?’ said Lacey.

  ‘Because you were at Paige’s,’ I said, and we both went quiet.

  ‘Um, yeah,’ said Lacey. ‘I came over to say sorry about that. It was, well, Paige was saying we had to go over all the pictures from the concert and I totally forgot about the dance party and . . .’ She clocked that her apology wasn’t going down ever so well and tailed off. ‘And I know you’re going through some stuff and I’m so . . . sorry.’

  ‘S’OK,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Cool.’

  I prised a bit of apple turnover from the roof of my mouth, and chewed, and thought about it. What, exactly, had I been so worked up about last night? In the Saturday-morning sunshine, with a nice breeze coming in from across the fields and the washing machine grumbling away downstairs, it was hard to remember.

  ‘Hey, no school today,’ I said, suddenly feeling incredibly happy. ‘So are you sticking around? I should probably work on some stuff for my showcase thing. It would be nice to have some help.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Lacey. Then, ‘Maybe have a shower, first.’

  A few minutes later I staggered downstairs to find Adrian sitting at the kitchen table. He was kind of frowning at me. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Why aren’t you at the shop?’ Saturdays at Vox Vinyl are so busy that it takes both Adrian and Amanda to keep a handle on things.

  ‘There’s someone at the front door for you. A journalist.’

  ‘What? Why? Aren’t you going to let them in?’

  ‘I thought we should have a chat first, make a plan . . . Katie, come back! Katie . . .’

  I opened the door, and there, in the front garden, was a small man with brown hair, talking into his phone. When he saw me he hung up straight away, and gave me a smile so huge that I swear I caught a glimpse of his molars.

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Chris. Chris Murrell. From NTV News. Don’t suppose I can use your loo, can I?’

  ‘Of course you can,’ I said, showing him inside. ‘It’s in there. You have to flush it three times before it works, but that’s normal. Have a good . . . one.’

  ‘Thanks!’

  I turned around to see Lacey and Adrian making huge, silent faces at me.

  WHAT? I mimed.

  Their mouths went very fast.

  SLOW DOWN.

  Their mouths went very fractionally slower.

  The loo flushed three times.

  Their mouths went extremely big and fast.

  ‘Hi!’ said Chris the journalist, coming out of the loo.

  ‘Cup of tea, Chris?’ said Adrian, managing to make those few words sound like he’d lost a battle.

  ‘Love one,’ said Chris, coming in and sitting down at the table like he was a Cox-kitchen regular. ‘So Katie, love, love, love the new single.’

  ‘Milk?’ said Adrian, from over by the kettle. ‘Sugar? And how did you get our address?’

  ‘Milk, one sugar, thanks. Now, what made you write that wonderful song?’

  ‘Oh. You really like it?’

  Chris’s eyes were gleaming. I have never seen anyone so awake before midday. ‘I bloomin’ adore it. You have a real talent for singing what the rest of us are thinking. It’s going to be a smash.’

  ‘Um.’ I hadn’t really thought of whether it would do well or not. But now that I did . . . ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so,’ said Chris. ‘And how it came out, leaked on the internet, and by Kurt from Karamel. Everyone’s all over the backstory.’

  ‘You certainly are,’ said Lacey, helping herself to my secret stash of Coco Pops.

  ‘I’ve never liked them,’ I said. ‘Boy band? More like boy bland.’

  ‘Ha! Hahahahaha!’ Chris bashed the table in appreciation, making the Coco Pops rattle. ‘That’s really clever!’

  Finally.

  ‘And this must be a big week for you, single out, first concert. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Look, sorry, but no,’ said Adrian, sitting down between us. ‘We don’t know who you are –’

  ‘He’s called Chris,’ I said, helpfully.

  ‘Or where you’re from –’

  ‘NTV news,’ said Chris.

  ‘You just show up on our doorstep, no explanation, and start questioning Katie and it’s not on. Here’s your tea. Milk, one sugar.’

  ‘Great, thanks,’ said Chris. ‘Well, OK, I’m a journalist, as I said, and a huuuuge fan.’

  ‘Thanks!’

  ‘I’m just really excited about the next chapter of the whole Katie Cox saga.’

  ‘How did you get our address?’ said Adrian.

  ‘And I thought I’d get a couple of quick comments ahead of what’s going to be a major few days for you! So, this whole Karamel thing. I know where you’re coming from. You’ve set up this battle, haven’t you? Real music versus manufactured pap! The whole industry is starting to take notice.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘No,’ said Lacey.

  ‘Yes! And that online spat, last night, it was fan-tastic.’

&n
bsp; ‘What online spat?’ said Adrian.

