Face the Music

by Marianne Levy

  ‘I . . . I don’t have her number,’ I said. ‘She could be anyone. Her and Dad have split up, and I can’t ask him, can I?’

  ‘What do you know about her?’

  ‘Nothing helpful. That she runs a Pilates studio in California. That her surname is something like Fernando or Ferdinand or—’

  ‘Catriona Fernandez,’ said Jaz, looking triumphantly up from her phone. ‘Here’s the number for her studio.’

  ‘But suppose it’s the middle of the night over there? Suppose she doesn’t want to speak to me. Or she’s in the middle of teaching a class. Suppose –’ and then I had to stop talking because Jaz was shoving her phone to my ear and I could hear ringing. And then:

  ‘Poise Pilates, can I help you?’

  ‘Um. Hi. I was just wondering if I could speak to Catriona only she’s probably not there so never mind I’ll just—’

  ‘Speaking. How may I help you?’ She sounded very American. Like she was in a film or something. I thought, not for the first time recently, that my life didn’t seem real any more.

  ‘Oh. This is . . . um . . . Katie. Katie Cox. Benjamin Cox’s daughter. Sorry.’

  ‘You Brits, always apologizing. Hi there, Katie! Great to finally speak to you. How is Benji?’

  ‘He’s, er, OK.’

  ‘I’m so glad! He’s a good guy, you know? Of course you do, he’s your dad! And how can I help you, Katie?’

  Jaz was looking at me, very, very hard, as I said, ‘Sorry. I mean, not sorry. But, this is a bit . . .’ Jaz tilted her head. ‘Did Dad lend you some money?’

  ‘He sure did, honey. I never asked, you know that? But he saw I needed a little help, and when the studio lease came up, there he was with the down payment. He’s a generous guy.’

  I began to smile. It was all going to be OK. ‘He is generous, isn’t he?’

  ‘Didn’t even ask for it back when we split.’

  ‘No?’ My stomach began to turn.

  ‘Nope! Not a single dollar. But I’m going to return every dime. The second we start turning a profit, I’m setting up a standing order. My mamma told me, Catriona, you don’t ever stay in debt. Especially not to a man.’

  ‘Huh,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad to be able to talk to you, Katie. Your dad, he was always so proud of you. Showing everyone your photo, telling anyone who’d listen about his baby girl. He loves you so much.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Um, I have to go now, Catriona.’

  ‘Send him my love, will you?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Bye bye, honey pie.’

  I let the phone drop on to Jaz’s bed.

  ‘That doesn’t mean he did it,’ I said. ‘He could have got the money anywhere. Maybe it was from work. An old job! He’s always saying how they take forever to pay up. Maybe . . . maybe . . . oh no . . . no no no . . .’

  ‘Stay there,’ said Jaz. ‘I’ll get Mum to drive you home.’

  It doesn’t mean . . .

  Just because he didn’t . . .

  He’s not . . .

  The house was empty. Everyone was out. Everyone except—

  ‘Dad?’

  He had the fridge open, and when he heard my voice, he turned, his face bathed with a sickly yellow light. ‘Katie!’ My eyes must have given away some of what I was feeling, because he peered at me, and said, ‘What?’

  ‘Dad. That story about me at the Karamel concert. That’s . . . everywhere. Did it . . . did it come from you?’

  Please. Please say no.

  Please say something.

  Please.

  ‘D-Dad?’

  His silence said it all.

  ‘How could you, Dad? How could you?’

  ‘I was out of cash; you were saying your mother needed rent.’

  ‘So, couldn’t you, I don’t know, get a job or something?’

  ‘It’s not . . . Phone’s not been ringing much recently. Haven’t had a dry spell like this in a while.’ He looked up. ‘Don’t suppose you had a chance to speak to Tony, did you?’

  Dad’s never been especially good at reading a situation. This, though, this took things to a whole new level.

  ‘A few days in the studio would sort things out, see if you can’t get me in, will you?’

  ‘Dad, you sold a story about me!’

  ‘They only wanted a chat, about you and what you were up to, it was such a great evening, where’s the harm?’

