Face the Music

by Marianne Levy

  Fuel prices are monumental

  Kids these days are going mental

  Got to get back, trim our lawn

  It’s between the beige and fawn

  But now I see my life’s a trap

  I think I want some bubble wrap.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I got home to find Mum surrounded by every shoe we’d ever owned, which was a lot of shoes.

  ‘I’m clearing out the hall cupboard,’ she said, as she crawled back into the hall cupboard.

  ‘I see,’ I said. Then, to her bottom: ‘Top Music, they’ve, er, dropped me.’

  She shot out backwards. Like a champagne cork from a bottle of champagne, if the bottle was a cupboard and the cork was a bum.

  ‘When . . . what . . . ?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She was pulling me towards her and I felt the sadness coming so I talked very fast. If I just made a wall of words then perhaps it wouldn’t get through.

  ‘I don’t think I’m especially ready for any of this and performing’s not really my thing.’

  ‘I never liked that man,’ said Mum.

  ‘Me neither,’ I said. ‘Well, honestly, I did, then I didn’t, then I wasn’t sure. Then I did. And now I don’t.’

  ‘He should be protecting you,’ said Mum. ‘Not dropping you the second things get difficult.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But . . . they did get difficult because of me.’

  ‘Still,’ said Mum. ‘This is your chance, isn’t it? To get back to normal.’ She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘I can’t bear to see you so unhappy, Katie.’

  ‘I’m not . . .’ I began. And then, because there was no way I could even begin to pretend that I was happy about any of this: ‘I’ll think about it. I promise.’

  She didn’t say anything, but her hug told me that, finally, I was on my way to doing the right thing.

  ‘Is there anything for dinner?’ I asked her shoulder.

  ‘Leftover Chinese,’ she said. ‘Top shelf of the fridge. Your father went a bit overboard last night.’

  Eventually I blew my nose and went to investigate the food situation, leaving her in among a mountain of old welly boots.

  I mean, I do know I should have helped or something, but there’s getting back to normal and then there’s clearing out the hall cupboard. I wasn’t going to be that normal.

  And then I had to tell Manda.

  ‘Just so you know,’ I said, as we lay in the dark, failing to sleep. ‘Just so you know, it’s all over and I’m not a pop star any more because Top Music don’t want me because everyone hates me. Just so you know.’

  I heard her sit up. ‘I saw that it was all kicking off . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m thinking I’m done with it all, anyway.’

  We lay there, in a silence that was intense.

  I think Mands must have felt it too, because she put her light on and said, ‘Wanna hear something good? There’s this band I found, called New York Scandal. They’re these four guys from Hull; they’re playing at the shop. I reckon you’ll really rate them . . . their story is so inspiring . . .’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to be inspired.’

  ‘So, they do this brilliant riff, I’ve never heard anything quite like it, or maybe I have, now, come to think of it, they’re almost a bit Daft Punk, in a funny kind of way, only more acoustic . . .’

  And as she spoke, I saw how I’d never be free.

  That music isn’t just something you occasionally go and do.

  That it was everywhere.

  Winding itself through my family and my friendships and my laptop and my phone.

  If I wanted to be free, if I wanted to be normal, then there couldn’t be any more listening to gig recordings and there couldn’t be any more jamming sessions. Or guitar lessons. Or new albums or karaoke, or afternoons at Vox Vinyl flicking through the racks.

  Because if I did that, then the next thing was picking up my guitar, my shiny new guitar, and then I’d be writing songs and that’s what got me into this horror in the first place.

  If I wanted to be normal, if I wanted to be like Paige and Sofie and Savannah and Lacey, if I wanted to be happy, then I’d have to cut out every last little bit.

  ‘Not tonight,’ I said to Amanda.

  ‘You’re right, it’s late . . .’

  ‘And not tomorrow morning either.’

  She rubbed her eyes. ‘I thought you cared about this stuff, K. The shop, my gigs . . .’

  ‘Sorry, Mands. I did. But I’m . . . just . . . finished.’

