As I walked through the door of the form room, I heard someone say:
‘Here she is.’
And someone else say:
‘This is going to be interesting.’
And then Paige and Sofie just came at me like they were a pair of pigeons and I was a chip:
‘Katie, it’s . . . ?’
‘What are you . . . ?’
Then they ran out of words.
‘Can someone please tell me what has happened?’
Silence. The whole form just stared.
‘Someone? Anyone?’
The crowd parted to reveal Savannah, her beautiful face looking beautifully pale.
‘We’ve seen. Don’t try to deny it, Katie. We all know.’
Holding out her gold-plated phone like it was some kind of religious offering, she began to walk towards me in these slow steps that seemed designed to make me want to scream. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait the five minutes it would have taken for her to get to me; I just leaned forward and snatched it.
HYPOCRITE
In her latest single, teen sensation Katie Cox tells us that she hates boy bands. But we know better.
An unnamed source, speaking exclusively to Pop Trash, told how Cox, watching from the wings of the Karamel concert, laughed, smiled, clapped and sang to lead singer Kurt Thorpe, before engaging in a long and personal chat just after the show ended. Whatever she’s been telling her fans, Ms Cox clearly has ideas of her own.
The revelations come after what was billed by Top Music as the greatest chart battle in twenty years, between Cox’s brand of ‘real’ music and the more processed sound so beloved of Karamel’s fans. Thorpe took to social media to state, ‘Peace and love to all our fans who bought the single, and to all who bought Katie Cox’s song,’ while Cox’s account carried the message, ‘Karamel – u guys still suck’.
Despite her strong words, in her interview with NTV news, Cox appeared unsettled. Clearly coming so close to her idols left the young singer-songwriter a little hot under the collar.
With her single languishing at the bottom of the charts, we ask, is now the time for Katie Cox to come clean about her deception? Her remaining fans surely deserve the truth.
‘Yeah.’ I looked up from the phone to see Lacey, right in front of me. She was gripping Savannah’s hand. ‘I think a bit of truth would be nice.’
‘But . . . where . . . how did they . . . who . . . ?’
‘That’s today’s Pop Trash,’ said Paige, who I think thought she was being helpful. ‘And it’s on TMZ too, and MailOnline and Jezebel and Just Jared. And E! And Perez Hilton did this whole thing . . . I’ll send it to you if you want.’
‘It’s not true,’ I said, hopelessly. It was, after all, absolutely true.
‘You lie and you lie and you lie,’ said Lacey.
‘I . . .’
‘It explains so much!’ She was talking more to herself than she was to me. ‘Why you were humming “Clap Your Hands” in the loo last week. Why you didn’t invite me to their concert with you. Why you wanted me to come over and play all their songs.’
I couldn’t speak.
‘And you told Jaz?’
I still couldn’t speak. Instead, I found myself looking down at my wrist and fiddling like crazy with my birthday charm bracelet, as if there was a chance that some tiny chunks of silver might save me, which there was no way they could.
‘I don’t want you wearing that,’ said Lacey. ‘Take it off.’
Everything seemed to go dark.
‘It’s very hard,’ said another voice. ‘I mean, obvs, I’ve known Katie for a while and we’re in the same form. But I think my loyalties have to be with my boyfriend Kolin, because he is very upset and completely blameless and he is my boyfriend so I do need to be there for him right now, since he is my boyfriend. Also, Katie is clearly rotten to the core.’
‘You’re a very loyal person, Savannah.’
‘I know. I can’t help it.’
A buzz of conversation around me, and then Ms McAllister’s voice,
‘Good morning, everyone. Savannah, that skirt is not even close to regulation length. I would ask you take it off, but I doubt I’d notice. Please go to the office right now and ask for something from lost property. And someone catch Katie, she is clearly about to faint.’
Then I was on the floor, my form teacher’s face filling my vision. ‘Katie?’
‘I’m all right,’ I said.
‘You are grey,’ said McAllister. ‘Lacey, take Katie to the sick room.’
‘No,’ said Lacey.
‘Wh— oh, for goodness sake. I will take her myself.’ Then, like she was Tarzan and I was Jane, McAllister lifted me into her arms. ‘The rest of you, assembly.’
It was Dad who drove me home, in a smart silver car I’d not seen before.
‘A Honda Jazz, would you believe? And I asked for a brand-new BMW!’
‘What? Where?’ I was still having trouble forming sentences.
‘Car rental. Your Adrian didn’t seem to want me to borrow his any more, so I made the trip to Hertz.’ He thumped the wheel. ‘The joys of the open road!’
‘Umph.’
‘You all right?’
‘Er, not really. That’s why I’ve been sent home from school.’
‘I thought you were just faking!’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I feel terrible.’
‘Don’t puke on the upholstery, will you?’
‘I won’t.’
I managed to stagger up the drive and into my bedroom, Dad standing in the doorway.
‘Can I get you anything, princess?’