  ‘WHERE’S THE HARM? Don’t you even . . . I mean, it was a Karamel concert . . . I wasn’t supposed to be having a good time.’

  ‘Weren’t you? Then why were we there?’

  ‘Dad, have you got any idea of what’s been going on these last few days? With my life? Any idea at all?’

  ‘Don’t you like your new guitar?’

  ‘Of course, but I . . .’

  ‘Because I remembered,’ he said, like some kitten I was kicking in the face. ‘You said that was the guitar you wanted.’

  ‘That’s what you took from the concert? You knew what I had to say about Karamel and you went off and sold me out and you think you can make it OK with a poxy new guitar? Didn’t . . . didn’t you even hear my song?’

  ‘Of course I did! I loved it! I’m so proud of you.’

  And, oh, a part of me still thrilled to hear him say it.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done it, Dad.’

  ‘I couldn’t live off that man’s charity.’

  ‘But, why didn’t you ask for the money back from Catriona?’

  He looked away. ‘Allow a man a bit of dignity, Katie.’

  Then, in a single beat, I hated him.

  ‘And you let me blame poor Kurt,’ I said. ‘You let me go online and tell the whole world it was him, when all the time it was you?’

  He was laughing now. ‘Poor Kurt? I’m not going to feel too sorry for him, thank you very much!’

  I thought I might . . . I don’t even know. Punch a wall or be sick. Because Amanda was right. She’d been right from the start.

  ‘Katie? Katie!’

  ‘I thought you cared about me,’ I said. ‘I thought I mattered. But you only care about you.’

  My voice must have cracked or something, because he stopped laughing.

  ‘These past few weeks, I’ve been defending you! To Mum, to Amanda . . . It’s like, you destroyed the family once and now you’re coming back to do it all over again.’

  I thought he’d deny it. Instead, he bowed his head. ‘That’s fair,’ he said. ‘I let you all down. I know that.’

  ‘If you know that, then why did you . . . ?’

  ‘I let you down,’ he repeated. ‘If I could go back and do things differently, then I would. But I can’t.’

  I was backing away from him now, knowing that I couldn’t breathe even a molecule of air that had passed through his lungs.

  ‘Katie, how do you think it feels, to have to go begging to your daughter? Can we not just . . .’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘In fact . . .’ I got out my phone.

  Hi Tony

  It’s Katie. So, I lied to you, about Dad being unreliable, because I didn’t want him to go away. But if there’s still a job on that Papaya album, you should give it to him. I reckon you owe me that. I won’t bother you again.

  Katie

  ‘There,’ I said. ‘I’ve got you some work. With Tony.’

  ‘I – I don’t know what to say.’

  I did. ‘Go to America. And this time, don’t come back.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mands found me sitting on the floor. I don’t know what time it was, but it must have been late. It was dark outside, and when she came past me I could smell the night air in her hair.

  I say ‘found’. What I mean is that she tripped over my right arm and went flying.

  ‘What on earth are you doing there?’

  ‘Sorry. I was just . . . Sorry.’ I rubbed my elbow. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Since when do you care?’

  Sh
e snapped the light on and I had to shield my eyes. ‘Wuh?’

  She took her jacket off, angrily, and sat down on her bed. ‘You’re the one who’s completely wrapped up in her own little world. “Oh, I’m a pop star, I’m dating, I’m hanging out with Super Dad . . .” What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘It was Dad,’ I said. ‘Not Kurt. It was Dad. He sold me out. For money. It was always Dad.’

  She tensed. Then, ‘Of course it was. Oh, Katie.’

  Then she held me while I cried. It was a long time.

  She didn’t say, ‘I told you so’. She didn’t remind me how Dad had ducked out of coming to see me sing solo at the school carol concert when I was nine because he’d got a last-minute spot on Jools Holland. She didn’t mention that, three years ago, he’d set his heart on a vintage guitar, a handmade Benedetto Fratello, and in order to buy it, sold our car. And she didn’t say anything about how he’d been too much of a wuss to tell Mum he was coming back, how he’d left it to me, and then sold me out and ruined everything.

  Or perhaps it was already ruined, and I just hadn’t noticed.