  We lay there for a minute, maybe two. My head was full to overflowing with thoughts, and my stomach was just the same, only with chicken-prawn chow mein. Which reminded me.

  ‘By the way, Dad said to give you this.’ I chucked Mands the little box, which she caught, and then held. Then let slip to the floor.

  ‘I don’t want anything from him. He—’

  ‘Gave Mum two thousand pounds.’

  That got her.

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes! Plus, he bought us a really good Chinese takeaway. There’s still a bit in the fridge, I think.’ Then I remembered. ‘No, I finished it. But he’s really trying to make things right.’

  ‘It’s not enough. He’s . . .’

  ‘Our father. And he’s trying to make up for everything. I told him that he needed to start paying his way. Like you said. And he spoke to Catriona, even though he didn’t want to, and he got the money back that he’d lent her for her stupid Pilates studio and he gave it to Mum.’

  ‘Good. That’s exactly what he should have done. Ages ago.’

  I hesitated. But I’d come this far. ‘If he can do that, can you not at least give him a chance?’

  ‘I don’t want his jewellery,’ said my sister. ‘And it’s going to take more than a bit of money—’

  ‘Two THOUSAND pounds! He can’t do anything right, can he?’

  ‘As far as you’re concerned, he can’t do anything wrong,’ said Amanda, turning off the light.

  So I rolled over and went to sleep. Which wasn’t the easiest, given the amount of leftover Chinese food I had to digest, but I managed.

  Unfortunately I then got up an hour later to drink a litre of water.

  And an hour after that to have a wee.

  Leftover Chinese Takeaway Blues

  I’m suffering, baby

  I got food remorse

  Oh I’m suffering, baby

  Of silver carton food remorse

  I guess I should’ve held back

  On the sweet and sour sauce

  I got them blues

  Got them leftover Chinese takeaway blues

  Lying on my side

  Feeling incredibly full

  Whoah I’m lying on my side

  Feeling incredibly full

  I guess all I can say is

  Shouldn’t have had that duck spring roll

  I got them blues

  Got them leftover Chinese takeaway blues

  Trying to sit up

  In unbearable pain

  Yes, trying to sit up

  And I’m in the most unbearable pain

  Shouldn’t have finished off

  All the chicken-prawn chow mein

  I got them blues

  Got them leftover Chinese takeaway blues

  But if I could live this evening over

  I know I’d do the same again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  So, what do you know, I only woke up with the BEST idea for a song. It was called ‘Leftover Chinese Takeaway Blues’. The words were ready and waiting, I had my new guitar tucked under my arm and was just getting to grips with the chords when I remembered.

  No more music.

  I stuck the guitar back into its case and shoved it under my bed and by the time I’d finished breakfast I’d very nearly managed to forget about it.

  What was harder was fighting the need to stick my headphones in my
ears and have a bit of Lana Del Ray to take me down the lane. You have to be in a very specific mood for Lana – and when you are, it’s extremely important to put her on straight away before it passes.

  Only, I wasn’t doing music any more.

  Instead, I listened to the traffic and the birds and the wind and they were just as good.

  Almost as good.

  They were fine.

  Jaz was at the bus stop, talking to Nicole.

  She didn’t look at me.

  ‘Morning,’ I said.

  Nicole nodded. Jaz didn’t say anything at all.

  I tried again. ‘What’s the goss?’

  I don’t know where I got the word ‘goss’.

  ‘We’re talking about the disco,’ said Jaz.

  ‘Oooh, great! That totally fits in with my new normal life. Because I’m not a pop star any more. I’m a normal person who does stuff like going to the disco.’

  ‘Me and Nicole are talking about the disco,’ said Jaz, and then she turned her back on me.

  Hmm.

  Up in our form room, things weren’t much better. Lacey was sitting deep in the Savannah Zone, and I had to battle through a wall of Prada Candy before I got to a conversation that went:

  ‘It’s the biggest shame that my boyfriend Kolin can’t come to the disco. He’s got this awards thing at Wembley that night. It’s so annoying, but what can I do? I have to be supportive of him, because of how he’s my boyfriend.’

