‘No, I –’
‘Whatever,’ he snaps. ‘No worries.’
I think I have made an enemy.
My friends are huddled round the wood burner, draped across the sofas, spread across floor cushions. Even Mary Shelley the tortoise is here, ploughing her way through a little pile of curly kale leaves and looking up occasionally to send me a sympathetic glance. At least she won’t judge me – I hope.
Jake and I sit side by side, cross-legged on a sheepskin rug. Lexie and Happi come in with trays laden with mugs of hot chocolate and chocolate-chip cookies, and I take one of each to warm up a little and sweeten the blow of what’s to come.
I can’t read Marley’s expression, but he can’t be pleased at my diva moment, I know. I’ve let him down, let the band down … I understand that without anyone having to spell it out.
‘It’s pretty intense, isn’t it?’ Marley begins, sipping his hot chocolate. ‘This mentoring thing. A whole different ball game from our practice sessions at home. Maybe the X Factor spoof felt a bit … well, exposing for some of you. We’re all out of our comfort zone, right?’
‘Right,’ the others chorus.
‘I’m so sorry. I just … I’m not quite sure what happened there!’ The words burst out of me, a jumble of regret and shame. ‘I feel awful!’
Marley sighs. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘And you shouldn’t, Sasha. It was just a blip – I know that. We all have those stage-fright moments sometimes. Who cares if you can’t do a neat little speech to order? You’re a singer, not an actress! You just lost your mojo there for a moment.’
Marley is defending me … That’s not what I expected.
‘I know you feel bad,’ he ploughs on. ‘Look, I want you to put what happened right out of your mind. This is no time to let yourself fall apart … we all have to work harder than we ever have before to make the most of this week. I want everyone at yoga, everyone at studio practice and the workshops. It doesn’t matter whether you think it’ll help you or not – do it anyway, yeah?’
‘Yeah … sure …’ I mumble. ‘I am really sorry …’
‘Hey,’ Marley says kindly. ‘Sasha, nobody here would ever doubt your commitment to the Lost & Found, least of all me. You’re our lead singer. That might feel like a lot of pressure, but we have your back!’
I’m grinning, weak with relief. ‘I won’t let you down,’ I promise. ‘I lost the plot, but it won’t happen again …’
I trail away into silence, because, in spite of my best efforts, it probably will happen again. My promises are worth nothing. Beside me, Jake gazes politely down into his hot chocolate, silent.
I hope he understands how much I want a fresh chance. I think he does.
Matt, by contrast, looks sceptical, like he can see inside my head and suss out the wishful thinking. He wouldn’t call it that, of course – he’d call it a lie.
Mary Shelley ambles over on some secret mission, and I scoop her up on to my knees, stroking her. What I wouldn’t give right now to be a tortoise – there’d be no daily struggle to be something I’m not, to be perfect, confident, a star in the making. And I’d have my own ready-made hiding place whenever I wanted it.
‘I know you won’t let us down,’ Marley is saying. ‘Besides, any one of us can mess up. Remember the night before our first big gig, the festival in the park when I got into a fight and almost wrecked everything? Who rescued me? You lot did, and Sasha managed to camouflage the cuts and bruises so I didn’t look like roadkill. We stuck together and we’ll do the same now. I’ll talk to Ked and Camille about helping you to work on stage fright and nerves.’
I nod, ashamed to be singled out for special help, but grateful too. If there’s a way to sort this thing, I’ll try it, no question.
‘If you’re trying hard now, I want you all to try harder still tomorrow,’ Marley concludes. ‘The stronger we are as a team, the better the Lost & Found will be. We’re in this together, and we have to stay solid. All for one …’
‘And one for all!’ a couple of the boys chime, doing their best Three Musketeers impression. Matt rolls his eyes, unimpressed, and I wonder why I haven’t noticed his mean streak before. Better late than never, I guess.
There are lots of hugs and kind words as we clear up and head for our rooms, and I pass Mary Shelley over to Lexie with a sigh. Though Jake only squeezes my hand as he heads after the other boys, that touch means more than any of the others.
I have another chance, a chance not to mess up, I remind myself as I snuggle beneath the duvet and drift towards sleep. Maybe this time I won’t blow it.