  ‘I was thinking I might go back and delete that,’ I said.

  Chris slammed his cup on to the table. ‘Katie, you mustn’t!’

  ‘Mustn’t I?’

  ‘You know that your single’s out the same day as Karamel’s? We’re thinking this could be a lead story. Battle of the bands!’

  ‘Katie isn’t a band,’ said Lacey.

  ‘What online spat?’ said Adrian.

  Chris was looking as excited as I’d ever seen a person. Certainly more excited than, say, my manager and my best friend, who were, respectively, drumming their meaty fingers on the table and letting my precious Coco Pops turn to brown gunge. If you’re going to steal a person’s Coco Pops, at least bother to eat them.

  ‘So, what we’re thinking is, we lead with your crusade to bring music back to its roots. No more team-written singles for manufactured bands. Get the industry back to homegrown, genuine talent. People with something to say. Never mind good looks and autotuned voices.’

  ‘Katie looks OK,’ said Lacey.

  ‘That’s not what he meant,’ I told her, although a tiny part of me thought that perhaps it was.

  ‘And so it’s you in one corner, and your brilliant new song, and in the other, Karamel, with their overproduced single and stadium tour and T-shirts that cost forty pounds each, can you believe it?’

  ‘Forty pounds! Who spends that much on a T-shirt?’

  Lacey coughed. Then, when I looked at her, said, ‘Savannah might have bought me one. Early birthday present.’

  ‘But it wasn’t your birthday. It was my birthday.’

  ‘Have mine, if you want one that much.’

  ‘I don’t want one.’

  ‘Then why are we—’

  ‘You’re the one who—’

  ‘Ahem,’ said Adrian.

  We looked up to see that Chris was watching us. It occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t have an argument with my bestie in front of a journalist. Even if I was right.

  ‘So,’ said Chris, as though he saw this kind of thing every day, ‘we thought, we’ll interview Kurt in the wings at your concert, you doing your thing in the background and then you’ll come to his and we’ll do the same. Show both interviews that night, talk about your singles, see who wins. It’s just what we’re looking for right now, all the right elements, youth, music, social media . . .’

  ‘All right . . . I suppose . . .’

  He stood up. ‘So that’s a yes? Brilliant!’

  ‘NO.’ Adrian rose to his feet like a kind of mountain, if a mountain can be wearing a Keane T-shirt and be in need of a shave. ‘I don’t know how you got our address. But the answer is no. All our press goes through Top Music, and I imagine they’ll take a pretty dim view of this . . . this . . . media intrusion.’

  I must say, it was quite impressive. Only, Chris didn’t flinch. If anything, his smile got even brighter.

  ‘Of course. Totally get that. But you know, it was Tony who gave me your address. Tony Topper? He loves the story. Even moved the single release dates around so that they’d coincide. He’s one hundred and fifty per cent behind it.’

  ‘You can’t be more than one hundred per cent anything,’ said Lacey, which was ironic, because I was pretty sure she was one hundred and fifty per cent against this.

  ‘Katie’s too young to get into some power play to sell singles,’ said Adrian. ‘I don’t think Tony Topper has her best interests at heart.’

  Chris’s head jerked up. ‘Really? Can I quote you on that?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Now, look,’ said Chris. ‘Maybe he doesn’t. And I know that you do. I respect that. Which is why I say, let’s listen to Katie. Ask her what she wants.’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Adrian was clearly trying not to say that he didn’t care what I wanted.

  ‘She’s found her voice,’ said Chris. ‘Are we the ones to silence her?’

  ‘Someone should,’ murmured Lacey.

  Thanks, Team Katie. Thanks a bunch. In fact . . .

  ‘OK,’ I said, first softly, then loudly. ‘OK! I stand by what I said last night. Let’s do it.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Chris. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘I’m calling Tony,’ said Adrian.

  Then we were back in the hall, and Chris was giving me a tiny salute, already on his phone as he stepped down into the front garden.

  ‘She’s a yes. Family’s not keen, but . . .’

  And he’d gone.

  There was one of those silences where everyone is shouting stuff in their heads.

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Come on, spit it out.’

  Adrian eyeballed me for a second. Then, ‘I can’t argue with you on this one, Katie. I don’t like manufactured bands any more than you do. And I agree, the industry’s over-commercialized.’

  ‘But . . . ?’ I said.

  ‘But . . . this is a big deal. You’re going out there, saying this stuff, a lot of people will get upset. And when people get upset, they get angry. And you’re so young. You’ve got your whole life to tell the world what you think. I just reckon that maybe, this time, you should keep your thoughts to yourself.’