  ‘Hey, Lace,’ I said. ‘So. Disco chat! What are you going to wear? Shall we go to Oxfam?’

  Lacey looked at me like I was a fly that had landed on a cream cake she’d been about to eat.

  ‘I should think that someone like you has better places to shop.’

  ‘No!’ I had to stop myself grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘I’m being normal again! Completely boring and music-free!’

  ‘Like me,’ said Lacey.

  ‘Yes! I’ve given up the whole pop star thing, it wasn’t exactly working out. I’m going to get back to doing ordinary person stuff. Like shopping in Oxfam. And going to the disco. You’ll come with me, won’t you, bestie?’

  ‘Actually, I’m going solo,’ said Lacey.

  ‘We can still go together,’ I said.

  ‘I’m going solo with Savannah.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  And then, I had an idea.

  ‘Well, that’s fine, actually. You should go with Savannah. Because . . . I’m going to ask Dominic Preston!’

  Going to the disco with a boy. Now that was normal.

  ‘If you like,’ said Lacey.

  ‘I do like! Him! Which is why I’m going to ask him.’

  ‘He’s over there,’ said Paige, helpfully.

  ‘Later,’ I said. This was all moving rather fast. ‘I’m going to ask him later.’

  ‘Why not now?’ said Sofie.

  ‘Because of assembly.’

  ‘Assembly’s not for ten minutes,’ said Paige. ‘Hey, Dom? Katie has something to ask you.’

  And the four of them turned and stared at what was turning into the Katie Cox Humiliation Show.

  Dominic Preston slid down off the desk and came over. He really was very good-looking. Long and lean, with nice dark eyes, and hands that looked as though they’d be smooth and warm, not wet and trembly, like mine.

  ‘Hey, Katie. Wassup?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘But you just said you were going to—’ Lacey began.

  ‘OK. OK! Um, Dominic Preston. I wondered –’ I began, before clearing my throat and starting again, a lot lower. ‘I just wondered, whether you’d like to come to the disco. With someone. That someone being me.’

  Those good-looking eyes blinked. ‘We don’t really know each other.’

  ‘No. But . . .’

  ‘I’m not sure the disco’s exactly the place for a first date.’

  ‘No,’ I said, wanting the earth to open up and, not swallow me, because that would be terrifying, but maybe hold me for a bit until everyone had gone and then let me out again. ‘No. You’re right. I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘We should go out first. Get to know each other.’

  ‘Really?’ I cleared my throat. ‘That would be –’ don’t seem too eager don’t seem too eager – ‘fine.’

  ‘Thursday night?’

  Mum and Adrian would be at karaoke. ‘Sure.’

  ‘The Harvester OK? Seven o’clock?’

  ‘Great!’

  Then the bell rang for assembly, and I did my very best to look normal, which I completely was.

  So the rest of the day unfolded in a normal way, except for not having anyone want to sit next to me in any lessons, or at lunch, and except for the bit where Jill, my guitar teacher, came to ask me why I hadn’t gone to my lesson and I had to explain that I was no longer going to play the guitar, and found myself getting surprisingly upset. It didn’t last beyond the end of the Double Decker that I ate to cheer myself up again, though, so that was all right.

  Best of all, when I came out at half three, there, parked right across that zigzag bit that you’re not supposed to stop on, was Dad!

  ‘Hop in, darlin’.’

  I hopped in.

  ‘This is nice! How come?’

  ‘Just thought you deserved a bit of a treat.’

  ‘I DO,’ I said. ‘Everything’s been so –’ don’t bring things down, Katie – ‘annoying, recently.’

  ‘Your mother said. Want to talk about it?’

  ‘There’s not much to say. I was a pop star. Now I’m not.’

  ‘You’ll always be a star to me,’ said Dad.

  ‘Great,’ I said, going to turn the radio on, maybe find a bit of Jay Z to lift the mood, and then remembering I wasn’t doing that any more, and folding my hands back into my lap.