I still sleep badly. Every time I check my phone, time seems to be passing more slowly, but at last the thin light of dawn pokes through the curtains and I creep to the bathroom, hoping a shower will revive me. It works … for a little while, at least.
Marley’s pep talk has pulled us all together, because everyone – except Matt – turns out for Sheddie’s yoga class. It’s not bad. I like the feeling that we’re all in this together … Lexie, Jake and Happi move easily through the poses. Bex, Marley, Dylan and Lee take it too seriously, glancing around to see if they’re getting it right. George, Romy and Sami look slightly lost but push on all the same. None of us are experts here. We’re all beginners, all trying something new and doing our best.
The flowing, gentle movements somehow switch off the crazy scribble of anxiety in my head, and I’m calm, content, living in the moment – stretching tall, breathing deeply and letting go of every little shred of tension and worry during the relaxation at the end of the session. I don’t zone out once.
Afterwards, sitting cross-legged on my yoga mat on the dew-damp grass, I feel calmer than I have for ages. Maybe yoga is something I could do back home to keep the stress at bay.
‘Who knew yoga would be cool?’ I say to Romy. ‘Fancy finding a class back home in Millford?’
‘You bet!’ she says. ‘OK … I’m grabbing the first shower. See you in a bit!’ She heads back to the house with the others, but I linger a while, smiling because I feel I’m taking control, finding new ways to try to sort my problems. It feels good.
Jake comes to a halt beside me and we pause for a while, watching the ice-cream colours of the sky, dramatic behind the bare-branched trees. The day ahead seems filled with possibilities.
‘Starshine Festival soon,’ he reminds me. ‘Should be fun!’
‘It should – just what I need.’
No voice coaching, no X Factor, no pressure … and right now just me and Jake, quietly drinking in the magic of Fox Hollow Hall.
Sometimes, in little moments like this, I really am happy.
‘Sasha! Jake! There you are!’ Camille’s voice rings out, breaking the spell. ‘Don’t forget the minibus is leaving at nine!’
‘Don’t want to be late!’ Jake grins, and we jump up and head inside. The others are all changed and ready and eating breakfast, fizzing with anticipation. Romy is wearing the fifties dress she borrowed from me, sashaying round the kitchen with a slice of toast and marmalade.
I head upstairs to change out of my yoga stuff. The bedrooms are empty, the connecting door open between them from when we scrambled to get ready for yoga earlier. Clothes are strewn across the beds and Mary Shelley is drifting across the scrubbed-pine floorboards in search of inspiration. I know the feeling.
‘You’re on your own today,’ I tell her, going to find the tortoise food stash and adding a few tiny slivers of red pepper to her dish.
I make a quick call home to say I’m OK, but Mum sounds as if she’s trying too hard to reassure me that everything’s fine. I can’t help feeling something’s off.
Pushing the thought away, I put together an outfit for the festival. Little print dress, rust-coloured tights and cardie, lace-up boots and beret … I look good, good enough to be the singer in an up-and-coming band, good enough to show Matt Brennan that I won’t be pining for him any time soon.
I take five minutes to do my make-up, blending brown
and gold eyeshadow and adding my trademark cat’s eye flick. A swipe of clear lip gloss and I’m good to go.
‘What d’you think, Mary Shelley?’ I ask, doing a little twirl.
I’m sure I see a glint of approval in her eyes, and on impulse I snap a few pictures of her at my feet, nestled in my favourite mustard-coloured scarf. I’ll edit and upload it to my Instagram feed later.
I run downstairs to grab a croissant and find the kitchen empty except for Mrs B clearing tables. As she adds an empty juice glass to the tower of plates she’s carrying, a handful of dirty cutlery slips off and clatters to the floor.
‘Oh dear! I don’t know what’s wrong with me today!’
I duck down to help gather them up.
‘Thank you,’ she says with a sigh. ‘I’m not feeling too well. I’ve a splitting headache, but at least I get the rest of the day off with you lot at the festival. You’d better hurry – Mike brought the minibus round a while ago!’
Jake’s grinning face peeps round the kitchen door.
‘Been looking for you everywhere,’ he says. ‘We’re all ready to go! C’mon!’