  Funny how it takes being pressed face first into a denim jacket to get a bit of perspective on things.

  Finally, Manda spoke. ‘I’ve got a Yorkie in my bag.’

  ‘A raisin one?’ My voice sounded weird. Croaky and soft. Like someone else’s.

  ‘A raisin one, yes. You never change, you know that, Katie?’

  We shared it out, and I felt, not better, exactly, but at least stable.

  ‘Everyone hates me,’ I said.

  ‘You’re being absurd.’

  ‘I’m not. Dominic Preston just told me to get lost. Kurt blocked me. Lacey called me a liar.’ I picked up the charm bracelet, then let the cold metal slip between my fingers, back on to my bedside table. ‘I am a liar.’

  ‘OK, but . . .’

  ‘And the only people who hate me more than Karamel fans are the Katie Cox fans. Ex-fans.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘Maybe I need a new identity. Do you think I qualify for a witness protection programme? Or a new face?’

  For a second, I thought how, actually, a new face might be quite nice, how I could maybe get a smaller nose, one of those ski-slope ones like Savannah has, and properly white teeth.

  I could ask them to make my eyes not look quite so much like Dad’s too.

  ‘What I don’t understand is where all this hate came from in the first place,’ said Amanda.

  Wasn’t it obvious?

  ‘It’s music,’ I said. ‘Music keeps people apart. It divides people. That’s what it does.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘It does! That’s what I’ve realized, you see. That’s where everything started. If it hadn’t been for music, I’d still be mates with Lacey, I wouldn’t have the entire population of the universe wanting to kill me, and Mum and Dad would probably still be together!’

  Amanda shook her head. ‘That is the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever heard.’

  What?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Of course it’s not music’s fault. Music is –’ her face worked as she struggled to get her feelings into words – ‘music is the best thing. It’s the only thing. It’s everything.’

  ‘ . . . No.’

  She went to the stereo and put on Irma Thomas, ‘Good Things Don’t Come Easy’. Her voice filled the room, filled up my heart. For ages, we just listened.

  ‘I thought, if I just stopped playing, that would be enough,’ I said into the thick silence that followed. ‘It’s over. So why isn’t it over?’

  ‘Because it isn’t,’ said Amanda.

  Somehow, I knew that she was right.

  ‘OK then,’ said Jaz.

  It was the next morning, and the Katie Emergency Committee – i.e. the very few people in the world who could still bear to look at me – was sitting around the table having breakfast.

  The fact that we were there at 8 a.m. just goes to show what an emergency it was.

  Adrian cleared his throat, this long, flappily wet noise that made me remember that I’m never going to smoke, and said, ‘What can we do?’

  ‘We can’t do anything,’ said Amanda.

  ‘What can we do to help?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘The entire world thinks I’m a complete idiot and they’re right. I can’t get near Lacey, and even if I could, what am I going to say to her? Plus, I accused Kurt . . .’ I couldn’t even finish that one.

  ‘So tell him who it really was,’ said Amanda. ‘And that you’re sorry.’

  ‘I should.’ Then I thought about it for more than half a second, and plunged even further into my pit of despair. ‘But I can’t. There’s no way.’

  ‘That one seems easy enough to sort out.’ Adrian took a glug of cold coffee. ‘Can’t you just send him a message? Through one of your websites?’

  ‘No,’ I told him. ‘He blocked me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I unlocked my phone and scrolled through, but there was no Kurt. Instead, I just got a load of Paige and Sofie and Lacey, banging on about getting a pre-disco manicure, and how orange was the colour to go for because of how it went with everything or didn’t go with anything or something. They were getting loads of likes, so clearly some people were finding it useful.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I said. ‘And anyway, I think maybe this is one of those conversations it’s better to have in private. If I told him online, it would be like I was saying it just so that everyone else could hear.’

  ‘You’ll have to stalk him,’ said Jaz. ‘Go to a concert. Turn up in his dressing room. You’re still famous enough for them to let you in.’

  I put my phone back down on the table. If Lacey wanted to paint her fingers a colour called Satsuma Sunset, that was her business. ‘I can’t turn up at a Karamel concert. They’ll eat me.’