I managed a laugh. ‘Did you see the stories?’ After four tries, I managed to unhook the bracelet, and I dropped it on to my bedside table, where it sat in a sad little heap. ‘Maybe you could get me a new life.’
He flapped a hand. ‘That rubbish? Ignore it!’
‘Dad . . . I can’t.’
‘By this time tomorrow everyone will have forgotten it.’ He patted his pocket. ‘Got to go, K. You have a little sleep. Your mum’ll be up soon.’
I did try to sleep, but it’s not easy at eleven in the morning, even for someone as good at it as me.
All I could think was that someone had betrayed me.
Jaz?
Jaz.
No wonder she hadn’t come to school.
Only . . .
No, of course it was her.
Of course it was.
Can’t believe u went to Pop Trash, Jaz.
I thought we were friends
The message came back a moment later.
Can’t believe you think I’d do that.
And I thought we were friends 2.
But . . .
U were the only one I told
Katie, read the article properly. I wasn’t at the concert was I
I read it again. And – aargh – she was right.
An unnamed source, speaking exclusively to Pop Trash, told how Cox, watching from the wings of the Karamel concert laughed, smiled, clapped and sang to lead singer Kurt Thorpe, before engaging in a long and personal chat just after the show ended.
Jaz couldn’t have known that.
Soz Jaz
No reply.
So if it wasn’t Jaz, then it had to be someone else.
Of course. It was so obvious. I don’t know why I’d ever thought it was Jaz.
When it was Kurt.
He had seen me cheer for him. He knew I was still releasing my song.
I’d betray me, under the same circumstances.
Only . . . when we’d talked, I suppose I’d thought we had some kind of connection, in a way I’d never really had with a boy before. Scratch that, in a way I’d never really had with anyone.
Which just made me hate him more.
I opened my laptop.
KTCoX: Shocked Kurt_Karamel would sell me out like that just 2 get his single to chart
In my head I could hear Amanda and Lacey telling me th
at I should step away from the keyboard. But only in my head. It wasn’t like either of them was actually there.
I hit return.
Kurt_Karamel: Nothing to do with me. But v glad to hear u r a fan ☺
KTCoX: U sold me 2 the press
Kurt_Karamel: I would never do that. You know I wouldn’t.
Which did sort of feel true.
Then I caught myself. Never mind feelings. The point was, he had.
KTCoX: I know what I see
Kurt_Karamel: Out of line, Katie. You need to apologize right now
KTCoX: U need to apologize. To me and to all of HUMANITY
Which felt pretty satisfying, I can tell you.
What could he possibly come back with?
I waited.
And waited.
Then I refreshed.
And refreshed, and refreshed.
And, nothing. Except that, after a few seconds, his feed vanished.
He’d only gone and BLOCKED me!
Which kind of said it all.
And I’d trusted him.
I let out a howl.
‘What? Are you all right? Your father said you’d come home from school . . .’
Mum’s head came poking round the door. She looked exhausted. Night shifts always take it out of her, but this was something worse.
‘I came over a bit funny,’ I said, as she padded across the floor to feel my glands with warm fingertips.
‘You’ll live. Had some water? A paracetamol?’
I hadn’t, but I nodded.
‘This is about that story, isn’t it? I’ve been getting messages all morning.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But, I’m OK. I am.’
‘Are you?’
‘By this time tomorrow, everyone will have forgotten about it.’
She folded her arms. ‘That’s just the sort of thing your father would say.’
‘It’s fine, Mum.’
She looked at me strangely for a moment, as though she was trying to decide whether or not to say something. Then: ‘Adrian called. Top Music have asked if you might go in to see them, about your album.’
‘Really?’ I felt slightly better. No, a lot better.
A meeting, in that glass office, with the biscuits and the black-and-white photos.
And most of all, a chance to go back and agree to record that song about partying late or kittens or whatever.
Because if that’s what it would take to get back into Top Music’s good books, I’d do it. Those lyrics they’d shown me weren’t bad, not really, and a tune was even starting to suggest itself, a fast, rumbly set of chords, leading into a—
‘Katie, this isn’t good for you. I’m saying this as your mother. Stop now. It’s gone too far.’
‘I said I’d stop when it was making me unhappy. And I’m happy! I’m really happy! I’m going to see my label. To plan my album!’
She gave me a quick kiss on the forehead. ‘I’m going to bed.’
I stretched out and looked up, through my window, and into the clouds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘Katie! Great to see you! Thanks for coming by at such short notice.’
‘That’s OK. It wasn’t like I was doing anything else,’ I said, and at the same time, Adrian said:
‘Good to see you, Tony.’
We were standing in the lobby of Top Music, that glass ceiling slicing up the sunshine and throwing it down over us like liquid confetti.
‘Right, let’s go on up,’ said Tony. ‘Did you get here all right? Traffic?’
‘Got the train,’ said Adrian. ‘You know what the M25 can be like.’
‘I do,’ said Tony, in what was surely one of the most boring conversations in human history. ‘I always say to Emma, it’s worth having a decent car; we spend enough time in it.’