He grabs my hand and pulls me out towards the waiting minibus.
227 likes
SashaSometimes Latest member of the behind-the-scenes crew for the Lost & Found … meet Mary Shelley
#ShellShocked #Lost&Found #BandLife
Tilly08 So cute!
littlejen Is that your tortoise?
SaraLou Love the name, very clever!
Kezsez07 My friend’s got a tortoise!
_Brownie_ Did she write Frankenstein? Impressive!
Lil_Chels Are you working with Ked Wilder this week?
MattBFotos Boring
JBSings Shut up @MattBFotos nobody asked your opinion!
18
Wonderland
Starshine is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Ked has arranged VIP passes for the festival, so we don’t have to queue. We’re given maps of the arena village – a huge, purpose-built complex of linked exhibition halls, lecture theatres and gallery spaces – and then set loose until our lunch meeting at one.
‘Soak up the atmosphere, have fun, get inspired!’ Ked tells us. ‘I want you to enjoy the music, try out new things, learn all you can and feel the magic – because if all goes to plan, you’ll be playing here next year. OK – see you in Meeting Room Three at one o’clock. Go!’
The arena village looks amazing – the high ceilings are pinned with white billowing fabric, lit up with a kaleidoscope of changing colours. The stalls and spaces are like stage sets from some future fantasy world, and four of the main exits lead into huge festival tents, already mobbed and each with its own schedule of bands and performers. We’re wide-eyed, smiling so hard it hurts, amazed at this glimpse of a world we could one day be part of.
‘Wow,’ Jake says into my ear. ‘Where do we even start?’
There are gigs all day by performers ranging from new talent to big names. There are talks, workshops, interviews and hundreds of stalls offering everything from clothes, CDs and vinyl to musical instruments and tech gear. One whole hall is devoted to showcasing music industry freelancers – lighting experts and sound specialists, stylists, photographers, film-makers, even indie TV and radio channels, and Radio 1 is broadcasting live from the venue all day.
Marley tries to make a plan, but we all want to do different things, and the place is so huge and so busy it’s impossible to explore as a group. Almost at once, Marley, Dylan, Lee and Bex get sidetracked watching the Chaotic Umbrellas, a screeching punk band dressed in what looks like ragged bandages. Mandy, Jon and Sheddie head off to find coffee, while George, Sami and Happi sign up for a talk about degree courses in music. Jake grabs the last place in a stage-lighting workshop, flashing me a wave as he files into the studio.
Lexie, Romy and I are left alone.
‘Let’s choose one thing each,’ I suggest. ‘That way we get to do more!’
‘I want to road-test an electric violin,’ Romy says at once.
‘I want to watch the Smile Sandwich gig over in the New Talent tent at half eleven,’ Lexie adds.
‘I’d like to check out the industry showcase area,’ I decide. ‘Look at the film-makers and stylists and stuff. Violin first?’
Romy causes a stir at the violin stall by playing a sizzling piece from our song ‘Setting Sun’ on a top-of-the-range electric violin that costs almost as much as my mum earns in a year, but she decides electric is not for her. We linger in the acoustic tent and watch Lexie’s pick, a cute folky duo … they’re fresh and cool and we all love their set. Finally, we head for the industry area.
It’s fascinating – there are so many businesses linked to the music world that could help us to showcase our skills. Some offer lighting effects or promo videos, some will print your band name on a T-shirt or a bag, some will style and photograph you and make you look like you belong on the cover of Vogue.
‘What happened to Matt?’ Lexie asks. ‘So much for being our official photographer and documenting our every move!’
‘Probably sulking somewhere,’ I say. ‘My fault. We kind of fell out last night – I think he’s avoiding me.’
‘His pride’s taken a dent,’ Romy comments. ‘He’s probably used to girls falling at his feet!’
‘I can’t work him out,’ Lexie adds. ‘I know Marley thinks he’ll be useful to the band, though.’
‘I thought he was great,’ I admit. ‘But maybe it wasn’t really Matt I fell for, just an imaginary version of him. The real Matt’s not quite as cool as I thought.’
I think of last night’s clumsy struggle of a kiss, and know I’ve had a lucky escape.
‘Boys,’ Romy sighs. ‘They’re a complete mystery to me!’