  I waited for someone to disagree, to tell me that I was being over the top, that it would be fine. No one did.

  ‘Anyway their tour’s over. They’re not playing in the UK again. Not for I don’t know how long.’

  ‘They are,’ said Jaz, looking at her screen. ‘They’re playing tonight, at the Teen Time Awards.’

  Which rang a bell, somewhere at the back of my head. ‘The Teen Time Awards. That’s at . . .’

  ‘Wembley,’ said Amanda. ‘So we have to go to Wembley. For six o’clock. Oh DAMN.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s gig night at the shop. But you know what? I’ll cancel. If forty people wanted to come tonight, they’ll want to come again next week.’

  ‘Forty? So we’re sold out?’ said Adrian, and I remembered all over again how hard he and Amanda had worked to make that place a success. And how I’d told her that I didn’t care about the shop. Or her gigs. Great stuff, Katie.

  ‘Yeah, it’s been sold out since yesterday,’ said Mands. ‘But you’re more important.’

  ‘No,’ I said, suddenly desperate. ‘I’m not. You’ve got to run the gig. But . . . I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ said my annoying, sanctimonious, brilliant big sister.

  ‘ . . . OK.’

  ‘So you have to go to Wembley Arena, and go backstage and then get into Kurt’s dressing room.’ She made it sound as easy as a trip to Asda.

  ‘Er, how?’

  ‘Can’t your record label . . . ?’ began Jaz.

  ‘No, they dropped me.’

  ‘So find another way.’

  ‘Give up, Jaz. It’s impossible.’ I flicked my phone on again, to see Paige’s face beaming next to a large and sparkly shoe.

  ‘We need some kind of connection,’ said Amanda. ‘A way into the band.’

  ‘But there isn’t one!’ I refreshed, and got a picture of a Prada label, next to a sad face emoji, and the words, ‘Sooo upset I have to go to the disco tonight without my beautiful boyfriend.’

  ‘Will you please put your phones away?’ said Adrian. ‘It’s like talking to a pair of zombies! Hones
tly, when I was your age . . .’

  ‘I know,’ said Amanda. ‘You wouldn’t think this was something they cared about, would you? Hold on. What? What is it?’

  My eyes met Jaz’s.

  ‘Savannah.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I had to wait outside the manicure place for what felt like forever. Then, just as I was about to give up and go crawl into bed and never come out, they all turned together, wibbling a bit on the cobbles because even Lacey had stuck her heels on early. Which, if you ask me was a major error with the whole disco still to go, but let’s be clear, literally no one was asking me.

  Then, they saw me, and stopped.

  My hand was in my pocket, so Lacey couldn’t see the charm bracelet. It was there, though, around my wrist, reminding me that I’d once had a best friend.

  ‘Hello, Savannah!’ I sang, trying to appear as carefree as possible. ‘Afternoon, Sofie, hey Lace, hi Paige! You look nice. I like your . . . skin.’

  ‘Thanks, Katie,’ said Paige, who in fact does have very good skin, although it wasn’t looking much different from how it normally did.

  ‘What are you even doing here, babes?’ said Savannah. ‘This is a beauty salon.’

  ‘I know. But I was thinking about what you said. About how I’m rotten to the core and stuff and I thought maybe, if I got a bit more graceful and pretty, it might make me a better person. You know?’

  I could barely make sense of what was coming out of my own mouth. Only then, Savannah nodded, very seriously, and said:

  ‘Perhaps. You know what they say. Beauty starts on the outside.’

  I moved between her and the door.

  ‘So here’s the thing, Sav. I just found out that I won a bag.’

  ‘That’s great, babes. But I’m going to be late for my nail appointment. So—’

  ‘A designer bag. By, er, Gucci.’

  She stopped, and stood a little straighter. I was reminded of how tigers go when they see baby gazelles. Yes, Savannah was practically sniffing the air.

  ‘It’s so random,’ I went on. ‘I entered this competition forever ago, one of those email ones, you know. And the next thing I know, this delivery guy is knocking on the door with a Gucci bag!’