  ‘So you’re saying that because I’m young, my opinions don’t count?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that.’

  ‘Because that’s what it sounds like.’ Then . . . ‘Dad would let me.’

  I did know that this was the equivalent of pressing the big red button and there’d be all kinds of fallout. And I wasn’t happy about it. I wasn’t happy at all, especially when I saw Adrian’s face.

  But – NTV News! I mean, come on!

  ‘I can’t stop you,’ said Adrian.

  I looked over to Lacey, who shrugged.

  ‘Great,’ I said. And then, ‘It’s probably not that much of a story anyway.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Adrian went off to the shop. Mum was at work, and Dad, who’d been out on a run, came in, took a long shower and then settled down on the sofa.

  So Lace and I stayed up in my room and tried to work out a set list for the concert.

  Which was, now I allowed myself to think about it, in four days’ time.

  Four days was quite soon.

  Breathe breathe breathe.

  ‘I’ll start with “London Yeah”,’ I said. ‘Because I’ll be in London. That works, doesn’t it? Or maybe I should do “Just Me”.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want Savannah to dress you?’ said Lacey. ‘She’s got these divine sparkly hot pants from her sister and they’re way too big for her, massive, really, so we thought . . .’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Then what are you going to wear?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, in a way that was supposed to indicate that the subject was closed.

  ‘FYI, Savannah’s really good at dressing people. Look at me! I look great today. And that’s all Savannah. I didn’t even have to buy anything new, she’s genius with accessories.’

  The annoying thing was that Lacey did look great. She had this striped blue-and-white cardie she always wears, but instead of shoving it over jeans, she’d put it over a strappy vest and mini skirt, and wrapped a skinny belt around it, which really showed off her waist and legs.

  ‘Your belt is new,’ I said.

  ‘Sofie lent it to me. Those three have the most gorgeous stuff, really, you should see it. Paige has a walk-in wardrobe.’

  ‘So, I’ll start with “London Yeah”. Then “Cake Boyfriend”. Um, I might do “Spaghetti Hoops” – I know Tony’s not keen, but I should do some new material . . . Then “Autocorrect”, “That Belt”, maybe the new one about my dad, “Just Me”, and finish on “Can’t Stand the Boy Band”.’

  ‘That was easy,’ said Lacey, as her phone started to ring. ‘Oh, hi, Sav. I’m with Katie. She seems fine. She doesn’t want you to dress her. I know. I know! I tried my best.’ She held the phone away from her face. ‘Sav says at least don’t wear your jeggi
ngs.’

  ‘But I like my jeggings!’

  She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone. ‘Yes. No. No, we can’t. I know, but a sample sale at Cindy’s is not as important as Katie’s concert. Yes, you are coming too.’

  I opened my mouth to say that if Savannah would rather go to a Cindy’s sample sale she was very much welcome, but Lacey was still talking.

  ‘Supposing she has a meltdown mid-song? Or falls off the stage or something? This could be a complete disaster. Total public humiliation! You know what she’s like. She needs her friends.’ She hung up and smiled at me. ‘OK, I’ve got you Savannah.’

  ‘How generous.’

  Was I supposed to be grateful for this sprinkling of Savannah stardust? Just a few of weeks ago, before the whole bedroom-recording-viral-music thing had happened, the Queen of Highlights, Princess of the Mani-Pedi and High Priestess of Juicy Couture had not counted Lacey and myself among her loyal subjects.

  More importantly, neither of us had even cared.

  Today, though . . .

  ‘Katie?’

  Dad was calling me from the sofa.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come down! Now!’

  Dad is not one of life’s hurriers. This is a man who thinks that missing trains is not only normal, but inevitable.

  By which I mean, if he says come now, you come.

  ‘What?’ I hurtled into the lounge with Lacey, forgetting that the door had recently fallen off and we had to be delicate with it now. It fell off.

  ‘. . . Katie Cox, with her new single “Can’t Stand the Boy Band” is unrepentant. The young singer-songwriter . . .’

  ‘That’s you!’ said Dad.

  ‘That’s me! And that’s the man from this morning. He was in the kitchen, like, two hours ago.’

  ‘And he’s talking about you!’

  ‘Shh!’ said Lacey.

  ‘ . . . said on social media last night that Karamel are the enemy of good music, accusing them of playing songs written in boardrooms by middle-aged men.’

  ‘You tell ‘em, Katie!’ said Dad.

  ‘Shhh!’ said Lacey.

  ‘Karamel have hit back, releasing a statement saying that they either write or co-write all their songs themselves, and that they have the utmost respect for their fans.