Lexie pulls me towards a stall where a make-up artist is transforming a man from the crowd into a kind of zombie in an amazing special-effects demo. We watch, loving it, then move on to the next space where the make-up is less gruesome and punters are giving each other a series of DIY fantasy makeovers. The workbenches are a treasure trove of vivid colours begging to be explored.
My heart races just looking at it, and when the super-cool young woman behind the counter gestures towards one of the work stations, we jump at the chance. ‘Create any look you want,’ she tells us. ‘The wilder, the better!’
Surprisingly, Romy volunteers to be guinea pig. ‘Make me look cool,’ she requests, trying to sound brave. ‘Make me look like I belong in a band!’
‘Your wish is my command,’ I tease. ‘This’ll make George sit up and take notice!’
‘What if he laughs at me?’ Romy panics.
‘Not a chance!’
I know this is outside her comfort zone, so I keep Romy chatting as Lexie wraps the nylon cape round her shoulders, covering up the bright fifties frock. I sense her starting to relax, leaning back in the chair, eyes drifting shut as I sponge on the primer and base. I shade her cheekbones, add some barely there highlighter and dust with translucent powder. Picking out a palette of coppery browns and golds for Romy’s eyes, I sweep eyeliner under her lashes, add two coats of mascara and finish with gold glitter dabbed across her cheekbones.
‘Hair up?’ Lexie suggests. ‘So we can actually see what you’ve done?’ Romy spends her days hiding behind her hair, which is mousy brown and straight with a heavy fringe.
‘Aww no,’ she protests, but still manages to find a comb and a handful of mini hairbands in her bag. The woman from the counter appears with cans of mousse and hairspray, and when I look up I see a little knot of onlookers watching Romy’s transformation. No pressure then. I scoosh in some mousse and go mad with backcombing to get a bit of volume, then comb the fringe up and back into the rest of her hair to form five twisty little buns. A spritz of lacquer and Romy is done.
My friend looks gorgeous – without the fringe you can see her big brown eyes and pretty heart-shaped face. Romy blinks at her reflection as if she can’t quite believe it.
‘What
did you do?’ she asks, astonished. ‘I look … so different! This’d be a great stage look!’
‘It really would,’ Lexie agrees. ‘Sash, can you do me too?’
She slips into the chair. This time I work more confidently, picking blues and silvers to complement Lexie’s colouring. I brush some of the jewel-bright eyeshadow through Lexie’s brows, dust glitter across her cheekbones and wonder if I can risk turquoise lips.
The woman from the counter drifts up behind me. ‘You have a talent for this,’ she tells me. ‘Seriously, you do! Come back later this afternoon and I’ll make you up. I’d do it now, but I have a lunch meeting …’
I look at my phone, panicked. ‘Oh no – so do we! At Meeting Room Three …’
The woman starts to laugh. ‘One o’clock, with Ked Wilder?’ she guesses. ‘I should have known! You three must be from the Lost & Found, right? I’m Ria and this is Fitz – we’re your lunch dates!’
Fitz turns out to be a slightly camp hipster dressed in a vintage waistcoat and cravat, his trousers rolled up to reveal brown vintage brogues and bare ankles. A camera hangs round his neck. He’s fussing a little, briefing a couple of young assistants who’ll be holding the fort for a while before turning to us with a big grin.
‘Mustn’t be late,’ he says, whisking us away into the crush.
‘Ked’s asked us to work with you on developing a stage image,’ Ria explains as we weave through the crowd. ‘Though I’m not so sure you need our help!’
‘Perhaps just a little …’ Fitz says tactfully.
We reach the meeting room dead on time, but Ked and the others are already there – even Matt. A long table has been set with a tapas-style buffet. There are platters of empanadas and sliced tortilla, roasted figs with honey and goat’s cheese, steaming paella and even a mountain of warm churros with glossy chocolate sauce … it looks amazing.
‘OK,’ Ked is saying. ‘I hope you’ve had fun so far. Time for lunch now and a couple of meetings. First of all, meet Ria and Fitz – they’re going to create your new stage look. They’ll be coming to Fox Hollow Hall next week to transform you, but I thought it made sense if they could meet you now, get a sense of who you are.’
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