‘What you driving these days, Tone?’
‘A Maserati – not as much fun as I’d like, but it does the job. You?’
Thank goodness I was so nervous, otherwise I’d probably have fallen asleep.
We sat down opposite Tony’s enormous desk, with its clutch of leather-framed photos: Tony and a pretty blonde lady on the deck of a boat, his shirt open and his tan deeper than ever; Tony and Karamel, on the stage of what looked like The X Factor; and a new one of Tony being interviewed by Chris, on NTV news.
No biscuits today, I noticed.
Tony leaned forward and fixed me with his gaze.
‘Well, now.’
‘Mmm.’
‘This is.’
‘Mm?’
We seemed to have got stuck just making noises at each other. I decided to nudge things along.
‘Is . . . this . . . about the last few days?’ I said.
‘It is,’ said Tony. ‘How would you say it’s been going?’
I sat up. ‘Right. Well, not great, obviously.’
Tony nodded, once, then twice.
‘So I suppose the question is, what do we do next?’ I gave him what was supposed to be my most charming smile. ‘It’s clear that I’m not the best person to be in control of . . . me . . . so I’m willing to do whatever you tell me to do.’
Under the table, I felt Adrian give my knee a squeeze.
We both waited.
‘Katie,’ said Tony. ‘Katie, Katie, Katie. You are quite something, you know that?’
‘Yes!’
‘I’ve never met an artist quite like you. In fact, I’ve never met an artist anything like you.’
Adrian gave me the tiniest of winks.
‘You do go your own sweet way, don’t you?’
‘I do!’
‘Look,’ said Tony. ‘The problem is this. Karamel are now at number one. And your single has dropped down to ninety-four. How can I put this? People don’t buy music that’s based on hate. They buy out of love.’
‘But . . . the iTunes chart won’t include all the CD sales, will it? Adrian, you said you sold a few in the shop, and maybe other places have sold them too . . . I mean, some people still like me, right?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Tony. ‘But a handful of CDs won’t change anything. You’re not popular right now. Not with Karamel fans. And after recent revelations, not with Katie Cox fans, either. You’re not popular with anyone.’
‘Maybe not in an obvious way. But changing your mind, it’s not a bad thing, it’s good, really, so if I just—’
‘Katie, there’s no arguing with the comments.’
‘But—’
Tony tapped something into his computer, and then, like he was some kind of magician or something, and this was his final show-stopping trick, swung the screen around.
There was me, at my concert, singing ‘Can’t Stand the Boy Band’. And underneath . . .
So much hate, so many people, and it kept coming, more and more and more, and all I could think was that I didn’t deserve this, that no one deserved this.
And that I should have been more sympathetic to poor Nicole when she’d been trolled, back on the bus.
Back when it was all still OK.
Before the end of the world.
My vision was beginning to blur, but I wouldn’t let him know, I wouldn’t let my voice even betray a hint of what I was feeling as I said, ‘So you think my next single should be something more positive? I can do that. I can totally do that.’
‘Positive is good,’ said Tony. ‘And I can’t wait to hear it.’
‘Great!’ I said. ‘I’ll send something over as soon as I have it. Maybe even tonight!’
‘If you like,’ said Tony. ‘But . . . Katie, we can’t release it. The album isn’t going to happen. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I . . .’ I didn’t.
‘No one’s denying your talent, but we think perhaps you are not quite ready. For this. The music industry. You do understand.’
Such small words, but each one so heavy. Like stones thrown into deep water. Down, down, down.
‘I understand,’ I said.
‘We’ve lo
ved working with you. I’m sure our paths will cross again. When you’re older.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘In fact, it’s sort of what I was going to say anyway.’
‘Very wise,’ said Tony, getting to his feet in a way that said, Leave now, Katie, I do not want you in my office any more.
Thank goodness for Adrian, sweeping me up in jackets and bags and a load of let’s stay in touch and how’s Gemma, by the way? All that middle-aged stuff that I’d never understood the point of before – I could see now that it was for moments like this. All the rubbish about property prices and the weather and trains, I suddenly understood it was like bubble wrap, or the foam pieces you get in parcels: padding out the conversation, protecting the breakable thing sitting in the middle.
The broken thing.
Me.
And all the while Adrian was talking, we were moving closer and closer to the door, and then we were in the lift, and I made sure to keep my eyes away from the mirror so that while I could feel the tears on my face, I couldn’t see them, and then, finally, I was out in the street, the doors of Top Music closing behind me.
Conversational Bubble Wrap
The own-brand version tastes just fine
Have you looked it up online?
Can’t stay long I have a meeting
Turn down your gas central heating
Adult talk is pointless pap
Conversational bubble wrap
Goodness me I hate this weather
They are nice are they real leather?
Want my problems I’ve got plenty
Detour down the A120
Adult talk, let’s recap
Is conversational bubble wrap
But some days life can be too real
Sometimes I’m afraid to feel
Please don’t ask me how I’ve been
I’d rather chat about the Queen
Face the Music Page 14