  ‘So –’ Dad spun the wheel – ‘when you were in there. Top Music. At the office . . . Did Tony say anything about me?’

  ‘What?’ I held my breath as we squeezed between the two bollards on the junction, where Mands had once lost a wing mirror. ‘When?’

  ‘When you saw him. Did Tony mention my demo?’

  ‘We didn’t really get to that.’

  ‘Oh. And you don’t think you could ask?’

  ‘Um, maybe.’ I thought about it, properly. ‘Actually, probably not. No.’

  ‘Right.’

  A flare of annoyance, like a match being lit. It had been pretty much the worst ten minutes of my life, in that room, and Dad had wanted me to make it about him?

  Then, like always when I light matches, the feeling spluttered out again. He needed a job. I’d said I’d help him. And I hadn’t.

  I decided to change the subject.

  ‘Anyway. I’ve got some news, Dad. I’m going on a date. My first date.’

  He’d been looking thoughtful, screwing up his face in the sun, but now he sat up straight and revved the engine so hard that the driver in the van next to us gave me a funny look.

  ‘My baby is going on her first ever date!’

  ‘He’s called Dominic Preston and he’s really gorgeous. We’re going to the Harvester.’

  We pulled up on to the drive, and he stopped the car. ‘Now, Katie, have we ever talked about the birds and the bees?’

  Oh boy.

  ‘Yes, Dad. Not you and me – but, I have had that talk.’

  Thank goodness for Amanda. How people cope without big sisters, I do not know.

  ‘Well,’ said Dad, ‘don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Anyway, I suppose there’s a limit to what you can get up to in a Harvester. Although, there was this one time, in a Taco Bell, I’d just started seeing Catriona, and—’

  ‘DAD.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll save that one for when you’re older.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I’d been hoping for time to do some pre-date psyching myself up, but after a full-scale disaster involving nude tights, a ladder and a bottle
of red nail polish, I was running seriously late. I got off the bus to see that he was already there, standing by the door, fiddling with his phone.

  He seemed different, away from school. Taller. Older.

  Stay calm, I told myself. What’s the worst thing that can happen?

  My imagination immediately responded with one word:

  DIARRHOEA.

  ‘Katie! Hi!’

  He saw me as I was crossing the road. I did a small wave.

  ‘Hello, Dom. In. Ic.’

  ‘Call me Dom?’

  His voice was friendly and nice-seeming, and as I got closer, close enough to give him a sort of air kiss on the cheek and smell his deodorant, it occurred to me that I’d never had an actual conversation with the guy. I didn’t know anything about him at all.

  Beyond the fact that he was gorgeous, of course.

  ‘Shall we go in?’

  ‘I’d been thinking we could maybe sit outside,’ I said, and we looked at the Harvester’s picnic tables, which were lined up next to the car park and facing the very busy main road, and then up at the heavy sky. ‘Nah, that was a bad thought. Let’s not.’

  ‘We can if you want?’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’

  ‘If you want to sit outside, we should sit outside.’

  ‘I DON’T WANT TO SIT OUTSIDE.’

  He stepped backwards.

  ‘I mean . . . inside would be lovely,’ I said.

  Inside was dark, with shiny red leather chairs and menus that were a bit sticky. We sat down in a table near the bar and under a speaker. The stereo was playing something catchy, but faint, and I strained to hear it above the rattle of the till.

  It was . . . oh, man, it was Karamel.

  The Harvester dissolved and I was standing by the side of the stage again, watching Kurt dip his head in concentration as all of the O2 screamed.

  No. No, no no. This would not do. This would not do at all.

  I needed to be focusing on Dominic Preston, who was HERE and GORGEOUS, unlike Kurt, who might have been a tiny bit good-looking and perhaps slightly talented and who seemed to really get me, BUT had sold me out to the press and not even been big enough to fess up and anyway had got the old musical Katie, not the new, normal one.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said to the woman behind the bar. ‘Is there any chance you could play something else?’